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xhoneygirlxx · 1 year ago

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We’re Not Friends

Best Friend!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

summary: Eddie is just trying to help when he offers to be your date to your sister's wedding, but with all the love in the air will you and Eddie be able to stay friends?

warnings: lots of angst. reader's family sucks. reader's mom makes a comment about her weight. anxiety attacks. reader has low self esteem. fluff. best friends to lovers. fake dating. modern au. (this is titled after an Ed Sheeran song and I also use another one of his songs in the fic, sue me). slight smut. allusions to sex. alcohol consumption. swearing. minors dni!!!!!!!!!! reader and Eddie are both in their 20's. no y/n used, reader is referred to as Birdie. skin color/ethnicity/body type is not mentioned. spelling errors/shitting writing, just pretend you don't notice lmao. also the venue is completely made up and so is the location if you couldn’t tell, im not that creative.

*if I miss anything plz lmk*

a/n: hi my loves!!!! this is one of the last fics on my birthday fic list!!! I want to thank all of you for being patient and being so so supportive of my work. I love you all so much!!! also I do go back to work on Monday so I'm going to try to get as many fics pumped out by the end of the weekend.

And that's why friends should sleep in other beds

And friends shouldn't kiss me like you do

And I know that there's a limit to everything

But my friends won't love me like you do

The turning color of the leaves create the prettiest backdrop, tall trees blooming with orange, red, and a pinch of brown. The ones that have already fallen to the ground get swept up under the wheels of Eddie's car, lifting up and swirling around in a pretty dance, and falling right back into place waiting for the next car.

Although the crisp fall morning is peaceful you can't help but feel like you're living a nightmare. As he soft hum of Eddie's playlist flows through the speakers, you're coming up with a plan to turn the whole car around.

So far you thought about faking an illness, one that would stop the whole journey in it's tracks, only to dismiss it because you couldn't put your best friend through that stress. The idea of pulling the steering wheel also came to mind but you quickly threw that out of the window, not wanting to cause injury to the innocent man next to you or anyone else. Your final idea was one you're sure you could pull off as long as you used all the power within your being. If you pushed your feet on the floorboard hard enough, you could poke them out like the Flintstones and stop the car that way.

Between science and logic, you knew that wasn't possible no matter how hard you wished it would. Instead you'll stare out the window, watching all the pretty trees dance in the wind while you push down the rising anxiety that's forming in the pit of your stomach.

"You good over there, Birdie?" The deep voice next to you shakes you from your thoughts.

Turning your head Eddie's already looking at you with a lopsided grin. His demeanor matches the landscape outside, relaxed and serene. As you look at him you wish you could trade places, be as pleasant as he is.

"Yeah I'm just tired." Trying to sell him your answer, you smile lazily at him even though your response holds more tension than a game of tug of war.

Turning his attention back on the road, you watch as the pavement moves on the darkened lenses of his sunglasses. Eddie looks pretty like this, even though you always thinks he looks pretty. Usually he would be a grump having to be up this early, but today he wears his smile like a badge of honor. The dark curls of his hair cascade down his back, while some falls over his shoulders.

He's wearing the same red and black checkered flannel he always does this time of year, the same one you said was your favorite three years ago and it still holds that title. Underneath is a plain black tee shirt, the only one he has that's free of any band name, and a dark blue pair of jeans that have no holes.

He's still the same Eddie, his rings still sit on his fingers and his pick still hangs from the chain around his neck, but it seems that he only gets prettier and prettier as time passes by - like the turning leaves that still hang on the branches of the trees that you drive by.

"I think you're worried about this whole wedding thing," His voice is unwavering, screaming "I'm right" like it always does. "I don't get what's so bad about an open bar and free food."

Although his point is valid, Eddie couldn't be more wrong than that. This wasn't just an event to get drunk for free and stuffed to the gills at no charge. This was your older sister's wedding, the same sister that was the apple of your parents' eyes. Veronica was your arch nemesis since birth, a rival that you had no option but to defeat in order to survive.

You were the outcast of the family, the black sheep if you will, and you had to endure eighteen years of nonstop torture because of it. Your parents, Christine and Tim, were nothing but successful. The doctor and his trophy wife, the star couple in your small community, that had two beautiful and healthy children.

However you were the hardheaded child, the daughter that didn't have a bright future, you didn't carry as much promise as Vee, and your parents made sure to remind you of that every day. So when you moved out three years ago, you made sure to distance yourself as much as you could. But when you received a pristine white envelope with a glamorous invite on the inside, you were roped right back into the hell hole you worked so hard to leave behind.

You could've just ignore it, faked that you were on a trip and couldn't make it but your mother pretty much threatened you into showing up. So that's how you ended up in the countryside right outside of Chicago, driving in Eddie's Toyota Corolla to the Jefferson Manner on a Friday at eight am.

"You're right, Eddie, I should be so thrilled by that. Thank you so much for pointing it out to me." It's snippy with a hint of malice, and your eye roll held enough venom to injure an army of men.

Whistling loudly, Eddie chuckles lightly. "Woah, killer. Relax, I was just tryna help." He's still soft despite your outburst, sweet like your pumpkin spice latte that sits in the cupholder.

Hanging your head, you inhale a deep breath and release it slowly. "I'm sorry, Eds. I just really fucking hate my family."

He switches his attention from you and the road, taking in your saddened features. Reaching his right hand over the console, he places his hand searches for yours and laces his fingers through yours, which you gladly except.

"Don't apologize for that, kay? That's a valid reason for you to not want to go, I was just trying to make you laugh." The sincerity in his voice wraps around you, easing the nerves that go haywire in your body.

His palm is warm like the coffee cups that sit in the cup holders, his voice is as calming as the trees in the wind, and his smile is just as pretty as it was the first day you met him. You're safe with him, the safest you've ever been in your life, and here in the front seat of his car he reminds you of that.

"They just make me crazy, s'why I don't like seeing them." You feel shy being vulnerable, refusing to meet his gaze by focusing on tracing the back of his hand with your free one.

Eddie doesn't mind, instead he reassures you with a quick squeeze of your hand. "If it makes you feel any better, Birdie, I like you a little crazy."

Dimples deep as the sea and smile still as delicate as a flower's pedal, Eddie looks like a painting that hangs in the Louvre. You want to capture this moment of him to have for the rest of your life, so no matter what you can always remember him just like this.

"You say that now." You tease and he eats it right up.

Looking back over to you, he shines his smile onto you, filling you up with the light of a million stars. "And I'll say it till the end of time." There's no tease to it, nothing but truth in the way he says it.

It turns you into jelly, the feelings that swim through your blood stream, and now you've become too sheepish to answer. You decided to trust your touch over your words, squeezing his hand the same way he did to yours, trying your best to communicate the feelings you hold secretly in your heart for your best friend.

The cobblestone driveway leading to the entrance of Jefferson Manner is, for a lack of a better word, beautiful. It is a straight drive to the property, but once you get closer, a large fountain sits in the middle where the arch of the circle driveway starts.

Different colored cars are already lined up, some you recognize and the rest you have no clue who they belong to. Either way it's pretty evident that Eddie 2018 Toyota sticks out like a sore thumb.

The same dread that you left 45 miles back, is now running through you again. Unintentionally, you squeeze his hand harder as your heart begins to pound in your ear and if it hurts him he doesn't mention it. Instead, Eddie gives you one, two, three squeezes and then lets you continue your attempt to stop the blood flow to his hand.

Pulling behind the Mercedes Benz S Class, he puts his car into park and then shuts the car off. Reading your expression the way he always does, he sits in the silence of the car with you until your features loosen up.

"You okay, Birdie?" Even though he knows you're not okay, you still appreciate him asking anyway.

Breathe in. This is temporary. Breathe out. This is not forever. Breathe in. I am safe. Breathe out. I am here.

You repeat this to yourself a few times, eyes clamped shut as you focus on your breathing pattern. Once your head is above water and your heart stops racing, you open your eyes back up to the real world.

Relaxing your shoulders, you let go of the grip you're holding Eddie's hand in. "I'm okay. I'll be okay." Despite answering him, it sounds like you're trying to convince yourself of what you're saying.

Another brief pause goes by and Eddie continues to monitor you, sunglasses now removed so not only can he see you but you can see him.

Your gaze is unwavering, the thousand yard stare has fallen over you and you have yet to dig out of it. "Are you prepared for what we're about to walk into?"

The tone of your voice scares Eddie, the emotion being sucked right out of the words that you speak despite the feelings that battle in your mind that he doesn't know about.

"Honey, I'm prepared for anything as long as I have you." For a split second he winces, wondering if that was too cringy but when your face breaks out into a sweet smile he feels better.

The two of you get out of the car, retrieving your suitcases and dress bags from the trunk. When the door shuts you begin to count the steps it takes to get to the big wooden doors of the mansion.

You don't have to ask Eddie for his hand, he's already giving it to you and you gladly except it, gripping on for dear life the closer you get. Despite the beautiful landscape and the soothing sound of the running fountain, you feel like this is the soundtrack that plays before your imminent death.

The tall, thick, wooden doors sit menacingly in front of you, the skeletons of your past standing just right behind it waiting for your arrival. The ghosts that have haunted your dreams, the graveyard of your history, and the phantoms of your family, mingle and laugh right behind this door.

Eddie waits for you, not moving a muscle until you say so, and you silently thank him with a smile. Like a switch, he watches your face change from flight to fight mode. In a flash your looking over your outfit, brushing down the long black sleeved shirt that sits on your torso, and then straightening out the jeans that stick to your legs.

Your hair is the next thing you frantically fix, pushing it behind your ears and out of your face, letting it fall over your shoulders while doing so. Like a buzzing bee, you zone in on Eddie, fixing the collar of his flannel and then smoothing the material of his shirt. With out speaking, you pick off a singular piece of fuzz from his pants and then let it blow away in the wind.

Moving your hands back up to his chest, you center the pick on his chain. Then move his hair, fixing the ringlets that got blown around in the breeze. Once your satisfied, you move back to your spot next to him and sweep his hand right back into your hold. Releasing on more deep breath, you settle your pinched eyebrows and your determined eyes, and let the worst fake smile settle onto your lips.

The smile doesn't reach your eyes the way it usually does, your teeth push against one another so forcibly Eddie wonders if you'll shatter teeth, and you simply look like your in pain. Either way, you push open the big oak door and let yourself inside with him following right behind.

The lobby of the manner is everything you expected, high ceilings, a crystal chandelier, and every single family member of yours gathered around sipping champagne and speaking to each other like a potential client.

Even though it's magnificent inside with the beautiful décor and lively plants, the sight of everyone in their gaudy outfits and cheap laughter makes it feel like an eternal hell.

Eddie must feel the way your shoulders tense because he's quickly leaning into you, his voice just a whisper in the shell of your ear.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay. You have me and I won't let anything happen." He reminds you, his smile is more sympathetic than anything.

Nodding your head you remain smiling, it's awful and it hurts even doing it but if you want to survive the whirlpool of piranhas, then you just have to fake it until you make it.

"If it isn't our lovely Birdie!" The sound of your mother's voice is like silk, smooth and confident, just like she always was. Walking over to you, she holds a champagne flute in her hand and you wonder how much the bubbling spritz cost your father.

The last time you've seen her was last winter, her million dollar smile outshining the Swarovski crystal tree decorations that sit behind her. Your mother has always been beautiful but her insides are rotten, ugly and maggot infested, all hidden behind the mask that she put on for everyone to see.

You gave up a long time ago trying to figure out her brain, finally accepting defeat to the maze that was her mind. Now when you look at your mother all you see is a shell, a hallow covering that has nothing to offer you other than it's pretty design.

Pulling you into a hug, you're hit with her scent. She smells like Dior and cashmere, the Chanel outfit that sits on her body scratches your skin, and the pearl necklace she wears jabs you right in your collarbone.

"Hello mother, thank you for inviting me to such a wonder occasion." You instantly revert back to your old accent, the same one your mother instilled into you from the time you could even under stand the English language.

A faux laugh comes from her bright red lips, "No need for that, darling, you're always welcome." Her manicured hand waves at you in fake genuineness.

The smile on your face continues to show and you hate to think it matches hers. Even with the sweet tone you use and the gentleness of your actions, the blood that runs through your body continues to boil the longer she stands there.

Eddie on the other hand stands next to you completely and utterly amused by your fake performance. The snort he lets out when you continue to use your "eloquent" voice is quickly covered up by a sniffle.

Like a vulture, your mother's eyes are quick to zero in on the curly haired man next to you. "Excuse my daughter for her bad manner of not introducing us, I'm Christine."

The minute her hand reaches out for a handshake, you're heart stops. This is the one thing that could make or break this whole trip and it was the only thing you didn't prepare your best friend for. Many years of your life, you were trained that a handshake is all it takes for someone to learn about you.

Without skipping a beat, Eddie simply picks embraces her hand like a prince out of a Disney movie and places a kiss to the back of her unwrinkled hand.

"What a pleasure to meet you, Christine, I'm Eddie. And might I say how beautiful you are."

He's all dimples and doe eyes staring at your mother, a true prince charming in his red flannel and jeans. His voice is like a cup of hot chocolate on a cold day, it's smooth going down your throat and it warms your belly better than any blanket can.

That warmth is now tingling your body, a frenzy of butterflies flapping around in the walls of your heart. It clearly works on your mother as well but unlike you she doesn't hide it very well.

"You're really the charmer, Eddie." It's flirtatious and alluring, the same voice she put on for every pool boy your father ever hired.

Annoyance and anger floods through you and you know that your eyes would be shining green to anyone with a trained eye.

While she clutches her pearls and eyes Eddie like he's a four course meal, you intervene into the conversation before it can continue.

"Where's daddy? I'd really like for my boyfriend to meet him." You bat your eyelashes like a pageant queen and your arm acts like a python wrapping around Eddie's, making a mark on what is yours.

"Oh you're father's around here somewhere, you know how he is." She dismisses, taking a drink from her glass and swallowing down the golden liquid quickly. "So how long have you and Birdie here been dating?"

"It's going to be two years next month. Isn't that right, honey?" Eddie turns to you and gives you a playful smile.

Looking back at him you hope he can see the misery that hides being your eyes, a white flag of surrender.

Your mother on the other hand doesn't care about your answer, that's why she didn't ask you. She's reading Eddie, trying to see how much she can push your so called boyfriend until she gets what she wants.

"Well that's just wonderful, young love is a beautiful experience. You have to be careful with Birdie here, she's known to leave the nest quickly." It's a jab, a spiteful and mean comment headed right for your gut.

Eddie doesn't miss the way you're lips falter for a second, the flash of hurt in your eyes. It kills him watching you stand there and take all the comments from your mother like stray bullets.

Turning his attention back to your mother, he gives her a smile, one that you would know as a wicked one but to a stranger would seem kind. "I don't think that will be a problem. Birdie knows where her home is."

It's a direct warning, a clear sign to your mother to not mess with you or what is yours. Just him sticking up for you like that makes your stomach twist in excitement, a feeling you've grown so used to over the course of friendship with Eddie.

"Well, I'm glad she finally found her place then." Your mother responds coldly, clearly hearing the bite in his tone. "Why don't you two go find your room and get settled in, rehearsal dinner is in a few."

Before retreating into the large crowd of family, your mother turns back to you in one more attack.

"Oh and Birdie, wear something that will hide that stomach. Don't want anyone to assume you've been knocked up."

Once you've found your room, you all but rush Eddie inside slamming the door behind you. In the quiet safety of your suite, you can relax your shoulders that have been sitting high since you've arrive.

"Jesus Bird, you weren't lying." Eddie says as he flops himself on the queen sized bed.

You don't respond, instead you squeeze your eyes shut and try to calm the heaviness of your breathing. Behind the darkness of your eyes, little twinkles of stars flash from how hard you have them closed, the swooshing of your heart continuing in your ears like angry waves of the sea.

Breathe in. This is temporary. Breathe out. This is not forever. Breathe in. I am safe. Breathe out. I am here.

You repeat this to yourself over and over again, trying to erase the cruel words of your mother and the images of disgusted family member's faces out of your mind. You're not sure how long you've been standing by the door until a hand grasps at your wrist lightly.

"Birdie," Eddie's coax goes unanswered, "Come on, Birdie."

Warm calloused hands travel to the plump of your cheeks, lifting your face up just enough that he can see you. Finally opening your eyes, you're relieved to be looking into the golden whiskey pools of his.

Smoothing his thumb over your cheek he doesn't say anything, just lets your breathing calm down. Here you are, in the nice room behind the shelter of the locked door, and he's here.

Breathe in. It's okay. Breathe out. You're safe. Breathe in. You are here. Breathe out. So is he.

It's enough to let your feet move on the plush white carpeting, while Eddie leads you to the bed with the tug of your arm. Sitting on the plush mattress on crisp linen sheets you're grounded, and with the heat of Eddie sitting next to you and his hand in yours, you're anchored.

The rehearsal dinner goes over well enough, the Irish mule helping with every single speech that's given and every horror story of your childhood that is told. Luckily for you, Vee didn't ask you to be in her bridal party so you didn't have to attend the actual wedding rehearsal, and even better you won't have to deal with her for the real thing tomorrow.

Eddie does great at dinner, he talks to your father who surprisingly likes him, both getting along over their love for vintage cars. Your soon to be brother in law and his groomsmen also get along with Eddie, they laugh and cut up most of the time while clinking beer bottles together. Not to mention every single woman there wanted to get into his pants, swooning at everything he said and giving him the 'fuck me' eyes while doing it.

You hated it, every single minute of it. Like always you were ignored, simply looked over until some story was being told where you were ultimately the joke of. Any time someone asked you what you were doing with your life, you were met with cringing smiles and snickering laughs.

Four separate times your mother commented on your dress, the way it fit, the price value of it, and how it really wasn't a good color on you. All of your sisters friends rolled their eyes and whispered back and forth while staring at you, aunts and uncles acted dumbfounded when you told them that you were a freelance writer for a small music magazine back in Indy, and your cousins made comments about how badly you look since the last time you saw them.

It didn't matter anyway, even if your sister asked how you managed to get a stand up guy like Eddie to agree to be with you, in front of all of the guests. You had to remind yourself that you were there for the free booze and food or whatever the hell Eddie said in the car on the way here.

This wasn't a popularity contest for you, it was simply you being forced to do something against your wishes because your mother said so. You asked yourself why you even listened to her in the first place while letting the brown liquor burn in your stomach.

Why was it so important that you even showed up here? Why did you have to come to the awarding ceremony of favorite kid when you knew you weren't going to win? Why would you even set yourself up for such failure just because your mom said so?

Well, you're answer came when a flushed faced Eddie was laughing with your grandparents at one of the round tables in the corner. His eyes crinkled at the sides and his head was leaned back so you had a clear view of the neck you loved so much.

Then you looked over at your sweet looking grandparents who laughed loudly at whatever was said. Your grandmother had her hands on her cheeks, shaking her head back and forth, and beaming brightly. Your grandfather smiled around his cigar, big round belly jumping with laugher, and his cheeks smooshing up against the frames of his big glasses.

You didn't come here to win a competition. You didn't come here because your mother threatened you within an inch of your life if you didn't. You didn't come here because you thought it would be fun.

You showed up because you wanted to prove to the people who doubted you for so long just how happy you were. You wanted to prove that happiness doesn't come from the amount of money in your account or how many rooms sit in your house. You came here because you wanted to prove that they were wrong, that the grass on the other side of the fence could be green too, and that someone who grew up differently that you could still do amazing things.

Eddie was someone that your father would've had you kicked out over bringing him home in high school. Eddie was the boy your mother would tell you to stay far away from. Eddie was the kind of guy that your sister wouldn't look twice at because of who he was.

But right now, during the beautiful dinner the night before your sister's wedding, your best friend/fake boyfriend has them all wrapped around his guitar calloused finger.

Not much has been said between you and him, especially when he was the man of the hour. You're not really complaining though, you're happy that he made a good impression with them. When the night began to settle into your bones and the alcohol started to make you tipsy, you slyly walked up to Eddie and tugged on his sleeve to let him know it was time to go.

On the walk back to the room, you sway slightly with every step you take, balancing on the walls with one hand while the other holds your strappy heels. When Eddie stops and turns to the door of your room, you all but smack into him with clumsy steps.

While he fumbles with key, you're in blissful content with your eyes closed. The kick of the lock and the turn of the handle doesn't even pull you out of your daze, instead you hold your arms out like a mummy and feel around until you find Eddie's clothed back.

You can tell Eddie is laughing by the large breath that passes through his nose and the tell tale sign of him kissing his teeth. Large hands wrap around your wrists, guiding you into the doorway that you can't see.

Your cheeks are warm, the smile on your face is permanent, and the buzzing in your heart makes you feel light on your feet.

"Alright mummy, lets get you into bed." Letting go of his hold on you, you feel him slightly brush past you to close the door. His voice sounds like the way stars look, sparkling and bright, twinkling all around.

You giggle, eyes still shut and your nose scrunched up. "M'not a mummy but I could be if ya want."

Putting your arms out, you lean back and forth on your feet to mimicking what you think is a mummy but looks more like a zombie.

"Baaaaahhhhh, I'm a mummy. Be very afraid." You deepen your voice, dragging the syllables of every word to make them come out slower.

Eddie must be entertained because the sound of a loud raspberry comes from where he stands, the clear sign of him losing the grip on the laugh he'd been holding in.

Cracking one of your eyes open, you hope to find him with rose cheeks and dimples flashing, the look you love so much. Instead you see him, beaming at you without the shine of his canines. It's an admiring smile, one where your eyes go all gooey and your smile is simple yet dipped with so much love.

Opening your eyes all the way, you let your arms down slowly to rest by your sides, a meek look painting your face.

"Did I do good?" You ask, even though you didn't really want his opinion.

"I think you're perfect." It comes out even, smooth like the hilltops in December covered in a layer of the purest snow.

The two of you sit there for a while, soaking up the glow of each other and letting it sink into your souls. For a moment you wonder if he feels it too, the spark that you feel whenever he's around. You wonder if he feels like crying simply because he loves you that much. You wonder if he wishes this whole dating thing wasn't just a lie and that it was true, the same way you wish it was.

Once the moment ends for him, he's clearing his throat to clear any lovesick daze that's left. "I guess we better head to bed, huh?"

Scratching at the back of his neck, you try with everything in your power to not look down where his turtle neck rode up, where the patch of mouth watering hair trails from his belly button to underneath the waist of his pants.

A part of you wishes you stuck it out longer, stayed in your seat at the dinner table just to see him in his outfit longer. He asked you to help him pick it out this morning and when you think back to it, you get flustered with thinking how domesticated it felt. Making him try on different shirts and jumping for joy when he walked out of the bathroom wearing a turtleneck he swore he'd never wear. The khakis you pulled out of his suitcase was the cause of so much laughter and the pink tinge that sat on the rounds of his cheeks.

God, he looked so good, especially with his hair pulled back and the dangled earring that sat in his ear, but now it would all be a memory for you to file away in the back of your brain.

Eddie had already started taking off his dress shoes, sitting on the edge of the bed bent over and messing with the knots that kept the laces together.

The smile that once held your lips high and proud, now weigh down in a sad frown. Even after the success of the dinner and proving everyone wrong, you are now brought back to the reality of what you and Eddie were. Just friends.

"Since I'm a gentleman and I can't see to get these shoes untied, I'll let you shower first." His voice comes out strained from how hard he pulls on the knotted strings.

You don't say anything, quietly nodding your head before shuffling over to your suitcase that sits by the closet. Grabbing a sleepshirt and some shorts, you go to move around the lanky man that can't get his shoes off no matter how hard he tries.

Without a sound, you kneel in front of him, placing your clothes somewhere off to the side. Taking his calf in your hand, you place his foot on your thigh. Delicately, you remove the first shoe and then the next.

"Y'didn't have to do that." It's quiet but not enough to be a whisper, still you shrug.

"I didn't but I wanted to." It seems so simple when you say it, even though deep down inside you wanted that last piece of your fantasy before it goes away for the rest of the night.

"Will you help me with my dress?" You ask him, standing on your feet and turning so that the golden zipper is facing him.

In the mirrored closet door you can see him and how he hesitates for a moment, shaky hands lingering in the air before they close in on the gold slider.

The sound of the metal teeth unlatching from one another fills the room, clouding the unrhythmic beat of your heart. You try to remember the feeling of him on the sacred part of your skin, the way his light touch tickles you and makes goosebumps rise. You want to memorize it like your favorite song, so that when you leave this place and the fake nature of this whole thing goes away, you still have something to think about on those bad days.

It ends too soon for your liking, his hands retracting right back to the sides of his body like a measuring tape. With the fuzz of your tipsy has now wore off but the sting of everything still remains.

Giving him a small smile and muttering a thank you, you hide in the bathroom where the sound of running water hides the muffled cries that leave your throat.

Waking up felt more painful than any hangover you've ever had. The pain of Eddie's bare back facing you was heartbreaking. You force yourself not connect the freckles that litter his skin or trace your fingers along his spine and shoulder blades.

It's a sight you've seen plenty of times and sharing a bed is something you've done more than enough that you're not uncomfortable. Yet your heart squeezes, wrapping itself up in the tightest loop so that it hurts to even breathe.

The sound of his soft snores only makes it worse, imagining what he dreams about and if it's you.

You use all of the willpower that's left in your body, marching over to the small kitchenette that sits in the corner of the giant room. Pouring yourself a cup of coffee, you try to focus on the swirl of dark liquid mixing with the coffee creamer and how they mix together so perfectly. Without much of a peep, you slide the glass doors that lead out to the balcony and sit down in one of the plush chairs.

You look out over the mountains of colors, tracing over the lines of trees that go on for miles. Although pretentious, you think Veronica did an excellent job and choosing this location.

Sipping on the hot beverage, you watch the clouds in the blue sky go by, wondering what it would've been like if your sister asked you to be a bridesmaid. You imagine that the two of you would've actually gotten along and maybe even laughed together. You envision what it would've been like to have your mother compliment you in your gown and how it would feel to take a picture with your family where all the smiles were real.

Tears begin to burn the back of your eyes, falling rapidly like a fall rainstorm. The skin of your cheeks burn slightly from the heated trails of water that fall. You're sad and incredibly so. Within the first twenty four hours of being here, you remember how much of an outsider you really are to these people.

Even with the company of Eddie, someone that truly loves you, you still can't help but feel so fucking lonely. To put on the mask you wore for many year back on and pretend that the man standing next to you is yours to claim is harder than any other time you had to do it.

This time you weren't really faking it, the love that you showed to him, the happiness you felt with him was real, just the titles weren't. With the cool fall chill, your coffee has gone cold but your tears keep coming.

"You made yourself a cup of coffee but not one for me, and this is how I find out? That's just mean." Eddie's curly hair pokes out from the small gap in the sliding back door that he's created.

His eyes are squinted from the harshness of the morning sun but his cheeky smile is forever unwavering. Sliding a space big enough for him to go through, he stalks out onto the small space in his plaid pajama pants and a hoodie he must've thrown on.

Trying your best to cover up that you've been crying, you wipe the back of your hand across your cheeks, but Eddie still catches your movements.

Instead of embarrassing you, he sits down in the chair across from you and looks out over the balcony.

"You okay?" It's a simple enough question, one that you can answer with one word and he wouldn't pry for more information to not overwhelm you.

Sniffling, you shake your head yes and then move your gaze to where his is. "No, yeah, m'good. The view really does something for me." You say, chuckling just a bit at your own joke.

Eddie also laughs, only this time it's not as genuine as it usually is, just a hard exhale through his nose.

"Yeah, sure does." He agrees, letting his eyes follow the red and orange of the tree tops.

A calm silence falls over you two, only the sounds of the birds that fly and the ruffle of the leaves can be heard from where you sit. It's peaceful.

"You know, I really thought this weekend would be different." It comes out of your mouth as easy as the breeze that blows. Still your eyes stay trained out in front of you and past the mountains of trees.

Eddie doesn't respond but the hole that he burns through the side of your head with his eyes tell you he's listening.

"When I was little, I used to imagine the day Vee got married. I would fantasize that maybe one day we could be close enough that I could enjoy this day with her and we could be sisters for once." You exhale an uneven breath, moving your sights to the cup that still sits in your hand.

"I just wanted all of us to be a family for once. I wanted my mom to actually act like she liked me, for my dad to say that for once he was proud of who I was, and for Veronica, I just wanted her to say she's happy that I'm her little sister."

Just like that, every single thing you've carried since you were little is now out in the open, whipping around in the wind like the dead leaves. Even with the amount of burden that's been lifted, the pain still remains the same. It all hurts, stabbing you over and over again in the scars that you worked so hard to patch up.

Eddie doesn't say anything and for a moment you don't think he'll say anything at all. You watch him pull out the pack of cigarettes he had nestled in his pocket and place one in between his pretty pink lips.

Another second goes by and he's flicking the wheel of his lighter, shielding the flame away from the wind so he can light it. When the end of the smoke burns red, he takes a big inhale and then lets the cloud of smoke out.

"I know what I say won't matter," He starts before taking another drag of his smoke, "But these people don't fucking mean anything."

"They're you're family and I get that but they don't fucking deserve you, they never have. A fake boyfriend, a new haircut, or a cool job shouldn't define their love for you. They're shitty people who were blessed with an amazing person and they didn't even realize it."

Eddie looks at you the same way he speaks, with nothing but truth. You let the words settle in your mind, letting them soak in, in case you forget.

The tears that once ceased start to flow again, except this time it's from relief. It feels good that someone else sees your worth, to know someone actually holds value to you.

"It kills me that they treat you the way they do, that they can say all those things without batting an eye. I know why you asked me to come here and I know I have a job to do, but man do I want to rip them all a new asshole."

Although he speaks with fire behind the words, you have to laugh from the thought of the actions. The moment you giggle, his own smile forms.

"I hope you know that I love you and when everything is done and over with, we'll give them the bird." To make his point, Eddie raises his middle finger high into the sky.

Repeating his actions, you hold your own finger to the sky and smile happily while doing it.

Letting his arm fall back down into place, he pats the tops of your thighs and stands from the chair.

"That's my girl, now let's get ready for an open bar and free booze." Holding his open palm to you, he helps you up.

The wedding reception was what you thought it would be, drawn out and boring. The only saving grace of the whole thing was Eddie's commentary, the scruff on his face tickling you every time he leaned close to your ear.

A lot of the things he was saying was probably just to make you feel better but you did have to agree, the dress Veronica picked out was a bad rip off of Princess Diana's and it shouldn't have seen broad daylight.

You did however get choked up when the vowels started, not because you were happy with your sister but because you wish that were you and Eddie up there instead.

All and all it was okay, even though one of your brother in law's aunt's wore a hat so big you couldn't see past it most of the time.

The wedding reception though was beautiful. The décor of the manner looked exquisite against the maroon coloring of all the bridesmaids dresses. The tables had beautiful bouquets sitting in the middle and you can't help but laugh imagining your father cutting a check for all of them.

To much of yours and Eddie's delight, there is an open bar that is stacked high with pricey alcohol. Again you laugh thinking about your father having to pay the tab, which you and Eddie will be happy to run up.

So far this is the most the two of you had fun, both laughing and enjoying the company that's around you. The table you've been stuck at is also occupied by other family rejects that enjoy the titles they've been given.

Eddie's hand hasn't left your thigh, which you're more than happy about, and every so often he flexes his fingers squeezing the meaty flesh.

You feel good, the boost from the drinks and the feeling of your best friend makes you bloom like a flower in the spring. You watch as he talks to the people at your table and how his hand moves with enthusiasm. You trace the muscles in his neck and watch his adam's apple bob up and down when he speaks. Your chin sits in the palm of your hand as you watch him be himself like he always is.

He's so beautiful, he always has been, and in this moment he gets to be yours. You don't have to think about what anyone else thinks, you don't have to question how the two of you look from another's perception, because you know that your heart bleeds for him and it always will.

Eddie's your home, he's your best friend, and he's your person. You think back to what he said to you this morning and how he called you a blessing but you think he's wrong. Eddie is the true blessing. He's sweet, he's smart, and he's so fucking caring it's disgusting. Behind all the jagged features and dark clothes, he's nothing but a giant teddy bear that wears his heart on his sleeve.

"Birdie." He smiles at you, all goo and mush it makes your heart skip.

You hum in response, still sitting in the same position, looking at him as if he were a painting.

"You wanna dance?" He blushes, embarrassed by the request and you feel like you're back in junior high.

"You, Eddie Munson hate dancing." You say, scrunching your nose cutely.

Laughing loudly, he nods, "Yeah, I know, but I'd dance with you."

That breaks you out of your daze, breath catching in your throat. "O-oh, yeah. I'll um dance."

Again he stands, holding a palm out to you so he can help you up. Leaning you to the dance floor, you can't help but feel jittery despite the wine that you've consumed.

Once out on the floor, he pulls you into his chest. Strong hands grip your waist through the silk fabric of your red dress and you desperately try to fight the need that rises in your guy.

You stand stiff, unsure of what to do with yourself and Eddie's quick to help you, placing your hands around his neck where they lay contently.

He looks good tonight, even better than last night, and you hate how it makes butterflies flap around in your stomach. The black button up shirt sits nicely on his torso, wrapping his arms so deliciously you want to take a bite out of them. The black slacks he wears fit nicely and you wonder if he had them tailored and you have to ignore the want to undo the sleek black belt with a bright golden buckle that holds them up. Again his hair sits in a low bun and that silver chain peeks out at you from underneath his collar.

"I can't believe you asked me to dance to Ed Sheeran." You say breathlessly, still nervous with being this close to him.

Eddie snorts, lopsided smile forming on his lips. "What, a guy can't like Ed Sheeran and metal? That's gatekeeping, sweetheart." He teases.

Rolling your eyes, you try to ignore that tingle that settles in your cheeks. "Whatever you say, Munson."

"I'm serious, Thinking Out Loud was in my top ten last year." The two of you hold eye contact until you can't take it anymore, both bursting into laughter at his admission.

"That's something you shouldn’t repeat." You sputter at him and he laughs even harder.

"Hey, I like this song, okay?" He defends, still swaying back and forth with you.

Raising your hands in defense, you pull back on your clowning for the sake of your friend. Placing your arms back around his neck, you lean your head on his chest and try to hear the beat of his heart.

The scent of him floods your nose, cologne and smoke, whiskey and linen, and you wish you could bottle it to keep forever.

"Why do you like this song anyway? It's kind of basic." You mutter at him.

His shoulders lift in a shrug, and he takes a moment to respond. "Honestly, I like it cause it reminds me of you."

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion and you remove your head to look up at him.

"Wha'do you mean?" You mumble, eyes searching his for some sort of answer.

Looking bashful again, red tints his cheeks and ears in a blush. Sticking his tongue out to wet his lips, he hesitantly answers.

"I always felt like he said everything I couldn't, ya know? Everything I ever wanted to say to you, he put in a song."

It feels like the whole world stops, that time freezes and it's just the two of you. You're in shock and for some reason you can't wrap your head around anything he's saying.

"What?" You say harshly and again he shrugs, shying away from your burning focus on him.

"Reminds me of you and everything I ever felt about you. I always wanted to call you mine but if you hadn't noticed, I'm a chicken shit."

You don't say anything, instead you stare at him with your mouth wide open. Eddie starts to loose his cool, frantically flexing his fingers against the material of your dress, looking around at anything but you.

"Sorry, I - shit, I really fucked this up," He doesn't get to finish his sputtering apology because you quickly smash your lips into his.

His lips taste like brown liquor and chapstick, like love and forever, and you can't believe you waited this long to experience it. Two heart sync as one, two people fall together like the leaves outside, and anxieties are finally laid to rest.

You hate that you pull away first but the need for air is too much. Eddie bends enough so that his forehead leans on yours, both looking into each other eyes living in the moment of your blissed out hearts.

"Tell me if I'm being too forward but do you wanna get out of here?" He flirts and you respond simply by pecking his lips once more.

"Thought you'd never ask."

thank you all for reading!!! love you guys <3

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #honey's birthday bash #honey's holiday celebrations

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 2 years ago

Note

So request kinda if not just sharing my thoughts in general.

Alex. My boy. What if reader is a civ or even another soldier in a different squad and the whole thing with him joining Farah’s forces indefinitely. I think this can really lend itself to some angst and that good old misunderstanding. Kinda leaning towards civ!reader just because the more miscommunication. I guess it’d have to be an angsty ending though 😳, but regardless-

Love your writing and, as always, feel free to change anything or do whatever gives you the most inspiration

World Caves In

PAIRING: Alex Keller x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Perhaps it would have been better if your husband had died - at the very least you could understand that.

WORD COUNT: 7.9k

WARNINGS: Angst, misunderstandings/miscommunication, hurt/comfort, vulgar language, abandonment?, Alex being an adorable husband, fluff, etc.

A/N: I was gonna make this an angsty ending but I got my period and thinking about that made me cry so here we are, lmao. Enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

When you’d been escorted out of work by two uniformed men, you knew the news wasn’t going to be good. Sitting in the back of a large black car, you spare nervous glances as the vehicle jumps, its wheels going over the last speed bump. Your work building begins to become a fraction of a memory and disappears faster than your resolve.

The men sit on either side of you, silent, and the only comment is to the driver as you all enter the main road. Swallowing, you part your lips and mutter, plain dread in your tone, “Is he alive?”

All you get is a glance from the front mirror and nothing more. You hunch more in your seat and stew in agony, mind far off on the topic of your husband.

Alex wasn’t overly reckless, you’d managed to snuff most of that out over the course of the many years you’d expressed concern to him about it, but a large chuck of the blond was still too selfless for his own good. It was hard not to think the worst.

From training to advising, your husband was always off on one mission to another, far from your quaint and quiet home here—where you waited day after day for even a sliver of contact from him. Alex specialized in so many things that trying to wrap your head around it was impossible.

Even now, you only knew the bare minimum.

The soft-smiled man worked in the SAD division of the CIA. He’s an Operations Officer. Currently, he’s somewhere across the globe.

Away from you.

Thinning your lips, you take down a deep breath and settle back into the seat, pulse flying. The men were obviously Agents—you’d looked closely at their badges when they’d first shown their faces at the front desk and had kept within view of your work’s security cameras just in case this was a ruse. When you could find nothing out of the ordinary, you had tensely asked them what was happening.

