#as far as I know I was still a mutual with

[bonesmithsstuff]

Azriel - Tethered Souls

Warnings: Swearing, mention of sex, scars, physical abuse, and I think that’s all.

Masterlist |

── .✦

" Do I wanna know? If this feeling flows both ways? "

Azriel had been radiating a palpable tension for days. Despite his role as Spymaster, the members of his family had almost immediately noticed how the unease reflected in his tightened features and shadowed gaze. It was clear that something was tormenting him, but no one had managed to get an explanation out of him. His behavior, already reserved by nature, had become nearly impenetrable, as if an unscalable wall had been erected between him and the rest of the world. His dark mood had ended up casting a shadow over those around him, to the point that even Cassian and Rhysand had begun watching him with growing concern.

Though he had never been one for conversations, his stubborn silence and the aura of discontent he exuded every time he entered a room had become impossible to ignore. Not even Elain, with all her sweetness and sensitivity, could pierce the barrier the Shadowsinger had built around himself.

The first to notice the change had been the youngest of the Archeron sisters. Feyre had shared her concern with her Mate. Rhys, for his part, had almost seemed relieved by the sudden distance between Azriel and Elain —yet, as days passed, his concern for his brother's state grew steadily more persistent.

No one knew what could be troubling the Spymaster so deeply. No one, except Y/n.

To her, the answer was painfully obvious.

The fear that her feelings might take permanent root inside her had become a paralyzing dread. As always, her instinct had driven her to flee, to choose the simpler path: distance. The fear of pain had made her incapable of surrendering to something that might had the power to completely destroy her. Protecting that fragile fragment of her heart that still belonged to her seemed like the only sensible choice. And yet, with Azriel absent from her daily life, she’d come to the painful realization that even that fragment had flown away with him. It was as if, by pushing him away, she had allowed the emptiness to seep into every corner of her soul, making it harder with each passing day to ignore how much she missed him.

It had all started accidentally, when Rhys had forced them to work together to train the Illyrian females in WindHaven, teaching them the basics of defense and battlefield survival. Neither of them had been thrilled at the prospect of working side by side.

Azriel was used to operating from the shadows, alone, while Y/n had always wanted to prove her worth without relying on anyone.

Her determination had been the first thing to catch the Shadowsinger’s attention. They had clashed in a sparring match no more than five minutes after meeting, and every time Y/n ended up on the ground, she got back up with unwavering resolve. She was a skilled fighter, but against Azriel, her chances were minimal —as they were for anyone else. Even for the men she usually defeated with ease.

And then he knew it. He saw it in her eyes every time she stood up again, in the way she clenched her teeth and lifted her chin, refusing to accept defeat. He knew she would never yield to anyone.

Perhaps it was their rivalry, and their mutual disdain, that had masked the truth —that Y/n had become the Spymaster’s silent obsession. Every fight, every exchange of sharp words, every defiant glance had created a bond between them that neither was ready to admit. The tension had grown unbearable, an invisible thread that tightened every time they were too close, too aware of each other’s presence.

The first night they ended up in bed together had been an accident, the result of built-up frustration and the ever-mounting tension between them. But the pleasure had been so immediate, so natural, that surrendering to it felt inevitable. There had been no room for doubt or hesitation -only the urgent need to bridge the distance they had maintained for far too long.

If Y/n was an independent woman, confident and with the spirit of a leader, in the sheets she revealed an entirely different nature. Azriel had sensed it from their very first kiss —from the way she yielded to his tongue, from how she welcomed the pressure of his hands without resistance. She offered no objection to his dominance. She gave him control, completely. And never, never had the Shadowsinger felt more aroused than in those moments when Y/n surrendered to him without reservation.

It was the contrast between the strong woman she showed the world and the total submission she offered him in those moments that drove him to obsession.

The most primal instinct would take hold of Azriel in the blink of an eye, and it wouldn’t let go until he had heard her moan his name —bent to his will and undone by pleasure. And if she enjoyed provoking him, he was certainly no better.

He would always bring her to the brink of frustration before granting her what she craved. And often, he gave her far more than she dared to ask for. He pushed her past the limits she thought she had, made her give in with a single look, a calculated touch, a word whispered against her skin. Just like notes bending to the will of a composer.

And yet, when morning came, reality would return to divide them. She withdrew, he fell silent, and everything started all over again. An endless cycle, a dangerous game neither of them had the courage to stop —or even acknowledge.

At first, they would simply retreat to their respective rooms, each after satisfying their own desires. But after many encounters, Azriel had started to linger a little longer than necessary. Their conversations were always tense and full of bickering, but both were too caught up in provoking each other to notice how close they were becoming.

The Spymaster took care of her with a meticulousness that surprised even himself. He would prepare scalding baths for her, clean up the mess they’d made, check that the bruises and handprints he left were healing, ensuring they caused her no more pain. And in those moments, as Azriel cared for her, Y/n never once complained. In fact, she felt strangely reassured by that new sensation of being tended to —as if, finally, she could feel a little more at ease. A little less alone.

Slowly softening, she too began to offer small gestures of affection to the Shadowsinger, gestures that seemed more precious to him than anything else. She would run her fingers through his hair when he couldn’t sleep, massage his tense shoulders after long training sessions, and tend to his scarred hands whenever she sensed his insecurity.

But then came the realization.

One day, she didn’t show up to training, and Azriel’s worry took hold immediately. By the end of the day, still without word from her, his unease had turned into full-blown anxiety. It wasn’t the first time she’d disappeared —just as Azriel sometimes had to leave without notice for Spymaster duties, Y/n, the daughter of the camp’s chief, had “business” that demanded her attention. Still, that evening, when Azriel went to her cabin to find her, he finally discovered what really happened when she vanished without a trace.

«Y/n?»

His voice, sharp and anxious, cut through the silence as he stepped inside. He was no longer the kind of man to feel awkward about their intimacy, so he moved quickly toward the bedroom —only to find it empty. A dull sound from the bathroom made him hold his breath —a flicker of relief that did little to ease the knot tightening in his chest. His mind had been in turmoil all day, starved of her presence, unable to even catch her scent for comfort. Azriel wasn’t the type to fight his feelings, even if he had spent decades hiding his love for one woman without ever making a move. But with Y/n, it had always been different.

The moment he saw her, his mind went blank.

She was hunched over the large tub filled with water, her bare back facing the door. Azriel froze for a moment, stunned by the raw torment radiating from her posture. Deep cuts marred her pale skin, and blood stained the floor around her. Her body trembled, her shoulders shaken by muffled sobs, and the pain seemed to tear through her from within. Azriel stood paralyzed, his eyes filling with rage and disbelief. Never before had he seen her so vulnerable, so fragile.

«Ehi…» He whispered, trying to make her aware of his presence. But she didn’t answer. On the contrary, she made a visible effort to ignore him, keeping her tear-streaked face turned away.

The male approached, kneeling beside her.

«Leave.» She whispered, pride laced through her voice.

It was a vain attempt to protect the image she had built for herself —a strong woman incapable of showing weakness. She didn’t want anyone to see how fragile she really was, how incapable of taking care of herself. She had craved strength so badly that she had been willing to endure anything, just to change something in her life, just to stop feeling alone.

That was when Azriel truly looked at her —perhaps for the real first time. The flickering candlelight in the room illuminated her back, revealing old and new scars, white marks that painted her skin like a map of every battle she had ever fought. Some of the cuts were so faded that, in the dark, Az had never noticed them before. Partly because of his own hands —so rough and calloused they had become insensitive, incapable of perceiving the delicate ridges of freshly healed wounds.

There, curled up in the corner of the bath, she looked so small, burdened by a weight that never should have been hers to carry. If he had known how, he would have taken that pain from her, shouldered it himself. He would have healed her wounds, done anything in his power to ease her torment.

Azriel bent to lift her from the cold floor, but the moment he reached for her, she shook her head, trembling. Her eyes squeezed shut as though she feared he might hurt her.

Her wounds needed to be cleaned before they became infected, the dried blood washed from her skin.

«I won’t hurt you.» The male whispered, trying to soothe her. «Never.» His shadows, ever by his side, drifted toward T/n with a gentleness he had never allowed himself to show. They brushed against her with tender care, wrapping her in an embrace that felt like safety.

Only then did she look at him. Her eyes, glassy and full of pain, made Azriel’s chest tighten —as if the weight of her suffering had become his own.

That was the moment the bond snapped into place.

It struck him like lightning, a tidal wave of pain and despair that stole the air from his lungs. Her torment flooded through him, searing and raw. He felt her fear as though it was born within him.

«Promise me.» She whispered, staring at him intensely. Clarity had all but vanished from her gaze, and the only thing she seemed to seek was reassurance. A tether to someone who would never treat her the way those who had hurt her had. «Please —promise me you’ll never do this to me.»

Her palms were flat against the floor, her cheeks damp with tears, eyes red from crying. Azriel, still shaken by the power of the mate bond, by her plea, held her gaze with fierce intensity.

Without thinking, he cupped her face in his hands, steady and sure. «I swear I would never touch you against your will.» He said, his voice unwavering. «I will never harm you. And I will do everything I can to heal your wounds —if you’ll let me. Whoever did this to you... will pay.»

His words had the effect he’d hoped for. Y/n slowly relaxed, sensing a safety she hadn’t felt in a long time. As the male spoke, a tattoo began to form across their bodies —the mark of a promise, one that burned softly against their skin. Serpentine ink curled along her thigh, winding up to her side, and mirrored itself on Azriel’s flesh.

When he finally wrapped his arms around her, he felt her tears fall silently against his skin. He didn’t care that her blood might stain his clothes —his only concern was her pain. Her suffering. Her.

He lifted her gently and lowered her into the bath, wincing at the sound of her pained whimper as the warm water met her raw skin. While he cleaned her back, relief filled him at the sight of the wounds already healing. They weren’t infected, and after a few hours, they had fully closed —leaving only faint, barely visible scars.

Despite their closeness, she said nothing more. She refused to answer any of Azriel’s questions, remaining silent and lost in her own thoughts. Az could feel the pain she was trying so hard to hide, but he couldn’t bring himself to push her.

As an invisible wall rose between them, he wondered if she could sense his worry —his rage. And even if she could, the Shadowsinger could do nothing but remain there, haunted by the thought that maybe… she had never truly felt the bond at all.

When she finally fell asleep between quiet sobs, Azriel stayed awake, keeping an eye over her. From time to time, when she stirred, he soothed her with a gentle touch, trying to offer what comfort he could —trying to hold her together.

And yet, as his hands traced the scars on her skin, his heart filled with growing fury. Every mark of pain, every wound she bore, made something inside him unravel. The more he counted, the more the Spymaster craved vengeance.

And yet, she stubbornly insisted on keeping the culprit from him.

It was driving Azriel mad —not being able to punish the one who had hurt his mate. The memory of her pain gnawed at him, as did the crushing weight of his helplessness. And the disappointment… the sting of being constantly pushed away by the very woman the Mother herself had fated to be his.

A few nights had passed, and after days of silence between them, Azriel had been forced to return to Velaris. Rhys needed him for an important mission, but the Spymaster couldn’t focus. Being away from the camp meant he couldn’t protect her, and the thought of something happening to her while he was gone ate away at him. If harm ever came to her in his absence, it would break him entirely.

His breaking point came with a simple sentence from Cassian: «Y/n told me she wants to stop training…»

Just hearing her name —casually tossed into the conversation —was enough to snap Azriel’s attention, like an arrow shot straight into his chest. His body reacted before his mind could catch up.

Instinct took over in an instant.

In two strides, he was in front of his brother, slamming him against the wall with a growl so fierce the house trembled.

«What did you say?» His voice was low, guttural, like a storm brewing in the mountains surrounding Velaris. His amber eyes blazed with rage.

«Az, what the hell?!» Cassian gripped the Shadowsinger’s wrist with force, trying to push him off, while Rhysand quickly stepped in to separate them.

Azriel froze for a moment, shaken by his own reaction. It took only a few seconds of silence for him to regain control. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotion threatening to drown him.

He couldn’t go on like this. He had waited too long to find someone who might allow themselves to be loved by him —someone who was meant for him. And of course, the Mother had chosen the most stubborn female in all of Prythian just to make things more complicated.

«She also said she’s thinking of leaving Illyria. Does that matter?» Cassian’s voice was unsure, still confused, but Azriel’s low growl made him tense up.

The tension between the three brothers was thick, and Azriel’s anxiety was written all over him. They had never seen him like this —so shaken, on the edge of either fury or collapse.

«I need to go. Now.» His voice was a quiet plea. But before he could take another step, Rhysand moved in front of the door, blocking his path. «Move.»

«This isn’t the time to storm in there like that.» Rhysand’s tone left no room for argument, and his sharp, resolute gaze made it clear he wouldn’t tolerate any defiance. Azriel knew that, and if he were thinking more clearly, he’d never speak to his brother like that —but the situation was overwhelming him. «If I understand what’s happening here… then maybe you need to breathe first, brother.»

Cassian seemed to be the only one still in the dark. He watched Azriel pace the room, increasingly agitated. His frustration was building, and Cassian, so used to his brother’s calm, stepped closer, clearly surprised by the outburst.

«Would someone care to explain what the hell is going on?» Cassian raised both hands in surrender, like he was ready to give up on resisting. «Why was I fucking pinned to the wall?»

«There’s only one thing that can make a male lose control like this… especially someone like Azriel, right?» Rhysand grinned, finally understanding the root of his brother’s storm. His expression softened, almost amused, as he looked at the Shadowsinger. «Finally. Your mate. After everything you’ve been through… you deserve her, Az.»

Cassian was speechless. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times, unable to form any words. Then, with a knowing smile, he stepped closer to his brother and clapped a hand on his shoulder. «So what the hell are you still doing here? Go get her.»

But suddenly, Azriel didn’t seem thrilled by the idea. He ran both hands over his face, exhausted, and collapsed into one of the armchairs in the House of Wind’s sitting room.

«I don’t know if she’ll accept me.» He said quietly, anxiety thick in his voice. His heart felt swollen with dread. «But I still need your help with something.»

Azriel told them everything. He explained how it all began —how he had felt the bond snap into place a few nights ago, when he had found Y/n trembling in the bathroom. How he was convinced those injuries were meant as punishment for training the Illyrian females, and how someone else was likely enduring the same treatment.

The next morning, just as dawn began to paint the sky above Velaris, the three brothers made their way to the camp. They marched like soldiers, determined to put an end to the madness.

They reached the barracks of the camp leader, where Devlon was caught up in a heated argument with a young woman. The Shadowsinger didn’t need to search for her —her eyes found his immediately, and in that instant, it finally felt like he could breathe again.

Azriel, ever the skilled Spymaster, had quickly uncovered that the man behind all that pain was none other than the young woman’s own father —the camp’s leader.

But before they could do anything, they needed proof. Enough to bring the man to justice. So the High Lord requested a private conversation with Y/n. When the door to Rhysand’s house in WindHaven closed behind them, the woman found herself unusually calm. Her gaze was fixed solely on her mate.

«I know this is personal.» Azriel began, his voice softer now. «But I also know you want this to stop —for you, and for anyone else who’s still suffering. I made a promise, and I need you to show them the scars. Show us where. Give us as many details as you can. We’ll handle the rest.»

She ran her hands over her face, her skin damp with sweat, her back burning beneath the weight of the males’ eyes. She knew that if she wanted this to end, she would have to recount every detail —everything she knew —without holding back.

She turned fully, forcing herself to focus only on Azriel, eyes locked on his, while keeping her back to the High Lord and the General. Slowly, she pulled her shirt over her head, revealing the skin beneath.

Two deep grooves marked her shoulder blades —scars from when she had wings as a child. The rest of her back was covered in newer wounds: deep cuts that had been poorly tended due to their location, scars that had healed badly, some still tinged with signs of infection.

Rhysand and Cassian stepped closer to get a better look, but Azriel shot them a warning glare that left no room for argument: they were to stay back.

The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on. Once she pulled her shirt back down, the woman began to speak, explaining which places to investigate and naming all the women she knew for certain had endured the same abuse —at the hands of fathers, brothers, or husbands.

«Thank you. It won’t happen again —to you, or to anyone else.» Said Rhysand. His voice, though firm, carried a flicker of hope. Then he turned and walked out, the General following close behind.

Her gaze remained fixed on Azriel, who hadn’t moved. She couldn’t believe he had rolled up his sleeves to help her. A mixture of repressed emotions, frustration, and disbelief surged inside her —and the Spymaster sensed it immediately.

«Let’s go. Did you really think I’d let my mate go through all of this without doing anything?» His voice was deep. «He’s fucking lucky I couldn’t rip his throat right away.»

«Yes.» She replied with a shrug. «Because that’s what you should expect from people if you don’t want to be disappointed: nothing.»

Azriel took a step toward her, frustration tightening his features. «So you already knew.» He murmured, his tone laced with barely contained rage. There was no need to elaborate. «You couldn’t even have the decency to reject me to my face?» His growl echoed through the room, a sound that seemed to erupt from deep within him. «No, it was easier to walk away without saying a word, wasn’t it?»

He slammed his fist on the table, making the whole house tremble for a moment —then silence fell. A silence so thick, so tense, it felt like a single word could trigger another explosion.

Y/n felt as if a current of pain and anger had surged through her. Azriel was the best thing that had ever happened to her —how could she allow him to suffer like this? How could she ever be enough for a male like him?

«I don’t want to reject you.» She whispered, lowering her gaze to the wooden floor that creaked beneath their weight. «You see me for who I am: I never listen, I’m not sweet, and I don’t even know what it means to make someone feel loved. How could I possibly be good enough for you? When I care about something, I keep it at arm’s length, because that way no one can take it from me without warning. It’s always been this way.»

She bit her lip, suddenly feeling small and fragile beneath the weight of her own words. «I know it’s pathetic, but I thought that if I left, no one could rip this thing I love so much away from me...» She lifted her eyes slightly, meeting his with a sadness she had never shown before. «Not even you.»

Azriel couldn’t take the distance any longer. In two heartbeats, he was in front of her, cradling her face in his scarred, calloused hands. He didn’t wait another second to kiss her.

The moment their lips met, she let go of every wall she’d ever built, allowing him to feel everything —every emotion, every sensation —as if the distance between them had shattered in an instant.

Azriel moved one hand from her face, trailing down her shoulder to the tattoo on her hip, pulling her closer. His tongue tangled with hers, and the pleasure that surged through him crashed like a wave. He felt her respond, giving herself over to him completely, and in that surrender was a silent promise: there was no more need to run.

«I don’t want you to be sweet, or gentle. I don’t want you to cater to me or to always listen. I don’t care if you drive me crazy every single day for the rest of our fucking life. I just want you to give me the chance to prove you deserve to be loved.»

She stepped forward, just enough to rest against his chest and wrap her arms around him, clutching his shirt. She trembled slightly, and Azriel ran his hand along her back, lifting her into a warm embrace before gently setting her down on the table.

«I’ll love the woman you are when you’re barking orders during training. The one who never stays down, even when she’s been knocked to the ground. The one who sometimes wants to be protected, who needs something soft to land on when she can’t be strong for a day.»

Her fingers brushed his, intertwining with a soft, delicate motion. «And what if… What if I can’t love you the way I should? The way you deserve, the way you want. What if one day I run again?»

Azriel felt his heart warm in a way it never had before. That woman —his woman— was worried she couldn’t give him the love he had always longed for, always yearned for. And yet, in the exact moment those words left her lips, Azriel no longer had any doubts: she was the missing part of his soul.

«Then I’ll find you. And I’ll keep running with you.» Azriel whispered, his voice barely more than a murmur as the woman peppered his cheek with soft kisses, showing him affection in the most tender of ways.

The heat of that moment, the depth of her touch, pushed him to kiss her again —with a confidence and familiarity he hadn’t thought possible. He placed his hands on her back, pulling her closer, caressing her gently.

He pulled back just slightly, resting his forehead against hers. She slipped her hands into his dark hair, a gesture that felt almost too natural.

«I think I… uhm —it’s breakfast time, right?» Blushing as she searched Azriel’s eyes.

«Yes.» His voice was soft but steady as he watched her slid off the table.

She walked over to a cabinet and grabbed the jam, spreading it over a slice of buttered bread. Then she slid the plate toward him, under Azriel’s unwavering gaze.

They ate in silence, finishing the bread in a few bites, while Azriel’s eyes never left her. As soon as she was done, she came closer to him again. Azriel welcomed her into his arms, lifting her easily and letting her wrap her legs around his waist. He walked them over to an armchair and sat down, holding her tightly.

They stayed like that for hours, trading the occasional words, a kiss here and there. The woman was curled against him and soon fell asleep —deeply and peacefully. Probably for the first time in a long while.

Feeling the quiet calm on the bond between them, Azriel kept stroking her hair, finally letting himself relax too. He just wanted her to feel safe.

When Rhysand and Cassian returned, the sun was already painting the sky in warm shades of orange. And for the first time, in complete silence, they paused to take in the sight.

Their brother —peaceful, asleep, his face serene— held Y/n in his arms as if she might disappear if he loosened his grip. She was nearly swallowed in his embrace. It was the image of a peace no one had ever imagined surrounding Azriel… and yet, it seemed it was finally his.

── .✦

Hi!!!! Here I am again! Sorry, been a while but i’ve been busyyy. (Unfortunately)

As always, please let me know what do you think!!!!

[coqhee]

 ﹙✧﹚ SUMMER ⁺⊹₊ 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽 𝗇𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈

IN WHICH ✷ your best friend is your bf just for the summer

엔하이픈 x f!r ― fluff + eensy bit of angst + crack ⨯ 876O ⨯ friends to lovers + cursing + brainrot/gen z/a terms + mutual pining + pet names

em's note ★ this fic was originally for jungwons birthday but guess who's 2 months late,, dot dot dot. this one's semi-based on summer by keshi. anyways I miss summer sm what the heck :( ∘ ∘ ∘ more

─── ♡

the cool breeze in contrast with the summer nighttime humid air sent a rare shiver down your spine this time of year. you pulled your jacket a little closer around yourself, the distant hum of traffic fading away as you walked further away from your workplace. 

for a moment you forget you have your best friend jungwon (and temporary coworker, though you wish he’d get fired already for being making you laugh all shift and lose pace) walking beside you until he interrupts your thoughts with some dumb comment about a new game coming out. 

“so are you gonna play with me or not?” jungwon nudged your arm lightly, his voice taking on that playful whine he always used when he wanted something from you.

you blinked, snapping out of your thoughts, and shot him a half-hearted glare. “i’ll think about it.”

jungwon scoffed. “what’s there to think about? just say yes.”

you rolled your eyes, tucking your hands into your jacket pockets. “you act like i have all the time in the world.” 

“and that’s because you do,” his eyes widened pointing the truth out. “you literally wake up, eat, sit on your phone for what, 6 hours? then go to work, come home and sit on your phone, then sleep,”

to which you lightly curse him out telling him to quote ‘eat shit’. which he does holding a proud grin right after. jungwon only chuckled, clearly pleased with himself for getting under your skin. he stuffed his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels as you both continued walking.

to be fair, he wasn’t entirely wrong. except for those ‘6 hours’ on your phone more specifically being time spent on your phone facetiming jungwon while he plays games. 

“anyway,” he said, dragging the word out, “if you’re not gonna spend your time gaming with me, what are you planning to do this summer?”

“get a boyfriend maybe, you never know,” you grin

jungwon snorted, shooting you an unimpressed look. “yeah, right. you?” he looks you up and down and hosts a disgusted look on his face.

you raised an eyebrow. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“i mean,” he shrugged, “be so for real with me right now. you think you’re just gonna pull a boyfriend out of your ass?”

you rolled your eyes, nudging his arm. “rude. i could if i wanted to, i just choose not to thank you.”

that and the fact your parents would kill you before you even talked to a boy that wasn’t jungwon. even if your parents would let you have a boyfriend, the only one allowed would be jungwon as he’s a quote “boy and a friend”

it wasn’t just because he was your best friend. they’d known him since you were both little kids—since the first time he helped you with that science project in middle school, when you cried because you had procrastinated and your idea wasn’t working as expected. when you were both still in the awkward phase of school dances and sleepovers. they loved him like he was family, and as far as they were concerned, he was family.

jungwon snorted, clearly unimpressed. “uh huh. keep telling yourself that.”

you shot him a look. “excuse me?”

“i’m just saying,” he smirked, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket, “if you really could, you would’ve done it by now.”

your mouth opened in offense. “okay, first of all—”

“nah, nah, don’t even start,” he cut you off, grinning. “no game. no rizz. zero bitches. zero aura. no roster.”

you gasped dramatically. “i’m telling you i could bag a boyfriend whenever i want, won.”

“prove it.”

you narrowed your eyes, stepping in front of him and pointing a finger at his chest. “fine. i will.”

jungwon raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “yeah? where’s he at, then?”

you faltered for a split second before crossing your arms as well, matching his stance as you stop to hit the button at the crosswalk. “i just haven’t picked one yet.”

“mhmm,” he hummed, unconvinced.

you wracked your brain for a way to turn this around, and then it hit you. you smirked. “actually… how about you?”

jungwon blinked. “what?”

“you heard me,” you said, tilting your head. “if you’re so sure i can’t get a boyfriend, then you be my boyfriend. just for the summer.”

he stared at you like you’d lost your mind. “you want me to fake date you… because i said you couldn’t get a boyfriend? you’re like actually psycho.”

his words were pure venom to any outside person, yet you knew as soon as you had brought up the idea, essentially he was already agreeing to it by just being near you. obviously.

you raised an eyebrow, trying to hide the smirk tugging at your lips. "oh, so you're not up for the challenge? thought you liked proving me wrong."

jungwon scoffed, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked away for a moment, clearly trying to process your words. "this is insane. what’s in it for me?" he asked, his tone still incredulous, but you could tell he wasn’t entirely dismissing the idea.

"come on," you teased, "it'll be fun. and, hey, maybe it'll even help you get some street cred with the ladies. people from school will think we’re a thing, and you can enjoy all the benefits of being my fake boyfriend without any real commitment."

he rolled his eyes dramatically but the faintest smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "right, because getting fake affection from you is definitely my dream summer."

the crosswalk symbol turns green as the two of you continue walking onwards. “see! you’re already basically my boyfriend cause’ you’re walking me home, how sweet, i’m flattered,” 

“we literally work together and live next to each other. you’re insane,” he deadpanned, but one good look into your eyes, he knew his name was already signed up to do this for the summer. he groaned, running a hand through his hair. "i swear, you’re lucky i’m a good friend."

"you’re doing this because you love me, jungwon," you said with a grin, nudging his side.

"yeah, yeah, try not to actually fall in love though," he muttered, but the faint smile on his face told you everything you needed to know.

who knew getting a boyfriend was this easy?

─── ♡

ride or die: gm honey

ride or die: did you sleep well?

to say that you didn’t physically recoil seeing those texts would be a lie. your face contorted with a mixture of concern, your eyebrows furrowing just reading the word honey. you couldn’t deny that you felt some mixture of butterflies erupt in your stomach, but you’re pretty sure it’s just the pet name and not that it was from jungwon

y/n: wtf y/n: who tf is honey

ride or die: stfu im method acting as your bf rn be grateful

y/n: method acting is crazy

y/n: your ahh is NOT an A list actor

ride or die: i could be though ngl. i’m a dedicated asf honey

y/n: who tf is honey: neverrrrr text me like this again

ride or die: good id rather kms than do that again ride or die: anyways be ready by 2, we’re going out

y/n: ??? going where

ride or die: idk either! 

you groaned at your phone screen, swiping down to see the time. 

1:30 pm.

you panickedly rushed out of bed, tripping on the chair in between you and your closet and began searching for some resemblance of an outfit. clothes flew from your closet to the chair, a heap of fabric now piling up one what you could’ve once called a place to sit.

you yanked a sweatshirt from the pile, held it up, then threw it aside. too casual. next came a sundress—immediately vetoed. too much.

 why do you care what he sees you wear. i mean he wasn’t even your actual boyfriend. you don’t dress up for men, let alone jungwon of all people. he’s seen you in the worst phases of your life. from your pink and only pink elementary school phase, to late-night convenience store runs in mismatched pajamas while crying over an ex boyfriend. he’d really seen it all.

it’s just a hangout really, like the thousands of other times you’ve hung out. so why were you standing here, holding two different shirts like it was some life-altering decision? was it because you cared what he thought

your fingers finally landed on some anime tshirt from a convention and some (probably unwashed) cargos you thrifted. good enough.

you grabbed your phone to check the time.

1:48 pm.

"shit."

ride or die: ur not ready are u

you rolled your eyes.

y/n: i’m literally done rn calm down diva

ride or die: uh huh ok

you slipped your shoes halfway on your feet, rushing out to see jungwon through the passenger side window staring at his phone laughing to himself (probably scrolling reels). 

you made your way over to the car, still shoving your feet into your shoes, putting them on in the process of walking, yanking repeatedly on the car handle while reaching down to finally put on your shoes correctly.

jungwon looked up unamused and unlocked the door, whilst you slid in. "made it," you said, slightly out of breath.

he gave you a once-over. "not bad," he said with an amused smile. "i was fully expecting pajamas."

"well, i try to exceed expectations."

he pushed off the wall and fell into step beside you. "good. 'cause our first date can't start with you in your 'i took a shit today t-shirt."

you groaned. "that was one time. and for your information, multiple people found it funny."

"mm-hm."

“so where exactly are we going?” you asked, pulling your seatbelt across your chest.

jungwon shrugged as he shifted into drive. “i told you. i don’t know. just... somewhere.”

you shot him a look. “you dragged me out of bed, made me sprint around my room like a lunatic, and you don’t even have a plan?”

