#chapter 2 of behind the bookstore

[see-me-here-alone]

Niji en fix it fic

Chapter 1 - Word count: unknown

Summary: Y/N is fresh into their role at Niji needs to manage their beloved streamers amidst the company's turmoil. They confide in their cousin Michael, who is there to comfort them during emotional times. As y/n embarks on this new chapter, they wrestle with the uneasy thought that their cherished connection to the streamers might shift in ways they can’t yet foresee.

------ OwO ------

As the final hiring confirmation meeting faded into its close, Riku Tazumi, my new boss, gazed at me with a sincerity that took my breath away. “友達になってくれませんか?” he asked, his voice soft yet heavy with unsaid truths. The words, “Would you like to be friends?” were more than a simple inquiry; they were his way of requesting a raw honesty, an assurance that I wouldn't soften my truths to spare his feelings.

In the midst of NijiSanji's storm of criticism, he needs someone who can pierce through the static and deliver the stark reality of what's best for the talents. Meeting his earnest gaze, I replied with unwavering resolve, “最善を尽くします,” my voice a vessel of hope and determination.

We exchanged our goodbyes and my heartfelt thanks, and as the call ended, a profound weariness settled into my bones. Yet beneath that exhaustion was a bubbling excitement for this new chapter in my career. I couldn’t predict how fans and talents would respond, but I knew one thing for certain—I needed to share this news with someone special.

I moved slowly into our shared living room, where I found a familiar figure slumped on our old gray couch. He fidgeted nervously with his nails, tapping his foot to an unrecognized beat. “Michael, guess what just happened,” I said, trying to maintain a neutral expression, though my excitement fought to escape.

He looked up, bounding off the couch to envelop me in an impossibly tight hug. “You have to guess! You need to guess! You can’t just assume, dude!” His fervor was so palpable I struggled to breathe.

Eventually, he pulled away, his gaze drifting from my face. “I know you too well,” he said, guilt lacing his voice, “I know what you’re thinking and everything you’re going to do, so I’m sure you got the job.”

Tears brimmed and spilled down my cheeks as he stammered, “Oh shit, dude, was I wrong? Fuck…” He scrambled for the half-empty tissue box, grabbing it from the coffee table with a look of sheer panic.

“No, dude, I got it. I’m literally the best person ever—of course, I got the job. I’ll be working as a court jester when my boss’s ideas get weird and dumb, and I’ll protect people and...and...I’m so excited,” I choked out through sobs, overwhelmed by the emotion of it all.

Michael’s eyes softened with understanding as he saw me, his emotional cousin/housemate, unraveling. “Yeah, okay, dude, let’s order Indian food. My treat,” he said, patting my shoulder in a gesture of comfort. We ordered our meal, and as we waited, I continued to spill my excitement.

After our meal, we said our goodnights and retreated to our separate rooms. I sat at my desk, the computer screen still aglow, and opened YouTube. Sonny Brisko was streaming, but a tight knot of unease formed in my stomach. The thought of soon meeting, and inevitably managing, the very streamers I’d admired made my heart sink. I shuddered at the fear that my enjoyment of their content might be forever changed by this new role.

Resolute, I typed “ASMR loud talking sleep” into the search bar, clicking on the ‘watched’ button to sift through my previously viewed videos. As I scrolled, I sought solace in the comforting hum of the ASMR, allowing myself to drift into the soothing familiarity of past favorites. Yet, even as I tried to escape into this sanctuary, a fleeting thought lingered: perhaps these people are even more extraordinary than I ever imagined.

[writesvani]

dear me | 09

lawyer! jungkook x privatechef! reader

SUMMARY: Once upon a time, Jungkook and you were everything. Best friends who shared every moment, every secret—except one: you were in love with him. But life changed. High school ended, real life began, and slowly, you drifted apart, the distance between you growing too wide to cross.

The end. Except it isn't.

One day, after a long day at work, you open your email to find a message from 13 years ago—written by your younger self. A letter you’d forgotten, sent by a service you paid to remind you of your youth, your love for him. As the emails keep on coming and you keep reading, the flood of memories hits you, and you realize something heartbreaking: you never stopped loving him.

But now, it’s too late. Jungkook is about to marry someone else. Or is he?

estranged childhood best friends-to-friends-to-lovers?

TRIGGER WARNINGS: sexual tension, emotional tension, alcohol consumption, conflicted feelings for a taken friend, stage anxiety, performance stress, emotional repression, romantic confusion, angst, unresolved feelings, subtle jealousy, explicit language

comment HERE for Dear Me taglist;

SERIES M.LIST;

— previous chapter // next chapter

wc: 6,6k // date: 13th of May 2025

CHAPTER NINE — PLAY IT AGAIN happy reading my gummies...

AN: hey guys, it’s been 2 weeks without “dear me,” but we’re so back, baby. anyways, writing this chapter was really hard for me. like, REALLY hard. i’ve been stuck in a writer's block pit and i swear, i kept deleting and rewriting scenes (i’m pretty sure this chapter has like 8 versions in my drafts, don’t even ask). BUT i’ve finally settled with this one, so here we are.

now, time to meet some new characters. what do we think of them, huh? yay or nay? also, i gave you SO MANY easter eggs in this chapter. like, half of it is just foreshadowing or clearly hinting at something and i’m LOWKEY excited to see your comments and asks about it.

anyways, goal for this chapter is 450 because i KNOW we can hit it and also because i like having a bit more time to finish chapters. so yeah, let’s do this. love you guys, now go read and tell me everything you think.

It’s kind of ridiculous, honestly—the way Jeon Jungkook blends into a room and owns it at the same time. Like some kind of paradox. Earlier today, he looked like he belonged to the sunlight—the warm kind, the kind that makes old bookstores feel like home. Curled into his booth with an espresso and that soft, quiet stare. He looked small. Touchable.

But now?

Now he looks like a warning sign. Shoulders squared, head tilted like he knows something you don’t, lips curved in that maddening smirk of his. The neon lights of The House flicker against his sharp jaw, casting shadows that feel deliberate. Calculated. Dangerous.

You’re following behind him, mildly regretting the decision to show up early. It’s barely 9 p.m. and the place is already humming—bands tuning up, neon signs buzzing, and Alex... perched on a bar stool like he owns the air.

You’re going to need a drink. Immediately.

Jungkook walks up like it’s his goddamn stage. Alex looks up, face splitting into a grin.

“Well, shit,” he says, tossing his pen aside. “Didn’t think you’d actually show, big boy.”

Jungkook shrugs, already half in a chair. “I don’t back out of dares.”

You glance at the paper Alex was scribbling on and let out a half-laugh. “Are you—are you seriously doing sudoku right now?”

Alex deadpans, “Gotta keep the brain sharp, sweetheart.”

You snort. “You’re so full of it. You not working tonight?”

“Please. I’m off-duty. I came to get drunk and take Jungkook’s money.”

“You wish,” Jungkook mutters, grinning. “So who’s behind the bar?” he asks.

Alex leans back dramatically. “New guy. But he’s decent. You might know him—same age as you two.”

You raise a brow. “Then just say his name? What is this cryptic scavenger hunt?”

“I’m setting the vibe,” Alex says. “Anyway, name’s Park Jimin.”

You blink. Jungkook goes still for half a second.

Park. Fucking. Jimin.

This is exactly why you hate small towns.

This is why you should’ve stayed away. Should’ve packed up your life, lit a match to the past, and never looked back. Because small towns come with reunions you never asked for. The kind that smell like stale beer, too-loud music, and people who were never villains—just unnecessary plot twists you never wanted to reread.

So when Park Jimin strolls out from the back closet door of The House—the one they keep the good booze in because the bar’s too damn small—you already feel your molars grinding.

You don’t hate him. But God, does his presence itch.

“Well, well,” he says, slipping a bottle of Belvedere into the fridge. His eyes lock on yours, glittering with the same mischief that used to make you roll yours in high school. “Familiar faces just follow me, huh?”

You exhale sharply through your nose. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He grins like it’s personal. “Missed me much?”

“Yeah. Like a rash.”

“Oof. Still bitter about prom?”

“I’m not bitter about prom.”

“You totally are.” He leans on the bar like he’s settling in. “Sorry again for dumping you right before, though. Heard you had to go with Yoongi. Brutal.”

“Hey, hey, hey—” Alex interrupts next to you, throwing a hand in the air. “Don’t slander my boy Yoongs like that. That man is class.”

Jimin ignores him. Of course he does.

“Thought your bestie would take you,” he adds, eyes still on you, “but I guess his girlfriend matched his aesthetic better.”

The blood in your ears roars. You open your mouth, but Jungkook beats you to it.

“What’s your problem?” he says, voice low and sharp. The tension in his jaw could crack diamonds.

Jimin looks at him for the first time. Smirks. “Relax, bro. I’m just messing with my ex. No harm done.”

You’re about to fire back when he adds, casual as hell, “Heard you got engaged to your high school sweetheart though. Congrats, man. Seriously.”

And just like that, the air goes from hot to hostile. Your throat tightens.

This motherfucker always knew where to cut.

Jungkook’s expression falters for a moment. You catch it—just the twitch of his jaw, the flicker behind his eyes. You think he might say something—thank him, tell him off, maybe even laugh it off.

Instead, he shifts.

His face evens out into that lazy, cool disinterest he wears so well. Like nothing ever touches him.

“One Jack Daniels,” he says, tone smooth, eyes bored. “Two cubes of ice. And for my friend—” he gestures toward you without even looking, “One Long Island Iced Tea. Add extra lemon juice and, uh, don’t be shy with the tequila.”

Jimin blinks. “What?”

Jungkook shrugs, rolling his shoulders like he’s stretching before a fight. “That’s our order. You do still make drinks, right? Or are you just here to be irrelevant all over again?”

You almost choke on a laugh. Almost.

Jimin wets his lips, and for a moment you see the flicker of something crack behind his eyes. But he recovers. Plasters on that wide, gleaming smile—the one you used to fall for. The one you now recognize as plastic.

“Of course,” he says, voice all sugar and sawdust. “Coming right up.”

Jungkook’s phone buzzes against the bar top. You glance over just as the screen lights up — Nina. Of course. She and Yoongi are supposed to be showing up any minute now.

When Jungkook had called her earlier to tell her about the bet with Alex — how he was playing drums tonight — she was thrilled. Or, well, "ecstatic," in his words. You weren’t on speaker, so you couldn’t hear her exact reaction. But you can imagine it. Sweet and supportive and all the things you know Nina to be.

He’d invited her immediately, of course. And she’d dragged Yoongi into the plan too — not that you minded. You might’ve casually begged Yoongi to show up so you wouldn’t have to third-wheel your way through the night like some tragic side character.

Jungkook picks up his phone with a low grunt, muttering, “She’s gonna call me in like, two seconds.”

You nod as he stands, watching his silhouette disappear toward the front door.

Alex elbows you, hard. “So… what I’m gathering here is, Jimin is your ex?”

You sigh. “Wow. Incredible deduction, detective. Really cracked the case there.”

He snorts. “So he’s that ex? The one who bailed on you before prom?”

You shoot him a look. “What gave it away, the tension in the room or the mild death wish I had five minutes ago?”

Alex grins. “You’re such a bitch.”

“Jimin brings it out in me.”

“Sure, blame the man.”

“I am blaming the man,” you say, then pause, brow furrowing. “He’s just… irritating.”

“He was acting weird with Jungkook though. And Yoongi too, back when he was mentioned. What's his deal with them?”

You shrug. “Honestly? No clue. Even when I dated him, he’d pretend they didn’t exist in public. It was weird then, and it’s still weird now.”

Alex hums, nursing his drink. “Damn, I thought he’s cool. He gives me bad vibes now.”

“You give me bad vibes.”

“And yet here you are, hanging out with me,” he grins.

“Sooo… love,” Jimin drawls, and you know — you just know — he’s talking to you.

You grit your teeth, forcing yourself to stay facing Alex, but his voice is like a needle in your spine. When you glance over, he’s not even trying to hide the smug look on his face. He’s pouring white rum into a shaker like it’s the most casual thing in the world, the glint in his eyes almost daring you to respond.

You roll your eyes. God, he’s insufferable. Always was. Still, you can’t lie — black hair, pretty lips, annoyingly symmetrical face… Park Jimin has no right still looking that good.

Not that you’d ever say it aloud. Your friends would kill you on the spot.

“What?” you snap.

He shrugs. “Nothing. Just wanted to see if you’d still turn when I call you love.”

“You’re fucked in the head.”

He grins, unbothered. “You know whose head I also fucked?”

“Wow,” you deadpan. “Peak comedy. Is there a two-drink minimum for this set or what?”

“No joke. Just facts.”

“Yeah, okay, we had sex. Ages ago. You want a medal?”

He leans in slightly. “Didn’t think the first time was that forgettable.”

“It only means something if the person means something,” you say coolly.

That hits. His smile slips just a bit — before morphing into something darker.

“Then maybe you should’ve picked one of your friends. Wonder who would’ve been more desperate—gloom-and-doom Yoongi or Mr. Marrying-The-Preppy-Girl.”

You tense. “Watch your fucking mouth.”

He just shrugs again, shaking the cocktail like nothing’s wrong. “Touchy.”

“I don’t know what your problem is with them—hell, with me—but you’re acting like a damn parasite.”

“I don’t have a problem with you,” he says easily, pouring the drink. “You’re not pathetic. They are. I’m just trying to open your eyes.”

“Dude,” Alex hisses, his tone sharp, “I get there's history here, but you really need to back off. She’s a customer.”

Jimin doesn’t even flinch, still focused on mixing the drinks with practiced ease. “I get it, I do,” he smirks, eyes flicking to you. “But she knows exactly what I’m talking about. She knows why we broke up, after all.”

You clench your jaw, fighting the urge to snap. “Jimin, drop it. It was a high school breakup. Seriously, who cares? I got over it in two weeks.”

He leans in slightly, that dangerous edge to his smile. “You ever think I might’ve been right?”

“No,” you reply coldly, voice tight. “Because you weren’t.”

Jimin’s smile widens, but it’s all sharp edges now. “Sure, love. Whatever helps you keep your little fairytale. I’ll drop it—for now.” He slides the drink toward you, his gaze lingering just a second too long.

When Jungkook walks back into The House, the change in him is immediate. Whatever easy charm he left with is gone — replaced by stormy eyes and a jaw so tight you’re afraid he might crack a bone or two. His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek, a tell you’ve come to recognize: something went wrong.

“Took you long enough,” Jimin taunts, just as Jungkook drops into the seat next to you without a word. It’s not his usual controlled fall — it’s heavy, careless.

“Your ice melted,” Jimin adds, gesturing toward the untouched whiskey glass, voice dipped in mock concern.

Jungkook barely glances at it. “Right. Shame,” he mutters.

Alex leans forward slightly, brow creasing. “Everything cool, man?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “Peachy. Don’t worry about it.”

But you do. You worry the second you see the way his knuckles whiten as he grips the edge of the bar. You want to ask, but his expression shuts that down. Whatever it is, it’s not meant for public display.

So you shift gears. “When are Nina and Yoongi getting here?”

“Nina’s not coming,” he says flatly, not even looking at you.

“What?” That doesn’t make sense. She was practically bouncing off the walls earlier, excited to watch him drum again, or at least that’s what Jungkook said.

“She’s… feeling under the weather.”

A cold excuse. Paper thin.

You blink. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” he says, then adds, too casually, “Just not in the mood to go out.”

Something’s off. Way off.

“And Yoongi?”

“He’ll be here later,” Jungkook says, voice tightening as he rubs the back of his neck — another tell.

Then, of course, Jimin can’t help himself.

“Damn,” he drawls, grinning like the devil. “Your little fiancée bailed on your big night?”

Jungkook flinches.

It’s subtle, but it’s there — a flicker of pain behind the guarded eyes.

“Jimin,” you hiss, eyes flashing as you shoot him a death glare. “Enough.”

But he’s already walking off, smug and self-satisfied, whistling like he didn’t just stick a knife into something raw.

And Jungkook?

He doesn’t say a word.

He just stares straight ahead.

A few awkward minutes pass — the silence only interrupted by the distant sound of opening bands testing mics and tuning guitars. No one dares break the uneasy stillness. Alex is hunched over a sudoku, casually sipping his beer like it’s any other night. Jungkook nurses his half-melted whiskey, the kind of lukewarm drink that probably tastes like piss by now. Even Jimin’s gone quiet, absent of any snark, polishing glasses with the focus of someone who knows he went too far.

You stare blankly at your phone, Instagram Reels flickering past without meaning. You couldn’t name a single thing you’ve watched.

Because all you can feel is him.

The tension radiating off Jungkook is impossible to ignore — like he’s one sharp breath away from detonating. But instead, he just… sits there. Bottled up. Unmoving. Unwell.

“Kook,” you whisper, soft enough that only he hears. “What happened?”

He exhales through his nose. “Nothing, really. I don’t wanna dump shit on you.”

“C’mon.” You bump your shoulder gently against his. “Spill.”

He hesitates. Then, quietly: “Nina just thinks… since I’m working tomorrow, I shouldn’t be out tonight.”

You frown. That doesn’t sound like Nina. Not from what you know.

“And?” you ask.

“And she thinks… this is an unnecessary distraction.”

You blink. “This as in what?”

“As in me drumming tonight.”

Your eyebrows knit tighter. “A distraction from what?”

“I don’t know,” he mutters. “I don’t get it either. She just said she needs sleep and can’t make it.”

You let that settle for a moment.

“I’m sorry, Kook. But… wasn’t she excited earlier? Like, really excited?”

“Yeah,” he says, voice thinning. “But… something changed. I don’t know what. She just—changed her mind.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing, Kook,” you say gently, giving his shoulder a little squeeze. “She’s probably just annoyed about something and taking it out on you. It’ll pass. It usually does, right?”

“Yeah… probably,” he mutters. “I just thought she’d come. I haven’t played in forever. Kinda wanted her here, that’s all.”

“I get it,” you nod. Wanted her here. It shouldn’t hit the way it does, but it does. You take a sip of your drink, trying to shake it off. “But hey—Yoongi’s coming. Alex is here. I’m here.”

He glances at you, manages a small smile. It looks practiced, not real. “At least I’ll have a chill crowd when I completely bomb.”

“You wish,” you nudge him. “If you bomb, I’ll be the first one to laugh in your face.”

“You’re all heart,” he says with a light chuckle, and it feels better—easier—than anything he’s said since he walked in.

“Hey!” Jimin suddenly appears in front of you both like he’s been summoned by drama. “Not everyone here’s so supportive. I’ve got front-row seats to his downfall.”

Jungkook laughs for real this time. “Yeah, well, good thing I never valued your opinion.”