They would be holding his dog tags if he was dead, you had reasoned, desperately, a flag.

It was frantic, the way you had thought that up; how could you not be like that? Alex was the light of your life! With him constantly putting his life on the line, it was inevitable for him to get hurt, sometimes seriously. It was ingrained into your mind the way you would help clean his wounds in the middle of the night when the pain woke him up with a grunt stuck in his throat. The way you would sit half-asleep in his lap and re-wrap bandages while he told you to go back to bed half-heartedly. His hands drifting over your warm skin like he was cascading his fingers up and down the spine of an old book.

You never listened.

“It’s late, Bug, I can’t keep you up like this.” His drawl echoes in your ear as you rub a heavy palm into your eye. Alex’s hands are both on your hips, squeezing the flesh just below your tiny sleep shorts. You have him sitting on the floor, back resting on the wall and shirt discarded to the side only wearing loose gray sweatpants. A long cut up his left pec is the center of your blurry attention—a wet rag held as you dab at it. Blue eyes narrow at you. “I’m just fine with doing it myself, y’know.”

“You’re being stubborn again,” you utter, the soft light of the bathroom placed at half-capacity to at least try and keep some of the veil of sleep over your heads. “I told you to wake me up when you needed it cleaned.” Your skin brushes his and Alex shivers under you, sighing breathily. “And you’re not keeping me here—I’m helping.”

A small flash of that full smile, mustache flinching up, “Well when you look so pretty sleepin’ I can’t just shake you awake and tell you to fix me up.”

You take your free hand and pinch his nose, yawning as he grunts out chuckles. A delicate glance is thrown his way as the rag lowers from reddened skin. Like a butterfly's whisper, you study his face gently; reaching and cupping his cheek with your palm.

Alex’s lids flutter, heavy weight falling into you as if waiting for this—lips pressing to your inner wrist in reverence. You hold back a tired giggle and feel the corner of his mouth pull up when he feels it.

“All that talk, and yet,” pressing a smooch to his forehead you take your hand back and hear the grumble he lets out after, “you still like it better when I’m the one that’s working on you.”

“Can’t complain too much,” he admits slowly as his head leans back to tap the wall, “my wife’s hands are way softer than mine.”

Alex’s grip on your flesh tightens when you sipe away the last line of crimson from the wound, tattooed arms flexing.

“Sorry,” you whisper, watching his eyes slightly awash with pain. “Got caught on a stitch.”

“Ah, well,” the blond sighs, shifting “I suppose I can forgive you.”

Laughing quietly as the house settles, you shake your head and rest your forehead on his.

“Such a saint,” your lips utter teasingly as Alex smiles wide, his hands moving higher to your waist. You lean into him, stealing his warmth as your tired eyes flutter; feeling his thumbs run circles over the flesh of your lower spine.

A content breath escapes you.

“Go back to bed, Sweetheart,” Alex whispers, lips brushing yours like silk, the bristles of his facial hair tickling you. “I can do the rest, promise.”

“Know you can,” your mutterings are barely heard, but the man seems to register them, sea-glass gaze incredibly soft. He chuckles at your sleepiness, one hand leaving your waist to capture the back of your head; weaving into your hair and gently massaging your scalp. You practically melt into him, limbs going slack, slurring out, “Quit it. Wanna help, Alex.”

His laughter shakes you, and with a huff escaping, you bury your burning face into his neck and lean into him, careful of his wound even in your fatigued state.

“No offense, Bug,” Alex shifts, grunting as he easily maneuvers you until you’re laying in his arms, inked forearms under your knees and behind your shoulders with vivid images of grim reapers, snakes, and angels guarding you close. A kiss is firmly pressed to your forehead as the blonde smirks downwards, “But you’re about as helpful to me right now as an empty mag.”

You grumble, trying to disappear into his skin and letting him dig his stubble into your cheek.

“If you bring me back to bed before you’re done,” you yawn and close your eyes, “I’m divorcing you.”

He laughs deeply into your ear, body shaking as he pulls back and sends you an incredulous look.

“Hell, we can’t have that, can we, Mrs. Keller? I’d lose my damn mind.”

It’s a long drive, and you worry through the entirety of it. A primal, whole-body-shaking type of fear. You’d built a life with Alex and loved him more than anything or anyone that had come before. Even if he was gone a lot, that had never dulled what the two of you had—your marriage was nothing short of something you would find in a fairy tale; flashing pictures on pages with vivid colors and tender glances. The very cover itself is made of the finest leather and inlaid with gold calligraphy.

Please, Alex, you plead in your head as you remember his loving gaze—his back as he makes supper in the kitchen and hums to himself. Please be okay.

The men hold open the car door when it comes to a stop outside a very obviously abandoned apartment complex near the outskirts of town. You get out quickly. Looking around, you take in the overgrown grass and the broken concrete with a knife in your lung; holding back the flood of anxious tears.

Though, confusion takes president.

“Where did you…?” You turn to look at the Agents, but they’re already clambering back into their car and snapping the doors shut. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed you watch them speed off as a cloud of dust drifts into the air.

Pulse echoing in your ears, you watch the vehicle speed down the road and disappear.

Swallowing, you whisper, “What the actual fuck?” Turning in circles, no one else is around. A part of you starts to worry less for Alex and more for yourself.

They were CIA, you reiterate, I checked their badges—Alex showed me the standard ones. Could I have missed something?

Expression nervous, you shift on your feet before your stuttering legs take you closer to the abandoned building, not really seeing much choice here. You could imagine the scene from The Wizard Of Oz—when the man pulls back the curtain and all is revealed.

That said, you could really only hope that was what was actually happening to you and you weren't getting kidnapped or shot. Taking a deep breath, you clench your fists and enter the building through the open front door.

It was in the wide lobby that you locked eyes with Kate Laswell. You blank, mouth parting as the scent of concrete and decaying furniture get stuck in your nose.

The woman seems highly agitated, brows tight and jaw clenched. Her white blouse had been flattened multiple times by rough hands, lanyard swaying on her neck like Alex’s dog tags would. She holds a file in her hands; the paper bulky as if holding something more than just paper inside its manila clutches.

“Kate?” You ask, confused, “What are you doing here? What’s all of this about?” Taking quick steps forward you splay your hands as your voice grows more serious. “Where’s my damn husband?”

You didn’t know Laswell personally, in fact, when you had first got a glimpse of her here, you’d forgotten the older woman’s name for a moment. The first meeting between the two of you had been at a CIA get-together that Alex had been forced to go to because of his position—some celebration because a group of ICBMs had been taken back into US hands after being stolen. Your husband had introduced you to the Station Chief over a drink with a hand on the small of your back.

But it didn’t stop you now from talking to her like you’d known her for years. Not when fear was flooding your veins.

“What the hell is going on?” You say harshly, glancing around the room for any sight of someone else here.

Kate sighs heavily but wastes no time in speaking, her professional tone and serious face leaving your already fast-paced heart racing.

“Alex isn’t coming back to the United States.” Your eyes blank, staring into icy blue. She holds out her manila folder, jaw tight. Blunt. “He’s a deserter.”

It’s like your entire being halts; your skin suit feels as if it’s sagging on your bones with the weight of a cinder block connected by hooks to the floor.

What did she just say?

Opening and closing your mouth you stutter, lids blinking rapidly.

“I…” Fingers flinching in the air, an exhalation from your nose sounds more like a wheeze. Kate watches stiffly, taking a look at the floor before returning her attention to you; emotion flashes in her eyes. “...W-what?”

“Keller deserted his post—I tried to speak with the Colonel but there’s only so much I can do.” Laswell takes a deep breath as you continue to go through shock. Alex wasn’t coming home? How, why? “He’s staying in Urzikstan to fight with the Liberation Force.”

“Urzikstan?!” You gape, but the woman continues.

“For all intents and purposes, I shouldn’t be here, but Alex asked me personally to hand these to you.” Again the manilla folder is shown to you, but when you only glare and fight the fear and confusion rampaging in your gut a sigh echoes out and it’s placed on a termite-eaten side table. “Even communicating with you could put you in danger now that he’s gotten on the bad side of the entire SAD and CIA branches. This is all I can do.”

“What the fuck,” you whisper to yourself, hand coming up to capture your mouth.

“If Alex re-enters the states—he’ll be arrested and tried in a court of law. If he’s not shot on sight for what he knows.” Kate watches you closely, shaking her head in pity. “I’m sorry,” there’s a strained pause, “but he’s made his decision.”

As she brushes past you, leaving the folder on the side table, you feel your wide eyes well with tears—confused and horrified. But he’s coming back to me, right? Alex…Alex wouldn’t leave me here alone.

It was common knowledge that over the last years the blond had gotten more agitated at his line of work; the orders that he didn’t want to follow but had no choice. No voice. But he can’t just abandon you...could he? You’d taken vows. Had a happy marriage and relationship. Loved each other.

He can’t just…he can’t…

Your hands shake and you’re unable to stop them, gaze locked on that unassuming manilla folder. Kate pauses in the doorway, peeking back and seeing your sickly-looking face, the agony written in the lines of your forehead. Like the picture of a loyal wife being told her husband was never coming home. And Alex wasn’t even dead. Resentment begins to burn.

But he made his bed.

“He told me to tell you that he wouldn’t be angry if you wanted to leave him,” was all she said, a final knife being stabbed into your heart and being ripped out like a live wire. Electricity makes your back go stiff in an instant. “It would be best to never tell anyone that we met.”

You were alone, full body shivers and bile stuck in the back of your throat. Cold sweat coats your palms, a sticky mess of your barebones disturbance.

“He…” your voice is hoarse, bouncing off the far walls. “Alex left me here? He left me.”

It was easier to say that the sun had exploded and you were waiting for the last beam of light to incinerate you. Inside of your skull your brain pounds as, in a mad dash of desperation, you rush to the manilla folder and rip it open with vibrating arms.

Having Laswell tell you that Alex wouldn’t be mad if you…if you…the hairs on the back of your neck rise and suddenly you’re angry beyond a sliver of a doubt. It was insulting.

“Alex fucking Keller,” the paper opens to the bulk of your husband's dog tags and a flip phone—reports like his own personal file and the patch that he had once worn so proudly on his combat vest. Red, white, and blue dig into your retinas; it was old, worn beyond measure, but that little patch was something that was never removed. Not even to be cleaned.

“The dirtier it is,” Alex had commented on the American flag patch when you’d offered to mend it for him, cringing at all the blood stains and dirt flecking off it as he slipped his vest off in the foyer of your home. “The luckier I am.”

“I think the stench of it alone will frighten off anyone who comes near,” you had raised a brow, smirking up at him as he walked over, laughing. A kiss is placed on your lips, Alex’s bright smile transferring over to you as if able to spread from his mouth to yours that simply. You sigh dreamily.

He pulls back with a tiny wink as you gaze up at him, cheekily stating, “That’s the plan, Sweet Thing. Gotta make sure I come home to you in one piece.”

You brush your hands over it and think that maybe it would have been better if he had died. Then you could understand why he’s doing this to you. Anger spreads into rage.

Looking next at the phone and dog tags, all you do is shake your head and slam the folder shut, bitter tears tracking your face. You can’t read anything—can’t see his name imprinted on that metal that used to press coldly into your skin as you both slept in bed. You don’t care about the phone or the files.

None of it mattered.

“He fucking left me here,” it’s like you’re a broken record replaying over and over again. “You absolute bastard, Keller!” Yelling, you press your fingers into your face, hands spreading over your eyes and mouth to muffle your enraged sobs.

“You’re still alive and you left me alone.”

Only the abandoned building echoes your pain; replaying it back over and over again as your wails echo around the lobby like a symphony of laughing jesters.

—

The phone that Laswell had given you had been going off at least three times every day—morning, noon, and at night. You had stared at it with fury, knowing exactly who was calling even if the thing was displaying an unknown number. By now you had steeped in your anger enough that you had found yourself snapping at friends and family alike when asked if you were alright.

You wished Alex was here so you could hit him upside the head for being so stupid. So you could hate him until you had the pleasure to love him again.

Urzikstan.

You’d looked up the country after you had spent two days straight in bed, afterward manically cleaning the house with a glare that could light fires. The far-off place was a land utterly divided by war. Russian occupation, a terrorist group; the force that your husband had joined. Mass against mass against mass.

Brick meets wall.

And Alex had chosen to stay—without a doubt because he’d seen the dire situation and had used that damnable good heart of his to empathize to the max. Forget donations, humanitarian work, or anything else, the man had fucking decided to join in a Liberation Force.

As much as you wanted to say you hated him; had wanted to slam your gold wedding band to the table with a good riddance for betraying you like that…you still had his dog tags around your neck, and the ring was still on your finger.

“Too good for his own sake,” you grumble, shoving dirty clothes into the washer like they had tried to attack you. “Deserted the fucking CIA, Jesus Alex. Do you even think when I’m not around?”

There were only so many times you could curse his name until you felt a deceiving needle of pride slither itself into your skull. You could describe Alex as many things but he would always be steadfast in causes that truly needed his help. He often told you that the best missions were the ones where he could do so much more than take out a target—he strived to help the individuals he met. Form bonds.

God forbid something came in between the blond and the ones he’d chosen to give his loyalty to.

You slam the washer shut and stomp into the living room after starting another cycle. Stress cleaning was really not a good look on you—the entire house was without a single spec of dust but you yourself felt like you’d run seven marathons. Clenching your teeth, you go and drop to the couch, a grunt falling from your lips as your head hits the pillow.

Staring at the ceiling, you finally take in the utter silence of the house—not a home, because it could only be that if Alex was here—with a pained crease forming on your brow. The pipes spit water, and the washer grunted its mechanical garble…but there was no humming man making food in the kitchen. No blond hair visible as a head rests on your chest; your fingers playing in the locks that act like silk as you part them, the man on top of you purring. Body a weighted blanket.

“Was it really that easy,” you whisper to nothing, lip quivering. “Was it really that easy to stay away, Alex? I thought…I…”

Eyes wrenching shut, you hear the phone right at noon again as it sits on the coffee table. And you let it.

There were voicemails, no doubt, but you hadn’t thought to listen to those either. This small act of rebellion was all you could act on but for the simple fact that it also harmed you. Barbed wire steadily digging deeper as it kept your hands wound to your sides—neck plastered to the pillow as bright silver spikes glinted. You stare at the unknown caller who really wasn’t all that unknown and watch the screen light, vibrating over the wood in steady intervals.

What hurt the most was that if he’d asked you to come along—become an Expat just for him—you would have said yes. You could find a new job, a new place to call home. Humanitarian work would have been at the top of your list and Alex…well….he would still be fighting, just as he always had.

But at the very least you would have been there to clean his wounds. Together. You’d both promised on that altar to do nothing less. He could’ve asked. He should have asked.

Alex…

“Urzikstan,” you mutter for what seems like the fiftieth time. When the ringing stops a few moments later the new voicemail icon flashes. Placing your arm over your mouth, you clench your hand so tight it starts to shake, whispering into your skin, “Fine. I guess you did make your bed. And…and I won't be there to lie in it with you.” No matter how much I want to.

You slip the wedding band off of your finger and place it beside the phone before turning and burying your head into the cushions; feeling more numb than you ever had before.

—

It carried on like this for three months. The ring didn’t move from the coffee table and neither did the flip phone; the file had all but been tossed in the trash as it sat teetering on the living room desk. You carried on as well as you could, all things considered.

Work was a blur, going out with friends even harder to enjoy, and any enjoyment of hobbies or activities was dulled to an almost gray existence. Like a ghost, you wafted through experiences with dog tags and a withering appearance. Eventually, you just stopped going out unless it couldn’t be helped. You still bought meals for two at the grocery store out of habit. You placed blankets where Alex used to sleep beside you. You went to work.

And still, the calls never stopped except for a brief pause after the first month. You’d thought he’d finally given up, but no. Back at it.

It had gotten to a point now where the device was automatically deleting all recent voicemails—too little space in the inbox.

Angry curiosity was tempting you. It would be easy, you reason, to simply play the first message and listen. The worst part of it was that you’d begun to forget Alex’s voice and perhaps that was why, on that dead-aired Saturday, you snatched the phone and brought it into the kitchen.

Firmly planting it on the counter, you stand behind one of the island chairs and glare, hands tapping into the wood.

“I’m giving you three minutes, Alex,” you speak as if he’s still here, as if his form stands right behind you, head tilted like a damn dog with that infectious smile and those sea-glass eyes. “Three minutes,” your fingers snap the device open and you go to your voicemails; jaw tight, “and if you don’t hear you groveling, Keller, I’m deleting all of them and chucking this phone into the sink.”

You go down the line to the very first message, small buttons clicking, and before you can stop yourself you press play.

It begins with a small moment of silence. A cough.

“Hey,” he says your first name, not one of your epithets. Your brows deepen their annoyed furrow, but you can’t help the uptick in your heart rate. Inside your flesh, the sinews of your throat close in on itself like a balloon. “I…I’m guessin’ I have a good enough ass-kicking waiting for me since you didn’t answer.” A strained laugh before another pause. You feel acidic tears boil behind your lids. “I’m not surprised—not really. Done some stupid things but never something like this.” You can hear him shake his head, voice going lower in defiance. “But they were asking me to leave Urzikstan in a worse place than when I entered it. This Liberation Force, Bug, it…they’re good people and what they’re asking me to do…” Alex huffs, growling under his throat. “I can’t stand by that. The man you chose to marry, he can’t stand by that. They need me here. I’m not asking you to not be angry—to not hate me for this. I know I damn well deserve it.”

You let your tears hit the counter, head slightly bowing over. That was your Alex.

“You need a leash,” your strained voice hits the walls, bouncing off picture frames and your husband's cooking utensils. The small pieces that make up the whole picture frame of your life. “God,” you huff wetly, “you’re going to get yourself killed.”

“I know I should have talked to you first, figured out some plan. But, uh,” Alex’s throat gets choked up, and you snap a hand to your mouth when you realize he’s close to tears. He clears his throat. “Hell, I should have done a lot of things, Sweetheart.”

You can hear shouts in the background, calls in Arabic. The pounding of a door and a woman’s voice.

“Alex, we need to move! Everyone is ready—Barkov’s lab cannot be left standing a moment longer.” The hurried hand to the line muffles the words, but you hear him anyway.

“Affirmative!” He comes back. “I don’t have time to explain more, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for… everything. I’d understand if you don’t use the passport Laswell’ll give you, but that doesn’t mean I’m just going to stop calling.” Alex laughs and your face freezes.

“Passport?”

“What kind of Husband would I be if I just let the most perfect woman in the world go without a fight, huh? I’ll be waiting until you call to tell me to shut the hell up and leave you alone or that you’re down in the airport waiting.” There’s a large sound of combat vests being clicked on—pistols being situated into holsters and a rifle strap slipped over a chest. Alex suddenly pauses and you stare at the phone blankly. “I know this is a big ask, Doll, and I know I’m horrible for even springin’ this on you when I’m half a world away from our bed. But I had to try, even if it was selfish. I just…I just really need to hear your voice telling me if I’m an idiot or not for thinking this up. Call me back soon…or when you run out of my clothes to burn in the firepit out back…I love you, okay? More…more than anything.”

There’s a minute or two of nothing, just Alex’s ragged breathing, and then there’s an older man’s voice ordering him to hurry up. The line clicks.

Your ears ring as it does, wide eyes dripping tears from your bottom lashes as your lungs chill over. Hand slowly flinching out, you ghost over the keys before clicking on the following voicemail. As it plays, your feet start to take you backward at a snail's pace, your spine flattering against the wall as blood drains to your feet.

“Hey, it’s me again. I still haven’t heard from you—that’s alright. Take your time.” Steadying yourself with a hand, you look out of the kitchen and get a glimpse of the manila folder on the desk, its tan hide sucking you in. Pulse in your throat, you rush out to grab it as Alex’s voice echoes. “I know Laswell gave you the file, I trust her that much at least.” A sigh. “But even if it’s just to yell at me, please pick up the phone soon. Let me save some of my dignity and give me a chance to beg on an open line, huh, Sweetheart…? But I guess that’s all—gotta go. I love you.”

You don’t play the next message because you’re ripping open the file with rabid hands, seeing exactly as you had when Laswell left it for you. Alex’s mission report; his patch. The dog tags around your neck clink together like a song, some brutal rhythm.

“Passport?” Grasping the mission report you pick it up, flipping through the multiple pages of blacked-out words and more confused than ever. “Airport?”

The words come out as whimpers, hands so shaky that the pages slip from your fingers. They slam to the floor in a flurry of bond paper and you curse loudly, snatching for the remnants futilely. Grasping on your hands and knees hitches build in your breath as your fingers dance rapidly before they slip across something distinctly not paper.

Small, tiny, and blue. Laminate.

Your very blood seems to stop in your veins. Pushing back one last piece of paper, you come face to face with a singular American passport. Gasping down mute breaths and licking your lips, you pick it up lightly, leaning back on your legs as if you’d just slammed your head into the concrete.

“Alex…” you whisper to no one.

Flipping the hard cover open, a small, palm-sized piece of paper slips out to your lap as your own face stares at you in image form. You blink for a moment before going to take the note and separate the ends. Formal script is inside, stiff lettering. Not your husband's handwriting, but you didn’t have to guess who’d written out these directions for you.

Laswell.

There was a destination in fountain pen ink—an airport near the Urzikstanian and Georgian border. Seeing as Urzikstan was on the travel-ban list due to the turbulence of the government and terrorist threats, you wouldn’t be able to get there directly.

But you supposed Kate had your back for that too.

Georgian safehouse - wait for Keller there. It’s secure. More directions and then a small gap. A pause. Good luck.

You don’t know how long you stare at that paper—that passport. The first thing you think about is how could Alex ask you to do this. Uproot yourself with the snap of a finger. You wouldn’t be able to bring anything beyond what could fit in a few suitcases. No furniture, no large amount of clothes, or even sentimental items. You’d have to quit your job; leave behind family and friends to travel to a war-torn country.

But he’d said it was your choice, and he wouldn’t push you to make it. He’d said you could leave him if you wanted—keep all of this that you’d built here.

…But you’d built it together, hadn’t you?

You think of Alex’s bright smile and his mustache. His tattoos. How he’d hold you so tight in the long hours of sleep that you half-believed he thought you’d disappear if he didn’t; nuzzling his nose into the back of your head and grumbling out nonsense. The way you could trace his scars and watch as he willingly submitted to your praise, delicate lips curving into sheepish grins as you place soft kisses on the raised skin. Red cheeks.

This place wasn’t a home without Alex in it.

You look over at the coffee table and lock onto the gold of your wedding band.

—

Getting into Georgia was a long affair of paperwork and screenings—not days but months of legal jargon that Alex had dodged entirely because of his desertion. By the time you’d landed in country, you were wholly exhausted down to the very marrow of your bones. You get through the checkpoints, pick up your bags, and look out at the entirely new world outside of the airport’s windows.

“Okay,” you swallow saliva and nod carefully before looking down at Laswell’s directions to the safehouse.

You slip the paper into your pocket after memorizing the address, tips of your fingers brushing the smooth surface of the flip phone. Clenching your eyes shut, you take your hand back out and go to try and hire a driver. You were here, but that doesn’t mean all of this was forgiven.

After you find someone able to drive you to where you need to go, you end up standing with a quaint hostel ahead of you, home far behind. Gazing slightly nervous at the strange place you’ve found yourself, you think of Alex’s hand on the small of your back and sigh; caressing the cool metal of the ring around your finger.

Walking forward, you hitch your bags over your shoulders and grit your teeth against the hot sun. When you meet the owner at the front desk you state your name and ask for a bed.

The man’s eyes widen for a moment before he looks at something on his countertop, raising a brow in thought. Grabbing at a stack of papers he holds up a finger and begins digging. Too tired and overwhelmed to ask what was wrong, you just watch and rub at your face.

“Ah,” the man snaps his fingers and laughs to himself, “here it is! I knew I had placed the note somewhere, Mrs. Keller.” You blink, confused, but the man just takes a key from the wall and motions for you to follow. Sparing a glance around for a moment, you slowly slink after, not really having a choice.

“I remember your Husband coming to me—the blond with the tattoos.” The owner looks back, making sure you’re following. He motions to his right side with splayed fingers. “Scars on the side of his head, to reserve a room.”

Alex was here? How much had he done already pertaining to the chance that you would show up?

“Y-yeah,” you chuckle stiffly, “that was him. Sorry for being so long I was…preoccupied.”

“You’re lucky he kept up on payments,” the man grumbles, opening a door with the key and motioning you inside. “My pleasure to finally have you, regardless.”

Entering the small and sparse room, you take the key from him with a thankful smile and a quick thank you before he closes the door. As the barrier thuds, you sway on your feet. Blinking. Breathing hard. You drop all of your bags with a heavy thump that echoes off the walls in a single instant. Heart pounding at everything that was striking you in an instant, you walk slowly back to the bed. You don’t bother to take a shower or brush your teeth; even change.

You fall down on the mattress and pray you don’t have to dream about Alex sending money to this place every week simply on a suffocating hope that you’d come back to him. You pray you don’t dream at all.

The phone wakes you up only thirty minutes later.

Groaning, you shift your body so your hand can snake into your pocket, grasping it and tossing it to the pillow beside your head. You’d never made it through all of the voicemails without crying, so you just deleted all of them and let the inbox fill back up again.

Feeling the dog tags press against your chest as you form your chest into the bed, you shove your head downward and listen to it ring.

Bring-bring, bring-bring, bring-bring

It happens in a flurry of a sleep-addled mind and a horrible desperation to see your husband after nearly a full year of no contact. You flip it open and answer with your nose pressed deeply into the pillow below you. Ears straining and pulse running like a starving cat after a mouse.

Dead silence.

“...Sweetheart…?” It’s pitiful how fast the tears flood you at Alex’s shocked and tiny voice. Tight breathing sounds over the line from his end and your other hand digs into your scalp. A small, cut-off laugh. “Hey…I—”

You hang up with a vicious slam of the screen and let the silence settle again. People walk the hall; the sun dims as night sets in. This isn’t home. Dropping the phone back down to the pillow you curl into a tight ball and cry yourself back to sleep.

If you had to guess, you’d say the small curse was what woke you for the second time, though you didn’t register it until minutes later. That muffled ‘shit’ as a foot hits your dropped bags near the door. But then it’s silent again and your ears only twitch to the gentle sigh that brushes against your face; a thumb and forefinger caressing your cheek as hair is placed back over your ear.

Perhaps the only reason at all as to why you don’t wake up screaming bloody murder is because of his calluses. They burn your flesh as they slide over it—as ingrained into your very being as your own heart is. As if Alex’s touch was another organ that was needed to survive. More important than a liver or a spleen.

When your eyes slip open he’s leaning back in a chair he had turned to face you, built form shifting as the rickety wood creaks. No more than five feet away sits your husband, and all you do is suck in a tight breath and lock gazes with soft sea glass.

Alex freezes at the same time, strong brow line peeling back and mustache stiff as his lips immediately thin. You both stare for a good while, a thread of tension entering the air. The night deepens.

He speaks first, in the dense hours of confrontation. Your heart feels like it’s been stuck with a spear, vignette at the sides of your vision, and a blooming center of only Alex’s body and his messy hair. The scarf around his neck. The combat vest.

Had he driven all this way to see if you were here? Because you’d answered the phone? But you hadn’t even said anything. Your head stays on the pillow, wondering if you were hallucinating.

“Hey,” Alex forces a chuff before he glances away, nervous arms crossed. “Hey there, Doll. Sorry that I woke you. I…ah,” your eyes bore into him, hand on the sheets slowly clenching into a fist. “I figured there was an off chance you would be here.” He clears his voice, throat closing on a trying laugh. “Guess I’m glad I looked. You should remember to lock your door, by the way.”

At the sight of your rising glare, his tone drops, expression falling even more than it already was. Deep well of sadness grew in his eyes, lips pulling back in a strained agony.

Alex’s gaze drops to the floor.

“I know,” is what hits the air, “I know, Sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fucking cut it,” you push your body up as his large shoulders tighten—such an accomplished and strong man brought to a squirming heap when his wife’s sharp words hit him in the chest. “What the hell were you thinking, Alex?!”

Heavy feet hit the floor as you stalk over, fatigue and tiredness pushed all the way to the back of your mind yet also enhancing your emotions. Bitter rage was sparking—held in far too long. Alex’s eyes don’t meet yours, so you grab him by the chin and angle his head up to you.

At the sight of your red sclera and the baggy gaze he stills. Under your grip his beard tickles you, the soft grip of flesh that makes you want to wrap your arms over him and weep; make him promise to never leave like that again.

“I…I wasn’t…”

“That’s the thing isn’t it—you didn’t think.” Sea glass floods over, going glossy; hurt etched into both of your faces as if carved from the same stone. But you don’t stop now, growling out as your skin burns. Alex isn’t sad that you’re angry, he’s sad he’s done this to you. “You disappeared, Alex. Laswell had to just drop all of this shit on me. I thought you had died.” You growl. “Do you know what that feels like?!”

“Sweetheart—”

“Shut up! You let me talk,” he falls silent, hand delicately coming up to grab your wrist. Not to pull you away, just to hold you. To feel your skin and the heat of it. You sniffle and his eyes break. “And the worst part of it was that if you had just asked I would have followed you right then and there.” Alex sharply looks back at you. “But the biggest insult was that you thought I would leave you—that you even considered that.”

Shock slowly gives way to a blank expression. He was confused, now.

Was that what you were angry about?

“You’re an idiot, Keller. Hot-headed. Cocky.” You shake your head, but a tiny smile begins to bleed onto Alex’s face. Watching you like you’d just sprung a million dollars on him. His grip slightly squeezes, calloused thumb running the span of your knuckles as you shake his head with your hand. “Damn nuisance to my health, is what you are.” Trying to remain angry is tough when he’s looking at you like that—starstruck—but you spit out, “It’s insulting that you thought I’d just give up on us that easily.”

“Most women don’t want a man who’s wanted for desertion, Doll,” Alex whispers, testing a smirk on his lips with his expression still strained.

“Arrogant!” your voice snaps. “Not a single brain cell in his stupid little head.” You let go of his chin and grip the sides of his skull, feeling the dirty but still soft strands of hair before you huff at him.

But he just looks at you and smiles, face smooshed.

“...You really came?” Alex asks quietly. You fall silent and after a moment you deflate.

After the silence of trying to keep the sneer on your face, you let it drop, lips quivering slightly. Anger glints with pain. “I should hit you upside the head, Keller, for all the worry you’ve put me through,” you grunt, eyes flashing over every new bruise on his face—every cut you’d have to re-learn. He looks tired.

Oh, Alex…

Before the blond can respond to you, you’ve captured the back of his head and shoved it into your chest; face burying itself into his scalp to bring forth that scent of dust and cologne. You whimper out as he grips you around the waist with just as much fervor, “Did you think that I would stay away?”

Alex says nothing, only the slight tremor in his bicep betraying him. You firmly kiss his skull and run your fingers through his hair, the both of you so tight together there’s barely enough room in your ribs to allow your lungs to inflate.

But holding him was more important than air, a sentiment that Alex seemed to share entirely.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Bug.” He mutters into your skin. “Feels good to be able to hold my girl again.”

You stay like that for a long time before you pull back and capture his cheeks, face pulling closer before you kiss him deeply. It’s not a fast-paced or desperate thing—no clashing teeth or tongue. That wasn’t what you needed right now.

All that you needed was Alex. Your home.

You both separate and the blond grabs the back of your neck, forcing you back so he can lay another on the side of your mouth; nose, cheek. Anywhere that he could reach as his mustache tickled you to a smile. Giggles worm out and you wiggle out of his grip to wipe at your cheeks, spreading away tiny tear tracks and saliva.

“Quit it,” you whisper, and Alex gazes up at you reverently from his chair.

“Negative, Ma’am,” he says, equally as soft, not even blinking. “Don’t wanna.” You roll your eyes, face hot.

The seconds draw long of only watching one another before you shake your head and move your hands to shimmy out of the dog tags around your neck. Alex’s gaze locks on the metal swiftly, smile shifting.

“You’re horrible.” You huff, quietly, before shoving his dog tags at his chest. “Now put them back on.”

“But I’m not in the—” Your glare shuts him up. Alex clears his throat sheepishly. “Yes, Ma’am.”

You nod and watch as they’re resituated around his neck. Right where they should be. When you take a step back to really take him in, there’s a moment where you skim over the state of his left leg. After all, the metal was barely noticeable in the dark. But when you do see it every little part of you shrivels up with confused pain.

Alex stands with a noticeable preference to his right and as he towers over you, fingers coming to grab at your face and slowly drag it back up.

A slightly apologetic look washes over him.

“I’m guessing you didn’t listen to all of the voicemails.”

“Alex…” you slowly cut off. “You…” Staring at the metal limb instead of the real one, you gape. “...how?”

“Y’know,” he laughs, but you don’t find this funny. He notices and kisses your forehead, tapping his scalp to yours and saying after a contemplative pause, “I think it’s better if I don’t explain it. I’m alright, just...” Alex smiles cheekily, the spark that you love coming back easily as it shimmers in his eyes, “just a little more carbon fiber and aluminum than I was before.”

You hug him tightly.

“I’m sorry, I should have come sooner—I was just angry, and I wasn’t—”

“Don’t apologize to me,” Alex sighs, grabbing you and maneuvering the both of you to the bed. He sits and you end up laying in his lap like that moment in the bathroom ages ago. “None of this is your fault, okay? You deserve to be angry. I shouldn’t have put such a burden on you.”

You sigh in his arms, head under his chin and heart finally able to return to a steady pace. Licking your lips, you ask, “Does it hurt?”

Sending a glance down, Alex’s lips twitch with a grin before it disappears. He hums.

“Sometimes.” Your hand grips his opposite cheek and you lay a kiss on his chin, caressing his flesh.

It’s a tentative kind of love. An understanding and a plea all at once.

The blond leans back against the wall and pulls you closer, closing his eyes. Finally relaxing for the first time in what seems like forever. But his girl is in his arms, and he’s never been this calm.

“I have a home in Urzikstan,” he confesses lightly, fingers brushing your body and giving way to shivers. You listen, eyes fluttering at the vibrations of his words. “It’s safe—protected. I…want us to live there.” Alex nods against your head, swallowing. “If you’ll come back with me.”

“Yes,” your answer is immediate. “Anywhere, as long as you’re with me.”

You feel his breath hitch, soft chuckles brushing your hair far better than any comb. There’s a small tremor in his voice as he says, “I love you. God, do I love you.”

Your lips pull up, body growing heavy with a final sense of home.

“I love you, too.” Soft kisses and tight arms. Shifting tattoos. “But if you ever do something like that again without talking to me, I’m telling Laswell she has permission to put a bullet in your ass.”

His loud laughs shake your body, and you press your face into his neck to steady yourself; smiling.

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 1 year ago

Text

A flock of elephants

Written for the November warm-up round of the @steddieholidaydrabbles

Prompt: Bakery AU

Rated: T

CW: some sexual tension and innuendo

Tags: Baker Steve, Rockstar Eddie

Notes: Can be read as a continuation of this microfic

“You don't understand how huge a deal this is, Steve,” Dustin says. He’s wiggling in the passenger seat, trying to take in every bit of their surroundings as they pull up to the concert hall.

Steve huffs and squints at the signs. There's security and fans and staff everywhere and he can feel a headache coming up.

"A guy asked me to bake a cake, so what? It's literally what I do for a living, nothing-"

"A guy asked you to-" Dustin sputters. "Excuse me, what did you say? Eddie Munson commissioned you to bake a replica of his world famous Warlock, do you have any- Do you even know who Eddie Munson is?"

"Of course I know," Steve grouses. "I don't live under a rock."

"Oh yeah?" Dustin levels him with an unimpressed look. "Name one of his songs."

"Please," Steve rolls his eyes. "You're blasting that shit on repeat, it's practically seared into my brain. Especially the one about the elephants."

Dustin stares at him. Steve resists the urge to pinch his nose.

"You know the one! What was it? Flock of Elephants?"

Dustin crumples into the car seat and slaps both palms to his forehead. "It's A Court of Sycophants, Steve! Oh my God!"

"Synchro-what?" Steve ignores the way his neck prickles and takes a sharp right. "You just made that up. Now help me look for the delivery entrance or we won't have ourselves a deal at all."

Once they find the entrance, it turns out he forgot the ID badge that the label sent, because of fucking course he did. He spends about half an hour trying to convince the grumpy security guard to let them in while Dustin has a complete meltdown. Just as he's ready to give up, they're rescued by the appearance of a tiny blonde in a pink cardigan who cheerfully introduces herself as Eddie’s manager.

"Sorry about Hop," she says for what must be the fourth time, while Steve sets up the guitar-shaped cake at the center of the buffet and Dustin inspects the backstage lounge with awestruck eyes. "He takes his job very seriously."

"Yeah, I noticed," Steve mutters. She seems nice enough, but he really doesn’t wanna engage in smalltalk right now. The bustle of the stage hands and the hot air of the venue are making him squeamish. All he wants to do is get this over with and go home.

Unfortunately fate must hate him, because that is the exact moment that a familiar voice says, "Hey, Chris. No matter what Hop tells you, I didn't order hookers to the venue. I dunno where he got the-"

Dustin starts squealing.

"Oh my God, you're Eddie Munson!"

Eddie squints at him like a confused cat.

"Last time I checked, yeah. And you are?"

"Dustin," says Dustin, like that explains everything. "I'm with Steve."

Eddie’s eyes flit over and his face breaks into a delighted, dimpled smile.

"Baker boy, hi!"

Steve's mouth goes dry.

He doesn’t know why, but all of the easy confidence of their last meeting is suddenly gone.

Maybe it's because they were in the bakery, on his own turf, and now they're on Eddie’s, where the lights and the noise and the hum of the crowd in the auditorium are grating on his nerves.

Maybe it's because last time, Eddie looked like just some guy in his ripped jeans and ratty hoody, unwashed hair piled in a chaotic bun, and now …

… now he's in a pair of leather pants that are so tight they may as well be spray-painted on and what looks like a fucking harness, hair cascading around his face and shoulders in a halo of messy curls and is that eyeliner?