“not having a plan is the plan,” he said, eyes twinkling as he turned onto the main road. “besides, isn't that what couples do? just drive around aimlessly until they end up at target or the mall?”

you rolled your eyes before pulling out your phone to text your parents who were away at work that you were going to go hang out with jungwon. to which they “thumbs upped’ your text. 

jungwon glanced over at you, noticing your thumbs flying across the screen. “letting your fan club know where you are?”

“you wish,” you muttered. “just telling my parents we’re hanging out.”

“oh, then i’m officially approved, huh?” he said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “they probably think this is a date.”

“they probably think every time we hang out is a date,” you replied. “you’re literally their dream come true.”

jungwon let out a dramatic sigh. “great. can’t wait to get the ‘you two should just date for real’ speech at the next barbecue.”

“or the classic ‘why can’t you find someone like jungwon’ lecture,” you added, mimicking your mom’s voice.

jungwon shot you a side glance, his lips curving into a teasing smirk. “uh huh, now where are we going? you pick, pretty girl.”

you nearly choked on your own breath. “don’t call me that.”

“why not? i’m just staying in character.” he turned his attention back to the road, the smirk still plastered across his face. “you should be grateful i’m such a committed boyfriend.”

“committed to being annoying,” you muttered, shoving your phone into your pocket. “fine. let’s go get ice cream or something.”

jungwon nodded, signaling to turn. “ice cream. classic couple move. solid choice, honey.”

you groaned, sinking into your seat. “i hate this already.”

jungwon just laughed. “you’re the one who asked me to date you.”

─── ♡

“...and also one scoop of strawberry swirl with a waffle cone. it’s her favorite, but she’s trying to act cool. so just that and the rocky road please.”

the girl behind the counter smiled politely as she scooped the ice cream. “oh, that’s cute. you know her order.”

“sure do,” jungwon nodded, ending the conversation as he turned back to you.

you furrowed your brows, squinting at him. since when did jungwon actually know your order and not order you some diabolical weird flavor. jungwon gave a blank stare back, then turned back to the counter to grab the two cups.

"what?" he asked, not looking at you. "you’re acting like i don’t know you or something."you shook your head, still a little confused. “i’m just surprised you would actually order something i like and not their ‘exotic’ flavors.”

“like their vanilla and balsamic vinegar,” you coughed under your breath. “woah that’s crazy who said that.”

he rolled his eyes in response and tapped his phone to the register to pay. "i had to suffer through that once to know you wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole. hence why you suffer with me."

the two of you walked to a two seater table outside watching the many rich cars that went by continuing your conversation.

“so, am i a good boyfriend.. or am i good boyfriend?” jungwon asked with confidence, his eyes following a sleek black sports car that zoomed by, the sound of its engine filling the brief silence between you.

you scoffed, taking a bite of your ice cream. “debatable.”

jungwon turned to you, feigning offense. “debatable? i literally remembered your order. if that’s not boyfriend material, i don’t know what is.”

“ that was quite literally bare minimum,” you teased, waving your spoon. “but i’ll admit, i expected worse.”

there was a pause, just the sound of passing cars and distant chatter filling the air. then, jungwon spoke again, more casual this time.

"so, do i have to do all the heavy lifting in this relationship, or are you gonna start acting like my girlfriend too?"

you rolled your eyes. "what, you want me to start holding your hand and gazing into your eyes lovingly?"

he smirked. "wouldn’t hurt."

you went to throw a napkin at him, but he dodged easily, laughing. "hey, i'm just saying, you talk a big game, but if we’re committing to this, you gotta step up."

"oh, please," you scoffed. "you’re lucky i even suggested this in the first place. it’s a good look for you. ‘loser senior jungwon bags a baddie’."

jungwon tilted his head, eyes scanning your face like he was studying you. "yeah," he said after a beat, "guess i am."

there was something about the way he said it—like it held more weight than the conversation called for. it sat there, unspoken, lingering between the two of you as he nonchalantly scooped another bite of his ice cream. you weren’t sure why, but something about it made you shift in your seat, suddenly hyper aware of the casualness of his voice in contrast to the meaning behind his words.

but instead of addressing it, you did what you always did—brushed it off. you can’t be going crazy only a day in. 

“you know,” jungwon started again, breaking the silence. “you never answered my question.”

you blinked. “what question?”

he turned back to you, tilting his head. “am i a good boyfriend? or just a good boyfriend?”

you rolled your eyes, exasperated. “are you gonna keep fishing for compliments or actually eat your ice cream?”

“you’re avoiding the question.”

“because it’s a dumb question.”

jungwon leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “sounds like you just don’t wanna admit that i’m doing a great job.”

you scoffed. “we’re literally fake dating. the bar is on the floor, six feet under even. my standards are so much higher than you,”

“just scared to admit i’m the best i know, you can thank me at the end of the summer,”

you ignored the way your heart skipped at the if we were real part, instead focusing on scraping the bottom of your cup. “sure, won. whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“see? that’s your problem,” he teased. “you’re all talk, but when it comes down to it, you’re bad at playing along.”

you narrowed your eyes. “excuse me?”

he leaned back again, looking far too smug for your liking. “we’re fake dating, honey. at least pretend to be obsessed with me.”

you stared at him, unamused. “you wish i was obsessed with you.”

jungwon grinned. “see? that’s exactly what someone obsessed with me would say.”

you groaned, throwing your crumpled napkin at him, which he easily dodged, laughing. but despite the playful banter, despite the way he was obviously messing with you, something about the conversation felt like it was stepping in and out of the line that bordered between friends and more than that.

a line that neither of you were acknowledging.

─── ♡

as the new two weeks passed, the whole fake dating thing started feeling less like a bit and more like something else—something you didn’t want to put a name to.

at first, it was just like every other time you hung out with jungwon. same dynamic, same banter, same comfortable familiarity. but now, there was a difference. a shift so subtle it was almost unnoticeable—almost.

when it was just the two of you, things felt normal—like nothing had changed. jungwon was still the same jungwon who teased you relentlessly, who knew exactly how to push your buttons but also when to stop. you were still you, rolling your eyes at his antics but never actually pushing him away.

but when other people were around? that was when the difference became obvious.

it was in the way jungwon would throw an arm around your shoulders so casually, like it was second nature. the way he’d lean in closer than necessary when talking to you, his voice dropping just slightly. the way he’d call you honey or pretty girl without a second thought, like the words belonged to you.

and the worst part? is how he’d continue on even after people had left.

like the time you ran into your friend yunjin at the convenience store and his arm immediately slithered around your waist. how the two of you watched yunjin jump with delight and call out “finally!” then, even after you parted ways with her, his arm remained, as if he forgot, but it seemed intentional the way he just ‘did it out of instinct’.

his fingers tapped lightly against your side, like he was absentmindedly tracing a pattern only he knew. you had waited for him to pull away, to step back now that the audience was gone—but he didn’t.

when you got to the diner for work, ready in uniform to go clean tables for 8 hours a day at minimum wage monday morning, jungwon was already there, waiting at your desk with a grin like he had all the time in the world.

“morning, honey,” he greeted, voice light, teasing.

you sighed, setting your bag down. “we’re at work, jungwon. chill.”

he leaned back in your chair, arms crossed. “so? couples work together all the time.”

“yeah, real ones.”

“ouch,” he deadpanned. “so cruel this early in the morning.”

before you could respond, your boss strolled by, offering a knowing smile. “you two make such a cute couple,” they commented before disappearing down the hall.

jungwon turned back to you, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “see? real ones.”

you groaned, taking your card off the wall and clocking in.

“you know what today is right?” jungwon smirked with confidence and pride, thoroughly enjoying this stupid agreement that you had first brought up.

“no, what,”

jungwon gasped, clutching his chest like you’d just insulted his entire bloodline. “wow. i cannot believe this.”

you gave him a blank stare. “just say it.”

he leaned in slightly, like he was about to drop the most important news of the century. “it’s our two-weekversary.”

you blinked. “our what?”

“two weeks of this beautiful relationship,” he said, dramatically wiping a fake tear. “two weeks of love, commitment, and unwavering devotion—”

“okay, shakespeare wrap it up. you are in public, do not pull this shit right now,” you muttered, shoving him lightly as you both made your way to start prepping utensils and napkins for tables.

jungwon, still grinning, grabbed a stack of napkins and started folding them with practiced ease. “so, how does it feel?”

you raised a brow. “how does what feel?”

he glanced at you, a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. “being my girlfriend for two whole weeks. life-changing, right?”

you snorted, rolling up silverware. “oh, totally. i don’t know how i ever survived without you.”

jungwon chuckled, but instead of firing back immediately, he let a beat pass. then, casually, he said, “well, i kinda like it.”

your hands froze for half a second before you shook it off. “fake dating? yeah, i guess it’s not the worst.”

“no,” he corrected, voice lighter, but still deliberate. “just… being your boyfriend.”

you looked up at him, but he was focused on his task, fingers smoothing over the napkin edges. you were unsure of how to react, so you just shrugged, trying to act casual, though your heart had picked up pace.

you swallowed, forcing a scoff. “yeah, yeah. you’re really selling it.”

jungwon finally looked at you, eyes warm, teasing—but something else, too.

“who says i’m selling anything?” he murmured.

before you could process that, the door jingled as customers walked in, pulling you both back into reality.

jungwon straightened up, tossing a napkin at you. “anyway, anniversary dinner. you in or what?”

you rolled your eyes, grabbing a menu. “depends. are you actually paying this time?”

he smirked. “for you? always.”

you ignored the way your chest tightened slightly at that, chalking it up to the lingering effects of his dramatics.

yeah. that had to be it.

the whole day at work he kept making glances at you and smiling, though not the teasing ones or the ones where he’d conveniently look over when you would make mistakes, and laugh at you. or when he would take over the overfill tables or yell at customers to get out cause you didn’t have the heart to.

throughout the day, you found yourself acting differently too—not in a huge, obvious way, but in small things that didn’t feel all that fake.

like when he forgot to tie his apron properly, and you rolled your eyes but fixed it for him anyway, muttering, “seriously, how do you function.”

or when he barely had time to eat during the lunch rush, and without thinking, you slid half of your sandwich onto his tray, acting nonchalant. “don’t make it weird. just eat.”

he blinked at you, then took a bite with a small, knowing smile. “wow. you do care.”

you scoffed. “debatable.”

and everytime he would say “hey, pretty girl,” or “hey honey,” you turned at the nickname. one that should’ve made you roll your eyes, but instead, it sent a weird warmth through you, though it was really just the nickname. if your #1 enemy also called you honey, or pretty girl you would also be a blushing mess, right..?

it was different watching him look out for you now and you looking out for him. and in a way you hoped this could still persist when you went back to being friends.

but when you gave it another thought, what were you thinking? this was just practice experience being a girlfriend and caring for someone in not just a friend way. 

─── ♡

jungwon had asked you one day if you would’ve ever considered waking up at 3am to watch the sunrise, to which you told him to hell with that idea. 

there was absolutely 0 way you were down to wake up that early just to see the sunrise then immediately go back to sleep.

but then one night, around 1am, as you both sat lazily on your porch with empty slushie cups and a half-finished bag of spicy chips between you, he tilted his head and said, “what if we just… didn’t sleep?”

and for some reason—maybe because he looked at you with that grin, soft and challenging at the same time—you nodded. “okay, fine. but if i pass out in the car, that’s on you.”

you ended up in the trunk of his car, parked on a small hill just outside town. he’d folded the back seats down, thrown in a bunch of old blankets and pillows, and even brought snacks he knew you liked. it was quiet except for the occasional hum of cicadas and your favorite playlist playing softly through his phone speaker.

you both lay on your backs, watching the sky shift slowly from ink-black to a deep navy, the stars beginning to dim one by one.

“this is kind of nice,” you mumbled sleepily, your cheek pressed into one of the throw pillows.

jungwon laughed, low and quiet. “kind of?”

you turned your head just enough to see him beside you, his arm bent behind his head, eyes wide open and reflecting the first signs of light.

“okay, very,” you admitted.

time slowed down in that little space. the air between you was warm with sleep-deprived comfort. you felt his pinky graze yours where your hands lay between you, and neither of you moved away.

you shifted a little, your shoulder brushing his as you tried to get more comfortable, but then his arm lifted slightly in invitation.

“come here,” he said, barely above a whisper.

you hesitated for a second, heartbeat skittering with nerves, before moving closer, slowly, carefully. your head found its place just over his heart, your cheek pressing softly into the fabric of his hoodie. he let his arm rest gently around your waist, not pulling you in, not forcing anything—just… there.

the steady thump of his heartbeat was all you could hear for a while. it was soft, slow, grounding. you found yourself syncing your breathing with his without even meaning to.

he didn’t say anything, and neither did you. you didn’t have to. the silence said enough.

his heart kept beating under your ear, like it had all this time, like it always would, and it felt safe. like home. like maybe you’d been leaning toward this moment all summer without realizing it.

and then the sun finally peeked up over the horizon, casting everything in soft gold and pale pink.

you didn’t even bother looking at it for long. instead, you glanced sideways again, just to see how he looked in the morning light.

he must’ve felt it, because he turned, catching your gaze.

and instead of looking away this time, you just stayed there, hearts beating softly in sync, eyes saying more than either of you dared to speak aloud.

─── ♡

“yknow maybe we should tell our parents that we’re dating,” jungwon suggested absent mindedly, causing you to actually spit out the matcha rose boba you had just taken a sip of a second ago.

you coughed, choking a little as you reached for a napkin, your eyes wide. “excuse me?”

he just blinked at you like you were being dramatic. “what? it’s not that crazy of an idea. they already think we are.”

you stared at him. “yeah, and we’ve done a fantastic job pretending we’re not.”

he raised an eyebrow. “have we, though? your mom made us take couple pictures at my birthday dinner. your dad told me to ‘take care of his daughter’ like he was giving me a blessing. i’m pretty sure your cousin asked if we were getting married soon.”

you groaned. “okay, maybe. but then we tell them we broke up, what happens then?”

jungwon paused for a second, his straw still between his lips as he considered it.

“we say it was mutual,” he said casually. “no big deal. we wanted to stay friends. which is true.”

you narrowed your eyes at him. “but what if they get weird about it? or start trying to set me up with random people like minjoon from the parent’s community center?”

jungwon made a face. “ugh, not minjoon. he used to eat glue.”

“okay but you get my point, see there’s so many issues with it,”

“it’ll be fine, we’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” he rolled his eyes, “let me call my mom and say i wanna eat at yours and then tell her to come over as well.”

your mom made too much food as always, jungwon’s mom brought over way too many tupperwares of side dishes, and both families slipped into that comfortable rhythm like they’d all done this a million times before. which, honestly, you had.

jungwon took your usual spot at the dinner table—right next to you, of course—elbow bumping yours every now and then, passing you all the dishes he knew were your favorites without you asking. he even stole a bite of your highly cherished japchae when you weren’t looking.

the dinner was the usual kind of chaos—both your moms chatting over each other about some market sale, your dad and jungwon’s dad arguing about grilling techniques, and the unmistakable buzz of familiarity that only came with years of shared holidays and weekend potlucks. it was normal. it was warm.

jungwon cleared his plate to which you made fun of him telling him to slow down, and that you weren’t gonna fight for food he already touched. 

you leaned back in your chair, letting your gaze drift toward him just as he turned to glance at you. it wasn’t a big look—barely a second—but his eyes lingered. and in that split moment, everything stilled.

you gave him a look. something cautious. something questioning. are you sure?

his eyes searched yours like he was answering. only if you are.

and you didn’t say anything. you didn’t have to. your breath hitched the smallest bit, and you gave the tiniest nod.

and that was it. the go-ahead.

he set his chopsticks down with a soft clink, just enough to get the attention of the table without being dramatic.

“actually,” jungwon started casually, glancing once at you as if to double check—like there was still room to back out.

but you didn’t.

you sat a little straighter. steadied your hands in your lap.

“we just wanted to tell you something real quick.” the two of you say in unison just as you had planned 15 minutes earlier outside your front door.

both sets of parents nod on prodding the two of you to continue. and jungwon looks at you to talk. your dad raises an eyebrow, immediately setting down his glass filled with some cheap supermarket wine.

“so um,” you start, the words getting caught in your throat. all the confidence you had mere seconds ago dissipating the moment you actually realized you were going to confess to something that wasn’t even real. 

you felt jungwon’s hand gently squeeze your hand twice as if to say ‘you got it’, though you would’ve much preferred if he just took over and talked, but you knew damn well jungwon would find every way to word it wrong. 

“me and won are uh. well. dating?” you manage to word out with what sounded like a question at the end. as if to ask your parents for confirmation that you were dating.

like they knew.

you winced for a small moment, scared of their reaction, not that they would react poorly, but still just to brace yourself for whatever words came out.

“oh? i thought you already were, okay,” jungwon’s dad spoke first and continued on with his grill talk with your dad. 

jungwon’s mom, however, let out a small gasp—her hand flying to her chest like she’d just received the best plot twist of her life.

“i knew it!” she half-whispered, half-squealed, reaching across the table to swat your mom lightly on the arm. “i told you, didn’t i tell you?”

your mom just nodded smugly, sipping her tea with a knowing glint in her eyes. “you didn’t even need to say it. i’ve been calling him my son-in-law since christmas.”

your jaw dropped. “what?”

jungwon choked on his water. “mom?!”

his mom grinned proudly. “don’t act surprised, you practically live here anyway. every time i call you, you’re with y/n. what was i supposed to think?”

“that we’re close friends?” you eyes widened bewildered at the revelation. 

jungwon just gave you a look that clearly read be so serious right now.

“no offense, but y’all passed the ‘just friends’ stage like two summer barbeques ago,” your mom added, barely suppressing a grin.

your dad, who had been suspiciously quiet up until now, leaned back in his chair and sighed dramatically. “guess i have to find a new way to threaten you when prom rolls around.”

“dad!” you cried.

jungwon snorted. “sir, with all due respect, i think you ran out of threats after you made me recite your ten rules of dating… twice.”

everyone laughed, and just like that, the tension vanished. the table settled back into the usual rhythm—chatter about work, complaints about grocery prices, light gossip about neighbors you barely remembered.

your heart, though, hadn’t calmed at all.

you didn’t know if it was from the thrill of the performance or the way jungwon kept glancing at you when no one else was looking—soft, almost unreadable, like he knew something you didn’t.

the two of your families after dinner, cleaned up and played poker until late at night, the house full of laughter, cheer, banter, backstabbing each other through teams. it all felt just right. 

after jungwon’s parents walked back to their house across the street leaving you and jungwon to hangout in your kitchen after your parents had gone to sleep..

after a long night of baking brownies and blowing up the kitchen the two of you cleaned up the kitchen and you were just about ready to go sit down and rest. at least until jungwon tugged your sleeve as you were walking back into the living room.

“come on,” he said quietly, his voice just for you. “let’s go.”

you blinked. “go where?”

he didn’t answer—just gave you that annoyingly mysterious smile and nodded toward the front door.

you hesitated only a second before slipping on your shoes and following him out.

outside, the summer air had cooled, but not enough to need a jacket. jungwon’s hoodie hung loose on him, sleeves shoved up to his elbows as he leaned against the car, twirling his keys on one finger.

“spontaneous post-dinner getaway,” he said, opening the passenger door for you. “get in loser, we’re avoiding emotional fallout.”

you rolled your eyes but climbed in anyway. “you’re so stupid.”

for some reason it felt eerily normal having jungwon take you on a drive at 11pm, and you tried to think of who else would you really allow to drive you this late at night. 

no one. just jungwon.

it was an awkward moment of realization as you stared

─── ♡

the small “endearing” moments that should in theory mean nothing became more common. as much as you’d like to lie and say ‘haha yeah we’re just super close friends, he does this all the time, he’s so silly’, that vocabulary to label whatever went on between the two of you did not mentally exist by any means.

like when he casually pulled the sleeve of your hoodie down over your hand and held it there, fingers brushing yours a little too long. like when he casually adjusted your necklace, fingers grazing your collarbone. like how at work, when there was no one to perform for, he’d still pull up a chair next to yours, close enough that your elbows brushed.

or even when the two of you were attending keeho’s 18th birthday party, he was stuck by your hip as though he were going to lose you in the crowd of the 6 people in your friend group.

“so,” jungwon said now, setting his chin in his palm as he watched you tap away at your computer, “what are we doing for our final date pretty girl?”

you didn’t even look up. “final date?”

“well, summer break ends in today and we might as well go big or go home, we should go like stargaze or something, ”

you shot him a look. “since when do you stargaze?”

jungwon smirked. “i don’t. but you’d be surprised what i’d do for my girlfriend.”

you ignored the way your stomach flipped at that and focused on your screen.

because this was fake.

it’s all fake, it’s just your best friend. this is normal. it’s not like you were gonna miss these totally non-romantic dates or whatever when it ended. and god the second you took a small glance up to see that stupid dumb smug smirk, you couldn’t help but want to kiss that smirk off his face.

you blinked hard and dragged your eyes back to your laptop, like it could somehow undo the thought. like you didn’t just imagine what it’d be like to kiss him for real—no excuse, no fake label. just you and jungwon and the quiet press of lips that meant everything.

god.

what were you even saying. 

you couldn’t be in love with your best friend.

“yeah sure whatever stargazing is fine or whatever,” you tried to non-chalantly choke out to no avail with his super dumb, extra idiotic with a side of even more dumb smirk, curving up even more than it had already. 

that night when he picked you up to take you stargazing, you hated how stupidly good he looked in that hoodie—the one you always stole, the one that still smelled like his cologne and laundry detergent even after a wash. he leaned against his car with two slushies in hand and a smile that made your stomach flip like it had nothing better to do.

by the time you reached the hill just outside of town, the sky had already started to darken. stars dotted the sky, and the night was cool but not cold. jungwon grabbed a blanket from the backseat like he’d planned this—which, of course, he had. because he always thought ahead when it came to you.

“come on,” he said, flopping down onto the grass and patting the spot next to him.

you sat beside him, and the two of you looked up in silence for a while. the stars were quiet and constant. but your thoughts were anything but.

and then, he broke it.

“i’m gonna miss this,” jungwon said, not looking at you.

your breath caught. “what, the fake dates?”

he chuckled softly. “no. just… you. like this. with me.”

“yeah, me too.”

your voice was quieter than you meant it to be, barely more than a breath. and maybe that was all it took—just that one admission—because when you glanced over at him, he was already looking.

his eyes held that same softness they always did with you. that same calm, steady warmth. only this time, it felt different. heavier. fuller.

you didn’t know who leaned in first.

maybe it was him. maybe it was you. maybe it was both of you moving at the same time, pulled by some invisible thread that had been tightening for weeks now.

but suddenly, he was close.

so close you could notice the way his lashes curled slightly at the ends, the way his breath warmed your skin. your noses nearly touched. your lips—god, your lips were maybe a centimeter apart. your hands were resting between you on the blanket, barely brushing.

and the moment stretched, unbearably quiet, unbearably full. a fragile, perfect pause.

you weren’t sure what you were waiting for. a sign? a reason? an excuse?

but nothing came.

instead, jungwon swallowed slowly, gaze flickering down to your lips—then back to your eyes. and then he leaned back just slightly, like it had all been some kind of mistake he didn’t want to admit to.

you both laughed a little, and it was the worst sound—because it didn’t feel funny. it felt like stalling.

you glanced down at your hands, fingers curled into the fabric of your hoodie, gripping like you were holding onto something that was already slipping.

“well,” you breathed out, your voice steady in a way that surprised you. “thank you for being my fake boyfriend.”

jungwon blinked. “thank you for being mine.”

you nodded, forcing a small smile. “we did good.”

“yeah,” he said softly. “we did.”

and then there was silence. stars blinking overhead. grass brushing against your legs. the quiet between you more deafening than anything he could’ve said.

you cleared your throat, gaze fixed somewhere in the sky. “this is for the best, anyway. it’s better this way.”

jungwon didn’t respond.

“like,” you continued, trying not to sound too breathless, too desperate to fill the space, “summer’s ending. we can finally just be normal again. go back to how it was before.”

you swallowed hard, forcing the words out like they didn’t sting. “thank god, honestly.”

and it was a good performance. you said it with a smile. a soft laugh. like the past few weeks hadn’t meant anything more than two friends goofing around, pretending for fun.

but god, you wanted to take it all back. you wanted to say please don’t stop pretending. please don’t let this be the end.

you wanted to tell him you weren’t relieved. not even a little.

but you didn’t.

because this was your best friend. and this was what you’d agreed to. and maybe if you kept lying to yourself just a little longer, it wouldn’t hurt so much.

so you stood up, brushed off your jeans, and turned to him with a grin that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“come on, loser” you said. “we’ve got school in the morning.”

and jungwon… jungwon just nodded.

the car ride back was silent, as you looked out the window lost in thought of the tense moment. maybe you were just going crazy after all.

─── ♡

it felt like summer fell behind you in the blink of an eye. one night you were busy pulling an all-nighter with jungwon, the next you were back at school doing stupid class introductions as if everyone didn’t already know each other, considering the senior class this year was so much smaller than other years.

you thought every thing would just go back to how it was when you and jungwon were purely “best friends”, though the world had different plans. 

you thought everything would go back to normal. that once school started, once senior year rolled around, you and jungwon would fall back into the routine of just being best friends. no more weird stargazing moments. no more forehead kisses because “you looked really kissable right then.” no more fake confessions whispered under fireworks or his hand steadying yours under the dinner table.

and senior year didn’t exactly give you space to process the maybe-definitely growing feelings anyway. college applications were looming like dark clouds. essays. deadlines. the gnawing anxiety of futures you couldn’t picture clearly yet.

“okay but like… when are we gonna talk about the fact you two were literally in love?” keeho asked casually, popping a grape into his mouth as he flopped down on the grass next to you during lunch.

“we’re not in love and never were,” you said quickly. too quickly.

“uh huh,” yunjin chimed in, arching a brow. “so the couples matching lockscreen is just a coincidence?”

“or how he tied your shoe this morning,” sunoo added helpfully, sipping from his yogurt drink. “like we didn’t all watch him kneel like he was about to propose.”

“it’s wasn’t a proposal,” you muttered.

“but you are dating still though,” yunjin insisted, as if this was obvious. “right? there’s no way you break up just like that,” she declared with a snap of her fingers.

“sure we did,” you persist.

technically not a lie. technically still acting. technically going to emotionally ruin you at some point, but hey. not today.

he just raised an eyebrow. “sure, but then why did he look like he got dumped by taylor swift in the hallway this morning?”

you didn’t have an answer for that.

and then there was jungwon himself—who wasn’t exactly acting like a best friend or an ex-boyfriend or anything you could neatly label.

he still saved you a seat in homeroom.

still brought you a can of whatever energy drink from the vending machine if he beat you to school.

still sent you stupid pictures of his dog in sweaters.

but now, there were these weird silences between you two—little pauses where you’d catch him looking at you like he didn’t know if he should smile or not.

you didn’t talk about the summer.

you didn’t talk about the stargazing.

you didn’t talk about watching the sunrise from the back of his car, your head laying on top of his chest feeling his heartbeat, every thump lining up with yours as though they were purely beating together.

you didn’t talk about how you’d almost kissed him, how close your face had been to his under that sky, how your heart had been pounding so loud you were sure he heard it.

you especially didn’t talk about the night in his car, when the music faded low and the world felt quiet, like it was holding its breath just waiting for you to say something.

and now you were here—back to school, back to “normal.”

except it didn’t feel normal.

not when your hand still remembered the way his felt in yours.

not when the thought of him dating someone else made your stomach twist.

not when you couldn’t look at his hoodie without thinking of the way it smelled.

god.

you missed him.

even though he wasn’t really gone.

even though he was right there.

even though he was just your best friend.

just your best friend. nothing more, maybe even less now too.

─── ♡

there you were, tying your apron behind your back, fingers fumbling more than usual. the diner you and jungwon worked at was quiet—the kind of quiet that only existed right before the dinner rush. fluorescent lights buzzing faintly above. the distant clatter of cutlery and the hum of the milkshake machine running its cycle.

you were halfway through restocking the napkin holders when you heard his footsteps walk in

they were unmistakable. slightly too light for someone his height, always a bit rushed like he was trying not to be late, even when he always was.

jungwon.

you didn’t turn around at first. not because you didn’t want to. but because you couldn’t.

because the last time you two stood in this diner together, you’d both agreed it was time to end it.

“the summer’s over,” you’d said with a shrug, even if it felt like peeling off skin.

“yeah,” he had replied. “we said just for the summer.”

and that was that. no more fake dates. no more shared drinks. no more lingering looks when you thought the other wasn’t paying attention.

no more pretending.

but it never really felt like pretending.

and now—now he was behind you again. the bell over the door still echoing faintly. his presence filled the space before his voice even did.

“hey,” he said softly.

you finally turned around, catching sight of him in that same black apron, hair slightly messed from the wind, cheeks flushed like he’d run part of the way.

you hated how your heart still picked up at just the sight of him.

“you’re late,” you muttered, hoping the tease would mask the way your voice shook.

“i know.” he paused. “i was… thinking.”

you blinked, trying not to read into that. “you do that?”

he let out a weak laugh but didn’t say anything right away. instead, he stepped forward, closing the space between you like he always did—like he never even noticed how close he got until your shoulders nearly touched.

“i don’t think i was pretending,” he said finally, so quietly you almost thought you imagined it.

your fingers froze on the napkin holder. “what?”

“this summer. the fake dating.” he looked at you, really looked at you, and your stomach dropped. “it wasn’t fake for me.”

your breath caught, everything else in the diner blurring around the edges.

“jungwon…”

he shook his head. “i know we said it’d be easier to go back to normal. i know that was the plan. but i can’t keep facing you and acting like i didn’t mean any of it.”

you stared at him, every feeling you’d buried over the past few weeks clawing its way up to your throat.

“you didn’t say anything,” you whispered. “you just agreed.”