“That’s rude.”

“That’s accurate.”

You roll your eyes, pointing at Jimin. “Alright, enough out of you. Go make us another round. Alex too. And fine, you can pour yourself something if it’ll keep you from eavesdropping.”

Jimin clutches his chest like you just proposed. “Wow. Buying me a drink now? And here I thought you were over me.”

You smirk. “Don’t push your luck. I’m just trying to keep the vibe from completely crashing.”

Jimin gives you a playful salute and walks off. And for the first time in what feels like forever, Jungkook’s shoulders drop a little. He still looks sad, but at least now he doesn’t look like he’s gonna snap in half.

When Jimin slides your drinks over, Alex actually wheezes — like, full-on wheezes — before his face turns red with excitement. “As soon as I get Jungkook’s money,” he adds dramatically, “you’re the first one I’m buying one for.”

“You could just split the money with me,” you reply, smirking over your glass.

Next to you, Jungkook groans and slumps forward, burying his face in his hands. “I swear to god, I’m gonna die. I’m not even gonna be good. I haven’t done this in so long.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alex waves him off. “Spare us the dramatics, Kook. The kids you’ll be playing with should be here any minute.”

“The kids I’ll be—what?”

“Well, yeah,” Alex shrugs. “You’re playing drums, right? No offense, man, but I don’t think the crowd’s dying for a solo drum recital. You need a full sound. Guitar, bass, maybe even keys. You know how these things go.”

Jungkook stares at him, horrified. “Oh my god. I didn’t even think about that. Who am I playing with?”

“That band I told you about this morning, remember?” Alex says casually.

“Wait—don’t they already have a drummer?”

“Yeah, they do,” Alex grins. “But I talked to Jack. Asked if he’d let you jump in for a song, and he said sure. Super chill guy.”

Jungkook rubs his forehead with both hands, muttering something under his breath. You can't tell if it’s relief or panic—or both.

“Hey,” you nudge him gently, “you’ll be fine. You could probably play in your sleep.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I’ll have to,” he mutters, then downs the rest of his drink.

The door of The House creaks open, and like a domino effect, all four of you—Alex, Jungkook, even Jimin, and you—snap your heads toward it, expecting to finally see the teenage band roll in.

But no. Not even close.

Instead, it’s Yoongi. He steps inside in a massive black hoodie and matching sweatpants, a bandana pushing his hair off his forehead. He pauses when he sees all your eyes locked on him, confusion already creeping into his features.

“What?” he frowns. “Did I miss it? You already played, man?”

You let out a small laugh.

“Nah, not yet.” Jungkook gestures toward the bar. “Keep the whiskey flowing.”

Jimin groans under his breath, clearly annoyed—by Jungkook’s request, by Yoongi’s sudden presence, by existence in general.

Yoongi raises a brow as he takes the seat next to Alex. “Did all of you just... stare at me when I walked in?”

“Sorry, man,” Alex chuckles. “We thought the band Kook’s playing with showed up.”

“The high schoolers?” Yoongi asks, settling in.

“Yeah,” you say. “I mentioned them earlier when we texted.”

Yoongi hums. “Heard they��re good. Can I get a dirty martini?” His voice is calm until his eyes meet Jimin’s.

He stiffens. Jimin rolls his eyes so hard it’s a miracle they stay in his head.

“Why the hell not,” Jimin mutters, stomping off to make the drink.

Yoongi watches him walk away, his jaw tightening.

“What are you doing here?” he calls after him.

“Working. Thought that was obvious,” Jimin bites back, slamming the finished martini in front of him with no ceremony.

Yoongi goes quiet. You and Jungkook exchange a subtle glance.

You lean toward Yoongi, voice low. “Okay, I knew you two weren’t exactly besties, but this feels like next-level passive-aggressive.”

“He deserves it,” Yoongi grits out.

You blink. “Sure, but… I wasn’t expecting you to be more pissed than I am to see him.”

“He’s just—” Yoongi exhales, “annoying.”

“That’s something even I agree with,” Jungkook mutters, sipping his drink.

“What are you even wearing, dude?” Jimin asks, eyeing Yoongi’s oversized hoodie and sweats like they’re a disgrace to the earth. “Who the hell comes to a club dressed like that?”

Yoongi doesn’t even flinch. “Me.”

Jimin scoffs, dramatic as ever. “Right. Is that because you’re, what—edgy? Quirky? Too cool to try?”

“No,” Yoongi says flatly. “It’s because this place isn’t a club, it’s practically a dive bar, and I literally grew up here. But hey—props to you for trying so hard. Must be tough being the new guy.”

Jimin raises an eyebrow, jaw twitching just slightly. “Cute. Did you rehearse that one in the mirror or does it just come naturally when you’re being a dick?”

Yoongi smirks, unbothered. “Naturally. But thanks for noticing.”

“Well, everyone’s getting along just great,” Alex mutters, lips pressed tight around the rim of his beer.

“I’m just glad someone finally matches Jimin’s talent for being a pain in the ass,” Jungkook says, spinning one of his rings absentmindedly with his thumb.

Your eyes drift to his hands. Just for a second. Just because they’re moving. But then you really look. His fingers—long, slender, tanned just enough—move with ease, like they know how to pull attention. His skin looks soft, but there’s something sharp in the way his knuckles flex. Something wicked. Something you shouldn’t be noticing.

Your stomach twists.

You blink, hard, like that'll reset your brain.

Jungkook is your friend. Your best friend. Engaged to your other friend. This isn’t supposed to be happening. You’re not supposed to be looking at his hands like this.

And worse—worse than anything—Jimin saw it. Of course he fucking did. You hear his quiet, condescending chuckle, and a wave of shame burns through your cheeks.

“Nice rings, Jungkook,” Jimin says, too casually. His eyes never leave Jungkook’s face, but you can feel the smirk meant for you. “They really suit your fingers.”

Jungkook frowns, caught off guard. “Uh… thanks?”

“You’re welcome,” Jimin replies smoothly, already turning on his heel as someone calls his name from across the bar.

You watch him go, teeth clenched.

Fuck you, Park Jimin.

You’d almost been grateful for his silence. But no—he just had to say something.

Finally—finally—after what feels like an eternity and three Long Islands too deep, the door creaks open and in stumble four high schoolers, breathless, disheveled, and looking like they lost half their souls on the way here.

Alex shoots up with a dramatic yell. “Here they come. My children.”

“Fucking hell, Mina, I told you we’d be late,” the tall brunette groans, dragging a black gig bag over his shoulder as he wipes sweat off his brow.

“Chill, dude. We’re not late—we’re on at eleven,” the girl—who you assume is Mina (probably because she’s the only girl)—retorts, hoisting a keyboard bag like it’s a sack of bricks but somehow not tripping over it.

“Can you two not? Just tonight, please?” the third kid huffs, his pale skin glowing under the lights, striking blue eyes shooting them both a glare.

Trailing quietly behind them is the fourth member—carrying only a pair of drumsticks. That’s Jack. Definitely Jack. His shoulders are hunched, cheeks tinged pink as he scratches the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable with the chaos in front of him.

“Hey, Alex,” the blue-eyed boy says, grinning as he high-fives the older man.

“Yo, Dan. What’s up.”

“Sorry we’re late, bro. Mina took two hours doing her eyeliner.”

“Ha! See!” the brunette jumps in. “I’m not the only one who thought it was excessive.”

“It’s called getting ready,” Mina snaps, turning on him. “Sorry I wasn’t born a man so I could just throw on a clean shirt and be socially acceptable. It’s not my fault people expect women to look like magazine covers.”

“Why do you turn everything into feminist propaganda?” Ace mutters, and you can’t help the smirk that tugs at your lips.

“I’m not. I’m just stating facts.”

They’re so deep into their bickering that they don’t even notice the rest of you at the bar—except for Jack and Dan, who gravitate toward Alex like they're clinging to stability.

“So, this is JK, guys,” Alex says, nodding toward Jungkook.

That shuts everyone up.

“The Jeon Jungkook?” the brunette—Ace, you think—says, eyes wide, posture straightening in an instant.

You nudge Jungkook’s shoulder. “Uhm, wow, Jungkook. Didn’t know I was in the presence of royalty.”

Jungkook laughs under his breath. “Uh… yeah?” He glances at Ace, unsure.

Mina squeals—an actual, honest-to-god squeal. Dan flushes bright red. And Jack stammers, “Whoa. You’re kind of a legend around here. Total honor to meet you, sir.”

“Please don’t call me sir,” Jungkook says, flustered. “I’m not that old. And—legend?”

“Yeah, bro—I mean, sir—I mean Jungkook,” Jack stammers. “Everyone knows about you. I can’t believe I’m letting you borrow my sticks tonight.”

“Thanks for the sticks in advance, Jack,” Jungkook says, his cheeks tinged pink—part whiskey, part unexpected attention. “But I’m just gonna warn you—I might disappoint you guys.”

“No way,” Jack fires back instantly.

“Not a chance,” Mina adds, shaking her head.

Jungkook laughs, easing into their energy. He falls into effortless banter with the kids, talking about their setlist, throwing out ideas, asking their opinions on which song he should play.

You don’t interrupt. You just watch him.

He finally looks relaxed, like the tension in his shoulders has melted off without anyone noticing. His face is lit up with a soft smile, his hands moving as he animatedly explains why Smells Like Teen Spirit should absolutely make the list. The kids groan dramatically, arguing that while it’s a classic, it’s way too basic for a comeback gig after ten years.

“It’s a banger!” Jungkook insists, brows raised.

“And that’s the problem!” Ace argues. “We want iconic, not expected.”

Yoongi, from his seat nearby, chimes in lazily, “Nirvana is iconic. Can’t be basic if it’s legendary.”

Mina turns to him, eyes sharp but playful. “With all due respect, Sir—we need something more iconic.”

“How is that song not the 'most' iconic?” Yoongi repeats, deadpan.

“It is,” Mina sighs, “but we need like—iconic with a twist.”

You laugh, quietly. The whole exchange is ridiculous but so full of life. Your gaze finds its way back to Jungkook—still laughing, still animated, bangs falling in his eyes, youth catching the edge of his expression.

You’re not sure what it is—the presence of the kids, the memory of what The House used to mean, or just the anticipation of playing again—but something about him tonight feels different. No—familiar.

He looks alive.

He looks like himself.

So you lean into it. You let yourself feel it. Let yourself miss him in the way that hurts but also heals.

Because this… this version of him—the one glowing with purpose and ease—this is the version you’ve missed the most.

“Don’t you guys want to drop off your instruments and have a drink?” Jimin asks from behind the bar, voice light, expression even lighter.

You stiffen, blinking twice. Park Jimin… smiling? And not the condescending, I-know-something-you-don’t smile, but a real one. It’s disorienting—like waking up in a parallel universe. For a second, you brace yourself for a backhanded comment, a jab hidden behind sugar-coated words.

But it never comes.

He actually looks like he likes the kids.

“Uh, yeah—we totally forgot,” Daniel says, still a little breathless as he adjusts the strap on his shoulder.

“Give us a sec, JK,” Ace calls over his shoulder, clapping Jungkook’s arm before the four teenagers vanish backstage, a trail of youthful energy and secondhand adrenaline left in their wake.

The bar quiets just enough for a breath to settle.

“Are you excited?” you ask, leaning closer to Jungkook.

His gaze lingers on the now-empty hallway where the kids disappeared. His features are soft, loose, almost vulnerable in a way you haven’t seen in years.

“Actually… yeah. I am,” he admits, lips parting in surprise at his own words. “I don’t know why. Maybe it’s just the kids—”

“The tasteless kids,” Yoongi deadpans, slumped in his chair like a tired philosopher. “How the hell does that girl say there’s something more iconic than Nirvana?”

Alex raises his beer solemnly. “Blasphemy. Absolute blasphemy.”

Jungkook just rolls his eyes, used to their noise. “Anyway,” he says, “like I was saying… I think I’m genuinely looking forward to playing.”

The words hang in the air for a second too long, warm and raw. And before you even realize it, your hand is in his hair, ruffling the soft strands. His cheeks flush—alcohol or affection, you can’t tell.

“Aw, look at my bestie getting all giddy,” you tease, trying to sound casual, but something inside you aches at how happy he looks. “Seriously, Kook, that’s fucking amazing. Now I can’t wait to see you up there.”

“Don’t be too excited,” he laughs, brushing a hand over his face. “There’s still a good chance I shit my pants from nerves.”

“Wasn’t your whole goal to fail?” Yoongi asks, blinking like he’s doing mental math. “So you don’t have to give Alex the money?”

Alex waves a dismissive hand, the gold ring on his pinky flashing under the low amber lights. “No one ever plays to fail. Not in music, not in life. I, my friend, am simply operating within the mystical corridors of Jungkook’s subconscious. Planting seeds. Psychological warfare.”

“You, my friend,” you shoot back, “are drunk.”

“Maybe,” Alex replies, tipping his beer with a grin that says definitely.

“You so are,” Jungkook adds, eyes glinting.

Alex leans closer, mock-sincere. “Don’t worry. I’ll still be sober enough to take my money when you owe it to me.”

There’s laughter again, warm and alive, and for a moment you forget the heaviness. Forget the time. Forget the past. Because Jungkook is here, sitting next to you, eyes sparkling, stomach twisting with nerves in the most beautiful, human way.

And for the first time in a long while—he wants to be seen.

The kids return in a pack—energy buzzing around them like static, cheeks flushed from the excitement and maybe just a bit of nerves. They spill into the empty bar stools like they own the place, all happy—the kind that comes with knowing tonight matters.

Ace claps his hands together, flops onto a stool, and shouts toward the bar, “Alright, Jimin! Hit me with a Coca-Cola—I’m fucking thirsty!”

Jimin, unfazed, quirks an eyebrow. “Watch your mouth, rockstar,” he says, already reaching for the glasses.

The others chime in, each echoing Ace’s order like it’s part of a ritual. Coke all around.

“When are you guys on?” you ask casually, turning to Mina as she sips from her drink. Her eyes are bright beneath the dim bar lights, and you blink. Damn, her eyeliner’s sharp enough to kill. It makes her look fierce. Electric.

“In about twenty minutes,” she says, voice calm, a soft smile curving her lips like she’s done this a thousand times before. “Jk’s opening on drums—Jack takes over after he finishes the first song.”

You nod, picturing it. Jungkook behind the kit again. The lights. The sound. The pulse of something being reborn.

“Oi, Mina!” Daniel calls from the other end of the bar, half-lounging over his stool. “Quit flirting with Jungkook’s bestie and finish your drink—we’re up soon!”

Mina groans and rolls her eyes, but her grin gives her away. “I’m not flirting,” she mutters as she raises her glass. “I’m being polite.”

You smirk, and she clinks her glass against yours anyway.

There’s a hum in the air now. Something about the way the kids shift in their seats, glance at the clock, tap their fingers to an invisible beat. A collective breath held, waiting to be released the moment they step on stage.

And through it all, Jungkook’s knee bounces beneath the table, his fingers twitching like they already hear the opening riff in his head.

The bar dims a little more, lights overhead shifting to a deep red hue. A hush rolls through the room—not complete silence, but that charged pause just before something erupts. The kind of silence that makes your skin prickle.

“Alright, let’s do this,” Mina says, swinging her keyboard bag over her shoulder as she hops off the stool. The others follow, a quiet intensity settling over their faces like masks. The joking, the teasing, the sugary buzz of Coca-Cola—all of it vanishes in the electric stillness of the pre-show moment.

Jungkook gets up too, a small crease between his brows, lips pressed together in a thin line. You nudge his arm gently as he passes by.

“You’ve got this, bestie,” you whisper.

He glances back at you. A smirk twitches at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes—those big, dark eyes—are filled with something you haven’t seen in a while.

Fear.

But also: fire.

He doesn’t say anything. Just nods.

On stage, Jack claps him on the shoulder before handing him the sticks. The kids do a final check—Mina tapping her keys, Dan tuning his bass, Ace slinging his guitar strap over his shoulder. The room starts to buzz again, people murmuring, turning toward the stage, phones raised. Someone yells out a “WOOO!” and Alex, leaning against the side wall, grins like a proud dad.

Mina steps up to the mic. “Hey guys,” she says, her voice steady. “We’re The Strangers, and tonight… we’re doing something a little old school.” She glances at Jungkook. “Featuring a local legend.”

There’s light applause, a couple surprised whistles.

And then—Jungkook lifts the sticks.

He taps the hi-hat four times. It begins.

But then.

Crash.

The beat stumbles. His right hand slips, hitting the rim instead of the snare. The rhythm trips over itself, chaotic and jarring. Ace freezes mid-riff. Mina slams her palm on the keys too early. Dan completely misses the bass cue.

A mess. A beautiful, terrible mess.

A few people in the crowd gasp. One laughs. You wince.

Jungkook, mortified, pauses for half a second—half a second that feels like a lifetime—before whispering, “Shit,” under his breath.

Jack starts to step forward, like he’s ready to take over immediately.

But Jungkook throws up a hand.

“No,” he mutters to the mic, half to himself, half to the crowd. “I got it.”

And this time—he counts again. One, two, three, four—

This time, it hits. Hard. Toxicity intro comes alive—feral, gritty, raw. Ace slams into the opening riff with vengeance, Mina’s synths howling underneath, Dan’s bass like thunder rumbling through the floor. And Jungkook—Jungkook comes back. You can see it in his shoulders, in the way his hair whips around his face. There’s rage and release in every strike of the snare, redemption in the crash cymbals.

The crowd erupts.

Jungkook plays like he’s possessed now, blood rushing, all hesitation gone. His whole body moves with the rhythm, with the madness of it. His face glistens with sweat. He grins—really grins—like he’s high on the beat.

And you? You can’t look away.

This, this is the Jungkook you remember.

A little off at first. But once he finds the groove—

He becomes it.

The crowd is losing their minds.

Phones are raised, heads are banging, and even Jimin—cool, collected, snarky Jimin—is nodding behind the bar with an impressed smirk. Ace and Dan are completely synced, locking in their parts with the kind of chaotic grace that makes you feel like the song might fall apart at any moment, but never does. Mina’s eyes are closed, fingers dancing across the keys, mouth moving along to lyrics.

And Jungkook—

God.

His hair sticks to his forehead in messy strands, and there’s a flush creeping down his neck, veins flexing on his forearms every time he slams into the snare. He looks like he’s burning up—like every part of him is charged. The black t-shirt he’s wearing is soaked down the back, clinging to him like a second skin, and when he tilts his head back in rhythm, biting his lip and closing his eyes—

You feel it.

In your chest. In your throat.

Oh God.