"Woah," Eddie breathes, eyes growing large, and yup, eyeliner. Definitely eyeliner, Jesus fucking Christ. With two long strides of those impossibly long legs, he's beside Steve and ogling the cake with an awestruck face. "This is fucking incredible, dude, it looks just like the real thing. You did all that from the photos?"

By some miracle, Steve manages to channel the incoming blush into a sly pop of his hips and a smug eyebrow quirk.

"Told you I was the best."

Eddie is looking at him like he didn't bake a cake but hung the moon, which … in combination with the eyeliner and the leather and the harness of it all? Steve squirms in his jeans.

"Okay, erm … if that's all, I'll send over the bill by-"

"Wait, what? You're not staying for the show?" Eddie swivels to Chrissy, all righteous indignation. "Why are they not staying for the show?"

Chrissy shrugs, at the same time that Steve says, "That's really not necessa-"

"We'd love to stay!"

Dustin shoves himself between them, elbowing him in the kidneys. While Steve is still coughing, Eddie turns to Chrissy.

"Show the young man to the backstage area, Chris?"

Dustin looks like he's about to die of happiness, so Steve resigns himself to his fate.

"Will you play the one about the psychopaths?" he asks as they trail after him. "It's his favorite."

"Psycho-" Eddie’s brow wrinkles.

"Sycophants, Steve!" Dustin hollers from ahead. "Jesus!"

"Anyways," Steve says over Eddie’s rumbling laughter. "You really didn't have to-"

"I know I didn't." Eddie accepts his guitar - the real one - from a stage hand and slings it over his shoulder. "But I saw what you're best at, so I figured I'd return the favor."

"Careful there," Steve huffs. "All you've done is ogle my cake. You may wanna try it first."

"Oh, I'm planning to …" Eddie's smile is sharp as he leans in, close to his ear. "Preferably with less people around, though."

And then he's gone, stepping out on the stage, making his guitar wail.

Steve can't quite tell if the roar in his ears is the crowd or the sound of his own blood.

#steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie brainrot #steddie fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddie holiday drabbles #hype's holiday drabbles

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psychobrew · 30 days ago

Note

jealous ginny moment??

“Ginny! You’re drooling,” Demelza giggled.

She tightened her grip on her broom and tore her eyes away from Harry, who was commandeering a clumsy group of first years who had probably never flown a day in their lives. “I am not,” she said brusquely, “just scouting his body language, is all.”

“He’s not bad looking,” Dee qualified. “You like his captain’s badge, do you?”

“Shut up,” Ginny groaned. She gestured at the first years. “How’d they get in, anyways? First years can’t play.”

“Dunno why you’re so worked up. He’s bound to pick you,” said Dee offhandedly. “He practically lives with you, doesn’t he?”

“I don’t want him to put me on the team cause he’s friends with my brother,” she grumbled, “I want him to put me on the team because I’m bloody good at quidditch.”

Dee patted her knee. “That’s very noble of you, Gin.”

Ginny huffed. A second group had taken to the pitch – a gaggle of third and fourth year girls, giggling and falling over themselves. Ginny spotted Romilda Vane immediately.

“Oh, god,” she moaned.

“What?” said Dee.

“It’s Romilda,” she said coldly. Romilda was not well-liked amongst Ginny’s dorm mates. They often heard her through the floorboards, in the fourth-year dormitory below – giggling loudly at all hours of the night. “No way she can fly a broom.”

Harry had his back to her – Ginny couldn’t see his face, but she could see the way Romilda looked at him, eyes wide and falsely bashful, batting her lashes. Her hair wasn’t even tied back. It cascaded in long, dark curls down her back. She kept on tucking pieces behind her ear in a manner that could only be described as seductive.

“She needs to put her hair up,” Ginny muttered, “that’s a hazard.”

Dee blinked at her. Their grudge against Romilda had always been quiet and outspoken. None of them, especially Ginny, had ever been so outwardly venomous.

It seemed to click instantly, though, exactly what they were up against. Dee crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes. “Yeah, who does she think she is?” she said.

“Harry, I’m so sorry –” Romilda’s high-pitched voice carried across the pitch, and Ginny cringed inwardly – “could you help me mount the broom?”

Something deep inside her chest threatened to rear its ugly head. “Oh, that bitch.”

Beside her, Dee dissolved into poorly concealed laughter.

Harry refused to help Romilda mount her broom. “It’s expected you know the basics of flying before you come to a try out,” she heard him say.

Romilda and the other girls did not last long. They just as soon got their brooms off the ground as they collapsed into a giant squealing heap. Harry told them to get off the pitch – the girls obeyed, clambering up into the stands to watch the rest of tryouts.

“He’s very authoritative,” Ginny observed. Dee smirked at her.

And she really needn’t have worried about her own try out – she easily out flew the rest of the contenders for chasers, and sank seventeen goals before Harry blew his whistle.

The chasers landed in a semi-circle around him, chests heaving from the effort as he announced that he had made his decision. Ginny hardly felt winded.

“Alright. Er – you all did very well –” Harry met her eyes for a split second before lowering his head. “But obviously I can only choose three...”

Ginny felt her heart sink. Was this his indirect way of letting her off easy?

“Katie Bell – we’ll keep you, obviously.” Ginny saw Katie grin with pride. She felt a surge of dislike toward her, though she couldn’t identify the source – Katie had never been anything but kind to her. “And next… Demelza Robins.”

Dee let out an involuntary squeal of excitement, and squeezed Ginny’s hand. It was with great effort that Ginny returned the gesture. If Dee made the team and she didn’t, she’d have to seriously consider dropping out of school altogether.

Harry was very pointedly avoiding looking at her. Ginny’s heart sank. She thought she might throw up right here on the pitch – so she really hadn’t made it.

Her disappointment was swiftly replaced with anger. How dare Harry not choose her? She’d filled in for him all last year – proven herself, again and again –

“And, er, Ginny Weasley,” said Harry.

Everyone else let out soft sighs of displeasure. Ginny felt strangely lightheaded. “But like I said, you all did quite well, there’s always next year…”

“Yeah, right,” said a girl Ginny recognized as one of the seventh years. She crossed her arms and stormed off toward the changing rooms.

Harry watched her go, then clapped his hands together. “Good work today, everyone. Katie, Demelza, Ginny – I’ll see you all at practice. I’ve got to go find some beaters, now.”

Dee grinned at her sideways.

Ginny’s eyes were locked on Harry. He was turning to leave, to head back toward the group of potential beaters. He caught her eyes for a fleeting moment, just long enough to give her a small smile.

Something warm spread down to Ginny’s toes. She smiled back.

#harry potter #hinny #ginny weasley #hinny fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #hinny fluff #harry potter next generation #quidditch tryouts #they are so whipped for each other

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nextchae · 4 months ago

Text

pen and point – lee heeseung

word count: 28.9k

pairing: lee heeseung x fem!reader

synopsis: Y/N is a dedicated fencing athlete whose life revolves around the sport, school, and her part-time job at a campus coffee shop. When Heeseung, a reserved journalism student with an eye for deeper stories, starts frequenting the shop, Y/N is intrigued but unsure of his intentions.

genre: 2521!modern au, slow-burn romance, college!au, fluff

You push open the heavy door to your dorm building, the familiar creak echoing in the dimly lit hallway. It's well past midnight—much later than you meant to be out—but time always seems to slip away when you’re at the gym. Practice had run long tonight. The fencing team had been working on speed drills, refining the quick, explosive movements that define saber. You stayed after, like you usually do, pushing yourself just a little harder, staying just a little longer.

The sharp scent of sweat still clings to your clothes, mingling with the cool night air as you step inside the lobby. The fluorescent lights hum softly above you, casting harsh shadows that stretch across the worn carpet. The weight of your gear bag pulls on your shoulder, a familiar and comforting burden. Your muscles ache, pleasantly tired from the evening’s exertion, and a small, satisfied smile tugs at the corners of your mouth.

You reach your room at the end of the hall and fumble for your keys, trying to be as quiet as possible. Chaehyun, your roommate, is likely asleep by now, and you don’t want to wake her. She’s always been an early sleeper, a contrast to your habit of staying up late, either at the gym or cramming for an exam. After a moment of fumbling, the door finally gives, and you slip inside, greeted by the soft glow of fairy lights strung up on Chaehyun’s side of the room. The faint scent of lavender from her diffuser lingers in the air, instantly calming your nerves.

Chaehyun is already in bed, her back turned to you, her breathing slow and even. You’re relieved—no need to explain your late return. You quietly close the door behind you and drop your bag onto the floor by your bed, trying not to disturb the peace of the room. The day’s events replay in your mind as you start to peel off your sweat-soaked clothes, the adrenaline from practice still coursing through your veins.

You head straight for the small bathroom attached to your dorm room, craving the feel of warm water to wash away the grime and tension from your skin. The tiles are cold beneath your bare feet as you step inside, and you quickly strip out of the rest of your gear. The sight of your fencing jacket and mask, now discarded on the floor, makes you pause for a moment. You’ll have to clean and organize your equipment tomorrow; it’s important to keep everything in good condition. But for now, all you can think about is getting clean and finally crawling into bed.

The shower sputters to life, and you step under the stream of water, letting it cascade over your sore muscles. The warmth relaxes you, easing the stiffness in your shoulders and back. As you lather soap over your skin, you notice a faint bruise blossoming on your collarbone, a memento from a particularly hard hit you took during a bout earlier. You smile faintly, the pain a reminder of how far you’ve come since you first picked up a saber. You remember the early days when you could barely keep up, your reflexes too slow, your strikes too hesitant. But now, each mark on your skin feels like a badge of honor, proof of your dedication and growth.

Rinsing off, you let the water soothe you, your thoughts drifting to the upcoming match at the end of the week. It’s your first real test since joining the team—a chance to prove yourself, to show that you deserve your spot. The pressure is immense, but you thrive on it. You know that each practice, each extra hour spent honing your technique, brings you closer to your goal.

After a few more minutes, you turn off the shower and wrap yourself in a towel, the cool air hitting your damp skin as you step out. You quickly dry off and pull on your pajamas, your body feeling lighter, cleaner, as if the shower washed away more than just the sweat and grime.

When you re-enter the bedroom, Chaehyun is still fast asleep, her breathing a soft, steady rhythm in the quiet room. You move carefully, not wanting to disturb her as you gather your discarded clothes and gear, setting them aside to deal with in the morning. Sliding under the covers, you finally let yourself relax, sinking into the familiar comfort of your bed.

The room is quiet, save for the gentle hum of the air conditioning and the occasional rustle of Chaehyun shifting in her sleep. You close your eyes, letting the exhaustion of the day finally catch up with you. But your mind is still buzzing, not quite ready to let go of the day’s events. You think about the footwork drills, the intense focus required to outmaneuver your opponent, the satisfaction of a well-executed strike.

As sleep begins to pull you under, your last thoughts are of the upcoming match. You’ve worked hard for this, sacrificed sleep and social time to be at your best. You tell yourself you’ll be ready, because you have to be. The competition is fierce, and there’s no room for hesitation. But as you drift off, you can’t help but feel a small surge of excitement. This is what you’ve been training for—your moment to shine.

The blaring of your alarm pulls you from the depths of sleep, but instead of waking up fully, you groggily reach out and fumble to turn it off, pulling the blanket over your head in an attempt to steal a few more precious minutes of rest. The warmth of your bed is too inviting, the soreness from last night's practice still lingering in your muscles. You tell yourself you’ll get up in just a moment, but the weight of exhaustion quickly pulls you back under.

A gentle but firm shake at your shoulder jerks you awake. You blink, your vision still blurry, to see Chaehyun hovering over you, her face etched with mild concern.

“Y/N, it’s already 8:30. You’re going to be late,” she whispers, careful not to startle you too much, but there’s a sense of urgency in her voice.

You bolt upright, the words sinking in like a bucket of cold water. Your first class starts at 9:00, and it’s on the opposite side of campus. Panic sets in as you scramble out of bed, the blanket tangling around your legs, nearly sending you crashing to the floor.

“Why didn’t my alarm go off?” you mumble, though you know the answer—it did, and you ignored it.

“You turned it off,” Chaehyun says, already moving to your closet to help you find something to wear. “You’ve got fifteen minutes to get out the door. Hurry!”

Grabbing the first outfit you see, you throw it on without much thought, barely registering whether it matches. You run a hand through your hair, hoping it looks somewhat presentable, then grab your backpack, still half-packed from last night.

“Thanks, Chaehyun. I owe you one,” you say breathlessly as you slip on your shoes.

“You owe me more than one at this point,” she teases with a grin, but she’s already pushing you out the door. “Now go! I’ll see you after class.”

You sprint down the hallway, your heart racing not just from the exertion but from the anxiety of being late. The morning air is crisp as you step outside, and you quickly break into a jog, weaving through the throngs of students making their way to class. The campus is already alive with activity, but you barely notice, your mind focused on one thing: getting to class on time.

You make it to the lecture hall just as the clock hits 9:03. The door is slightly ajar, and you carefully push it open, slipping inside as quietly as possible. The professor is already mid-sentence, her back turned to the class as she writes on the board. Relief washes over you when you realize she hasn’t noticed your late entrance.

Moving swiftly, you make your way to your usual seat in the middle of the room, where Taehyun is already settled. He raises an eyebrow as you slide into the chair next to him, his expression a mix of curiosity and amusement.

“Late night?” he whispers, leaning over so only you can hear.

“Something like that,” you mutter back, still trying to catch your breath. You pull out your notebook and pen, trying to look as though you’ve been there the whole time. The professor turns around, and you quickly avert your gaze to the front, pretending to be engrossed in her lecture.

Taehyun doesn’t let it go, though. “You’ve got bedhead,” he adds with a smirk, his voice just low enough that only you can hear.

You resist the urge to groan, running a hand through your hair again in a futile attempt to smooth it down. “I overslept. Chaehyun had to wake me up,” you admit quietly, trying not to draw any attention.

He nods knowingly, but the teasing smile doesn’t leave his face. “You should start setting two alarms. Or three.”

“Noted,” you reply, rolling your eyes at him, though you can’t help but smile a little. It’s just Taehyun’s way—lighthearted teasing that helps take the edge off your morning’s chaos.

The rest of the class passes in a blur. You try to focus on the lecture, taking notes diligently, but your mind keeps drifting back to how close you came to missing it entirely. You’re grateful to have made it, but you know you need to be more careful. You can’t afford to slip up like this, especially with everything on your plate—classes, fencing, and trying to maintain some semblance of a social life.

When the lecture finally ends, you and Taehyun pack up your things and head out into the bustling hallway. The morning rush is in full swing, and you’re swept up in the tide of students moving from one class to the next.

“You heading to the dining hall?” Taehyun asks as you walk side by side.

“Yeah, I need some coffee,” you reply, still feeling the remnants of your rushed morning.

“Good call. Let’s go before it gets too crowded,” he says, steering you towards the main quad.

As you walk, you mentally make a note to set multiple alarms for tomorrow. You’re not going to risk another close call like that again—especially not with the match coming up. It’s going to take everything you’ve got to stay on top of things, and you’re determined not to let anything slip through the cracks.

The cafeteria at your university in Seoul is bustling with activity as you and Taehyun navigate through the sea of students. The air is thick with the mingling scents of breakfast—steamed rice, kimchi, and a variety of side dishes that make your stomach grumble. Despite the rush, you manage to grab a tray, your eyes immediately seeking out the coffee station. You’re still groggy from your late wake-up call, and you need something strong to shake off the remnants of sleep.

As you pour yourself a cup of coffee, Taehyun leans in, his voice low but tinged with curiosity. “Did you hear about the mess in Professor Kim’s class yesterday?”

You shake your head, more focused on not spilling your drink. “No, what happened?”

“One of the new students—Jisoo, I think—completely froze during her presentation. She just stood there for what felt like forever before she managed to say anything. Everyone was cringing.”

You wince, imagining the awkwardness of the moment. “That’s rough. First-year nerves, I guess.”

“Yeah, but you know how intense Professor Kim can be. She just stared at her until she started talking,” Taehyun says with a slight shrug, clearly unimpressed. “I wouldn’t want to be in her shoes.”

You finally secure your coffee and follow Taehyun toward the seating area. You spot Chaehyun and Kai by a window, already seated with trays full of food. The sunlight filters through the glass, casting a warm glow over the table as you approach. Chaehyun waves you over, a subtle smile on her face, while Kai gives a nod of acknowledgment.

“Saved you a spot,” Chaehyun says as you sit down, her tone casual but welcoming. “How was the sprint across campus?”

“Exhausting,” you reply, setting down your tray and taking a sip of coffee. “Thanks for waking me up, by the way. I would’ve missed class if it weren’t for you.”

Chaehyun shrugs, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “You really should stop staying up so late. You’re not doing yourself any favors.”

“Right,” Kai chimes in, leaning back in his chair. “You’re going to burn out before midterms if you keep this up.”

You roll your eyes, though you know they’re right. Between fencing practice and trying to keep up with your classes, your sleep schedule has been all over the place. “I know, I know. I’ll try to get it together.”

The conversation shifts as you start eating, the atmosphere comfortable and unhurried. You’re only a few weeks into the semester, but already the rhythm of campus life has taken hold. The mix of early mornings, long lectures, and late-night study sessions is starting to feel familiar, even if it’s still a bit overwhelming.

“So, there’s some drama going on in the dorms,” Chaehyun says, her voice lowering slightly as if she’s about to share a secret. “You know Hyewon from our floor? She’s been caught sneaking into the guys’ side after curfew.”

Kai raises an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “For real? What’s she doing over there?”

“Rumor has it she’s been meeting some guy,” Chaehyun continues, her tone casual but clearly enjoying the storytelling. “Apparently, he’s a junior and in the film department. They’ve been trying to keep it quiet, but it’s not exactly a secret anymore.”

Taehyun snorts, shaking his head. “People need to be more careful. The RAs are cracking down this year, and everyone knows it.”

You listen, taking it all in, but you’re not as invested in the gossip as you might have been a few months ago. The newness of it all—new city, new school, new people—has worn off a bit, leaving you more focused on getting through the day-to-day challenges.

After a pause, Kai turns to you. “How’s training going? You’ve got that match coming up soon, right?”

You nod, finishing your coffee before answering. “It’s going well. Tough, but good. I just need to stay focused and not get distracted.”

“Easier said than done,” Chaehyun comments, but there’s no judgment in her tone—just a matter-of-fact acknowledgment of how things are.

“Yeah, but you’ve got this,” Taehyun adds, more sincerely. “Just don’t overthink it.”

You appreciate the support, even if you’re not entirely sure you believe it yourself. The competition here is fierce, and you know you’re going to have to give it everything you’ve got.

As you finish your breakfast, the conversation turns to lighter topics—an upcoming festival on campus, the latest drama on some popular TV show, and plans for the weekend. The weight of the morning’s rush has eased, replaced by the steady rhythm of another day at university.

When you finally leave the cafeteria, the four of you step out into the crisp morning air, the campus already alive with students heading to their next classes. Despite the lingering stress, you feel a small sense of contentment.

The coffee shop’s warm glow spills out onto the quiet street as you lock up your bike and make your way inside. The evening air is cool, and a slight breeze carries the scent of autumn leaves. The shop is tucked away just a block from campus, a cozy retreat where students often gather to study or unwind after a long day. You’ve been working here part-time since the semester started, and while the late shifts can be exhausting, there’s something comforting about the steady hum of the espresso machine and the soft murmur of customers in the background.

As you step behind the counter, your coworker Chaeyoung, a new friend who coincidentally is in the same major as you but one year older, gives you a quick nod before she heads out for the night. “It’s been pretty quiet today,” she says, pulling her jacket on. “Just a few regulars. You should have an easy shift.”

“Thanks, Chaeyoung. See you tomorrow,” you reply, tying your apron around your waist.

The evening crowd is usually a mix of familiar faces—students with their laptops open, working on assignments, and a few locals who stop by for a coffee on their way home. You recognize most of them, but there’s one regular who stands out, not because he’s particularly loud or noticeable, but because of the way he seems to blend into the background.

He’s young, probably around your age, with dark hair that falls just slightly over his eyes. He always wears the same dark hoodie, the hood often pulled up, and he never lingers in the shop for long. He usually comes in during your late shifts, orders the same drink—a black coffee with a splash of milk—and leaves as soon as it’s ready. He’s yet to properly speak to you, other than the bare minimum required to place his order.

Tonight, as you wipe down the counter and prepare for the next wave of customers, you hear the door chime softly. You glance up and, sure enough, there he is—standing just inside the entrance, his hands tucked into his hoodie pockets. His eyes flicker over the shop’s interior, as if checking to see how crowded it is, before he approaches the counter.

“Hi, what can I get for you?” you ask, slipping into your usual greeting, though you already know his answer.

“Just the usual,” he says, his voice low, almost inaudible beneath the hum of the shop.

You nod, moving to prepare his order. The shop is quiet tonight, with only a couple of other customers scattered at the tables, absorbed in their own worlds. As you work, you can’t help but wonder about him. He’s become a small mystery to you—a regular presence in your evenings, yet completely unknown.

The coffee machine hisses as you steam the milk, and within moments, his drink is ready. You place the cup on the counter, offering him a small smile as you do. “Here you go—black coffee with a splash of milk.”

He steps forward to take the cup, his fingers brushing yours briefly as he does. For a moment, you think he’s going to say something, but he just nods, murmuring a quick “thanks” before turning to leave.

“Hey,” you call out impulsively, surprising even yourself. He pauses, glancing back at you, his expression unreadable. “I see you in here a lot. Do you go to the university?”

It’s a simple question, but it feels like you’re breaking some kind of unspoken rule. He hesitates, his gaze meeting yours for a brief moment before he looks away. “Yeah,” he replies shortly. “I’m a student.”

There’s something in his tone—cautious, reserved—that makes you think he’s not used to small talk, at least not with strangers. You’re not sure if you should push further or let it go.

“Well, if you ever want to talk about classes or anything… I’m usually here during the late shifts,” you offer, keeping your tone casual, not wanting to pressure him. “It’s always nice to chat with someone who’s going through the same stuff.”

He nods again, more to himself than to you, before muttering, “Maybe next time.”

And with that, he turns and heads out the door, disappearing into the night as quickly as he arrived. You watch him go, the mystery of who he is lingering in your mind.

As the door swings shut behind him, you can’t help but wonder about the stories he carries with him—the ones he keeps locked behind that quiet demeanor. It’s strange, how someone can become a regular part of your day, yet remain so distant.

The hours stretch on quietly after your regular leaves, with only a few more customers trickling in before the shop grows still. It’s late, and the usual rush of students has dwindled down to nothing, leaving you alone with your thoughts as you go through the motions of closing up. The steady hum of the espresso machine is comforting, almost meditative, as you wipe down the counters, restock supplies, and start counting the till.

Outside, the night has fully settled in, the streets almost deserted save for the occasional car passing by. The soft jazz playing through the speakers blends with the distant sounds of the city, creating a serene atmosphere that helps the time pass. You finish the last of your tasks, grab your bag, and turn off the lights, casting the shop into darkness before locking the door behind you.

As you step outside, the cool night air greets you, a welcome contrast to the warmth of the shop. You pull your jacket tighter around you and start the short walk back to your dorm. The campus is just a block away, and though you’re used to these late-night walks, tonight feels a little different. There’s a tension lingering from your earlier conversation with the regular, a curiosity about who he is and why he always seems so guarded.

When you finally reach your dorm, you enter the code and push open the door, the familiar warmth of the hallway enveloping you. The building is quiet, most students already asleep or buried in their textbooks. As you approach your room, you notice a faint glow seeping from under the door. Chaehyun, your roommate, is usually asleep by now, especially with her early morning classes.

You unlock the door and step inside, surprised to find Chaehyun still awake, sitting on her bed with her knees drawn up to her chest. She’s absentmindedly twirling a strand of hair around her finger, her eyes fixed on the wall as if lost in thought. A textbook lies open beside her, untouched.

“Hey,” you say softly, kicking off your shoes and dropping your bag onto your chair. “Didn’t expect you to still be up.”

Chaehyun glances up, offering a small, distracted smile. “Yeah, I couldn’t sleep.”

You can tell something’s on her mind. It’s not like her to stay awake this late, especially when she has classes in the morning. You grab your towel and some comfortable clothes, heading to the bathroom for a quick shower. The warm water helps wash away the fatigue from your shift, but when you return to the room, you find Chaehyun still in the same spot, her expression pensive.

As you sit down on your bed, drying your hair with the towel, you decide to ask. “What’s up? You look like something’s bothering you.”

Chaehyun sighs, her fingers still fiddling with the strand of hair. “It’s… it’s stupid, really.”

You raise an eyebrow, knowing that whatever it is, it’s clearly not stupid to her. “Doesn’t seem stupid if it’s keeping you up this late.”

She hesitates, biting her lip before finally letting out a deep breath. “It’s Minhee,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t stop thinking about him.”

You nod, understanding now. Minhee—he’s in your grade, a quiet guy with a gentle smile who seems to have caught Chaehyun’s eye from the very beginning. You’ve noticed the way she looks at him in class, the way her eyes light up whenever he’s around. But Chaehyun has always been a bit reserved when it comes to her feelings, hesitant to make the first move.

“What about him?” you ask gently, knowing there’s more she wants to say.

“It’s just… I don’t know,” she starts, frustration lacing her voice. “Every time I think about talking to him, really talking to him, I just… I freeze. I don’t know what to say or how to act, and I end up avoiding him instead. It’s so frustrating.”

You can see the anxiety written all over her face. Chaehyun, who’s usually so composed and confident, is clearly struggling with this. “Have you tried just… being yourself around him? I mean, he seems like the kind of guy who’d appreciate that.”

Chaehyun lets out a small, humorless laugh. “That’s the problem. I don’t even know how to be myself when I’m around him. I get so nervous, like he’s going to see right through me and realize I’m just… boring.”

“Boring?” you repeat, incredulous. “Chaehyun, you’re anything but boring. You’re smart, funny, and you care about people. If Minhee can’t see that, then he’s the one who’s missing out.”

She looks at you, her expression softening a little, but you can tell she’s still not convinced. “I don’t know… Maybe I’m just overthinking it.”

“Maybe,” you agree, “but that’s okay. It’s normal to feel nervous when you like someone. But you won’t know how he really feels unless you give him a chance to get to know the real you.”

Chaehyun nods slowly, seeming to mull over your words. “I guess you’re right… I just need to figure out how to get past this… fear, I guess.”

“You will,” you assure her. “And when you do, I bet you’ll realize it wasn’t as scary as you thought. Just take it one step at a time.”

She smiles at you, a real smile this time, though still a little uncertain. “Thanks, Y/N. I know I’m probably being silly, but it helps to talk about it.”

“Anytime,” you reply, reaching over to give her hand a reassuring squeeze.

Chaehyun’s smile widens, and she finally seems to relax a little. “I’m just glad I have you to talk to. I’d be lost without you.”

“Same here,” you admit, lying back on your bed. “Let’s both get some sleep now. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?”

“Good night, Y/N,” Chaehyun murmurs, snuggling under her blanket, her earlier anxiety finally starting to fade.

“Good night, Chaehyun,” you reply, turning off the light.

As the room falls into darkness, you close your eyes, hoping that tomorrow will bring some clarity for both of you. The night is still, and for the first time in a while, you feel a sense of peace as sleep begins to pull you under.

The gymnasium buzzes with energy, the air thick with anticipation as teams from various universities gather for the first fencing match of the season. The metallic clinks of swords being tested, the swish of warm-up jackets, and the low hum of conversation fill the space. You stand with your teammates, Ryujin and Gaeul, your hearts pounding in sync as the day you’ve trained so hard for finally arrives.

You can see Chaehyun, Taehyun, Kai, and the rest of your friends—Jay and Chaeyoung—up in the bleachers, waving when they catch your eye. Chaehyun looks especially excited, a wide grin on her face as she snaps a few photos with her phone, probably to send to you later with some encouraging captions. Taehyun and Kai are shouting something you can’t quite hear, but their support is clear. It’s reassuring to know they’re here, their presence a steady anchor amidst the chaos.

“Ready, Y/N?” Ryujin asks, her eyes sharp and focused, as always.

“Yeah,” you reply, adjusting your mask and gloves. “Let’s do this.”

The team match is up first. It’s a round-robin format, each of you facing off against fencers from the other school. The opposing team looks strong, their stances confident, but you know you and your teammates have been training hard. Ryujin, with her aggressive style, usually takes the lead, while Gaeul’s calm, defensive approach balances things out. Your job is to bring in the points where you can, using your speed and precision to outmaneuver your opponents.

The referee calls you to the piste, and you step forward, saluting your opponent before taking your position. The first bout begins with Ryujin, who scores several quick points, her movements fast and decisive. Gaeul follows, managing to hold her ground and earn a few more points, keeping the score close. Then it’s your turn.

You face off against a tall girl with a strong stance. She lunges first, testing your defenses, but you parry and riposte, landing a clean hit on her shoulder. The match continues, a tense back-and-forth as you try to anticipate her moves while controlling the pace. The sound of your heartbeat fills your ears, the rest of the world fading as you focus solely on the bout.

When the referee calls the match, it’s close, but you’ve managed to secure the final points your team needed to edge out the win. Your teammates cheer, and you exchange high-fives with Ryujin and Gaeul as you step off the piste. There’s a brief moment of relief before you remember that your individual match is still ahead.

You catch your breath and take a swig of water, mentally preparing yourself for what’s next. The individual matches are tougher; there’s no team to back you up, and the pressure is entirely on you. You glance toward the bleachers again, seeing your friends waving and cheering, and it gives you the boost you need.

As you’re about to head to the piste for your individual match, something catches your eye. Off to the side, near where the school journalists are gathered, you spot him—the regular from the coffee shop. He’s standing slightly apart from the others, a notebook in hand, scribbling something down as he watches the matches intently.

For a moment, you’re caught off guard. What’s he doing here? You’ve never seen him at any school events before, let alone at a fencing match. He’s always been a mystery, but seeing him here, in this context, only deepens your curiosity.

You shake off the distraction and refocus on the task at hand. There’s no time to wonder about him now; you have a match to win. But as you walk to the piste, you can’t help but glance in his direction one more time. He’s still taking notes, his eyes darting between the fencers and his notebook, completely absorbed in whatever he’s writing.

The referee calls your name, and you force yourself to push all thoughts of him aside. Your opponent steps up—a girl from another school, her expression serious and focused. You both salute, then take your positions, the tension palpable.

“En garde,” the referee’s voice cuts through the air. “Prêt… Allez!”

The match begins, and you spring into action, your body moving on instinct. Your opponent is quick, her attacks precise, but you match her step for step, finding openings where you can. The bout is intense, each point hard-fought, but you stay calm, remembering your training.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the regular glance up from his notebook, watching your match with what seems like more than just passing interest. You block it out, channeling all your focus into the fight.

The final exchange is a blur—a flurry of attacks and parries—until you see an opening and strike, your blade landing cleanly on her torso. The referee raises his hand, signaling the point in your favor. The match is over.

You remove your mask, breathing heavily as the adrenaline starts to fade. Your teammates rush over to congratulate you, their cheers mixing with those of your friends in the stands. You managed to win, both the team match and your individual bout, and the feeling of victory is sweet.

But even as you celebrate with Ryujin and Gaeul, your thoughts drift back to the regular. He’s no longer writing, just watching the scene unfold with an inscrutable expression. Then, almost as if he senses your gaze, he looks up and meets your eyes. There’s a brief moment where neither of you looks away, and then he nods slightly, almost as if in acknowledgment, before turning his attention back to his notebook.

You’re left wondering what that nod meant, if anything. But before you can dwell on it, your friends swarm around you, pulling you into their excitement. There will be time to think about him later.

The weeks following the first tournament pass in a blur, your life consumed by the relentless demands of school, fencing, and work. Every day feels like a balancing act, trying to keep everything from crashing down as you juggle your commitments. Early morning practices, late-night study sessions, and shifts at the coffee shop—it’s a grind, and there’s little time for anything else.

Fencing practices have become more intense as the team prepares for the upcoming matches. Ryujin and Gaeul push you to your limits, honing your speed and precision with grueling drills. Coach keeps a close eye on everyone, always expecting more, demanding perfection. The victories from the first tournament are already a distant memory, replaced by the constant pressure to improve, to be ready for whatever comes next.

Classes, too, are piling on the pressure. Midterms are fast approaching, and professors seem determined to cram as much information as possible into each lecture. You spend hours poring over textbooks and notes, trying to keep up with the endless stream of assignments and projects. Your mind is a whirlwind of dates, formulas, and theories, each one more complex than the last.

The coffee shop offers little respite. The late-night shifts stretch on endlessly, and by the time you finish cleaning and lock up, it’s often past midnight. The regulars who once filled the shop now seem like a blur of faces, all blending together in your memory. The only person who stands out is the mysterious guy who hasn’t shown up since the tournament. His absence lingers in the back of your mind, a quiet distraction that you can’t quite shake.

Every time you work a shift, you find yourself scanning the shop, half-expecting to see him sitting in his usual spot, notebook in hand. But he never appears. You try to convince yourself that it’s nothing, that he was just a random customer who happened to catch your eye. But the truth is, you’re curious. There was something about him—something intriguing, something you can’t quite put your finger on—that makes you wonder who he is and why he hasn’t come back.

The days blur together, one after the other, as you push through the exhaustion and the mounting pressure. There’s no time to dwell on the regular or on anything else outside the immediate demands of your schedule. Sleep becomes a luxury, something you snatch in brief intervals between studying, practicing, and working. The stress builds, creeping into every corner of your life, until it feels like you’re constantly on the edge, just trying to hold it all together.

As midterms draw closer, the tension reaches a breaking point. Every day feels like a race against the clock, with too much to do and not enough time to do it. The nights grow longer as you stay up late, cramming for exams, only to wake up a few hours later to start all over again. Coffee becomes your lifeline, the only thing keeping you awake during the endless hours of studying and practice.

Despite the chaos, the absence of the regular still nags at you. It’s been weeks since the tournament, and you can’t help but wonder what happened to him. Was he just a one-time visitor? Did he find another coffee shop? Or did something happen that caused him to stop coming? The questions swirl in your mind, surfacing at the most inconvenient times—during class, while practicing, even as you try to sleep.

Chaehyun notices your distraction, but she’s too caught up in her own worries about Minhee to say much. The two of you share a mutual understanding—there’s too much going on, too many demands, to focus on anything else. Still, she tries to cheer you up when she can, dragging you to the campus café for study sessions with Taehyun, Kai, Jay, and Chaeyoung. But even in the midst of your friends, your thoughts drift back to the regular, wondering why he’s disappeared from your life as suddenly as he entered it.

One evening, after an especially grueling practice, you collapse onto your bed, your muscles aching and your mind racing. You know you should be studying, but the textbooks feel like they weigh a ton, and you can’t bring yourself to move. Instead, you lie there, staring up at the ceiling, trying to push the thoughts of the regular out of your mind. But they keep creeping back, slipping past your defenses, until you find yourself wondering if you’ll ever see him again.

Chaehyun glances over at you from her desk, where she’s furiously typing up a report. “You okay?” she asks, her voice tinged with concern.

“Yeah,” you reply, though you’re not entirely sure if it’s true. “Just tired.”

She nods, understanding. “We all are. Just a couple more weeks, and then we can relax. Or, you know, sleep for a week straight.”

You laugh, though it’s more out of exhaustion than humor. “Sounds like a plan.”

But even as you joke, the regular’s absence continues to bother you, a small, nagging feeling that something is off. You try to push it aside, to focus on the here and now—the exams, the practices, the never-ending stream of work. But it’s there, lurking in the back of your mind, a puzzle you can’t quite solve.

As the night wears on, you force yourself to get up and start studying, knowing you can’t afford to fall behind. But the thoughts of the regular linger, a quiet distraction that you can’t shake, no matter how hard you try.

The following week, the routine continues. Early mornings at the gym, afternoons in class, evenings at the coffee shop. The grind is relentless, each day a blur of exhaustion and effort. But you push through, knowing that you can’t afford to let up—not with midterms just around the corner.

The regular still doesn’t show up, and you find yourself growing more and more frustrated. It’s silly, you know, to be so preoccupied with someone you barely know. But there was something about him, something that made you curious, made you want to know more. And now that he’s gone, that curiosity has turned into a nagging itch, a feeling that something is missing.

The days grow shorter as autumn sets in, the air turning crisp and cool. The leaves on the trees outside the dorm begin to change color, painting the campus in shades of red, orange, and yellow. But even the beauty of the season can’t distract you from the growing pressure of midterms, or from the absence of the regular.

As the week wears on, you start to wonder if you’ll ever see him again. Maybe it’s for the best, you tell yourself. You’re too busy to be worrying about some guy you don’t even know. But the thought doesn’t bring you any comfort, and you find yourself hoping, just a little, that he’ll show up one more time.

You try to focus on your studies, on fencing, on work. But the regular’s absence looms large in your mind, a mystery you can’t quite let go of, no matter how hard you try. The routine continues, day after day, but you can’t help but feel like something is missing, something important that you can’t quite put your finger on.

And so, you push forward, determined to get through the next few weeks, to survive the grind and make it through midterms. But even as you do, you can’t shake the feeling that the regular’s absence is more than just a coincidence, that there’s something more going on beneath the surface.

The end of midterms brings a collective sigh of relief that seems to ripple across the entire campus. After weeks of cramming, late-night study sessions, and endless exams, everyone is ready to unwind. The first big party of the semester feels like a long-awaited reward, and the buzz around it is electric. You can feel the excitement in the air as you and Jay walk towards the off-campus house where the party is being held.

Jay is practically bouncing beside you, his usual energy amplified now that the weight of midterms is finally off his shoulders. "This is going to be good," he says, grinning ear to ear. "Everyone’s talking about it.”

You smile, though a part of you is still too tired to fully embrace the idea of a wild night. "I’m just looking forward to a drink and not thinking about school for a bit," you reply.

The house comes into view, its windows glowing with warm light, and the sound of music and laughter spills out onto the street. Groups of people are already gathered on the front lawn, red plastic cups in hand, talking and laughing as if the stress of the past few weeks never existed.

Inside, the house is packed, every room filled with people dancing, talking, and letting loose. The air is thick with the scent of alcohol and the faint sweetness of someone’s attempt at a spiked punch. You and Jay navigate through the crowd, heading toward the kitchen where you expect to find the rest of your friends.