“because i thought that’s what you wanted, and what better way to basically be dating the only girl who’s been right for you. play stupid games win stupid prizes.” he tried to choke out a laugh, voice rough now. “i thought i was the only one who—”

“you weren’t.”

he looked up sharply.

you swallowed hard. “you weren’t the only one who didn’t want it to end.”

for a second, neither of you moved. the air between you crackled with something unspoken and electric and real. no roles to play this time. no script. just two people standing in the middle of a diner, hearts pounding like it was the first time all over again.

jungwon’s eyes softened. just a little.

his shoulders, tense from whatever courage it took to say all that, eased the slightest bit.

“okay,” he said, voice quiet. steady.

you nodded. “okay.”

neither of you smiled. neither of you had to. it was just… understood.

he stepped behind the counter, grabbing an apron like it was any other shift. like you were just co-workers again. like nothing had changed. except everything had.

and when your hands brushed while reaching for the same menu, you both didn’t pull away.

you just kept going. together.

─── ♡ 

to be honest the next coming weeks were weird. now officially dating and having to tell people, “we broke up and got back together”. you weren't sure if you counted the summer months as part of your relationship or not, but ultimately decided they were.

the two of you were back out driving late into the night going somewhere, but also going everywhere. small raindrop falling into the windscreen, while you watched the streets pass by in a blur, admiring the outside world, as if you’d never seen the familiar streets you’d grown up in all your life.

“you okay honey?” his question catches you off guard after 20 minutes of silence.

you hum with contentedness feeling cool air of the outside world brush past your skin with the windows down. 

normal was out the window. this new kind of normal was messier, softer, realer. like the way he now reached for your hand without needing a reason.

you caught yourself watching him when he wasn’t looking—still in awe that it was allowed now. and sometimes he’d glance over like he knew, and he’d smile that small, familiar smile that made your chest warm.

you still bickered over dumb things. you still teased each other constantly. but there were also forehead bumps and quiet “get home safe” texts and shared playlists and late night phone calls where no one said anything for a long time.

when jungwon pulled into your driveway, neither of you moved right away. the rain still tapped against the windshield, soft and steady, like background music.

you turned to him, and he looked at you like he always did—like you were something constant in his world.

“wanna come in?” you asked, voice quiet.

he shrugged, lips tugging into a smile. “only if you make me tea.”

“you don’t even like tea.”

“i like it when you make it.”

you rolled your eyes, but your heart tugged anyway, that familiar, fluttery way it always had when it came to him.

so you nodded, reached over to unbuckle your seatbelt, and the two of you stepped out of the car and into the rain together.

this was the new beginning.

not loud. not dramatic.

just you and him, walking toward the front door

side by side.

finally, for real.

@ coqhee 2025. all rights reserved.

[peterparkouryo]

impossible to ignore you | ‹𝟹

‹𝟹

prompt; The boy from the train asks you out on a date.

warnings: disgusting amount of fluff and slight angst in beginning bcuz reader is delusional.

word count: 1k

a/n: twitter is my new addiction pls follow @/arvinsfav i'm tryna reach 1,000 followers ilyyy. also i am so so sorry this is so bad, i barely read fanfics now so my inspo of words and storytelling is kinda horrible bcuz of the writers block :( forgive me i promise to do better next time.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ taglist

-

You found that school has always been a drag. No matter how many social events Midtown tried to throw at the student body, nothing could ever make you enjoy an eight hour torture of sitting through classes (lunch excluded). 

However, there was one good thing that made just a little bit of appreciation in you getting an education slightly important. 

Peter Parker.

After properly meeting him on the train a few weeks prior, you found yourself seeking him out, wanting to know whatever you could about him without making it stalkerish, or overall weird.

A couple of your friends mutual to the boy had told you how insanely sweet he was, and even though he has his disappearing moments, he still finds a way to be there when needed. To you, that's a certain admiration you revel in with anyone.

Sure the two of you talked here and there, but given your growing infatuation to the boy, its a more so awkward exchange than genuine chemistry. There were even times you had to ask yourself if you were the problem or if he's just not as people person as you thought he was.

For instance, today in Spanish Class, you were stuck on the Spanish word for 'Phenomenal', so naturally you ask the smartest person in the room for help, and since you were in a sort of acquaintance relationship with Peter, you turned and shot your question to him.

Peter's reaction to your question however was far from how he interacted with you the weeks before, and you felt something stir in your gut, a bad feeling almost. Not only did he half answer, but he lacked eye contact.

You read somewhere that during conversations, eye contact is a super important thing to have and it shows that a person enjoys talking to you, and they're hearing what you're saying by maintaining such an aspect.

Maybe the little overlydramatic side of you could be reaching and he might just be really shy, but it also made no sense, because Peter did seem like he liked your company, at least for a little while.

As your thoughts of what if's invade your mind, you walk down the hall after asking your math teacher if you may use the washroom (he made a dumb math joke before you left), you notice a familiar set of brown curls exit the boys' washroom, and you stop in your tracks just as he did.

You look him over in his blue Midtown sweatshirt, which he probably got from school spirit week, holding a hall pass from the detention classroom. 

"Hi." Peter says.

"Hi." You say back.

The strained silence set an unwanted tension between you both and Peter quietly fiddles with the makeshift pass in his hands before clearing his throat.

"You look nice today." He softly smiled at you and you blink in genuine confusion as the butterflies in your stomach flutter at his compliment.

"Thank you." You respond and awkwardly place your hands behind your back.

A few more seconds of quietness go by.

"I hope you know I'm not ignoring you on purpose, or—I don't want you to think I hate you or something." Peter explains, to your relief.

Being under the impression the boy hated you, or just fizzled out interest overtook your mind more than you'd like to admit.

All you could do is nod in response, thankful but still a little worried.

"It's just...I don't really know how to talk to you." Peter admits and continues, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, I'm not mad at you or anything." You reassure, smiling in hopes he believes you.

Peter looks around in deep thought and takes a deep breath. You could feel his nervousness practically oozing from him.

"Look, I'm just going to say it because my aunt told me I should be more confident and upfront, no matter the outcome—" He rambles and you furrow your eyebrows with a confused smile. "I really like you, I know its technically been a few weeks, but I don't know..." Peter shrugs.

Your heart drops to the bottom of your stomach listening to his words, hearing the boy you were so infatuated with and even asked around about openly admit to liking you. It was almost impossible to ignore the feeling of happiness rising in you.

"You like me?" You bite the bottom of your lip and grin.

"Well, yeah." Peter shows you a half smile.

"I like you too." You ultimately admit.

Peter's half smile turns into an even bigger one.

"You do? I mean—That's awesome, maybe..I could hopefully, successfully ask you on a date? If you want to go, not forcing you or anything." He watches and waits for your reaction.

You felt like you were in a dream and one simple pinch would wake you up from this fairytale.

"I would like that." You agree and you swear Peter's smile grows inhumanly larger.

"Okay, cool."

"Cool."

A more comfortable beat of silence goes by.

"I should probably get back to...dentition before the Coach think I skipped or something." Peter explains to which you nod in understanding.

"Right." You press your lips together as he starts to walk past you.

The boy stops in his tracks and turns to face you. "Is it okay if I take you to a science related museum for our date? Because I know some cool facts unless you think that's lame, then we could go to Delmar's or something, but if you don't like sandwiches either—" You stop him before he continues with his habit of rambling.

"Both is fine." You chuckle and Peter nods at your submission.

"Okay, both it is."

Peter turns around and unknowingly fails to notice you watch him just about skip his way back to detention and you smile at the adorable gesture.

Almost completely forgetting your bladder needed relief, the five minute conversation finally coming to an end, you make your way to the girl's washroom with a more confident pep in your step.

taglist:

@victoriousskylar @ietss @astrogirl0666 @hahehwjavaja @superlegend216 @b4tm4nn @imawhoreforu @sunsettee @myfangirlinessononeblog

[chaoticforever]

When Perfect Cracks | Eddie Diaz x Male! Reader

Summary: To the outside world, it seemed like everything was perfect. Y/n had a boyfriend who loved him, a job he worked hard for, and a life finally falling into place. But Y/n had learned long ago that perfection often came with a price.

A/n: Shoutout to the person who requested this. It’s been fun writing for the 9-1-1 fandom and I liked writing this.

It's often said that time flies when you're having fun, but being in love and sharing those happy moments with that special someone takes it to a whole new level, making time pass by even more quickly.

One year.

That’s how long Y/n L/n and Eddie Diaz had been a couple. Looking back, it was almost comical how they started dating, considering the two hadn’t exactly gotten off on the right foot. In fact, Y/n couldn’t stand Eddie, to say the least. And Eddie? Oh, he hadn’t been too fond of Y/n either.

It all started with the parking lot incident at the grocery store. Y/n could still hear Eddie’s exasperated tone, accusing him of backing into his truck when, in reality, Eddie was the one who hit him, leaving a nice, ugly dent in Y/n's car. The man had the audacity to argue, crossing his arms with that infuriating, know-it-all look like he had never been wrong a day in his life.

Realistically, Y/n should’ve called the cops, but he’d been in a rush and didn’t have time to deal with it. He just hoped he’d never have to see that dude again.

Fate, though, had other plans.

On his day off, thanks to some saved-up PTO, Y/n got a text from his best friend and roommate, Buck, asking if he could drop off the lunch he’d forgotten at their apartment. Being the good friend he was — and knowing how much Buck liked his cooking — Y/n agreed and headed to the 118 firehouse to drop it off and bounce.

And that’s when Buck introduced him to the team. Surprisingly, one of them was the one who dented his car — Eddie Diaz. The moment Eddie saw him, he let out a little sigh, as if Y/n’s mere presence was some kind of personal inconvenience. It probably was, but that was Eddie's fault. Their conversation that day? Well, it was nothing but passive-aggressive remarks.

So, yeah, Y/n was not a fan. He thought Eddie was arrogant, pompous, and far too smug for someone who acted like being a firefighter made him superior.

As it turned out, the animosity was a two-way street. Y/n later found out from Buck that Eddie had called him stuck-up. Annoying. Said he didn’t understand why Buck was friends with someone like him.

Y/n knew It would have stayed that way — two people who did not tolerate each other, held together only by their mutual friendship with Buck — if it hadn’t been for that one sunny afternoon at the park.

The 118 had been hosting a community event for local kids, setting up obstacle courses, fire safety demos, and fun little challenges. He had only agreed to attend because Buck wanted him to help out, and Y/n figured it was a decent way to spend a Saturday. He wasn’t one to pass up an opportunity to give back, so he set up a barbecue station, grilling sausages, burgers, and hot dogs for the attendees.

And then he saw Eddie with the children.

A little girl, barely six, had stumbled and scraped her knee. Y/n went to help, but Eddie got there first, kneeling down with a gentleness that caught him off guard, to be honest. Eddie's voice was warm and reassuring as he told her she was strong, it was just a scratch, that he’d had worse but always got back up. She sniffled, nodded, and, without hesitation, held out her arms for Eddie to pick her up after he finished bandaging her knee.

Y/n hadn't expected Eddie to be so kind. It was one thing to know that Eddie's job as a firefighter involved helping people, but it was quite another to see him do it off the clock with such genuine warmth and compassion. Y/n had anticipated a more gruff, no-nonsense approach, but instead, Eddie was gentle, patient, and encouraging. Just like he encouraged a nervous young boy to climb up the mini firefighter obstacle course. He certainly hadn't expected to see that little display. And Y/n definitely hadn’t expected the way his own heart softened at the sight.

Maybe Eddie wasn’t the arrogant jerk Y/n had thought he was. Eddie, it seemed, had misjudged Y/n as well. He assumed that Y/n was too stuck-up to bother with something as humble as volunteering at a community event. Yet as he watched Y/n flip burgers and hotdogs on the grill, he was surprised to see that Y/n was not only present but also actively participating and helping out. 

But somewhere between setting up activity stations together and laughing at a group of kids who somehow ended up covered in paint, the tension between them shifted. And later that day, the two talked — really talked. No snark. No jabs. Just two people realizing they had been wrong about each other in the beginning.

That day changed everything.

What followed was polite conversations that quickly turned into playful teasing. Then, Y/n and Eddie were hanging out with each other. Soon, they had late-night talks, both in person and over the phone.

Before either of them fully realized it, something more had started to form. Feelings they hadn’t anticipated. Eddie was the one who made the first move by both asking him out and kissing him first. 

Now, a year later, here they were, celebrating their first anniversary. Who would have thought? Certainly not Y/n. However, he surely wasn’t complaining because he had fallen in love with Eddie. And that was one thing he’d never regret.

Y/n slipped on a deep, rich blue shirt over his white tee, fingers working the buttons just as Buck nearly walked past his room. He had just gotten in, heading toward the bathroom, but paused when he caught sight of Y/n getting dressed.

"Well, look at you," Buck stepped into the doorway and gave him an exaggerated once-over. "Dressed up. Got big plans?"

Y/n rolled his eyes. Buck was more than aware of his plans tonight and what day he was celebrating. Hell, Buck has been celebrating today more than Y/n himself.

In fact, Buck had been making sure that Y/n knew he was aware, by sending him a barrage of "Happy Anniversary" texts — fifteen, to be exact — early that morning. But that wasn't all he did, not even close. His roommate had also brought him a cake with a sappy anniversary message, posted a shoutout to him and Eddie on his Instagram story, and recommended the restaurant they were going to. Granted, Buck mentioned it months ago and they decided to check it out tonight, but still.

Regardless, Y/n decided to play along, a small smirk tugging at his mouth. "Nah, Buck, I just enjoy wearing dressy shirts while lounging around our apartment."

Buck chuckled. "Right. Because nothing says 'lazy night in' like a button-up shirt and cologne I can smell from the hall."

"Maybe I want to smell nice for myself."

"Or maybe you just want to smell nice for Eddie," Buck teased, wiggling his brows.

Y/n shook his head as he finished buttoning up his shirt and started adjusting his collar. Okay, fine, Buck wasn’t exactly wrong. He’d chosen this new Versace cologne because he knew Eddie would like it, but he wasn't going to admit that to Buck, not out loud, at least. "You're impossible," saying that showed how Buck was right on point about Y/n.

"And yet, you continue to put up with me," the blue-eyed firefighter fired back. "So, where are you and Romeo going tonight?"

"That place you wouldn’t shut up about — Desiderata," Y/n replied, smoothing down his shirt. "And before you say anything, yes, I made the reservation a month ago."

Quickly, Buck held up his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, I’m just making sure you don’t mess this up. One year with Eddie Diaz is a big deal. The man practically had a heart attack picking out your gift."

Y/n paused mid-motion, turning to Buck with narrowed eyes. "Wait, what?" Eddie got him a gift? Even after Y/n had made it abundantly clear he did not want a gift.

Blue eyes widened as if Buck had let slip a secret he hadn't meant to share. Upon realization, Buck quickly shook his head. "Nothing. Just forget I said anything." The words tumbled out in a rush, and he didn't wait for Y/n to reply before turning on his heel and walking out of the room.

"Oh, no you don’t." Y/n grabbed his phone and then followed Buck into the kitchen, where his friend was already rummaging through the cabinets, pulling out a bag of chips. "Buck, spill it. What did Eddie get me? It better not be anything expensive."

"I am sworn to secrecy." Buck zipped his lips, making a show of locking them shut and throwing away the imaginary key. "Besides, it’s better if you see it yourself."

Y/n groaned. He really hoped Eddie hadn’t gone overboard. He wasn’t a fan of receiving gifts in general, but if Eddie had gone all out, Y/n was going to have words. That money could’ve been spent on Christopher or on something actually important rather than getting him stuff.

"Fine. I’ll just wait and see for myself." He checked his phone, noting the time. If he wanted to make it to the restaurant on time, he had to leave now. But before heading out, Y/n had one last question. "Yo, weren’t you supposed to go out with, uh... the reporter chick? Tyra?"

"Taylor," his roommate corrected, as he opened up the fridge and grabbed a can of Pepsi. "And she had to cover a story tonight, so our date's been rescheduled."

Y/n opened his mouth to respond, but before he could pry further, his phone buzzed in his hands. He looked down at it and saw Eddie’s name flash across the screen. 

Eddie: I’m at the restaurant. Take your time, but just know every second you make me wait, I’m mentally judging you.

A chuckle escaped Y/n as he shook his head and pocketed his phone. "Alright, I’m leaving. You good if I head out now?"

"Yeah, yeah. Go have your disgustingly romantic evening," Buck waved him off. He picked up the soda can and the bag of chips and headed into the living room, clearly ready to spend the evening doing his own thing. "I'll be here, watching the game," he plopped down in the armchair with a comfortable sigh. He reached for the remote and turned on the TV before adding. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" 

"That doesn't leave room for much, man, especially the good stuff." and that little comment was definitely a dig at Buck's playboy past before he toned it down.

"Hey!"

Y/n’s laughter echoed as he grabbed his keys from the metal hook and left their apartment, locking the door behind him. The drive to the restaurant wasn’t long, but his mind kept drifting back to Buck’s slip-up about Eddie’s gift. He really, really hoped Eddie hadn’t gone overboard. Y/n didn’t need anything fancy. Spending the night with Eddie was more than enough.

Pulling into the restaurant’s parking lot, he shifted the car into park and checked himself in the rearview mirror. His shirt? Smooth and crisp. Hair? Decent enough. Lips? Soft and chap-free. He was ready.

When he walked inside, Y/n realized that Buck wasn't exaggerating — this place was fancy. The restaurant featured gold chandeliers that hung above the patrons, pristine white tablecloths covering the tables, sleek lanterns with LED candles, a violinist playing soft, classical music, and even a waterfall inside, cascading down rocks with a soft, calming sound.

And he quickly spotted Eddie, who was sitting at a table near the waterfall. Dressed in a black button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, Eddie was focused on his phone, completely unaware of the effect he was already having on Y/n. Eddie looked really good.

He is doing this on purpose, Y/n thought. He has to be. Eddie had to know how good he looked, how those damn rolled-up sleeves highlighted his toned arms, the ones Y/n had admired more times than he’d ever admit out loud. 

Y/n walked over, stopping at the chair meant for him. "How’s the date so far?"

At the sound of his voice, Eddie looked up. The moment their eyes met, a small, knowing smirk curled at his lips, the one that never failed to make Y/n’s stomach flip. His gaze lingered, taking in the deep blue shirt, the way it complimented Y/n’s skin, the way he smelled — Y/n could tell from the look in Eddie’s hazel eyes that the cologne choice had been a success.

"So far?" Eddie teased, locking his phone and setting it face down. "Pretty boring. But I think it just got a whole lot better."

"Smooth Diaz."

"Only for you." Eddie gestured to the seat across from him. "Now sit before people think I got stood up on my anniversary."

Y/n huffed out a laugh and slid into the seat, taking another glance around. "You know, Buck wasn’t wrong — this place is nice. It almost feels like we should have worn tuxes or a suit jacket." He reached for the menu but didn’t open it, instead letting his gaze drift back to Eddie. "And you look handsome, by the way. Though I see you went with the ‘roll the sleeves up and make Y/n suffer’ look. Bold choice."

Eddie smirked, casually leaning forward, and resting his forearms on the table. “Oh? You noticed?” His voice was all feigned innocence, however, his expression gave him away, revealing the truth behind his words. Eddie knew exactly what he was doing, and he was doing it on purpose.

Y/n scoffed, opening the menu to avoid looking at Eddie too much. "Hard not to."

The h/c hair male let his eyes skim over the food options, debating what to order. Normally, he’d go for something simple when he went out, such as a burger or a cheesesteak, but tonight, he figured he’d try something new; different. Something a little more fitting for tonight's occasion.

"How was work?" Eddie suddenly asked.

Y/n let out a deep sigh, setting the menu aside and rubbing his temple as if trying to massage away the stress of the day. "Very exhausting," he answered, his voice laced with a mix of frustration and relief. "I had to spend most of the day working out a strategy to close the Morgan deal. It's been dragging on for weeks, and my boss was breathing down my neck for a solid proposal by the end of the day." He sighed again, his shoulders sagging a bit as Y/n relived the monotony of his day. "So, basically, I spent my day working on the Morgan deal, staring at spreadsheets, crunching numbers, speaking to clients, and pretending like I didn't want to throw my computer out of the nearest window."

Eddie nodded. "So, a typical finance day?"

"Pretty much," Y/n muttered. "Except this time, if I screw up, we lose a multi-million-dollar deal. No pressure, though."

Except all Y/n had felt was pressure. He knew that he couldn't afford to screw up this deal, not when so much was riding on it. If he failed, he would not only lose the deal, but also his chance at getting a promotion, and that was something Y/n had desperately wanted for a while now.

The promotion would bring with it a significant pay increase, more benefits, and, most importantly, a private office, something Y/n always wanted. No more cramped cubicles, no more distractions, no more shared workspace. Just his own four walls and a door with his name on it.

Eddie studied Y/n, his head tilting to the side in a subtle, thoughtful gesture. "You don't screw up," the words that followed were a statement, not a question, and they were laced with a quiet confidence that was reassuring in Y/n's intelligence.

Y/n's eyebrows shot up, his expression skeptical. "You sound pretty sure of that." Judging from his tone, Y/n, undoubtedly, wanted Eddie to explain the basis for his confidence in him, and the man sure did.

"Because I am." Eddie shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You’re a smart guy, and you always work hard. If anyone can pull this off, it’s you."

Hearing that caused Y/n to feel warmth blooming in his chest. Eddie had a way of making him feel like he was capable of anything, even when he doubted himself. This guy sure did have a way with words.

"Thanks," he gave a small, grateful smile. "Hopefully, my boss feels the same way."

Just then, a waiter approached their table. A young man with a friendly smile and an immaculately crisp uniform. "Good evening, gentlemen. My name is Nathan, and I’ll be your server today. Can I start you guys off with something to drink?"

Eddie turned his attention to Y/n with a questioning look. "What are you feeling?"

"Hmm," Y/n's e/c eyes scanned the menu once more, his fingers tracing the edges of the page as he deliberated on his drink of choice. "I'll take a whiskey sour."

Both of Eddie's eyebrows shot up from Y/n's choice. "Going strong tonight, huh?"

"Yes, sir," Y/n confirmed without missing a beat. "I deserve this after the day I had."

Eddie's head nodded to the side as if to say that he agreed with Y/n's decision to treat himself to a stronger drink without verbally speaking. His gaze then shifted to Nathan. "I will take a Maui margarita."

Nathan's pencil moved, the tip gliding smoothly across the small notepad in his left hand as he quickly jotted down the drink orders. "Alright, I'll be back with your drinks shortly." He sent another grin.

Once the waiter left, Y/n asked about Eddie's Saturday, and Eddie explained that had spent the day watching movies with his kid and baking cookies with him.

However, their little baking endeavors had been less than successful, with the cookies emerging from the oven burnt to a crisp. In fact, they were so severely charred that even Christopher, who was typically eager to taste Eddie's food, had declined to take a bite. So, he pretty much spent his time baking for nothing. Even then, he couldn't blame Christopher for not taking a simple bite out of them.

After all, when Eddie, himself, had mustered the courage to try one of the cookies himself, he had been forced to concede that they were, indeed, inedible, which was the kindest way of putting it.

That is precisely why Y/n had taken it upon himself to handle all the baking duties whenever he visited Eddie's place. He had even assumed the role of head chef, not because Eddie was a bad cook — on the contrary, Eddie was quite good at cooking — but Y/n had always learned to appreciate the value of edible food.

Pretty soon, their drinks arrived, and Nathan set a whiskey sour in front of Y/n and a Maui margarita in front of Eddie. Then, Nathan took their food orders, jotting down Y/n's selection of the Grilled Chicken Alfredo and Eddie's choice of the New Orleans Pasta, before leaving to put their orders in. 

Once the waiter left again, Y/n lifted his glass to his lips and savored a slow sip of his whiskey sour, eyeing Eddie over the rim of the glass. He had been trying to resist the urge to mention the surprise gift Eddie had gotten him, knowing it was to be a secret until the right moment. He tried to respect the surprise. But yeah, he couldn't do it. He had to say something.

"So…" Y/n's lips parted and the word left his lips in a languid, drawn-out manner. "Word on the street is you got me a gift."

Eddie's eyes widened in surprise, his finger, which had been absently tracing the rim of his glass, stilled as he blinked in reaction to Y/n's words. A sigh left his mouth and he shook his head. "Damn it, Buck," he muttered to himself, his voice low and resigned. "I should've known he wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut," the firefighter found his gaze on Y/n. "I specifically told him not to say anything."

"Yeah, well, it’s Buck," Y/n said matter-of-factly. "Keeping secrets isn’t exactly his strong suit." He pushed his drink aside and leaned forward. "What did you get me? I told you not to get me anything."

"And I ignored you," Eddie replied smoothly, unapologetically disregarding Y/n's wishes. "Because I wanted to get you something special. And before you start, no, what I got you is not expensive."

Y/n’s lips flattened into a thin line and he shot him a look. "That's what people say when it is expensive. So, what is it, huh?"

Eddie could see there was no way out of this. He had planned to give Y/n the gift after dinner, but he knew how persistent Y/n was, and there was no chance he’d drop it until he saw it. With a sigh, Eddie reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, neatly wrapped box, setting it on the table right in front of his boyfriend.

Y/n stared at it like it was a ticking bomb. He wondered what was inside there. It had to be some type of jewelry, judging by the box. And for one panicked second, the e/c-eyed man's brain jumped to the craziest possibility that there was a ring inside. Oh, he hoped not. He loved Eddie, but the idea of marriage, at least at this point during their relationship, was not something he was ready to consider.

All of a sudden, his thoughts screeched to a halt. He paused, his eyes still fixed on the box, as a new comment formed in his mind: now wait a damn minute—? 

"This looks expensive."

"Shut up and open it, Y/n."

Without waiting another moment, Y/n picked up the box and lifted the lid open. He let out an internal sigh of relief when he saw that it wasn’t a ring. Thank God. Nestled inside was a sleek silver chain necklace, simple yet elegant, resting on a soft, red cushion. His eyes traced over the delicately engraved plate in the center, reading the words etched into the metal.

Siempre contigo.

Y/n looked up at Eddie with a questioning look in his eyes. "What does this mean?"

Eddie's expression underwent a subtle transformation, his features softening into something more... affectionate. He reached for his drink and took a slow sip of it. "It means: Always with you."

Always with you. It was three little words, but the meaning behind them, especially in this context, carried so much weight. Y/n stared at Eddie, something in his chest tightening. He glanced back down at the necklace, then back at Eddie, who was watching him with that steady gaze — the one that meant he was waiting for Y/n to voice his opinion on the necklace.

For a moment, Y/n didn’t know what to say and was rendered momentarily mute. He simply held the necklace in his palm, feeling the cool weight of it against his skin. Eddie wasn’t usually the most openly expressive guy, but he had a way of showing how much he cared without needing to say it outright. And this? This was exactly that, and it was so touching.

The words tumbled out of Y/n's lips in a soft, barely audible whisper, as if he was still attempting to process the reality of the gift. "You really got this for me?" and Y/n's voice lacked its usual teasing edge.

Eddie's head nodded, a gentle, affirming motion as he replied, "Yes. I know you're not big on gifts, but I wanted you to have something from me. Something you can wear every day — if you want to, that is." He just shrugged and he looked almost sheepish, his eyes dropping to the table before rising back up to meet Y/n's gaze head-on. "I just… I wanted you to have something that reminded you I’m always here. No matter how crazy work gets, how tough life becomes for you, or how stressed you are — I’m with you. Always."

Y/n swallowed. He wasn't typically the emotional type, but there was something about Eddie's words, about the necklace, that had touched a deep chord within him. And dammit, Eddie really knew how to get to him, how to slip past every last one of his defenses and make his heart ache in the best way possible. He ran his finger over the smooth silver, tracing the engraving with his thumb. It was perfect.

He really, really liked it.

Actually— "I love it," Y/n said, pulling the necklace from the box and unclasping it. Eddie's hand shot out, taking the jewelry from his hands. Moving around the table, he quickly fastened it around Y/n’s neck.

"There we go," Eddie murmured once it was secured. Though, his hands lingered for a moment, grazing the warm skin at the nape of Y/n’s neck before he settled into his seat. "Now you’re stuck with me."

Y/n laughed, adjusting the necklace so it sat just right. "I’ve been stuck with you since the day you put that dent in my car."

"You put that dent in your own car." 

"That’s debatable," and it was funny how, even after all this time, neither of them had backed down from blaming the other for that infamous parking lot incident. It was a lifelong argument now, one they’d probably continue to have decades down the line. "You know, this is kind of unfair, right? Now I feel my gift for you sucks."

Eddie looked genuinely surprised. "You got me a gift?" he sounded shocked, too.

“Of course," Y/n confirmed, "I did. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t?"

Eddie chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “And here you were, giving me a whole speech about not wanting a gift, only to turn around and get me one, too."

"Yeah, yeah," Y/n dismissively waved Eddie off, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a black box. "Guess I’m a hypocrite." And, honestly? Y/n knew that.

Eddie took the box with a curious look before opening it up. Inside sat a sleek, silver watch with a deep black leather strap. It was classic, elegant, and exactly Eddie’s style. Eddie's lips parted slightly as he traced the edge of the watch face. 

Y/n studied Eddie’s expression closely and he could tell that he liked it. "I know you’ve been wanting another watch since your old one broke. I figured I would save you the trouble of having to shop for one."

Eddie was still staring at the watch like he couldn’t quite believe Y/n had gotten him one. "Y/n, this is — this is amazing."

"Oh, I know," for a watch that cost eight hundred bucks, it better be nothing short of amazing. "I have great taste, don't I?"

Eddie's eyes lifted, meeting Y/n's gaze as a soft, breathy laugh escaped his lips. "You really didn't have to do this," he said.

Y/n tilted his head slightly. "And yet, I did."