You shouldn’t be thinking this. He’s your best friend. He’s taken. He’s Jungkook. But you’re human and he’s—he’s just so magnetic up there. Confident. Wild. Beautiful.

It rattles something in you.

You look away for a second, shaking your head as if that’ll snap you out of it. But then you hear the bridge hit—Mina’s synths wailing, Ace’s guitar almost screaming—and you glance back.

He’s looking at you.

Just for a second.

Not long enough for anyone else to notice. But long enough for you to feel your heartbeat quicken like it’s trying to keep up with the tempo of his drums.

Long enough to wonder if he knows what he’s doing to you.

And then, just as quickly, it’s over.

The final notes ring out, loud and proud, and Jungkook hammers the crash cymbals like punctuation marks. The sound reverberates through the bar, into your ribs, your skin. Everyone’s screaming and clapping and whistling. Alex is on his feet, yelling something you can’t even hear. Jimin throws a towel toward the stage.

But you?

You’re frozen.

Emotion crashes into you like a wave—unexpected, heavy, cold. It’s not about attraction anymore. It’s not even about the performance. It’s the moment. The way Jungkook looked up, eyes shining, chest heaving, smiling like he hadn’t smiled in years.

It’s the way he came back to life in front of you.

And you realize, achingly, that this is what you’ve missed all along.

Not the friendship. Not the ease. Not the safety.

You missed him. That version of him. The one who lets himself feel joy without guilt. The one who belongs somewhere.

And for some reason, that breaks your heart.

Because he’s not yours to keep.

Not really.

Jungkook jumps off the stage like he’s weightless, flushed and glowing, his chest heaving as if he’s just run a marathon and won. The crowd still buzzes with leftover energy, but he’s already moving toward you—wild-eyed and breathless.

Before you can react, he wraps you in a hug, tight and full-bodied, arms locking around you like you’re the one anchoring him to the ground. You barely have time to think before you’re melting into it, laughing as your arms wind around his back.

“Holy shit,” he gasps into your ear, voice cracking with joy. “Did you see that? I didn’t tank it! I came back! I actually pulled it off!”

“You did, Kook, you killed it out there.”

He pulls back just enough to grab your face between both hands, calloused palms cradling your cheeks. His eyes are shining—shining—with something raw and real and so reminiscent of the boy he used to be, your chest squeezes tight.

“I thought I was gonna choke after that first beat,” he breathes, grin splitting his face. “But then I looked at the kids. And I looked at you. And it felt like I was supposed to be right there.”

Your heart stutters. “You looked like yourself up there.”

His expression shifts—just for a moment—and then his forehead drops to yours.

The contact is light. Barely there.

But it crackles.

It’s intimate and fleeting and charged, his breath brushing your lips, and your entire body locks up. You should move. You should really move. But you don’t. Neither does he.

You both just breathe.

And in that breath, something slips.

Not love.

Not lust.

But something terrifyingly in between.

“I should do this more often,” he murmurs, still forehead-to-forehead with you, eyes fluttering shut for half a second. “Feel like this.”

You don’t know what to say. You don’t want to say anything that might break the moment. That might remind either of you that he’s not yours to lean into like this. Never was.

But then the room reminds you for you.

A cheer goes up. Someone shouts his name. Laughter rings out.

And when he opens his eyes and sees how close you are, the spell breaks.

He steps back, a breath catching like it hurts. His hands fall slowly from your face as if letting go costs something.

You say nothing.

Neither does he.

Instead, you both turn—wordlessly—and slide onto the barstools beside each other.

Jungkook drums his fingers against the wood, still jittery with leftover adrenaline, while you pretend to focus on the drink Jimin sets in front of you.

Your shoulder brushes his.

He doesn’t move.

Neither do you.

But the silence between you is deafening.

Your chest feels too tight. Your throat too full.

And for a second—just a second—you wonder what would’ve happened if you told him everything when you were younger.

You wonder what it would feel like if it were you he could come back to.

But you don’t ask.

And he doesn’t offer.

So you both just sit there—shoulder to shoulder, forehead memory still warm—and pretend nothing happened at all.

taglist: @lovingkoalaface @santiiagopopegarcia @jadaocon1 @asyr97 @gukieater @themwordsblog @whatevevrerr @amarawayne @tititania @guwol @reallygenerouskoala @bgfdcvbnjk @kyljjk @whoa-jo @taekritimin123 @minimoninini @upo1313 @polnaraffsrack @tatzzz-25 @orphicepiphany @coletaehyung @bjoriis @epiphany-n @kimyishin @eegyo @dearmyfavoritepeople-bts @parkinglot-nights @mar-lo-pap @evrsncenewyork @jjeonjjk7 @minghaosimp @cerulean1riz @anumita-2007 @vantelover1306 @vynmin @nadzzzblog @jnghs @lachimolalajeon @joonwater @choijay-07 @notsevenwithyou @mononoaware16 @sky-23s-world @auroresce @sadgirlroo @arcadiaem @kokoandkookie @nakyra2 @kissyfacekoo @butterymin

[subliminalwish]

A Blooming Predicament

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Sylus x Reader Summary: Imagine you're a humble flower shop employee, packing up for the night when an unexpected visitor walks through the door, a shock of white that's impossible to miss in the empty shop amid the rose and lilies. Outside, three men walk past to and fro, searching through windows. Looking for something. Someone. CW: reader is not MC, reader is female, mentions of blood & violence, may or may not be unfinished idk A/N: This is a result of me being left alone in an empty office floor surrounded by remnants of Valentine's Day bouquet samplers. Also, has anyone seen the new trailer?? Is everyone ok??

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You don’t usually get many customers this late.

The flower shop is small, tucked between a laundromat and a bookstore that never seems to have any customers. The warm glow from inside spills onto the quiet street, casting soft light against the pavement. Outside, the city hums with its usual late-evening rhythm – cars passing in the distance, the occasional chatter of pedestrians, the faint trill of a siren somewhere far away.

You’re in the middle of wrapping up for the night, tucking away stray stems and sweeping up loose petals when the door opens sharply. The chime above the entrance rings, too loud in the stillness.

The man who walks in doesn’t fit the usual clientele  –  no hesitant romantic fumbling over the right bouquet, no elderly woman looking for something bright for her windowsill, no hurried office worker grabbing a last-minute gift. Instead, he moves like someone who doesn’t expect to be here, like someone who’s made a mistake and walked into the wrong place.

His presence shifts the air immediately, drawing attention without trying. He’s tall, dressed in dark clothes, his black coat moving with him as he steps further inside. The contrast of his sharp features against the white of his hair makes him easy to notice. Even in a city like Linkon, where people know better than to stare, someone like him is impossible to ignore.

The long black coat he wears is left open, the dark fabric shifting as he moves deeper into the shop. He’s breathing heavier than normal, but it’s controlled, as if he’s forcing himself to slow down. He doesn’t look at you right away. His crimson eyes flick over the shelves of flowers, scanning, assessing. Not like a customer deciding between lilies or orchids, but like someone trained to notice the details of a room the second they enter. Like someone used to being hunted.

That’s when you notice the scent – something distinct beneath the smoky leathery notes and faint sweet spice of cologne.

Gunpowder. Blood.

Your fingers still against the counter.

You watch as your patron lingers around in the shop, pointedly avoiding the windows.

Outside, three men pass by. They walk slow, deliberate. Not aimless pedestrians, not curious window shoppers judging from the gleam of their concealed firearms when the coat of the men swishes open a little too wide.

One of them glances through the glass, his gaze sweeping over the rows of carefully arranged flowers before moving on. They don’t stop. Not yet.

It clicks into place.

The man in front of you is running from them.

Your heart thrums in your chest as you continue to count the seconds this man spends in the shop. If they come in here looking for him, there will be a mess. A violent, bloody mess that will get between the shelves of daisies and hydrangeas and cling to the petals like an unwanted stain.

The shelves and displays do little to conceal his height, offering only the illusion of cover. Despite his careful steps away from the windows, he’s still too visible – the men outside wouldn’t need much more than a passing glance to spot him through the glass.

You don’t have time to think.

He’s moving further inside, head tilted slightly as if listening for something beyond the walls. He doesn’t seem like he intends to stay long, a plan already forming behind those crimson eyes. You don’t let him make that choice.

“Looking for something?” Your voice is even, casual, as if you aren’t staring at someone who just came off a chase. “We have all kinds of arrangements for any occasion.”

He doesn’t answer at first, only casting you a glance. His eyes are sharp, too observant for someone pretending to be a regular customer. But he doesn’t ignore you.

You pick up a bouquet from the counter, shifting slightly to block the window’s view of him. “Here. I recommend this one.”

His expression remains unreadable. He doesn’t look at the bouquet.

You don’t have time for this.

“This smells amazing,” you say, raising it slightly toward him. Then, much quieter, you whisper, “Lean down.”

Just enough to disappear. Just enough to be swallowed by the flowers. Just enough to be unseen.

You take a step forward, biting the bullet.

A flicker of something passes through his gaze – is it curiosity, calculation, hesitation? You don’t have time to care. Up close, his gaze feels heavier. You don’t know what he sees in your expression, but he doesn’t walk away.

You hook a finger into the collar of his shirt and tug, just enough to urge him forward.

For a brief moment, his body resists, the tension beneath the fabric undeniable, but then he moves, obeys. His large frame dips lower, his breath warm as he lowers his face toward the flowers. He doesn’t break eye contact, doesn’t let you out of his sight. His scarlet eyes burn, seem to gaze into you.

You’ll never forget their shade of red for as long as you live.

Your finger brushes against his skin, and you fight for your life ignoring the way its heat makes your pulse stutter, ignore the way it makes something in your chest pull tight.

Outside, the men walk past again and you hold your breath. They walk past once more. And then… they move on.

Neither of you move immediately.

The realization is mutual. The danger is gone, for now. But your finger is still hooked in his collar, and his body is still too close, warm beneath the scent of gunpowder and leather.

His gaze lingers, unreadable, before a slow, amused smirk tugs at his lips.

It’s unfair, the effect it has.

You let go.

He straightens, rolling his shoulders slightly, as if shaking off whatever had just passed between you.

"Thank you," he says. His voice is low, gravelly, edged with something unreadable.

Before you can respond, his hand moves – quick, practiced, slipping something into the breast pocket of your uniform.

A feather. Black as ink, soft as silk.

"If you ever find yourself in need of assistance," he says, "call me."

And then, as quickly as he arrived, he’s gone.

The door swings shut, the chime rings again, and the scent of him lingers long after he disappears into the night.

A/N [18.02.2025]: Um, hello again. I was going over my drafts and noticed that I actually published a much earlier version of this chapter! It's only minor and I've corrected this now - I'm so sorry!

[chiyokoemilia]

chapters of us | prologue  

pairing - architect/carpenter gojo satoru x bookstore owner reader

summary. your love life is as quiet as the shelves of your bookstore. seeking a change, you sign up for a dating app and become captivated by a picture-less/nameless profile—belonging to none other than gojo satoru, a charming architect with a complicated past. your online connection sparks with undeniable chemistry, but you remain unaware that the man you’re drawn to is also your neighbor next door. when he unexpectedly walks into your cozy bookstore, your world shifts. as you navigate feelings for both the mystery man online and the neighbor who feels like a heartbeat away, hidden truths loom over you. can love blossom amid secrets, or will the shadows of your pasts eclipse your stories before it even begins?

word count – 2.26k (i know, it’s really short!)

fic warnings. contains explicit sexual content, guy-next-door, romantic tension, rough sex, age difference (gojo is 32, reader 23), themes of self-doubt, angst, insecurities, heartbreak, and emotional trauma. complicated relationship/pining, alcohol use.

a/n: hi lovebirds! thank you for stumbling across this small liddol corner of the internet. if you couldn’t already tell, i’m sickly obsessed with the man that is gojo satoru and i am unapologetically shameless in that devotion. moving on [...] this just so happens to be my very first fic in years. the last book i wrote was a fictional story in middle school inside a beat-up dollar-store notebook. i recall the feeling of joy running up to my english teacher with a huge smile on my face, sharing with the world how i wrote my very first book. i also remember rummaging through boxes in the storage closet of my garage; I found that very same notebook years later – laughing and cringing at my own writing. although that book is long gone, i hope to find the same joy i found in writing as i did then. and while i cannot guarantee my skills have improved much since, i cannot help but hope you can all find some joy in my work too. here is to new beginnings!! ♡ (author's note continued at the end)

series masterlist | next chapter ->

FLIGHT FROM GERMANY TO JAPAN June 28, 2014 [2 Months Ago]

The cabin is a sea of muted conversations, the quiet clink of glasses, and the steady hum of the engine. Beneath the thin layer of noise, the world outside is nothing but a gray blur, the clouds shifting beneath you like cotton in a needle.

You trace the outline of your boarding pass with the tip of your finger, a subconscious motion that holds more weight than it should. The ink is smudged from where you gripped it too tightly lost in the chaos of your thoughts. Tokyo, Japan. The name seems foreign, yet it carries the weight of all the unanswered questions you’ve been holding within.

But there’s no hope in your chest, no excitement like you’re supposed to feel. Only the hollow thud of your heart against your ribcage, a constant reminder that you’re running.

You should be scared, but fear is something you’ve grown numb to. Fear of the unknown, fear of starting over, fear of facing what you left behind in Germany. It’s easier to let that weight slip down into your stomach and ignore it—at least for now.

Germany had been suffocating. The sterile white of the hospital halls, the incessant beeping of monitors that had once been a comfort but now only reminded you of how long you’d been there. The months that bled into years of quiet waiting, hoping for something that never came. And then there was the betrayal. The friend you had leaned on, the person you trusted who broke you in a way you never saw coming.

You exhale slowly, pushing the thoughts aside, willing the ache to retreat into the hollow space that has become your chest.

Tokyo. New city. New start. You tell yourself that over and over, even though you’re not sure you believe it.

The plane is filled with strangers, none of them more than temporary. You’d resigned yourself to the endless parade of unfamiliar faces, the kind of transient connections that fill the spaces between real ones. You hadn’t expected the woman in 14A to change that.

She sits beside you, her eyes soft but piercing, like she can see right through the layers of distraction you’ve woven around yourself. Her breath is laced with mint, and it almost makes you smile, but you don’t. She leans in slightly, her voice warm, coaxing the air out of your lungs.

“You know,” she begins, her eyes locking onto yours, “sometimes life doesn’t give us what we want because it’s leading us to what we need.”

The words settle into the space between you, uninvited but present. 

You don’t know why she says it. 

Maybe she’s just trying to fill the silence, or maybe it’s something more.

You don’t respond right away. She keeps talking, as if she can’t feel the distance between you, as if she doesn’t see the armor you’ve draped over yourself.

“Have you ever been to Tokyo?” she asks, her voice shifting in a gentle pitch as if asking about the weather.

“No,” you say, a simple answer, but it feels like too much. 

No, I’ve never been. I’ve never had the luxury of going. 

Your thoughts are spiraling, but you don’t say any of that.

Not to her.

The plane continues its descent. The world outside the window is fading—Germany swallowed by the clouds and long forgotten, leaving only the unknown in its wake. 

Tokyo is closer now, realer somehow, and the weight of it presses down on you.

“Tokyo’s a funny place,” the woman continues, her voice still loud in the near-empty row. “My daughter's husband always says the city feels like it’s meant to reset you. Like it washes away all the bad stuff.”

You wish you could believe her. 

You wish you could buy into the idea of a clean slate, the notion that Tokyo could simply erase what’s behind you. 

But you know better.

A part of you wonders if anything will ever truly cleanse you.

You look out the window, the faint outline of Tokyo’s skyline emerging from the fog. 

There it is—your “fresh start." Your “new beginning.”

But deep down, you can’t shake the nagging thought: Is this really what I need? Or am I just running from what I’ll never be able to outrun?

The plane bumps as it touches the runway, the wheels screeching against the tarmac, and you snap back to the moment.

This is it. You’re here.

The woman continues, unaware of your inner turmoil. “They say it’s a city of second chances.”

You don’t answer. You’re already thinking of your own messy life, and the thought of second chances? It seems nothing short of unattainable.

The woman sighs, content with her unsolicited advice.

You let her words drift in one ear and out the other. 

I'm not here to hear about "second chances."

You’re here to escape.

To run from the weight of what you can’t outrun.

She’s still talking when the seatbelt sign dings, the jarring sound reminding you that you have arrived.

The wheels continue to squeal against the runway, and the plane slows, the steady hum of the engines finally coming to an end. The air in the cabin shifts—there’s a soft exhale from everyone on the plane – a collective release – as if the flight itself had been a slow, drawn-out exhalation of everything they’d been holding inside.

But for you? You share no such sentiment. There is no relief in your body. 

Just a tight knot in your chest, a mix of anticipation and dread that’s been building up for as long as you can remember.

The woman in 14A is still talking, her voice rising over the thrum of the plane coming to a halt. 

You can’t even focus on her anymore. Not with the overwhelming noise inside your own head. Your fingers grip the armrest, the cold plastic biting into your skin, grounding you.

It’s not that you don’t want to hear her. 

She’s kind, her presence is even comforting.. in some way. 

But you can’t stop thinking about what you’re running from.

Back home, you had been chained to the hospital for so long that the outside world felt like a distant illusion.

You shift in your seat, eyes flicking to the window as the airport draws closer. It feels like a dream you’re not ready to wake up from. There’s an odd sense of unreality that settles over you as the city comes into focus.  It almost feels strange to explore beyond the world you had always known. 

It’s bright and bustling— nothing like the quiet halls and the incessant ticking of hospital clocks. 

But how long will that excitement last? 

How long will it take before the weight of your past catches up with you?

The woman in 14A seems to sense the shift in your mood. Her voice softens, as though she’s able to see through the internal war in your head.

“You’re running from something, aren’t you?” she asks, gentle words, but sharp enough to pierce through your distracted mind.

You freeze for a moment. Your throat tightens. 

She doesn’t know. She can’t know. But somehow, it feels like she does.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Instead, you turn away, fumbling with your bag, your eyes darting between the window and your lap, anything to avoid the weight of her gaze. But she doesn’t push. She doesn’t demand a confession. She simply waits, her presence a quiet understanding.

The plane finally comes to a full stop, the engines winding down to a soft whirr, and the seatbelt sign flashes on. Your pulse quickens, your heartbeat a steady drum in your ears as the final leg of this journey begins. 

Bu-dump, Bu-dump, Bu-dump.

You gather your things mechanically, the weight of your bag too familiar, too burdensome. You stand when the seatbelt sign clicks off, trying to ignore the slight tremor in your hands.