Sure enough, Kai and Taehyun are already there, leaning against the counter, each with a drink in hand. They look more relaxed than you’ve seen them in weeks, their faces flushed from the warmth of alcohol and the relief of having survived midterms.

"Finally!" Kai exclaims when he sees you, raising his cup in greeting. "Thought you’d never get here."

"Had to drag myself off the couch," you admit with a laugh, grabbing a cup and filling it with soju. "But I made it."

Taehyun grins at you over the rim of his cup, his eyes slightly glassy. "You deserve a night off. We all do."

The four of you settle into an easy rhythm, chatting and laughing as the party continues around you. The tension of the past few weeks starts to melt away, replaced by the comfortable camaraderie of friends who’ve all been through the same things. For the first time in a while, you allow yourself to relax, to just enjoy the moment.

As the night goes on, you start to feel the effects of the alcohol—a pleasant warmth spreading through your body, making you feel lighter, more carefree. You drift through the party, talking to people you barely know, losing yourself in the music and the laughter that fills every corner of the house.

After a while, you decide to take a break from the noise and head towards the quieter hallway near the back of the house. The music is more muted here, and you find yourself grateful for the brief reprieve. As you turn a corner, though, you come to an abrupt stop, your eyes widening in surprise.

Chaehyun and Minhee are there, pressed up against the wall, completely absorbed in each other. They’re so caught up in their own world that they don’t even notice you standing there. A flush of embarrassment creeps up your neck as you realize you’ve walked in on them making out.

For a moment, you’re frozen in place, unsure of what to do. You don’t want to interrupt, but you also don’t want to just stand there awkwardly. Eventually, you decide to back away slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible. As you retreat, you can’t help but feel a small pang of amusement. Chaehyun has been crushing on Minhee for so long—it’s about time something happened between them.

As you make your way back to the main part of the house, you spot a familiar figure out of the corner of your eye. You do a double-take, your heart skipping a beat when you realize who it is. Standing near the edge of the living room, engaged in quiet conversation with another guy, is the regular from the coffee shop.

He’s dressed more lively than you’re used to seeing him, as opposed to his dark hoodie, but there’s no mistaking him. The sight of him here, in the middle of the party, is so unexpected that you almost think you’re imagining it. The guy he’s talking to is vaguely familiar as well—it takes you a moment to place him. Sunghoon. Jay’s friend.

You watch them for a moment, your curiosity piqued. The regular seems different in this setting, more relaxed, though still maintaining that air of quiet intensity that caught your attention in the first place. The conversation between him and Sunghoon seems serious, their expressions focused.

Before you can decide whether to approach them or just slip away unnoticed, Jay appears beside you, nudging you with his elbow. "Hey, what’re you staring at?" he asks, his tone light but curious.

You quickly shake off the daze and force a smile. "Just people-watching," you say, trying to sound casual.

Jay raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but he doesn’t press the issue. "Come on," he says, slinging an arm around your shoulders. "Let’s get another drink."

You let him lead you back towards the kitchen, but your thoughts keep drifting back to the regular. What’s he doing here? How does he know Sunghoon? And why does he always seem to show up when you least expect it?

The night wears on, and the drinks keep coming. The atmosphere is infectious, the weight of midterms lifted, and the collective energy of the party propels you further into the evening. Kai and Taehyun are in full party mode, dragging you and Jay into a dance circle in the middle of the living room. The music thumps in your chest, the laughter and shouts of your friends blending into the rhythm, and for a while, you forget everything except the sheer joy of being free from stress.

But as the night deepens and the alcohol warms your veins, your thoughts keep drifting back to the regular. He’s still there, lingering at the edge of the party, talking to Sunghoon. You steal glances at him whenever you can, your curiosity growing stronger with each passing minute. The alcohol dulls your inhibitions, and soon you find yourself wondering why you’re just watching him from afar when you could be talking to him, getting some answers.

It’s a combination of the drinks and the sense of freedom from the night that pushes you over the edge. At some point, you lose count of how many cups of soju you’ve had, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re feeling bold, more so than you have in weeks, and the next thing you know, you’re making your way across the room towards the guy who’s been occupying your thoughts for far too long.

“Come on, Jay,” you say, trying to sound confident despite the alcohol fuzzing your words. “I want to talk to that guy over there.”

Jay looks at you, a playful smirk on his face. “Oh, you mean Heeseung? Alright, let’s go.”

Heeseung. That’s his name. He looks up as you and Jay approach and there’s a faint hint of recognition in his eyes as he raises an eyebrow, his expression a mix of amusement and curiosity. Sunghoon, catching on to your intention, steps aside with a glance at Jay.

“Hey,” you say, louder than you intended, as you reach them.

Both Heeseung and Sunghoon turn to look at you, surprise flickering across their faces. You suddenly feel a bit self-conscious under their gaze, but you push through it, locking eyes with Heeseung.

“Hi,” Heeseung responds, his voice calm and even. Up close, you notice he has a gentle intensity about him, something that makes your pulse quicken. “Uh, can I help you with something?”

You swallow, suddenly unsure of what to say. What exactly did you plan on saying? You’re not entirely sure, but the alcohol gives you just enough confidence to keep going.

“I… I’ve seen you around,” you begin, your words slurring slightly. “At the coffee shop. You come in a lot.”

Heeseung’s expression softens, and you think you see a hint of a smile. “Yeah, I go there pretty often. You’re the barista, right?”

You nod, relieved that he remembers you. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Sunghoon glances between the two of you, looking slightly amused, before clapping Heeseung on the shoulder. “I’m gonna go find Jake,” he says, excusing himself with a knowing look and taking Jay with him. “See you around.”

Heeseung nods at Sunghoon before turning his attention back to you. “So, what’s up?”

You shift on your feet, the alcohol making you a little bolder but also a little less coherent. “I’ve been wondering about you,” you admit, a bit embarrassed. “You don’t really talk much. You just… come in, get your coffee, and leave. But you’re always writing or taking notes. What’s that about?”

Heeseung chuckles softly, the sound low and a little shy. “I didn’t mean to be mysterious. I’m just… focused, I guess. I’m in the journalism club, and I’m usually working on articles or notes for upcoming interviews.”

“Oh,” you say, nodding as if that explains everything. “That makes sense. But why haven’t you been in the shop lately? I mean… not that I’m keeping track or anything,” you suddenly splutter, face turning even redder than you knew it already was.

Heeseung seems to consider you for a moment, his gaze steady. “I’ve been busy with a project,” he says finally. “But I didn’t mean to stop coming in. Just got caught up in things.”

You hum in understanding, feeling oddly pleased with his answer. “Okay. I guess that makes sense. You… you’re always working, huh?”

“Pretty much,” he admits, his smile widening a fraction. “What about you? I’ve seen you at the shop, but I didn’t know you were on the fencing team. That was you at the tournament. You’re, you’re good. I’m writing a piece about your team in next month’s paper.”

His compliment catches you off guard, and you feel a flush of warmth that has nothing to do with the alcohol. “Thanks,” you say, a bit shy now. “I-I noticed you there. You should’ve said something.”

“I didn’t want to distract you,” he replies, his tone teasing.

You laugh, feeling the last bit of tension slip away. “Well, you could’ve at least waved or something.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” Heeseung says, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

There’s a brief pause, the noise of the party swirling around you as you stand there, just looking at each other. You’re not sure what to say next, but you don’t want the conversation to end. There’s something about Heeseung that draws you in, something that makes you want to know more about him.

“So… do you always just cover sports?” you ask, tilting your head curiously.

“Not always,” Heeseung replies simply, leaning against a wall. “So,” Heeseung says, leaning against the wall, “do you always get this bold after a few drinks?”

You laugh, feeling the warmth of the alcohol and the ease of the conversation. “No. It’s just… it’s nice to have a break from everything, you know?”

Heeseung nods, a thoughtful look on his face. “I know what you mean.”

You agree, feeling a sense of connection with him that goes beyond the casual small talk. The night has turned into something unexpectedly pleasant, and as you continue to talk, you feel like you’re finally starting to understand the enigmatic Heeseung.

As the party begins to wind down, you notice Jay and Sunghoon making their way back toward you and Heeseung. Jay, still wearing that ever-present smirk, gives you a knowing look.

“Everything good here?” he asks, his tone more genuine than teasing.

Heeseung nods, his expression relaxed but still somewhat reserved. “Yeah, we’ve just been talking.”

Sunghoon gives Heeseung a pat on the back, and there’s a brief exchange of glances between them—something unspoken that you can’t quite decipher. Jay shifts his weight, glancing at you as if he’s debating whether to say something or just let the moment pass. Glancing at his phone, he finally speaks. “We should probably get going.”

“Yeah,” you agree, feeling a mix of reluctance and contentment. “It’s getting late.”

Heeseung gives you a small nod, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll be back for coffee tomorrow, Y/N.” You glean that he learned your name long before you learned his, from his work in the journalism club.

“See you then,” you reply, feeling the weight of the words. There’s no need to force anything more out of the moment—it feels complete as it is.

As you and Jay walk away, you feel a sense of quiet satisfaction. And heading back to your dorm, you can’t help but wonder about Heeseung and what else you have yet to learn about him.

As promised, Heeseung returned to the coffee shop the next afternoon. You’d wondered if the conversation at the party was just a fleeting moment, something that would fade by morning. But there he was, standing in line, that familiar reserved expression on his face, though his eyes carried a hint of something playful as he scanned the menu.

You were behind the counter, finishing up an order when you noticed him. A small flutter of nerves caught you off guard, but you quickly masked it with a professional smile. It was just Heeseung, you told yourself—a regular customer, nothing more. Yet the memory of your conversation from the night before lingered, making him feel like more than just another face in the crowd.

When Heeseung reached the front of the line, he gave you a smile that was a bit wider than his usual one. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hey,” you replied, feeling a bit self-conscious under his gaze. “Back for another round of caffeine?”

He nodded, glancing briefly at the menu before meeting your eyes again. “Yeah, I think I’ll try that cappuccino you mentioned.”

“Straight up or with a flavor?” you asked, already moving to prepare the drink.

“Straight up. I trust your recommendation,” he said, leaning casually on the counter. As you started steaming the milk, he added, with a playful tone, “You seemed pretty confident about it last night, but maybe that was just the drinks talking.”

You felt your face warm, a mix of embarrassment and amusement bubbling up. Admittedly now, you had no recollection of recommending him the cappuccino at all. “Oh, so you’re going to tease me about that now?”

Heeseung chuckled, the sound soft and easy. “Just a little. You were pretty bold last night, but I figured it was the liquid courage.”

“Well, maybe it was,” you admitted, focusing on the cappuccino to avoid his eyes. “But I still stand by my coffee skills, drunk or not.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Heeseung replied, watching as you finished his drink. “You’ve got a good reputation around here.”

You handed him the cup, feeling a bit of pride at the compliment. “So, what’s on your agenda today? More stories to write?” You asked, happy to change the topic from your inebriated state during your last encounter with him.

Heeseung took a sip of his cappuccino, his eyes lighting up at the taste. “This is really good,” he said, before continuing. “Actually, yeah. I’m working on a few pieces. The one about the fencing team that I mentioned.”

Your stomach flipped as you remembered him telling you this last night. You had been so overwhelmed in just actually having a conversation with him that you hadn’t given any more thought to his mention about the story covering the fencing team. “What’s the story going to be about?” you asked genuinely curiously.

Heeseung leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “It’s a feature on student-athletes and how they balance sports with everything else. Your team’s been doing pretty well, and I thought it’d be interesting to dive into what makes you all tick. I was going to reach out to some of your teammates for interviews.”

You couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness at the thought. “That sounds cool. Are you, planning to interview me too?”

Heeseung nodded, his expression thoughtful. “If you’re up for it. I think your perspective would be interesting—especially considering you’ve got work, fencing, and classes all juggled pretty well.”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool despite the flutter in your chest. “I’d be down for that. I mean, if you think I’d have something worth saying.”

Heeseung gave you a look that was both serious and slightly teasing. “Everyone has something worth saying. Besides, I’ve seen how focused you are at practice. There’s a story there, trust me.”

You smiled, feeling a bit more at ease. “Alright, you’ve got me convinced. Let me know when you want to do the interview.”

“Will do,” Heeseung said, taking another sip of his coffee. He paused for a moment, as if debating whether to say something, then added, “You know, you were pretty curious last night. About me, I mean.”

The comment caught you off guard, and you felt a blush creeping up your neck. “Was I that obvious?”

Heeseung grinned, his usual reserve giving way to something more playful. “A little. But I don’t mind. I’m used to asking questions, not answering them, so it was a nice change.”

“Well, I guess I’m just trying to figure out the guy who comes in here, gets his coffee, and disappears without saying much,” you replied, feeling a bit bolder now that the topic was out in the open.

“I’m not that mysterious,” Heeseung said with a soft laugh, though his smile suggested he enjoyed the idea. “I think I became dependent on the coffee from here. Without it at the end of last year, I genuinely don’t think I would’ve survived. But I was used to just running in and out of here.”

You nodded in understanding, gathering more information from his words that he was at least a year older than yourself. “You should try staying sometime. We’ve got other drinks besides just coffee too, you know.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Heeseung replied, his tone lighter now. “Especially if you’re the one making them.”

Before the conversation could go any further, another customer approached the counter, pulling your attention away. Heeseung noticed and gave you a small wave.

��I’ll let you get back to work,” he said, stepping aside. “But thanks for the coffee, Y/N. I’ll be in touch about the story.”

You smiled, waving him away and watching as he left the small café, journal in hand.

On your walk back to the dorm, you replayed his words in your mind, particularly his comment about everyone having something worth saying. It stuck with you, making you wonder if there was more to you—more to your own story—than you’d given yourself credit for.

And then there was the story Heeseung was working on, the one about your fencing team. The thought of being featured in an article made you both excited and nervous. You couldn’t help but think about what he might write, how he might see you through his lens as a journalist.

By the time you reached your dorm, the day’s events had left you with a sense of anticipation. Things were shifting, slowly but surely. Heeseung’s presence in your life, however small it might be right now, felt like the beginning of something new—something you weren’t sure how to define just yet.

But for now, you were content to let it unfold at its own pace, curious to see where it might lead.

The weeks leading into winter passed in a blur, the chill in the air growing sharper with each day. With the end of the semester looming, your schedule became a tightrope act, balancing between academics, fencing, work, and the slow but steady shifts in your social life.

Your literature project with Taehyun was one of the first things to dominate your time. The two of you had been paired up to analyze a complex, multi-layered novel that was both fascinating and exhausting. It required countless hours in the library, pouring over pages and notes, trying to piece together a coherent argument that would satisfy your professor’s exacting standards.

“Honestly, I think I’ve read this chapter five times, and I still don’t get what the author’s trying to say,” Taehyun grumbled one afternoon, his head buried in his hands. You were seated in a quiet corner of the campus library, surrounded by stacks of books and discarded drafts.

You chuckled, though you felt the same frustration. “Maybe that’s the point—ambiguity as a narrative device or something.”

Taehyun lifted his head, a skeptical look on his face. “Or maybe the author just liked to mess with his readers. I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Despite the long hours and occasional confusion, working with Taehyun had its perks. His sense of humor kept things light even when the material felt heavy, and the shared struggle somehow made the project feel less daunting.

In between study sessions, you found yourself talking to Chaehyun about her new relationship with Minhee. The shift from pining to dating had happened quickly, and you could see how it had brought a new glow to her usually calm demeanor.

“So, how’s it going with Minhee?” you asked one evening, after you both returned from your respective activities. You were sprawled on your bed, exhausted from another grueling fencing practice, while Chaehyun sat at her desk, typing away on her laptop.

Chaehyun paused, a shy smile spreading across her face. “It’s... really good. Better than I expected, actually. He’s so thoughtful, you know? And sweet. It’s nice.”

You couldn’t help but smile at her happiness. “I’m glad. You deserve someone who treats you well.”

“Thanks,” Chaehyun said, turning to face you. “We’re still figuring things out, but I like where it’s going. It’s just... new, you know?”

You nodded, understanding exactly what she meant. “Yeah, new can be both exciting and terrifying.”

Chaehyun laughed softly. “Exactly. But I think it’s more exciting than terrifying right now.”

As Chaehyun’s relationship with Minhee deepened, you found yourself spending more late nights with the fencing team, the team growing stronger as you all pushed yourselves harder in preparation for the upcoming winter tournaments. Ryujin and Gaeul were a constant presence and the three of you formed a tight-knit unit on and off the piste.

“Are we fencing or just trying to survive winter at this point?” Ryujin joked one evening, her breath visible in the frigid air of the training facility.

“Both, probably,” Gaeul replied, stretching her arms.

You smiled at their banter, feeling a sense of belonging that you hadn’t expected when you first joined the team. The late-night practices were grueling, but they were also a refuge—a place where the stress of school and work melted away, leaving only the focus and adrenaline of the sport you loved.

And then, there was Heeseung.

Since that conversation at the party, Heeseung had become a regular fixture in your life, though in subtle ways. He continued to visit the coffee shop, usually in the afternoons when the rush had died down, and you found yourself looking forward to those moments more than you wanted to admit.

Each time he came in, you exchanged a few more words, small talk that gradually grew into something more substantial. He teased you occasionally about your drunken confidence at the party, but it was always in good humor, and you found yourself warming to his quiet, steady presence.

“You should try the caramel macchiato next,” you suggested one day, after he’d ordered his usual cappuccino.

Heeseung raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Is this you branching out from straight-up coffee recommendations?”

“Maybe,” you replied, leaning on the counter. “Or maybe I’m just trying to expand your horizons.”

Heeseung chuckled. “Alright, I’ll give it a shot next time. I trust your judgment.”

Outside the coffee shop, you occasionally saw him around campus, usually in the library or at the student center, often with his notebook in hand. He was always absorbed in his work, but he never seemed too busy to stop and chat if you crossed paths. You learned that he was a journalism major, passionate about uncovering stories that others might overlook. His feature on the fencing team was still in the works, and every so often, he’d ask you a question or two about your experiences.

“You mentioned you started fencing in elementary school,” Heeseung said one afternoon as you handed him his coffee. “What got you into it?”

You hesitated for a moment, considering how much to share. “It was kind of random, actually. I saw a demo at a school fair and thought it looked interesting. I liked the idea of a sport that was both physical and strategic, or maybe I just liked the pointy swords back then. But once I started, I just… got hooked.”

Heeseung nodded, jotting something down in his notebook. “It makes sense. Fencing isn’t just about brute strength—it’s about thinking ahead, reading your opponent. It suits you.”

You blinked, taken aback by the insight. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” Heeseung said, glancing up at you with a small smile. “You’ve got that kind of focus—like you’re always considering your next move.”

You didn’t know how to respond, so you just nodded, a bit flustered by the compliment. It wasn’t often that someone saw you that way, and it left you feeling both exposed and strangely validated.

As the weeks wore on, winter crept closer, bringing with it a sense of both urgency and anticipation. The days grew shorter, the cold biting deeper, but there was also a certain excitement in the air—an awareness that something was building, both in your life and in the lives of those around you.

Chaehyun and Minhee’s relationship was growing stronger, the fencing team was gearing up for the winter season, and your literature project with Taehyun was nearing completion, the two of you finally starting to make sense of the novel’s tangled themes.

And Heeseung as present as ever, whose stance in your life continued to grow, even if it was still undefined.

As you stood in the coffee shop one late afternoon, watching the first snowflakes of the season drift down outside, you couldn’t help but wonder where all these pieces would lead. Winter was here, and with it came the promise of change—of challenges and new beginnings, of stories waiting to be written.

The gymnasium buzzed with the collective energy of two rival teams and their supporters. The cold winter air outside contrasted sharply with the warmth inside, where anticipation hung thick. Your breath was steady, your mind focused, but you could still feel the nervous excitement humming through your veins as you tightened the grip on your saber. This was your second big match of the season, and after the hard-earned victory last time, expectations were high.

Your team was up against another strong school, but this time, things felt different. Your preparation had been intense, the extra hours you spent with Ryujin and Gaeul paying off in how smoothly you moved together on the piste. There was no hesitation in your movements, no second-guessing your strategy. Everything you’d worked for was about to be tested again.

The first part of the match was a group event, just like last time. You, Ryujin, and Gaeul faced off against your opponents with a renewed confidence. The cheers from your side of the bleachers spurred you on, each point won driving you to push harder. Chaehyun’s voice was unmistakable, rising above the crowd with her usual enthusiastic support, while you could also make out Taehyun, MInhee, Jay, and Chaeyoung joining in.

By the end of the group match, your team was ahead by a comfortable margin. The final score was a significant improvement from the previous match, a reflection of your team’s growing synergy. As the referee announced your victory, a wave of elation swept through you, a mixture of relief and pride. You and your teammates exchanged high-fives, grinning from ear to ear.

“That was amazing!” Ryujin said, her voice slightly breathless as she unhooked her mask. “We were on fire today!”

Gaeul nodded, her face flushed with the exertion and excitement. “It’s like everything just clicked. We’ll be the same for the individuals.”

You smiled, feeling the truth of their words. The victory felt earned, the product of your collective effort. But there was still the individual match to go.

As the team celebrations began to wind down, you prepared for your own one-on-one bout. This time, you were facing a different opponent—a girl with a reputation for being quick and aggressive on the piste. The kind of challenge you thrived on.

The individual match was intense, every move calculated, every strike measured. But you held your ground, matching her pace, anticipating her next move. You could feel the rhythm of the fight, the give and take, the way you both adapted to each other’s style. And then, in a final, decisive moment, you scored the winning touch.

The crowd erupted into applause as you removed your mask, the rush of victory coursing through you. Your teammates were the first to greet you as you stepped off the piste, their congratulations adding to the euphoria of the moment.

“Yes!” Ryujin exclaimed, clapping you on the back.

“Great job, Y/N!” Gaeul added, her smile wide. Both girls had also won their individual matches making your school shoot up the ranks.

You basked in the team for a moment, letting the energy of the win wash over you. But out of the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Heeseung standing on the sidelines, his notebook in hand, his gaze fixed on you with a mix of interest and something else you couldn’t quite place.

He hadn’t been as close to the action as your friends, but he’d clearly been watching. After a moment, he started making his way toward you, weaving through the small crowd of spectators and teammates.

“Hey,” Heeseung said as he approached, his voice carrying over the noise of the gym. “That was a great match. Congrats, you deserve it.”

“Thanks,” you replied, still catching your breath. “It was intense, but I’m glad it went well.”

Heeseung nodded, his usual reserved smile in place. “If you’ve got a few minutes, I was hoping we could do that interview now—if you’re up for it.”

You hesitated, still riding the high of the win, but you knew this was something you’d been expecting. And honestly, you were curious about what questions he had lined up for you. “Sure, let’s do it.”

Heeseung led you to a quieter corner of the gym, away from the noise of the celebrations. You both settled down on a bench, the sounds of the ongoing matches and distant chatter forming a muted backdrop.

He flipped open his notebook, his pen poised, and gave you a reassuring look. “Don’t worry, this won’t be too formal. Just a few questions about the match and your experience so far.”

You nodded, already feeling more at ease. “Okay, shoot.”

Heeseung, after asking for permission, opened up his phone to record, stating his name and year, “This is Lee Heeseung, sophomore journalism major interviewing freshman L/N F/N, sports sciences major on the fencing team.” His first few questions were straightforward, focusing on the match itself—your thoughts going into it, how you prepared, and how you felt about the win. You answered easily, the details of the match still fresh in your mind.

Then he shifted gears. “So, Y/N, you’ve been balancing fencing with school and work. That’s a lot on your plate. How do you manage it all?”

You thought about it for a moment, considering how to articulate what often felt like a delicate juggling act. “It’s definitely not easy. There are days when it feels like too much, but I guess it’s all about priorities. Fencing is something I’m passionate about, so even when it gets tough, I remind myself why I’m doing it. And with school, it’s about time management. The job is a necessity, but I’ve found a rhythm that works for me.”

Heeseung nodded as he scribbled down your response, his expression thoughtful. “It sounds like you’ve found a balance, even if it’s not perfect. Do you ever feel like you’re missing out on other parts of college life because of it?”

You smiled wryly, recognizing the truth in his question. “Yeah, sometimes. I mean, I don’t get to go to as many parties or hang out as much as some of my friends do. But I’m okay with that. I’ve met some great people through fencing and work, and they make it worth it.”

Heeseung looked up from his notebook, meeting your eyes with a curious gaze. “Do you think fencing has changed you? Like, in terms of how you see yourself or how you handle things?”

The question caught you off guard, making you pause. “Yeah, I think it has,” you said slowly, choosing your words carefully. “Fencing’s taught me a lot about discipline and patience. It’s also made me more resilient. When you’re out there on the piste, it’s just you and your opponent, and you have to trust in your own abilities. That confidence carries over into other areas of my life.”

Heeseung’s pen scratched across the paper as he took down your words, nodding slightly as he wrote. When he finished, he looked back at you with a small, approving smile. “That was great, Y/N. You’re a natural. I might have to steal you for these more often.”

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words, the kind of affirmation that felt both surprising and welcome. “Thanks, Heeseung. I appreciate that.”

He closed his notebook, signaling the end of the interview. “I think I’ve got everything I need for now. I’ll probably follow up with you later, once I start putting the article together.”

“Sure, anytime,” you said, standing up from the bench as he did the same.

As you walked back toward the main area of the gym, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. The match had gone well, and now you’d gotten through the interview, which, instead of being daunting, had felt more like a conversation with someone who genuinely wanted to understand your perspective.

Before you could say anything more, Heeseung spoke up. “By the way, I’m really looking forward to writing this piece. It’s been my favorite for the semester. I think it’s going to turn out well.”

You smiled, feeling a sense of anticipation mixed with curiosity. “I’m looking forward to reading it.”

With that, Heeseung gave you a small wave and headed off, likely to interview some of your teammates. You watched him go, feeling a strange mix of emotions—pride from the match, a sense of accomplishment from the interview, and something else, something unspoken, that lingered in the air between you.

As the day’s events began to wind down, you rejoined your friends, who were still celebrating the win. But even as you laughed and joked with them, your mind kept drifting back to that quiet corner of the gym, where Heeseung had asked you questions that made you think about yourself in ways you hadn’t before.

Winter was settling in, but for the first time in a while, you felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the temperature outside. It was a warmth born from connection—both with your teammates and, increasingly, with the boy who was slowly becoming a regular part of your world.

The semester drew to a close like the final chapter of a long, exhausting novel. You could practically feel the collective sigh of relief that swept through campus as students completed their last exams and handed in their final projects. The late nights spent pouring over textbooks and notes, the endless hours in the library, and the nerve-wracking presentations were all behind you now. You’d managed to finish your literature project with Taehyun, and the fencing season had temporarily wound down, giving you a much-needed break.

With the academic pressures lifting, you found yourself with some rare free time. But rather than taking it easy, you decided to make the most of the lull by picking up extra shifts at the café. It was a chance to earn some money and keep yourself busy. The rhythm of work was comforting, almost meditative. The familiar sounds of the espresso machine, the chatter of customers, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee became the backdrop to your days.

One afternoon, as the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm, golden hue across the café, Heeseung walked in. He had become a more regular presence in your life, not just as the guy who showed up at the café but as someone who seemed to understand the balancing act you were constantly performing. Today, though, there was something different in his expression—a hint of concern.

He approached the counter, a small smile playing on his lips. “Hey, Y/N. How’s it going?”

You returned the smile, wiping your hands on a towel before turning your full attention to him. “Hey, Heeseung. It’s going. The semester’s finally over, so that’s a relief.”

He nodded, his eyes scanning your face as if he was searching for something. “Yeah, I can imagine. But shouldn’t you be relaxing now? You’ve been working pretty hard all semester.”

You shrugged, a light laugh escaping you. “Maybe, but I’d rather keep busy. Plus, I could use the extra cash.”

Heeseung’s brow furrowed slightly as he leaned against the counter. “You know, there’s such a thing as overworking yourself. It’s okay to take a break, especially after everything you’ve been through with school and fencing.”

His words were gentle, but they hit a bit too close to home. You’d been running on adrenaline for so long that the idea of slowing down felt foreign, almost uncomfortable. “I guess,” you said, brushing off the concern with a casual tone. “But I’m fine, really. I’ve got a rhythm, and it works for me.”

Heeseung didn’t push further, but the look in his eyes told you he wasn’t entirely convinced. Still, he let it go, changing the subject to lighter topics. The two of you chatted about the latest campus gossip, upcoming holiday plans, and the unusually mild winter weather. The conversation flowed easily, as it always did with Heeseung.

As the afternoon stretched on, the café began to empty out, leaving just a few lingering customers. You noticed Heeseung glance at his watch a couple of times, and you wondered if he had somewhere else to be. But instead of leaving, he stayed, sipping on his coffee and occasionally jotting something down in his notebook.

Finally, as you were wiping down the counter, he spoke up again, his voice tinged with hesitation. “Hey, Y/N, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

You looked up, curious. “What’s up?”

Heeseung rubbed the back of his neck, a small, almost shy smile appearing on his face. “So, a few of my friends and I are going out to dinner tomorrow night. Just a small thing to celebrate the end of the semester, and an excuse to drink of course. I was wondering if you’d like to come? I mean, if I can drag you away from this place.”

The question caught you off guard, but in a good way. You hadn’t expected an invitation, especially from someone like Heeseung, who seemed so composed and focused. “Oh,” you said, taking a moment to process. “Who else is going?”

“Sunghoon, Jake, and Jay,” he replied, listing off the names with ease. “You know Jay, right? He mentioned you guys have mutual friends.”

You nodded, recognizing the names. Sunghoon and Jake were familiar faces, mostly through Jay, though you hadn’t spent much time with them. Still, the idea of a night out with them sounded appealing, especially after the stress of the last few weeks.

“I’d love to,” you said, feeling a flutter of excitement mixed with nerves. “Thanks for inviting me.”

Heeseung’s smile widened, the hesitation in his demeanor dissolving into something warmer, more relaxed. “Great. We’re meeting at 7:00, at that new Korean barbecue place near campus. I’ll text you the details.”

“Perfect,” you said, returning his smile. “I’ll see you there.”

As Heeseung gathered his things and left the café, you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of anticipation. It wasn’t just the idea of dinner with new people; it was the prospect of spending more time with Heeseung, of seeing him outside the usual confines of the café and campus. There was something about him that intrigued you, something that made you want to know more.

Later that evening, as you closed up the café, your mind drifted back to the conversation. For the first time in what felt like forever, you were allowing yourself to look forward to something that wasn’t related to school or fencing. The semester was over, the projects were wrapped up, and for a brief moment, you had a chance to just be.

The evening air was crisp, the winter chill biting gently at your cheeks as you stepped out of your dorm. You wrapped your scarf a little tighter around your neck, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling up inside you. It wasn’t often that you went out like this, especially with people you didn’t know well, but the prospect of spending time with Heeseung and meeting his friends felt like a welcome change.

You had taken your time getting ready, opting for something that struck a balance between casual and put-together—a simple sweater and jeans, paired with your favorite boots. Nothing too fancy, but enough to make you feel confident. As you walked toward the restaurant, your breath puffing out in small clouds, you couldn’t help but think about how different tonight felt from your usual routine.

The Korean barbecue place was bustling when you arrived, the warm glow of the interior lights spilling out onto the street. You spotted Heeseung immediately; he was waiting just outside the door, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. When he saw you approaching, a smile spread across his face, but there was something else there too—a hint of nervousness you hadn’t seen before.

“Hey,” he greeted you, his voice warm as he stepped closer. “You made it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you replied, smiling back at him. “Are your friends here?”

Heeseung nodded, gesturing toward the door. “Yeah, they’re inside. I wanted to wait for you, though.”

His words made your heart flutter just a little, and you couldn’t help but notice how he held the door open for you, waiting for you to step in before following. It was a small gesture, but one that spoke volumes about his character.

Inside, the restaurant was lively, the sound of sizzling meat and laughter filling the air. The warmth of the room was a welcome contrast to the cold outside, and as you followed Heeseung to the table, you took in the scene around you. Sunghoon, Jake, and Jay were already seated, chatting casually as they waited.

Jay spotted you first, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Y/N, finally! We were starting to think Heeseung got lost on the way.”

You laughed, sliding into the seat next to Heeseung while Jay winked at you from across the table. “Not lost, just taking my time.”

“Good to see you again,” Jake said, his voice sweet and bubbly, as if the weight of the world had never touched him. He raised his glass in greeting. “Welcome to the party.”

Sunghoon, on the other hand, was more reserved. He offered you a polite nod, his expression guarded, though not unfriendly. You noticed that while he wasn’t as outgoing as the others, he had a quiet presence. He seemed content to let the others lead the conversation, though you caught him glancing at you a few times, as if he was trying to gauge what kind of person you were.

The first round of food arrived quickly, and the table was soon filled with the savory aroma of grilling meat and a variety of side dishes. Conversation flowed easily as everyone started eating, with Jay taking the lead, as usual, cracking jokes and keeping the mood light. Jake was quick to join in, his laughter infectious and genuine. Sunghoon remained mostly quiet, focusing on his food, but there was a subtle shift in his demeanor as the evening progressed. The alcohol, as it often did, seemed to loosen him up a bit, and he began to engage more with the group, his responses still measured but less reserved.

“So, Y/N,” Jake said at one point, leaning forward slightly, his eyes bright with curiosity. “Heeseung mentioned you’re on the fencing team. How’s that going?”

You paused, glancing at Heeseung, who was watching you with that same soft smile. “It’s been good. We had a couple of big matches recently, and the team’s been doing well. It’s a lot of work, but I love it.”

Jake nodded enthusiastically. “That’s awesome! I’ve always thought fencing seemed really cool. And tough. I can barely keep up with regular exercise, let alone something like that.”

You laughed, appreciating his genuine interest. “It definitely has its challenges, but it’s worth it. Keeps me busy, that’s for sure.”

As the evening wore on, you found yourself relaxing more, enjoying the company and the atmosphere. Jay and Jake kept the conversation lively, and even Sunghoon began to open up more, sharing a few dry, witty remarks that made everyone laugh. You could tell that he had a different sense of humor, one that was more subtle and quiet, but just as sharp.

Heeseung, meanwhile, seemed a bit more reserved than usual, though he was always attentive to you. He made sure you had enough to eat, refilling your glass when it was low, and asking if you were comfortable. There was a certain gentleness in his actions, a thoughtfulness that didn’t go unnoticed.

At one point, as you were reaching for a piece of meat, your hand brushed against his. Heeseung froze for a second, then quickly pulled back, his cheeks tinged with the faintest hint of pink. You glanced at him, amused by his reaction.

“Are you always this gentlemanly?” you teased, keeping your tone light.

Heeseung chuckled, though his eyes didn’t quite meet yours. “Only when it’s deserved,” he said quietly, his voice sincere.

You felt your heart skip a beat at his words, and for a moment, the noise of the restaurant seemed to fade into the background. There was something about Heeseung that drew you in, something that made you want to know him better, beyond the casual interactions at the café.

The rest of the evening passed in a comfortable blur, the food and conversation blending together in a way that made time slip by unnoticed. By the time you all decided to call it a night, the restaurant had quieted down, the tables around you mostly empty.

As you all stood up to leave, Jay clapped Heeseung on the back, a mischievous grin on his face. “See? I told you she’d fit right in.”

Heeseung rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, his expression softening as he looked at you. “I’m glad you came, Y/N. It was fun.”

“Me too,” you replied, genuinely meaning it. “Thanks for inviting me.”

The group stepped out into the cold night, the breath of winter once again wrapping around you. You shivered slightly, pulling your scarf tighter, and noticed that Heeseung glanced at you, concern flashing briefly in his eyes.

“Do you want to walk back together?” he offered, his voice quiet but sincere.

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his offer chase away the chill. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

And so, as the others went their separate ways, you and Heeseung started the walk back to campus. The streets were quiet, the city settling into its late-night rhythm. The conversation between you was unhurried, comfortable, as you talked about everything and nothing.

When you finally reached your building, you paused at the entrance, turning to face him. Heeseung smiled at you, his hands still tucked into his pockets, and for a moment, you hesitated, not wanting the night to end just yet. The thought of going back to your empty dorm, now that Chaehyun had gone home for break, felt a little too lonely.

“Heeseung,” you started, the words coming out a bit more hesitant than you intended, “would you like to come in? I mean, if you’re not in a rush to go anywhere.”

He blinked, clearly surprised by the offer, but his expression quickly softened into a warm smile. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

You both headed inside, the warmth of the building a welcome contrast to the chill outside. As you made your way up to your floor, the quiet between you shifted slightly, a subtle tension building, though it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was more like the anticipation of something unspoken, something waiting just beneath the surface.

When you reached your door, you fumbled a bit with the keys, your nerves suddenly getting the better of you. But Heeseung was patient, standing close enough that you could feel the heat of him, though he kept a respectful distance.

Finally, you managed to unlock the door and pushed it open, stepping inside. The dorm was just as you’d left it, neat and tidy, but the absence of Chaehyun’s usual clutter made it feel strangely empty. You glanced around, suddenly aware of how quiet it was without your roommate’s presence.

“Make yourself at home,” you said, gesturing for Heeseung to follow you in. He nodded, closing the door behind him as you kicked off your shoes and made your way to the small seating area by the window.

Heeseung settled onto the couch, his movements a bit more cautious than usual, as if he was still getting used to being in this more intimate setting. You sat down next to him, the space between you smaller than it had been at the restaurant. The proximity made your heart beat a little faster, the atmosphere between you charged with something unspoken.

“So,” Heeseung began, his voice softer now that you were indoors, “how does it feel to have the place to yourself?”

You shrugged, trying to keep your tone light. “It’s nice, I guess. But it’s also kind of weird. I’m used to having Chaehyun around, you know?”

Heeseung nodded, his gaze drifting around the room before landing back on you. “I get that. It’s different when it’s just you.”

There was something in the way he said it, an understanding that made you feel less self-conscious about your earlier hesitation. You smiled, appreciating his ability to put you at ease, even in moments like this.