Following that, Eddie's face broke into a wide, joyful smile as he removed the watch from its cushion sliding it onto his wrist. He fastened the buckle, making a slight adjustment to get the fit just right, before holding his arm out to admire the way the watch looked on him. "Perfect," he declared. And then, without warning, he leaned across the table, and grabbed Y/n's face, his fingers wrapping around Y/n's jaw. Before Y/n could even react, Eddie's lips were on his, pressing into a brief, but intense kiss. It was enough to make Y/n’s heart race as he kissed him back, his fingers gripping Eddie’s wrist before the firefighter finally pulled away.

"Happy anniversary, Y/n," Eddie laced his hand with Y/n’s as his thumb traced a soothing pattern over Y/n's knuckles.

The h/c-haired man gave a little squeeze to his hand. "Happy anniversary, Eddie." 

And yeah, Y/n was happy that night. Really happy. It was one of those rare, perfect nights where everything aligned just right, where nothing felt off or out of place. However, sometimes, Y/n worried when things got too perfect. Life had this way of pulling the rug out from under you and throwing curveballs when you least expected it. He’d felt that firsthand when his ex-boyfriend of two years, Brant, had cheated on him the moment Y/n had let himself believe things were solid. Brant's infidelity had left him shattered and for a long time, he had struggled to trust again. 

But Eddie was different. He wasn’t Brant. He was steady. Reliable. The kind of guy who said Siempre contigo and meant it. Y/n knew he didn’t have to worry about that with Eddie. Not tonight. Not ever.

The gift was thoughtful. The restaurant was beautiful. And the company? Well, that was the best part. Or so he thought. Because later, when the two men ended up in Eddie’s bedroom after their dinner…

Yeah, Y/n had no choice but to revise his previous stance. That was the best part.

XXXXX XXXXX

Y/n stood before the mirror, making a slight adjustment to the cap on his head to ensure it was perfectly straight. It had been weeks since he had a Saturday off from work, and he planned to make the most of his free day. Eddie suggested spending the day outside, and Y/n had thrown out the idea of going to Pacific Park on the Santa Monica Pier, a place he had always wanted to visit but never had the chance to since moving to L.A. it seemed like the perfect way to spend the day with both Eddie and Christopher.

A timer beeped from the kitchen. Turning away from the mirror, Y/n sauntered into the kitchen, where he slipped on a pair of orange mittens before opening the oven. He pulled out a tray of chocolate chip cookies, setting them on the table as he kicked the oven door closed behind him. Since Eddie's previous attempt at baking had resulted in a batch of burnt cookies, Y/n had taken it upon himself to make a batch of non-burnt ones for Christopher.

Right on cue, Eddie strolled into the kitchen, his eyes immediately locking onto the cookies like a man on a mission.

"Finally, they're done. Smells so good," Eddie’s hand reached out, intending to grab a cookie and shove it down his throat. Just as his fingers were about to make contact with the tray, Y/n swooped in and slapped Eddie's hand away with a playful swat. Eddie's eyebrows furrowed in surprise, and he looked up at Y/n with a mock-offended expression from being denied one. "What did you do that for?"

"These cookies are for Christopher," Y/n answered. "Besides, they just got out of the oven, so they need a minute to cool." 

"These cookies are for me too. Sharing is caring, as they say, cariño." Eddie's hand, once again, reached for a cookie, as if hoping to sneak one past Y/n's defenses by using the affectionate term to try and melt Y/n's resolve. But Y/n was having none of it and smacked Eddie's hand away a second time. "You know," he crossed his arms, "you’re kinda cruel for making the whole house smell like fresh cookies and then not letting me have one when I am clearly in need of a cookie fix."

"And I'm in need of some sunscreen for today. So how about you go check if you have some? Then you can have a cookie."

Eddie's face scrunched up in a scowl, and he muttered something under his breath as he turned to leave the kitchen. Y/n didn't quite catch what he had said, and he thought he was in the clear. Just then, Eddie paused and suddenly turned around. In a flash, he snatched a cookie off the tray and made a run for it, dashing out of the kitchen before Y/n could even react and, at least, attempt to stop him. That damn man. 

Shaking his head, Y/n grabbed a spatula and started transferring the cookies into a plastic container. Prior to sealing it, he picked one up and took a bite, deciding to try for himself and... wow. He mentally patted himself on the back. The cookies turned out really good. Christopher was certainly going to love them. And Eddie—

The sudden knock at the front door broke the spell of Y/n's cookie-induced reverie, and he was jolted back to reality. I wonder who that could be, Y/n thought as his feet carried him to the front door. When he opened it, he was greeted by a woman with green eyes and brown hair that fell in loose waves down her back. What caught Y/n's attention, however, was her impressive height — she was very tall for a woman. Y/n didn't know who she was. He had never seen her before.

"Hi. Can I help you?"

In return, the woman threw him a friendly smile, but it was tempered by a hint of confusion that danced in her eyes. "…Hi," her greeting was polite, courteous, but slightly hesitant, as if she was unsure of herself. Her gaze briefly dropped to the phone in her hand, as if double-checking something before refocusing on Y/n, "I'm sorry, I think I might've gotten the wrong address. I was looking for Eddie Diaz...?"

"Oh, then you have the right place. I’ll go get him. Who should I say is here—?" He ended his question in a curious manner. It wasn’t just for introductions. Y/n was also trying to figure out if Eddie had ever mentioned this woman before, and if so, what their relationship was like. Was she a friend of Eddie's? Or a family member?

The woman's mouth opened to answer Y/n's question. However, her attention was caught by the sound of approaching footsteps, which was getting louder by the second. She stopped mid-breath, with her head moving slightly to the side.

Eddie sauntered into the living room, a bottle of sunscreen clutched in his hand, eyes fixed on the label.  "You're in luck. I still have a lot — well, some — sunscreen left for you. I think I’ve earned another cookie, don't you?" He looked up, but his expression faltered as his gaze landed on the woman standing in the doorway. His eyes widened in shock, and Y/n saw a flicker of some expression on Eddie's face. Anger or, maybe, annoyance if Y/n had to guess. "What are you doing here?"

The woman, whose name Y/n still didn’t know, stared at Eddie in the way people do when they haven’t seen someone in a long time. Her eyes roamed over his face, reacquainting herself with every feature.

Then, with a subtle straightening of her back, she swallowed hard, and a small, tentative smile began to shape on her lips. The smile was hesitant, almost shy, and it seemed to tremble on the edge of her mouth, testing the waters. And it was accompanied by a greeting: "Hi, Eddie."

Y/n shifted uncomfortably by the door, his eyes darting back and forth between Eddie and the mysterious woman. A sudden sense of awkwardness washed over him. Y/n felt like an intruder in this home as if he had now stumbled into a private conversation that wasn't meant for his ears. "Uh, who is this?" He asked, evidently directing his question to Eddie.

"This is Shannon," Eddie answered, his gaze never leaving her face as he spoke. 

Oh. This was Shannon. As in Eddie’s ex-wife and Christopher’s mother Shannon. Well, this has caused Y/n to feel even more awkward. This is the woman who had left Eddie to raise their son on his own. Y/n had heard the painful story from Eddie, about how Shannon had abandoned them to care for her mother, but also to get away from Eddie. She disappeared, leaving Eddie to pick up the pieces and raise Christopher by himself. What really stuck out to Y/n was the fact that she had never come back to visit her own son or called to check in. Not even once, and that was messed up.

"Oh," Y/n said, the word escaping his lips as a default response because he didn't know what else to say at this moment. After a beat, more words tumbled out before he could stop them. "Well, uh… come inside." Y/n stepped aside, allowing her to enter.

Upon doing that, Eddie's eyes snapped to his, a look of warning or perhaps even annoyance flashing across his features. Y/n met his gaze with a sheepish shrug, apologizing silently, but he genuinely did not know what else to do in this type of situation. He didn't have a script for how to handle the arrival of Eddie's ex-wife at this moment, and he was simply trying to roll with it. Besides, Shannon was clearly here for a reason, and the two men had a good idea of what that reason might be.

Shannon nodded her thanks to Y/n as she stepped across the threshold, into the house. Y/n closed the door behind her, his eyes darting to Eddie as he tried to read his reaction. Eddie's shoulders were tense, his jaw was clenched, and his entire demeanor screamed that he was not pleased to see Shannon as he watched her walk into the living room.

Shannon's eyes roamed the living room, taking in the surroundings. It was as if she was trying to reassemble a puzzle, piecing together the fragments of a life she had purposely left behind years ago.

Her attention lingered on the framed photographs, though. Some of the photos showed Christopher alone, his bright smile capturing the camera's lens, his school photos, snapshots from the park, pictures at the carnival, and other moments from his childhood. But it was the photos of Christopher with Eddie that seemed to hold her attention the longest.

There was tension. The kind that settled heavily in the air and made the silence feel unbearable. But the silence was broken by Eddie’s voice cutting through, finally. "Why are you here, Shannon?"

"I—" Shannon let out a tiny breath, finally shifting her gaze back to Eddie, meeting his stare head-on. Her green eyes locked onto his hazel eyes. "I wanted to speak to you. And I wanted to see Christopher."

Once Shannon's words escaped her lips, Eddie's head began to shake to convey his disagreement. What exactly he was disagreeing with, Y/n couldn't tell. Was it the idea of talking to him, or the notion of seeing Christopher? Or was it both? It was most likely a no to both statements.

Just as the tension in the room seemed to be reaching a boiling point, the sound of soft footsteps echoed down the hall, as if an unseen force had been watching the interaction and decided to intervene. Christopher appeared in the living room with a bright smile on his face. He had his Dodgers cap on and his excitement for the day was obvious in his features.  

Christopher's bright smile and energetic demeanor came to an abrupt halt as his gaze landed on his mom, standing in the room with them His eyes widened, taking in the sight of her after all these years.

"…Mommy…?" he breathed, his tone uncertain, as if he was unsure if he was seeing things, if this was all just a dream or a trick of the mind. He took one step forward, never letting his eyes leave Shannon's face. "Is that really you?" 

Shannon felt her heart tighten in her chest. She nodded, her voice thick with emotion. "Yes, Christopher. It’s really me."

Without another second wasted, Christopher rushed forward. Shannon immediately knelt to meet him, wrapping him in her arms as tightly as he held onto her like he was afraid she’d disappear if he let go, leaving him with the memories of this fleeting moment. It was intense.

"I missed you so much," Christopher whispered into his mother's shirt. 

"I missed you too, baby," she responded, as she lifted Christopher up into the air. She squeezed him tightly, never wanting to let him go, never wanting this moment to end. Tears formed in Shannon's eyes and she buried her face in her son's hair.

Finally, Christopher pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her. His face was bright with excitement. "I have so much to tell you! Dad and I were going to the pier today! And Y/n was coming too!" He turned to Eddie. "Can she come with us?"

The room seemed to freeze. Eddie didn’t answer right away. His jaw was tight, but his gaze did soften slightly upon seeing how happy his son was at this moment.

Seconds stretched unbearably. Shannon turned to Eddie, too. "I would love to go," she said gently. "If that’s okay with you."

Eddie's sharp exhalation through his nose was a telltale sign of his internal struggle, as he stood there, his eyes cast downward at the floor. Y/n could almost see the battle raging inside Eddie's head. He didn't want Shannon to join them on their little trip. That much was obvious. However, Christopher was looking at him with those big, hopeful eyes — the ones Eddie had never been able to say no to.

And Shannon must've known that too, because she wisely chose to wait, to let the situation unfold without forcing the issue. She didn't try to persuade Eddie, didn't attempt to guilt trip him or beg for his permission. Instead, she allowed her son's excitement to do the talking for her.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Eddie sighed and dragged a hand over his face. "Alright," he finally surrendered to the inevitability of the situation. "You can come with us to the Pier." He added.

Christopher's face lit up with a radiant grin as he turned back to his mother. He grasped her hand and Shannon dragged him towards the door. Eddie, meanwhile, grabbed Christopher's two crutches and followed them out the door. Then, Y/n moved, trailing silently behind the trio. 

Outside, Eddie locked up the house before heading towards his truck, while Y/n made his way to his own car, parked behind Eddie's. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure he should be going with them anymore. Now that Shannon was coming, this felt like an outing that had nothing to do with him. More than that — this is family stuff.

Eddie, Christopher, and Shannon had issues to work through, and Y/n didn't feel like he needed to be a part of it. As much as he loved Eddie and Christopher, It wasn't his business, and he didn't want to intrude on their personal problems or overstep any boundaries he shouldn't. 

Just as Eddie was finishing up helping Christopher into the car and stowing his crutches in the back, he noticed that Y/n was standing by his own vehicle, making no move to get into the passenger seat of Eddie's truck. Eddie frowned. "What are you doing, Y/n?" he asked, his voice low and questioning, as he walked over to where Y/n was standing and stopped.

Y/n paused, his hand wrapped around the car door handle. "Well, I just figured that..." he rubbed the back of his neck, choosing his words with care. "Maybe I should sit this one out. This seems like a family thing and I don't want to get in the way of—" Y/n's words died on his lips as Eddie suddenly grabbed his hand, the one wrapped around the car door, and dragged him towards the truck without a word. The sudden movement left him stumbling to keep up with Eddie at first, and he almost lost his balance as Eddie propelled him forward. "—or I could still go with you guys, sure. That works, too."

XXXXX XXXXX

Night had fallen, and accompanied with it were a million stars that lit up the dark sky in an ethereal manner. It was such a beautiful sight that it could put someone to sleep from being so mesmerized by it.

And for Christopher, it had.

He had fallen asleep in the truck on the drive back from the pier, his head resting against the seat. Y/n couldn’t blame him. After a long day of riding roller coasters, playing games, and eating more sugary snacks than any child should probably have, exhaustion had caught up to him.

At least, he had a good day.

But Y/n had a feeling that what truly made this day special for Christopher wasn’t just the fun — it was the fact that both of his parents had been there with him. Despite the tension and the history between them, Eddie and Shannon had put their differences aside for the day to give their son the gift of a perfect day.

When they arrived back at Eddie’s house, Y/n was the one who volunteered to take Christopher to his room, scooping up the sleeping boy into his arms and carrying him inside. It served as an excuse that gave Eddie and Shannon the opportunity to talk alone without them being present.

Carefully, Y/n laid Christopher down on his bed, making sure not to wake him up. He reached out to remove Christopher's cap, lifting it off his head and setting it aside on the nightstand. Next, Y/n slid his glasses off his face, folding them up and placing them beside the cap before tucking the blanket up to his chin. In his sleep, Christopher mumbled something incoherent, fingers curling into the fabric.

With a final glance at Christopher's face, Y/n soundlessly stepped out of the room He left the door, slightly ajar, just in case Christopher woke up in the middle of the night, then made his way to the kitchen. He grabbed two beers from the fridge before heading into the living room, where Eddie now sat alone on the couch. Shannon was gone.

Wordlessly, the h/c-haired male sat down beside Eddie on the couch. He didn’t ask what had been said between them. Not yet. Instead, he extended his hand, offering Eddie one of those beers, and Eddie accepted it with a small nod of thanks. His eyes never left the TV that wasn't even on as he twisted off the cap and took a quick chug, downing half of it.

Y/n took a swig of his beer, letting the cool liquid settle on his tongue before swallowing. "So, what did Shannon say to you?" He asked, breaking the silence. 

Now, Y/n's curiosity was piqued, and he patiently waited with bated breath for Eddie to share what had been discussed between him and Shannon. The fact that Shannon had left so soon suggested that it had been brief, and Y/n wondered what could have been talked about in such a short amount of time. At the same time, If Eddie didn't say anything, Y/n wouldn't pry or try to force the issue. Eddie would talk to him about it when he was ready.

"She wants to meet with me on Monday," he answered, "Said she wants us to talk."

Y/n glanced over. "And? What’d you say?"

"I told her 'We’ll see.'"

"That’s a way of saying 'probably not.'"

"Yeah, well…" Eddie took another sip of his beer. "I don’t know if I want to hear whatever she has to say, Y/n." His voice was quieter now, more uncertain and his index finger tapped absently against the bottle. "She didn't just leave me. She left Christopher. The one person who needed her the most. And now, out of nowhere, she wants back in his life? Just like that? After never reaching out to us?" he shook his head. "I don’t know if I can trust that."

Y/n nodded slowly, letting Eddie’s words and his frustration settle between them. He understood, deeply, where Eddie was coming from. How could he not? The pain of Shannon's departure served as a double-edged sword, cutting deep into the hearts of both Eddie and Christopher. The hurt was still raw. She had left Eddie to pick up the pieces and left Christopher with nothing but questions and an empty space where his mother should’ve been. Now, just because she had decided she wanted to come back, Eddie's supposed to just let her? No, It wasn’t that simple.

But still... 

The silence between them had stretched out briefly. Then: "You should talk to her." Y/n suggested, his words a gentle nudge in a specific direction for Eddie to reopen a door that had been locked for so long.

Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed slightly as he considered Y/n's suggestion. "Should I?"

"Yeah." Y/n’s voice was unwavering and he was sticking to his assertion. "Look, man, I’m not saying you have to forgive Shannon or even put any trust in her. But don’t you think it’s at least worth hearing her out? Not for her, but for Christopher."

Eddie did not respond right away, but he also didn’t immediately argue, which Y/n took as a good sign for him to continue.

"You saw how happy he was today. It’s been a minute since he’s seen his mom, and despite everything, he still loves her. That’s not gonna change." He turned his body slightly to face Eddie fully. "I know you don’t want to talk to her, but ignoring Shannon will not make this situation go away. If she’s serious about being in his life again, then you'll need to lay down some boundaries. Figure out what this means for Christopher. And the only way to do that is to talk to her. Face to face."

Hazel eyes drifted over to meet e/c eyes. "Speaking from experience, aren't you?"

There was no denying it. "You know that I am," the words slipped out Y/n’s mouth, quiet and tentative, his gaze drifting off.

It was a well-known fact that Y/n's childhood had been far from traditional. His mom had left when he was just five years old, abandoning him and his two siblings to be raised by their dad alone. He was forced to play the role of both mother and father to three chaotic boys.

Y/n didn't have a lot of memories of her. But one thing that remained etched in his mind was the overwhelming sense of sadness and hurt that had engulfed him when his father broke the news that she left and would not be coming back.

The concept of abandonment had been beyond his comprehension. All he knew was that his mother — the woman who was supposed to love and care for him, had chosen to leave. The confusion and pain had been suffocating, and Y/n had struggled to make sense of it all. He had wondered, as many children do when it comes to those types of situations, if it was something that he had done wrong.

Had Y/n been naughty? Had he not been good enough? The questions had swirled in his mind, fueling a deep-seated fear that he was somehow to blame for this. He even thought maybe it was his dad's fault or his siblings'. Or maybe they all had done something to drive her away?

Whatever it was, he had been convinced that if she just came home, everything would be okay and that they could work through their issues and be happy again.

Things that are broken could be fixed.

Despite the pain and confusion of his mother's departure, Y/n's love for her had never wavered. He had held onto the hope, the desperate wish, the silent plea, that she would one-night return to the family she had abandoned. Y/n had often found himself lying awake at night, long after his dad had tucked him in and turned out the lights. He would sneak out of bed and make his way to the window, pushing back the curtains to keep watch. He would be ready when she came back.

But she never came, and Y/n's hopes had faded. His desire for reconciliation gave way to a sense of resignation, and eventually, to a deep-seated indifference.

He stopped idly waiting for his mother to come back, stopped wondering what had driven her away, and stopped caring about the situation altogether. Or, that's what he told himself after all this time.

Thinking about it now, Y/n... wasn’t sure if that wound had ever truly healed. But if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that he didn’t want Christopher to go through the same thing he had. Because, unlike Y/n’s mother, Shannon had come back to reconcile with Christopher. She was trying. That counted for something.

A quiet sigh slipped past Eddie’s lips. He couldn’t deny that Y/n had made a pretty good point, particularly when it came to his son. He noticed how Christopher kept grinning all day, barely letting go of his mom’s hand, talking her ear off like he'd saved every story just for her. That kind of happiness? It mattered to Christopher, and because of that, it mattered to Eddie too. And yet— "What if she leaves again?"

There it is. That was the real fear, wasn’t it? That Shannon would step back into Christopher’s life, make him believe she was staying, and then disappear all over again. That she'd give him hope, only to rip it away. That she’d hurt him. Again. And Eddie would have to deal with the effect that would have on Christopher.

"I don’t know, man," Y/n admitted gently, not pretending to have all the answers. They're not psychics. They can't predict the future, but they can control how they respond to the present. "Maybe she will. Maybe she won’t. Regardless, don’t you think it’s better to hear her out? To see if she’s serious about making things right?"

Eddie looked away, his lips pressing into a thin line as he turned Y/n's words over in his mind, weighing them against all his fears. Silence took over, and, when Eddie didn't respond after a minute, Y/n placed a hand on Eddie's knee. "Talk to her. Not for Shannon's sake, but for your sake. And, most importantly, for Christopher’s."

Eddie took a deep breath and held it before exhaling slowly through his nose. Y/n always had a way of cutting through the noise and making hard things sound simple, even when they weren’t far from simple. But maybe that was because this situation was something Y/n understood better than anyone since he lived it, too.

"Yeah. Maybe you're right," he muttered.

A small smirk appeared. "I usually am."

That pulled a tired chuckle out of Eddie, and he shook his head. "Don’t get cocky."

Y/n gave Eddie’s knee a squeeze before leaning back onto the couch. "Too late."

The two fell into another easy silence, and after a moment, Eddie took another sip of his beer. Y/n did the same, and for the first time since Shannon showed up, Eddie was allowing himself to breathe.

And that? That was one step forward.

XXXXX XXXXX

Monday morning had arrived, and Y/n was settled into his cubicle, surrounded by the familiar trappings of his workday routine. He was hunched over a glowing screen with his business activity reports spread out in front of him, half reviewed and half waiting. His half-drunk cup of coffee sat to his left, lukewarm by now, while a notepad filled with bullet points, reminders, and scribbles lay on his right.

With a pen in hand, Y/n's handwriting flowed effortlessly across the page as he added a few more important notes to his list, eyes flicking between the screen and the page until a soft chime from his computer pulled his attention away. A message popped up in the corner of his screen from his boss, James Thompson.

Please come to my office immediately. 

Upon reading that, Y/n felt his heartbeat quicken slightly. It wasn't that he was afraid of his boss, or that he had a bad relationship with him. On the contrary, James was a kind and understanding boss, and Y/n had always appreciated his supportive and encouraging nature.

Y/n respected him both personally and professionally. Despite their nice working relationship, Y/n's mind couldn't help but wander to all the possible reasons why he might be summoned to James's office since the message had no context and no pleasantries.

Was it something good, or something bad? Had he done something wrong, or was it just a routine meeting? Or worse, did he screw up the Morgan deal in any way? He hoped not, but the only way to figure it out was to go to James' office and face whatever was waiting for him.

Pushing away from his desk, Y/n stood, adjusted his tie, and smoothed the front of his shirt. He took a steadying breath, then made his way toward the executive offices. His feet came to a sudden stop in front of the familiar gray metal doors and Y/n raised his hand, knocking on it.

There was an immediate: "Come in."

Y/n turned the handle and stepped inside. The curtains were drawn wide, letting in slats of golden morning light.  James sat behind his desk, fingers mid-typing until he gazed up to see Y/n enter.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Y/n asked, closing the door behind him with a quiet click since this conversation was meant to be private. His tone was even, though, his nerves were bubbling hotly in his gut.

The dark-skinned man sat up in his chair, steepling his fingers together as he studied Y/n with a neutral expression, one that was impossible for Y/n to read. His silence stretched for just a beat too long, making Y/n shift slightly where he stood. "Have a seat," James finally said, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk.

Y/n did as he was told and sat down in the seat, his hands resting on his thighs, and he waited for whatever was coming.

James studied him for a moment before letting out a sigh. "Y/n, do you know why I called you in here?" and here we begin.

Y/n swallowed, the dryness of his mouth making his tongue feel like sandpaper against the roof of it. "I, um… not really, no." I didn’t do anything! He screamed in his head. Well, I don't think I did anything.

James hummed, nodding slightly. "Well, let me ask you this." He leaned forward, "Is there anything you’d like to tell me?"

Y/n’s brain went into overdrive. Shit. That sounded like something a parent would say when they already knew what you did and were just waiting for you to confess. And James's tone implied he already knew something and was just waiting for Y/n to finally spill the beans.

Y/n's mind scrambled to review every possible mistake he could have made.

Had he made a critical error in the financial reports? Or perhaps he had accidentally sent a sensitive email to the wrong client, compromising confidential information? As he mentally reviewed his recent work and interactions, Y/n did not think it was anything that mundane. He was a diligent and competent employee, always careful to double-check his work and follow procedures. He got along well with his coworkers, and his performance reviews had always been glowing, so no write-up or a serious talking-to. So, what could it be, then? Suddenly, it struck him.

The Morgan deal, Y/n thought. He hadn't received any updates on how it went. And, judging by the way James was looking at him, Y/n had this sinking feeling that he might have screwed it up. He needed to be certain, of course, but he couldn't help but think that he had blown it, that he had made a mistake that would have serious consequences for the company.

Y/n cleared his throat — a nervous habit that showed his otherwise unconfidently calm demeanor. "Uh... not that I know of."

James’s eyes narrowed. "Are you sure?"

Y/n nodded quickly. "Yes. I-I think so..."

The silence that followed was deafening. James just studied him, unreadable, for one… two… three painfully long seconds before breaking into a wide grin. "Well, that’s good," he said casually, "because I was just about to congratulate you, man."

Say what? Y/n blinked rapidly as if trying to clear away the disbelievement and the confusion that had suddenly descended upon him. "Wait... what?" Just moments ago, he had been bracing himself for bad news, for criticism or disappointment, and now... now James was smiling and about to congratulate him? What the hell was happening—? He was very confused.

James chuckled, clearly amused. "Relax, Y/n. I was messing with you." He opened a drawer, pulled out a thick folder, and placed it squarely on the desk. "I called you in here to personally commend you on finalizing the Morgan deal. You handled it better than some of our senior managers would’ve, honestly."

Immediately, Y/n let out a breath he had been holding in. His shoulders, which had been tensed up in anticipation of bad news, sagged slightly, relaxing into a more natural position as the tension seeped out of his body. "Oh," he exhaled a soft laugh. "That's good. You seriously had me thinking I was about to get fired."

James' face broke out into a smirk. "If I ever plan to fire you, I promise I won’t be so dramatic about it." He tapped the file. "The Morgans were impressed with your professionalism and strategic approach. So much so that they officially signed the contract this morning. The deal's closed."

Relief flooded Y/n’s chest, followed by a sense of pride. He did it. He actually did it. Guess all those eleven-hour shifts, six days a week, had paid off in the best way possible.

"Wow…" he breathed. "That’s… incredible."

James nodded. "It is. And because of your hard work, this firm just secured one of the most lucrative partnerships we've had in years." A deliberate pause followed before adding: "Which means, you have more than earned a promotion."

Y/n’s head jerked up. "I’m sorry — what?" His voice might've gotten a tad higher as he grinned at the man behind the desk. 

James chuckled at his expression. "You heard me. I’m recommending you for the Hedge Fund Portfolio Manager position."

Y/n blinked twice. "You're serious?" He needed to confirm that he heard James correctly, that this wasn't just some kind of cruel joke or a misunderstanding. The position that James had mentioned was a highly coveted one, a role that Y/n had never imagined he'd be considered for, especially not at this stage in his career.

Y/n was aware that there were others in the company who had been working towards a promotion like this, who had more experience and more seniority, and yet James was offering it to him. This is insane. Y/n hadn't been gunning for this role, but he would gladly accept the offer.

"Completely. You have proven yourself capable of handling high-profile clients and complex negotiations. It’s time you get the title and the paycheck to match."

For a moment, Y/n was left speechless. This was something he had been working towards for almost seven years, since he had first walked through the doors of the company as a secretary, fresh out of college and eager to make his mark.

He had always known that it wouldn't be easy, that he would have to put in the long hours, endure the stress, and pour over endless spreadsheets and financial reports. But he had never thought that it would pay off so soon. He had assumed that it would take a few more years, even a decade before he would be considered for a position like Hedge Fund Portfolio Manager. Guess he had been wrong.

"I… I don’t even know what to say."

"A ‘thank you’ wouldn’t be a bad place to start." James teased, loving his reaction, layers of amusement laced in his voice.

Y/n laughed under his breath. "Thank you, James. Seriously. This means a lot." He couldn't stop smiling. But as he was basking in the glow of his good fortune, a sudden thought occurred to him, and his expression turned curious. "I didn't even know that position was available."

The sentence had a profound effect on James' expression, causing his features to shift from a warm and congratulatory grin to a more serious and introspective look. It had caught Y/n off guard. "That's because the position isn’t available here."

Y/n's face scrunched up in confusion, his brows furrowing. "What do you mean?"

"The Hedge Fund position is available at Bridgewater Associates in Austin, Texas."

For a moment, Y/n just... stared. It was like someone had hit pause. His brain stalled, like a car engine sputtering on a cold winter morning. And then, suddenly, his brain kicked back into gear. "Texas?" he said, "As in... not Los Angeles, Texas."

James gave a single nod. "That’s right."

"That’s… that’s pretty far." Like really far. 

"It is pretty far." James’s tone softened. "And I know how much you like working here, how much you’ve built a life in L.A. But this is an incredible opportunity, Y/n. Bridgewater is one of the top investment firms in the country. Getting in with them at this level? It’s not something that comes around often. It’s the kind of break people wait decades for. This is a chance to take your career to the next level, to work with the best of the best."

Y/n's mouth opened, then closed, as if he was trying to find the right words to express his thoughts, but they seemed to be stuck in his throat. Then, it opened again like a fish out of water and he was about to speak, but still, no words came out. This was not what he had expected when he walked into James' office today.