You step into the aisle, the woman in 14A watching you go with a knowing smile tugging at the corners of her lips. You don’t know why, but you feel like she’s seeing something you don’t want to be seen. It unsettles you more than you care to admit.

Tokyo awaits beyond the cabin doors, the city alive with promise. You can feel it in the way the air shifts, the hum of activity waiting for you to dive into it. You have no idea what you’re going to find here. No clue how long it will take to forget the whispers of your past or how long you’ll have before the scars start to show again. You don’t know what you’re hoping for anymore—only that it’s time to move forward into whatever comes next.

ᡣ𐭩 ࣪ ˖⊹ 𝜗𝜚  ࣪𝄞 𝜗𝜚 ⊹˖ ࣪ ᡣ𐭩 

The moment you step off the plane, everything is different. There’s no turning back now. You feel it—the tug of the unknown, the weight of all that’s behind you, pressing against your back.

A new city. A new life. But no matter what, you can't shake the feeling in your heart: that nothing feels like it's enough.

You take a deep breath as you step into the crowded terminal, the buzz of voices and the endless flow of bodies a stark contrast to the quiet isolation of the flight. You feel small, almost invisible, a speck in the vast sea of faces.

You continue trudging forward, like you're walking through a fog, each step heavier than the last. The terminal stretches out like a never-ending tunnel. The blur of voices and the mechanical beep of the passport machine melt into a dull hum, and you can barely keep your focus as you reach the scanning station.

You swipe your passport through the machine and it flashes red. The machine’s shrill beep rings in your ears, like some cruel reminder of how your life is met with nothing but obstacles.

A uniformed officer approaches, his eyes cold, unreadable.

"Miss, I’ll need you to come with me,” he says, his tone matter-of-fact, as he motions toward a small room.

Of course. How wonderful.

You nod, your throat dry as dust, not trusting yourself to speak.

You follow him into the quiet room, where he gently places your bag on a table. The metallic click of the zipper fills the space as he opens it, his hands methodically searching through your belongings. Your personal items—nothing special, just the usual mess—are strewn across the table. The fraying notebook, your thick scarf that still smells like the hospital, and that keychain that reminds you of your happiest memory. You can’t help but feel the heat rising to your face when he pulls out a hello-kitty tampon, then your old hoodie— the one you couldn’t bear to leave behind, even if it’s more of a comfort thing than anything else now. It’s embarrassing, but you keep your mouth shut.

"A holiday?" he asks, glancing at you briefly, eyes still focused on your bag.

"No," you stammer, your voice barely a whisper as your fingers curl tightly around your sides.

"Business then?" he presses, his gloved hands pulling out a crumpled receipt from a café you don't even remember visiting.

"No," you reply again, feeling the exhaustion pull at you. "Just... no." You rub your forehead, fighting back the incoming headache and a flood of emotions that threatens to spill over.

"Not business," he repeats, "Well, then, what is it, miss?"

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat refusing to go down.

The weight of his gaze feels like it’s tearing through you, and for a moment, you want to hide, to curl up into a ball and disappear.

But you can’t. You won’t.

"My mother passed away," you finally manage, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

For a moment, the officer stills, his fingers hovering over a sweater. He looks up at you then—really looks at you—and there’s a brief shift in his expression, almost imperceptible, but it’s there. Something in his gaze softens, just for a second.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he says, his voice lowering in a rare note of sympathy. The sincerity in his tone catches you off guard, almost making you want to crumble in front of him. It's strange how something so small—a kindness, a flicker of empathy—can pierce through the numbness, even for a moment.

He hands your passport back to you, then nods toward the door. "You're all set. Welcome to Tokyo."

You’re too dazed to respond, your head spinning. Your body feels like it’s on autopilot as he leads you out of the room and toward the exit. The cool air in the terminal is a stark contrast to the suffocating weight of grief, and you breathe deeply, trying to steady yourself.

When you reach baggage claim, you spot your bags circling around carousel three. You take a deep breath, picking up your two suitcases, the familiar weight of them strangely grounding.

Outside, a taxi waits. The driver doesn’t ask questions as he opens the door for you, only giving you a simple nod. You step inside, grateful for the quiet moment, the solitude of the ride.

“Where to?” he asks, his voice a gentle rumble, still distant but polite.

"Jinbōchō," you say, barely above a whisper, your mind far away from the words you’re speaking.

He nods, sliding your bags into the trunk without a word.

Next thing you know, you’re off, the city lights blurring past in a mix of color and motion.

“Coming back home?” he asks after a while, breaking the silence.

Home?

You exhale slowly, trying to make sense of the question.

What is home anymore?

Your mind drifts, the past and present colliding in a haze.

"Sort of," you murmur, the words escaping before you can stop them.

You’re not sure if it’s the truth.

But for now, it’s all you have.

ᡣ𐭩 ࣪ ˖⊹ 𝜗𝜚  ࣪𝄞 𝜗𝜚 ⊹˖ ࣪ ᡣ𐭩 

Raindrops race down the car window, each one stubbornly fighting to stick to the glass. You close your eyes, and the exhaustion from the trip hits you like a wave, pulling you under.

The second your eyes slip shut, memories come rushing back. She’s there—your mom.

You can almost smell the flour and feel the warmth of the kitchen. It’s a lazy Saturday morning, and you’re nine years old, helping her bake while she hums some old song, twirling around with a smile on her face.

It’s one of those memories you’ve kept locked away for years, like a little piece of happiness you’re scared to lose—one that slips further out of reach every day.

You remember how bad it hurt when she left.

Dad tried his best, but nothing could fill that hole she left behind. Nothing could take her place.

You ended up burying yourself in books, getting lost in stories that felt safer than the real world—stories that numbed the pain, even if it's only for a little while.

By the time you were in college, the library had become your second home. You’d spend hours wandering the aisles, soaking up the smell of old books and worn-out pages. It was quiet, safe—like nothing bad could touch you there. It was easier to drown in fiction than to face a world where everything had felt so messed up and broken.

But one morning, without warning, everything changed.

ᡣ𐭩 ࣪ ˖⊹ 𝜗𝜚  ࣪𝄞 𝜗𝜚 ⊹˖ ࣪ ᡣ𐭩 

series masterlist | next chapter ->

author's note: well, hello there! thank you for making it to the end of this little teaser to chapters of us. this is meant to be a little prologue. as excited as i was to get right into reader’s fated meeting with gojo, i truly wanted to take my time to establish the scene for the story, a small look into her universe - setting the stage for what is to come. i wanted to write more and im sure you could hardly call this a prologue, but it’s been sitting in my drafts for weeks & its giving me something of a headache just looking at it. is this perhaps.. the fated writers block?! i digress. i thought this was enough of a delay so ill simply share what i have now and write more as i go. i'm truly excited for this story. i have so many plot twists, romance + angst planned but i've honestly been procrastinating getting this out and doubting my work. it's always been a dream of mine to become an author, but for now i'm simply going to enjoy this little hobby of mine and hopefully make some new friends along the way. what are your thoughts so far? can't wait to hear them!

ᰔ taglist: — @madamechrissy @berrylovesmegumiiii @introvertatitsfinest @dark-agate @cheezitcracker @frozenmallows @berrychaivibe @lovelyjkook @seternic @dazailover1900 @jotarohat @httpstoyosi @satorurize @myahfig4 @teatimebeliever @alula394 @flowerpot113 @harryzcherry @emochosoluvr @sylustoru @daydreamingastronauts @winniethepooh-lover @gojoscumslut @achildofaphrodite @sorenflyinn @xixflower @altgojo @moncher-ire @nappingmoon @nanasukii28 @sherrieblossoms @celineko20 @averyjadedemerald @sleepyyammy @fisusaurus (open!)

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[nymphea0]

Until Death My Love

Part 4 (END).

Yandere husband x Wife Reader

Warning : mention of fire, chase scenes, and some mature content, mention of sleeping drug.

Please read the warning before you start to reading this story, might have some bad grammars, correct me if there are any mistakes in the words in the story I wrote. I think to make a special chapter what do you think? Should i make it?. Anyways i hope you all enjoys my story,love.- Neva🦋🦋

Word Count Around : 1679 Word

Story Part 1 : Until Death My Love

Story Part 2 : Until Death My Love

Story Part 3 : Until Death My Love

.

.

.

'Brooklyn, New York.'

It's been a month since you ran away from your house and your husband.

You admit that you are very scared, you believe all of Roana's words that said that Alex, your husband, would kill you because you were caught entering his secret room.

You always knew that Alex loved you very much, but you didn't know that he had even noticed you during school, somehow you felt like he was stalking you behind his friendly smile.

Picture of yourself that were taken secretly, the body of someone who was quite familiar with you. You can't believe that Alex did that, your husband who you always thought was a normal man who was successful working as a coal company CEO turned out to be just a disguise as a mafia associate, you feel like he has deceived you.

.

.

This morning you will start your work as a library cleaning staff in the corner of Brooklyn, New York.

The city is quite crowded, the population is quite dense, and it is very easy to find work here. While cleaning the library bookshelves, sometimes you think about going back to Alex, your husband, maybe if you didn't follow Roana's words, you might be relaxing at home right now.

But you are not ready for the risk of what Alex will do if he finds out that you know his little secret.

But the rice has become porridge, you can't turn back what has happened.

The Graze Library, or more like an old bookstore, is deserted and the salary you get is not that big, but at least it is enough to support yourself.

.

It's been 1 month and 3 weeks that you have been in Brooklyn, you always come home late, because your working hours start from morning to noon, then continue with the evening until 9 pm.

Through the wet asphalt cobblestone roads due to the rain, you don't know .... since when you feel like someone is watching you.

Only the sound of rats and your footsteps can be heard on the quiet streets towards your shabby and cheap apartment.

'Tap'

'Tap'

'Tap'

Trying to avoid puddles of water that could make your shoes wet.

Just as you arrive in front of the door of your apartment building, you hear the sound of a trash can falling.

Either because you are paranoid or you are too shocked, you immediately look back only to see there is only a rat and a trash can that has fallen.

'Cit'

'cit'

'cit'

Sighing in relief that it was just a sewer rat busy looking for food.

Opening the door of the apartment building and entering the building. Walking slowly while greeting the male receptionist who is busy playing with his cellphone with a friendly smile.

Entering the elevator slowly, and pressing the button for the 6th floor.

'Ting'

The elevator door opens, you walk slowly in the dim hallway of this cheap apartment building. Even though this building has 8 floors, you can't help but feel afraid to live in this building.

This building rents out apartments at a cheap price, because this building has entered the criteria for an unsuitable building. But what can you do if you only have a little money, no one will rent an apartment building for 45$ for a whole year.

Stopping in front of a wooden door with peeling paint, unlocking the door and entering your small apartment.

'Krieet'

Even the sound from the door was more terrifying than your financial condition.

After making sure the door was locked, you walked tiredly to the leather sofa that was even torn to shreds. That night you slept so soundly that you didn't even notice the bouquet of flowers in your bedroom.

.

.

That morning ... you couldn't help but worry about what you saw, a bouquet of primroses, fresh flowers tied with a white ribbon.

Looking around the apartment you couldn't help but worry who would even dare to enter someone else's house without the owner's permission?

Primrose or people call it primula flower, a flower with various colors.... has a fairly romantic philosophy, namely passion, love and loyalty.

Who in this world even dares to give it in someone's bedroom? Does the person who gave this intend to seduce you?.

You really want to throw away the flower, but your heart says otherwise, the flower is too beautiful to be thrown in the trash.

.

That afternoon you worked as usual, you rested and ate a chocolate bar as a filler for your stomach that was screaming for food.

Sitting relaxing under a willow tree, the graze library is on the corner of our Brooklyn, close to the forests. Looking at the river rippling slowly following the flow of the ships that passed by.

After resting, you continued working, tonight you came home above 9 o'clock! . You didn't know that the person who was supposed to be on the night shift today was playing truant and you had no choice but to replace him at work.

It was past 12 midnight, midnight .... a pretty good night for people who want to commit crimes.

That night, Aunt Irene, the old woman who slept in the library said to spend the night in the library, it's not good for a young woman like you to go out in the middle of the day.

But you are stubborn, you want to sleep soundly in your dusty room.

.

With strong determination you walk faster than usual, passing the willow trees, only accompanied by the sound of mice and also dim street lights.

You feel very watched, you feel like someone is watching you.

Then at the end of the road, you see so many people gathered in front of your apartment building, there you see a beam of fire that shoots wildly in your apartment building.

With quick steps you head towards the crowd. Ask one of the random people there

"Excuse me, sorry to bother you, why is this building on fire?"

"Miss, are you a resident of this building? If so, it's too bad, a few hours ago there were some people in black suits who forcibly bombed this building, who knows what their motives were, but the police and security forces are still investigating it"

You could only be pensive hearing that, walking unsteadily to the people who were evacuating, you looked around your apartment building which was crowded with people, many firefighters were busy putting out the fire.

You looked sadly at your shabby apartment building that had been completely devoured by fire.

Where will you sleep tonight. Planning to go back to the library only to stop frozen.

There you saw Alex, standing not far from you, looking at you with longing eyes.

You panicked with 1001 ways to avoid danger, you ran away from Alex, who of course he chased you.

.

.

Running as hard as you could down the muddy cobblestone streets of Brooklyn was not an easy thing.

You could hear Alex calling your name. You just keep running and running, you can hear clearly, Alex is chasing you with his men.

Are you going to die? Does Alex want to kill you because you know his little secret.

Your breath is very heavy, you can feel that your heart is beating as fast as you are pumping adrenaline to get away from Alex, only to feel your hand being pulled so hard by Alex, your husband!.

"Caught you, my love"

Alex wraps one arm around your waist, the other holds your chin.

"Are you satisfied hmm? Is my love satisfied playing running around?"

You don't know what to do, you can only be silent and frozen.

"Why my dear? Why did you leave me? Did I do something wrong?"

"Answer me love?!".

Alex with his hands that are holding your chin tighter, stares into your eyes sharply.

With a very deep longing and passion, Alex kissed your lips very aggressively, the kiss was full of longing, and thirsty for touch. His lips claimed your lips.

His tongue played with yours, releasing your wild kisses, Alex looked at you who was in his arms.

His leather-gloved hand touched your lips which were swollen from Alex's kiss.

You don't know why but slowly but surely you feel your body limp in Alex's arms.

Damn, you realized too late that Alex slipped sleeping pills into your previous kiss.

Your vision blurred, you could only see Alex smirking at you, and finally you fell unconscious in Alex's arms.

.

.

Alex, your husband, he has been watching you his little wife for 1 month, letting you live in this shabby apartment, he really wants to pick you up by force and shower you with luxury and not poverty, how can his love live in poverty, he is not willing.

Following his father's advice, Alex let you enjoy your simple life.

In a shabby and old apartment, working in a library that was even deserted, always eating instant food.

His heart ached so much, seeing his wife live so miserably, but he had to restrain himself, just think of this as a lesson for yourself that you can't live without him, his wife who is so weak and needs protection so much, his stray cat who really likes to find trouble.

His heart ached even more when you smiled kindly at the male receptionist whose face wasn't even that big, how dare you, his little wife, make him jealous, so he would burn down that shabby apartment, he had enough of restraining himself, he had enough of seeing you live in poverty.

Alex looked at you who was currently sleeping soundly in Alex's mansion in New York City.

You were sleeping very peacefully, wearing only his shirt, one of your hands was tied by gold-colored handcuffs combined with a small chain wrapped around the handcuffs.

Walking slowly but surely, Alex sat beside you who was sleeping, brushing your hair that covered your face from his view.

Gently stroking your face, kissing your forehead lovingly, then your cheek, then your nape, until biting your neck affectionately which currently left a love bite mark.

That night your eyes opened, Alex claimed you as his, claiming his very naughty wife, that night, only witnessed by the moonlight shining through the window, illuminating 2 people who were busy wrestling in bed in the pleasures of the world.

.

.

How many hours is it? You don't know what time it is, Alex your husband, busy making love to you, busy moaning erotically in your ear.

Busy making sure you are pregnant with his child. Alex, a man who always holds back, he doesn't hold back tonight.

With his possessions united with you, and you who can no longer think rationally, can only follow the rhythm of your husband's game.

That night Alex made love to you like an animal in mating season, very brutal and did not give you a break to breathe.

"Haah .... must make you pregnant yeah ?? My darling must be pregnant ... nghh that way .... you will not run away from me anymore"

Alex held your body that was already limp under his body, kissing your lips passionately Alex said.

"Rest my love, very naughty, my very naughty wife ahh you make me crazy about you my darling, don't expect you can get away from me"

"Even until death ...you are mine..love"

.

.

.

*Source image: pinterest

©️Nymphea0 2024 , OG story . Project Dark Romance Story 1.

Please dont steal my work, or use without my permissions , Always be good people Dear. Much love , Neva🦋🦋.

@snowflakes666 @athena-roy @ayoulookingfine @sirenetheblogger @blurryperrtymoonlight @luminethebest @scenicelixir @n4muqr

[themarbledstudy]

Day Off

📃Masterlist || WC: 1959 || Standalone

📚 Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader

📚 Warnings: Sweeeeeeeet! Tooth-rotting sweet.

📚 Context: Spencer and BAU!Reader have been married for a couple years (1-2 years).

📚 Author's Note: N/A.

It was an ordinary Thursday off—well, as ordinary as life could be for two members of the BAU. The day was a rare gift, a full 24 hours to just be. To enjoy each other’s company without the looming threat of an urgent call or a new case. You’d both taken the morning to run errands, wandering around Union Station in D.C., stopping at a bookstore where Spencer got lost in searching for a childhood favorite.

You’d been having a peaceful day, no bad guys to chase, no profiles to crack, just the quiet hum of people living their lives.

It was all so normal.

“I’ll be right back,” you told Spencer as you headed off toward the pharmacy a couple of stores down. “I just need to grab something real quick. I’ll be back in 10 minutes.”

He looked up from a dusty pile of old books, his face lighting up with that familiar, concerned expression. “Do you want me to go with you? I don’t mind. We can come back afterward,” he offered, his voice soft, like he was afraid you might be up to something.

You smiled at him, trying to keep things light. “It’s fine, Spence. You’re busy looking for that book, remember? I’ll be quick.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding, but he still didn’t look entirely convinced. You could tell he wasn’t really buying it. But you needed to go alone. The moment felt important.

The pharmacy was quiet, early enough in the day that you could walk the aisles undisturbed. You moved slowly, scanning the shelves filled with pregnancy tests. Your stomach did flips as you looked at the colorful boxes, each promising to give you answers, but none of them were going to answer what was truly weighing on you.

You’d missed your period last month. You’d been feeling off for a while now. And while a part of you wanted to be excited—wanted to believe this was a new chapter, you were also terrified. Your heart raced as you picked up one box, then another, then another. Three seemed like a good number, right? Just to be sure.