The conversation flowed easily after that, drifting from one topic to another as the night deepened. You talked about the upcoming break, your plans—or lack thereof—and shared stories about school and fencing. Heeseung listened intently, occasionally adding his own thoughts, but mostly, he seemed content to just be there with you.

At some point, without either of you really noticing, the distance between you grew smaller. You were sitting closer now, your legs almost touching, and the subtle brush of his shoulder against yours sent a warmth spreading through you.

The conversation began to slow, words trailing off as the comfortable silence returned. You could feel the tension building again, but this time, it wasn’t just anticipation. It was something more tangible, something that made your heart race and your thoughts scatter.

You turned to look at Heeseung, finding him already watching you. His expression was unreadable, his eyes searching yours as if he was trying to figure out what you were thinking. You swallowed, suddenly nervous, but you didn’t look away. Instead, you leaned in slightly, your gaze flickering to his lips, then back to his eyes.

Heeseung hesitated for a fraction of a second, but then he leaned in too, his breath warm against your skin as he closed the distance. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if both of you were testing the waters. But when you didn’t pull away, Heeseung’s hand gently cupped your face, deepening the kiss just a little, the warmth between you growing.

You kissed him back, your own hand finding its way to his arm, holding on as if to ground yourself in the moment. The feeling of his lips against yours, the closeness of him, sent a rush of emotions through you—nervousness, excitement, something that felt a lot like relief.

When you finally pulled back, you were both breathing a little heavier, the air between you charged with something new. Heeseung’s eyes were bright, a small, slightly bashful smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Sorry,” he murmured, though the apology seemed more out of habit than necessity. “I didn’t mean to...”

“Don’t apologize,” you interrupted, your own smile matching his. “I’m glad you did.”

His smile widened, the tension in his shoulders easing as he relaxed back into the couch. You stayed close, the earlier nervousness fading into a quiet contentment. Neither of you felt the need to fill the silence with more words; the kiss had said enough.

The two of you spent the rest of the evening in the soft glow of the dorm lights, your conversations quieter now, punctuated by the occasional shared glance or gentle touch. It was as if the kiss had opened a door, and now you were both stepping through it, unsure of what lay ahead but willing to find out together.

When it was finally time for Heeseung to leave, he did so reluctantly, his hand lingering on yours for just a moment longer. As he stepped out into the cold night, you stood at the door, watching him go, a warmth spreading through you.

You closed the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment, a smile tugging at your lips. The night had turned out to be something entirely unexpected, something that you hadn’t planned for but were glad had happened.

And as you got ready for bed, the memory of the kiss still fresh in your mind, you couldn’t help but wish he had stayed and was now occupying the empty spot in the bed beside you.

Winter break passed in a blur of quiet days and familiar routines. You spent the first few days at home, the warmth of your family’s company wrapping around you like a comfortable blanket. The weather was cold, snow lightly dusting the streets, but inside, your home was filled with the smell of home-cooked meals, the sound of laughter, and the comforting presence of those you loved.

Your parents were happy to have you back, asking about school, your friends, and the fencing team. They seemed proud of everything you had accomplished so far, though they didn’t press too much about your social life, content with the knowledge that you were managing well on your own. Your siblings, were also a constant source of joy and sometimes annoyance, as they teased you about how serious you seemed whenever they caught you daydreaming.

But no matter how comforting home was, there was a part of you that couldn’t stop thinking about what��or rather, who—you had left behind at school. The memory of the kiss you shared with Heeseung lingered at the edges of your thoughts, no matter how hard you tried to push it away. Every time your mind wandered, it found its way back to that quiet evening in your dorm, the warmth of his hand against your cheek, the softness of his lips.

Heeseung had texted you a few times over the break, nothing serious—just a funny anecdote here, a quick check-in there. His messages were casual, light-hearted, but you could feel the underlying tension in every word. It was as if both of you were tiptoeing around something unspoken, neither of you willing to be the first to bring it up.

The days slipped by in a comfortable rhythm—family dinners, catching up with old friends, cozying up with a book or a movie during the long winter nights. But no matter what you were doing, you couldn’t shake the knowledge that something had shifted, something that would need to be addressed once you returned to campus.

When the break finally came to an end, you packed your bags with a strange mix of excitement and apprehension. As much as you loved being home, there was a part of you that was eager to get back to school, back to your friends, back to the routine you had grown accustomed to. And, of course, back to Heeseung.

The campus felt different when you returned. The cold air was biting, the trees bare, and a layer of snow covered the ground. The holiday decorations were gone, replaced by the stark reality of winter. But there was also a sense of renewal in the air, as students filtered back in, ready for the new semester.

You settled back into your dorm, the familiar space welcoming you with its warmth. Chaehyun, who had returned a day earlier, greeted you with a hug, already bubbling over with stories about her break and her budding relationship with Minhee. The two of you spent the evening catching up, and although it felt good to be back with your roommate, there was still something very large and growing weighing on your mind.

The next day, you returned to your usual yet slightly new routine—classes, work at the café, and practice with the fencing team. Everything seemed the same, yet there was an undercurrent of something different. You saw your friends—Taehyun, Kai, Jay, and Chaeyoung—falling back into the old rhythms as if nothing had changed. Though Jay seemed to somehow knowingly keep asking her if she had seen Heeseung since her return to campus.

You didn’t see him immediately after your return, but you knew it was only a matter of time before your paths crossed. The thought made your stomach twist with a mix of anticipation and nerves. How would he act? Would things be awkward between you now, after what had happened? Or would everything go back to normal, as if that night in your dorm had never occurred?

The first time you saw him again was at the café, during one of your shifts. He walked in, just like he always did, his expression relaxed, though his eyes were searching, scanning the room until they landed on you. The moment your gazes met, something tightened in your chest, and you had to remind yourself to breathe.

“Hey,” Heeseung greeted you when he reached the counter, his voice as calm and collected as ever. But there was something in his eyes, a flicker of uncertainty that mirrored your own feelings.

“Hey,” you replied, managing a smile despite the knot in your stomach. “Back at it, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding as he glanced around the café. “I guess we all are.”

The exchange was simple, casual, the way it had always been. But beneath the surface, there was something else—an unspoken question that neither of you seemed ready to address.

As you made his usual order, you couldn’t help but wonder how things had gotten so complicated. One kiss, and now everything felt different. But different didn’t necessarily mean bad, and you had to remind yourself of that.

Heeseung took his drink with a small smile, his fingers brushing against yours for just a moment. The contact sent a jolt through you, and you quickly pulled your hand back, your cheeks warming despite the cold weather outside.

“I’ll see you around,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant.

“Yeah,” you replied, your own voice a little unsteady. “See you.”

He left the café, and you watched him go, your heart beating faster than it should have. The tension between you was thick, and it was clear that the kiss had changed things. But what that change meant, neither of you seemed ready to confront just yet.

The weeks that followed were a blur of activity—catching up on coursework, preparing for the upcoming fencing matches, late nights spent with your friends, and hours at the café. Your days were full, your schedule hectic, but through it all, your thoughts kept returning to Heeseung. You saw him often, both at the café and around campus, and every time, the same tension lingered between you.

There were moments when you almost brought it up, when the words were on the tip of your tongue, but each time, you hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. And Heeseung, for all his calmness, seemed to be in the same boat. The casual texts continued, the friendly exchanges at the café, but the subject of that night was never touched.

Instead, the two of you danced around it, waiting for the right moment to address the elephant in the room. But with each passing day, the tension only grew, the anticipation of what was to come hanging over you like a shadow.

Winter began to disappear, the days becoming longer and warming with the promise of spring around the corner. The campus was quiet, the energy of the new semester giving way to the steady grind of classes, assignments, and practices. You threw yourself into your work, into fencing, into anything that could distract you from the unresolved feelings swirling inside you.

But no matter how busy you kept yourself, the thoughts of Heeseung remained, a constant presence in the back of your mind. And with each encounter, each brief exchange, the tension between you became harder to ignore.

You knew that eventually, something would have to give, that the two of you would need to talk about what had happened. But for now, you kept it at bay, letting the weeks pass by in a blur, holding on to the hope that when the time came, you would both be ready to face whatever it was that lay ahead.

The cafeteria buzzed with the usual lunchtime energy, the clatter of trays and the hum of conversations filling the air as you made your way to the table where Chaeyoung and Jay were already seated. You spotted them easily—Jay’s animated gestures and Chaeyoung’s bright laughter were hard to miss in the crowd.

As you approached, Jay waved you over with a grin. “Y/N, over here!”

You smiled, sliding into the seat across from them. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Not much,” Chaeyoung replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Just trying to convince Jay that he can’t live off ramen alone.”

Jay rolled his eyes, dramatically shoving a forkful of salad into his mouth. “You sound like my mom.”

The three of you laughed, the easy banter a welcome break from the usual stress of classes and fencing practice. As you dug into your food, you noticed Jay giving Chaeyoung a subtle nudge, his eyes flicking toward the entrance.

You turned to see what had caught their attention, and your heart skipped a beat when you spotted Heeseung walking toward your table. He was carrying a tray, his expression as casual as ever, but there was a slight uncertainty in his eyes, as if he wasn’t sure if he was intruding.

“Heeseung!” Jay called out, waving him over. “Join us!”

Heeseung’s gaze met yours, and he smiled, the uncertainty in his eyes fading as he approached. “Hey,” he greeted, setting his tray down beside yours. “Mind if I sit here?”

“Not at all,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “The more, the merrier.”

As Heeseung settled in beside you, Jay and Chaeyoung exchanged a quick glance, their expressions unreadable but not entirely innocent. You had a feeling they were up to something, but before you could question them, Jay spoke up.

“So, Heeseung,” Jay began, leaning forward slightly, “did Y/N tell you about her birthday this weekend?”

Your eyes widened, a mix of surprise and mild horror flashing through you. “Jay!”

“What?” Jay said, feigning innocence, though the glint in his eye betrayed him. “It’s a big deal, you know.”

Heeseung turned to you, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “It’s your birthday this weekend?”

You sighed, shooting Jay a mock glare before nodding. “Yeah, it is. But it’s not a big deal or anything.”

“Not a big deal?” Chaeyoung scoffed, shaking her head. “It’s a huge deal. We’re throwing you a party, whether you like it or not.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips gave away your true feelings. “Okay, okay, fine. But don’t make it sound like some grand event.”

Jay grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “Too late.”

Heeseung chuckled, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “A party, huh? Sounds like fun.”

There was a moment of hesitation before you spoke, a slight nervousness in your chest as you glanced at him. “You should come. If you’re not busy, I mean.”

Heeseung’s smile widened, the invitation clearly catching him off guard in the best way. “I’d love to. Thanks for inviting me.”

“Great!” Chaeyoung said, clapping her hands together. “It’s going to be so much fun. We’ll have food, drinks, music—the whole shebang.”

Jay leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a satisfied grin. “And now that Heeseung’s coming, it’s officially a party.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the earlier tension melting away as the conversation shifted back to more mundane topics. Despite Jay’s “accidental” reveal, you found yourself looking forward to the weekend more than you had expected.

As lunch went on, you noticed how easily Heeseung fit in with your friends. He was still a bit more reserved than Jay and Chaeyoung, but he joined in on the jokes, adding his own dry humor to the mix. And every now and then, you’d catch him glancing at you, a soft smile on his lips that made your heart flutter.

When lunch ended, and you all went your separate ways, Heeseung walked with you toward your next class. The conversation between you was light, but there was an underlying warmth that hadn’t been there before—a new level of comfort that you hadn’t realized you’d reached.

As you parted ways, Heeseung gave you a small wave, his smile lingering as he turned to head to his class. You watched him go, a strange mix of anticipation and nervousness bubbling up inside you. The thought of spending more time with him, of having him at your party, filled you with a sense of excitement you hadn’t expected.

The night of your birthday party at Ryujin’s off-campus apartment started with a mix of excitement and anticipation. Ryujin had outdone herself, turning the place into a cozy, festive spot perfect for a low-key celebration. Streamers hung from the ceiling, and fairy lights twinkled against the walls. The living room buzzed with the energy of your friends, some of whom you saw regularly, while others were more like friendly acquaintances. Everyone was in high spirits, eager to celebrate.

You moved through the room, a drink in hand, exchanging smiles and hugs. Gaeul, your teammate, had handed you a brightly colored drink that tasted suspiciously like it had more alcohol than fruit juice, and she watched with a grin as you took a sip.

"Careful with that one," she warned, winking. "It might knock you out before the night even starts."

You laughed, setting the drink down on a nearby table. "I’ll keep that in mind."

Chaehyun, your roommate, was nearby, introducing you to a couple of her friends from class, Chaeryeong and Yunjin. They were friendly and already deep in conversation with Kai and Minhee. It felt nice to have everyone together, the lines between different friend groups blurring as the night went on.

Jay, who had arrived early to help set up, was making his way through the crowd, chatting up anyone who would listen to his latest story. You caught his eye, and he grinned, making a beeline for you.

"Having fun, birthday girl?" he asked, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

"So far, so good," you replied, smiling up at him. "Thanks for helping with all this."

"Anything for you," Jay said with a wink, though his attention quickly shifted as he spotted someone new entering the room. "Oh, look who finally decided to show up!"

You followed his gaze and felt your heart skip a beat. Heeseung had just walked in, looking slightly flustered as he scanned the room. When his eyes landed on you, a small smile tugged at his lips, and he made his way over.

“Happy birthday, Y/N,” Heeseung said, holding out a small, neatly wrapped gift.

“Thanks, Heeseung,” you said, accepting the gift with a grin. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

He shrugged, his smile easy. “It’s nothing big. Just thought you might like it.”

Before you could respond, Jay interrupted, nudging you both. “We’re about to start a game. You two in?”

“What kind of game?” Heeseung asked, his eyes narrowing with playful suspicion.

Jay’s grin was almost wicked. “Oh, just a little something to spice up the night. ‘Never Have I Ever,’ but with a twist.”

Heeseung looked at you, one eyebrow raised. “What’s the twist?”

“If you’ve done something, you take a shot,” Jay explained, his grin widening. “But if you haven’t, you have to answer a truth question. No dodging, no skipping turns.”

You exchanged a glance with Heeseung, who looked amused but not entirely convinced. “Sure, why not?” you said, giving Jay a challenging look. “This should be fun.”

Heeseung chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, I’m in.”

Ryujin and the others had already started pulling chairs into a circle, setting out shots of soju. You and Heeseung found seats next to each other, with Jay taking the spot directly across from you, a mischievous glint in his eye.

The game started off relatively tame, with questions about skipping class and sneaking into movies. A few rounds in, and everyone was laughing, swapping stories of their more rebellious moments. You noticed Heeseung hadn’t taken a shot yet, answering truth questions with a cool demeanor that only made you more curious about him.

Then it was Jay’s turn again, and you could practically see the gears turning in his head. “Alright, let’s see… Never have I ever… skipped class to go on a date.”

A murmur of interest went around the circle. You glanced at Heeseung out of the corner of your eye, but to your surprise, he didn’t reach for his drink. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, looking almost smug.

You raised an eyebrow. “Really? Not even once?”

Heeseung shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “Nope. But feel free to ask your truth question.”

Jay’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I’ve got a good one. What’s the most ridiculous reason you’ve ever skipped class?”

Heeseung thought for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “Well, there was that time I skipped because I was trying to catch this rare Pokémon that only appeared on campus at a certain time.”

The room erupted into laughter, and you couldn’t help but join in. “You’re kidding,” you said, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. You hadn’t clocked him of being a dork under his cool and mysterious exterior.

Heeseung shrugged, a little sheepish. “Hey, it was a once-in-a-lifetime chance.”

Jay was practically cackling at this point. “And did you catch it?”

Heeseung nodded, deadpan. “Yes, I did. Worth every missed lecture.”

The game continued, with the questions growing more and more outrageous. Chaehyun ended up confessing to a particularly embarrassing childhood crush, while Kai revealed that he’d once tried—and failed—to pull off a heist involving the school cafeteria’s dessert stash.

The night was filled with laughter and teasing, and it wasn’t long before everyone was a little tipsy. At one point, Ryujin suggested they switch to a different game, but you noticed Heeseung was looking a bit out of place, like he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the increasingly bold questions.

Sensing an opportunity, you leaned over and whispered, “Wanna get some fresh air?”

Heeseung looked relieved and nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

You stood up, motioning for Jay to keep things going without you. He gave you a knowing look but didn’t say anything, just raised his glass in a silent toast. You rolled your eyes at him before leading Heeseung out onto the balcony.

The cool night air was a welcome change from the warmth inside. The city lights twinkled in the distance, and the noise of the party was muffled out here, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of relative quiet.

“This is nice,” Heeseung said, leaning against the railing. “Thanks for the escape.”

“Anytime,” you replied, leaning next to him. “I figured you might want a break from Jay’s interrogation.”

Heeseung chuckled. “He’s something else, isn’t he?”

You nodded, looking out at the city. “He means well, though. Just likes to stir the pot.”

There was a comfortable silence for a moment, the kind where neither of you felt the need to fill it with words. You glanced at Heeseung, and he met your gaze, his expression thoughtful.

“You’re good at this,” he said softly, almost like he was thinking out loud.

“At what?” you asked, curious.

“Making people feel comfortable,” Heeseung replied, his voice warm. “It’s… nice.”

You felt a flutter in your chest at his words. “You’re pretty easy to talk to yourself, you know.”

Heeseung smiled, and for a moment, the distance between you seemed to shrink. You could feel the tension, the quiet pull of attraction that had been building over the past few weeks. Heeseung seemed to sense it too, his eyes flickering to your lips before he leaned in slightly, almost instinctively.

Just as you both started to close the distance, the door to the balcony burst open, and Jake stumbled out, laughing loudly at something from inside.

“Oh, sorry!” Jake said, not really sounding sorry at all. “Didn’t mean to interrupt!”

You and Heeseung quickly pulled back, both of you laughing awkwardly. Jake gave you a grin, completely oblivious to the moment he’d just ruined.

“Ryujin’s looking for you, Y/N,” Jake said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. “Something about a cake?”

“Right, the cake,” you said, nodding. “Thanks, Jake.”

Heeseung gave you a small, understanding smile as you both turned to head back inside. The moment had passed, but the underlying connection was still there, unspoken but undeniable.

As you rejoined the party, Ryujin was indeed waiting for you with a cake in hand, everyone gathering around to sing happy birthday. The rest of the night passed in a blur of laughter, drinks, and good-natured teasing, and though you and Heeseung didn’t get another moment alone, there was a new understanding between you, a shared secret that made the night feel just a little bit more special.

As the party wound down and people started to leave, Heeseung caught your eye one last time, giving you a small smile before he left with Jake and Sunghoon. You watched him go, feeling a mix of frustration and sadness about all of the unspoken and what could’ve been on the balcony just hours prior.

It started with the alarm that didn’t go off. The shrill beeping you depended on had decided to take a day off, and by the time you jolted awake, it was already half an hour later than you needed. Panic set in as you scrambled out of bed, tripping over the tangled mess of your sheets, and hurriedly throwing on whatever clothes you could find. Chaehyun was already gone, leaving you in the quiet chaos of your room, the day off to a rough start.

Fencing practice was the next disaster. You were already flustered by the time you arrived, barely on time, and it showed. Your footwork was sloppy, your attacks lacked precision, and the more frustrated you got, the worse it became. Ryujin noticed, of course—she always did.

“You’re out of sync today,” she said, her tone a mix of concern and criticism as she watched you flounder through another round.

“I know,” you muttered, teeth gritted as you tried to shake off the growing sense of defeat. But it was no use; nothing was going right. You kept messing up drills you’d mastered ages ago, each mistake a sharp sting of embarrassment. By the end of practice, you were practically shaking with frustration, and it took everything in you to hold back tears.

It wasn’t just fencing, though. Your grades, which you’d managed to keep steady despite your packed schedule, were starting to slip. The latest exam, one you thought you’d done reasonably well on, came back with a grade lower than you’d expected. The red ink on the paper felt like a slap in the face, the professor’s comments blurring as you stared at them, trying to make sense of where you went wrong. It was a blow to your confidence, and you felt the cracks in your carefully maintained composure widening.

Midterms loomed, casting a shadow over everything. The stress was building, a constant pressure in the back of your mind. You could feel the weight of it all, the expectation to perform well, to balance everything perfectly. But instead of rising to the challenge, you felt like you were barely holding on, the threads of your routine unraveling bit by bit.

Then came work. You were late, of course—stumbling through the door of the coffee shop a full fifteen minutes past your shift’s start time. Your boss, a stern woman with little patience for tardiness, was waiting for you behind the counter, arms crossed.

“Y/N, this is the third time this month,” she said, her voice clipped. “You can’t keep showing up late like this. We depend on you to be here on time.”

“I’m sorry,” you stammered, trying to keep the wobble out of your voice. “It won’t happen again.”

But she wasn’t in the mood for apologies. “It better not. We need reliability, Y/N. If you can’t manage your time, maybe you need to reconsider your hours.”

You nodded, biting your lip to keep the tears at bay. The scolding was just the cherry on top of an already terrible day, and you could feel yourself breaking down, the weight of everything crashing down on you at once. You threw yourself into your work, trying to distract yourself, but the knot in your chest only tightened as the minutes ticked by.

It was mid-afternoon when Heeseung walked in. He came in as he usually did, with that quiet, unassuming presence that made him easy to overlook—except you never overlooked him. Today, though, you barely registered his entrance. You were wiping down the counter, your eyes stinging with unshed tears, your thoughts a whirl of self-doubt and frustration.

You didn’t notice him until he was standing right in front of you, his usual order on the tip of his tongue. But when you looked up at him, the dam finally broke. The tears you’d been holding back all day spilled over, and you quickly turned away, hoping he hadn’t seen.

“Y/N?” Heeseung’s voice was soft, concerned. He hesitated before speaking again. “Are you okay?”

It was such a simple question, but it was enough to undo you completely. You tried to brush it off, to muster some kind of excuse, but the words caught in your throat, choked by the sobs you were trying so desperately to suppress.

“Hey, hey,” Heeseung said, his voice full of concern now. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak. But Heeseung wasn’t deterred. He reached out, his hand gently touching your arm. The small gesture of kindness undid you completely.

“I’m just…” You managed to choke out the words between sobs. “It’s just been a really bad day.”

Heeseung’s brow furrowed with worry, and he glanced around the cafe. It was quiet, with only a couple of customers seated far from the counter starting to try and discreetly turn their heads to look at you. He took a deep breath, then leaned in closer.

“Let me take you for a quick walk,” he suggested. “You need a break.”

You hesitated, glancing toward the back room where your boss was probably busy. The thought of getting scolded again made you cringe, but Heeseung was already taking your hand, leading you out from behind the counter.

“Just for a minute,” he insisted, his tone leaving little room for argument.

The fresh air hit you like a slap, but it also helped clear your head a little. Heeseung guided you down the street, keeping a firm but gentle hold on your hand. He didn’t say anything at first, just let you cry, his presence steady and comforting.

When you finally managed to catch your breath, you wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, feeling embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I’m a mess right now,” you muttered.

“Don’t be sorry,” Heeseung replied, his voice soft. “Everyone has bad days.”

You took a shaky breath, feeling the weight of his words. “It’s just… everything’s piling up. Fencing, school, work… I feel like I’m failing at all of it.”

Heeseung frowned, clearly troubled by your words. “You’re not failing. You’re just dealing with a lot right now.”

You tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. “I wish I felt that way.”

Heeseung squeezed your hand gently. “You don’t have to do it all on your own, you know. It’s okay to ask for help.”

The sincerity in his voice almost brought fresh tears to your eyes, but you managed to hold them back. You nodded, feeling a little better, though still weighed down by everything.

As you continued walking, the weight on your chest didn’t seem to lift entirely. The day wasn’t just bad because of fencing or school; it was deeper than that, a gnawing homesickness you hadn’t fully acknowledged. Your thoughts drifted to your family, the ache of missing them growing sharper with each step.

“I missed my brother’s birthday,” you confessed, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “He just turned six. I couldn’t even call him because I was too busy with exams and practice. I feel like a terrible sister.”

Heeseung stopped, turning to face you with a look of understanding that made your heart clench. “That doesn’t make you a bad sister. It’s hard being away from family, especially when you’re trying to juggle so much. But I’m sure your brother knows you care about him.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I just feel so… disconnected from everything. Like I’m here, but my heart is still back home with them.”

Heeseung’s expression softened, and without a word, he pulled you into a hug. It was the first time he’d hugged you, and the warmth of it took you by surprise. You hesitated for a moment before leaning into him, letting the comfort of his embrace wash over you. It wasn’t just about the bad day anymore; it was about everything you’d been holding in—the homesickness, the loneliness, the pressure to be perfect.

“It’s okay to miss them,” Heeseung murmured, his voice close to your ear. “And it’s okay to feel overwhelmed. But you’re not alone, Y/N. You have people here who care about you, too.”

His words, coupled with the steady beat of his heart against your cheek, made you feel a little less alone, a little more understood. You stayed like that for a few moments longer, until the worst of your tears had dried and you felt like you could breathe again.

You lingered in Heeseung's embrace a moment longer, taking in the warmth and steady reassurance of his hold. But as you began to pull away, the reality of the moment hit you, and suddenly, the air between you felt charged, different. When you looked up at him, you noticed that he seemed just as affected, his usual calm demeanor tinged with a slight awkwardness.

Heeseung's hands slipped from your back, hovering uncertainly at his sides as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. His gaze flickered away from yours, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “Um, yeah,” he stammered, taking a small step back to create some distance. “We should probably get you back inside… before your boss sends out a search party.”

You nodded, feeling a strange mix of comfort and confusion as you noticed his hesitation. There was something unspoken between you, a tension that hadn’t been there before. It made you suddenly hyper-aware of how close you’d been, how natural it had felt to be in his arms, even though it probably shouldn’t have.

“Yeah, right,” you agreed, your voice coming out softer than you intended. You both stood there for a moment longer, the silence between you making it hard to move.

Heeseung cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Let’s, uh… let’s get back in there,” he said, offering a small, almost nervous smile as he gestured toward the cafe door.

You nodded again, trying to shake off the lingering tension. As you walked back inside together, you couldn’t help but feel like something had shifted, something you weren’t quite ready to name yet. And when you returned to your post behind the counter, you found yourself stealing glances at Heeseung as he quietly ordered his usual, both of you a bit more aware of each other than before.

You had known it was a setup from the moment Chaehyun suggested the theme park. She’d brought it up casually during lunch a few days earlier, her tone almost too nonchalant as she insisted it would be “fun to go as a group.” The twinkle in her eye had told you all you needed to know—this was no innocent group outing; this was a double date, carefully orchestrated with Minhee and Heeseung as the leading men.

Saturday came around with clear skies and a cool breeze, perfect weather for a day at the park. You stood in front of your dorm mirror, adjusting the hem of your sweater—a soft and creamy beige that complemented your dark jeans. Your hair was loosely tied back, a few dark strands escaping to frame your face. You’d opted for a casual, comfortable look, but there was an extra layer of care in your appearance today, and you couldn’t help but feel the familiar flutter of nerves as you thought about spending the day with Heeseung.

Chaehyun was already waiting outside, her usual bubbly self. She looked effortlessly cute in a pastel pink hoodie and a pleated skirt, her long hair falling in waves around her shoulders. When she saw you, she beamed, linking her arm through yours.

“You look so pretty!” she gushed, giving you a playful nudge. “Heeseung’s going to love it.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “I’m not dressing up for him,” you lied, though the quickening of your pulse said otherwise.

Chaehyun didn’t buy it for a second, but she let it slide. As the two of you made your way to the entrance of the park, you spotted Heeseung and Minhee waiting near the ticket booth. Heeseung was dressed in a simple black pullover and jeans, his dark hair slightly tousled as if he’d run his fingers through it one too many times. He looked casual but undeniably handsome, and your heart did a little flip when he looked up and met your gaze, a small smile playing on his lips.

Minhee, standing beside him, was as well-dressed as ever. He wore a navy blue jacket over a white t-shirt, his expression relaxed and easygoing. He greeted you with a warm smile as you approached, his hand already intertwined with Chaehyun’s.

“Ready for a fun day?” Minhee asked, his tone light as he gave Chaehyun a quick peck on the cheek.

Chaehyun blushed, giggling as she nudged him playfully. “Yes! I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

You exchanged a quick glance with Heeseung, who shrugged, a knowing look in his eyes. “Guess we’re in for an interesting day,” he murmured, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

As you all headed into the park, the atmosphere was a mix of excitement and nervous energy. The sounds of laughter and screams from nearby rides filled the air, and the scent of popcorn and cotton candy wafted through the breeze. The four of you stuck together, moving from ride to ride, each one more thrilling than the last.

“So, do you only own black clothes? Is this like some sort of statement?” You poked fun at Heeseung’s typical attire.

“Just for you,” He teased back with a wink.

It wasn’t until you reached the ride with the large circular seating area—a notorious challenge to stay seated in—that things took a more interesting turn. The ride was infamous for its sudden drops and spins, designed to send everyone sliding toward the center, no matter how hard they tried to stay put.

You hesitated for a moment as you looked at the ride, the large circular rimmed seating area intimidating in its simplicity. “This is going to be a disaster,” you muttered under your breath, though you couldn’t deny the thrill of excitement that accompanied the thought.

Chaehyun, already seated with Minhee, shot you a grin. “Come on, Y/N! It’ll be fun!”

Heeseung was right behind you, and as you took your seat next to him, the ever-present tension between you seemed to magnify. The ride started with a slow spin, the deceptively calm beginning lulling you into a false sense of security. But soon, the speed picked up, and before you knew it, you were sliding uncontrollably toward the center.

You tried to brace yourself, but the force was too strong, and you found yourself being pulled off your seat. A yelp of surprise escaped your lips as you lost your balance, but before you could fall completely, Heeseung’s arm shot out, grabbing onto your waist.

The contact sent a jolt through you, the warmth of his hand on your waist grounding you in a way that was both comforting and electrifying. You clung to the edge of your seat, but the ride’s relentless spinning kept pushing you closer to Heeseung. Eventually, you gave up trying to fight it and let yourself lean into him, his arm still securely around your waist. Despite the electricity floating through your body, you couldn’t help but laugh. Throwing your head back, you looked at the boy pressed into your side, his widened eyes taking in your laughter and returning it.

When the ride finally came to a stop, you were breathless, both from the adrenaline and from the proximity to Heeseung. He helped you off the ride, his hand lingering on your waist a moment longer than necessary before he let go, a sheepish smile on his face.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice tinged with amusement.

“Yeah,” you replied, your heart still racing. “Thanks for the save.”

“Anytime,” he said, his tone light, though there was a flicker of something more in his eyes.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of laughter, shared snacks, and playful teasing. Chaehyun and Minhee were in their own world, holding hands and stealing kisses, while you and Heeseung found yourselves caught in a dance of subtle flirtation. There were moments when your hands would brush as you reached for the same snack, or when your eyes would meet across the table, the unspoken tension between you growing with each passing hour.

At one point, as you all gathered around a table to share a meal, Minhee nudged Chaehyun, whispering something in her ear that made her giggle. You shot them a suspicious look, but before you could ask what they were up to, Heeseung leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear.

“I think they’re planning something,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

“Probably,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “They’re not exactly subtle.”

Heeseung chuckled, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. “Well, whatever it is, I’m sure we can handle it.”

The day stretched into the evening, the sun setting in a blaze of orange and pink. As the park began to quiet down, the four of you decided to take one last ride on the Ferris wheel, the giant structure offering a perfect view of the park illuminated by twinkling lights.

You found yourself seated next to Heeseung in the small carriage, the ride slow and gentle compared to the chaotic one earlier. The height gave you a breathtaking view of the city beyond, but your attention was more focused on the boy sitting next to you, his profile highlighted by the golden glow of the sunset.

Heeseung turned to you, his expression softer than you’d seen all day. “Did you have fun today?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, your voice equally soft. “More than I expected.”

“Good,” he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’m glad we came.”

There was a moment of silence, the air thick with unspoken words. You felt the urge to say something, to break the tension that had been building all day, but before you could, the carriage came to a stop at the top of the Ferris wheel, giving you both a moment of stillness.

Heeseung glanced at you, his gaze lingering on your lips for a fraction of a second before he quickly looked away, the tips of his ears turning pink. The sight made your heart flutter, and you couldn’t help but smile at his sudden shyness.

Just as you were about to say something, the moment was interrupted by Chaehyun’s voice, calling out from the carriage below. “Y/N! Heeseung! What’s taking you so long up there?”

The ride jolted back into motion, slowly lowering you back to the ground. You let out a small laugh, shaking your head at Chaehyun’s timing. When you looked back at Heeseung, he was smiling too, though there was a hint of disappointment in his eyes.

As the four of you made your way out of the park, the night air cool against your skin, you couldn’t help but feel that something had shifted between you and Heeseung. The day had been full of fun and laughter, but there was a deeper connection forming, one that you were both cautiously exploring.

As you parted ways at the entrance, Heeseung caught your hand for a brief moment, his touch gentle but firm. “Let’s do this again sometime,” he spoke softly, his voice sincere.

You nodded, a warm feeling spreading through your chest. “I’d like that.”

With a final smile, Heeseung let go of your hand and turned to walk away in the opposite direction from the one you were heading towards, leaving you to join Minhee and Chaehyun as they headed toward the bus stop.

The sound of your blade slicing through the air echoes in the nearly empty gym. The rhythmic clang of metal on metal and the soft scuffle of your footwork are the only noises breaking the silence. It’s late, later than usual for practice, but you’ve been putting in extra hours, trying to perfect your technique before the upcoming tournament.

You’ve just finished a set of lunges when the gym door creaks open. You look up, expecting to see one of your teammates, but it’s Heeseung, hovering in the doorway with his usual quiet presence. His camera bag is slung over one shoulder, and he gives you a tentative smile, as if unsure whether he’s intruding.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” you say, catching your breath.

Heeseung steps inside, closing the door behind him. “Thought I’d come by for some last-minute insights for the article,” he says, tapping the side of his bag. “But it looks like you’re flying solo tonight.”

You nod, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “Yeah, everyone else is either cramming for exams or getting some rest before the big match. But I needed to clear my head.”

Heeseung watches as you place your saber on the rack, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual. There’s something different in the way he looks at you tonight—more intent, more focused. It makes your heart beat a little faster.

“Wanna see what it’s like?” you ask suddenly, the idea forming as the words leave your mouth.

Heeseung raises an eyebrow, caught off guard. “You mean... fence?”

“Why not?” you challenge, already heading toward the gear closet. “You’re writing about it. Might as well experience it firsthand.”

He hesitates, but there’s a glint of curiosity in his eyes. “I’m not exactly athletic,” he warns, even as he moves to follow you.

You grin, tossing him a chest protector and jacket. “That’s okay. I’ll go easy on you.”

It takes a few minutes to get him suited up—chest protector, jacket, mask—and you have to suppress a laugh at how awkward he looks in the gear. But there’s something endearing about the way he fumbles with the straps, his usual confidence replaced with uncertainty.

“Ready?” you ask, holding out a saber to him.

Heeseung takes it, testing its weight with a cautious swing. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

You both take your positions on the piste, the lines on the floor suddenly feeling much narrower with Heeseung across from you. His stance is stiff, awkward—nothing like the fluidity and precision you’ve honed over years of practice. But you can’t help but admire his willingness to try.

You advance slowly, giving him time to adjust. He attempts a feeble parry, which you easily dodge, your blade tapping his chest protector with a soft thud.

“Point,” you say, grinning under your mask. “But don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it.”

Heeseung groans, adjusting his grip. “You sure you’re going easy on me?”

You shrug, preparing for another advance. “Maybe just a little.”

You move in again, a bit faster this time, and Heeseung reacts instinctively, swinging his blade up in a wild arc. It’s completely off-target, and in his attempt to recover, he loses his balance, stumbling into you.

Before you can react, you’re both crashing to the ground, Heeseung’s weight knocking you off your feet. You land with a soft thud, your sabers clattering to the floor beside you. For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your combined laughter echoing through the empty gym.

You roll onto your back, still laughing, and Heeseung does the same, the awkwardness of earlier forgotten. Lying there on the cold gym floor, you’re suddenly aware of how close he is, his shoulder brushing against yours.

“You’re terrible at this,” you tease, nudging him playfully with your elbow.

Heeseung chuckles, turning his head to look at you. His hair is a mess from the mask, and his cheeks are flushed with exertion. “Guess I should stick to writing.”

You’re both still catching your breath, the amusement lingering between you, when the overhead lights suddenly flicker off, plunging the gym into darkness.

You both freeze, the sudden shift in atmosphere catching you off guard. The only light now comes from the emergency exit signs, casting long shadows across the gym floor. In the quiet, you can hear the faint hum of electricity and your own heartbeat, loud in your ears.

“Guess that’s our cue,” Heeseung says softly, his voice barely more than a whisper in the darkness.

But neither of you moves. The silence stretches, the moment growing heavier, more charged. You can feel the warmth of Heeseung’s arm against yours, the proximity sending a thrill through you that’s hard to ignore.

“Maybe,” you whisper back, turning slightly toward him, though you can barely make out his features in the dim light.

There’s a beat of hesitation, the air between you thick with anticipation, before Heeseung shifts closer, his hand brushing against yours, fingers almost—almost—entwining. But just as quickly, he pulls back, the tension breaking like a snapped thread.

“We should probably get up,” he says, voice low, and there’s a note of something—regret, maybe?—that you can’t quite place.

You sit up, the moment slipping away, but the feeling of his touch lingers, a ghost of what might have been. You help each other to your feet, the earlier playfulness replaced by a quiet, unspoken understanding.

As you strip off the gear and pack everything away, the silence continues, comfortable but charged, both of you aware of what didn’t happen but too uncertain to acknowledge it.

“Thanks for indulging me,” Heeseung finally says as you walk toward the exit, the gym door creaking open to the dimly lit hallway beyond.

“Anytime,” you reply, forcing a smile, though your thoughts are still back on the gym floor, replaying the almost-touch of his hand.

You part ways in the hallway, Heeseung giving you a small wave before disappearing down the corridor. You stand there for a moment, staring after him, before turning to head back to your dorm, the ghost of the evening’s events haunting your steps.

As you walk away, you can’t help but wonder what might have happened if the lights had stayed on just a little longer.