A promotion? Yes, that had been a possibility, a welcome surprise, even. A promotion that required relocating to a completely different part of the country? That... was something entirely different.

James must’ve sensed the storm of his thoughts because he continued, "I'm not asking for an answer right this second. I just wanted you to be the first to know. You’ve earned this, Y/n. But I get it. It’s a big decision. Take a little time to think it over." Then came the kicker. "But not too much time. If you accept, they will want you in Austin by the end of next month."

The end of next month. Seven weeks, barely any time at all, to make a decision that would change the course of his life. Regardless, Y/n forced himself to nod to give James some indication that he was taking the offer seriously. "Sounds good."

James slid a folder across the desk. "Here’s everything you need to know about the position, the firm, the salary—" he shot Y/n a knowing look, "—which, by the way, is extremely generous. This also includes relocation support and benefits. Look through it and weigh your options. And whatever you choose, just know I’m in your corner. We’d hate to lose you, but we’d be damn proud to see you move up."

Another nod from Y/n. "I appreciate it."

"Of course." James stood and extended a hand. "No matter what you decide, just know that you’ve done exceptional work here. I know you’ll keep doing good work, whether it’s here or it's across state lines."

Y/n stood and shook James' hand, firm and steady. He picked up the folder and left the office, walking toward the break room with a mind that was spinning way faster than he could keep up with. Gosh.

Austin, Texas.

Y/n could practically feel the weight of this choice pressing on his shoulders. He knew that James was right. This was a rare opportunity for someone like him. Most people would jump at the chance to work for such a prestigious company without hesitation and he felt grateful to have been considered for the role. But on the other hand, accepting the promotion would mean leaving everything behind. His friends, a job he genuinely enjoyed, and the city that had become his home.

Amidst the pros and cons, one thought stood out to Y/n above the rest. Leaving Los Angeles would mean leaving Eddie, the man he had fallen deeply in love with.

Fuck.

What the hell was he supposed to do?

Y/n didn’t have the answer. Not yet. But he knew he needed to think. Really think. That’s exactly what he was going to do.

Stepping into the break room, Y/n grabbed his lunch bag from the fridge and made his way outside. The sun was out, the breeze was light, and it felt like a waste to eat indoors on a day like today. Jela, his best friend, was already waiting for Y/n at one of the patio tables, waving him over as soon as she spotted him.

Jela asked what took him so long to arrive here, even though he was only five minutes late, and Y/n gave her a recount of what happened inside James's office.

"You can’t move to Texas, Y/n," Jela exclaimed, immediately rebuking Y/n’s possible future plans to leave California.

"Oh, really?" Y/n snorted, stabbing a fork into his container of mac and cheese. "And why not?" He had to hear this.

"Because you can't leave me here, that's why not!" she took a slow sip of her drink, Sprite — with extra ice — before adding, "Besides, you won't like it in Texas. It's not your scene, Y/n. You're a California boy, through and through. You thrive on the laid-back, sun-kissed vibe of LA, the overpriced coffees, the late-night tacos, and the traffic-related rage we have. Not the cowboy boots and country music of Texas," Jela then drove home her point. "More importantly, there's no me there."

"I’ll come back and visit." 

"Nope. Visiting isn't good enough. You're staying here," she declared as if she had the power to make that decision for him. Y/n couldn't help but chuckle at her bossy tone, but he knew that she was only looking out for him. Jela took a bite of her sandwich, chewing quickly and swallowing before continuing. "I doubt your little firefighter would be happy that you moved away," she set her sandwich down on her plate. "Speaking of that, how was your little weekend with him? Did y'all go to the Santa Monica Pier?"

"Yes," the h/c haired male confirmed. "we did. Christopher was there too along with…" a slight pause formed on Y/n’s lips for a second. "along with Eddie’s ex-wife."

All of a sudden, Jela froze, the chip in her hand hovering in mid-air, more than halfway to her mouth. Her eyes flickered over to Y/n, and she blinked. "Eddie's ex-wife is back?" she questioned, and Y/n nodded. "And what is she doing back?"

Y/n's shoulders shrugged in a casual, nonchalant manner, "She wanted to see Christopher and talk to Eddie. If I had to guess, I'd say that she wants to be back in the picture and be a part of their lives." 

The brunette's eyes never left Y/n's face as she searched her friend for any signs of unease or discomfort. "And you're just okay with her being back in the picture?"

"Uh, yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?" Y/n’s tone took on a bit of perplexity and confusion.

He didn't understand why Jela was questioning his reaction to Eddie's ex-wife being back in the picture. He didn't feel like he had any reason to be upset or concerned, but Jela appeared to think otherwise. Y/n could tell Jela was trying to imply something, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what the implication was.

"Oh, I don't know," and Jela's tone implied that she did know something. "Maybe because ex-wives have a funny way of suddenly stepping back into the picture and messing things up? You don't think there's even a chance that Eddie might... I don't know, start re-evaluating things now that she's back. You're telling me you're not even a little worried that if she sticks around, you'll get pushed aside?"

Y/n's mouth fell open slightly. Her words hit him. He hadn't even considered the possibility that Eddie's ex-wife's return could threaten his own relationship with Eddie. Maybe it was because Y/n knew Eddie loved him. Maybe it was because he trusted that Eddie wouldn’t just drop him like a hot potato if Shannon decided to stick around Eddie and Los Angeles.

Sure, yes, Eddie and Shannon had...well, history. A marriage. A child. They shared something that Y/n could never fully be a part of, no matter how much he loved Christopher or how close he was to him.

But still, he shook his head, pushing that thought aside. “Eddie and I are solid. I’m not worried about that," and he wasn’t. Or at least, he hadn’t been until Jela put the idea into his head. "And Shannon sticking around doesn’t change that."

Jela's eyes narrowed slightly as she studied Y/n, her expression skeptical. She didn't seem convinced by his words at all and Y/n could tell that she was still concerned about the potential impact of Shannon's return on his relationship with Eddie. "Mmm," she popped a chip into her mouth. "Just promise me one thing?"

Y/n placed his fork down. "What?" 

"Put yourself first. Always. Don’t let yourself be the last priority in your own life. You are worth much more than that."

Y/n didn’t answer immediately. He stared down at his lunch, his appetite suddenly not as strong as a minute ago. But after a long pause, he finally nodded.

"Yeah," he murmured quietly. "I promise."

It was a reasonable promise for Y/n to make, but he had nothing to worry about.

Oh, how he hoped he didn’t. 

XXXXX XXXXX

By the time Y/n pulled up to Eddie’s house that evening, the sun was slowly dipping below the horizon, casting long, golden streaks across the wide sky. He had come here tonight to see how the talk with Eddie and Shannon went. Y/n hoped that it went well and that the two had come to some sort of an agreement.

When he unlocked the door and stepped inside, he was immediately struck by the quiet atmosphere of the house. He didn't see Christopher anywhere, which was a bit unusual, but his attention was quickly drawn to Eddie, who was standing near the couch, eyes glued to his phone. He looked up when he heard the door open.

"Hey, cariño," Eddie greeted with a smile, crossing the living room and planting a kiss on Y/n’s lips. "Didn't expect you."

"I wanted to check in to see how the talk went with you and Shannon," Y/n replied, taking a small step back. "How did it go?"

"It was fine. We had a long talk," Eddie gestured for Y/n to sit with him on the couch. Once they were settled, Eddie continued recounting the conversation with Shannon. "We went over everything. Why she left, why she stayed away, what she wants now. And in the end, I decided that she could co-parent with me. Full Time. Christopher wants her in his life, and, as much as I hate how things went down, I can't deny how happy he was to see her. I can't take that away from him."

Y/n nodded slowly, processing Eddie’s words. "That’s great, Eddie," he said, and he meant it. He was truly happy they had been able to actually have a productive conversation and come to a decision that would benefit Christopher. The kid deserved to have both of his parents in his life, and Y/n was glad that Shannon, for all her past mistakes, was making a conscious effort to be a part of it now. That's more than Y/n ever got from his.

Eddie gave a small smile. "Yeah. Me too."

Still, Y/n could tell that, despite the small smile and the words of agreement, Eddie was carrying some uncertainty. The decision to co-parent with Shannon wasn't going to be an easy one, however, Eddie was trying for Christopher’s sake. That was the only thing that mattered.

All of a sudden, Y/n's gaze drifted from Eddie's eyes to slightly downward, and he took note of what Eddie was wearing. Tan dressy shirt, paired with black pants that accentuated his lean physique, and — Y/n's nose sniffed the air — Eddie was wearing cologne. If Y/n didn't know any better, he would have thought that Eddie was getting ready for a night out on the town, perhaps, even a date. But Y/n was certain they didn't have any plans tonight.

Curiosity hit Y/n. "Going somewhere?"

Eddie cleared his throat, a slight nervousness creeping into his voice. "Yeah, actually. Christopher said that he wanted me and Shannon to take him out to dinner tonight..." and he watched Y/n attentively. "I hope that's okay with you."

"Oh! Oh, uh, yeah — of course that’s okay with me," Y/n hated how high-pitched his voice came out as he reassured Eddie. "I actually have... plans myself," that was a lie. He didn't have any plans with anyone. "Buck and I were actually going out to a bar tonight. Grabbing food, hanging out, having fun... you know, just a guys' night out. I should probably go and get ready."

It was a bullshit excuse, but Eddie didn’t seem to pick up on it. And that gave Y/n the opening to leave. He stood,  heading towards the door, but Eddie reached out and gently grabbed his wrist, his fingers wrapping around it in a firm but gentle hold, stopping him from leaving just yet. 

"Wait." Eddie stood too. "How was work?"

For the briefest moment, Y/n hesitated in answering the question. He could tell Eddie now — he could tell him, right here and now, that he had been offered a job in Texas and had a big decision to make.

But he looked at Eddie, dressed up for dinner with his son and ex-wife, finally starting to rebuild something important. He realized that he just… couldn’t. Y/n didn’t want to ruin his night. He couldn’t drop that bomb right before Eddie went to dinner. It didn’t feel right. Not tonight. Not when Eddie deserved this moment of peace from having figured out the co-parenting situation, dealing with his ex, and giving Christopher what he wanted.

Therefore, Y/n pasted a smile on his lips, trying to seem nonchalant and carefree. "It was good. I closed the Morgan deal."

Eddie’s face immediately brightened, his mouth curling into a proud smile. "That’s amazing," he said, his grip on Y/n’s wrist loosening as his hand slid down to lace their fingers together. "I knew you would."

Y/n massaged the back of his neck. "Yeah, well… wasn’t easy, but it’s done." And it earned me a job offer in another state, went unsaid. "You should probably get going. Don’t wanna be late for dinner."

"Yeah," Eddie nodded, adjusting his shirt. "You should go get ready, too," he leaned in, pressing another kiss to Y/n’s lips softly. "Have fun tonight. Text me later?"

"Sure," the word slipped out of Y/n's mouth with ease, as he backed towards the door. "I will. I hope you have fun, too."

And with that, he left.

As he drove away, Jela’s question from earlier echoed in his head, looping like a song he couldn’t turn off, a lingering itch he needed to scratch. You’re telling me you’re not even a little worried that if she sticks around, you’ll get pushed aside?

Would Y/n get pushed to the side by Eddie now that Shannon was back into the fold? What if Jela was right? What if Shannon did threaten their relationship?

No, Y/n shook his head. Just because Shannon's back, doesn't mean anything. Eddie loves me. He would never do that.

Too bad the man didn't feel confident at all saying that inside his own head. The reassurance did not land. It felt hollow; forced. And as time went on, Y/n would find himself returning to Jela's question, and his unconfident reassurance, again and again. There were moments, three in particular, that would make Y/n question everything. Moments when he didn’t just feel pushed aside. He was pushed aside.

The first time it happened, Y/n had tried to brush it off as no big deal. It had been a long, exhausting week for the two men, and they had planned a much-needed night in. Just the two of them. Takeout, a fun action movie, and some peace and quiet. Shannon had said she would have Christopher at her apartment that night, therefore. It was the perfect opportunity. Y/n had even stopped by Eddie’s favorite Mexican place after work, grabbing their usual order of soft tacos and quesadillas.

Unfortunately, just as Y/n was pulling up to Eddie's house, his phone buzzed with an incoming text message. He glanced down to see Eddie's name on the screen.

Eddie: Y/n, I have to reschedule tonight. Shannon wants to take Christopher out for ice cream, and he wants me to come with him. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.

Y/n stared at the message before letting out a tiny breath. It’s fine, he texted back.

He told himself it’s fine as he went home with enough Mexican food for two. It’s fine as Y/n ate alone in his apartment, scrolling through Netflix with no real interest. It’s fine because, logically, Eddie was doing what a good dad should do, being there for his kid, making sure Christopher got time with both his parents. He could not, in good conscience, be upset with that.

Yet, despite the rationalizations, despite the understanding that Eddie was doing what was best for Christopher, Y/n still felt disappointed and frustrated. He just wanted to spend some time with Eddie. That night had been for just them. And suddenly, it wasn’t. Ever since Shannon had come back into the fold, they hadn't spent any real time with just each other.

The second time it happened, the hurt cut deeper. It was during one of Bobby's famous firehouse gatherings, a monthly tradition that brought the 118 together to unwind, share some good food, and enjoy each other's company in a more relaxed setting. Family and friends were always invited. Y/n, himself, had been to a few of these gatherings before. It was something he always looked forward to.

So, when Buck mentioned the upcoming firehouse gathering, Y/n had assumed that he and Eddie would attend together, just like they had done previously. It was a natural assumption, given their history and the fact that, well, they were dating. Except, two days before the event, Eddie casually mentioned that he was bringing Shannon along with Y/n and Christopher.

"She's been getting along with Buck and Hen really well," Eddie didn't even look up from his phone as he spoke. "Figured it’d be good for her to meet my entire team."

Y/n had nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Yeah. Makes sense." It did not make any sense. He had felt a pang of disappointment and hurt, but he didn't want to show it, didn't want to give Eddie a reason to think he was being jealous or unreasonably possessive over him. Stop.

And that's how Y/n ended up walking into the gathering alone that day. It was a weird, disorienting sensation like he was observing the scene from outside his body. Eddie was there, of course, but he was nowhere to be found, at least not in the way that Y/n was used to. Instead of being together, sharing drinks, talking with the team, stealing touches when no one was looking, and laughing together, Eddie... he was glued to Shannon's side.

The entire time.

Y/n was annoyed.

Because, suddenly, Shannon was the one laughing at his jokes. She was the one sitting next to him at the table. She was the one who Eddie turned to when someone casually mentioned their son.

She had, seamlessly, inserted herself into their little world, and Mr. Diaz was more than happy to accommodate her. Well, he supposed it was her world, too.

And Y/n? He felt invisible. 

But what made Y/n's annoyance spike to a whole new level was when he was making some small talk with Bobby and Athena. His eyes suddenly drifted over to Eddie and Shannon, Eddie had his hand on Shannon's back, with his fingers gently resting on the curve of her spine, and Shannon was leaning into his side.

Y/n frowned. What the hell was that? It’s fine, he had to tell himself that yet again.

But this time, it didn’t feel fine.

The third time, though? That was the one that broke something inside of Y/n. He had known for months that his dad and stepmom were planning something big for his birthday. He didn't want a huge party. Just a small gathering, something low-key, but they had insisted. Thirty is a milestone, his father had said. You only turn it once, son. So, his dad rented out an upscale rooftop venue in downtown LA, with a breathtaking view of the city.

Fancy lights, good food, and a ridiculous guest list. Okay. Fine. He could deal with the whole "big party" thing. It wasn't his ideal way to celebrate his birthday, but if it made his dad and stepmom happy, he was willing to go along with it. But the one thing he did want? Eddie there. So, he had told him weeks in advance and made sure he put it in his calendar. Y/n had even reminded Eddie multiple times.

Eddie had promised he'd be there.

And yet. As Y/n stood in the middle of an expensive rooftop venue, surrounded by friends, family, coworkers, and unfamiliar faces, Eddie was nowhere to be found.

At first, he gave him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe something came up with Christopher. Maybe he was running late or had an emergency. Y/n sent a quick text.

Hey, everything okay?

No reply.

Minutes turned into an hour. Then two. Y/n checked his phone — no messages. He tried calling — no answer. Voicemail.

Not even a simple Happy Birthday. The thought echoed in Y/n's mind like a cruel joke, and it hurt more than he expected. Even if Eddie couldn’t make it, he should have remembered. Y/n’s older brother had flown in from Maryland to celebrate. And Eddie, who lived in the same state, couldn't even be bothered to send a text.

The party carried on, but a quiet sort of numbness settled into Y/n’s bones as went through the motions. He accepted hugs and well-wishes from his friends and family, thanked them for their gifts and kind words, smiled when he needed to, laughed when someone made a joke, posed for pictures, and even danced to the music. But all he could think about was the fact that Eddie wasn’t there.

After Y/n blew out his candles and the party picked back up, Y/n, surprisingly, managed to sneak out of his own party without anyone knowing. He wanted to check on Eddie. If something had come up to where he couldn’t make it, then Y/n could accept that. He just needed to see for himself if that was the case. 

Inserting a key into the lock, Y/n twisted it to the right and pushed the door open, stepping inside. Relief washed over him first because Eddie was home. He was safe. He looked perfectly fine. Oh, thank God. And then, just as quickly, that relief turned into something sharp and painful.

Shannon was with Eddie on the couch. And Eddie was kissing her. On the lips.

"…Wow," he breathed. It came out small, nearly silent, but enough for them to hear.

The soft whisper startled them apart like they had been caught in a guilty act. Eddie jerked back so fast like he’d been burned. His eyes snapped to Y/n, "Y/n—" 

Y/n's hand shot up, palm facing Eddie as if to ward off any further explanation or apology. "Don't," he made sure to keep his voice calm, even, somehow, despite wanting to scream and cry. "Just don’t." 

He didn't want to hear the lies, the half-truths, or the rationalizations that would only serve to further hurt and betray him. Y/n didn't want to talk to Eddie at all. He ran out of the house, not stopping until he reached his car, where he flung open the door and slid into the driver's seat. Y/n could hear Eddie's voice, calling out to him, pleading with him to stop, to talk, to listen. But Y/n was beyond listening. He started the car and quickly drove away. 

When Y/n pulled into his apartment complex and turned off the engine, Y/n allowed himself to feel. The scream that tore out of his throat was anguished and raw and spoke of how he was currently feeling. He let it rip, allowing himself to release all of that pain and hurt that had been building up inside him for weeks.

Tears fell down his face as he cried, racking sobs shaking his entire body. God, he felt like he was falling apart like his world was crumbling around him. Y/n slammed his fist into the steering wheel. Again and again, until his knuckles hurt.

Eddie. His Eddie. The man he loved with every fiber of his being. The man he had trusted with his heart, secrets, and fears. This same man had cheated on him with his ex-wife. Eddie forgot his birthday to be with Shannon. Y/n had spent all night making excuses for him. Had bent over backward convincing himself there had to be a good reason Eddie didn't come.  As it turned out, the only reason Eddie hadn’t shown up… was because he was with her. Y/n felt like an idiot. He was one.

And he felt like he was going to be sick. 

His phone buzzed in the passenger seat, jolting him out of his current state. Y/n glanced at it and wasn’t surprised to see Eddie’s name flash across the screen. Y/n stared at it before pressing the decline button. Not now. He put his phone on silent mode, silencing the ringing and the notifications before putting it face down on the seat. He didn't want to talk to him.

He didn’t give up, though. For days, Eddie made a concerted effort to reach out to Y/n, to apologize and explain and make amends for his betrayal. He called Y/n's phone, but it went unanswered. He sent text message after text message, but Y/n never responded to them. Eddie even left him voicemails, but they went unacknowledged. He even showed up at Y/n's apartment, hoping to catch him off guard and force a conversation. But Y/n avoided him at all costs. He made sure to leave for work early and come home late to avoid any chance encounters with him. 

It wasn't until the hazel-eyed firefighter showed up at Y/n's workplace, bursting into an important meeting and causing a scene, that Y/n finally felt compelled to confront him. The interruption was embarrassing, to say the least, and Y/n's colleagues were shocked by the sudden appearance of his estranged partner. Eddie's timing couldn't have been worse, and Y/n's professional reputation was at risk of being tarnished by the drama that was unfolding. When Eddie threatened to return the next day, and the day after that, until Y/n agreed to talk to him, Y/n decided to give Eddie that conversation.

Which was how he found himself sitting at the kitchen table of his apartment, with Eddie choosing to sit next to him. Buck was out, leaving the two of them alone. Y/n had agreed to talk to Eddie, but he hadn't agreed to make it easy for him. He avoided eye contact, refusing to meet Eddie's gaze, instead, focusing on the lines and creases on his own hands.

Eddie was the one to break the silence.

"How have you been?"

How has he been? Was Eddie serious right now? That’s what he was leading with? Y/n’s jaw clenched and he finally looked up at him. "What did you want to talk to me about?" he asked flatly, cutting straight through the small talk. He didn't even bother answering Eddie's question.

Eddie shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. "I... I wanted to apologize to you."

Y/n didn’t say anything. He just stared at him, waiting for more words to spill out.

Eddie swallowed, running a hand through his hair. "I fucked up," he admitted, "I should have been at your birthday. I should have at least called. There’s no excuse for that. And I sure as hell shouldn’t have—" He cut himself off, shutting his eyes for a brief second as if he couldn't bear to say the words out loud before exhaling heavily. "I shouldn’t have done what I did with Shannon that night."

There it was, verbally spoken. The thing Y/n had been replaying in his head on a loop since that night. Y/n inhaled slowly, holding his breath for a moment before letting it go. Then, softly, he asked, "Did Shannon kiss you… or did you kiss her?"

He wanted to know if Eddie had been a willing participant or if Shannon was the one who initiated the act. The distinction may seem insignificant, but to Y/n, it was everything. It was the difference between a moment of weakness and a deliberate choice, between a mistake and a betrayal. 

Eddie’s lips parted slightly, and Y/n could see the shame and guilt flicker across his features before he even answered.

"I kissed her."

Y/n felt a piece of his heart break from the admission, but he didn’t let his face betray his feelings. Not visibly or audibly. He had been hoping, desperately hoping, that Eddie would voice something else.  That he would claim it was all a mistake, that Shannon had kissed him and he was going to push her away. But no, Eddie had kissed her. He had made a choice, a deliberate choice to betray Y/n's trust and hurt him in the worst possible way.

Don't do it. Don't you dare let him see you cry! He screamed silently to himself. He would not give Eddie the satisfaction of seeing him break down, of seeing him vulnerable and weak. Instead, he gave a slow, numb nod, letting the words settle between them. Let it sting. And then, he asked the question that had been eating away at him ever since that fateful night.

"Why?"

Eddie's hands rose to his face, rubbing over his eyes and cheeks as if trying to scrub away the exhaustion and guilt that marred his countenance. "I don’t know," he muttered at first. But when Y/n shot him a look that said he was full of shit, he sighed. "That’s not true. I do know."

"I've been..." he paused, his eyes darting around the kitchen, seemingly searching for the right words, the right explanation. His gaze finally settled back on Y/n, and he took a deep breath before continuing. "...spending so much time with Shannon these days. Mostly because Christopher wanted us to. And it's been... just... easy."

Y/n felt his throat tighten, but he did not say anything. He just let Eddie talk freely.

Eddie exhaled. "She’s different now. More present. More committed to being there for Christopher. And for the first time in forever, we felt like…" his voice trailed off before he finally admitted, "Like a family. And I liked it. A lot. It made me... happy."

The truth was finally out, laid bare and unvarnished. Y/n had been too afraid to acknowledge it, too afraid to confront the possibility that Eddie's heart still belonged to someone else. But now, it was impossible to deny. Eddie still had feelings for Shannon, feelings that went beyond mere co-parenting or friendship. And Shannon, well, she clearly still had feelings for him, too. That was evident.

"You know, I thought we were good," Y/n said quietly. "I thought we were solid."

"We were," Eddie replied quickly. "We are."

The sound that escaped Y/n's lips was a quiet, bitter laugh, a harsh and mirthless thing that seemed to cut through the air like a knife. "No, no, we're not. You don’t forget your boyfriend’s birthday if things are solid. You wouldn't have ignored my calls, left me hanging and wondering if everything was alright with you. And you sure as hell wouldn't have kissed her."

Eddie didn't argue. He couldn't.

"I get it, though," Y/n continued softly. "She’s Christopher’s mom. You two have history. After everything, you want that family unit and to give your son what he needs. And that’s okay." His lips pressed together. "I can’t be in the middle of that."

"Y/n—" Eddie’s voice cracked.

"We can’t be together," Y/n said, even as it broke him to say it. "Not after this. Not after you kissed Shannon and made me feel neglected. You still love her. I see it."

Eddie's shoulders sagged. "It wasn't—" he started, but then stopped himself, as if realizing that any excuse or justification would be useless. The words died on his lips, and he was left with only the truth. "I do love you, Y/n. That hasn't changed."

Y/n looked away, blinking hard before meeting his eyes again. “Maybe not," he honestly didn’t know if he believed Eddie loved him. "But that's not enough, is it?"

Eddie looked like he wanted to argue. Like he wanted to fight for them. But the problem was, Y/n could see the truth for what it was now, and he deserved to be someone's first choice, not their second. He deserved to be loved with a love that was whole and complete, not a love that was fragmented and divided between him and someone else. He's worth more.

Y/n stood up, swallowing past the ache in his throat. "I think that you should go."

Eddie hesitated, his eyes searching Y/n’s face as if looking for some sign that he could fix this. But Y/n didn’t give him one. After a long pause, Eddie slowly stood, too. He looked like he wanted to say more, but in the end, all he said was:

"I’m sorry."

Y/n nodded once. "Me too."

Eddie lingered for a second longer before turning and walking toward the door. The moment it closed behind him, Y/n immediately headed up to his room. The closing of the door was like a final note to a song he hadn’t wanted to end. His e/c eyes landed on the photo sitting neatly in its frame on the bedside table.

He and Eddie.

It was one of Y/n's favorite memories. A candid shot of them at the carnival, taken by Christopher. The two of them were laughing as they stood in front of the Ferris wheel. Eddie’s arm was slung around his shoulders, pulling him close. Y/n remembered exactly how he had felt in that moment — happy, safe, and loved.

His fingers trembled as they reached for the frame, gripping it tightly as he sank onto the edge of the bed. His eyes clung to Eddie’s smile, so familiar, so beautiful.

And then — finally — he broke.

Y/n had tried to hold them back, tried to swallow down the lump that had been forming in his throat, but it was useless. The first tear fell, hitting the glass of the frame with a muted sound, like a single drop of rain landing on a still pond. And then another tear fell, and another. Y/n didn't try to stop them, didn't try to wipe them away. He just let them fall, freely and unashamedly, as he let go of all his inhibitions and allowed himself to feel the full weight of his painful emotions.

"Why wasn’t I ever enough?"

The question slipped from his lips in a whisper, cracked and broken, lost in the stillness of the room, barely audible even to himself. Why wasn’t he ever enough for someone to choose him?

He wasn’t enough for his mother to stay. He wasn’t enough for Brant to stay loyal. Now, he wasn’t enough for Eddie to not do the one thing that would shatter him.

A sob tore its way out of his throat, raw and painful. All of this is too much. The betrayal, the loneliness, the heartache — it collapsed on top of him like a wave crashing over someone who'd already stopped swimming. He had given Eddie everything. His love. His trust. His whole heart. Somehow, that still wasn’t enough.

"I just wanted to be loved."

A plea to no one. The universe? Maybe. That’s all he ever wanted. Not something conditional. Not something temporary. Just love. Someone who wouldn’t forget he existed. Someone who wouldn’t look at him and think of him as replaceable. Someone who wouldn’t see him as second place. Someone who would stay.

But maybe that was too much to ask for. Maybe he was destined to be almost enough. Close, but not quite. Worth holding, but not worth keeping.

He wanted to hate Eddie, to direct all his anger and hurt towards the person who had caused him pain. He wanted to hate Shannon, too, to blame her for being the surprising yet unsurprising catalyst that set off the chain of events that led to his heartbreak. He wanted to hate his mom, to lash out at her for being the first one to make him feel like he wasn't enough. But all he felt was tired. So damn tired of being almost enough. So goddamn tired of being the one people moved on from.

His fingers tightened around the frame, and for a brief moment, he considered throwing it. Smashing it. Destroying it the same way Eddie had destroyed both him and their relationship. But he didn’t.

Instead, he set the picture face-down on the small table. He couldn’t bear to look at it anymore. Then, he reached up and unclasped the silver necklace Eddie had given him: Siempre contigo. This was a lie. He yanked it off and threw it across the room, where it hit the wall and fell to the floor with a muted thud. Eddie lied.

Then, Y/n's eyes wandered to the desk, where the folder James had given him lay waiting. Bridgewater Associates — Austin, TX, the cover read. He picked it up and opened the file, flipping through the pages. The job details, the salary, the benefits, and the important information.

Maybe this new job in Texas wasn’t just an opportunity. Maybe it was an escape.

They say time flies when you’re having fun, but when you’re heartbroken, time seems to stop altogether, trapping you in the ache of yesterday with no escape.

XXXXX XXXXX

[dailynnt]

ONE NIGHT AS THE PRICE OF A REQUEST

⋆˙⟡ Summary: You hate your neighbor Jungkook, but you have to ask him to pretend to be your boyfriend at a party to get rid of your annoying boss. He agrees, but you don't even imagine what you'll have to pay him with. Everything goes according to plan until Jungkook reveals his true price during the dance: one night with him or your life in the neighborhood will be hell.

⋆˙⟡ Couple: Jeon Jungkook/ The Reader, Jungkook/Y/N

⋆˙⟡ Age restrictions: 18+

⋆˙⟡ Index of chapters: ≣

⋆˙⟡ Number of chapter: 10/?