But what if you weren’t ready for this? What if Spencer wasn’t? He was always so thoughtful, so meticulous, you couldn’t help but wonder if he would be ready for the kind of commitment being a parent would require. You didn’t want to disappoint him, but you weren’t sure if you were ready either.

As you stood there, reading the back of yet another test, you bumped into someone.

“Sorry, sir, I didn’t—” You froze. It was Spencer.

He was standing there, his brow furrowed, holding your wallet with an almost confused look on his face. “The last time I checked, this wasn’t the menstrual aisle.” His voice was a little playful but laced with concern. “You forgot your wallet when we left the car,” he added. He held your wallet out to you like it was just another ordinary moment.

Your heart stopped. You tried to hide the tests behind your back, your cheeks flushing crimson. “Uh… just taking the scenic route,” you muttered, not quite meeting his eyes.

Spencer’s brow quirked, and even though you could tell he was trying to keep it light, there was a spark of suspicion in his gaze. “You’re not menstruating, at least not for another two weeks. And I bought you pads last week. Are you sure you’re okay?”

You gulped. Spencer knew you better than anyone else, and you had a hard time hiding things from him. You wanted to say something, anything, to distract him, but your hands felt clammy. He was already piecing it together.

He gently grabbed your hand and pulled the pregnancy tests into view. His eyes softened, and you saw that faint flicker of realization. His voice dropped to a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the moment. “Are we going to be parents?” He didn’t sound scared or nervous, just in awe, as though he had been waiting for this moment in some quiet corner of his mind for a long time.

You swallowed hard. “I know we didn’t plan on it for a couple more years, but I missed my period last month.” You trailed off, feeling the weight of the moment settle between you.

Spencer’s expression softened even more. There was no fear, no judgment, just a warm, gentle understanding that left you breathless. He cupped your face with one hand, thumb tracing the outline of your cheek as if grounding you, reassuring you that no matter what came next, you weren’t alone.

“Sweetheart,” he began, his voice steady but filled with emotion, “I’ve wanted to be a dad for a long time. I’ve thought about it, what it would be like to raise a little one with you. I don’t want you to feel scared, or like you have to carry all of this alone. You don’t. We’re in this together, okay?”

You felt your eyes well up with tears at the sincerity in his voice, but you couldn’t quite bring yourself to speak. Spencer, as always, seemed to know exactly what you needed. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“It’s okay to be nervous,” he said, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. “We’re both nervous. But I know that I want this with you. I want to be a father with you. I just need you to know that I’m here for you, no matter what you decide.”

Your heart fluttered at his words. He was so sure, so confident in his feelings, but also so incredibly patient with your uncertainty. That was what you loved about Spencer—his ability to make everything feel like it would work out, no matter the obstacles.

You nodded slowly, feeling a weight lift off your chest. “I do want it. I’m just scared,” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly. “I’m scared we’re not ready.”

Spencer smiled, a small but reassuring smile, before placing a soft kiss on your lips. “Change isn’t always a bad thing. It’s just different. But we can do this. We’ll figure it out together. And if it’s tough, we’ll lean on each other. We always do.”

With his hand around yours, Spencer led you back to the counter, the three pregnancy tests now carefully tucked away in a small paper bag. He paid for them, then gently guided you toward the door, the weight of the moment settling between you, but also a sense of peace.

At Home

Back at your townhouse, the tests sat on the kitchen counter. You couldn’t help but pace. Spencer watched you, his eyes filled with a quiet understanding. He didn’t push you. Instead, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a comforting embrace.

“I’m nervous too,” he admitted, his voice soft. “But whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

You nodded, resting your forehead against his chest. “I don’t know if I’m ready,” you whispered.

He smiled and pulled up a chair for you at the kitchen island, making you sit and face him. “Hey,” he started, his tone trying to lighten the mood. “You’re working yourself up over something you don’t have control over.”

You stopped walking and gave him a look. “Spence, we both know damn well that we did have control over what happened and what will happen.”

He chuckled and sat down next to you, pulling you gently into his arms. “I mean, technically we don’t have control over it. Whether or not a sperm fertilizes an egg is random. Sure, we can try to time things, but the actual fertilization process? That’s all up to chance, which sperm makes it, and whether the egg is viable at the right time. It's not as simple as we think.”

You couldn’t help but let up a little, laughing despite yourself. “It still doesn’t change the fact that this is all happening because of… well, you know you kind of had to–,” you said, giving him a pointed look.

Spencer raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a sly smile. “Oh? So I’m the reason we’re here, huh?”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, a little tension easing. “Well, you did have to, you know... make it happen."

He chuckled, his hand resting gently on your back. “I can’t exactly say I regret it.”

You laughed for real this time, the warmth of his embrace making everything feel lighter. He kissed your forehead, his fingers tracing soothing patterns across your skin, grounding you as you both let the reality of the moment settle.

“Let’s just take a breath, okay?” Spencer said softly, his voice full of sweetness. “Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out together.”

You smiled, your heart lifting as you leaned into him. You were far from being sure about everything, but in that moment, surrounded by Spencer’s love and patience, you felt like you could take the next step.

The timer for the tests went off. You both stood and walked toward the bathroom door, but you stopped before you opened it.

“I can’t look,” you whispered, suddenly overcome with nerves again.

Spencer squeezed your hand gently. “We’ll look at the same time,” he suggested.

With a deep breath, you both counted to three, then looked down at the tests.

Positive.

Positive.

Positive.

Spencer let out a breathless laugh. “We’re going to be parents,” he said, voice thick with joy.

You turned to him, eyes shining. “We made a life, Spence.”

He placed another kiss on your cheek, the soft brush of his lips making your heart flutter. “So... are we gonna have to move?” he asked, his voice light but filled with that underlying excitement you couldn't quite ignore.

You smiled, thinking ahead to the future—a tiny room with a crib, little baby shoes scattered around. It was a thought that still felt surreal. “Probably,” you said, your smile widening. “We only have a two-bedroom townhouse. We’re going to need a couple more rooms.”

Spencer’s eyes lit up with something between joy and playful curiosity. He stepped a little closer, his hand finding the small of your back as he tilted his head to look at you, his gaze intense but warm. “A couple more rooms, huh?” he teased, taking a step closer, his breath warm against your skin. “How many to be exact?”

You rolled your eyes, but the playful smile tugging at your lips gave you away. “Well, how many do you want?”

Spencer’s lips curled into a mischievous grin. He leaned in, just close enough that you could feel the heat from his body, his thumb gently brushing against your cheek. He kissed you then—soft, sweet, and entirely teasing—a brief, chaste kiss, but one that made you feel like you were the only two people in the world.

When he pulled back, he was still grinning, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of love and playful mischief. “I’m sure we’ll figure that out, eventually.” His voice was low, almost a whisper, as if sharing a secret just between the two of you.

You leaned into him, letting the laughter bubble up from your chest. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, pulling you close, as if you were both savoring the moment before it could slip away. You rested your head on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your ear. His hands gently stroked your hair, fingers combing through it in a slow, calming rhythm.

The world felt simple and perfect in that moment—just the two of you, with all the joy and uncertainty of the future ahead, but knowing that, no matter what, you'd be okay.

“Yeah,” you whispered, the smile still on your lips. “We’ll figure it out, Spence. Together.”

[sphireath-wisp]

Hihi!!! I was just wondering if you could do just little cute scenarios with sae, yoichi, and rin (gn! reader + all individual)

im sorry if this isn't as detailed as you wish but I'm just really craving tooth rotting fluff+ take your time (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

Sypnosis: In the busy hustle and bustle of life, it's sometimes hard to find time to spend together. When there's time, what are the hobbies/little things both of you do together?

Warning: My readers are always morally grey in some way because it's more realistic to me, not proofread

Author's note: Thank you so much for reaching out and giving me this ask! I'll try my best to weave my story together to match your request. I owe my friend a good favour, so I hope you don't mind me adding her BL favourite here. Thank you so much for your understanding ε(´｡•᎑•`)っ 💕

Featuring: Sae Itoshi, Yoichi Isagi, Rin Itoshi x GN! reader

SAE ITOSHI... finds himself most at ease during late-night drives with you in the passenger seat. The windows are down, you're sticking your head out of the car despite his multiple warnings, and he can't stop smiling. His free hand is reaching for you and tugging your shirt down, and his eyes drift to your pouting face in the rearview mirror.

Usually, his late-night drives together with you have no real destination. Acting purely on a whim, Sae always drives you wherever feels right. Sometimes, it's the port right by the beach. Other times, he's driving you to an empty parking lot. Today, he decides to let you have the privilege of choosing where to go.

And when you ultimately decide to go to a playground out of all places, he scoffs but does a U-turn without hesitation.

Is it currently 11 p.m. and does he have a schedule he almost-religiously follows? Yes, and he has a feeling that he won't have enough time to drink his salted kombucha tomorrow morning. Is he tired? Absolutely. Why would he do all of this when he knows damn well he has practice tomorrow?

Hell, he's asking himself that as he opens the car door for you and helps you out.

With a cheeky peck on Sae's cheek, you wash away his thoughts and he returns the favour with a kiss on your forehead. "Let's go get a new car, yeah?" Sae shuts the car door behind you. You're bewildered, to say the least, "I'll let you pick a design this time."

"Look! It's here, it's here!" Your boyfriend, YOICHI ISAGI, geeks out in the manga section of your local bookstore. "Oh yeah, didn't they release figures already? Season 2 is being released soon, right?"

His smile only grows wider when you nod. He's crouching down beside you as you tower over him, leaning down slightly to watch him stare at the various covers. Standing back up on his feet with two in hand, Isagi seems to have reached a slight dilemma.

"Ah... should I get the latest chapter? Or should I..." Oh, isn't that the romance manga you recommended to him? The main couple was cheesy, but it reminded you a lot of how your relationship with Isagi is. Turning your head away, you find yourself stifling a giggle - how cute.

After a moment of deep thought, Isagi sulks. His shoulders slump and he kneels back down, placing both the mangas back on their shelves. Like a defeated puppy, he crouches there for a moment in silence.

"What's up?"

"I can't decide, so it's better if I don't get one or else I'll spend the rest of the day regretting it," He's solemn, your heart clenches when he forces an awkward smile. It's not a big deal, but... "You can borrow my copy y'know, don't be shy."

He perks up. It's a simple gesture, but the simplest things in life have always pleased Isagi the most. With a bashful laugh, he picks out the manga he wanted - he can indulge a little, he decides. "Right, I'm sorry. You didn't need to see how let down I was over something so small." Honestly, Isagi's a little shy. It's only been a few months into the relationship. He wants to respect you and your boundaries.

"I'll get you something in return, thank you."

RIN ITOSHI yelps when he stumbles out of your bedroom to the dimly lit living room of your apartment, sucking back a hiss from the base of his throat when something jabs at his foot. His disappointment only grows when he lifts his foot to see the imprint of a Lego brick on the sole. "What do you think you're doing? At 1 in the morning?" The once groggy Rin Itoshi is now wide awake, meeting your avoidant gaze. As you continue to piece together your Lego set, you mumble, "...couldn't sleep. I usually don't have trouble, but I don't know what's up with me today."

Despite his reluctance, he walks over to you and plops onto the carpet beside you. "Aren't you a little too old for this?" Rin begins while mindlessly piecing bricks together. His back is against your shoulder, partially leaning his weight onto you.

You scoff once he grabs the manual. "You're one to talk," you retort as you pull apart Lego pieces, "In case you haven't realized it, you happen to be playing with my Lego set."

"In case you haven't realized it, I'm helping you, idiot," There's no real malice in his voice. He crosses his legs and straightens his spine, turning to gather the pieces in a pile and redo everything from scratch. You clearly seem to be struggling. He'll never admit it, but he doesn't like the aching gap in his chest when you're not in bed with him.

It's a good excuse in his head. He's simply helping you out so you'll return to his embrace as soon as possible. It's just that. He's totally not enjoying playing with Legos with you - he convinces himself mentally with starry eyes when you both finish the overwhelming set at 2:30 a.m.

"Phew! Now to take it apart!"

"Hell no."

Taglist: @mikmwehehe, @saexy (while you did archive your old account, you are technically still on my list!! Please tell me if you want to get removed and I'll do it asap)

[moontabi]

MUSE (CHAPTER 2)

choi seunghyun x fem! reader

warnings: DARK themes including stalking, jealousy, breaking in, theft, obsessiveness, sexual content, perversion, sniffing panties, masturbation, marking/cum play? (he finishes on readers bedsheets) do not engage if you’re under the age of 18.

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction! the version of seunghyun depicted here is purely for fun and doesn’t reflect him in real life in any way.

a/n: yandere perv tabi my beloved <3

find the previous parts here

It started innocently enough.

At nightfall, just after your evening practice you leave campus with your gym bag slung over your shoulder, earbuds in.

You don’t notice the tall figure behind you—keeping his distance, but never letting you out of sight.

Seunghyun trails behind quietly, walking just far enough that you wouldn’t think twice about him being there if you turned around. He keeps his gaze fixed on you, footsteps silent, one hand shoved into his pocket and the other curled around the strap of his bag.

You take the shortcut through the alley between the language building and the back of the bookstore—

Bad idea.

Too many blind corners.

Too many places someone could wait for you.

He adjusts his hood as he watches you walk through it without a second thought.

Reckless.

Seunghyun’s pace quickens slightly, heart pounding—not out of guilt, not out of fear of being caught, but because the closer he gets to you, the more right it feels. You should know someone’s following you. You should look back. But you don’t. You trust the quiet of campus far too much.

He watches as you take a right, then another, cutting through the neighborhood just off campus.

He slows as you approach a townhouse, pausing just around the corner behind a bushy cedar hedge. You unlock the door with one hand while scrolling on your phone with the other, humming something softly to yourself. Then the door creaks open and you disappear inside.

He stares at the house number and remembers it easily.

He takes in every detail: the pot of flowers on your windowsill, the flickering porch light, the cracks in the steps. The kind of place someone like you would live. Lived-in. Cozy.

Vulnerable.

He stands there longer than he should, just… watching. Imagining what it’s like inside. Your room. Your things. Your bed.

Eventually, enough time passes that a light flicks on.

He sees your silhouette walk past the window.

His breath hitches.

There you are again—clueless.

He should leave. He should turn around, walk home, pretend this never happened.

But instead, he stays put, directly across from your window, hidden in the shadow of a bush. From here, he can see the faintest outline of your form through the thin curtain—your arms raised, hair pulled up, maybe getting ready for a shower or changing clothes.

He doesn’t even blink.

It’s not about lust.

Not entirely.

It’s about proximity.

About knowing he could be the one you call when you’re scared, when you’re tired, when you need someone.

It should be him.

It will be him.

He stares, hands in his pockets, tilting his head as he watches the light in your room dim—then go dark.

He waits another ten minutes before leaving.

Just in case.

The first time Seunghyun paints you, it’s from memory.

You’re not even facing the canvas—just the curve of your spine as you’re bent forward, the slope of your shoulder exposed by the stretch of your top, your hair messy from practice.

He paints in silence. You may be faceless in the piece, anonymous to anyone else. But to him, it’s undeniably you.

His muse.

He keeps the painting nearby and runs his fingers along the outline of your body, like touching the brushstrokes makes you feel more real.

More his.

It becomes a habit.

He paints you again and again.

Whether you’re dancing in the piece, standing still, facing him—or even bare and ready for him.

He does this until his sketchbook is full and he’s got no paper or canvases left.

He follows you everywhere now. Never close enough to be noticed, never far enough to risk losing you.

To the grocery store, the laundromat, even the little stationery shop you always linger in longer than necessary—fingers brushing pens you’ll probably never buy.

He watches you through windows, from across streets, between shelves. You never look up. You never sense him.

And that makes it worse.

Because you’re too trusting. Too exposed.

What if it wasn’t him watching you?

What if it were someone else?

He starts staying outside your house longer, even when you’re not home. Sometimes he walks the full perimeter, slow and deliberate. Counts your windows, touches the fence, smells the flowers blooming on your window ledge.

He knows which rooms are which. What time your bathroom light clicks on. When your bedroom curtains flutter because you’ve left the window cracked.

He knows your routine so well he could write it down by the minute.

7:15 am lights on

7:22 am kettle whistles

7:29 am headphones on, gym bag over shoulder, door opens

7:31 am gone

He once stayed outside the entire night. Just watching and listening. Committing the sound of your laughter through the crack of your window to memory when your friend came over.

He hated the sound of your name from Daesung’s mouth. Too casual. Too loud.

He didn’t understand how delicate you were.

Not like Seunghyun did.

On Friday, you left to visit your parents for the weekend.

He saw the car pull up. Watched you carry your bags to the curb and resisted the urge to step out from his hiding spot and help you with them. You locked the door, double-checked it like always, and disappeared down the street with your phone to your ear, laughing softly.

He didn’t follow this time.

He waited.

And when you’re were finally gone, he walked slowly, deliberately, up the front path. Stands at your doorstep and listens. Nothing.

He knows you’re not there.

But that’s okay.

You don’t need to be there for him to feel close to you.

That was only the first time he broke in—just to look.

Just to be there.

To feel the air you breathed.

But that was weeks ago.

Now, it’s a practice.

Today, you’re not home. Off somewhere with Daesung again, the one Seunghyun can’t stand seeing you with.

Always smiling too wide, standing too close, hands hovering just a little too long on your back when he talks to you.

Seunghyun’s followed you before—more times than he’ll ever admit—but today, Daesung was too alert, too aware, eyes scanning like a guard dog.

Not worth the risk.

Not when Seunghyun’s worked so hard to build the perfect version of himself for you—charming, harmless, patient. Sweet.

He wouldn’t ruin that just because he couldn’t handle one more moment of you looking at someone else like that.

So instead, he took the opportunity to let himself into your house again.

By now, he knows the layout well. Every creak. Every corner.

The moment he steps inside, he crouches to greet your cat—fingers brushing over soft fur, whispering little things to it like, “She’ll be home soon.” “Don’t miss her too much.”

It purrs. Trusts him.

Just like you do.

He walks through your home like it’s a memory he’s rehearsed a thousand times. Careful.

Not a burglar.

A lover.

He already knows where everything is. The perfume bottle on your dresser. The lip balm on your nightstand. The single hoop earring you haven’t noticed fell behind the bathroom sink.

He’s seen it all.

Touched it all.

When he finally makes it to your bedroom, the bed’s a mess—sheets tangled, pillow still carrying the faint scent of your shampoo. His fingers brush along the edge of your blanket, slow and reverent.