The gymnasium buzzed with energy, the air thick with excitement and tension. It was the third fencing tournament of the semester, and the stakes were high. You stood in the wings, your saber gleaming under the harsh gym lights, heart pounding with a mix of adrenaline and nerves. Your team’s performance today would determine whether you advanced to the finals, and the pressure was almost tangible.

You took a deep breath, focusing on the rhythmic patterns of the bout you were about to face. Ryujin and Gaeul were already competing, their focused expressions and swift movements a testament to their skill and determination. You glanced over at them, offering a reassuring nod. They returned it, their expressions masked by their own concentration.

Heeseung was among the crowd, his usual spot near the fencing area where he could get a clear view of the matches. He had become a familiar presence at these tournaments, his keen eyes always scanning the piste with an almost analytical focus. Today, he was positioned just a few feet from the sidelines, notebook in hand, ready to capture the essence of the day’s action. You caught his eye briefly and offered a small, nervous smile. He responded with a warm, encouraging nod.

The whistle blew, signaling the start of your individual match. Your opponent, a formidable competitor from another school, greeted you with a determined look. The match commenced with a flurry of movement. You engaged with swift, practiced attacks and counters, each move precise and deliberate. The crowd’s murmurs and the rhythmic clang of sabers filled your ears as you focused intently on your strategy.

Minutes ticked by as the match intensified. Your opponent was relentless, pressing you hard, and you found yourself on the defensive. You could feel the strain in your legs and the tension in your shoulders as you fought to maintain your balance and composure. The energy in the gym was electric, and every touch was met with reactions from the audience—gasps, cheers, and murmurs of anticipation.

In a particularly aggressive exchange, you executed a move that you had practiced countless times. Your saber darted out, aiming for a decisive touch, but as you pivoted, your footing faltered. The floor, worn from numerous tournaments, betrayed you. Your right ankle twisted painfully, and before you could react, you stumbled and fell awkwardly. The world seemed to tilt as you hit the ground, a sharp, blinding pain radiating from your ankle.

The referee’s whistle pierced through the haze of pain, and the match was abruptly halted. The crowd’s noise faded into the background as you lay on the floor, clutching your ankle, struggling to steady your breath through the searing agony. Tears welled up in your eyes, the pain mingling with a deep sense of frustration and helplessness.

Heeseung, who had been taking notes at the sidelines, immediately sprang into action. His face was a mask of concern as he pushed through the crowd, his usual calm demeanor giving way to an urgent determination. His strides were quick and purposeful, his eyes locked onto you as he reached your side.

“Y/N!” he called out, his voice a mix of worry and desperation. “Are you okay?”

You could barely manage a nod, the pain overwhelming your ability to speak. Heeseung’s hands were gentle but firm as he examined your injured ankle, his concern evident in every touch. The athletic trainers arrived quickly, their expressions reflecting the seriousness of the situation. They assessed your injury with practiced efficiency, their movements careful as they wrapped your ankle and prepared you for transport.

As they carefully lifted you onto a stretcher and began to move you towards the exit, Heeseung remained by your side, his presence a steadying force amid the chaos. He stayed close, offering words of comfort and reassurance, though his own face betrayed his anxiety.

The drive to the university hospital was a blur of pain and worry. You were transported from the gym to the emergency room, the pain in your ankle throbbing with each bump in the road. The reality of your situation was beginning to sink in, and the frustration of being sidelined from the tournament weighed heavily on you.

Upon arrival at the hospital, you were quickly ushered into an examination room. The medical staff worked efficiently, but the pain was still intense, and your emotions were frayed. The room was filled with the quiet beeps of medical equipment and the murmurs of the staff as they prepared to assess your injury. The medical staff worked efficiently, but the pain and the stress of the situation left you feeling utterly vulnerable. As the minutes ticked by, you couldn’t help but feel isolated in your distress.

Then, through the haze of your own pain, you caught a glimpse of movement in the doorway. Taehyun and Kai appeared, their faces etched with concern and relief as they spotted you. The sight of them, familiar and comforting, was a balm to your frayed nerves.

Their worried expressions immediately softened into empathetic smiles as they hurried over to your side. “Y/N, we saw what happened,” Taehyun said softly, his voice filled with concern. “Are you okay?”

The moment their voices reached you, the dam broke. The tears that had been threatening to spill finally cascaded down your cheeks, the emotional release of seeing your friends overwhelming. You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. The pain and frustration of the day, compounded by the sight of your friends, brought a torrent of emotion.

Kai reached out, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice steady. “It’ll be okay.”

As you tried to compose yourself, you saw Heeseung standing just outside the doorway, his figure barely visible in the hallway. The sight of him only made the tears flow even harder.

Taehyun and Kai stayed by your side, offering comfort and reassurance. Some others arrived within the hour as you waited on the results from the X-Ray, Chaehyun was already near tears before entering the room and Jay attempted to joke with the small group, though there was evident difficulty. Heeseung, however, was nowhere to be found.

The bright lights of the hospital room cast an unyielding glare on your frustration. The pain in your ankle was relentless, a constant reminder of the day’s events. Your friends had been with you, offering their support, but they had left to grab dinner, promising to return soon. The room was quiet, save for the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor and the occasional footfalls in the hallway.

You stared at the ceiling, feeling the weight of the day’s events pressing down on you. The nurse had just delivered the news: a fractured ankle that would require a boot for a few months but no surgery. The immediate relief of not needing surgery was overshadowed by the crushing realization that you would miss the rest of the fencing season. The dreams and aspirations for the semester seemed to crumble in the face of this new reality.

The door to your room opened slowly, and Heeseung slipped inside. His usually calm demeanor was tinged with concern. Seeing you alone and clearly distressed, he approached your bedside with a quiet urgency. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice carrying a note of genuine care. “How are you holding up?”

You tried to muster a smile, but it faltered. “It’s not good. The X-ray showed a fracture. I have to wear a boot for a few months. It means I’m out for the rest of the fencing season.”

Heeseung’s expression softened with empathy. He took a seat beside you, a small weighted sigh leaving his lips. “I’m really sorry to hear that,” he said gently. “I know how much fencing means to you.”

You nodded, feeling a lump rise in your throat. The reality of missing out on the season was hitting hard. “I worked so hard for this. The season was everything to me, and now I’m just… done. It’s like everything I’ve worked for is just slipping away.”

Heeseung reached out, his fingers delicately brushing down the side of your hair as he smoothed away some strands that had been stuck to your face with tears. You involuntarily flinched at his touch, a gesture so sweet but entirely meant for something more than just friends or whatever line you had been dancing on for months.

As you fought to keep your composure, the door opened again, and Taehyun and Kai returned with takeout with Chaehyun and Jay trailing shortly behind. Their faces lit up with relief as they saw Heeseung. They set the bags down and greeted him with nods of recognition.

“Hey, Heeseung,” Taehyun said, his eyes flicking between you and the new arrival. “We didn’t expect to see you here,” he added in a tone that indicated that they had actually wholeheartedly expected him to be here.

Kai pulled up a chair and began unpacking the food, trying to lighten the mood. “We’ve got all your favorites. Maybe it’ll help take your mind off things, at least for a little while.”

The room began to fill with the comforting aroma of food as the group gathered around. The conversation shifted to lighter topics, but the underlying tension about your injury was palpable. Heeseung’s quiet support was a steady presence amidst the chatter.

As the evening wore on, the mood lightened somewhat thanks to Jay’s attempts at humor and the shared closeness. Yet, the reality of your injury and the impact it would have on your fencing career loomed large.

When the food was almost finished and the room was filled with the sounds of friends chatting and laughing, you caught a glimpse of Heeseung standing quietly by the doorway. His gaze met yours, and you could see the concern in his eyes. The sight of him, a reminder of the support and understanding you had around you, made it all the more difficult to keep your emotions in check. Your gazes continued their lock as everything around you, the increasingly serious conversation between Jay and Kai about a new video game and the steady beeping of the hospital machines in the room, faded out leaving only your heartbeat thumping in your ears and a million thoughts swirling around in your head about the boy across the room from you.

Spring had finally settled over the campus, bringing with it warmer days and a sense of renewal. The trees were bursting with blossoms, and the air was filled with the buzz of students eager for the semester to end. For you, the past few weeks had been a blur of classes, physical therapy sessions, and quiet moments spent reflecting on what could have been. The boot on your ankle had become a familiar part of your daily routine, though it was a constant reminder of the season you had lost.

Today, however, you were looking forward to something different—a chance to take a break from the weight of your injury and celebrate the accomplishments of your friends. The journalism club was hosting their end-of-the-year showcase, where they would unveil their final magazine. The event was a big deal on campus, a night where everyone could see the hard work and creativity that had gone into the club’s projects over the semester.

You, Jay, and Jake made your way to the event together. The three of you had been spending more time together lately, and their easygoing personalities made it easier to forget about your troubles, even if just for a little while. Jay walked beside you, his usual relaxed smile on his face, while Jake, as always, was full of energy and chatter.

“You excited to see the magazine?” Jake asked as you approached the auditorium where the showcase was being held.

“Yeah, I am,” you replied, trying to keep up with them despite the boot. “I’ve been curious to see how the article turned out.”

Jay glanced over at you, a teasing grin playing on his lips. “Or maybe you’re more excited to see Heeseung?”

You felt a blush creep up your neck. “He wrote about the fencing team, so I’m definitely curious,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant.

The auditorium was bustling with activity when you arrived. Tables were set up with copies of the magazine and other projects the club had worked on throughout the year. The walls were lined with posters, photographs, and pieces of art that highlighted the creativity of the journalism students. The room buzzed with excitement and pride as people mingled, admiring each other’s work.

As you and your friends entered, you immediately spotted Heeseung standing near one of the display tables, talking with a group of students. He was dressed casually, but there was an air of quiet confidence about him that made him stand out. You watched as he laughed at something one of the students said, the sound warm and genuine. He hadn’t noticed you yet, so you took a moment to observe him from a distance.

“He’s right there,” Jay said, leaning in close. “Go say hi.”

You gave him a playful shove. “I will, just give me a minute.”

Jake grinned. “Come on, let’s go check out the magazine. I want to see how we look in print.”

The three of you made your way over to the display table where the final magazine was laid out. There were stacks of the publication, each one carefully bound and designed. The cover featured a striking image of the campus, with the title in bold letters: “Echoes of the Semester”

You flipped through the pages, searching for Heeseung’s article. When you found it, you couldn’t help but smile. There, on the glossy pages, was the story of your team—the triumphs, the challenges, and everything in between. He had captured the essence of the fencing club with a level of detail and insight that made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t expected.

The presentation started a few moments later, and you found yourself a seat close to the stage. The event had a relaxed, celebratory atmosphere, and you watched with interest as a few students gave brief speeches about their experiences in the club over the past year. The highlight was, of course, the unveiling of the magazine, and you were excited to see how the fencing club had been portrayed.

Heeseung was called to the stage to introduce his article. As he spoke, you couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride for him. He was articulate, confident, and passionate about the story he had written. He spoke about the hard work and dedication of the fencing team, about the perseverance required to compete at such a high level, and about how he had been inspired by their journey.

When he mentioned your name, a flush of warmth spread through you. Heeseung glanced your way, his gaze lingering for just a moment longer than necessary before he continued his speech. The room seemed to hold its breath, captivated by his words, and you found yourself unable to look away.

After the presentation ended, the crowd dispersed to explore the displays, and you were left with a strange mix of emotions—pride, excitement, and something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Jay and Jake had wandered off to talk to some friends of theirs, leaving you standing near the stage, still holding a copy of the magazine.

You were about to head over to one of the displays when you felt a presence beside you. Turning, you found Heeseung standing there, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by something more serious.

“You were great up there,” you said, smiling up at him. “The article is amazing.”

Heeseung returned the smile, but there was a hint of something else in his eyes—something that made your heart skip a beat. “Thanks. I’m glad you liked it. But, actually… there’s something I want to show you.”

Curiosity piqued, you followed him as he led you away from the bustling crowd, down a quiet hallway that led to a small, dimly lit room at the back of the auditorium. Heeseung closed the door behind you, and you suddenly felt very aware of how close the two of you were standing.

“What’s going on?” you asked, your voice tinged with nervousness.

Heeseung didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached into his bag and pulled out a small, slightly worn notebook. He handed it to you, his fingers brushing against yours as he did. “This… didn’t make it into the magazine,” he said, his voice quiet, almost hesitant.

You opened the notebook, flipping through the pages. It was filled with handwritten notes, sketches, and rough drafts. As you skimmed through it, you realized that the entire notebook was about you—your fencing, your struggles, your thoughts and emotions. It was far more personal and detailed than the article that had been published.

Your breath caught in your throat as you read through the passages. Heeseung had written about moments you hadn’t even realized he had noticed—your determination during practice, the way you pushed through pain, the quiet strength you exuded even when you were at your lowest. He had captured the essence of who you were in a way that was both intimate and raw.

“Why didn’t you include this?” you asked, looking up at him, your voice barely above a whisper.

Heeseung met your gaze, and for a moment, the air between you crackled with tension. “It felt… too personal,” he admitted, his voice soft. “I didn’t want to overstep, but I wanted you to know that I see you—really see you.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you held the notebook, the weight of his words sinking in. There was something deeply vulnerable about this moment, something that made you feel both exposed and understood in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I don’t know what to say,” you murmured, your voice thick with emotion.

Heeseung took a step closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “You don’t have to say anything,” he said softly.

The room seemed to shrink around you, the world narrowing down to just the two of you. Your fingers still rested on the notebook, but you were no longer aware of the paper beneath your hands. All you could focus on was Heeseung—the warmth of his body, the intensity in his eyes, the way his breath brushed against your skin.

Your breath hitched, and your heart pounded in your chest as the tension between you grew, thick and palpable. His eyes flicked to your lips, and you could feel the magnetic pull drawing you closer.

Before you could say anything else, Heeseung reached out and took your hand, gently tugging you closer to him. His fingers brushed over the magazine still clutched in your hands, the touch sending a shiver down your spine.

“I know this might be a little forward,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper, “but… there’s an after-party at my apartment tonight. I’d really like it if you came.”

The words hung in the air between you, and you felt a flutter of excitement mixed with the nervous energy that always seemed to accompany your interactions with him. It wasn’t just an invitation—it was a promise of more time together, of peeling back more layers and discovering what lay beneath the surface of your growing connection.

You smiled softly, the corners of your lips curling up as you looked into his eyes. “I’d love to,” you said, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach.

The tension lingered as you stood there, neither of you moving, neither of you wanting to break the moment. And then, almost as if by instinct, Heeseung leaned in. His lips met yours in a kiss that was both gentle and intense, the kind of kiss that made your heart race and your knees weak.

The notebook slipped from your hands, forgotten as you reached up to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Heeseung’s hands found your waist, and he held you as if you were something precious, something he didn’t want to let go of.

The kiss deepened, and you lost yourself in the sensation, in the way he made you feel—alive, desired, and seen. There was a quiet urgency in the way his lips moved against yours, as if he had been waiting for this moment just as much as you had.

When you finally pulled away, your breath came in ragged gasps, your heart racing in your chest. Heeseung’s eyes were dark, filled with a mixture of emotions that mirrored your own. Neither of you spoke, the silence heavy with the weight of what had just happened.

Heeseung suddenly backed away from you so abruptly that it took you a moment to register what had happened. One second, you were lost in the heat of the moment, and the next, he was stepping back, a mumbled apology slipping from his lips.

"Uh, the after-party..." Heeseung began, his voice barely above a whisper as he avoided your eyes. "I should, um, get ready for it. I’ll see you there?"

Before you could respond, he was already retreating, leaving you standing alone in the small, dimly lit room. The warmth of his touch still lingered on your skin, but the sudden coldness of the distance between you was unmistakable.

You stared at the spot where he had been, trying to process what had just happened. The kiss had been everything you'd imagined—intense, passionate, full of unspoken emotions—but now, it felt like it had been ripped away just as quickly as it had begun. Heeseung was always just out of reach, pulling you in close only to push you away the next moment.

With a frustrated sigh, you picked up the notebook from where it had fallen and clutched it tightly to your chest. You were upset, hurt, feeling like no matter how many moments the two of you shared, they always seemed to slip through your fingers, leaving you with nothing but the fleeting memory of something more.

The walk back to the main room was a blur. You found Jay and Jake talking with a few other students near the exit, their laughter and easy conversation a stark contrast to the storm of emotions brewing inside you.

"Ready to grab some dinner?" Jay asked, catching sight of you as you approached. His usual grin faltered when he saw the look on your face. "You okay?"

You forced a smile, not wanting to worry them. "Yeah, just... a lot on my mind."

Jake, ever the perceptive one, raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. "Come on, let’s go. Food will help."

The three of you left the auditorium, making your way to a nearby diner that was a favorite among students. The place was busy, filled with the chatter of people winding down after a long day. You slid into a booth, trying to focus on the menu in front of you, but your mind was elsewhere.

Throughout dinner, you found yourself distracted, your thoughts circling back to Heeseung. You barely heard the conversation happening around you, only nodding and offering the occasional comment when prompted. Jay and Jake didn’t seem to notice—or maybe they did, but they chose not to say anything.

You picked at your food, appetite long gone as your thoughts kept returning to the same question: Why was he keeping you at arm’s length? Every time you thought you were getting closer, he would pull away, leaving you more confused and frustrated than before.

By the time you arrived at the after-party, your nerves were frayed, and you felt like you were walking into the lion’s den. Heeseung was there, as expected, greeting everyone as they arrived, his easy smile and calm demeanor masking whatever he was truly feeling.

But when it came to you, he seemed to go out of his way to avoid any meaningful interaction. He was always just a few steps ahead, just out of reach, slipping through the crowd before you could approach him. It was as if that kiss—and everything that had led up to it—hadn’t happened at all.

Jay and Jake didn’t notice your growing frustration as they mingled with the other guests, Sunghoon, Taehyun, and Chaehyun playing some overly complicated drinking game off to the side, but you were a ball of anxiety, barely able to keep up with the small talk and casual conversation. The party was lively, filled with laughter and music, but you felt like you were trapped in a bubble, unable to enjoy any of it.

The hours dragged on, and your patience wore thin. As the party began to wind down and people started to leave, you found yourself more determined than ever to get answers. You couldn’t keep going on like this, caught in this endless push-and-pull with Heeseung. You needed to know where you stood with him—or if you even stood anywhere at all.

Finally, when the crowd had thinned out and most of the guests had left, you spotted Heeseung in the kitchen, cleaning up empty cups and discarded plates. His back was to you, and for a moment, you hesitated. But then, the frustration that had been building all night boiled over, and you found yourself marching over to him, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Heeseung,” you called out, your voice firmer than you expected.

He turned around, surprised to see you standing there. “Oh, hey. I didn’t realize—”

“Why have you been avoiding me all night?” The question came out more accusatory than you intended, but you were too upset to care.

Heeseung blinked, clearly taken aback by your directness. “I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were,” you interrupted, crossing your arms. “You’ve been avoiding me ever since we kissed. And it’s not just tonight, Heeseung. It’s every time we get close, every time something happens between us, you pull away.”

You barely noticed the last remaining people, Jay and Taehyun, nervously exchanging glances before quickly exiting Heeseung’s apartment.

Heeseung opened his mouth to respond, but you weren’t done. The words came spilling out, a torrent of emotions you’d been holding back for too long.

“I don’t understand what’s going on between us,” you continued, your voice trembling with frustration. “We have all these moments together, these perfect, real moments, and then you just… you just disappear. I feel like I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for you to pull away again, and I can’t keep doing this. I-I feel like I’m going crazy. I mean, what is this? Is this how you are with your friends? I mean you and Jake seem close but-”

“Don’t finish that,” he interrupted with a quiet laugh before looking down, his expression unreadable. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands clenched at his sides, but he still didn’t say anything. The silence stretched on, and your heart sank, the fear that you had pushed him too far creeping in.

But then, finally, he looked up at you, and you saw something shift in his eyes—a determination you hadn’t seen before.

“You’re right,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I have been pulling away. And I’m sorry. I’ve been scared… of what this means, of how I feel. But you deserve more than that.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he stepped closer, cutting you off as he continued. “You deserve someone who isn’t afraid to show you how much you mean to them, someone who isn’t constantly holding back.”

“Heeseung…” you started, but he shook his head.

“No, let me finish,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “I just, I know how busy you are and I don’t know I thought I was doing this whole selfless act by trying to keep distance, but I… find that hard around you.”

Heeseung took a deep breath, and then, in a voice filled with a mix of fear and determination, he finally confessed, “I like you. More than I’ve liked anyone in a long time. And it terrifies me because I don’t want to mess this up. But I can’t help it, Y/N, I want to be with you.”

The confession hung in the air between you, and for a moment, you were too stunned to speak. All the frustration, the confusion, the uncertainty that had been weighing on you for weeks melted away, leaving behind only the raw, undeniable truth of what you both felt.

Heeseung reached out, gently taking your hand in his. “I’m sorry for making you feel like you were always going to be kept at a distance,” he said softly. “That’s the last thing I want. I want to be close to you, in every way.”

Your heart swelled with emotion, and you squeezed his hand, feeling a warmth spread through you that you hadn’t felt in a long time. “I want that too,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

The tension that had been simmering between you all night reached its breaking point, and before you knew it, you were pulling him closer, closing the distance between you. Heeseung didn’t hesitate this time—his lips found yours in a kiss that was fierce, passionate, and full of all the things that had been left unsaid for too long.

It was a kiss that spoke of longing, of desire, of a connection that had been building for months. Your hands clutched at his shirt, pulling him closer, as if afraid that if you let go, he might slip away again. But Heeseung was there, solid and real, his arms wrapping around you in a way that made you feel safe, wanted.

He bent down, hands roaming through your hair and then down your arms to snake around your waist and pull you onto the counter top in front of him. Your boot knocked clumsily into his knee, but he seemed to pay no attention to it. Grabbing the collar of his shirt, you pulled him closer and heat blazed through your core at the sound of a small giggle that escaped him.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, you could see the same mix of emotions reflected in his eyes—relief, happiness, and something deeper, something that promised this was just the beginning of something more.

“Stay with me tonight,” Heeseung murmured, his forehead resting against yours.

You nodded, your heart racing as you ran your fingers and palms against his firm forearms, desiring to touch every inch of him you hadn’t been able to until now.

And as you spent the night together, wrapped in each other’s arms, you knew that this was the start of something real, something that you have only been dreaming about for months. The doubts and fears that had plagued you for so long seemed distant now, replaced by a certainty and feeling for the first time that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

thank you for reading!! <3

#lee heeseung #heeseung #enhypen x reader #lee heesung x reader #lee heeseung fic #enhypen x female reader #heeseung fluff #enhypen fic #enhypen au #heeseung au #heeseung fanfic #enhypen fanfiction

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neighbourscat · 2 months ago

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౨౿ nicholas chavez who visits his black!girlfriend at abbott elementary — he’s startled by the documentary crew, almost dropping the box of rainbow-sprinkled donuts and container of chocolate-chip cookies he’d brought for your kindergarten students; today was move-up day and you asked him if he could use a few hours of his day-off and drop off their treats to congratulate. after he’s given an ‘abbott elementary visitors badge’, he’s dragged through the bustling hallways — walls decorated in brilliant hand-made drawings and banners, the noisy chatter of students, and the hustle of teachers — and into an empty classroom for a confessional; “wha .. what am i suppose to say here?” nicholas asked, adjusting the box of donuts and container of cookies . .. . he blinked into the camera lens, the grin on his face crooked, sheepish, and the look in his eyes that of a scared child.

౨౿ nicholas chavez who spots your classroom, room 220, and hurried toward it — the camera crew and principal ava coleman, heels clicking loudly, behind him — the sound of young laughter, meaningless conversations, and chairs scraping the floor growing louder. the door was slightly ajar, and through the small opening, he could see you — ms. y/l/n to the young humans — standing at the front of room, talking animatedly to your class of kindergartners. your smile lit up the space, and your long, knotless braids swung as you gestured toward the main entrance and exit.

nicholas smiled to himself, watching you in your element. this was the side of you he admired so much — the way you commanded the room full of children, the warmth you exuded when you taught or played around. he gripped the doorknob and- “me personally . .. . i would’ve just walked with me to the gymnasium.” his brown eyes found the camera lens again, letting the crew capture his frustrated expression. “look, there’s still time before those goblins actually start lining up -“ ava pleaded, “i’m telling you - you and i leave now, we can still make brunch at reno’s.”

nicholas stared at the crew again, begging them to do ‘something’, and then down at ava. “who watches these .. things?” he asked the principal, releasing the doorknob — he turned his body to face her fully, showing her that she had his attention .. ava smirked, proud and knowing, flipping back the cascade of jet-black hair that fell effortlessly around her shoulders. “all of america. why? scared to be seen with a woman this attractive?” she finished with a cheeky giggle, brows wiggling while looking into the camera — the confusion on his face has yet to fade. ava: “if you’re worried about being wrongfully perceived, don’t. your face is pretty, your body is tight - if your personality is bleep, the ladies at home won’t care. that’s how it is.” her hands gripped her hips, “you can be the bleep bleep person on the planet, but guess what? if you’re hot, you get screentime.”

just in time, your classroom door swung open — nicholas, relieved, nearly jumped out of his skin. at the sight of jabrieah, your line-leader, peeking out of the door, ava quickly turned on her heels and rushed down the hall and turned the corner in a hurry — the camera angling in on her as she descended.

your kindergartners’ were in their graduation gowns; a vibrant shade of blue, charming and whimsical, and designed to celebrate the joyous milestone of young learners. their gowns were adorned with cheerful motifs, such as stars, balloons, and playful animals, which represented the joy and wonder of early education —

— “donuts! cookies!” malachi; the second in line, cheered, alerting you and the other children. gio; the teacher-helper and aiden; the caboose ripped themselves from your hands and pushed through most of the line to reach nicholas first. and when your boyfriend met your disappointed glare .. his shoulders dropped and he seemed to shrink into himself.

﹥*:ꔫ:*+ﾟ

“okay, so, i asked nicholas - my boyfriend - if he could pick up my special order from lulu’s; the best pastry spot in philly, and swing by after the graduation. two nights ago, nic and i thought it would be cute to - to give them something else to look forward to after their ceremony,” you spoke into the camera, warm and bubbly — emphasis on ‘after’. “he’s just an hour early,” you continued, smile slowly falling, “which .. which isn’t so bad, necessarily, but .. y’know .. i had a surprise set in place for my kids. so . .. .” you blinked away and then back at the camera, tongue poking the inside of your cheek.

౨౿ nicholas chavez who helps mr. johnson, gregory eddie, janine teagues, and jacob hill stack the parent chairs away and against the gymnasium walls — making room for the fun festivities. the main camera was zoned in on ava; fixing her patterned blouse ( revealing more of her cleavage ) and watching the muscles in nicholas’ large arms flex and spasm. “that young man is spoken for ava.” barbara howard came into view. “this is your sixth reminder ..” the camera shifted up at barbara and then back to ava as she asked, without hesitation or much care; “be honest. completely. who looks better? me or y/n?”

barbara sighed deeply and gave her a gentle tap on the forearm. “come. come,” she urged kindly. “this way. come help me and melissa with the cotton candy machine.”

౨౿ nicholas chavez who watches tariq temple — like he’s headlining coachella, tariq’s wearing a gold chain that probably has a cartoon character on it, sunglasses indoors, and a loud glittering jacket with “kiddie class of swag” embroidered on the back — abbott elementary’s very own rapper, perform and jump around the gymnasium stage .. with an unsure look on his face. he wasn’t sure if he should move his body or remain still, for the message tariq had been spewing into the microphone was .. highly inappropriate for elementary school students; so wrong, yet undoubtedly catchy.

you, on the other-hand, had been loving it — rocking side to side with the thumping beat. the just-graduated children were dancing with their friends, the big-kids, and parents, tariq’s raps going into one ear and right out of the other.

“y’all, for real — remember when y’all couldn’t even color in the lines? look at you now! first grade's ‘bouta be a breeze .. except maybe the bleep math! yo, don’t let ‘em trip you up with that new bleep-bleep math. trust me, that bleep is’a damn scam!”

the camera zoomed in on you and nicholas; eyes widening in the crowd as you both winced — then, the crew quickly switched the attention to barbara and melissa schemmenti, who were in absolute disbelief, mouths opened and brows raised so high, seemingly stitched to their hairlines.

“nah yo! real talk, first grade ain’t no bleep joke. i heard they got y’all doin’ homework?! don’t be out here messin' with them trapper keepers!” janine stopped the sway of her hips, fully focused on tariq and his nonsense piece — jacob lost his smile, he and gregory too stunned, but ava .. unbothered.

﹥*:ꔫ:*+ﾟ

“ayo, congrats to all the lil’ homies!” the camera crew had met with tariq backstage after his massive performance. “i can’t believe they graduated, like . ..” tariq clutched a hand over his still-racing heart, “they grown now, like for real. been around this school so damn long, i feel like they mine . .. . y’all feel’me?” no response from the crew. “do good bleep, homies!” tariq flashed his signature grin, showing off the gold-tooth plate and giving the camera a wink before strutting out of camera-view, arms lifted like he’d just performed at a sold-out stadium.

#nali’s ᡣ𐭩 #black writers #black reader #nicholas chavez #black women #nicholas chavez x black!reader #nicholas chavez x abbott elementary #mockumentary #mini

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maldaptivedreamer · 3 months ago

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Locker Room Fantasies

You attempt to relax in the empty locker rooms. Tyler helps.

content: Not proofread, not accurate to alien universe, maybe ooc character, fem reader, smut, shower sex, voyeurism, masturbation, multiple orgasms, spitting like once, oral (reader receiving), empty but sex in public space, lack of shoes in public shower

wc: ~2.7k

a/n: Just a PSA, if you use a public shower, wear shoes. Also be safe.

MINORS DNI NSFW 18+

A weary breath escapes your nose as you scan your badge across the card reader. It flashes green before the door clicks open with a loud buzz. The sound of your thick boots clicking on the ground echoes throughout the room. Scanning the rows of lockers, your voice bounces on the tiles as you call out, “Hello?”

Closing your eyes, a sigh of appreciation escapes your lips as you reach your locker. Sitting on the bench, you hunch over, rubbing your face in exhaustion. Your tense body protests at the position, but you ignore it. Massaging your shoulder, you silently pray that a shower will provide some relief.

Roughly rubbing your burning eyes, you push yourself up. Unlocking your locker, you mechanically proceed to prepare for your shower. With a lazy slam, you close the door and take a deep breath before heading to the shower stalls.

Your feet silently pad across the floor. The frigid tiles bleed through your socks, sending a chill up your spine.

Entering the stall in the far corner, you hang your towel on the metal hook. Carelessly dropping your soap onto the damp floor, you reach for the flimsy gray curtain. It shuts with a loud clink.

The bright fluorescent lights dull slightly as you pull the curtain closed. You twist the knob of the shower, and it sputters on, a few drops of lukewarm water catch the skin of your hand before fully springing to life.

Flicking away the stray droplets, you begin to undress. Slowly peeling off each layer of your sweaty uniform, you pile them haphazardly in one corner of the stall. Stepping under the hot spray of water, you close your eyes. You let out a sigh of relief as the warmth cascades over your tired muscles.

Leaning forward, you rest your forehead against the cool tile wall, letting the water run down your back. After a moment, you push yourself away from the wall and bend down to grab your soap. With a firm squeeze, you release a glob into your palm and raise it to your hair. Your fingers work through each strand, massaging your scalp and releasing any tension that lingers there.

Rinsing your hair, you can feel a familiar tingling sensation spreading through your body. Swallowing, you allow your mind to drift. There’s no one here. You could just listen and stop if someone walks in.

Biting your lip, you scrub your soapy hands along your body. Your breath catches in your throat as you experimentally brush a hand over your erect nipple. Slowly, your other hand follows suit, tracing a path down to your core where you tentatively press a single finger to your clit, eliciting a sharp gasp.

Your anxious eyes dart around the stark white walls, hyper-aware of any noise outside of the stall. But you don’t stop. The thrill of being caught only fuels your desire and you continue to explore your body with growing confidence.

Stepping out from under the warm spray of water, you bend over and place a hand against the cool tiles of the shower wall. Your legs spread wide, and your fingers begin to trace slow circles around your sensitive clit, quiet moans fall from your lips.

Despite the temptation to tease and prolong the pleasure, you resist and slowly insert your fingers into your dripping core. You release a desperate moan, but you quickly stifle it by pressing your cheek against the tiles, providing some relief to your flushed skin.

You thrust your fingers in and out of yourself, feeling the slick walls of your pussy clenching around them. Each time, your palm grazes over your swollen clit. The sound of wet squelching mixes with the steady stream of water.

With eyes clenched shut and thighs trembling, you risk letting out a louder moan. Moving your hand from the wall to your mouth, you muffle your noises as you quicken the pace of your fingers.

Tears form a misty veil over your eyes, blurring your vision as you watch your hand plunge into yourself. Fingers curl tightly and disappear, your palm slaps against your clit with loud smacks.

The overwhelming pleasure consumes you, making it almost impossible to hear the loud buzz of the door. Your gasp is stifled as you freeze, every muscle tense.

Heavy footsteps reverberate through the room, each one causing your heart to race faster. You strain to listen for any indication of who walked in, fingers still buried deep inside of you.

With your legs pressed tightly together, you can feel the desperate ache pulsing through your body. But you don’t move.

“Hello?” Tyler's accented voice breaks through the silence, sending shivers down your spine.

Your walls clench around your fingers and your eyes roll back in pleasure. Swallowing hard, you try to regain composure as you reply with a slight crack in your voice, “Hey.”

You can almost see him furrow his brows from behind the thin curtain, his deep voice calling out your name in question. “You good?”

You nod, clearing your throat with a wince. “Yeah, yeah. I’m good.”

The sound of metal clanging echoes through the room as he opens his locker. His footsteps draw closer to your stall as he asks, “Good… Mind if I take a shower?”

Your fingers twitch as you answer, swallowing past the lump in your throat. "No, of course not."

There is no response, and you press your forehead against the cold wall, trying to calm your racing thoughts. Your mind races with the potential consequences of being caught. Pushing your worries aside, you decide that you can be quiet. Really quiet. And careful.

Just as you come to this resolution, the sound of running water fills the air as the shower next to yours turns on.

Your whole-body tenses and you turn to face the wall that now separates you from him. Chewing on your lip anxiously, you slowly begin to grind your fingers in and out of yourself, careful to keep your movements silent and undetected. A mix of guilt and desire washes over you as you touch yourself.

“How was your day?” The timbre of his voice breaks the silence of the room, sending shivers down your spine. You imagine him running his hands along his body as he talks to you, just as you had done to your own earlier. The sound of his voice intensifies the sensations coursing through your body.

With a sigh that he mistakes for exhaustion, you reply, "Long." You rest your back against the wall and lift a hand to your chest. You palm at your breast, as your fingers scissor into you.

Your eyes fixate on the wall in front of you as he grunts in agreement. With each thrust and touch, you feel yourself growing more confident and lost in pleasure. Nibbling on your lip, you loudly gasp out his name, "Tyler."

For a moment, there is only silence as he pauses. You can feel the burn of his eyes on you through the wall. His voice is low when he responds, "Yeah?"

Leveling out your voice, you speak. “Tell me about your day.”

His movements are hesitant as he starts moving again. “Went on patrol and was partnered with Alex again.”

You hum in response, and he continues, his voice rumbling in your ears as you press your fingers deeper into you. You shove two fingers into your mouth as you try to muffle your whimpers. “-can’t stand Alex. Told you they should partner us up again…”

You hope, pray, that his voice drowns out the noise of your messy pussy as you speed up your fingers, unable to restrain yourself.

He pauses on the other side of the wall, but you can still hear the faint sound of his hands moving. “Thought about you… Was thinkin’ about you a lot.”

A surge of desire and anticipation runs through you as you feel yourself approaching your release. Your fingers leave your mouth with a wet pop. “Yeah?” Your voice is breathless and eager.

“Yeah.” Tyler’s voice is like velvet, deep and alluring. A low chuckle rumbles in his chest, “Daydreamin’ about you. Your mouth. How tight you’d feel around my cock.”

Tyler's voice sends shivers down your spine, its husky depth drawing you further into him. Your mind races with images of his mouth on yours, and the tightness you know would come from him being inside you.

As you rub circles over your swollen clit, you try to muffle your screams, but the effort is useless. "Oh fuck! Tyler!"

The sound of the curtain being roughly pulled open and closed goes unnoticed as you scramble to steady your trembling body against the wall.

Suddenly, you feel a strong hand on your hip, as his other engulfs your cheek. You gasp as Tyler's lips press against your ear. His growl echoes through you, sending chills of desire through your body. "Thought I heard somethin’ in here," he says, his hands trailing over your slick skin. "Couldn't resist touching yourself, could you? ‘Spose I couldn't either."

You sneak a glance downward and feel a surge of desire as you take in his swollen, red cock. The flushed head beads a translucent pearl, just for you. A low moan escapes your lips as you realize that he had been pleasuring himself while talking to you.

Tyler’s large hand move down your skin before he slowly pushes two thick fingers inside of you, the slickness and tightness engulfing them easily. Your body responds immediately, arching toward his touch. "Tyler, please," you gasp out.

"Shh," he whispers against your neck, nibbling at the sensitive skin. "Gotta stay quiet, remember? Can't risk anyone else walking in on us."

Your hand folds over his, feeling each flex as he thrusts into you. You tug on his hair as his other hand raises to knead at your breast. You bite your lip hard, struggling to contain your noises.

Tyler’s erection presses insistently against your thigh, begging for attention. You squeeze his hand as his fingers curl into you before grasping him. His skin is slick with sweat, and he feels heavy and thick in your hand.

As he lifts his head from your neck, his brown eyes search yours. They darken with intensity as he finds whatever he was looking for and he presses a harsh, possessive kiss to your lips. He explores your mouth with his tongue, eliciting a soft whimper from you. With a low groan, he withdraws his fingers and turns you around, your hands instinctively falling to the wall for support.

Your head spins as you look down, catching a glimpse of him dropping to his knees. His throbbing cock bobs up and down as he bends over. He spits into your clenching core before spreading it with his thumb. Tyler lightly presses into you before withdrawing to press his lips against you.