⋆˙⟡ Tags: enemies-to-neighbors-to-lover, fake relationship, hate to desire, dom!Jungkook, heated blackmail, one bed trope (later more than one bed), undeniable chemistry, forced deal, mutual obsession, dangerous game, unexpected feelings, passion on edge, impossible to resist, tension and desire, unprotected sex, sexual tension, slow burning

⋆˙⟡ From author: Here I tried to add drama, added a meeting with the mother (I'll give a little spoiler that this meeting with her will affect the next development of the plot) and it seems that Y/N is breaking down the walls erected around Jungkook 💗 What do you think, my dear? I'm really excited for the published of these two chapters for you 😰❤️‍🔥 Give me feedback so I know where to fix or add something? ❤️‍🔥💘

⋆˙⟡ Dedication: to my biggest love @kelsyx33, @curse-of-art, @kooko009, @smokinghotstargirl, @myjungkookthighs, @mskookie, @minimoninini, @medstudentlifestyle for loving me for nothing. I love you girls twice as much 🥺🤭💜🫶🏻

⋆˙⟡ Tag list: @kelsyx33, @curse-of-art, @kooko009, @smokinghotstargirl, @myjungkookthighs, @mskookie, @minimoninini, @medstudentlifestyle, @bhonbhon, @ottergirl, @vantelover1306, @deepikhaprakash, @mar-lo-pap, @zeytiable, @lallataegi, @vintagemoonsstuff, @indigomoonchild09, @diame93, @bts-ruu, @asyr97, @taeloversblog, @songbyeonkim (If you want to be on the tag list, let me know)

⋆˙⟡ Warning: English is not my native language, so please be lenient with mistakes in the text 🥹

Chapter 10. Home

Jungkook's car did not fit into the local landscape. The expensive foreign car stood in stark contrast to the old streets of the city's private sector. The narrow street you knew so well brought back memories from your childhood. The old, shabby fences, painted by your grandfather's hand, and the familiar smell of the sea coming from somewhere far away immediately evoked a warm longing.

Time seemed to stand still here. While megacities were growing up, this place remained cozy and real. The way you left it when you moved to Seoul.

"Does she do this often?" Jungkook asked, watching the road ahead closely, snapping you out of your pleasant nostalgia.

"She's done it a few times. The last time I warned her that if she took the money from Halmoni, I would file a police report," you said bitterly, then laughed in frustration, "and she started blackmailing me, saying she would call my work and tell them I was neglecting her and abusing her. So we agreed that I should send her money once a month to buy her food. But I know that she spends this money on alcohol..." you told Jungkook about your mother. He asked you and you really didn't want to tell him something so personal about yourself. It would have been nice if Jungkook didn't know what your mother was like, but you tell him everything and you really didn't understand why.

He parked the car smoothly in front of your grandmother's familiar house, which you pointed out on the way. The car stopped, and you quickly reached for your backpack, internally preparing to say goodbye.

"Thanks for bringing me," you said quietly, avoiding his gaze. You didn't want him to see your embarrassment. To be honest, you were sure he would just bring you to Busan and go right back to his business in Seoul.

He looked at you silently, and then turned his body around, leaning his elbow on the car door. His smile was almost sly.

"Do you really think I'm just going to turn around and drive back?" he asked, as if reading your mind.

You froze, looking up at him. Actually, that was exactly what you thought. So you didn't understand why he had ridden with you for such a distance.

"Do you want to stay?" you said quietly, not believing you were asking the question.

"Yes," he answered without a shadow of hesitation. "And not just because of you. I have some business here in Busan. I decided to take this opportunity to finish them."

Your mind raced. Part of you was happy - unexpectedly, but very sincerely. And the other part, accustomed to independence, to relying only on yourself, began to feel anxious. What is he doing here? Why does he care about you?

"Well... if you need to..." you muttered, already grabbing the door handle, preparing to leave. But at the same moment you heard him turn off the engine. Your heart sank.

Only then did it dawn on you: he wasn't just staying in the city. He was staying right next to you.

You quickly turned to him as he reached out to get out of the car.

"Wait..." you said suddenly.

He stopped and looked at you.

"What?"

"You... where are you going?" your voice sounded cautious, as if you were afraid to hear the answer.

But he didn't have time to give it. His gaze suddenly shifted - he was no longer looking at you, but behind your back. His eyes became attentive.

You turned around and saw your grandmother slowly walk out of the yard, holding onto the fence. She looked a little confused, but smiling.

She noticed you and her smile became joyful, and her eyes sparkled. You forgot about Jungkook and hurried over to her. You hadn't seen your grandmother for more than two months and you missed her very much. As you hugged your grandmother, you felt her familiar warmth, her palms stroking your back, and her eyes full of love and concern.

"You lose weight... did you eat anything in Seoul?" she murmured quietly, hugging you as if she was afraid to let go.

"I ate, Halmoni, don't worry," you smiled through your tears, feeling your whole body relaxing next to her.

But a moment later, Grandma looked over your shoulder and looked in surprise.

"Who is it that has come with you, my flower?" asked Grandma, rubbing her eyes and fixing her apron.

You turned around sharply. Jungkook was standing by the car, wearing a half-smile that immediately alerted you. He looked completely out of place: expensive clothes, strong posture, and that confident light in his eyes that for some reason made your heart skip a beat.

"This is..." you started, but didn't have time to finish.

"Greetings, Halmoni," he took a step toward you and your Grandma and bowed low, "I'm your granddaughter's boyfriend, Jeon Jungkook, nice to meet you," he finished, straightening his back. You raised your eyebrows and opened your mouth in surprise. You were ready to kill him for introducing himself to grandma as your boyfriend. Jungkook looked at you and liked the way you looked. Your anger was his favorite thing in the world.

"A boyfriend... how unexpectedly,"" grandma said, turning her head to you, she smiled kindly as she assessed Jungkook. "My dear girl, why didn't you tell your grandmother that you have a boyfriend and you coming with him? I would have prepared the best holiday table," she nervously began to adjust her clothes.

"Halmoni is..." you wanted to say something, but you were too shocked by Jungkook's prank. He, in turn, came closer and put his arm around your waist. You glared at him angrily.

"There's no need to worry Halmon, and I'm sorry for coming unannounced, but I wanted to finally meet you, so I asked Y/N to come over together," Jungkook said with a friendly smile on his lips. Grandma was looking at you and couldn't get enough.

"You two are so beautiful together. Y/N daughter, how could you hide from me that you have such a beautiful boy?"

You opened and closed mouth because you just didn't know what to say. You didn't hide anything from your grandmother because you weren't going to lie to her about your fake relationship with Jungkook. But her words made you feel guilty.

"Let's go inside, you must be hungry from the road, I made Y/N's favorite pulgogi and I really want to hear how you met..." Grandma turned around and walked as fast as she could to set the table, and you shouted after her.

"Halmoni, we're coming, we're just going to pick up the grocery bags..."

Grandma said she would be waiting for you inside, and when her figure disappeared behind the door, you moved away from Jungkook too quickly. He knew you were about to protest, and he was prepared to listen to your disgruntled tone. You crossed your arms over your chest, and he hid his in pockets.

"What the hell are you doing? Why did you tell Halmoni that you were my boyfriend? Our agreement has nothing to do with my family!" you snapped.

Jungkook raised his eyebrows slightly, but didn't look guilty - on the contrary, as if he was expecting this.

"Your Halmoni doesn't seem like the kind of person who would let a some guy stay overnight if he's even a friend or neighbour," he said calmly, with a hint of mockery in his voice.

You sighed sharply, flushing red. He was playing the game his way again.

"What do you mean stay overnight? You were planning to stay here tonight?" you were shocked.

"Well, yeah, I can't leave you alone..." he said casually, taking a step toward you. He towered over you, and you tilted your head back a little to see his face.

"You will not stay the night at my halmoni's house, you will go to a hotel," you said clearly. Jungkook pressed his lips into a thin line, clearly not happy with your words.

"How can I go to the hotel now? I'm your boyfriend, wouldn't it be weird if I didn't spend the night with you?" he touched his fingers lightly to your cheek, stroking it gently. This gesture made you lose your sense of reality for a moment, and then you sharply knocked his hand away.

"You did that on purpose! Why are you such a chronic liar?" you raged.

"I didn't do it on purpose. It's just that it's better if we play the game to the end. If your family knows that I'm your boyfriend, then our relationship will look even more believable."

You cringed, as if he'd just said something extremely gross.

"So now my family is part of your play?" you asked quietly, but very sharply. Your eyes glittered with anger and disappointment.

Jungkook didn't answer right away. His eyes became serious. He lost that mocking smile that irritated you and just stood there for a few seconds looking at you.

"If you're part of my show, then so is your family," he said, without the warmth in his voice. "But I'm here for you, in case you haven't noticed."

You gritted your teeth, trying not to let your emotions get the better of you. You ignored his words that he was here for you. Even though they made your heart skip a beat.

"I don't want you to stay." you said with the same coldness in your voice.

"Fine. But I'll stay." He didn't listen to you.

"Jungkook!" you almost jumped up and down in anger. "Can't you do it the way I want for once?"

"I can," he answered calmly. "But I don't want to."

He smiled again and then made his way to the car and opened the trunk. He picked up a few packages as if it were a regular family visit.

"I'll bring the groceries in. And you, if you want, go explain to Halmoni that I'm an impostor and we're not really together. But look right in her eye and say it. Only honestly."

He walked into the house, leaving you standing in the middle of the yard with a knot in your chest and confusion in your head.

Because the problem was that you couldn't tell her the truth anymore. And you didn't know why you didn't have the strength to actually send him away.

***

Grandma fed you the world's most delicious pulgogi and kimchi, and a whole bunch of other dishes she made for your visit. Jungkook ate everything she put on the table without hesitation, and you watched him sneakily.

He lied to your grandmother with gusto about your first meeting and how you "fell in love" with each other, and his cheeks were full of rice and kimchi. He acted as if he had been to this house a hundred times and had known Grandma all his life. It was obvious that she liked him - she listened attentively, laughed at his jokes and brought him plates of extra.

"My daughter, why are you so quiet?" your grandmother finally paid attention to you. She put her hand on your and stroked it gently. You looked up at her and smiled gently.

"I'm just afraid to interrupt your perfect conversation," you said, glancing over at Jungkook. He had finally eaten and was sitting with his hands on the table.

"Oh sweetheart, Jungkook is such a good boy. I like him and I'm glad you two are dating, you couldn't ask for a better match," Grandma said with admiration. You smiled wider and looked at Jungkook again. He smiled smugly. You barely stopped yourself from rolling your eyes.

"You're right, Halmoni, you couldn't ask for a better boyfriend..." you mocked.

"And I won't find a better girl," Jungkook said in a confident voice. You looked at him in disbelief, but he looked so serious that something in your chest trembled.

"Oh, my dear children, I'm so happy for you!" sighed Grandma, holding back her tears. "My flower, I'm glad to see you happy with Jungkook, I hope your relationship will grow into a long and eternal love..."

You almost choked on your juice that were drinking while your grandmother was talking. You coughed and Jungkook hurriedly patted you on the back.

"Be careful, my love, or your grandmother's hopes will not come true," Jungkook joked. You were coughing, but you wanted to kill Jungkook for calling you "my love" in front of your grandmother. You gently removed his hands and pulled away.

"Thank you, honey I'll be careful," you said, sounds pretending sweet. Jungkook felt your tone and squinted his eyes.

And Grandma started praising you again, saying how wonderful couple you were, and you could barely contain yourself. Because it was a performance for you. And only one person in the room believed in everything-your grandmother.

The rumble of the gate you suddenly heard made you tense. You heard a voice from the street and abruptly got up from the table. Jungkook stood up and followed you. You stopped a step away from the front door and saw your mother through the ajar door.

Jungkook froze behind you, silently realizing who the woman was. You looked alike. You were her young copy. But there was a gulf between you. Her once beautiful face was disfigured by the alcohol she had been drinking for years. Her eyes were blurred but sparkled with a strange nervous energy. She was leaning on the doorjamb as if she wasn't sure she could stand. Her lips curled into a half-smile, more like a grimace.

"Look who's here..." she barely managed to say, looking directly at you. "And even with a boyfriend, can you believe it? And I thought you were a chaste modesty."

Your face instantly lost all expression. You clenched your jaw, trying not to let on how much these words hurt. Jungkook remained silent, but you could feel him tense up. His body stood behind yours like a shield.

"Why did you come here?" you asked in a trembling voice. You were holding back too many emotions inside. The sight of your mother, drunk and unkempt, made your heart clench with pain. But even more so with disgust.

"Why?" she took a shaky step forward, but you didn't budge, "Mother promised to give me more money, I have to live for something. You're a cheeky girl, not answering your mother's phone. You're sitting there in Seoul, all important... and I'm supposed to starve to death?"

"Came to bully at grandmother, that she giving you money for a bottle again?" your voice shook with rage. "I warned you not to touch her. If you do anything to her again, I'll go and file a police report against you. For extortion. For violence."

Your mother giggled.

"The police? And what are you going to tell them? That your poor mommy is asking you for a penny because her selfish daughter can't support her?" her eyes glittered with hatred. "Look at yourself. Do you despise me? Do you think you're better because you live in the city, because you fuck a rich guy and drive an expensive car?"

"Shut up." You took another step forward. You were shaking. "You've never been a mother. Ever. You abandoned me when I was a baby. And now you come when you need money for a bottle!"

"I raised you!" she snapped, indignant.

"You?" you laughed bitterly. "You weren't around when I was growing up. When I was sick. And when I was studying. You only appear when you need money. Like a parasite!"

Your mother's face changed dramatically. From a disdainful mask to one contorted with rage. She raised her hand, losing control.

"You little bitch..." your mother raised her hand to hit you, but Jungkook, who had been standing silent right up until that moment, reacted instantly. His hand grabbed her wrist before she could touch you. The movement was precise, without a shadow of hesitation. Your mother flinched.

"I would strongly advise you to never, ever lay a hand on her again," Jungkook's voice was low, almost dangerous. His eyes glittered with coldness, and this sternness combined with his self-control was... eerie.

Your mother was embarrassed and tried to pull away, but Jungkook's grip was like steel.

"Who are you to..." she began, but she didn't have time to finish because Jungkook leaned slightly toward her, never letting go of her arm, and said through clenched teeth in a way that sent chills down her spine.

"I'm the one who will make your life unbearable if you ever show up here again and scare Halmoni or touch Y/N. I can make someone like you disappear from the face of the earth. And believe me, no one will even ask where you went."

His mother stared at him - at first with a challenge, but then fear appeared in those eyes. For the first time in all the years of your life, she was afraid. Really scared. To the bone.

You stood next to him, still trembling, but now... not just from anger. The way he defended you, the way he stood up for you without a shadow of a doubt... Something in your chest shuddered, as if it had moved.

"Do you understand?" Jungkook let go of her abruptly, as if even touching her was disgusting.

The mother swayed, grabbing the doorjamb. She remained silent, breathing heavily, as if she had been running, rubbing her wrist where Jungkook had grabbed her.

"Oh, you bagged yourself a rich man, huh?..." she suddenly looked away from Jungkook and at you. "They're all like that, daughter. First they say they love you, and then they dump you because they've had enough of you..." she spat at Jungkook's feet, causing him to raised his eyebrows, "He'll dump you as soon as he gets tired of you. Just like your dad did to me... but when he does leave you, you better not end up like your horrible alcoholic mother." she turned to leave. "I won't come again, I don't want to know you all."

The mother finally left, stumbling and muttering under her breath, Jungkook turned to you. His eyes were still serious, but softer as he looked at you.

"Are you okay?" he asked, and there was no irony in his voice. You stood there completely stunned by your mother's words about a father she had never spoken of. The whole situation that had just happened in front of you made a new crack in your soul and you no longer had the strength to hold back the hurt and tears. You cried, and Jungkook just pulled you to him. You cried into his chest, and he held you tightly in his arms. Grandma, who stood nearby, was also crying quietly.

***

You silently went into your room at grandmother's house. After your shower, your skin smelled like a delicate peach, but inside you still felt like a crack, like an old wound that had been torn open again.

Jungkook was already in bed. He didn't leave. You asked him to stay after Grandma left so that you two could spend time together. He said that he was going to go to a hotel for the night, but you said that grandma would insist anyway. You felt that if he left, you would become even more desperate.

Quietly, you walked to the bed, took off your robe, leaving you in a thin home t-shirt and shorts, and slid under the covers. Your back was to him.

The bed sagged gently, and you felt his warmth. He moved over gently, his chest touching your back, and something about that touch made you exhale a little deeper.

His hand touched your waist - not holding you, not forcing you. Just... holding.

"How are you feeling?" he whispered, so close that his breath was touching your ear.

"I’m fine," you answered shortly, your voice sounding broken. He didn't ask anymore. He just lay there, silent, breathing in unison with you.

"Thank you..." you whispered suddenly. You hadn't thanked him before, and you truly appreciated his support. "For protecting me and Halmoni today."

He didn't answer right away. Then he sighed, slowly, almost silently.

"You were unlucky with your mother... but it looks like she won't be coming back. And if she does, I'll make sure it's really the last time." Jungkook assured you. His words made your chest tighten. You wanted to object, but he was already speaking. "And I'll make sure she returns everything she took to her grandmother. Every last won."

"Don't do that," you whispered. "It's none of your business. I can handle it myself..."

"But I want to," his voice was serious, without a hint of joking. "Your Halmoni is a such kind woman. If you don't want to accept my help, she will. And it will be my pleasure to help her."

Silence fell again. You felt his hand on your thigh - it was big, warm and gentle. He stroked your skin lightly.

This closeness... his breathing, his chest pressed against your back, his fingers that involuntarily slid a little lower... all this made your body tremble with a subtle wave of excitement.

You unconsciously pressed against him. Your hips slipped back a little, and you felt his cock begin to strain from your few movements. But Jungkook didn't seem to notice your hints. You moved again, as if on purpose in his arms. His cock was already hard and you could feel its warmth through the thin fabric of his shorts and underwear.

Jungkook wordlessly moved closer to you, and you both felt it. Your panties began to get wet and between the legs throbbed with excitement. His hand slid down your thigh.

"Are you trying to seduce me?" he whispered directly into your ear, his voice low and husky. "Do you think it's a good idea to rub against my crotch like that... and make my cock get hard?"

You held your breath, and only for a moment, at the sound of his voice, which made you even more hot. Then you whispered, trying not to give away your true intention, even though it was more than obvious.

"I... I just... I'm a little tight in your arms..." you lied.

"Really...?" he huffed in disbelief. His hand, which had been squeezing your thigh, slid to your stomach and continued to move upward, making its way under the fabric of your shirt. He touched your breasts and squeezed lightly. Your moisture was becoming more and more abundant.

Jungkook raised himself up on his elbow and pushed thighs against you as if to tease you.

"You're shameless. You want sex when your grandmother is sleeping in the next room?" he whispered. "What am I supposed to do with you, huh...?" Jungkook asked in the same whisper, his voice low and deep, vibrating somewhere in his stomach. "You've already pushed me away three times after I've done you good. Three times. I'm getting a little tired of hearing it. Maybe we should stop?" He let go of your breasts and brought his palm down. His hand ducked under the fabric of your sleeping shorts, touching your folds. You were wet, so wet and that's all for him.

Jungkook's words were half-joking, and you knew it, but they held the truth, a small stab of disappointment at your past actions and the words you'd said to him without mercy.

He continued to caress your clit and you moaned softly. You barely managed to turn your head slightly to the side, toward him. Your breath was hot and your lips were trembling.

"I won't push you away..." you whispered. "I want... I want it, Jungkook...please…"

He froze. And then slowly, with that predatory playfulness that drove you crazy, he answered.

"You hear that, kitten," he ran his fingers over your aroused clit and plunged his fingers into your passage again and again, pressing you in tighter against himself, "you're begging me again. What about that fucking rule you made?"

Jungkook turned you completely around, hovering over you, never ceasing to finger you. You spread your legs, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. Your nails left half-moon dents in his warm skin.

"Fuck the rules," you said between moans. Jungkook laughed softly.

"So bold," he finally kissed you on the lips. His tongue filled your mouth as if it had always belonged to him. Your tongues clashed and wrestled with each other, as if trying to know who was in charge. Jungkook grabbed your tongue and sucked on it, proving his superiority to you. He parted your lips so that you could breathe in some air.

"You're going to throw words like that around, and then tell me to ignore it again because you were having an orgasm?" Jungkook teased. He loved using your actions and words against you.

"Jungkook..." you squeezed the skin on his shoulders harder, pulling him closer "shut your mouth and just fuck me already," your voice sounded annoyed. Jungkook raised his eyebrows and laughed at your intolerance.

"Oh I'll do it kitten, but now you know your rule no longer applies?!" his voice was hoarse with excitement, but also full of triumph. He loved that you had given in, breaking your own rule that you had promised to keep. He knew it from the beginning, that you would be the first to give up.

His fingers slid over your wet fold once more, long, slow, until you trembled, as if trying to brand this moment. And then he abruptly removed his hand, making you moan with loss.

"Fuck you?" he repeated, licking his lips. "I want to do it so badly right now, but you know how much I love listening to your pleas? I think I'll listen to your sweet beseech first..."

Jungkook's lips found your neck, and you arched up, exposing your skin to him. His kisses were wet, warm, slow, and all of this made you tremble even more, clenching your thighs. The kisses fueled your need to have him, but you knew he would soon have you begging. Beg as if your life depended on it.

He took off your shorts and underwear at the same time so as not to spend too much time on this one, so that he could have the moreover of it for something more worthwhile, such as pushing you to your limit. And then he took off his boxers and threw them somewhere else.

He threw aside the blanket you were still covered with and positioned himself between your legs. He could see your pussy glistening in the darkness of the room, making him obsessed with you.

He positioned himself comfortably between your legs, pressing his erect cock against your pussy. You felt his hot flesh and sighed heavily. You need him inside.

Jungkook pulled up your shirt, exposing your breasts. He fell on one of your nipples and sucked hard. You felt pain, but kept yourself from screaming by biting your lip.

"Kook..." you called to him.

"I'm here, kitten" he whispered, stopping for a moment.

"Come inside," you begged. He grinned against your nipple and kept his eyes on you.

You wiggled your hips, hoping that this would make him finally fill you with his cock. But he didn't seem to be in any hurry.

His lips moved to your neck, covering it with wet marks, sucking on the skin, but not doing what you wanted most.

"Please..." you breathed out, barely audible. Jungkook stood over you.

"It's so sweet coming from you. Fuck, I'm ready to listen forever as you beg me to fill you my cock." he whispered. You felt yourself getting even wetter. You had definitely soiled the fresh sheets that Grandma had made for the two of you.

Jungkook pressed his lips to your ear. His voice was soft but full of power.

"You're so impatient... And just recently you were playing hard to get..." he smiled, lightly touching your earlobe with his tongue. "And now you ask me as if I were your last hope. Hmm, I wonder how many times you can ask before I'm satisfied with your plea?" he standing on knelt, placing his legs under of your pelvis.

His hand slowly - too slowly - slid down your stomach, slid back between your thighs, but this time he didn't touch your clit as you expected. Instead, he lightly stroked your inner thigh, giving you no relief.

You arched up, trying to force yourself to slide closer, but Jungkook grabbed your hips and stopped you.

"Don't rush," he whispered. "I haven't had enough of you yet. And you taste so good when you moan because you don't get what you want. "

His fingers touched your folds, but only at the edge, as if by accident. And then they were gone again, leaving you in a state of excited despair. You moaned softly.

"Look at you... so wet... and all this because of a few touches from me?" he tilted his head to the side and looked into your eyes. His gaze was full of fire. "Tell me, have you fantasized about me? About me entering you slowly, deeply? Or maybe how I make you beg again and again?"

You were silent, but he saw the answer in your eyes. "Say it out loud, kitten. I need to hear it."

You felt ashamed, but it came out:

"Yes... I was imagining... you entering me... teasing me... not letting me come..." you whispered, breathing heavily.

"Oh, now you're talking like an adult girl," Jungkook murmured and plunged his fingers into you, this time deeper than before. But not deep enough for you to be satisfied. And when you tried to move your hips again, he removed his hand.

"No, no, no..." he smiled. "You haven't earned it yet. A little more..."

He leaned down and his tongue flicked down your stomach. You could feel his every breath on your skin. His lips touched your thighs, and you realized that a little more and you would explode. And he, this cocky, bossy, damn hot guy, was still playing with you like a favorite toy.

"Please... Jungkook, I can't take it..." you whispered, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He looked at you from under his eyelashes as if amused.

"Oh, I know... and that's what I like best." He ran his tongue over your skin again, but this time between your folds. And when you arched your back, clutching the sheets, he pulled back.

You couldn't breathe steadily anymore. Desire and despair mingled together.

Jungkook towered over you, kneeling down. His eyes were burning, his face tense with desire. He took his hard length in his hands and slid the head of his cock between your wet folds-slowly, with pleasure, forcing you to arch up to meet him. But instead of entering, he rubbed against you, sliding up and down, making you tremble with tension.

"Tell me you want me..." his voice is hoarse, almost breathless.

"I do... I want you so badly..." you begged, your voice tearing from your chest, unashamed.

Jungkook sighed, softly, from deep in his chest. His eyes grew even darker, more serious. And the next moment, he entered you-slowly, deeply, so that you involuntarily squeezed his shoulders and almost screamed. He stopped for a moment, resting his forehead on your shoulder.

"So tight... so wet..." his voice was husky, vibrating against your skin, Jungkook could barely contain himself because his arousal had reached a maximum while he was playing with you. "Fuck Y/N, what are you doing to me?"

A second of silence from both of you. His words hit you so hard...because you weren't doing anything, you were just being yourself.

He began to move, slowly but surely, studying you as he always did - cautiously at first, and then deeper and stronger with each movement. Your body responded to his every thrust as if you had belonged to him for a long time. Moans escaped your lips uncontrollably. Jungkook pressed himself against you, placing his hands on the sides of your face and leaning in almost close. He looked at your satisfied face and couldn't get enough of the pleasure you were showing. You wrapped your legs around his buttocks, squeezing him tighter. You moaned louder and louder at his sharp and deep thrusts and Jungkook was slightly nervous that your grandmother might hear you.

"Shhh..." he whispered, moving deeply and rhythmically inside you. "Don't make a sound... Do you want your grandmother to know what her sweet granddaughter sounds like when she's being fucked?" You bit your lips, moaning, and Jungkook picked up his pace as if to spite you, driving himself harder into your thighs. Like an insatiable man... pushing you to the limit.

He didn't forget to kiss your lips between thrusts.

And just when the wave of orgasm began to build, when your body froze in sweet anticipation, Jungkook leaned down to your ear and whispered in a breathless voice.

"Cum for me, kitten. I want to feel you tremble under me..."

Your body exploded after a small series of deep thrusts. Wave after wave pierced you, your moans were soft, trapped in your chest, and you squeezed his cock as you came.

And Jungkook, feeling your climax, gave a few more thrusts and, as he started spilled inside you, pulled out releasing onto your stomach with a quiet growl that echoed in your chest.

You were still trembling, your skin covered in a light sweat, and your chest heaving in a rapid rhythm. Jungkook hovered over you, leaning on his elbows, watching you slowly come back to your senses after the sweet storm. He kissed the corner of your lips, still warm from your moans.

"So your rule is no longer in effect and I'm glad you destroyed it yourself," he said with a heavy breath that made it hard to speak. Your eyes were shining with the orgasm you'd had, and you recognized that you'd made the rule in vain at all.

⇠ Previous ⟡ Index ➩ ⟡ Next ⇢

[godricgryffinsnore]

A Universe In Your Smile ♡ : A James Potter Fan Fiction.

pairing : James Potter x female!reader

summary : A fluffy, poetic friends-to-lovers tale where James Potter and a hopelessly smitten reader stumble through longing, laughter, and chaos—too in love to admit it, until they finally do.

warnings : Excessive fluff, Mutual pining / yearning, Jealousy (mild), Idiots in love, Sirius and Remus suffering secondhand embarrassment, Soft romantic tension, Overuse of the word "darling" (sorry, not sorry), May cause uncontrollable smiling and heart-squeezing feelings. Please let me know if I missed any.

author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3.

word count : 0.8k

main master list <3

banners : @dollywons and @roseschoices

It was widely accepted at Hogwarts that if you found James Potter, you’d find her. And if you found her, James wasn’t far behind—carrying her books, stealing her quill, or whispering something ridiculous in her ear to make her smile when she didn’t want to.

They weren’t dating. Merlin, no. They just did things like feed each other chocolate frogs and wear matching socks and fall asleep on the Gryffindor common room couch, tangled like ivy vines grown too close over too many years.

No, definitely not dating. Just… being ridiculous.

── .✦

The thing was—James Potter had always looked at her like she’d hung the stars, even when they were eleven and she punched him in the arm for hexing her hair blue. And now, at seventeen, he still looked at her like she was the sky itself. A breathless kind of awe in his gaze when she tied her hair up, or laughed too hard at one of Sirius’s jokes, or fell asleep with her nose in a book beside the window seat in the common room.

The world faded a bit when she wasn’t around.

And professors—bless them—caught on quickly. “Potter, where’s your other half?” And James, wide-eyed and traitorous smile on his lips, would answer, “Oh, you mean her? She said she’d meet me here—wait, why do you think I know where she is?”

“Because you always do,” Professor McGonagall deadpanned. “You practically breathe in sync.”

── .✦

Sirius was done. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake, just snog already!” he groaned one night as James and the reader argued over who would get the last of the pumpkin pastries. “It’s not snogging if you’re feeding it to her like a lovesick kneazle,” Remus added, not even looking up from his book.

James blushed crimson. “I’m not a lovesick kneazle.” “You purred when she scratched behind your ear last week,” Sirius muttered. “That’s a reflex!” “She was laughing in your lap,” Remus pointed out. “While you pouted. Like a cat.”