You may not be here, but it doesn’t matter.

You’re everywhere.

He walks to your mirror. Stares at himself in it. Tilts his head. Imagines you standing behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, resting your cheek against his back.

The idea of it made his chest warm.

He closes his eyes and breathes in deep.

Then he opens the drawer beside your bed. The one you always forget to close fully.

Your journal is there.

He’s read it before. Not all of it—he doesn’t want to rush. He wants to savor it. A few entries at a time. Each one a quiet confession, inked by your own hand.

You don’t write about him.

Not yet.

But one day you will.

He scans the room and notices your clothes scattered across the floor. A cardigan tossed over your chair. Socks curled near your dresser. He bends down to tidy them—because what kind of girl leaves things lying around like this?

Messy.

Needs taking care of.

He doesn’t mind, though. He likes cleaning up after you. Likes the idea of being part of your routine, even if you never asked him to be.

Then he sees them.

A pair of black, lacy panties, half-tucked beneath the corner of your bed.

Seunghyun stills.

He swallows hard.

Just a peek.

He picks them up slowly, holding the delicate fabric between his fingers. Soft. Still warm from your skin?

When did you wear these?

He brings them closer to his face, lip caught between his teeth, eyes flicking toward the door instinctively—even though he already knows you won’t be back for hours.

They’ve been on you.

Pressed right against you.

Seunghyun’s heart is pounding.

What do you smell like there?

He raises the panties to his face and inhales.

And just like that—his knees almost give out.

Fuck.

They smell exactly like you. Like your warmth, your softness, the heat between your thighs. The rush of blood floods straight to his cock, swelling painfully against the fabric of his jeans.

His hands shake.

He doesn’t even try to stop himself.

He fumbles his jeans down, cock already raw and leaking with need. One hand wraps tight around himself while the other presses your panties against his face, breathing in like they’re oxygen. Like you’re the only thing keeping him alive.

“Holy Shit—”

He bites the fabric, just to keep quiet, but the moment he does,

he tastes you.

His hips jerk forward instinctively, eyes fluttering shut. The scent. The taste. The fantasy of you under him, calling his name, letting him ruin you—his mind spirals.

“Mm, princess…you smell so sweet.”

He wraps the panties around his cock now, hissing at the friction.

He strokes faster, his other hand gripping your bedsheets to stay grounded. His thighs tremble, whimpers spilling from his lips as he rocks into the silky fabric like a man possessed.

“F-Feels so good, baby—oh fuck!—”

His body spasms with release, a guttural moan caught in his throat as he spills into the lace, thick and hot, coating your panties and staining your sheets without a second thought. His eyes roll back slightly, jaw slack, hair clinging to his forehead with sweat.

He stays there for a moment, panting and completely spent.

Then, slowly, Seunghyun tucks himself back in, hands trembling slightly as he pulls up his jeans. He wipes his fingers off on your bedsheets too, the same way someone would leave a signature. A mark. A claim.

Then, with no shame at all, he folds your soiled panties and tucks them neatly into his back pocket—adjusting his cap on his head as he heads for the door.

Besides—

You left him a gift.

He was just returning the favor.

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ tags: @mashtatosworld @loveesiren @szonyix6277 @seungttttop @xxtoptaexx @tabibabib @s4intkwon @heartubeatusalon @breakmeoff @gdinthehouseee @septywitch @aizshallnotbefound @namsgyu @thanosspills contact me if you want to be added to or removed from my permanent taglist

[potatoplace]

Every Family Is A Butterfly

Welcome to the Family: Chapter 2 | series masterlist

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 | ACOTAR x Reader Masterlist

Nesta x Reader

Summary: Your first dinner with the in-laws... Does not go well, to say the least.

Warnings: homophobia, toxic inner circle, lemme know if I missed something

Words: ~2.7k

Author's Note: ahhhhHHHHH NESTAAAAA 🥰🥰🥰 I'm soooo glad that I'm updating this one, I LOVE Nesta so damn much and I always forget cause I'm so Feysand obsessed lol. I hope you guys enjoy this one, uhhh Cassian is the absolute worst. Sorry Cassie boy, you're a total douche in this story... I'll be posting the first chapter and this one to AO3 tomorrooow probably. Or like. Later today cause it's past midnight 👍 (chapter title is from Welcome to the Family (the song lol))

18+ only pls

🤍🩶🤍🩶🤍

The door swung opening, revealing your High Lady. A smile graced her lips, but her eyes were tense.

“Feyre,” Nesta said stiffly. “This is my wife, Y/N. Y/N, this is my youngest sister, Feyre.”

You smiled brightly, taking her slender, tattooed hand in yours when she extended it. “It’s so nice to meet you, Feyre. Nesta has told me a lot about you, and of course, you’ve been a wonderful High Lady.”

That strained smile stayed in place as Feyre responded, “Thank you, it’s lovely to meet you as well. Come in.” She stepped aside to let the two of you inside, shutting the door behind you.

Nesta slotted her hand in yours as Feyre led you through the house to a sitting room, seven stunning people watching as the three of you passed through the archway.

“Everyone,” Nesta began, her voice confident. “I would like to introduce you to Y/N, my wife,” she finished with a smile directed at you, your heart fluttering.

You would never stop feeling butterflies at that look, so soft and sweet and all for you.

“It’s lovely to meet you all,” you said with a smile. They all introduced themselves, though you recognized a few of them. Feyre had sat down next to Rhys, your High Lord, on a loveseat, and sitting together on a couch was Mor, Elain, and Lucien. Azriel and Amren both sat alone in cushy armchairs, leaving one spot on the loveseat next to Cassian.

That fact did not go unnoticed by you, or by Nesta, with the way she stiffened as she began leading you to the open seat. Nesta smoothed her dress before sitting, tugging you onto her lap a moment later, and you let out a giggle as her arms wrapped around you. You felt her nose against the base of your neck a moment later, taking a calming breath of your scent before relaxing slightly below you.

You let your fingers intertwine with hers, hoping that she could feel the love you were sending to her.

“Y/N, it’s so nice to finally meet you!” Mor said cheerily, the first person to seem pleased by your relationship with Nesta. “Though I am a little upset, Nesta.”

Her fingers tightened around yours before relaxing. “Why?”

“Because you didn’t invite me to the wedding!” Mor said plainly, as though it was the most obvious answer.

“Well,” you giggled. “It was a bit spur-of-the-moment, Nesta came home one night and said that she didn’t want to spend another day without being married to me.” You looked behind you to give Nes a dreamy look, certain that there were hearts in your eyes.

“Aww,” Mor cooed, clapping her hands together lightly. “I’m so happy for the two of you! Y/N, we have to get together some time, I want to know my best friend’s wife!”

You nodded your head enthusiastically, actually looking forward to spending time with the blonde, from the stories Nesta had told you. “I’d love that, Mor!”

“So, Nesta. How did the two of you meet?” Rhys asked abruptly, and your eyes snapped to him.

Nesta inhaled deeply before answering. “We met in Y/N’s bookstore a few months ago.”

Now that was odd.

Nesta loved telling the story of how the two of you met and got together, gushing about how she knew she was going to fall in love with you the moment she spoke to you, especially once you’d started discussing your tastes in books.

Maybe… Maybe your suspicion about these dinners had been correct.

“A few months ago?” Feyre asked, a brow quirked. “Isn’t that a bit… Soon, to get married?”

Nesta scoffed lightly. “As though you didn’t get married within a few months, Feyre.” “Yes, but… Rhys is my mate,” Feyre said simply, as though it was reason enough.

“And Y/N feels like my mate, I love her so dearly,” Nesta responded.

You felt Cassian stiffen, heard his wings flare behind him, and your brow scrunched for a moment before smoothing out.

“So when, exactly, did you meet?” Elain asked from your right, her eyes locked on Nesta.

“In the tenth month of last year,” Nesta answered, her arms tightening every so slightly around you, her discomfort radiating in waves now.

“And… When did you start seeing each other?” Feyre asked, her tone light but you knew the reasoning.

They wanted to prove that you weren’t meant to last.

But they were wrong.

“About three months ago,” Nesta ground out, and you set to massaging her fingers gently, working some of the tension out and reminding her that you were here, and you were here to stay.

Amren hummed, but said nothing else, causing Nesta’s head to whip towards her. You imagined that she was fixing her with a glare, daring her to say something against your relationship.

“That’s… Quick,” Rhys commented, violet eyes trained on you. “Nesta said you have a bookstore?”

You nodded. “Yes, it’s been my family’s for centuries,” you responded, only the barest traces of a smile on your face.

“That’s nice, Y/N,” Elain said. “Does your family help you run it?”

A pain hit your heart at the question, rarely did you have people ask after your family anymore. “No, they… They were killed in the attack,” you answered quietly.

Sympathetic eyes hit you from every angle, and you wanted nothing more than to sink into the ground beneath you as memories of that day flashed in your mind. Nesta’s fingers gripped yours gently, bringing you back to the present.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Rhys said softly.

“Dinner is ready,” a shadow-wraith announced from the archway, disappearing too quickly for you to ask for her name.

Slowly, the ten of you migrated over to the dining room, and thankfully there were enough seats for all of you. You sat at one corner of the table, Nesta next to you, and her other side taken by Azriel. At one end of the table, Rhys and Feyre had crammed their chairs close enough to sit next to each other, the other end taken by Amren. Opposite you was Mor, who gave you a reassuring smile. Across from Nesta was Cassian, who Nesta seemed to be doing everything to avoid looking at, and next to him was Elain, then Lucien.

Conversation was slow to start again as you all dished up your plates, the roast already carved into perfect, tender slices.

Which would be wonderful, if you ate meat…

But as it was, you only ate fish and occasionally eggs, meat and poultry having never agreed with your stomach properly.

Nesta shooed your hands away from the salad tongs, covering half of your plate in a blend of leafy greens and chopped bell peppers for you before taking some for herself, a knowing smile aimed at you. She plated all of your food for you, only the roast not making its way onto your plate, none of the other dishes containing meat of any kind. You smiled softly at her before you began eating, squeezing her hand below the table in thanks.

“So, where are the two of you planning to live?” Rhys asked after a while, breaking the relative silence of chewing and cutlery scraping against plates. “I’d imagine in Nesta’s apartment.”

Ah.

“No, we’ve already moved Nesta’s things into my apartment above the shop, and yesterday the landlord nullified her lease,” you said plainly before taking another bite of your salad, hoping that your answer settled any questions in his mind about you using Nesta to get to his money.

As though you would ever be so cruel, as to use someone like that. Especially someone who had been through as much as Nesta had been.

No, you would be happy to provide for Nesta for the rest of your life, if it meant she would be happy and healthy.

Even if she weren’t with you, a tiny part of your mind whispered, but you shut it down quickly.

Because she is with you, and very happily.

“I’m sure that’s a dream for you, Nesta,” Mor chirped, grinning at her. “Not only are you married to an owner of a bookstore, you live above the bookstore! Do you ever go downstairs in the middle of the night to grab a new book?” she asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

Nesta’s cheeks colored ever so slightly, and your eyes widened a bit. “I knew those books weren’t there the night before!” you giggled, playfully hitting Nesta’s arm.

A low growl shocked the smile off of your face, and you looked to the source.

Cassian.

He was glaring at you, his hazel eyes flicking between yours and where your hand had hit Nesta.

You looked at him questioningly. What the fuck?

Mor cleared her throat awkwardly. “So, will the two of you be hosting a wedding party? I know you already did the ceremony and all, but I would love to celebra-”

“Oh, come on!” Cassian yelled, stopping the blonde mid-sentence, who turned to gape at him. “Are you all really going to act like this is normal?! Nesta barely knows this… This…” He waved his hands at you furiously. “Female,” he hissed. “How could she even be happy with her?! There is no world in which you, Y/N, can satisfy my Nesta, my MATE!” Cassian roared, his chair on the ground and his wings spread wide as he towered over the dining table.

Your heart dropped into your stomach at his confession, and one glance at Nesta told you that she was just as horrified at the revelation as you were, her eyes pleading as they looked in yours. You gave a tiny nod of understanding, then turned your head back to the threat, your arm reaching out to protect Nesta.

But you had forgotten; Nesta didn’t always need your protection.

She stood from her own chair the instant after your arm darted out, her hand grasping yours firmly, reassuringly. “Cassian,” she growled, so much rage in one word. “You asked me to go out to dinner with you, and I rejected you. You asked me again, and I rejected you again. A third time, you asked me on a date, which I clearly turned down. I would think that by now, you would understand that I do not like you. I do not want to be your mate,” Nesta spat at him coldly. “And if you cared for me beyond an animalistic level, you would respect my choices. But I can see that I was wrong, about all of you except for Mor. I love Y/N, and she loves me. And that’s more than I can say for the rest of you.”

Nesta tugged you from your chair without wasting another second and began leading you to the door, so many sets of footsteps following the two of you to the exit.

“Nesta,” Cassian growled as her hand landed on the doorknob. “Do not make me chase you.”

Nesta looked back at him, nothing but cold, hard hatred in her eyes. “There’s nothing to chase, you imbecile. If I felt the bond that you claim, I would shatter it this instant. I am married, and I love Y/N.” She flung the door open, letting it hit the wall behind it as she pulled you outside and out of that now-suffocating house, the weight of her family’s disappointment lifting off you the moment you were in the fresh air of Velaris.

You felt Nesta’s boiling temper the entire walk home, but you let it rest for the moment. She would talk to you, when she was ready.

Which happened to be immediately after entering your shared apartment.

“I cannot believe them!” Nesta yelled into the air, taking a few deep, deep breaths to calm herself down before focusing on more measured breaths for a few minutes. You busied yourself with making tea for the two of you, watching as Nesta paced in the living room. “I just…” she sighed heavily, taking a seat on the couch. “I cannot believe how rude they were. I know I told them that you don’t eat meat. And fucking Cassian,” she sobbed. “I thought he understood that I am not interested.”

You went to her, tea cups in hand, and sat next to her on the couch, cups placed on the table. “I know, love, I’m so sorry,” you said, offering a hand to her. Nesta took it with a watery smile, her stormy, steel-blue eyes tinged with red around the edges. “And springing that news on you, in front of everyone…”

Tears leaked from Nesta’s eyes as she held your hand tighter. “I swear, I had no idea, I would have rejected hi-”

“Hey,” you shushed her, brushing the tears from her cheeks. “I know you didn’t, Nessie, you looked just as shocked as I felt. Though if… If you wanted to explore the bond-”

“Gods, no,” Nesta chuckled wetly, wiping more tears from her face. “I don’t even want to be in the same building as him now, with how he treated me and you tonight.”

You let out a breath of relief that you hadn’t even realized you were holding. “I’m so glad to hear that, Nes.” You brought her hand to your lips, pressing them gently to the back of it. “I love you, you know that, right?” Nesta nodded. “And you know that your family being… Less than pretty up close won’t change that, right?” Nesta hesitated, but nodded after a minute of you staring pointedly at her. “And you’re not… Reconsidering us, are you?”

“Never,” Nesta breathed, her free hand coming up to cup your cheek. “I will never reconsider loving you, Y/N.”

“We’re in agreement, then,” you said softly, slowly leaning in for a kiss, if she wanted. Her lips pressed gently to yours in the next moment, soft and tender, and full of love. “Now… Would you like to take a bath? I could draw one for you, or we could take one together,” you offered, eyes cataloging her reaction.

Her face relaxed at the suggestion, her lips tilting up slightly at the edges. “Together, please,” she answered quietly, and you could hear the exhaustion in her voice, now that some of the anger had drained out of her.

"Alright, Nessie, you stay here and drink your tea until I come to get you.” You waited to leave until she picked up her cup and took a sip, rolling her eyes at you.

But you knew she appreciated how much you insisted on her taking care of herself, even when she didn’t feel like it.

The bath water was drawn quickly, a lovely gingerbread scented soap added to the water and covering the top with a thick layer of bubbles. Next you lit a few candles and turned off the faelights before going to fetch Nesta, who had finished her tea in the time you had been gone.

“Let’s go, love,” you said as you gently pulled her off of the couch, though she grabbed your cup of tea before she let you lead you into the bedroom, and you knew without her having to say that she expected you to drink your tea before getting in the bath.

You took the cup from her, taking a large gulp of the still warm tea as Nesta began tying your hair up, her own having already been secured for dinner.

“Are you okay, baby?” Nesta asked you softly when she was done, her hands resting on your waist.

“I can’t say… That their treatment didn’t sting, but I am fine, Nes. I promise,” you reassured her as you spun in her grip. She raised her brow at you, her eyes serious. “I promise. Besides, at least we know that Mor likes me,” you giggled.

Nesta’s face softened at the mention of her friend. “That is the bright spot of tonight, I suppose,” she sighed. “Well, besides the bath I’m about to have with my beautiful, amazing, understanding, wife.”

You smiled wide at her before reaching for the ties of her dress. “Let me just speed that part of the night along,” you said, pressing a kiss to Nesta’s lips when she blushed lightly. “I happen to need a dose of my lovely wife Nesta, with a side of warm bubble bath.”

Nesta snorted at your words before starting to take your own dress off with gentle hands. “We’re in agreement, then.”

You nodded up at her, once again amazed that she, Nesta, loved you, and chose you. “Yes, we are.”

🤍🩶🤍🩶🤍

General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria @meritxellao @twismare @wrenisrad @icey--stars

Series Masterlist: @amelya5567

[iliveformanyfictionalcharacters]

The One Who Believes Chapter 3

Bernard (The Santa Clause) x Reader

Summary: [Reader] stopped believing in soulmates a long time ago - around the same time she stopped believing in Santa. What happens when she's finally given a reason to believe in both.

<Chapter 2 Chapter 4>

When I awoke the next morning, Mrs. Dorothy’s words still rang in my ears. But after a few minutes of lying in bed, I realized I had too much to do to just stay there and wonder what she meant. Still, her words—His favorite color is burgundy—kept echoing in my mind. No matter how hard I tried to push it aside, it lingered like a puzzle piece that refused to fit. Ever since I’d gotten home from the bookstore, I couldn’t shake the odd sense that something was happening—something I didn’t fully understand. But I had no time to dwell on that right now. I dragged myself out of bed with a grunt and got ready for the day. I brushed my teeth, showered, and got dressed. As I finished getting ready, I grabbed my To-Do List and skimmed over it to make sure everything was written down.