Tyler's tongue delves between your folds, eagerly lapping at your slick heat. Despite his attempt to shush you, the sound of his mouth on you is unmistakably loud. The wet slurping of his tongue against your skin sends shivers through your body, and you gasp and push back against him, craving more of his touch. His big hands grip your thighs, holding you steady and open for him.

"Fuck, you taste lovely," he growls against you, sending vibrations throughout your body as he speaks.

You bite down on your knuckles to muffle your cries of pleasure. The shower continues to beat down on your back as Tyler devours you from behind. His tongue swirls around your clit before dipping inside you, fucking you with quick, firm strokes.

"Oh god, Tyler," you whimper, your legs trembling. You're so close.

He grunts and hums against you. His large hand slides up to squeeze and knead your ass, sucking hard on your sensitive clit.

Your orgasm crashes over you suddenly, like a wave breaking on the shore. Letting out a muffled cry of his name, your body trembles and shudders with each intense wave of pleasure.

With a final, languid lick, Tyler rises to his feet. He gives your ass a light slap and seeing the mark it leaves, he groans. “We’ll have to save that for another day.”

He spins you around and in one smooth motion, he lifts you up and presses you against the cool tile wall.

Tyler’s cock throbs against your stomach, and your breasts are crushed against his chest. As he leans in, your hand reaches up to caress his feverish cheek, bringing his face closer to yours. His breath is warm as it brushes against your face, “If anything gets to be too much, you let me know.”

His brown eyes meet yours and you nod with a smile. Kissing him, your hand trails down his chest. Feeling the familiar weight of him, you circle your thumb around his head. He gasps as you lightly stroke him.

His hands firmly grip your thighs as he pulls back. His breath catches against your lips as you guide him inside of you, feeling yourself open up to accommodate him.

Tyler's eyes lock with yours as he slowly pushes into you, stretching you. You both let out low moans as he bottoms out, filling you completely. For a moment, you both still, savoring the feeling of his thick cock pulsing inside of you.

Then, he begins to move, setting a steady rhythm. The water from the shower cascades over both of your bodies as he drives into you again and again. His hips snap against yours, driving his cock deep with each thrust. You wrap your legs tighter around his waist, changing the angle slightly. A gasp escapes your lips as he hits that perfect spot inside you.

"Fuck, you feel amazing," Tyler groans, his accent thicker with arousal.

You cling to his broad shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he pounds into you. Tyler's lips find your neck. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes in the small stall, the running water doing little to hide your noises.

"That's it, love. Your takin’ me so well.” Groaning into you, he continues. “D’you think about it? About how I’d feel inside of you?”

Your breath hitches at his words. "Yes," you gasp out. "All the time."

His thrusts become harsher at your admission. One hand braces against the wall, raising your leg higher and giving him more leverage to drive into you harder.

"Tell me,” He demands, his voice rough with need. "Tell me what you’d think about when you stuffed yourself with your fingers."

"Imagined they were yours," you pant, struggling to form any coherent thoughts. "Filling me up, stretching me out. Imagined how you’d feel inside of me. How you’d make me yours as I screamed your name."

His grip on you tightens and he nudges you with his nose. Meeting his dark eyes with teary ones, he growls possessively. "You are mine. Aren’t you?”

The intensity in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. You're there, right there.

"Yes. Fuck! Yes. I’m yours Tyler. O’ly yours, please, ‘m so close," you babble, clinging to him desperately.

"Cum for me, love," he urges, his voice strained. "Let me feel you."

Your body responds immediately to his command. The tension that's been building inside you reaches its peak, and you come undone in his arms. Your inner walls clench tightly around his cock, and you bury your face in his neck to muffle your cries of ecstasy, your nails digging into his back.

Tyler groans deeply as he feels you pulsing around him. His thrusts lose their rhythm as he reaches his own release. With a final, powerful thrust, he buries himself deep inside you and cums with a muffled shout against your shoulder. You can feel the warmth of his release filling you as his cock pulses within you.

For a long moment, you both stay still, panting heavily as you come down from your highs. The water from the shower continues to cascade over your intertwined bodies. Tyler presses his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as he catches his breath.

Slowly, he lowers you back to your feet, keeping a steadying hand on your waist as your legs wobble beneath you. You lean against him, watching as his cum drips out of you onto the floor before disappearing down the drain.

You feel boneless and sated. Every part of you, relaxed.

#tyler harrison #tyler harrison x reader #tyler alien romulus x reader #tyler alien romulus #archie renaux #alien: romulus #alien romulus #alien romulus fanfic #alien romulus x reader

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apollyonsdarksecrets · 1 year ago

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The Contract

Aaron Hotchner X F!Reader

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven

Summery: She’s reserved, emotionally cut off, and spiraling down a dark path; one she can’t get out of on her own. Aaron Hotchner may be her only help, but at what cost? When he shows up to her hotel room, contact in hand, she realizes it may be more than what she bargained for.

Over All Warnings: 18 + Only, MDNI, SMUT. Language, typical CM violence, childhood trauma, abusive(mentally) father figure, does not line up with a specific time line, flip flops between 3rd and 2nd POV, so use of Y/n. BDSM Dynamics, contract, Dom! Aaron Hotchner, Sub! Reader, emotional detachment, reader is not good at taking care of herself, Age gap (Reader 25 Arron 40), explicit Smut detailed in chapters. This is a series 😅

A/N: listen y’all, Aaron Hot Hotchner has had me in a choke hold, I wish, since the moment I laid eyes on him. It’s only fitting he gets some love.

15 Years Ago

Her hands sting with little paint splinters, their jagged edges imbedding deeper each time her fists connect with the door. She gasps around another harsh sob, her eyes squeezed shut against the blinding darkness surrounding her. “Please daddy! Let me out!” She begs desperately, her small voice cracking. The door violently rattles back with a deafening crack, making her stumble back. She falls into the sink, clutching at its porcelain surface to stop herself.

“Shut the fuck up!” Her father’s guttural voice fills the confined space of the restroom, “The longer you cry the longer you’ll stay in there!” His words are slurred from the deers he’d had with his dinner, combined with the six he’d consumed during the day.

“Please daddy, I-I’m sorry.”

The only reply is the vibration of his heavy boots as he storms down the hall, shaking the old house. She presses her hand to her mouth, muffling her cries as she dares a peek at her surroundings. A pitch black void greets her, no light to be seen, not even from the bottom of the door. Blindly she feels around, the sink to her right, the rusted toilet to her left. Sinking to her knees she wedges herself in the space between them, pulling her legs to her chest and wrapping thin arms around them.

She rests her head against the column of the sink, every small noise making her jump and squirm, her young imagination running wild. Hot tears cascade down her cheeks, getting caught in the hairs stuck to her face before sliding down her throat, finally drenching the neck of her night gown.

5 Years Ago

“Congratulations! You have worked extremely hard to get here, and I can see great potential in your future working here with the FBI.” The Superintendent, a short stocky man, who’s suit is a size too big, holds out his hand to the woman across from him. She’s schooled her features into a mask of calm and restraint. She shakes his hand firmly, quick and to the point.

“Thank you, sir. This is an opportunity of a life time for me, I do not wish to squander it.” Just barely, if he had blinked he would have missed it, does her lips twitch up at the corners. She’s dressed very plainly, black blouse with grey dress pants. The nicest clothing she owns in her sparse closet.

“You’ll be stationed close to home, for now. With high marks such as yours though, I can’t see you staying long should you request a transfer.” Turning the older man retrieves a small black badge book from his mahogany desk, her eyes trained on his movements with restrained elation. “Your credentials, Agent Smit.”

2 Years Ago

Jennifer Jareau, or JJ as she requested to be called, brings the young woman into the heart of the Quantico department. Her eyes are bright, turning slowly as she walks taking in every inch of the Bull Pen.

“It can be a little intimidating the first time, but you get use to it.” The blond smiles with a soft laugh, a stack of folders pressed to her chest as she tails behind. “It’s just this way to your desk.” She points towards an empty half cubical, the plain desk void of anything other than a computer and a gold name plate, displaying the name ‘Y/n Smith’.

“Thank you, JJ, for taking the time to show me around.” Y/n turns with a genuine smile, setting her purse and bag down on the small rolling chair.

JJ waves her hand dismissively, shaking her head. “It’s not a problem, I remember how it felt coming in here a bit green behind the ears. I’m glad to help, anytime.” Her blue eyes flicker over Y/n’s shoulder, her smile faltering. Y/n turns around, finding a stoic looking man staring down at them from the landing above. He’s wearing a fitted navy suit, raven black hair styled neatly yet a few strands still fall across his forehead. His brown eyes are hard and imposing.

“We have a case.” His voice is deep and smooth, like a fine whiskey, an air of superiority lacing those four simple words. His stance gives him away, hands resting on his hips and chin held high, let’s her know he must be the one in charge.

“SSA Aaron Hotchner this is Agent Y/n Smith.” JJ begins but he holds up his hand, his face hard and set with an unwavering determination.

“I’m aware of who this is, and what you are here to do. Gather the team and meet on the plane. We will debrief there.” And with that he’s gone.

Y/n turns to JJ, her mouth age slightly. “Is he… always like this?”

JJ forces a sympathetic smile, “Unfortunately, yes. But he means well. Come I’ll show you where we need to go.”

3 Months Ago

“How do you do it?” Garcia blurts the question out in the middle of the room, all eyes turning to look at her at once. Her cheeks grow a little darker under her blush as she realizes just how loud she had been.

“Do what?” Y/n asks back, spinning around in one of the chairs circling the table in the conference room. The team had just landed forty minutes ago, everyone decompressing with coffee and donuts, generously gifted to them by the bubbling blond herself. Y/n takes another sip of her black coffee as she waits.

“I’ve never seen you cry.”

The question startles Y/n momentarily, her mind going on the defense as she tries to come up with a suitable answer. Opening her mouth she closes it again as Reid begins, “Ya know she’s right. We work a lot of hard cases but you stay pretty stoic.”

Turning to the rest of the team she glances over their curious faces, her gaze snagging on Hotch. His eyebrow is cocked, but otherwise his expression is impassive, impossible to guess what he is thinking. He holds her stare, almost with a hint of a challenge and despite herself she drops her gaze first, clearing her throat.

“I-I don’t know. Just got a good emotional switch, is all.” Y/n shrugs her shoulder, tapping her fingers against the side of the mug resting between her palms. The heat is nice, seeing as the weather is turning and winter is right around the corner, the office is cold having been shut down for hours now, the clock on the wall reading 1 am.

“Some say that the reason others don’t cry as often or as much is because they are repressing their own emotions, or have a hard time connecting with them. Some just don’t have tear ducts.” She glares at Reid, that smart brain of his going to get him in trouble. Emily scoffs and turns on him in your defense, hand resting on her hip.

“Spencer.” She says his name drawn out and scolding, making him slouch slightly in his seat, appearing sheepish. Y/n holds up her hands, coming to Boy Wonders rescue.

“It’s fine, really though I’m just good at detaching myself, emotionally, from the situation. Emotions are frivolous things that can get in the way of an investigation.” She shrugs her shoulder, her demeanor convincing them she is uncaring of the topic.

“Titanic.” Derek suddenly pipes up. “I bet she cries at Titanic.”

The group laughs, Y/n forcing out one of her own as her heart starts to pound in her chest. Morgan and Emily turn on Spencer, lecturing him about what is appropriate to state facts about, while JJ and Garcia begin to clean up. Slowly chatter and shuffling turns to white noise, a ringing in Y/n’s ears filling their place.

She stares down at the table, shifting in her seat as she tries to squash the rising anxiety. Memories, harsh and bitter like her coffee, pelt her; her chest tightening uncomfortably. All the whole Aaron’s watchful gaze never leaves her face, her mask of indifference and solidarity cracking the longer she sits across from him.

Present Day

You stare out the window of your hotel room, the city is shrouded in darkness but there’s the eternal glow of the night life that makes the inky blackness not so suppressing. Chewing absently at your thumb nail you sway on your feel, comforting yourself with the gentle motion. Today had been hard, grueling and long, but in the end the good guys came out on top.

A knock at your door startles you out of your thoughts, your body stilling and instinctively your eyes travel to your gun resting on the end table. 3am is a little late for a visitor. Another knock spurs you into actions and you cross the shaggy green carpet to the door. Peaking through the peep whole your eyebrows furrow in confusion as you step back, pulling the door open with you.

Aaron Hotchner stands in the threshold, still wearing his suit from earlier minute the blazer. The off white compliments his complexion and raven hair. “Hotch?”

“You’re awake.” He doesn’t sound surprised, more so relieved.

“So are you.” You keep the door pressed to your body, concealing the thin tank top and sweatpants you’ve dressed in for bed.

“Yes, I am.” He looks past you into the small room before gesturing to it. “May I come in?”

You bite your lip, eyeing around him down the deserted hallway before nodding. “Yes, of course.” He steps in full and you close the door, turning quickly to the chair across the room, grabbing your jacket. You pull it on, zipping it part of the way before turning back to your boss. He’s looking around, that part of his brain he can never turn off analyzing every inch.

“So… what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask, going back to the spot you’d spent most of the night occupying.

“I wanted to let you know the hospital called. Jenny is going to be just fine.” He watches as your shoulders sink, a breath blowing through your nose as you visibly relax.

“That’s… That’s great to hear. Thank you.”

Jenny Campell, the 9 year old little girl abducted by her father, who was held hostage for two weeks in a remote part of Boston. She was severely dehydrated and would likely have lasting psychological problems from the abuse her father put her through; but she was alive, and the good guys had won.

“I wanted to talk to you… about the house.” Aaron’s head tilts slightly, as it always does when he’s approaching a subject he thinks may cause someone some uncomfort. You hold his gaze, crossing your arms over your chest, confused by where this could be going. Aaron clears his throat before he begins. “How did you know to look for a secret door?”

6 Hours Earlier

The house was dank smelling, clouds of dust swirled through the rays of light coming from the flash lights of the officers ahead of you. The house has been cleared, but something was missing, Charles Campell said his daughter was here, but where?

You circle back into the smallest bedroom, the voices of Hotch and Morgan floating through the open door as they try to discuss a new plan. The room was littered with trash, a twin sized bed sits in one corner, a large oak wardrobe opposite it. Children’s drawings adorn the peeling walls, and a dusty pink sign hangs above the bed frame, ‘Jenny Girl’.

You step closer to the armoire, newspapers and takeout boxes crunching under foot, as you shine your light over the furniture. It’s new, newer than anything else in the entire house making it stand out against the decay. It isn’t until you’re right beside it do you notice the scratches along the lime green paint.

The realization dawns on your like a bucket of ice water being thrown in your face and before you know it your yelling for your team mates. “Here! Hotch!” Your put your weight into the side of the wardrobe, pushing with everything you have as the two men rush into the room.

Morgan runs for the other side, pulling as Hotch takes up the space behind you, his arms caging you in as he pushes. The three of you move it easily, a small door, presumably to a crawl space, appears in the wall and you rush to pull it open. Morgan covers you with his gun drawn, giving you a nod to go before you yank the door open.

There, curled up in her side, is the little blond girl you all have been searching for. “Medic!” Hotch screams from above you, as you quickly moves towards the girl. She small and light, her hair matted and dirty like her blue night gown. You presses your fingers to the girls throat, a weak pulse answering.

~*~*~*~

“Y/n?” Hotch snaps you out do your thoughts, and you shake your head, clearing yourself of the memory.

“Sorry… I just… I knew there was something there, I won’t say I could sense it but my gut hasn’t lead me wrong, thus far.” Aaron nods, waiting to see if you will continue. “Charles isn’t a lier, his motivation for taking her were simple, revenge on her mother. Make her squirm and give him more parental rights. He never assumed she would get the police involved. Much less the FBI.”

“Jenny’s father is not only a drug user but a heavy drinker. Everything he had done was under the influence and when he was captured, and the substances in his system wore off he had gaps in his memories of what he did with Jenny. Explaining why he couldn’t tell us exactly where she was, just that she was at the house.” Hotch finishes for you.

“Exactly.” You pause, eyeing him over. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, in fact you did amazing in the field today. You worked out the clue no one else could’ve, and if it wasn’t for you there is no telling if we would have found Jenny in time. I’m extremely proud of you.” His praise makes something in your chest stir without your permission. Your clear your throat to speak, but he cuts you off. “But you didn’t answer my question. How did you know there would be a door behind the wardrobe?”

Your palms suddenly feel clammy, nervousness making your spine straighten. “I don’t know what you-.”

“You do realize I am the one that goes through ever personnel file before someone is permitted to work with my team, correct?” His voice doesn’t have that hard edge like it normally holds, in fact his entire demeanor is soft, calming. Almost like he’s trying to comfort a wounded animal.

You are the animal.

“Where are you going with this?”

“I know about your father, Y/n. I have seen the police reports, and I know you take cases with children very seriously and hold them close to your heart.” He takes a step forward and instinctively you move back, a look of hurt washing over his features. “I need you to tell me if you are alright, if this case was to much for you.”

~*~*~*~

The red lights of the ambulance quickly fade away through the woods, leaving the house illuminated only by the head lights of the surrounding cop cars. Aaron is removing his vest as he walks around watching as people file in and out of the house taping and marking things off.

He stops by the van, pulling the door open and throwing his vest inside, when he notices a figure standing off by themselves. He squints into the darkness along the side of the house, the person is hunched over, hands on their knees as their shoulder shake subtly. He scans the people around him, finding Morgan by the entrance to the house, on the phone with the rest of the team and the other 5 officers are accounted for. That leaves only you.

Slowly he moves closer just barely making out the sounds of you muffled crying over the noises of the others. Concern wipes through his body like lightning but before he can move any farther Morgan is yelling his name, startling you in the process.

You straighten up quickly, wiping your face with your jacket sleeves and Aaron retreats towards the others. Giving you your space without the fear of embarrassment of being caught.

~*~*~*~

Your face burns, cheeks bright pink. You open your mouth then close it again, a mixture of emotions tumbling around inside you.

Embarrassment, anger, hatred, regret, longing to finally let it all go. None of which are directly targeted at your boss but he’s the only thing in sight.

“How dare you.” You seethe, letting anger take over because it’s the easiest to roll with. “Don’t come to my room at all hours of the morning, trying to… to… get something out of me.” Your anger propels you forward and you find yourself inches in front of Hotch. He holds his ground, his hands moving to rest on his hips and you break eye contact long enough to glance at them.

“I’m asking you if you are alright.” Aaron’s voice has dropped, the timber low and you can’t help but like the sound of it. There’s no denying Aaron is a handsome man, but there’s always denying your feelings.

“I’m. Fine.” You ground out.

“Your lying to me.”

“Hotc-“

“Sweetheart.” The nickname catches you off guard, your eyes widening with surprise, breath trapped in your throat. Aaron takes the opportunity, his large hands cupping your face, giving you no other choice but to keep eye contact even as your body stiffens and a look of almost pain flashes across your face. “I know you’re lying to me because I am good at my job and so is everyone else here. You think we haven’t noticed your apprehension when it comes to a dark room? Or the way you always stand closer to the other females in the room, even if it’s just Spencer?”

Your hands find their way to his wrists, tugging but he stays firm, he isn’t hurting you but he’s going to make you listen. “Sto-.”

“Youre to comfortable placating than possibly rocking the boat for yourself. You never finish a cup of coffee because you hate it plain, you’d rather wonder around a new building than bother someone to ask where a room is, you dont open up to a single person because of your anxiety.” Hurt is written clearly on your features, hurt mixed with anger but before you can say anything Aaron steams ahead. “With that being said, you are one of my best profilers. I’ve seen you take on men twice your size and never bat a lash. Behavior like this doesn’t just come from nowhere. Something happened to you that made you this way.”

That unwelcoming pressure behind your eyes begins to overwhelm you, much like Aaron’s presence, his cologne infiltrating your nose with each ragged inhale. “What do you care? I’ve done just fine with how I am by myself, I don’t need you digging around for answers that will have no impact on you whatsoever.” Your voice comes out softer than you would have liked, making you hate yourself more.

“I care,” He emphasizes with a stroke of his thumb across your cheek, a foreign feeling on your skin. “Because I can not sit back and watch you hurt yourself like this.”

You scoff, trying again to pull away, managing to take a few steps back only for him to follow. A hand slips to the back of your neck, hot and heavy, holding you firmly in place. “You’re being dramatic, Hotchner.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

Eyebrows furrowing in confusion, you open your mouth only to realize you aren’t sure. “I… I had a snack in the car. On the way here.” It’s a lame excuse, and he sees right through it.

“I want to make you an offer.” His brown eyes search your face, the anger turning into confusion.

“An offer?”

“Yes, I’d like for you to hear me out before you make a decision. Okay?”

“If it means you will let me go, then yes.” You give his wrists one last tug and he relents, but not before giving your neck a final squeeze. You move until your back is against the window, the cold night air seeping through the glass and into your jacket.

Aaron sits down in the only chair before gesturing to the bed, “Why don’t you sit.” It’s more of a command than it is a suggestion, making you root to your spot, giving him your best disgruntled look that rivals his on a good day. Sighing he leans his elbows against his knees, scrubbing a hand across his face. He looks tired, the wear and tear off the job showing more and more. Dark circles from a lack of sleep, a few new greeting hairs You could have sworn weren’t there when this case began.

“Well?” You snap, throwing your hand up before letting it drop against your thigh. Aarons eyes slowly lift to yours, a look you are unfamiliar with lurking under his features as he reaches behind himself, pulling a folded piece of paper you hadn’t noticed before from his back pocket. He tosses it onto the bed and a thousand possibilities run through your mind all at once. Leave of absence? Demotion? Pink slip? “Hotch…”

“Go on. It isn’t going to bite you, honey.” He let’s a little bit of humor color his words and you shoot him a glare. You close the distance, snatching it off of the bed and unfolding it to realize it’s a few sheets stapled together. Your eyes nearly double their size, mouth falling open as you read the header.

‘Consent of Submission.’

Paragraphs make up the first page, the words jumbling together as you try to make sense of where this is heading. The next page is filled with bullet points, titled ‘Rules’. Eat three full meals a day, go to bed at an appropriate time, check in with how you are feeling; to name a few.

As you continue to stare at the paper, confusion and distraught winning the war of emotions on your face, Aaron begins speaking. “It’s a contract, between you and I. It will help you properly take care of your self and I will help enforce it.

“‘Submission’? Aaron… This is… What?” You begin to tremble with a vengeance, forcing you to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Yes, it will help you learn to regain some control over your trauma and your everyday life. It will help with the anxiety, depression, and emotional detachment you are facing.” He speaks so surely, like he has done this before, and maybe he has.

“You mean it will help you control me.” Your accusation doesn’t phase him, in fact he looks to calm for the situation. His long legs are stretched out in front of him, leaning back in his seat with his head propped on his first. A complete opposite juxtaposition to yourself.

“In a sense, it’s power exchange. Nothing happens without your explicit consent, which gives you the power in what we do. Where I have the power is how we navigate those consents, what we do, where we do it, and how.” He takes a deep breath, giving you a gentle smile. “I’ve found people in your type of situation benefited greatly from being able to let their brains turn off, not have to over think every step of the day. Just exist and let someone else… Take care of them.”

“And if I say I don’t want to sign this?” You slam the papers back on the bed, more to hide your shaking hands than anything.

“Then I will have you go to therapy within the BAU system.” He shrugs his shoulder feigning indifference, even though his heart is thumping wildly. He thought the days of this life style were behind him, no longer needed, but the moment you turned up on the plane, he knew. Your lips were pressed into a tight smile, your body language screaming how uncomfortable you were seated between Derek and Rossi, though you desperately tried to mimic the calm demeanor surrounding you. Something stirred awake in his chest that morning, and he’s just been bidding his time every since.

Your stomach churns, weighing out your options. Somehow the latter seems worse. You run your hands into your hair, blowing out a breath. “I’m not submissive Aaron, you know this. This job requires to much for this to be a possibility. I don’t… I don’t see how it could work.”

“I’m not saying you aren’t, but I think there are things you haven’t learned about yourself yet. As for our job this is not apart of that, this is separate. We will just be ourselves, nothing out of the ordinary.” He says all of this so sincerely, a part of you wants to trust him. But the part of you that says no one is to be trusted squares your shoulders.

“What do you want in exchange? How do I know you won’t use this as black mail, or some chip to hold over my head?

His eyebrows raise in surprise. “Sweetheart, There’s nothing I want in exchange, I’m trying to help you. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes.” You answer before you can even give it thought. Deflect, shut it down, move on. How you handle any sort of situation that strikes a little to close to home, that tries to dig out your weaknesses like he is doing now.

Aaron prepared for this, knew you would meet him with head on resistance, but also knew with the choices given what you would pick. You’ve gone back to staring at the papers, the wheels in your head turning at full force. He can guess within reason what you might be thinking, he had that same look on his face when he was introduced to the lifestyle all those years ago.

“Y/n.” Your eyes dart up to his, large and uncertain. “Give me a month, just one. If it doesn’t help, if it’s too much, then we call it quits.”

“Just one?” You echo back, Aaron nodding. He stands from his seat, large hand stretched out, palm facing the sky. This is crazy, wrong on so many levels. Not to mention the amount of trouble you both could end up in if someone so happen to come across this. Every fiber of your being screams the sentiment. But it’s your heart, though it bruises your ribs, that makes you place your hand in his. Aaron gently pulls you to your feet, making sure you have your balance before letting go.

“Go wash your face, then I want you in bed. You need to sleep.” Instantly you want to rebel against the order, the phrase ‘you don’t control me’ coming to mind but instead you turn on your heel. “Good girl.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice and your shoulders tense up, but you force yourself to walk into the restroom, closing the door a little to hard. You turn to the mirror, a woman with scarlet red cheeks stares back at you and you huff. What are you doing? Where has your brain gone? Groaning lowly you angrily grab for your face wash.

Coming back out into the room, dabbing at your face with a hand towel, you find the room is lit only by the bedside lamp. Aaron, with the contract in his hands, looks up when he hears you. Your hand tightens around the scratchy white towel as a small smile tugs his lips up. “You look beautiful even without the makeup.”

You roll your eyes, tossing the towel into the small tub behind you. “A very typical male complement, Hotch.” You quip, glancing towards your bed. The covers have been turned down, and there’s a glass of water on the night stand.

“Here.” Aaron holds out a pen, and the paper, suddenly your hands have never been so clammy.

“I thought you said we would just try this for a month. Why do I need to sign?” You skirt around him, fidgeting with your jackets zipper. You can feel your heart beat everywhere, from your fingertips to the bottom of your bare feet.

“To protect us both, either you sign or there’s no deal and you go to therapy.” Skin bristling you spin around, whatever you were about to snap suddenly dissolving on your tongue. His chest is mere inches from your face, forcing you to tilt your head back to look him in the eye. He never seemed this tall from across the room. “You’re wearing my patience thin, little one.” The heady rasp of his voice as he whispers to you makes your stomach clench, for an entirely new reason.

Begrudgingly you take the pen and paper, pressing it to his chest to bear down on as you scrawl out your name on the little line. You notice his signature is already on the other side.“There. Happy?”

He holds your stare for a moment longer, and you think he might say something more before he steps back, taking everything with him. “We will go over everything at breakfast, we have an appointment with Jenny and her mother Clair at noon.”

Your eyebrows come together as he reaches the door, pulling it open. “I thought the teams going home today?”

“They are. I have paper work that needs to be done and you are my only child psychologist. Goodnight, Y/n.” He smiles as he closes the door behind himself, relishing in the shock written on your face.

#smut #apollyonsdarksecrets #criminal minds #criminal minds aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch smut #aaron hotch x reader #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfiction

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mermaidgirl30 · 9 months ago

Text

✨Just Breathe: The Dinosaur Diaries✨

✨Part 1: Introductions✨

Series Masterlist

A/N: One of my favorite things is writing about the first time Joel and reader meet, so this is how their story starts off 💚

Chapter Summary: It’s your first day at Sauros Corporation as a research assistant, but what you don’t know is you’ll be working under one of the hottest paleontologists that you’ve ever laid eyes on. Can you keep your wits about yourself, or will you fall fast for your smooth talking boss?

Pairing: paleontologist! Joel x fem researcher! reader

Word Count: 3k

Rating: 18+

Chapter Tags: Reader starts her first day as a research assistant, feelings, Joel being a casual flirt, Joel in a lab coat and glasses, mentions of Jurassic Park, allusions to smut, eventual smut, Joel is so broad, Jurassic Park au, science terminology I had to look up

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Your palms sweat as you enter the intimidating glass building of Sauros Corporation. One of the biggest, most well known science businesses that specializes in paleontology. What you got your master’s in. You strive to continue on to get your PhD, but first you need to get a little work experience. So that’s why you’re here in this massive corporation that might just eat you alive.

Your black heels click against the polished white tile as fluorescent lights reflect off the cascading glass windows. You pull at your pressed pink dress and flex your fingers around the soft cotton as nerves rush down your body. Today was the most important day of your life. A gateway to your future, your dream job that you’ve wanted for your entire life. This was it. It was finally here.

When you walk up to the pearlescent marble front counter, a bubbly blonde girl smiles and stands from her office chair. “Hi there. How can I help you?”

You show her your work ID badge that you had gotten in orientation and respond, “This is my first day here. I’m here for…”

Her eyes brighten the moment she sees your name on the shiny badge. “Oh! You’re the new research assistant. Doctor Miller has been so eager to meet you! Your interviewer, Kylie, couldn’t stop talking about you to him. He’s already spoken so highly of you. He looked at your resume and everything,” she gushes as she comes around the bright desk and smoothes her pencil skirt down.

“He’s talked about me? Who is Doctor Miller?” you ask as you knit your eyebrows together and step back as she passes in front of you. You knew of Doctor Kepler, who you thought you’d be working under. But Doctor Miller? You never heard of him before, at least you don’t think.

“He’s who you’ll be working under,” she smiles warmly as she nods her head and signals for you to follow behind as her blonde hair bounces down her shoulders. “He’s our best scientist in the department, I’m sure you’ll love him.”

“How long has he been working here?” you ask as you pass through the lavish halls that are covered in glass framed pictures of dinosaur bones and biology cells.

“Over five years, he’s the best of the best. If you want to be a great scientist then he’s the perfect one to practice under. And you’re so lucky,” she beams as she looks back at you with big crimson lips.

“Why’s that?” you laugh as the click of heels echo down the lit up halls.

“Because,” she stops before entering the pad locked doors where only authorized personnel can get through, “he’s ridiculously good looking, but don’t tell him I said that.” She winks at you before turning to the glowing padlock.

Just what were you getting yourself into? Doctor Miller? Was he really all she talked him up to be? And was he really impressed by your resume and talks of your interview? Guess you’d find out.

She scans her badge and with a click of the door, they part open as she pushes herself through the strong metal doors. Your eyes scan over the expansive lab as your breath hitches in your throat. The lab is absolutely enormous. Colorful test tubes fill various racks on the metal shelves along the cream colored walls. Microscopes line the tables that fill the center of the room. Petri dishes with different organisms in them sit in glass refrigerators, sturdy dinosaur bones sit displayed in glass cases, and expensive scientific materials cover the room. It’s all intimidating as you step through your new work space.

“Right over here,” she smiles as she leads you to the middle of the room where two men stand around a fluorescence microscope.

Your eyes peel over the tall man that adjusts the lense while he talks confidently to his coworker. You listen as his deep voice carries through the room. “There we go. Think I got it just right this time. The edges are perfect, can actually see the cementum where those tiny black dots are. Fascinatin’,” he says in awe as he adjusts the microscope lense again to get a better look.

You study the man in front of you, watching the way his broad shoulders shift everytime he moves his arms. The white lab coat seems to cling to large muscles. He’s so very large and tall, very tall. Standing just above six feet. And his hands. Big, thick hands of a paleontologist for sure.

Just when you start to get lost in his words, the girl who had brought you back into the room interrupts their conversation. She clears her voice and steps forward as platinum blonde hair swishes behind her shoulders. “Doctor Miller? Sorry to interrupt, but there’s someone here to meet you.”

He turns quickly and adjusts his thick, rimmed glasses against his curved nose and smiles gently. You suck in a breath when you see his face, his smile, his eyes. He’s so gorgeous that you think you might fall over and knock a bunch of expensive lab equipment over.

He has the most beautiful chocolate brown eyes that you’ve ever seen before. His hair is tousled, curls spilling onto his forehead, dark brown with strings of grey twisting around each strand. His facial hair looks soft to the touch, salt-and-pepper scruff patching along his sharp jawline. And his smile. God, his smile. It’s so gentle and bright that it lights a fire inside your core. And he’s so broad. Strong muscles pulling against the white lab coat that clings to tanned skin. He’s the hottest scientist you’ve ever seen in your life, and you’re working under him?!

“Oh, you must be my new research assistant, yeah?” he asks as he smiles gently and says your name, pushing himself off the metal table as he starts making his way over to you. You feel like you’re about to topple over at any moment.

“That’s me,” you say shyly as you push a lock of hair behind your ear, a nervous habit you wish you wouldn’t do.

“Well, so nice to meet you,” he drawls, a Southern accent that rings through your ears like a sweet melody that was made just for you. He sticks his arm out and opens his palm for you to take. You automatically reach out to shake his hand, your own hand shaking as you’re completely intimidated by the hot scientist that stands in front of you.

When he clasps his fingers over yours and squeezes, you gulp as you look up into beautiful honey glazed eyes. Eyes that you could wade in and get lost in. His hands are so big, calloused fingers grazing against yours as you feel nerves pulling at every fiber in your body. He probably does a lot with those hands. Hands of an experienced, successful, gorgeous paleontologist.

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Doctor Miller,” you say in a daze.

“Jus’ Joel is fine. You don’t have to call me Doctor Miller, unless you want to,” he mutters softly.

“Oh okay, Joel…” you answer barely above a whisper, your palm sweating from how close he is.

He lets his hand linger in yours for a few seconds too long, and you swear he’s staring deep into your eyes as you see the glint of a sparkle flash in the flecks of light brown. When he releases his grip, he runs a hand slowly through his tousled, thick curls and just for that moment you wonder what it’d be like to be underneath his large body, running your own fingers through messy, soft curls…

“I took a look at your resume the other day. I was quite impressed by what I saw.”

Your eyes go a little wide at what he just said. “Impressed? Of me?” you ask, floored by the obvious compliment. He was impressed with you?

“Mhm,” he smiles as he pulls at the sleeves of his pristine lab coat, “straight A student, top of your class? And you went to the dig site in Montana to do some research last summer? Very impressive.”

He stares at you a moment with one eyebrow cocked up, his eyes flicking over your figure as you swear he checks you out. Your cheeks burn red as he looks so intently at you, and it’s in that moment that you don’t know how you’ll ever work with this man. He’s so distracting, all you want to do is get lost in those syrupy brown eyes.

“I umm... I’m not that impressive,” you say shyly as you look nervously up at him.

“Oh, but you are. M’sorry if you were lookin’ forward to workin’ with Doctor Kepler, but I kinda convinced him to let me take you under my wing instead. Yours was the most impressive resume of them all, and trust me when I say I read them all.”

“Oh.” Your eyes widen and every bone in your body stiffens as you take in what he just said. He thinks you’re smart? He wanted you to work under him. Oh, fuck. “No, I… I’m sure I’ll enjoy you just as much as I would him.” Your cheeks glow red as you turn your head when you hear him chuckling under his breath. Did you really just say that out loud? Christ.

“C’mere. Wanna show you somethin’.” He nods his head as a tousled curl bounces against the side of his forehead, and you follow him over to the table that has the microscope all set up with a tiny fossil underneath.

“Go ahead,” he says with a nod to his head, asking you to look through the ocular lense.

You nervously walk up and dip your head down as you close one eye and focus intently on the fossil that sits beneath the lense. You take in the yellow tint of the amber, examine each particle that makes up the masterpiece of what sits beneath you, study exactly what you think it is.

Joel’s honeydew voice comes out deep and raspy as it stirs you to jump in your skin. “Let me pick your brain a minute. I wanna know if you can figure out what fossil that right there is,” he says as he comes to stand right beside you.

His hand presses against the base of the microscope, and you feel his warm breath run down the side of your neck. You can feel his body heat reverberate against yours as you start to breathe faster. Your mind is a blur as his body weight shifts against the counter, his lab coat brushing against the side of your arm as you hold tight to the tube of the microscope. It’s so hard to focus on what’s in front of you when his large, all consuming presence is right next to you. He’s not even touching you, and you’re already all worked up, and you know your thighs are sticky from sweat. What the hell is wrong with you?

“Hmm, let me think a minute,” you say as you try to depict what sits in front of you. You squint your eye as you try to register what sits underneath the glow of the fossil. There’s a small beak-like impression as you assess dark lines that almost looks like a hummingbird.

“It almost looks like… wait, maybe if I can get a closer look I can see,” you murmur as you continue to assess the shiny fossil.

“Here, let me jus’ fix this.” His large hand comes to sit on your shoulder as he pushes you carefully away from the eyepiece. His patchy scruff brushes against the side of your cheek, and you gasp at how close he is to you. You feel tension in your shoulders as you watch him adjust the dials to the right on the lense as he carefully looks through with one eye closed.

You watch him with bated breath, your eyes lock on his broad figure, thick fingers brushing against the crevice of the lense. You wonder what it’d feel like to be pinned underneath those strong arms, his thick fingers exploring every inch of your sweltering skin as he consumes you with the entirety of his mouth.

Fuck. This man is your boss, you can’t be having wet fantasies about him. He’s off limits, it can’t happen. You need to be professional, but why is it so hard to clear your clouded mind? He’s good looking, smart, nice. That does not give you the right to fantasize about him. Get a fucking grip on yourself for Christ’s sake. Enough.

“Ahh there we go. Go on now, take another peek.” He places his hand gently over the small of your back and pushes you forward as your breath hitches at the hand that burns through your dress and goes straight down to your skin that’s tingling from him.

You shake your head and get yourself composed as you lower your head and focus back on the fossil that’s waiting for you to examine. Your eyes widen as you see so much more clearly, the bright light shining straight through the yellow glow of the fossil as you can see exactly what’s in front of you now.