── .✦

But James—brilliant, chaotic, brave-hearted James—was oblivious. Or perhaps too aware. Because sometimes their pinkies would brush beneath the table and he’d freeze like she’d set his skin on fire. Sometimes she’d look at him like he’d handed her the sun, and he’d have to look away before he did something stupid like tell her he loved her. Again.

He did, of course. Loved her. Every version of her. Her morning yawns. Her ink-stained fingers. Her star-gathered eyes. Her laugh when he tripped over his shoelaces. Her fierce way of defending the underdog. Her quiet strength. Her chaotic mind. She was poetry in freckles. A heartbeat he’d memorized.

── .✦

And she? She was wrecked for James Potter. It was humiliating, really. He’d touch her shoulder and she’d forget her own name. He’d grin, and she’d want to bottle it, drink it, wear it like perfume. He’d call her “love” or “darling” in that stupid, careless way and she’d have to resist the urge to scream into her pillow for an hour.

And when he wrapped a scarf around her neck because “It’s bloody freezing, you’re going to get sick again,” she melted. Her friends were no help.

“You two need therapy,” Lily said, not unkindly. “Or a closet and seven minutes.”

── .✦

And then… Then came Amos Diggory.

A charming Hufflepuff. Too smooth. Too clever. Too tall. Too good-looking. Too close.

He was leaning a little too far into her space near the library shelves. His laugh too loud. His hand brushing her wrist. And James—James Potter saw it from across the room.

Something primal clawed in his chest.

He stormed over, heart roaring, fists clenched, wearing jealousy like a second skin. “Hey, mate,” he said, too loudly, too cheerfully, slipping between them with the grace of a bullfrog. “Didn’t know my girl needed help finding Charms.”

Your. Girl.

She blinked, stunned. So did Amos, who looked from James to her with the wary expression of someone who’s realized they’ve stepped into a dragon’s lair.

“She’s not—” she started to say, cheeks flaming.

“Am I not?” she whispered back.

And James—bless him, stupid, sweet boy—froze. Because he’d said it. Finally. The quiet truth soaked in years of almosts and pinky brushes and shared sugar quills.

“You are,” he said softly now, voice low and reverent. “If you’ll let me be yours.”

She stared at him.

Then she laughed. And hit his chest. “You idiot. Of course you’re mine.”

── .✦

Their first kiss was on the Astronomy Tower. She kissed him first. He kissed her second, third, and fifth.

And suddenly, everything made sense.

The world tilted and shifted like it had been waiting for them to stop being stupid and finally admit that their hearts beat for the same ridiculous, poetic kind of love.

── .✦

The next morning, when James wasn’t in class, the professor didn’t even blink.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” She smiled.

“Probably stealing my quill again.” “Tell him to at least show up with you next time.” “Yes, Professor.”

(He did. With her hand in his. Pinkies entwined. Eyes soft. Stupidly in love.)

── .✦

And Sirius? “I’ll pay someone to jinx me into unconsciousness if I have to watch them cuddle again.” “I think it’s sweet,” Remus muttered. “You would.”

But they didn’t mind. Not really. Because James Potter had finally found his home—in her laugh, her smile, her love.

And she?

She’d been his all along.

[holdinggrudges]

i can be your antidote - sam winchester

pairing: sam winchester x reader

content: EXPLICIT 18+, sex curse, fuck or die, mildly dubious consent (because of the fuck or die of it all), fem!reader, mutual pining, unprotected piv sex, cumplay (just a little), nipple play, size kink

word count: 6.3k

summary: You fucking hate witches. Especially the one that hit you and Sam Winchester, whom you've been harboring a crush on for years, with a sex curse.

notes: i don't usually even read sex curse/fuck or die fics. i have no idea where this came from. i think i was possessed by some sort of horny demon or something. anyways i've been looking at this one so long that i have no idea if it's even good anymore. hope you all enjoy it lmao. also, divider by @cafekitsune <3

crossposted on ao3

You fucking hate witches. 

Some of them are alright. Some of them are kind and generous and only use their magic for protection and good luck and they only put hexes on people who really deserve it. You don’t mind those sorts of witches. Most of them, though, like the one currently throwing you across the room, are the fucking worst. 

Your back slams into the wall before you tumble to the ground—maybe two, three feet away from where Sam is currently stumbling back to his feet—and the impact knocks the breath right out of your lungs. You groan, shoving up on your hands; you don’t have time to try and catch your breath. This witch is, frankly, kicking your asses. But right now, she’s focused on Dean on the other side of the room. If you’re quick, you might be able to get the jump on her. 

You drag yourself up to your knees, just high enough to be able to access the gun in the waistband of your jeans and to aim it straight for her fucking head. Once you’ve got the gun in your hands, though, several things happen in quick, extremely unlucky succession. 

The witch gets Dean on the ground and turns her head just as you raise the gun to aim right between her eyes, and she begins to chant, crackling, magical energy sparking in the space between her hands. You have just enough to time to think—fuck it. If I’m going down, I’m taking her out with me—before that energy is shot straight at you. You squeeze your finger on the trigger just as Sam, who has apparently recovered enough to try to take a bullet for you, jumps in front of you, knocking you back and sending your aim way wide so the bullet hits the wall instead of the witch’s skull.

And the worst part is it doesn’t even work. Six feet and four inches of pure muscle barrels into you, has you slamming right back against the wall with a pained, breathless grunt, and still, you feel the magic when it hits you, the energy of it spreading over your skin and sinking into your bones like an electric shock. Either you hit your head when you hit the wall, or the spell is making your head swim, leaving you too disoriented to tell which way the witch goes when she runs out the door. 

Sam groans where he landed half on top of you. You blink in an effort to clear your vision, blindly reaching out to touch his face, to check if he’s okay. You don’t know exactly what that spell did, you were too far away to hear exactly what she was chanting, but you can feel it tingling across your skin, settling in like it’s making a home there. Sam got blasted too, that much is clear when your hand lands on his cheek and magic sparks across your palm. 

He sucks in a breath, flinching away from the foreign feeling at the same time as you yank your hand back. “What the hell did she do to us?” he asks, shoving up on his arms to look down at you. And isn’t that just the million dollar question?

You’re on the phone with Bobby almost before you’ve even made it back to the Impala. All three of you agree whatever is going on with this hex you’ve been hit with, you’re in over your heads. You need some expert help. 

“You get the witch?” Bobby greets, just rubbing salt in the wound. 

“Uh. No,” you answer, climbing into the backseat of the car. You and Sam have been avoiding touching as much as possible, and it’s been shockingly hard. Honestly, you never noticed how closely you usually walk until every brush of your shoulders or hands sent sparks cascading over your skin. “There’s been a bit of a…complication.” 

There’s silence, and then an exhausted, beleaguered sigh from the other end of the call. “You idjits managed to get yourselves cursed, didn’t you?” Bobby asks, his tone exasperated. 

Ugh, God. The sun must’ve recently peaked in the sky, beaming down on the car and cooking you like you’re in a damn oven. You don’t remember it being this hot before. “Jesus—Dean, can you turn the air up?” you call out to the front before deigning to answer Bobby’s question. “Yeah. Yeah, she hit me and Sam with some sort of spell before I could shoot her. Problem is, we can’t really tell what sort of spell it actually is. It’s sort of creating like…static electricity? Every time we touch it’s kind of sparking.” 

“Well, did she say anything?” Bobby asks. 

You frown, irritated.  “Don’t you think if I knew what spell she cast, I would’ve told you? I was too far away, I couldn’t hear what she was saying.” 

From the front seat, Dean says, “I heard it, sort of. She was speaking Latin for sure, something about cupid?” 

As Dean says this, you watch Sam’s eyes go wide and his face go a little pale, which really doesn’t seem like a very good sign. “Cupiditas?” he asks. And it’s strange, looking into the front seat, you notice Sam’s face is a little red, a sheen of sweat starting to build on his forehead. Clearly, he’s noticing the heat as you are. And though you have a bit of a hard time drawing your eyes from Sam—though, when don’t you?—you can see that Dean doesn’t seem to be hot at all, not seeming bothered by the way the car is cooking you. 

“Yeah! Cupiditas con… something,” Dean confirms. 

You repeat what Dean said to Bobby, and you hear the pages he’d been flipping through stop turning. “You know, I wish you three would stop putting me in situations where I have to explain shit like this to you,” he mutters. 

You feel as out of the loop as Dean, which is not a very comfortable feeling to have. Sam seems to have some idea of what’s going on, if the look on his face is to be believed, and Bobby’s long-suffering complaints make you believe he knows exactly what spell you’re suffering from. “Explain shit like what?” you ask. 

“She hit the two of you with a damn sex curse, is what,” Bobby says, and you feel your stomach drop out your ass. 

“A sex curse?!” you repeat, incredulous. Of fucking course this would happen to you. “You’re joking. That’s not a real thing.” 

“It certainly is. And deadly, too,” Bobby says, and you hear the turning of pages start up again until he finds what he’s looking for. “Says here you’ve only got about two hours before the, uh…lust heats you up too hot, cooks your brain inside your damn skull.” 

Well. That at least explains why it’s so damn hot in here. “Well, how do we make that not happen?” You’re pretty interested in not getting so horny you literally die, thanks. 

Bobby is silent for a moment, his discomfort with the subject warring with the knowledge that time is of the essence. “You’ve gotta…sate it,” he says haltingly. “You’re an adult, I’m sure I don’t have to explain how. It won’t break the curse completely, but it’ll buy Dean time to find the witch and kill her; that’s the only way to actually break the curse.” 

Oh, fucking hell. “So…we’ve got two hours, unless we…” you trail off, your stomach flipping at the thought. Sam’s hands desperately tugging at your clothes, needy, he’s got to have you or he’ll die, literally. You tug at the collar of your shirt, sweating for real now, and shake it off. “But if…if Dean finds the witch before then, then we wouldn’t have to. Right?” 

“If you wanna tempt fate like that, be my guest. But it’s gonna be uncomfortable as hell. Soon enough, it’ll be pretty hard to remember exactly why you’re tempting fate in the first place.” You hear Bobby slam the book shut. “But if you do decide to sate the curse, keep it to yourselves, please. I already know too much about this, and I don’t wanna know any more.” 

You swallow, your mouth dry with the images swirling through your head again. Familiar ones, sure; this is certainly not the first time you’ve ever thought of Sam like that. But these images are so vivid, so intense, shooting arousal down your spine and building in your gut faster than you’ve ever known it to do so. “Alright. We’ll just…let you know when we—when Dean gets her, then.” You hang up the phone, turning your attention to the front seat where both brothers are staring at you, eyes wide. Right. They could hear your side of the conversation. 

“A sex curse?” Dean asks, voice flooded with disgust. Like Bobby, he probably already knows way more about this than he’d like to. 

Sam though…his expression is strange, a little unreadable. You wish you could get a better handle on his thoughts here because you have pretty mixed emotions, yourself. On the one hand, you’ve wanted Sam…God, since you met him. The only thing the curse is doing is amplifying it, turning that desire into something deadly. But this was never how you wanted it to happen, although you’re not sure who would ever want a sex curse to be the reason they finally got to kiss their crush. 

You relay what Bobby told you to the boys, everything Bobby told you, even when the mention of sating the curse makes Dean’s lip curl in disgust. It doesn’t escape your notice that Sam visibly relaxes when you say that you don’t necessarily have to do anything, so long as Dean is quick enough, and it stings a little, the idea that he would rather push through the discomfort of arousal burning him up from the inside out than touch you. 

Dean nods, untwisting his body to face the front of the car again. “Alright. We’ll get you two back to the hotel, and then I’ll kill the bitch.” 

By the time Dean drops you and Sam back at the room, the effects of the curse are in full swing. You’re so hot, stripped down to shorts and your sports bra and still sweating buckets. Sam is in a similar state of undress, his shirt tossed somewhere across the room after the heat became unbearable. Of course, you only know this from quick glances because if you look at him too long, the urge to touch him, lick him, bite him, starts getting almost too strong to ignore. Every time you see his pecs out of the corner of your eye, your mouth starts to water. It only takes half an hour for it to start to get a little bit too much. 

“Do you think Dean’s found her yet?” you ask, striking a conversation just for any type of distraction from the ache between your legs. And it does ache; you think you may have ruined both your underwear and these shorts from the way your cunt is dripping. 

Where you’re looking at him in your periphery—in an effort not to exacerbate the flooding of your panties—Sam shakes his head. When he speaks, his voice is low and rich and almost rasping, and you squirm where you’re sitting as it hits your ears. “He texted me a few minutes ago, said he thinks he’s getting closer, but…” But it’s not looking good. The words hang unsaid in the air. 

You groan, dropping your head into your hands. “We might not have a choice,” you mutter, glancing at him through the gap between your fingers. Your eyes zero in on the hollow of his neck, your entire body buzzing with the need to attach your mouth to it, to see what noise he’d make if you did. You can’t drag your eyes away. “He’s not gonna find her in time.” 

Sam’s gaze turns to you, and you finally manage to lift your eyes to watch his drag down your body, his pupils blown so wide you can no longer see the hazel of his irises. “He might,” he protests, but the argument falls flat with the way his eyes are locked on your cleavage, glistening with sweat. 

“And if he doesn’t?” you ask, lifting your head from where you’ve been hiding behind your hands. Seeing him full on, no hiding in your periphery or stealing quick glances, it’s like staring straight into the sun. Blinding. You have to take a deep breath and dig your fingers into the sheets beneath you to keep from reaching out. “How long are we gonna push it? Are we gonna let it kill us just so we don’t have to—”

He interrupts you with a rasp of your name, and you almost groan out loud at the sound of it. Fuck, you’ve never needed anything like you need him right now. Like air, like water. “That’s the thing, I don’t want to have to. I—God, it feels like…forcing you. It feels wrong.” 

Is that his hold up? He thinks you don’t want this? Jesus, you’ve gone this whole time thinking he’d literally rather die than fuck you, and it turns out he was just scared you didn’t really want him, that the curse was making you feel things you’d never feel otherwise. “Sam, I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but you’re hot. I’d way rather have sex with you than die.”  You watch his hands flex, his fingers spreading before he balls them into fists, and your cunt flutters. “Actually, the list of things I’d rather do than fuck you is probably significantly shorter than the opposite. Not…not just because of the curse.” Of course, the curse is definitely making it worse. You can’t stop thinking of how good his thick fingers would feel curling inside you, imagining how attentive he’d be. How generous. Normally, you can curb it a little, save those thoughts for late at night, guilty and shameful. But right now they’re sticking at the forefront of your mind, no matter how hard you try to think about literally anything else. 

You watch the conflict in his mind playing out on his face before he groans and rubs his hands over it. “You don’t get it; it’s not—I don’t want to just be someone you fuck, I want…I want everything,” he tells you, and if your heartbeat wasn’t already erratic, it would be skipping in your chest right now. “And this is just absolutely the last way I wanted you to find out, but that’s why I’m not…I just don’t know if I can do this if this is all I’m gonna get.” 

“Oh, Sam.” His name falls from your lips before you even realize you’re saying it. You stand up and cross the room to sit next to him on the bed, and you don’t miss the way his throat bobs as he swallows, the way his eyes flick down your body for just a moment, the way he twists his fingers into the sheets. You set it aside for now; this is more important. He is more important. “You really don’t know?” 

He’s silent for a moment, his eyes searching your face; although for what, you don’t know. “Know what?” he asks, his voice quiet as a breath. 

You lift your hand to touch his face, and this time, when the magic sparks across your skin, it feels like a salve, cooling the skin of your palm. From the way he sighs, you imagine he’s feeling the effect as well. “Of course I want that. Who wouldn’t want everything with you?” You’re so engrossed in the look on his face—wide-eyed awe, as if he truly never believed you could want him too—that the sparking of his hand touching your waist makes you jump. Oh, but God, the relief is instantaneous. If just this, your hand on his cheek, his hand on your waist, feels this good, how good would it feel to kiss him? To drag his shorts down his legs and sink down onto his cock, feel the way it stretches you out— “Now if you’re properly reassured, could you please, please fuck me already?” 

Sam may have the self-control of some sort of divine being, but he is, in the end, only human, and the curse is deep, and hot, and needy. You can see it the moment his restraint snaps, and even if you couldn’t, he drags you in and plants his lips on yours. Every feeling is amplified tenfold, and as you gasp at his hungry kiss, Sam takes the opportunity to lick into your mouth, his free hand coming up to the back of your head to hold you close, guide you how he wants you. It’s not how you imagined he would kiss you, not really, but it’s exactly what you need right now, and the magic sparks down your spine in a wave of cool respite from the heat that had been eating you up. 

Then he pulls away—to speak, or maybe just to breathe—and the heat surges back in instantly, stealing your breath and leaving you panting into his mouth as you frantically drag him back in. “No,” you groan, shoving your hand into his hair to keep him from pulling back again. “We have to keep—oh, fuck.” 

The feeling of his hand shoving under the fabric of your sports bra, pushing it up to expose your breasts, shuts you up quickly. He brushes his thumb over your nipple, and you moan, pleasure sparking across what feels like every nerve ending you have. He doesn’t pull away to speak this time, well aware now that the relief you’re both feeling is very dependent on the contact. “I wish I could take this slow,” he mumbles, and you feel his voice buzzing against your lips. “Lay you down and taste every inch of you until you’re begging for my cock.” 

As if you needed to be any hornier. “I’m already begging for it,” you tell him, before dragging his bottom lip between your teeth. The noise he makes goes straight to your cunt, and you scramble to climb onto his lap. Fuck, you can feel how hard he is underneath you as you straddle him—even through the layers of fabric separating you, he feels huge. You need him inside you yesterday. “Next time—” you start, although it’s a little hard to speak with Sam’s tongue dragging over yours on nearly every other word— “we can have slow and sweet and whatever you want. But if you’re not inside me in the next two minutes, I’ll kill you before the curse even gets a chance, I swear to God.” 

Sam laughs, like you’re joking. You’re absolutely not. “Alright, I got you,” he mutters, and your brain registers the magic sparking across your skin before his hand as he shoves it under the waistband of your shorts. Your entire body jolts as he brushes a finger over your center through the fabric of your panties, but only because it feels so good, more intense than it has any right to be. “Fuck, you’re so wet.” 

You hardly have the brain power to even kiss him anymore, but it doesn’t matter as much now. His hand in your pants is providing infinitely more relief than kissing him could hope to achieve. You drag your lips down his neck before laving your tongue over the hollow of his throat, tasting the sweat that’s gathered there. “I need it so bad,” you mumble against his skin, and apparently you’re so fucking desperate for it that you’ve been reduced to cheesy, porny dirty talk. 

Sam doesn’t seem to mind. He tips his head back on a groan as you scrape your teeth over the thin skin of his throat. “Yeah? I can tell. You’re soaked,” he says, and then his fingers deftly tug the fabric of your underwear aside so he can press a finger inside you. You’re pretty sure you see God. From the look on his face, Sam might be in the same boat. “Fucking hell—off. Off, take them off.” Tragically, he removes his hand from your cunt, and you could actually cry at the way the overwhelming heat comes slamming back into you the second his touch leaves. But it only takes a moment before magic is sparking over your skin again as his hands brush your hips in his efforts to drag your shorts and underwear down your legs. 

You take over once he’s got them halfway down your thighs, crawling off his lap in favor of ridding yourself of the offending garments. And while you’re at it, you drag your sports bra over your head too. In the time between you crawling off him and tossing your bra carelessly aside, Sam has followed suit. When you turn your attention back to him, he’s entirely bare, having tossed his pants and underwear to the same careless void you’d abandoned yours to. 

Despite your desperate urgency, you take a moment to let your eyes fall to his lap, and fuck, your mouth waters at the sight of him, hard and leaking. He’s…God, you expected him to be big—he’s six foot four for fuck’s sake, of course he’d be big—but this is just absurd. You can’t help but reach out, gingerly wrapping your fingers around his length. You’re so engrossed in the way your hand looks wrapped around him that you almost miss the choked little moan he gives, his body bowing towards you. 

“Please,” he groans, and then he reaches out to grab you by the shoulders, tugging you back in close again, urging you to reclaim your perch on his lap. “I wanna feel you, I need to—God, you’re so hot; please let me fuck you.” 

You aren’t sure if he means it as a compliment, or a comment on the insane waves of heat radiating off your skin. Either way, you’re more than willing to fulfill his request. “Yeah. Yeah, anything,” you murmur, ducking your head to press your forehead against his. From this angle, you can almost see as you use your grip on him to guide his cockhead to line up with your entrance. Where you touch, the magic between you sings. It’s nearly automatic; you sink down onto his cock without so much as a second thought. 

Despite Sam’s…considerable size, somehow, you expected the slide to be easy, what with the aching desperation of it all. You’d expected your dripping cunt to suck him right in, make the stretch of taking his cock bearable. It seems even sex curses can’t work miracles, though. “Fuck, Sam—” you choke out, dropping your head to rest on his shoulder. The stretch doesn’t hurt, necessarily, but it’s so much—would be so much anyway, even without the curse amplifying it and making it so much more. You have to stop and take a moment just to remember how to breathe before you’ve even sunk to the top of your hand, wrapped no less than halfway down. 

“I know.” His voice when he speaks is rough, teeth gritted like it’s a real test of his strength to keep still, to keep from fucking up into you, to keep from making you take it. God, you almost want him to, but the soothing tone of his voice is nice too. It rumbles in his chest, echoing through your body just as sure as the pleasure of his cock stretching you out. He brushes his hands over your shoulders and down your back to finally land on your hips. You think maybe he means to keep his grip gentle, because the pressure of his fingers digging into your skin fluctuates, like he’s fighting the urge to bruise you. He’s not doing a very good job of it, though, and it sends a thrill up your spine to know he’s going to leave his mark there, even if that’s not his intention. “I know, take your time. I’ve got you.” 

It’s a sweet sentiment, but you both know time is something you actually don’t have a lot of right now. You can feel the heat crawling up your spine even now, though Sam’s cock spearing you open is holding it at bay. Somewhat. So you dig your fingers into Sam’s hair to steel yourself, and you sink down. And down, and down, until you can’t imagine how there could possibly be more to take, and then, finally, your hips kiss his, and he’s bottomed out inside you. “Fuck,” you groan, panting against the skin of his shoulder as you try to catch your breath. It feels like your lungs emptied out in an attempt to make room, like he’s buried so deep inside you they can’t quite fill right anymore. “Oh, fuck.” 

Sam makes an attempt to soothe you, laying hot, open mouthed kisses over your neck and shoulder. “So good, you’re so good, baby,” he murmurs, his voice rumbling over your skin. His hands abandon their stations at your hips to pull your face up so he can press those same kisses all across your face. “Taking me so well, so perfect for me.” 

Fuck, but he’s got your number, doesn’t he? The praise hits like a drug, zipping down your spine to your cunt and making you flutter around him. It’s frankly entirely unconscious when you shift your hips, but the stars that erupt in your vision when he moves inside you have you moaning in tandem with him. 

“Shit—” He drags you into a messy kiss, all open mouths and panting breaths, his hands buried in your hair. “Can I—God, please, can I move?” You’ve never heard him sound like that before, just the very edge of a whine in his voice as he pleads against your lips. He sounds wrecked, and it feels…good, heady. Powerful. You want to drag that voice out of him a hundred more times, make him whine for you like that for the rest of his life. 

You shake your head, tilting your head down to press a biting kiss on his jaw. “No. No, I’m gonna…” With that, you brace your arms on his shoulders and your knees on either side of him and lift your hips until you’ve nearly moved off him entirely, just the tip of his cock still pressed inside you. And then you drop back down. You feel every inch of it as he drags along your walls, and though it’s easier to take this time, the stretch is still intense, still nearly makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

You force yourself to keep your eyes forward, though, because the look on Sam’s face is almost as good as the stretch of his cock. His brows furrow, face twisting in his pleasure, and his mouth falls open, like he wants to moan but something is holding him back. And, well. That just won’t do. 

You lift yourself up to drop down again, satisfied when Sam groans and drags his hands down your back to dig his fingers into your hips again, pressing into familiar aches. You duck to press your smug smile against his neck, and find it so slick with sweat that you can’t help licking a stripe up his throat. “I’m gonna ride you so good, Sammy,” you mutter, your lips brushing his skin as you speak. His hands help guide you when you bounce this time, and it only makes the slide more delicious, makes your words drag out into a moan before you can continue, “Fuck, do you know how long I’ve wanted to do this? See your face while I make myself come on your cock?” You start up a steady rhythm with Sam’s grip spurring you along, lifting up to slam back down again, his cock spearing you open again and again and again. 

Once you’ve got into the rhythm, his hands move from your hips to your upper back to drag you closer until he can lean down and press his face in the valley between your breasts, kissing and biting and licking the soft skin there, and all the while his hands keep pressing you closer, keeping your chest arched into his mouth. “How long?” he asks, his voice muffled as he drags his lips over the swell of your breast to leave his biting kisses there too. 

You drag your hands up into his hair as you roll your hips, moving in more of a grind now than a bounce, and the new movement means his cock is frankly unrelenting against your g-spot, the pressure of it never leaving, only shifting. The feeling is near overwhelming, has your hips faltering so much that Sam has to bring his hands back to your hips just so you keep moving. “Mm, God, forever, feels like,” you answer, once you’ve gathered enough brain power to even process that he had asked you a question. “Since the first time I saw you, probably.” Saying it out loud, it feels a little bit creepy to confess that you’ve been fantasizing about riding him since the moment you met him, but you’re a little too blissed out at the moment to feel embarrassed about it.  

Besides, judging by the way Sam groans against your chest and fucks up into you, he clearly doesn’t find it creepy at all. “Guess I’d better make it worth the wait, then,” he mutters, before dragging the blunt of his teeth over your pebbled nipple and then moaning against it when the shock of pleasure makes your grip tighten in his hair. And, fuck, if you thought it was good before…

He digs his heels into the bed to brace and starts thrusting up to meet every roll of your hips, his cock pounding so deep inside you now that you swear you can almost taste it. If there was enough room in your mind to even process it behind the fog of lust, you’d realize he’s fucking needy, desperate little moans from your throat with every thrust. And all the while he keeps his face buried in your tits, despite the way they bounce with the force of his thrusts. He drags his teeth over the skin between them, laves his tongue over your nipples, making noises like there’s no place he’d rather be. It’s intoxicating. 

And you’re so close, toeing the edge and hurtling ever closer with every thrust Sam pounds into you. The entire energy of the curse settles in your core at the same place the coil of your impending orgasm grows ever tighter. “Sam,” his name falls from your lips like a prayer, and you use your grip in his hair to drag him up, to kiss him messy and deep. You swallow the sweet, hungry noises he’s making, and he nips at your lip, and you are so fucking close. “Please.” 

Sam’s got you. Of course he does. He brings one hand from your hip to press between your legs and rub his thumb over your clit in quick, firm little circles. “Come on, pretty girl,” he murmurs, “let me feel you come on my cock.” 

And who are you to deny him anything he wants? You cry out as your orgasm explodes through you, whiting out your vision with the force of it. You’ve never come so hard in your life, and it just keeps going, burning up your spine like it’s singlehandedly eating up the energy the curse had created in your body. You’re just conscious enough to feel when Sam’s cock twitches and spills inside you, the frantic spasming of your cunt milking him for all he’s worth. 

You do come down, eventually, your fingers aching where they’ve been white knuckled in Sam’s hair. You bury your face in his neck and try to catch your breath, and his nose presses against your hair as he seems to do the same. It takes you a moment to notice—and you think you can be excused, considering you just came so hard you saw God—but despite the cum that you can feel slowly beginning to seep out of you, Sam is still hard, and doesn’t seem to be softening. Like, at all. And once you notice that, it’s a quick step to realize that the heat at the base of your spine, while significantly lessened, has not completely subsided. 

Fuck. “She’s not dead,” you groan, which morphs into a whimper when an involuntary shift of your hips makes Sam’s cock press against your oversensitive sweet spot. “God, we’re still cursed.” You can feel the awful heat starting to build again, that same devastating arousal eating at you despite the way you’re still trembling all over with the aftermath of your last orgasm.

You feel Sam’s lips press against your hair, soothing hands rubbing up your sides as they do. “We’ve probably bought enough time,” he offers, smoothing his thumbs over your hip bones. It seems sweet, until he smooths his hand down your thigh and keeps talking, “If you can’t go again.” And that? Well, that sounds like a challenge. 

Pushing through the oversensitivity, you rock your hips down, dragging your nails down the back of Sam’s neck and shoulders in an effort to dull the feeling. “Oh, I can go again,” you retort, with a confidence that you’re not sure you’ve really earned, considering the way your thighs are shaking. “Just…not on top.” 

The rumble of Sam’s laugh in his chest is your only warning before you’re suddenly bouncing on the bed on your back, a shocked yelp passing your lips at the sudden movement, and the sudden emptiness—your cunt clenches around nothing but air, Sam’s spend spilling from your fluttering hole.  

“There,” Sam says, his face smug as he climbs over you. “Problem solved.” 

You roll your eyes, ready to shoot back some sassy retort of your own, but Sam’s not looking at you. Not at your face, at least. Instead, his eyes are trained between your legs, and simply because it seems like it would be more effective than a sarcastic comment—and not because of the way his eyes glaze over a little while he’s staring, definitely not—you let your legs fall open a little further. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and then he reaches between your legs to press two fingers in your cunt. It takes you a moment to realize he’s pushing his cum back in, gathering up whatever had spilled from you when he pulled out and fucking it back into you with his fingers. 

You groan, tossing your arm over your eyes. It’s not really something you’d thought you’d be into, but now that he’s doing it… “Fuck, Sam…” 

Sam laughs, but it comes out a little breathless, and you lift your arm to watch him as he draws his fingers from your cunt and brings them right up to his mouth to lick them clean. Holy fucking shit. “Yeah,” he mutters, tucking his hand under your thigh to lift your leg up onto his shoulder, “That’s sort of the idea.”