Pick up groceries Pick up dry cleaning Bring new books to store Visit antique store

I took a deep breath, trying to shake off the strange feeling that had settled over me since Mrs. Dorothy's cryptic comment. Today was busy enough to distract me, I hoped. The list in front of me was fairly straightforward. I grabbed my coat, my purse, and headed out the door, feeling the cold air bite at my cheeks as I stepped outside. My first stop was the grocery store, which, thankfully, wasn’t too far. I made my way through the aisles, mentally ticking off items as I placed them in my cart: eggs, milk, some fresh vegetables, and, of course, ingredients for holiday cookies. I lingered in the baking aisle, debating between chocolate chips and peppermint extract, when a flash of burgundy caught my eye. It was a deep red ribbon, sitting right there on the shelf, nestled among a row of other holiday decorations. I paused, staring at it for a moment, feeling an odd pull toward it. I shook my head. It's just a color, I told myself. I’m being ridiculous. I grabbed the ribbon and tossed it into the cart, then continued with my shopping, but Mrs. Dorothy's words returned to haunt me. His favorite color is burgundy. After checking out, I made my way to the dry cleaner’s. I was surprised when I walked in to find the place nearly empty. The owner, an older gentleman named Mr. Thompson, smiled warmly as I handed him my bag of clothes. “Got some special occasion plans, eh?” he asked, noticing my Christmas sweater. I chuckled. “Nothing too special. Just getting ready for the holidays.” I glanced around the store, and once again, something caught my attention. In the corner of the room, there was an antique-looking chair with a burgundy cushion. It was simple, yet elegant, with fine detailing on the wood. I had never noticed it before, and I certainly hadn’t expected to see anything so striking in a dry cleaner’s. “That's a new addition, isn’t it?” I asked, trying to push down the strange feeling in my chest. Mr. Thompson nodded, his eyes twinkling. “Yeah, it just came in. I thought it’d make the place feel a little more festive.” I smiled, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that the universe was trying to tell me something. Burgundy. Again. It was starting to feel less like a coincidence and more like a sign. After picking up my dry cleaning, I decided to follow through with my list and head to the bookstore. As I stepped inside, the familiar smell of old paper and fresh coffee wrapped around me like a warm hug. Mr. Lou was behind the counter, sorting through a pile of new stock. He looked up and smiled when he saw me. “Ah, [Reader], just in time! Mrs. Dorothy said you were coming by with some new books today.” I placed the stack of books down on the counter, then glanced around. The bookstore was cozy, with its little nooks and crannies. But something felt different today—like I was on the cusp of something, as if I were standing just outside of a door that was about to open. “I brought the latest Christmas novels. The holiday rush should keep us busy this week,” I said, trying to focus on the task at hand. As I turned to arrange the books on a nearby shelf, I froze. On the table next to the window, there was an old, leather-bound book—its cover a deep, rich burgundy. I couldn’t help myself. I reached for it, brushing my fingers across the smooth surface, and I immediately felt a strange warmth spread through me. My heart skipped a beat.

"What's this?" I muttered to myself, as I opened the book. The pages inside were filled with handwritten notes and sketches, like some kind of journal or diary. The title was in faded gold lettering, but I couldn't make it out. Just then, I heard Mrs. Dorothy’s voice, soft but clear, in the back of my mind: His favorite color is burgundy. A shiver ran down my spine, and I quickly closed the book. What was going on? “Is something wrong, dear?” Mr. Lou asked, noticing the way I hesitated with the book in my hand. “No, nothing’s wrong. Just… thought I recognized something,” I said, placing the book back down gently. I felt unsettled, but I brushed it off, deciding to focus on the rest of the day. I finished stocking the books and made my way out of the store, my mind still whirling with the strange events of the day. Next, I went to the antique store—my final stop. The little shop was filled with dusty treasures, and the faint scent of lavender and old wood lingered in the air. I roamed through the aisles, eyeing vintage trinkets and furniture. And then, tucked away in the back corner of the store, I saw it. I wandered deeper into the antique store, my senses overwhelmed by the scent of aged wood and lavender that seemed to seep from the very walls. The soft creak of the floorboards under my feet only added to the atmosphere of timelessness. My mind was still spinning from the strange series of events, but I pushed it aside, focusing instead on the little treasures scattered throughout the shop. The rows of shelves were filled with vintage trinkets, old paintings, and delicate china. I paused at a display of antique clocks, their tick-tocking filling the air with a steady rhythm, before my gaze shifted to something more familiar. At the far end of the store, tucked away on a high shelf, I spotted a small glass ornament. I stopped in my tracks, my breath catching in my throat. There, in the dim light, hanging delicately on a gold string, was a small ornament. It was made of glass, shaped like a delicate ball, and it was painted in a deep, velvety burgundy. A faint swirl of gold and silver leaf traced over its surface, giving it an ethereal glow.

I slowly walked over, my fingers trembling as I reached up to gently pull the ornament from its place on the shelf. It felt almost warm to the touch, as if it had been waiting for me to find it. Holding it in my hands, I marveled at the intricate details of the glasswork. The gold and silver swirls seemed to shimmer in the low light, and I felt an overwhelming sense of recognition, like this ornament had been a part of my life for far longer than I could remember. "Ah, you've found it," came a voice from behind me. I jumped, startled, and turned to find the shopkeeper standing just a few feet away, her silver hair glinting in the soft light. "How did you…?" I began, but she simply smiled, her eyes twinkling with an almost knowing glint. "That ornament has been here for a long time. But I knew it would find its way to the right person eventually." Her voice was soft but laden with meaning. "Some things are meant to be passed on. Some things are meant to be found." I stood there, clutching the ornament, unsure of what to say. Mrs. Dorothy's words echoed in my mind, and a strange feeling of destiny began to settle in the pit of my stomach. The shopkeeper continued, her voice gentle. "There’s more to that ornament than just its color. It’s part of a set. A set that’s been separated for many years." I blinked, confused. "A set? What do you mean?" "The set has a story," the shopkeeper said, her voice now carrying a hint of mystery. "But it’s not just about the ornaments. It's about something more. Someone who has been waiting for you." I felt the ground shift beneath me, as if the room itself was tilting toward an unknown truth. I looked down at the two ornaments in my hands, now reunited. Burgundy. The color. The message. It was no longer just a coincidence. This was a sign—a puzzle, finally coming together. "Do you know who this is for?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. The shopkeeper smiled knowingly. "You will know when the time is right. Just hold onto the ornaments. When the moment comes, you’ll understand." I felt the weight of her words, as if they were a key to something much larger, something I had yet to discover. But one thing was certain: these ornaments, and the color burgundy, were no longer just a simple detail—they were the beginning of something much bigger.

I carefully placed the second ornament in my bag and paid the shopkeeper, my hands still shaking with the overwhelming sense that I was on the brink of uncovering something important.

As I walked out of the store, the cold winter air hit me, but it didn’t matter. I was no longer just going through the motions of a normal day. The universe was speaking to me, and it was up to me to listen. As I stepped outside the antique shop, the cold air felt sharper than before, biting at my cheeks and nose. My mind raced, the strange pull of destiny still lingering in the back of my thoughts. What was all of this leading to? I glanced down into my bag and something caught my eye. A small book. I took it out. It was The Best Christmas Pageant Ever. I must have accidentally taken it with me instead of leaving it at the bookstore. I sighed. I glanced at my watch. It was getting late. My next stop was the bookstore, and then I could finally head home for a much-needed rest. When I arrived, the soft jingle of the doorbell echoed in the quiet space as I entered. The bookstore smelled like coffee and old pages, a familiar comfort. Mr. Lou was behind the counter, his face lighting up when he saw me. "Ah, [Reader], what are you doing back already? How's your day been?" "It's been… interesting." I set the book down next to the others. My eyes caught the little journal from earlier again. “That book,” he said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “It’s been waiting for the right person. Sometimes, the right books find you when you need them most.” “You know, that's not the first time I've heard that today.” “I’ve never seen it before,” I said, looking up at Mr. Lou. “Is it new stock?” He shook his head, a twinkle in his eye. “No, it’s been here for a while. You just haven’t noticed it yet.” I hesitated, still feeling the pull of the book. "It… feels familiar somehow." Mr. Lou’s smile grew a little wider. “Books often have a way of doing that, don’t they?” I wasn’t sure what he meant, but I could feel my curiosity growing. “I—” Before I could finish, Mr. Lou leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “You know, there’s a man who might be able to help you understand all this. He’s been around for a long time, helping people just like you.” “Who?” I asked, almost breathlessly. Mr. Lou's eyes flickered toward the window, where a figure in a long coat was walking past. The man’s face was obscured by the dark evening light, but there was something unmistakably familiar about his presence. “His name is Scott Calvin,” Mr. Lou said, his tone serious. “He’s someone who can help you make sense of the things you’re starting to notice. I’d suggest you seek him out. He’s accessible in town right now, visiting family. You know the Millers?” I did; I used to babysit Charlie. I blinked, startled by the sudden turn in the conversation. “Scott Calvin?” The name echoed in my mind, but I had no idea how they could help me. Mr. Lou nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “Trust me. If you’re meant to meet him, you will. And when you do, you’ll understand everything. The color, the ornaments, the book… they’re all connected.” I didn’t know what to say. I stared at Mr. Lou for a moment, then at the book in my hands. Something inside me told me that this wasn’t just some bizarre coincidence. With a shaky breath, I nodded and left the bookstore. The chill of the night air hit me once more, but this time, I didn’t feel as lost. I felt… guided. It was as if something—someone—was leading me toward a deeper understanding.

[somefanchick]

-(Yuu)’s Pride and Prejudice-

(This is a part 2 of Leona's Pride and Prejudice, the writing below is from (Yuu)'s perspective. This takes place anytime the events of book three, and it does include mention of the Cloudcalling on the Savanna event. I only know information from the English server story and events so sorry if anything is terribly out of character. This fic can be read platonically or romantically. The insert character is (Yuu) in the story [she/her] [feminine terms]. Hope you enjoy!)

(Triger Warning: cussing, mentions of a drunk individual, and some sexual harassment themes.)

TWST Masterlist

I had a hard time understanding Savanaclaw housewarden. He would watch me whenever I entered the room like I offended him by existing. It was like he was studying me. And then I just had to humiliate myself in town when that drunkard descended on me. Something about the way the drunk man had looked at me, how he cornered me, it sent me spiraling back to a mindspace I had never wanted to return to. Like I was nothing more than a piece of meat for the taking.

Weeks had passed, but it was all I could think about whenever I saw him. I found myself avoiding him. Ace and Deuce seemed to notice something was on my mind, but they hadn’t dared to ask. Grim even seemed to notice that I was a bit off, though all he did about it was give me a little more space. 

So here I was, sitting in the woods behind the school while reading the book I had been nursing since my last visit to Père’s bookstore in town. It was a book on the history of the Sunset Savanna. Ironic right?

I got to a chapter on the creation of the Bead Brawl when someone’s voice interrupted me.

“Oi herbivore,” Leona stood over me, “You’ve been avoiding me. What gives? Is it because of that day in town?”

I sighed and closed the book after placing the bookmark in the pages, “I thought we agreed not to talk about it.”

The lion beastman let out a little huff before taking a seat beside me, “Yeah, before you started avoiding me. Now I’m talking about it.”

“Hell,” I leaned back on the tree and opened my book to begin reading again to avoid the topic. 

Leona only responded by laying back and putting his head in my lap. Leona always seemed to do whatever he wanted. Most people would see my resting bitch face and never dare to lay on me or act too oddly chummy. I just ignored it.

“Well,” He spoke with his eyes closed, “What is it?”

I didn’t look away from my book, though I couldn't focus on the words on the pages, “Since when did you become so nosey?” 

“You are so strange,” He turned his head towards me, “You don’t give me the silent treatment for overbloting. You don’t give me the silent treatment for not wanting to let you stay in the dorm with me. You don’t give me the silent treatment for any of the bullshit that most people would. But you give me the cold shoulder for being decent for once?”

I rolled my eyes, “That’s not what it is.”

“Then what is it?” He opened his eyes, almost glaring in my direction.

I grit my teeth, “Can you back off? I told you it isn’t you. That means it’s none of your business Leona.”

“Well I’m the one you are ignoring,” Leona sat up to get closer to my face, “So it’s my business.”

I sat down my book, “Can’t you tell that I’m uncomfortable?”

“Since when has that stopped either of us from asking the hard questions?” He only smirked.

“Merlin, you're insufferable,” I laid my head back onto the bark of the tree in full. 

Leona readjusted to put his full body on my legs, his face to the sky as his head rested on my lower thigh. I hated how okay I was with the touch.

“Stop whining and just tell me what the fuck is wrong,” he closed his eyes again, “It has to be because of that drunk asshole, but that shouldn’t make you ignore me.”

“It’s not you and it’s not the drunk guy,” I closed my eyes. 

“Then what is it?”

I opened my eyes to see him looking at me. I sighed, “It’s me. I’m just being dumb. I’m just being all pissy that you had to come save me. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Only if it’s the truth,” He turned his head. 

It was and he knew it. Well it was part of the truth.

“You shut down back there,” It looked like he bit the inside of his cheek for a moment, “Why didn’t you just rip his head off and then move on? I know you can do it. Sevens know you can handle yourself without help.”

I rolled his eyes, “What, you mad you had to step in?”

“No I’m not fucking mad about that,” He took a deep breath to try and calm himself, “I’m confused. Sevens you’re confusing,” he sat up, turning to face me, “You fight people when they insult your freshmen but you just shut down when you’re insulted. Hell, when you are in danger?”

My eyes were wide. At this point, Leona was basically stradling my legs as he almost yelled in my face. I didn’t want to be intimidated by Leona of all people, but I couldn’t help it. My mind began screaming to get out of there. To not make a scene. To push him off. To let him do what he wanted to get it over with. I don’t know. It was the same screaming that filled my mind every time someone got too close and stress built. The same feeling I didn’t want Leona to realize I had felt with the guy in town.

He froze and his voice quieted, “Your eyes are doing the thing again.”

I composed myself, Leona wasn’t going to hurt me. I knew that much, “‘thing’?”

“Like you’re scared or numb, some weird in between,” He backed up a little, “Am I scaring you?”

“Oh please,” I nearly growled at him, “Like I’d be-”

“Don’t lie to me,” He laid back down on my legs, “I told you I only want the truth.”

“Merlin you’re insufferable,” I wanted to leave, but I knew Leona wasn’t going to let me.

His cheek laid against my knee, “And you’re as stubborn as me.”

I turned my face away from the boy, “You just got too loud. Too close.”

He looked up at me, “And you shut down. Just like in town.”

“Can you get off me?” I grit my teeth, “And leave me alone.”

He sighed, but made no effort to move, “Don’t feel like it. It’s a nice napping spot.”

“You’re a dick,” I picked my book up again and kept reading. Leona was asleep on my legs within minutes. 

I had no idea how he could be comfortable enough to sleep. My feet had to be in his back. We had just had an odd and tense conversation that will probably keep me awake tonight. But there he was. He laid across my legs as if they were a mattress, letting out the smallest sounds to indicate that he was asleep every ten minutes or so. I tried to ignore him by reading, but it didn’t help that the book was about Leona’s homeland that he himself had shown to me. 

I didn’t want him to think I wasn’t grateful. Being grateful for him getting me away from the man went against everything I had ever been taught to do. I had been told to not make a scene. Just to let it happen so it would be over quickly. I had never been in a place where it would go too far. I was trained to wait out the advances. I was trained to not ask for help. I had to be perfect. I couldn’t be weak. 

That’s why I was ignoring Leona. Because he had realized I was weak. If he hadn’t before then he had to have by now. ‘Am I scaring you?’ Sevens, I wanted to die. He had to have lost all respect for me. ‘Why didn’t you just rip his head off and then move on?’ Part of me hoped I’d never see him again. I didn’t want to deal with him looking at me like I’m some weakling to pity or baby. I couldn’t take it.

I shut the door to my room. It was times like this that Grim and the Ramshackle ghosts knew better than to bother me. If I wasn't past it by the time Grim wanted to go to bed, he would usually suck it up and sleep in the guest room I made up for Ace and Deuce. Then complain about it to me alone in the morning.

But whatever greater force that put me here was doing it to spite me. And apparently I needed a reminder of that. 

“Herbivore,” I could hear Leona at my bedroom door, “Let me in.”

I groaned from my place on the bed, “What could I have possibly done to deserve this?”

I guess he could tell I wasn’t going to answer the door because he opened it and came inside. Without speaking he laid down next to me on the bed, leaving a space in between our bodies.

“What do you want from me, Leona?” I didn’t unbury my face from my pillow. 

“Maybe I just want a good place to nap where Ruggie won’t bother me out of fear of pissing you off,” He closed his eyes and laid his hands behind his head. 

“Oh please,” I pulled myself up, “As if he’s scared of me after all of that.”

“‘All of that’?” He opened the eye closest to me, “What are you even talking about? Something happen?”

I was going to kill him. The situation from town wasn’t even what threw me into this mood, but it sure as hell was going to keep me in it. Now he was trying to pretend he didn’t remember it? 

“Oh don’t play stupid. I know you’re not,” I turned to lay on my back, “You had to have told him about the incident by now. Hell, the only reason the entire school doesn’t know is because you don’t have the patience to talk to that many people.”

I could feel him stiffen, “You think I would tell him about that?”

“Obviously,” I could feel the embarrassment burning me from the inside, “I mean who wouldn’t? The big bad bitch on campus shows you how much of a weak little baby they really are. Anyone would spread the news. Ding dong the bitch is dead and all that.”

Silence. A long, aching silence filled my bedroom.

Finally Leona sighed, “You’re not weak. Not for that. And you’re not a total bitch.”

I turned my head away from him, “Please.”

“I’m serious (Yuu).”

I had never heard him use that tone. It made me turn over to face him.

He was now laying on his side to face me, “I know you’re strong. I’m not stupid. You said that yourself. It’s not that I think you’re weak. I just think it’s stupid that you put so much of yourself into defending others and put nothing into protecting yourself.”

“What are you even talking about Leona?” I glared, but there was no real aggression to it. 

“I saw you defend those freshmen of yours from those sophomores at the statues,” He kept going, “I saw you defend me from those Savanaclaw freshmen in the courtyard. I kept waiting for you to tear into that guy like you did those assholes, but you didn’t. Why in the world would you take more effort to defend me of all people than to save yourself?”

I was shaken to say the least, I had never expected him to see me doing all that, “So what? You did that so you didn’t feel indebted to me?”

“No,” Next I knew, Leona had pulled me into his chest, “I’m saying that you shouldn't care so much about me and should care more about yourself. Now shut up and let me sleep.”

He had all but forced me to snuggle into this chest. Within minutes, Leona was once again sleeping. He almost had a smile on his face as he slept. An hour passed, maybe more. But eventually I fell asleep. 

…

I had a hard time understanding Savanaclaw housewarden. 