You gasp as you realize what it is. “No way! Is that an Oculudentavis? The smallest dinosaur to ever walk the planet?” You hear him chuckle and look up to see him smiling down at you.

“Very good,” he smiles as he gives you another once over glance, making your heart thump loudly in your chest as his honey eyes slip over you. “Now, how did you know that?” he asks curiously as he ticks his jaw and cocks an eyebrow up.

“I read a lot,” you shrug as you bite your lower lip. His eyes drop down to your glossy lips, and it makes you burn with need. Focus.

“Yeah, I’m sure ya do,” he chuckles as he leans against the table and crosses his arms over his broad chest.

“How old is this fossil?” you ask wondrously as your eyes flick back to the ancient fossil.

“Over fifty million years old,” he replies as his eyes weigh carefully on you. “Y’know, it’s not really a bird like everyone suspected it to be. It’s actually a genus of a lizard.”

“Fascinating,” you say dreamily as you lean up against the table and bump the side of your hip as your eyes train solely on him.

“It came from the domain Eukaryota, and the phylum it belongs to is Chordata. Funny how the Latin words revolve around a bird when really it’s a reptile. Some scientists even argue whether it was really a dinosaur or just a large lizard. But if you wanna hear my voice on the matter, I say it was a dinosaur.” He winks at you, and you feel your cheeks flush crimson again as you slip another lock of hair behind your ear and clear your throat before you decide to be a complete puddle on the floor.

“Think you’re right, Doctor Miller,” you respond shakily.

“Jus’ Joel, darlin’.”

Darlin’? Christ, a pet name? Or maybe it was just his Southern hospitality. But whatever it was made you weak at the knees.

“Joel…” you repeat, letting the name slip against your tongue as you swallow all feelings of want and desire down your throat. You are not falling for your boss.

“Attagirl,” he smirks.

Fuck.

“So, you want to be a real paleontologist?” he asks as his eyes flicker down to yours.

“Mhm,” you nod as you shift your weight in your heels.

“So tell me, how do you feel about real dinosaurs?” he asks as he shifts his weight to stand in front of you, his arms still crossed tight against the fabric of the button-up green flannel underneath his lab coat.

“Real dinosaurs?” you question as you knit your eyebrows together and try to decipher his question.

“That’s right. Real dinosaurs.” He smirks and the glisten in his chocolate coated eyes are pressing into yours like he knows something you don’t, and he’s chuckling about it in front of your face.

“Ummm I mean, I’m in the field trying to study them. I’d say I love them?” Your answer is hesitant as you still question him. What does he mean real dinosaurs?

“Well, guess it’s your lucky day cause your first assignment is about Stegosauruses.”

Your eyes shift to his as yours widen just a smidge. “What’s the assignment about?”

“Guess you’ll find out when we get there,” he chuckles as he adjusts his glasses and moves just enough to brush his arm against yours. You step out of the danger zone and pull yourself together instead of staring down into forearms that are filled with thick, twisting veins against tanned skin.

“Get where?” you ask carefully as you slide your tongue against the bottom of your teeth.

“To Jurassic Park. Home of the dinosaurs. Real dinosaurs,” he smirks as you see trouble brewing in those dark eyes of his. He’s going to get you into trouble with those honey eyes and sly smirk, you just know it.

“Real dinosaurs? But they’re… they’re extinct,” you whisper as you raise your eyebrows in question.

“Not at Jurassic Park they’re not,” he teases as he crosses his arms again. You just stare speechless at him as you get the feeling this man would never lie to you.

“So, how ‘bout it? My new research partner wanna go on a little adventure with me? Promise I’ll make it worth your while,” he smirks as you taste trouble on just his words alone.

And that’s where the adventure started, right there in his gigantic lab. Right when you saw those gorgeous brown eyes. You knew. This is where it’d all begin.

Tags: @amyispxnk @sawymredfox @burntheedges @mountainsandmayhem @littlevenicebitch69 @vivian-pascal @pedrostories @survivingandenduring @msjarvis @syd-djarin @mothandpidgeon @eugenedream @cozylittlepigeon @marvlstark @rav3n-pascal22

Please consider reblogging or leaving me a comment if you enjoyed. Reblogging is the only way for our work to reach others 🩷

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel x female reader #tlou fanfiction #joel miller pedro pascal #jurassic park au #jurassic park #paleontologist! joel #dinosaur au #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller au #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #no outbreak au #no outbreak!joel miller #no use of y/n

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rubberizer92 · 27 days ago

Text

✨ The Silver Titan emerges. Clad in a skin-tight metallic latex suit, every inch of his physique radiates power, precision, and perfection. This is no mere man—he is a living sculpture, a symbol of dominance wrapped in reflective glory. 🖤🔥

The light cascades down, highlighting every sculpted muscle, every flawless contour of his body. His presence commands attention; his gaze dares you to look away. Beneath the polished exterior lies a man of strength, discipline, and allure—unstoppable and unyielding. 💪✨

In this world, latex isn’t just a material; it’s a second skin, a badge of confidence and control. Are you ready to step into his world and feel the transformative power of the suit? Don’t just admire—be inspired. 🔗

https://ko-fi.com/rubberizer92/commissions

#rubber #ai generated #muscles #jock #sexy #ai

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hotchs-big-hands · 1 year ago

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The Slaughterhouse

Part 1|Part 2

Aaron Hotchner x plus-size!fem reader 7k words

Minors dni please

Warning(s): VERY DARK, graphic murder description, injury, gore, blood, fatphobia, extreme angst (with a happy ending), sort-of enemies to lovers, kidnapping, torture, references to SA, derogatory nsfw comments. Oh and I use the word fat because I personally reclaimed it to not rly insult me as it is merely a descriptive word. I do not use it in an insulting way even once in the series.

Please heed the warnings, this series is going to be dark asf. No smut in this series tho.

An escalating string of gruesomely murdered fat women begin to stack up with no end in sight. What started as an unfortunate routine case for the BAU team, takes a disturbing turn as you become entangled in the unsub's web, danger approaching closer and closer. It's only a matter of time before it's too late to bring the madness to an end.

Hello!!! It's been a bit since part 1 but here we are! My brain is fried but it is what it is. I hope you all enjoy this second part!!

The sounds of people talking outside nearby where a bar and restaurant was, was the only noise when you shut your mouth tight, apart from the pulsing of your heartbeat in your ears. Hotch was staring at you, processing your words. He blinked slowly.

"What do you mean?" He finally asked, his brows pulling together. You shifted around uncomfortably under his dark eyed gaze.

"I mean it's not on my person."

You skittered towards your bag and all but emptied it entirely, sifting through your belongings in an attempt to find the palm sized FBI badge. But aside from embarrassingly showing your undergarments you'd packed to your boss, there was no sign of it. You swallowed and glanced at him.

"I'll check the car you arrived in. Take your shower for now." He said.

With a hesitant nod, you watched him grab the car keys from his jacket pocket and rush out of the room. Exhaling, you returned to the shower room and decided to do as he said, undressing quickly and turning the water on. Upon the temperature reaching the level you preferred, you stepped under the spray and let it cascade down your form for a moment, tilting your head back and letting out a quiet groan. You hadn't realised how tense you'd become over the duration of the day. With your bottle of your favourite scented shower gel, you lathered up and began to massage your tight muscles gently. You didn't want to take too long as you were certain your roomie would no doubt want to take a shower of his own.

When you felt sufficiently clean you switched the water off and stepped out, grabbing your towel to begin drying yourself off. You dressed quickly, strongly regretting your choice of sleep attire even more so when you finally glanced at your reflection wearing it. Entirely inappropriate for your boss to see, you thought as your eyes trailed over the faded baggy crop top and tight pajama shorts that ended just below your rump. But there was nothing else you could do now, so with a sigh you grabbed your discarded clothes and wash bag after you'd hanged your towel up to dry and exited the shower room. Hotch had returned at some point looking frazzled as he paced the length of the room. He paused when you stepped out into the main space. He was frowning, only for him to raise a brow for a split moment when he took in your appearance..

"It's not in the car."

You felt your lower lip twitch.

"Oh. I'll have a look in the station tomorrow then." You mumbled, dipping your head slightly. “I’ll uhm, message the others and ask them if they’ve seen it too.”

Hotch puffed out air from his nostrils.

"Make sure you do, (L/n), this is highly irresponsible of you to lose it." He grunted in response. You blinked rapidly, you would not cry.

"Shower's all yours." You managed to choke out and you rushed towards your side of the bed. You heard him sigh.

"Thanks."

You dared not turn around until you heard the click of the shower room lock, to which you shakily exhaled and stuffed your dirty clothes into the bottom of your go bag. You were positively feeling like the biggest idiot right now, what the hell kind of FBI agent loses their credentials?! You hadn't heard of this happening before. Would you be reprimanded? Be forced to stay working in the office? What if you were deemed unsuitable for the job now and fired?? You hated the thought, a wave of nausea hitting you as coldness sunk deep into your stomach.

No. You wouldn't allow this to happen. You'd check the police precinct tomorrow, it would be okay.

With a resigned sigh, you decided to observe the room around you in an attempt to settle your mind.

As the vast majority of hotels you stayed in, it wasn’t overly decorated. The walls were a dull, pale grey which would give you a headache if you stared at them for too long under the pathetic excuse of a ceiling light. There were only a few canvases on the wall, the art uninspiring and forgettable as they hung slightly crooked. There was a single wooden table and uncomfortable chair towards the farside of the room, already occupied by your boss’ varying paperwork he never seemed to be without, no matter what. There was a simple flatscreen attached to the wall, usually unused by yourself and evidently by your temporary roommate as well. A small closet boasted nothing of interest, but the one thing that stood out was the floor length mirror, which stood near the bed. The placement was certainly… a choice.

You huffed out a breath as you settled down on the bed, laying down on your side facing away from the shower room and your eyes drifted towards the mirror again. You didn’t know why it took your brain so long to register what reflected for you to see until a moment too late; you had a perfect view of that door- and now it was open. Your eyes widened at the view of Aaron Hotchner towelling his short, dark hair dry and leaving it sticking up in odd directions. But that wasn’t the only thing your attention was drawn to.

The white tee shirt shaped around his arm muscles and his broad body, slightly damp from his dewy skin and revealing his, admittedly delicious, physique. You desperately wanted to- no, needed to- close your eyes right now and yet they remained open, drifting down the soft swell of his stomach until they met his underwear, tightly stretched around his strong thighs from the many years of running and cycling the man had partook in. He was certainly…endowed.

“I can see you too, you know.” Hotch’s slightly gruff, tired voice startled you and you met his eye in the mirror. Something flashed in those dark eyes and you felt your cheeks warm.

“Was thinking, sorry.”

“Mhm.”

The bed dipped under the man’s weight as he crawled onto the mattress, tucking under the covers with a quiet grunt. Your heart was pounding and you could only hope he wouldn’t be able to hear or feel it. There was quiet for a moment, then you cleared your throat.

“I… good night, sir.” you mumbled. You felt Hotch shift beside you as he strained to switch the light off.

“Good night.” you heard him respond quietly, and then you were plunged into darkness. You had no idea how the fuck you were meant to get some sleep now.

However, it wasn't until the racing of your heart awoke you that you realised you most certainly had managed to finally doze off. But that wasn't the only thing you realised, with the scenes of your dream seared into your mind causing your chest to heave.

Why, of all times, did your brain have to make you dream of that? How embarrassing, you thought, and attempted to shift to a different position. Which was when you realised your blanket was heavy and your pillow far too warm. Then you heard him.

“Nngh… What is it?” he murmured, voice heavy and deep with sleep. His arm draped over your back tightened a little, pulling you closer to rest your head more on his chest. Surely, he would feel your frantic heart rate. You had to respond quickly so as not to arouse suspicion.

“Everything’s f-fine. Just go back to sleep.”

He grumbled and the grip tightened a little more when you made a second attempt to move.

“No… comfy.” his words slurred as he drifted back to sleep. Oh fuck. Trying to calm your breathing, you embraced the notion you were unmoving from his embrace now.

“Alright, tell me everything.” Emily greeted you the following morning as you made your way to the SUVs in the hotel parking lot after awkwardly navigating around your boss that morning. You scowled.

“Well good morning to you too.”

The dark haired woman grinned at you.

“You’re dodging my question.”

“You didn’t ask me anything.” you said quickly. Emily lightly shoved you in the shoulder with her hand and pulled an exaggerated pout.

“You’re still avoiding answering me.”

A defeated sigh passed your lips.

“Nothing actually happened. Well, besides sharing a bed because our room only had one in it.” you spoke quickly and quietly so as to not garner attention from the others. “It’s a big bed to be fair but still…”

Excitement sparkled in Emily’s eyes, a glint that caused the hair on your arms to raise. You were grateful when you spotted the younger men of the team; Derek and Spencer, exit the lobby and rush towards you. With one final warning glance at your devious friend, you opened your car door when you heard the lock click and ultimately, the moment was over.

“Any luck finding your credentials?” You heard JJ ask you as she approached the car. It would seem the five of you were travelling together today. You shook your head.

“No. I’m gonna have to check at the station.”

“That’s too bad, we could help you if you’d like.” Spencer offered and you smiled slightly, but declined.

“It’s okay. We have more important things to be doing anyway.”

The drive was unmemorable but allowed you some reprieve from a difficult night trying to sleep. But now came the task of trying to find that damn FBI badge. Deep down you already knew it wasn’t in the station, but there were no other options other than to check anyway. It was humiliating, what FBI agent lost their badge? Certainly none you had ever heard about before. Whilst your teammates were in the other room setting up for the day and firing off ideas, here you were frantically searching around whilst police officers leered at you. Eventually, you had to give up. But… that meant you had to inform Hotch you couldn’t find it.

You felt slightly shaky as you entered the spacious office the others were in and it was as though immediately all eyes were on you; it made your heart rate spike uncomfortably. His presence was around you then as he crossed the room to stand before you and you swallowed. You dared not look up at him, but you knew what his expression would be right now as he folded his arms across his broad chest.

“I hope you’re about to tell me you found your badge and that it isn't missing, agent.” he said abruptly, making you clench your hands into fists.

“Sir, I have tried searching. I’ve asked people and tried my best to find it but-”

“-So you’ve lost it then.” Hotch cut you off. “In all my time working in the FBI, I have never encountered an agent who was incompetent enough to lose their badge.”

You let out a quiet gasp, a cold feeling dropping into the pit of your stomach. Around you, several of the others had risen from their seats to mitigate the situation.

“Hotch…” You absently heard from behind the man towering over you, but you couldn’t pay the speaker any mind.

“Sir, I-”

“I don’t think you understand the severity of this, agent.” He cut you off as he stepped closer, dark eyes boring down into yours, “I’m not sure if I can allow you to work on the case until it is found, (L/n). This is highly irrespo-”

This time, you spoke before he could finish you spoke desperately, heart pounding in your chest.

“-Sir! You can’t kick me off the case, I didn’t intentionally lose it! We need everyone working on this one.” you said, earning a disapproving furrow of Hotch’s brow. But just as the man opened his mouth to speak, a hand pressed against his chest and lightly pushed him back, and it was then you realised Rossi had rushed over to separate the both of you.

“Aaron, back off. You know she is still capable of doing her job, badge or no badge.”

Hotch turned his head in the direction of the older agent, his chest puffing as he drew in a sharp breath.

“Dave, this was highly irresponsible of her to lose it-”

“And we can deal with the repercussions of this later but right now we have a case to work on.” The man countered, his tone firm but uncruel. The unit chief exhaled, closing his eyes for a mere moment as he slightly nodded.

“Right,” he glanced at you, the frustrated furrow of his brow dissipating. “Excuse me.”

Without so much as barely brushing against you, Hotch left the room and you stumbled back, overwhelmed by the emotions crashing down on you. Rossi reached out to steady you, bringing you back to reality. And then the sudden flush of tears sprang up in your eyes, making them sting.

“I-I-”

“You’re alright,” Rossi said calmly, holding onto your arms as he pulled you further into the room. “Aaron has been stressed about the badge more than he’ll admit. I’ll handle him though.”

You barely comprehended the others moving around the room until a plastic cup of cold water was gently pushed into your hands and you met the slightly blurred face of JJ as she smiled hesitantly at you.

“Come on, sit over here.”

You sniffled and sipped on the water.

“I should clean up in the restroom.” you murmured. Emily strode towards you immediately.

“Want me to come along?”

You shook your head.

“It’s okay. You guys should focus on the work anyway. I’ll be quick.”

Finishing the cup of water quickly, you didn’t wait for an answer and instead turned away to head out of the room. Your mind swirled, however. Maybe you should have just agreed to stay at Hotch’s side on this one, then perhaps you wouldn’t have ended up doing something as stupid as losing your FBI badge. But now not only was it still missing but he was angry with you, too. You dreaded the following days sharing a hotel room with him for a whole other reason at this point. You sighed as you pushed the door to the restrooms open and trudged over to one of the sinks to splash some cool water onto your face. There was nothing else you could do about that for now.

Not really feeling much better, you exited the restroom and returned to the others. He had not returned. With a resigned sigh, you turned your attention to the boards covered in the stomach-churning photographs of the victims. Beside you, Rossi sidled up.

“Any thoughts?” he asked. You cleared your throat.

“Well… one thing in common these women have, apart from having a similar body type to one another, is their body language in photos.” You began, pointing at the images of the victims from when they were alive. “If you study how they pose, the position they take in groups, their general demeanour; they are very uncomfortable. They don’t enjoy being noticed or the centre of attention.”

The man beside you tilted his head slightly as he studied the images with you.

“Insecurity?”

“Yes.”

“The others never mentioned that.” Rossi countered and you exhaled through your nose sharply.

“I figured. But I mean… this helps us to figure out the profile, right?”

The both of you glanced at one another and he nodded slightly.

“I’ll call Aaron in, ask the others to gather the officers so we can deliver the profile.” he said with a final nod, then he pulled his phone from his pocket and stepped away. Behind you, the rest of the team were gathering and you turned to them with a shuddering breath.

“Figured out a profile.”

There were far too many pairs of eyes upon you now with the station of officers and chiefs gathering before you. But the one pair that unnerved you the most was in the far back, staring intensely in the dim corner of the open bullpen you all resided in. This was your one chance to prove to Hotch you were still highly capable of working, and right now you were unsure you felt entirely confident you could.

You cleared your throat and turned your head to Rossi, who was joining you with the task. He smiled faintly and you wrinkled your nose nervously as you returned to address the room.

“We believe we have an idea of the type of person we are looking for,” you said confidently, eyes drifting around the room. “The unsub is a white male in his late twenties to early thirties, of above slightly more average attractiveness but not too attractive.”

Rossi continued on from you with ease.

“This is important, our victims would not have had the best confidence and so they would not trust following or even talking to someone who appeared far more attractive than the average person.”

“Pfft, I wonder why that is.” One of the officers out front muttered, elbowing the man next to him. Your brows furrowed, and you noted Emily and Derek moving towards the pair- only to be surprised when Hotch beat them to it as he sneered down at the men.

“I would be quiet, if I were you.” he hissed, glaring darkly with those deep brown eyes of his.

“Y-yeah…” the one who had originally spoken shifted uncomfortably in his seat. You glanced up, realising Hotch was watching you carefully. You offered a slight nod and drew in a deep breath.

“The unsub has a clear and distinct dislike for fat women in particular, as evident with the brutality of the killing. The wounds and draining of blood suggests experience with such things, so it would be a good idea to check on facilities that require such skills.”

“Why would the victims go with him if they had such a low opinion of themselves?” the chief of police questioned you. You sighed.

“When you’re someone who has gone through a life of rejection, of no one showing interest in you it affects you greatly.” Your eyes flicked to Hotch, of whom was a little closer this time, but quickly looked away when you met his stare. “But if someone shows apparent genuine interest in you, much like I think this unsub does to lure the victims, you can’t help but let your guard down and let that person get closer to you. You trust them.”

“Sounds like victim blaming.”

You felt your lip twitch. “Actually, I speak from a place of experience.”

Fuck, you needed a moment of respite. Sensing your discomfort, Rossi continued and finished the profile, leaving you to thank the police department for sitting through the profile. Your tight-lipped smile faded as soon as people began to stand and walk away and you exhaled, shaking your head to yourself as you processed everything.

The others approached you, Emily reaching you first and she smiled kindly.

"Not bad. I think you did a good job there." She said.

With a shrug you adjusted your clothing and turned to the board.

"Did my best."

Derek approached now with a creased brow of concern.

“Is it true? Y’know, about knowing from experience.” He asked you softly. Your eyes darted around and your body tensed upon the sight of Hotch speaking just out of range to the police chief, only to lock eyes with you once more.

“I… Now isn’t really the time to talk about that, don’t you think?”

Following your line of sight, he quirked his head and blinked slowly.

“Fair enough, we’ve got your back though, sweets.”

A faint smile dusted your lips in appreciation before it fell and you exhaled. It was then your leader approached, his face stony. Embarrassingly, you busied yourself with grabbing your casefile and flicking it open, hoping to appear invisible to the man. But of course, the cards were against you.

“(L/n).” You heard Hotch call out. You lifted your head up, eyes widening a little.

“Yes, sir?”

His expression was unreadable, but he nodded once at you. “You did very well with the profile, even with interruptions.” he said.

Oh. In return you smiled shyly and shifted from one foot to the other.

“Thank you, sir.”

An unfamiliar emotion swept across his face, only for him to quickly turn his attention to the rest of the BAU. You couldn’t help but feel a dullness in your chest but you tried to ignore it. There was work to still be done.

Irritably, the unsub had been elusive; no evidence on the bodies or a location they possibly could have been murdered before being dumped around the area. Rossi and yourself had even visited the butcher’s shop in town for leads, given the skill suggested in the murders. But in the end they came back with nothing. With nothing else to go by, it came down to the one thing the team hated most: waiting for the killer to strike again. And strike they did two days later.

There was a tension rising terribly between yourself and Hotch at this point, it was clear he was very much thinking about the lost FBI badge understandably, but something else hung over you both, an undeniable looming feeling that made hotel room sharing an even more difficult affair. Every night you found yourself waking up and curled up to him, his arm laid over your plush waist and your head on his chest. He never mentioned it to you, in the morning he was already out of bed by the time you awoke, suit pristine and the man heading out the door to give you privacy to get ready for the day ahead.

But unlike the other days you awoke, your alarm hadn’t gone off and this time the room was empty. Hotch was nowhere to be seen, the room felt absent of his presence. It was… off. Instinctively, you grabbed your phone from the nightstand beside you and pulled up the group chat, feeling your heart sink immediately.

Shit, this was a few minutes ago. As you stumbled out of bed, the phone began to buzz with a phone call. Hotchner. You swiped to answer and you cradled it against your ear with your shoulder whilst you fumbled with your go-bag.

“Sir, I’m so sorry. My alarm didn’t go off-”

“(L/n). Listen to me. There has been another body found.” Hotch cut you off. You froze. The phone dropped from its place between your ear and shoulder and clattered to the ground. It was the only thing to bring you to the present when you heard a crack. Shakily, you crouched and grabbed it and pressed it to your ear.

“(L/n)? What was that?”

You let out a shuddering breath.

“Sorry, dropped my phone. I’ll- I’ll be there as soon as I can, sir.”

You ended the call quickly and scrambled to clean up and dress yourself before you were out the door in a panic. You felt a sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“(L/n), I need you at the crime scene with Reid and I.” Hotch said when you rushed over to the gathered group outside the precinct.

You nodded without question. “Of course.”

The drive was quiet on your end, only barely hearing the words “deceased for a few hours at most” at one point.

“Hey, are you alright?” You heard Reid ask you. You swallowed thickly.

“Sure, sure. I mean, I don’t think anyone really feels alright on the way to a new crime scene.” you uttered, then grimaced. “Sorry, that came out rude. I’ll be okay, Spencer.”

You looked into the side mirror and noted he was smiling softly at you in response.

“You said your alarm didn’t ring.” Hotch said. You shifted in your seat.

"It didn’t, no. I don’t know why though. I have it set for everyday.”

He said nothing else, but it mattered not anyway when the location of the crime scene came into view. Swallowing the uncomfortable feeling in your stomach, you exited the SUV when Hotch parked up and the three of you quickly pulled on hazmat gear on, something you didn’t often do given you were not the ones to visit a crime scene in which a body was still present. A group of forensic were near where you assumed the body to be, turning to your trio when they heard you approach. The way their faces changed when they noticed you though… You didn’t like it one bit.

“Uh… Is she okay being here?” One asked and Hotch stepped forth.

“Yes. She is a highly capable agent as any other.” He said. You blinked a few times, surprised by his words. You certainly didn’t expect the change of tone in regards to you from him.

Seemingly defeated, the figures parted the way and you were able to see the body.

It was as though your heart leaped into your throat.

There, laying splayed out and naked with her legs spread, as all the other victims were, was the body of someone you recognised. Well, as much as you could through the mutilations to her face. Immediately, Hotch and Reid could tell something was wrong.

“(Y/n)...” You heard the older of the two say in warning. You didn’t feel you were fully there.

“I… I knew her.” You managed to muster. “That’s Carla Reynolds; I spoke to her on the first day when Derek and I were talking to people at the bar the victim before her was last seen. I…”

Then you spotted it.

“(L/n).” Hotch said in warning as you knelt. One of the forensic team followed you down as you pointed at the mutilated space between the victim’s legs.

“Something’s there.” You whispered. The CSI carefully reached forward and grabbed the small, flat object that was lodged face upwards in the victim’s genitals. Before they had pulled it out the whole way you knew instantly what it was. You swallowed the urge to vomit. Covered in blood and other substances in their hand was your FBI badge. You barely managed to stand without stumbling, your companions grasping you to steady you when the badge was opened to reveal your photo within.

“Oh god…” You whispered. “I-I someone bumped into me in the bar- I-”

“You encountered our unsub without realising it.” Reid finished. Wordlessly, Hotch grasped your upper arm carefully and pulled you away from the scene, the young doctor following. Your eyes couldn’t leave Carla’s lifeless form, not until the broad form of Hotch blocked your way.

“(L/n). You are to stay with Reid, I’m calling the others and we are returning to the station immediately, are we clear?” His voice was gentle, but tinged with urgency as his dark brown eyes searched your face. You nodded numbly. He swallowed and gazed over your shoulder at the young man. “Reid, stay with her. We need to make a move, quickly.”

You felt the world spiralling around you, your feet not quite grounded, not the air upon your skin or the fabric on your skin. The unsub knew about you and now… Now he was toying with you.

Interrogation room chairs were never comfortable, but now the posture it forced you into was causing a dull ache in your back. It was decided you would try to talk it through, find out if you could remember whoever it was that had bumped into you that day. Your mind couldn’t stop replaying the crime scene. Carla’s body, the badge extraction… You didn’t feel on Earth right now.

The door behind you opened and you flinched violently, your chair squeaking on the shiny floor.

“Hey, it's okay. Just Reid and I.” You heard Derek��s voice. You cleared your throat as the two rounded the table to sit opposite you. This wasn’t a position you ever expected to be in. Your fingers picked at the hem of your shirt. There was silence for a moment as the two figures studied you.

“(Y/n), we don’t need to do this now.” Reid said cautiously. Your eyes finally lifted from where they had been staring at the table.

“We do. Carla was alive up until seven hours ago.” You abruptly responded then drew in a sharp sniff. Derek leaned forward in his chair.

“You better not be blaming yourself right now, sweets.”

“By being part of this investigation I’ve directly caused a woman to be murdered.” You scoffed. “Didn’t even fucking notice the bastard when he was there that day.”

Reid knitted his fingers together and laid them on the table, opening and closing his mouth a few times as he thought about what he wanted to say.

“Neither yourself or Morgan did, though. Our unsub is trying to get into your head right now, you know this.”

Swallowing thickly, you curled in on yourself in the chair.

“I wish I’d just lost my badge just because I’m a fucking idiot. Instead, I lost it because I was too stupid to consider that I would attract the unsub’s attention.” You said bitterly.

Derek frowned.

“You’re not stupid or an idiot. This is all on the unsub, not you.”

You let out a sharp, humourless laugh.

“Oh I am the biggest fucking idiot here, Morgan. And now Carla is dead.”

Another beat of silence, followed by a saddened sigh hung in the air.

“Alright… Let’s just try and help you think back to that day, see if you remember any faces at all.” Reid said after a moment in a slightly croaky voice.

Your eyes drifted shut. You had to remember for Carla, for all of them.

However, the next hour was aggravating and ultimately fruitless, much to your dismay. Why… Why couldn’t you remember? This was unfair, you felt ashamed. You didn’t know who had decided to call off the interrogation, only remarking on Emily and JJ coming to your side and leading you to an empty office so you could have some space for yourself. You ignored their expressions of concern when you declined their offer for a drink and instead settled onto the rather uncomfortable couch that was placed by the far wall. You hadn’t seen Hotch since returning to the station, not that you were in the right frame of mind to do so now. At this point you felt hollow, unconsolable. You had been dragged into this mess and now there was a young woman dead because of you. Your head was hanging low, staring at the carpeted floor of the office as you wondered what you could possibly do now.

It was only when you heard distant, distressed voices from outside the office that you raised your head and glanced out of the window to the rest of the precinct. Two figures, a man and a woman who both appeared to be in their mid to late fifties, were rapidly storming to your location after spotting you through the glass. But by the time you realised who they were it was too late, the man barging through the door and the both of them rushed inside.

“You!” The man shouted, pointing at you. This was the Reynolds, Carla’s parents. There was no other possibility.

You shot up from where you sat and held your hands open in surrender.

“Sir, I-”

“You’re the one from that picture!” The man was toe-to-toe with you, tears streaming down his red cheeks. His wife let out a sob as your eyes flicked between the two figures.

“Sir, please allow me to-”

Blinded by grief and anger, Mr Reynolds grasped the front of your shirt and pulled you towards him, shaking you slightly.

“Don’t fucking talk, you got our daughter killed!”

The wife stared at you, her eyes were filled with utter rage and heartbreak. Your chest felt tight.

“Why… Why did that bastard have your photo?” She spoke, her voice was thick with tears. Your heart rate quickened. “Why did you have to talk to our Carla?!”

Your mouth opened and closed, but you couldn’t speak. The room was becoming fuzzy. Suddenly, there were multiple people in the room ripping the father’s hands off you and pulling the couple away as they fought with them.

“It’s your fault our daughter is dead! You got our daughter fucking killed!” the father’s screech was fading in and out as the pulsing of your blood filled your ears. You were completely trapped in your mind, staring at the hatred in their eyes.

“Get them out of here!” One voice cut through the paralysis. Aaron Hotchner. You blinked, then stumbled backwards. Hands reached for you and you flailed.

“D–don’t touch me!” You stuttered, struggling with whoever was grabbing you.

“Hey, it's okay! It’s us!” You heard Emily call out to you, but it was too much. Your mind was fractured, too chaotic and overstimulated. The room was too busy. You choked out a whimper and pulled away.

“Alright, everyone out. And find out who let them in here and why.” Hotch snapped, his voice a beacon and grounding you a little. It was neither sharp, nor grating and as the crowd filtered out of the room you collapsed to your knees and your hands came to hide your face. The following silence throbbed in your ears, a roar which threatened to swallow you whole.

“Agent (L/n).”

You didn’t move.

“Why do you call me that?” You finally whispered. Hotch knelt down to sit opposite you, keeping a safe distance to not overwhelm you.

“I’m sorry, it’s a force of habit. I-”

“-I’m hardly much of an agent, sir.” You cut him off, missing the surprise that arose on his face.

“I’m sorry? I don’t understand what you mean.”

You wet your lip as your hands dropped from your face.

“Nevermind, it doesn’t matter.”

Dissatisfied, Hotch frowned and leaned forward slightly.

“No, tell me what you mean.” He demanded. You just couldn’t though.

“It really doesn’t matter, sir. Forget it.” You pushed up from the ground and smoothed out your clothes, although at this point you no longer cared for your appearance. “We should go, there’s no point sitting around.”

Without waiting for him to stand up or speak, you exited the room and through dull eyes you spotted the couple being ushered into a separate room. You were thankful they didn’t spot you, you supposed.

“(Y/n), what they said to you…” JJ trailed off when you returned to the group, noting the defeated slump of your shoulders.

“Don’t. I really don’t want to hear it.” You muttered.

Derek folded his arms and huffed slightly.

“They’re wrong. The only one to blame is the unsub.”

You had nothing more to say though, instead drifting your attention to the new photos on the board. You swallowed and glanced away from the photos of Carla from when she was alive. Bile bubbled in your stomach when you realised pictures of your FBI badge were on there too. It shouldn’t have turned out this way. Upon the board was a map of the area with pins showcasing the locations the victims were last seen and where their bodies showed up. It appeared random, or atleast at first it did. The butcher’s shop remained in the centre of it all, a street with many businesses including a grocer’s, a handiwork business, a pet groomer. But investigating this area had already brought nothing of note to the case. You sighed quietly and wrapped your arms around yourself.

“Maybe they work one or more part time jobs.” You finally suggested aloud.

“What?” Rossi joined you at the board. You shrugged.

“Well, it’s just an idea. But wasn’t there a handiwork van parked out front of the butcher’s shop we visited the other day?” You turned to him, your brows furrowing. “Same company branding as the handiwork shop on the same street.”

“There was, yes. I originally chalked it up to there being no space for the van to park that day. But perhaps it’s worth looking into.”

“We should check back at the butcher’s and visit the handiwork business as well.” Hotch said from behind you. You hummed and made a move to grab your jacket, only to have his hand take hold of your wrist gently. “I think you should stay back here.”

“But-” You wanted to protest, but the look in his eye silenced you.

“Please, just stay here for the rest of the day.”

Fuck it, you pulled your arm from his grip and settled down in one of the chairs.

“Fine.”

Through tired eyes you watched everyone besides Hotch and Rossi gather their jackets and rush out, leaving you with the eldest members of the team. It was nothing short of humiliating in your mind. But you had reached a point where you had no more fight left in you to argue.

The handiwork shop wasn’t open, you later found out. The butcher’s shop had two different workers in than when you were there last, neither fitted the profile, however. Some vital information had been found though, an employee who worked part time as a butcher in the back of the shop and a travelling handyman. Derek had called Penelope to find an address for the man; James Humphrey, and aside from you and Reid the team had stormed his unassuming home with the swat team. He wasn’t there, nor was there anything out of the ordinary there either. And now… Well, you were walking back to the hotel room finally.

You were just tired, not for sleep, just tired. Hotch didn’t try to force conversation with you, knowing you needed some quiet to process the events of the day. Upon opening the door you were faced with the frantic disarray of your clothes and unattended sheets, the memory of the morning feeling so distant now.

You settled down on the mattress, avoiding your discarded clothes for you were not quite feeling ready to move them just yet. Behind you, Hotch toed his shoes off and discarded his jacket on the chair before running his hands through his short hair, creating a “hedgehog effect”. He gazed over at you helplessly, his face slightly contorted in concern.

“(Y/n), would you like to take a shower first?” He offered gently, you craned your neck to glance at him and smiled weakly.

“It’s okay. You go first, sir.”

“You sure?”

You nodded and cleared your throat.

“Yeah. Thank you though.”

There was no movement at first, then you heard the rustling of Hotch moving behind you, then the door to the shower room clicking shut. You waited. The lock clicked, but you waited still. Only when there was the sound of the shower switching on did you cautiously rise to your feet, making sure the mattress didn’t creak. You checked your holster; gun still there. You eyed the closed shower room door. The sound of the water was different, telling of Hotch standing under the spray. Carefully, you made your way to the hotel room door, slipping the car keys from Hotch’s neatly discarded jacket and, with your room key, you let yourself out and locked it quietly behind you. The corridor was empty, hopefully the others wouldn’t catch you right now. Every step out of the hotel filled your stomach with anxiety, but you needed to move quickly before your hotel roommate would finish his shower.

When you were finally behind the wheel of the car you had previously travelled back to the hotel in a mere 10 minutes earlier, you exhaled and started the engine. You knew what you had to do now.

From bar-to-bar, you checked without any luck. By the time you decided to check your phone, standing in a crowded and noisy club, you panicked at the sight of 20+ messages and 12 voicemails and even more missed calls. At that point, the phone buzzed again. Hotchner’s name flashed on screen. You swallowed thickly and pressed it to your ear after swiping to answer, feeling a sense of deja vu from that same morning.

“S-sir.”

“Where the hell are you?!” He hissed frantically down the line. You grimaced and cleared your throat.

“I… I needed to clear my head.”

“Sounds extremely noisy wherever you are to be doing that. So I will ask you again, (L/n), Where are you?”

Before you could answer you felt something pointed press into your back, not enough to pierce through the fabric of your shirt, but enough to make itself known.

“I…”

“Careful now, agent (L/n). Choose your next words carefully.” An unfamiliar male voice sneered behind you. You felt nauseous as you reached for your gun. He chuckled when your hands brushed against the now empty holster. “Whoops.”

“I… I have to go.” You said, then ended the call and pocketed the device. There was a chuckle behind you.

“I suggest we go outside, don’t you think?” The unfamiliar voice said. The blade pressed in deeper, this time touching your skin. You swallowed.

“Fine.”

This really couldn’t be happening, surely not. But as you stepped outside again into the cool air of the night you felt the knife press into you still when you tried to stop walking.

“Turn left and keep going until we get to the end of the street.” The man said. You followed his instruction, forcing yourself to relax. As you turned down the street he had instructed you to do so you noted it was dimly lit. Fucking fantastic.

“Alright, now stop.” The man commanded you. You stood still. Your eyes widened as you realised what vehicle you had stopped beside. The handiwork business logo mocked you on the side of the van you’d seen days prior. “Mmhm, you’re very receptive to commands, good piggy.”

You wanted to turn around, but as you made the move to step and face the man he grabbed you roughly, and you felt a sharp sting in your neck. A needle. Your eyes widened and you struggled, attempting to open your mouth to scream but he had already covered your mouth with his palm to silence you. He was strong, very strong. The prickle of whatever he had injected into you spread through your body and the world around you started to blur. And then, you were lost to the world.

Dun dun dunnnnn omg I wonder what will happen next?? (Not good) thanks so much for reaching the end!! If you'd like to be tagged, please let me know!

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x plus size reader #criminal minds x reader #a writes

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