He doesn’t waste much time after that, lines himself up and pushes in. You’re so sensitive; it’s so good it almost hurts, and though this angle doesn’t allow him to get nearly as deep, it’s clearly better for him to drive into you. His thrusts are quick and punchy, drawing little ‘ah’s from your throat as he drags you back to the edge faster than you would’ve thought possible. Maybe that’s the curse. Maybe he’s just that good. 

“Come on, baby,” he mutters, pressing sloppy kisses all over your face, down your neck. “You can give me one more, yeah?” You don’t even notice his arm move, but between one blink and the next, he’s got his thumb back on your clit, rubbing circles over the sensitive bud. 

Your nails dig into his shoulders, dragging down his back as you arch your own. “God, don’t stop, fuck—”

You feel it the second it happens. It’s completely instant, the sudden and total disappearance of the magic that had been consuming your and Sam’s bodies. The witch is dead, the curse is broken, and the complete relief in tandem with Sam railing you into the fucking bed sends you careening over the edge in an instant, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as you squeeze them shut. 

Sam groans and digs his teeth into your shoulder, following right after you as the curse dissipates from his body as well. 

The two of you don’t talk for a long while after that, going about the motions of recovery and cleaning up in silence. He pulls out—the both of you hissing with oversensitivity at the motion—and heads into the bathroom to get a rag. He wipes himself down and then you, mindful of the way you wince when he presses too hard. 

You catch his wrist when he goes to walk away. “I meant what I said.” You wait until he turns to look at you, and then you tangle your fingers in his. “It wasn’t just about the curse for me.” 

You can see it on his face, the hesitance. Like he really never thought he could have this. Fuck, if you had known, you’d have told him years ago, just to make sure he knew how adored he was. How adored he is, always. 

“Yeah?” he says, his voice quiet as he leans down to press a kiss to your lips. It’s sweeter, much more tender than any of the kisses before, and this is exactly how you had always thought Sam would kiss you. With his entire heart on his sleeve. “Me too.” 

Maybe you’ve got a little to thank witches for after all. 

[resident-idiot-simp]

Look ok one of my other favorite AU's is sirens/mermaids. I don't know if we want them to both be it or one or whatever. But I just need to state this for the record because I have thoughts and opinions.

Wade's a mer sure but like the kind of mer who can turn human. So he's a member of the ship/crew as far as anyone is concerned. But either Logan knows (found him one day and took him in) or he finds out (something goes wrong and Wade saves him)

Anywheres their relationship is good and everything but Wade always wants to do everything in his other form because it's more natural. And Logan is a kinky fuck

So I don't know what should be funnier Logan knew before whatever catastrophe or he didn't know. And then of course the relationship.

I have no idea what would be funnier or better. But how were the mechanic work Is it just being submerged in water I feel like that's the best one.

If he didn't know I feel like it would be Logan almost drowning because despite being on the water at all times he hates it. And Wade just cannot allow him to die. Maybe they were aboard the X-Men ship or something and Wade takes him away. They create their own crew a better one become pirates or something.

And then every few days or so they sneak off and their crew is wondering what the deal is (The deal is fish sex).

Maybe Logan's mutated so Wade doesn't feel so alone in being different... Maybe that ends up being their whole crew misplaced misfits

They have sex daily without question but both desire it in a more baseline instinct driven way too. They need to fight, claw, and bite I've another and Logan has to learn real quick to like the water. Because Wade will half drown him maybe it's some suppressed instinct to kill and maim.

(Fish (like)/aquatic creatures be fucked up)

One day one of the crew members follows and thinks genuinely that Wade is trying to kill Logan. This is not the case but they definitely think this. (Do they stay or run back to the ship I am unsure both are equally funny)

Wade who is doing him damnedest to pin Logan under him through any means necessary. Logan who still fucking hates water and is fighting ferociously to not be pinned and drowned.

Some poor sap who's watching the two heads of their crew try to 'kill' one another. Wade wins if he kills him and Logan will come back to Wade having his way with him.

(They had a long conversation about this years ago)

If Logan wins he gets to do what he wants to Wade.

It's a good deal and it's about an even split who wins each time. Logan hates drowning though but it has become his least hated way to die.

He doesn't always die of course. Sometimes he just manages just to subdue him. But he dies as often as he does because he refuses to give up the fight.

Wade loves wrapping his tail around Logan tangling them together while they lay there in the afterglow. It's a fight every time to detangle them to get back to the ship.

After the crew know Wade sometimes will just swim alongside the ship while they travel. Maybe some legend starts off of I sea monster following them around.

No one knows and they crew isn't talking. Someone somewhere gets the idea in their head that they could hunt down the sea creature. This does not go well for them

Okay so they either come back to everyone holding spears/guns and pointing it at Wade. Or The man is not believed and told to fuck off

The people on board know Wade is like them he has razer sharp teeth and his fingernails are claw like. But no one knows exactly what his deal is and the rule is you don't ask. Maybe his tongue is a but too long 🤔 (for wholesome reasons of course definitelynotforsexualstuff)

They're pretty much all some kind of mutant or mutate or something. So they all kinda shrug it off. No one asks what anyone's deal is and everyone just kinda goes along with it

It's the opposite of mutually insured destruction. You can't rat out if you don't know. The only hint they have besides the visible stuff is the fact he always smells like seaweed (smell idea courtesy of @orcadork4ever)

Many a time have the crew caught Wade teasing their captain with it. Their captain who is watch the man with dark wanting eyes.

While Logan was the captain Wade was second in command and was pretty much Logan's equal. They had formed this new crew together and were closer then many first thought possible.

Logan was aloof and distant but with Wade he was practically mush in his hands. It was shocking at first but it's soon become the normal state of things.

They probably get told about mutants or creatures being held against their will. And go out of their way to make sure that they free them all.

A new member of the crew is welcomed aboard and it's a shock. All the personalities who seem to somehow get along with each other even though they're nothing alike.

I'll run by a distant captain who seems like an absolute bastard and who many horror stories have been spun about. They act like he's some kind of Boogeyman who comes in slaughters hundreds before running off once more.

And his second in command who could not be any more opposite. Except for the fact that he's just as terrifying though it's not first apparent.

Then you get to see later that day the two of them in a corner in the boat flirting. Because that has to be what it is. What with Wade plastered to the Captain's front and One of his hands creeping down Logan's lower back to grab at his ass.

And the captain is just allowing it fuck he's blushing and leaning into the other man. He's even purring purring as he raises his own hand to cup the other's nape.

(That's all I got right now)

[sakusaswifee]

“𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄”

𓆩༒︎𓆪 LONG DISTANCE + TS!OIKAWA TOORU

Warnings: This work contains explicit sexual content (18+), including long-distance video call intimacy, mutual masturbation, possessive/dirty talk, praise kink, light overstimulation, and emotional vulnerability. This is a consensual and affectionate dynamic, but includes a possessive/obsessive tone in parts.

MINORS DNI, 18+ content ahead.

𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪

You didn’t mean to call him so late, but missing him hit differently tonight. The bed felt too cold. Too empty. So you hit that familiar contact name, and before the dial tone could even finish, Oikawa was already answering. His hair messy, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips, shirtless and bathed in the soft amber light of his apartment in Argentina.

“Couldn’t sleep again?” he teased, voice husky and warm, like velvet over gravel. But his eyes..his eyes softened the second they found you, barely covered in his old Seijoh hoodie, cheeks flushed, lips parted like you wanted to speak but couldn’t.

“No. Missed you,” you murmured, curling deeper into the blankets, pulling the hem of the hoodie up your thighs without even realizing.

Oikawa’s gaze darkened.

The camera angle shifted just slightly, his breath catching. “Baby, you can’t look at me like that,” he warned, his voice lower now, eyes drinking you in. “Not when I’m ten thousand kilometers away and all I want is to touch you.”

And the silence that followed? It crackled with tension. With want. With the kind of heat that had your fingers twitching against your thigh and his hand disappearing beneath the frame of his camera.

“Show me,” he whispered, voice tight. “Let me watch. Let me pretend I’m there.”

And so you did.

Because tonight, pretending was the only thing keeping you both from coming undone.

Your fingers hovered just beneath the hem of the hoodie now, thighs pressed together, heart racing. On the screen, Oikawa was all hunger, his hand flexing like he wanted to reach through the pixels and drag you into his lap. That teasing smile of his had vanished, replaced with something darker, needier.

“You’re not wearing anything under that, are you?” he murmured, eyes narrowing.

You bit your lip.

He groaned, like the sound was torn straight from his chest. “Of course you aren’t. You knew exactly what you were doing when you called me.”

You nodded slowly, bashfully, but there was heat in your eyes now too. “I missed you..needed to see you.”

“And now you’ve got me,” he whispered, voice thick with tension. “So show me. Lie back, baby..nice and slow. Let me see what’s mine.”

You obeyed, the camera catching the delicate arch of your back as you leaned into the pillows, legs parting just enough to tease him. Oikawa’s jaw clenched and you could tell..he was already touching himself off camera, pacing himself for your show. His breath was uneven now, syncing with yours, feeding off your every twitch and sigh.

“Touch yourself for me,” he said, low and reverent. “Nice and slow, like I would. Pretend it’s my fingers. You know how deep I go..how good I make you feel.”

Your breath hitched as your hand slipped between your legs, and Oikawa’s name slipped from your lips like a prayer.

“That’s it, baby..let me hear you,” he whispered, his voice breaking a little with want. “Let me see you come undone for me. Just like that.”

And for a moment, even through the distance, it felt like he was there. Like every breathless moan pulled him closer. Like every whisper of his name on your tongue was a thread tying your bodies together, no matter how far apart you were.

And neither of you cared if it was real or not.

Because tonight? This—you—was everything he needed.

You were still catching your breath, chest rising and falling in soft, uneven waves, skin flushed and dewy from the heat you’d just drowned in. Your fingers twitched against your thigh, a little overstimulated, a little dazed, still wrapped in the ghost of his voice whispering filth and praise through the screen.

Oikawa hadn’t looked away for even a second.

His own cheeks were pink now, collarbone glistening with sweat, his hand finally coming into view..messy, trembling, as he adjusted the camera to bring you into sharper focus. “You look ruined,” he said with a soft, teasing smirk. “So fucking pretty when you fall apart for me.”

You whimpered, cheeks hot. “Missed your voice..”

“Oh baby,” he cooed, eyes half lidded as he sat back, exhaling a long, shuddering breath. “You like when I talk you through it, huh? You need me in your ear, telling you what to do..”

You nodded, your voice breathy. “I can’t come right without you anymore..”

His jaw clenched at that, something primal flashing in his gaze. “Say that again.”

You blinked, biting your lip.

“Say it,” he growled, suddenly leaning in toward the camera. “Say you’re ruined for anyone else. Say this body, those sounds, that sweet little whimper when you’re about to come, it’s all mine.”

“It’s all yours,” you breathed, without hesitation. “All of it..only ever been for you.”

His hand twitched again, and the snarl he bit back was laced with pure satisfaction. “Fuck, baby..you really are mine, aren’t you? Even from across the world, you still let me have every piece of you.”

You reached for the screen like you could pull him through, needy and desperate. “Come home soon.”

He smiled, soft now, voice barely a whisper. “Soon. And when I do? I’m not letting you out of my bed for days.”

And the way he said it? It wasn’t a promise.

It was a threat.

𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪

[ssulvyyy]

365 days of you

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pairing: kmj x reader

genres: fluff, slow burn, mutual pining, courting, loser minji

warnings: super cringey

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day 1

minji first notices her in the library.

not on the field, not in the cafeteria, not at a party—but in the quietest corner of the school, where dust settles on encyclopedias and the only sounds are the faint turning of pages and the occasional whisper between shy students.

yn sits with her head bowed low, black pen moving swiftly across a notebook. her glasses are slightly crooked, strands of hair tucked behind her ear, and minji doesn’t know why she stops walking.

but she does.

and for the first time in her seventeen years, minji forgets how to speak.

---

day 11

she leaves a protein bar on yn’s desk.

it’s awkward. she panics and walks away as soon as she puts it down.

yn stares at it like it’s a trap.

she doesn’t eat it.

minji dies inside.

---

day 23

“i watched your game,” yn says softly, eyes still on her book.

minji’s throat tightens. she wasn't even sure yn knew who she was.

“yeah?” she manages to say, heart pounding. “did you like it?”

yn nods. then, quietly: “your pass in the last quarter was really smart.”

minji swears she could cry.

---

day 37

minji walks her to class.

they don’t talk much. minji babbles about her upcoming track meet. yn listens, hands clutching the strap of her backpack tightly.

right before they part ways, yn mumbles, “good luck.”

Minji wins the gold medal that weekend.

she tells everyone it’s because she trained hard.

but really, it was the luck yn gave her.

---

day 55

minji gets caught staring at her in the cafeteria.

yn blushes and nearly drops her tray.

minji stammers. “sorry—i wasn’t—i mean, you have rice on your cheek.”

yn turns even redder and wipes it quickly, not meeting her eyes.

after that, yn always sits facing a wall.

minji dies a little again.

---

day 74

yn leaves a small sticky note on minji’s locker.

“you did great yesterday. your jump was amazing.”

minji rereads it at least 46 times before sticking it inside her notebook.

next to the one she’s secretly been keeping full of notes about yn.

---

day 101

they sit together under the bleachers after minji’s practice.

yn brings her a bottle of water. minji thinks it might be love.

she offers her a fry from her fast-food bag.

yn hesitates, then takes one. chews slowly.

minji stares at her like she’s the eighth wonder of the world.

yn looks away, but minji catches the small smile.

---

day 138

minji walks her home for the first time.

it’s not far—just a few blocks from the library.

yn lets her carry her bag. minji almost drops it when their fingers brush.

when they reach her gate, yn looks at her for a long moment.

“you’re not like how i thought you’d be,” she says.

minji tilts her head. “good different or bad different?”

yn stares at her shoes. “different different.”

minji spends the night overthinking every possible interpretation of that.

---

day 175

they go to the aquarium.

minji calls it a “study break.” yn only agrees when she learns there’s a jellyfish exhibit.

minji doesn’t even like fish. but she memorizes every single fact yn recites like gospel.

when they stand in front of the jellyfish tank, glowing blue and ethereal, Minji whispers, “they’re kinda like you.”

yn blinks. “in what way?”

“beautiful. and no one really knows what you’re thinking.”

yn turns red.

but she doesn’t look away this time.

---

day 204

minji holds her hand.

it’s accidental—at least, she tells herself that.

they’re crossing a busy street, and minji grabs it on instinct.

yn doesn’t let go, even when they’re safely on the sidewalk.

minji thinks her heart might actually explode.

---

day 230

it’s raining, and yn is standing outside the school with no umbrella.

minji throws hers over her head, barely keeping herself dry.

“you’ll get wet,” ynsays softly.

“i don’t care.”

yn finally looks at her.

“why are you always so nice to me?”

minji’s breath hitches. “because i like you.”

yn doesn’t reply. not right away.

but she walks closer, until they’re shoulder to shoulder under the small canopy of blue.

and somehow, that’s enough.

---

day 268

yn attends minji’s championship meet.

she doesn’t sit with the crowd—she waits near the entrance, hands tucked inside her sleeves.

minji sees her right before the final sprint.

and somehow, that’s the moment everything clicks.

she runs like she’s flying.

after the race, still breathless, she runs straight into Y/N’s arms.

they hug for the first time.

minji never wants to let go.

---

day 301

they sit on the rooftop of yn’s building, watching the stars.

yn leans her head on minji’s shoulder.

“i think i like you back,” she says quietly.

minji’s hand trembles.

“you think?”

yn smiles against her sweater. “i know.”

---

day 365

exactly one year since minji saw her in the library.

they’re sitting on the same bench where they used to part ways after school.

minji is holding something behind her back.

yn raises a brow. “ehat’s that?”

minji pulls out a small, crumpled notebook.

inside: 365 pages. each one dated. each one about her.

“i wrote something about you every single day,” minji says, voice shaky.

yn takes it, hands trembling. “why?”

“because you were worth the wait.”

then minji takes a deep breath, reaches out, and asks softly:

“will you be my girlfriend?”

yn smiles, tears in her eyes.

she leans forward, presses their foreheads together, and whispers:

“i thought you’d never ask.”

[pearlywritings]

hello! i came from the music of the night event and would like to request childe + biwa (exes), if possible.

thank you :)

Hi-hi! I haven't written something angsty in a while, so this one's not very long. Hopefully, it's still good,,,

Is goodbye really an adieu?

pairing: Childe x reader

prompt: exes

word count: 675 words

~ The Music of the Night event ~

Tartaglia is one of the Tsaritsa’s Harbingers, respected and feared, known to be a fine warrior.

Childe is a reckless fella, who wears a smile that rarely reaches his sparkless stormy blue eyes, and is good at getting his way no matter the means.

Ajax hates being vulnerable.

And yet, he is clinging to you in utter desperation, fingers digging into your waist through the heavy sheepskin coat, his whole body pinning yours against the pine tree. The kisses he steals from you are open-mouthed and suffocate him. He gasps and pants heavy clouds of steam into this frosty morning, but still dives back, beckoned by your arms wrapped around his shoulders, and lets you mold your lips with his. It feels like torture when he thinks of coming back, of loading the wood onto his shoulders, letting you take the axe and leaving this grove. When you choke out his name, burying your face into his scarf and fingers - into the ginger hair, something in the man breaks, but he can only hold you, biting his lip to blood not to let your own name spill from it.

He’s done this to himself. He’s the one to blame for the heartache he gets every damn time he visits his family in his hometown. He’s the one who broke up with you after years of being in a relationship.

Truly, you could say you separated on amicable terms. He couldn’t keep giving you false hope and he found the strength to tell you that. He never excused it as him just being young and dumb. He spoke to you with raw honesty. 

He was too busy. He was always too far away. He was getting more and more emotionally constipated. But most importantly, climbing the ranks and making more and more enemies, he couldn’t let anyone put a target on you. The thought of you losing your life scared Ajax more than the idea of him losing you.

And you? Lips pursed and quivering, tears trembling on your lashes and hands fisted - you were the image of the heart breaking. And yet you understood. You understood, you smiled through your tears and only wished him to be safe. Even with your chest being torn open by his proposition, you still worried for his well-being.

You both are truly the same.

That’s why he loved you.

He still does.

When he’s in the capital or in a far away nation on a mission, the ache gets better. Sometimes he can live a day without a single thought about you. When he visits Morepesok though?

He somehow always finds his way back to you.

And despite everything, for some reason, you still welcome him.

He is well aware that his own lack of restraint is what doesn’t help the situation. But his family unintentionally makes the yearning so much worse.

To them you'll always be the best. The prettiest, the wittiest, the most hardworking and the most loving and loved one. You are already a part of the family in their minds - you are that dear and is always happily awaited for a visit. His mom still keeps the photos where you are together and asks him occasionally if someday you’ll reunite. His father can only give him a knowing look, and Ajax can almost feel the weight of it physically. And his siblings still hang out with you quite often, and it's not like he will ever forbid them. They adore you, which is mutual, and he just loves them too much. Even if their stories about you sometimes make his very being bleed, he still keeps every letter.

To return to where he once left. To the pain. To the pieces of two broken hearts. To the pools of such familiar eyes. To the warm embrace that feels like home. To you.

You haunt him. He knows you are not even trying.

Maybe he is just weak. Maybe that’s the reason he said a ‘goodbye’. Maybe he was always hoping to ‘see you again later’.

[akookminsupporter]

I feel kinda of disappointed about all the solo work, I was really hoping for a group comeback the latter end of the year or early next, not so far in the future. It’s like they kept saying about getting back together and it feels like a lie at this point. We’ve all been counting down with two months to go but it going to be like you said. 18 months or longer. It feels sad honestly. How are they meant to find their footing as a group again if they keep focussing on solo work and sounds.

and who has the money to go to all the solo tours?! Arghh

If you’re really a fan, it’s honestly a bit disappointing to hear you say things like that. It comes across as quite selfish, to be honest, especially when we’re talking about the very artists you say you support.

I get it. It’s totally normal to feel a bit down about the possibility that group activities might not be their immediate priority. But turning that sadness into criticism, or acting like they’re doing something wrong by following their own paths, is unfair. These are people who’ve dedicated years of their lives to the group, and now that they have the chance to keep exploring their individual interests and grow as artists, they deserve our support, understanding and respect too.

They’ve got every right to chase their dreams. If opportunities keep opening up for them—whether that’s solo music, acting, producing, or anything else—why should we as fans try to hold them back? It doesn’t mean they’re abandoning BTS. They’ve said it time and time again: BTS isn’t over. The group is still alive, still part of the plan. Just because things look different for now doesn’t mean that connection is gone. I still believe in that, and I don’t see any reason not to.

Their solo careers don’t have to be a threat to BTS—they’re not mutually exclusive. If anything, they can bring even more to the table when they come back together. Growth, new ideas, fresh energy. They just need time to figure it all out and to do it in a way that works for them and us as fans.

I want BTS to make music because it excites them, because it comes from the heart, not because fans are guilt-tripping them into doing it. Because let’s be honest, if they dropped something that felt half-baked or like they weren’t really into it, you’d probably be the first to complain. You’d be the one saying they’ve lost their spark, or that they should just call it a day if they’re not into it anymore. So, what is it you actually want from them?

Let them come back to group activities when it feels right—when they’re ready, not just when we want them to be. One of the most exciting things about them finishing military service soon is that It opens up so many possibilities.

And as for the whole “how are they meant to find their footing as a group again if they keep focusing on solo stuff?” thing… I get where that concern comes from, but it feels a bit unfair. These are people who’ve been through everything together. They’ve survived things that would’ve broken most groups. Their bond isn’t superficial—it’s rooted in years of shared experiences, highs and lows, success and struggle. Just because they’re doing their own thing for now doesn’t mean they’ve lost that.

And look, I know it's not cheap to follow each of them through their solo careers. The tours, the merch, the albums—it adds up. I get that too. But judging by my TL on Twitter, loads of people are in the same boat, and lots of people are buying everything too. It’s hard, but most fans are just trying to support what they can, when they can. No one’s saying you have to do everything.

At the end of the day, no one is forcing anyone to spend money or follow every move. You can still be a fan without going broke over it. Support in whatever way makes sense for you, and let them live their lives and careers the way they need to.

So yeah, I totally get wanting to see the group back together—believe me, I want that too. But more than anything, I want them to want it as well. I want it to come from a genuine place, not something they feel pressured into, or something they do just because it’s expected of them.

The last thing I’d want is for a comeback to feel forced or like it’s just part of a business strategy. They’ve given so much of themselves over the years—it’s only fair that any return to group activities is something they choose to do because it means something to them, not just because fans or the industry are demanding it.

A reunion should feel special. It should feel like home for them, not a job they’re dragging themselves to because they don’t want to let anyone down. And honestly, that’s the kind of comeback that would matter most. One where you can tell they’re all in, that they’re happy to be there, and that they still have something to say as a group. That’s the kind of BTS I want to see again.

[grasshopperdoingdogpaddle]

Do you think anyone who's ever met both of them ever notice any similarities between Dashi and Raimundo? By which I mean do you think Omi, Dojo, Guan, or Chase ever draw comparisons? (I think Omi's perspective would be most interesting since he had this larger than life image of Dashi before finding him napping in the bushes next to a pig pen.)

Wuya, Guan, and Hannibal, yes. They probably see something similar there in Dashi and Raimundo's demeanors and personalities.

Wuya sort of saw Raimundo as a potential mini-Dashi-- one that could maybe work out for her this time.

A laidback Xiaolin monk, but this one with weaker loyalty to the other monks and more personal ambition than Dashi himself had. Like Dashi, he wants to relax and have fun and chafes against expectations from authority.

And Raimundo hasn't come into himself or his powers yet, so she viewed him as a diamond in the rough that could grow to match the potential she wanted to use from Dashi. One she could mold from the start and have on her side before any loyalties to the temple or the world have been solidified, and before he's as comfortable in himself as Dashi was.

The way she goes about trying to keep him satisfied and entertained. It's probably partly where she thought she went wrong with Dashi, that Chase and Guan were apparently just more fun for him.

She fails to actually build any kind of actual emotional connection here. Probably moreso than with Dashi, partly because there's not actually anything mutual that's about to form here.

And after that fails, she doesn't keep trying to get Raimundo back to her side because, like it ultimately didn't work out with Dashi, she sees it as a lost cause and doesn't want to waste her time instead of setting them firmly as enemies.

Wuya's definitely the one who's noticed the most similarities between Raimundo and Dashi's fighting styles. Especially in their hand-to-hand combat, but also in the way he uses his elements and battles from a distance too.

You can see it in their brief one-on-one bouts in the ways she counters or evades or anticipates Raimundo's moves, and also in the ways she still gets tripped up or caught off guard in the middle of these matches. Because as much as she recognizes the similarities in their fighting styles, you can only rely on that to a certain point when one of those similarities is "airy and unpredictable."

And Wuya would be the best equipped to noticed the similarities on the battlefield, because she's the only one alive today who's actually fought Dashi seriously from the opposite side of things.

The tricks she uses against him are probably pretty similar to the tricks she used against Dashi as well. The flattery she uses on Raimundo (that genuinely works to distract him) is very different and more effective than the type we see her try to use against Chase Young or against Kimiko-disguised-as-Jack.

Hannibal comes at it in sort of the same perspective as Wuya. Hannibal is pretty good at getting a read on people. Tries to use his prior knowledge of Dashi in combination with what he sees in Raimundo to try to manipulate him, ultimately fails.

And Guan is also good at getting a read on people and assessing others to know how to interact with them. So he'd seem some similarities, as well as be able to catalogue every difference.

He spent years learning how to work alongside Dashi, what makes him tic and what motivates him, what he excels at and some of the surprises he has in store.

Guan and Dashi have stood on the battlefield together, and Guan and Dashi have pulled pranks together. He sees it in Raimundo.

Guan noting the similar personalities and styles is a lot of groundwork for when Guan and Raimundo teamed up and made that plan together.

And Guan's feelings about Dashi are far less complicated than Guan's feelings about Chase, so Guan seeing some similarities between Raimundo and Dashi makes it easier for Guan to know how to go about working with Raimundo.

As opposed to how Omi's similarities with (and very close mutual relationship with) Chase makes it more difficult for Guan to work with Omi.

As for Chase, Omi, and Dojo... I don't think they would draw those comparisons so readily.

Chase looks down on and doesn't think much of the other Xiaolin monks, and he looked at Dashi like he was a man that could have singularly hung the stars in the night sky, so I doubt he'd readily equate Dashi to anyone else in the world either, since Chase met Dashi when Chase was so young and Dashi was his first friend and such a larger-than-life figure to him.

Guan and Dashi were such formative figures to him and Chase respected them so much that he's not going to see anyone he doesn't respect as very similar to either of them. Chase is pretty good at twisting his internal logic to see things however he wants to see them or avoid seeing things how he doesn't want to see them, after all. (Like the way that Chase genuinely counts the scheme in "Judging Omi" and "Saving Omi" as Omi "choosing evil for himself")

Omi first met Dashi in person after the betrayal that forever tints his shaky bond with Raimundo in such a unique way, that I don't think Omi is likely to draw parallels between Rai and anybody else.

No one's ever quite hurt Omi this deeply before or after. It leaves a scar that's a defining moment for their relationship to him. And it doesn't get the space to ever heal as time goes on, especially with how Raimundo exacerbated it in The Return of Master Monk Guan.

If Omi had met Dashi sometime before Raimundo betrayed him, he probably would be surprised to note how Dashi is so similar to Raimundo in how surprisingly laid-back and whimsical they both are and how they both pull these silly pranks on him but ultimately seem kind and help him out and how both of them are so different than what he expected but in a way that Omi himself is surprisingly okay with. Omi would have even found something really cool and comforting in that, and clumsily told Raimundo that he is more like the great masters than he thinks, and told Dashi that he reminds Omi of a very clever friend of his back at the temple.

Because before the betrayal, Omi really did look up to Raimundo as someone who was very clever and tricksy but also thought he was someone who would never want to hurt them no matter how things looked. Omi thought that anything that even looked like Raimundo being against them would only ever be a good-natured prank that Omi and Raimundo and everyone could all laugh at together.

But after that turned out to be an impression that wasn't entirely true, Omi is deeply traumatized by the ordeal. Omi's meeting with Dashi was ultimately positive, even if it went in an unexpected way. Omi's mind is not going to go to that comparison on its own.

As for Dojo, the parts of Dashi that he's privy with aren't the parts that Raimundo most parallels.

Dashi didn't come off as the type who wanted to be a leader or legend from his interactions with Dojo, and Dojo's the one person who never placed him on that pedestal and understood that he didn't want to be seen there.

He's familiar with a Dashi that's struggling under the weight of these immense powers and titles and lofty expectations from people who see him as a perfect, solitary living legend. All those things that were thrust upon Dashi, that Dashi wasn't to run away from, are things that Raimundo chases after and longs for. Raimundo really wants to be leader and protector and prove himself and longs for the titles and to be seen as the best-- or at the very least, "good enough."

Dashi's seen as better than he wants to be seen as, Raimundo's seen as worse than he wants to be seen as.

But post-finale while Raimundo is trying to come into his own as a leader, depending on how that storyline is handled, I could see Dojo noticing similarities between them in that scenario and even offering support accordingly.

[izzy-b-hands]

I keep forgetting I can't seem to get the current version of xkit to work on my new laptop and going to do stuff that it let me do fjldksafjdlsaj

[lulu2992]

Happy 6th Anniversary to this detail that made me emotional.

[esmesketch]

HONK if you're still deep inside the Far Cry 5 hole trap in 2024 and can't escape.