Happy Valentines Day! Sorry this is kinda bad. I need to do more Leona romance research lol. 💝

@idkbratemoj

[merrybloomwrites]

The Only Way of Knowing You (Chapter 2)

Story Summary: After a chance encounter, Y/N finds herself on a series of dates with Harry Styles. She shares with him her innocence regarding physical intimacy, and he takes his responsibility in teaching her all about that very seriously.

Chapter Summary: Y/N and Harry go on their first dates, and Y/N accidentally reveals her secret, which Harry is nothing but supportive about.

Word Count: 4.3K

Content Warning: talks about sex, mentions of religion

AN: Totally forgot about tag lists! Lmk if you want to be on a tag list for this series to get notified when the other chapters get posted!

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You wake up Saturday morning feeling extra jittery. Today is the day you see Harry again, this time for your official first date. You check your text conversation one more time, just to make sure that this is real. Once you’re absolutely certain that this is happening, you get up, eat breakfast, and begin to get ready.

It’s just coffee, you remind yourself as you look through your closet for something to wear. You pull out jeans and an oversized sweater, wanting to be warm since it’s still the middle of January. After deciding on an outfit you get in the shower, trying to calm your swirling thoughts with the warm water. 

After drying off, you meticulously do your makeup and then loosely curl your hair. You hope that you found that perfect line, staying just casual enough while still getting a little glam. Or at least more so than your typical ponytail and a touch of mascara look you do most days. 

Even though you take your time getting ready, it’s still early once you’re done. You decide to have a small snack, since Harry had said coffee. But you’re meeting at one so maybe he meant lunch as well. But maybe not. And you don’t want to go starving, but also you don’t want to be too full in case he does want a meal with you. 

So yea, you’re sitting there, overthinking, while eating a granola bar and a piece of fruit. Not exactly the chill, relaxing morning you had planned. But let’s face it, you’re about to go on your first date ever. And it’s with a celebrity that you’ve idolized for years. That’s not something to be chill about. 

When it’s finally time to start walking to the coffee shop you feel a sense of relief that the suspense will finally be over. You’re going to meet Harry, and have coffee, and whatever happens, happens. 

You pull on your heaviest coat, slipping your phone, wallet, and keys into the pockets, and start your walk. The place he chose isn’t far from you, just under a mile. That’s walkable in your eyes, and you’d rather take a slow stroll there than have to find parking. A walk will relax you. Parking in the busy neighborhood will heighten your stress, and really, you do not need more stress at the moment. 

When you walk in the store you realize it’s not a coffee shop, but more a bookstore with a coffee corner in the back. You walk around a bit to see if Harry is there, but you’re early so you’re not surprised when you don’t find him. 

It’s warm inside so you take off your coat and drape it over your arm. You wander the stacks while you wait, and as you read the synopsis of a random book you hear a voice behind you say, “Didn’t take you as someone who’d be a fan of Lovecraftian Horror.”

You quickly turn and see Harry standing there, dressed similar to you in jeans and a hoodie. You’re silent for a moment, just smiling at the sight of him before your brain catches up and you answer, “It’s always important to try new things,” you say before adding, “But maybe not today.” You place the book back on the shelf and turn back to face Harry.

The two of you stand there awkwardly for a moment before Harry says, “Would you like to grab some coffee? They’ve got good soup and sandwiches if you’re hungry.”

“Sounds perfect,” you answer and he places his hand on your lower back to lead you towards the coffee corner. You try to act normal at the gesture, but inside you’re freaking out at this contact. It’s so sweet, so casual! And so completely new to you. 

“I nearly always get the veggie soup here,” he says as the two of you stand looking at the menu board. 

“Oh that sounds good. I think I might go with the tomato basil,” you reply. 

“That’s delicious as well.”

“Do you come here a lot?” You ask. 

“Not all the time, but it is one of my favorite places in the area. Nice and private so I tend to fly under the radar here.”

Just then a woman steps behind the counter and says, “Hi Harry, nice to see you again.”

“Hi Evelyn, how have you been?”

“Can’t complain. How are you?”

“I’m doing well! Evie, this is Y/N,” he says, gesturing towards you and you shyly smile and say hello. 

“Finally letting someone in on your best kept secret huh?” Evelyn asks. Harry just chuckles at that and Evelyn says, “So what can I get for you guys?”

The two of you order, Harry insisting on paying, and soon you’re both sitting at a secluded table enjoying your tea and soup. 

For the next hour and a half you sit and chat, getting to know each other and enjoying one another’s company. 

There are also little touches. Nothing crazy, just his hand grazing yours or him tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, but it’s enough to make you want to melt right there in your seat. You’ve never had this kind of attention before, and each and every one of these little firsts is so special to you. 

After nearly two hours together there’s a natural lull in the conversation and Harry says, “You know, I’ve never asked a fan out on a date before. Was always told it was a bad idea, it would be too messy. I was just so excited about my niece when I met you that I guess I forgot about all that.”

Suddenly you're nervous, expecting him to say that he regrets this or that it can’t happen again. Sensing your distress, Harry quickly adds, “But I’m so happy that I did. I really enjoyed getting to be with you today. And uhm, I’d like to do it again sometime. If you’d like that as well.”

You’re instantly relieved and reply, “I would. I had fun getting to know you.”

The two of you share a small smile and stand. Harry puts his arms out, silently asking for a hug, and you’re happy to accept. His arms around you are strong, and warm, and he smells so lovely. It pains you to pull away but at the same time you’re still not entirely comfortable with public displays of affection, even if it is just a hug. 

After saying goodbye you start your walk home, reflecting on the afternoon. It had been a perfect first date in your opinion, and you can’t wait to see Harry again. 

Your next date doesn’t happen for a few weeks, family matters and work schedules making it hard to find a time. You do text a bit and have a couple phone calls, neither of you wanting to go so long without talking. 

It’s a mild Saturday in February, and you guys decide to go on a hike. You’ve been trapped inside for months due to the cold, damp weather, and this is the perfect opportunity to finally get some fresh air. There’s a trail you like that you send to Harry, and he confirms he’s on board. 

He picks you up mid-morning to drive together to the trailhead. It feels so casual, comfortable, even a tad domestic. Music is playing from the radio and you’re both commenting on the scenery you pass, telling random stories you think of along the way. 

The dirt parking lot is nearly empty when you get there, just two other cars, indicating that you likely won’t be seeing many people on the trail. 

You start the walk, the mixture of easy exercise, fresh air, and good company all making for a perfect morning. The goal of the hike is a lookout point, and while it’s not the most spectacular view, especially in the winter, it’s still quite impressive. You look out over the valley, observing the different little towns tucked in the rolling hills.

Harry stands beside you, his arm wrapping around your waist, and you focus on simply breathing like a normal person. It’s electric, the feeling of him touching you, even through layers of clothing. When you turn to look at him you find he’s already turned towards you, his eyes darting down to your lips. 

You nearly stop breathing once again, sending that he may be about to kiss you and trying to figure out if you’re more excited or nervous about that fact. He leans in slowly, his face inches from yours. Suddenly a bird takes off from a nearby branch, startling you both and effectively ruining the moment. 

With your intimate little bubble now popped, the two of you start your journey back to the car. After a few minutes you’re back to the same easy conversation from before. Unsurprisingly, you start talking about the kids, Harry filling you in on updates with Gemma’s little one and you telling him how your niece and nephew are doing.

“How was Wyatt when your sister was pregnant? Did she understand what was happening?” Harry asks.

“I think she understood as well as any two year old could. She knew she was going to be a big sister, knew there was a baby in her mommy’s belly.”

“Did she ask how the baby got there?”

“No, I think at this age you just accept information without questioning it as much. She’s not quite at the stage where she needs to know the reason for everything,” you answer.

“So she’s not incessantly asking ‘why’ yet?”

“Not yet, and I’m not looking forward to when she does,” you say with a laugh. “She’s a very determined little girl, she’s definitely going to be asking a million questions. And she is curious so I can see her wanting to know how things work and all of that.”

“Did she see like, ultrasounds of the baby? Do you show toddlers that?”

“I don’t know if they showed her those. But my sister had one of those doppler things that you can put on her belly and hear the baby’s heartbeat. I know she showed Wyatt that.” You start laughing again before telling the story that just popped in your head. “There was one day that I was hanging at their house and Wy pulled the doppler out. And she went to Kyra and put it on her stomach and then came over and did it to me too. So Kyra asked Wyatt if she found anything to which I immediately replied that she better not!” 

Harry laughs along with you, and without thinking you add, “I mean, it’d be cool to meet the pope and everything but I’d really rather not have the next virgin birth.” Your brain finally catches up with your mouth and you quickly shut up, your cheeks heating in embarrassment that you’ve just revealed so much information so early in the relationship. 

Harry’s quick to reassure you, saying, “Hey, that’s nothing to be embarrassed about, alright? Matter of fact that’s important for me to know. Can I ask why, if you don’t mind telling me?”

You take a deep breath before explaining, “My family is religious so I grew up going to Church and private school and we were told that premarital sex is a sin. And I was very much a rule follower so if I was told not to do something, I didn’t do it. Plus I was terrified of getting pregnant in high school and I knew that condoms aren’t totally effective, and there was no way I could get birth control. Then I got to college and was so busy with studying and working that having sex wasn’t a priority for me. And now, well, making friends as an adult is hard enough. Finding someone to lose your virginity to in your late twenties is a challenge. Guys don’t want to deal with someone that has no experience. So yea, really not a lot of opportunities for sex in my life.”

You’re nervous as Harry takes his time before responding. Finally, he says, “That’s all completely valid. And smart. Sometimes I wish I had waited until I was older and more mature. And any guy who won’t take the time to teach someone is a total dick.” 

“You really think that?” you ask, unsure if he’s just saying that to be polite.

Harry stops walking in order to turn and face you. His expression is intense, sincere, and he looks you in the eyes when he says, “Of course I mean that. People treat sex like this casual thing, and maybe for some people it is. But not for me. It’s why I always hated those rumors that I was a womanizer and slept around. Sex to me is important, a way to show you care about someone, a way to connect with them. No one should be pressured into it or made to feel bad just because they might not know what they’re doing. And when someone is new to intimacy, then the experienced partner should be patient, and help them to make sure they enjoy it. Plus, it can be uncomfortable for women, feel invasive even, especially when it’s not done right. That’s the last thing I’d want to have happen, for anyone.”

He stops his mini rant and you smile, feeling so reassured and at ease. You don’t know how far this relationship between the two of you will go, but you do know that if it does become physical, that you don't have to be scared. You trust every word Harry says.

You smile to show your appreciation for taking this so seriously and making you feel so safe. You’ve had people make fun of you when they found out you’re still a virgin, but Harry isn’t phased at all. 

“Want to hear something kind of ridiculous?” you ask, feeling more confident after hearing Harry’s thoughts.

He nods his head furrows his eyebrows, obviously interested in what you have to say next. 

“Okay, this is probably even more embarrassing to admit, but like, I truly do not understand how it’s supposed to fit.” He looks at you confused so you continue, “It’s just such a big thing and it’s apparently supposed to go into such a small hole. Makes no sense to me.”

Finally realizing what you’re saying, Harry barks out a laugh. You’re happy the mood is lightened and he responds, “Guess I really have my work cut out for me then. May need to make you some powerpoints or something to explain it all.” 

“That’d probably be helpful,” you reply, laughing as well, though the statement is unfortunately true. 

The two of you start walking again, and Harry slips his hand in yours. It’s nice, not sweaty or uncomfortable like you always thought holding hands would be, and even this makes you feel so close, so connected to him. 

After the hike you stop and grab sandwiches before Harry drives you home. Ever the gentleman he gets out of the car and rushes to open your door for you. His hand now resting on your back, he walks you to your front porch. 

“I had fun today,” he says, turning to face you. 

“Me too. I’m so happy the weather worked out,” you reply.

“Yea it was nice being able to get outside.”

It’s silent for a moment, both of you just looking at each other. You’re not sure what’s about to happen, so you just follow Harry’s lead. His eyes glance to your lips, and immediately your heart rate increases. You’ve read about this, how that’s a sign he wants to kiss you, and oh my god, it’s finally happening in real life. 

You take calm, even breaths as his face slowly moves closer to yours. With one hand still resting on your waist, his other comes up to cup your cheek, and you gasp at the touch. He continues to close the distance, giving you plenty of time to move away, but you don’t.

You want this, want to finally have your first kiss. 

When his lips gently press against yours, it takes just a second for you to respond. It’s weird, trying to figure out how to shape your mouth, or where to put your hands. But you don’t have too much time to worry, because he pulls back a second later.

For a moment you’re almost disappointed by how quick it was. Until you realize that’s what it should be. Not some crazy make out, or trying to head straight to bed for more. Just a simple display of affection with the promise of more in the future. 

You also know that just a peck is exactly what you can handle right now, and Harry definitely sensed that. It’s like he’s more aware of your limits than you are, which is so comforting. 

“Today has been lovely,” Harry says as he steps back, his hands leaving your body and allowing you to breathe normally again. “I’ll call you, okay?” 

“Okay,” you reply bashfully. “Drive safe. Bye, Harry.”

“Bye, Y/N,” he says and you force yourself to open your door and walk inside. Once he hears the lock click, Harry goes back to his car and drives away. 

Now alone, you release the squeal that’s been trying to burst out of you. No part of you truly believes that just happened. That’s just crazy. Things like this never happen to you. 

There’s a journal on a shelf in your living room that’s collecting dust, but if there’s ever a time to add an entry, it’s now. You open it up, write the date and the top, and simply add “Harry kissed me.” It feels almost juvenile, but you never want to forget this moment. 

You spend the rest of the day on cloud nine, trying to get things done but finding yourself standing in random places, completely zoned out and thinking about the kiss, how his lips felt on yours, the hand cupping your cheek, his smile when he pulled away.

You want more, want it with him, and now you’re just anxiously awaiting his call, wondering how soon you can see him again. 

Which ends up taking longer than you expected. For days you don’t hear from Harry; no call, and no text. By Tuesday, you’re starting to feel self conscious, wondering if he really had just said all those things to be nice but really wants nothing to do with a virgin. By Friday, you think maybe you’re crazy, and you made everything up and haven’t even met Harry. It’s all a delusion.

And then, on Saturday morning, your phone rings. When you see his name you immediately answer, which might seem desperate, but truthfully you’re desperate to prove to yourself that the past two dates really happened.

“Y/N, love, I am so sorry for not calling sooner,” he says the second the call connects. “I swear I picked up the phone half a dozen times and something always came up. I really did not mean to keep you hanging for a week.”

“Thank’s alright, I know you’re busy,” you reply, breathing a sigh of relief that he isn’t avoiding you on purpose.

“It’s not alright, but thank you for understanding. I'd like to make it up to you. I know it’s last minute but are you available tonight for dinner?”

“Let me check,” you say. It’s silly, you’re completely free as you are most Saturdays, but you don’t want to seem too eager. Plus, he did leave you hanging for a week, so it’s only fair he needs to squirm for a minute. “Looks like I’m free this evening,” you add after a moment. 

“Wonderful! I can pick you up at 6, if that works for you?” 

“Sounds perfect. I’ll see you then,” you say. 

“Looking forward to it,” he replies before hanging up. 

You spend the day anticipating that evening. You take a luxurious bath before styling your hair and applying makeup. Truthfully, you’re quite nervous for this date. Harry had texted you after the phone call, explaining the restaurant's dress code, which was quite fancy. You were lucky to find a dress in your closet that would work. Plus, this is the third date. You’d always heard this is when things would often get physical. 

What if Harry wants that tonight? Would you be ready? Or would you have to decline and see how serious he was about going at your pace. Part of you thinks that maybe it’s best to just get it over with already. But the idea of having sex is still go foreign, so scary, that you admit you need time. You need to know him better, trust him more. You know you can trust him to respect that, but you still feel bad denying him. 

Before you spiral too much, your doorbell rings. After one last look in the mirror, you grab your purse and head to the front door.

Opening it, you’re face to face with the most beautiful image. Harry is standing there, in a perfectly fitted suit, holding a bouquet of flowers. 

“Wow, you look beautiful,” he says. “These are for you,” he adds, holding out the flowers. 

You blush at his words, thanking him for the compliment and the flowers. You invite him inside so that you can find a vase for the bouquet. He politely waits by the front door, not wanting to intrude on your personal space by peeking around your home. 

A moment later you’re locking the front door and following Harry out to the car. He holds your hand for the drive, and it takes everything in you not to squeal from happiness. You’ve seen so many of your friends have boyfriends and it looks like it’s finally going to be your turn. You take nothing for granted, not even something as small as simply holding hands over the center console. 

The restaurant was one you previously dreamed of going to, but never imagined you’d be able to actually eat there. You knew it took months to get a reservation, and a meal here probably  costs more than your monthly car payment. But when you’d expressed your concerns about that, Harry had simply replied, “Let me treat you.” 

When you arrive you’re led to a private table, a bottle of wine already waiting for the two of you. Harry pulls out the chair for you, ever the gentleman, and finally the two of you are sitting face to face. 

The warm lighting and glow of the candles sets  the romantic scene. Harry looks absolutely gorgeous, and it nearly pains you to look away so you can read the menu. You notice there are no prices listed, probably for the best that you don’t really know how much this is going to cost. 

“Anything catching your eye?” He asks. 

“Anything you’d recommend?” You ask in return. 

“Well their salmon is my favorite, but honestly you can’t go wrong. Their pasta is great as well, and my friends said the steaks are excellent.” 

The two of you order and enjoy the meal together and you continue to learn more about each other. It isn’t until you’ve finished dessert that Harry brings up the conversation you’d had during your last date. 

“I wanted to ask you a bit of a personal question, if that’s alright,” he says. 

“You may ask,” you reply. 

“You mentioned last time that you don’t have any experience. Can you clarify what you mean? Like, no experience with sex or no experience in general?”

“None at all. You were actually my first kiss. To be honest I was kind of nervous today about the whole ‘third date’ thing.”

“There’s no timeline, Y/N. I promise, I will never push you to do anything you’re not ready to do. I have no expectations regarding this. It’s whatever you want, in your time.”

“That’s very good to hear. And I do feel ready to try things with you. Maybe not everything yet but, I trust you, and I’d like to do more with you. To learn from you.”

“Then I’m excited to teach you.”

You both smile and move on for the moment, going back to other conversation topics. A short while later Harry settles the bill and drives you home. His hand once again holds yours, his thumb rubbing circles along your skin. 

Just like the previous date, he walks you to your door. 

“Would you like to come inside?” You ask him. 

“Not this time,” he answers kindly. You understand he’s not rejecting you, just saying not tonight. Still, you’re slightly disappointed. You’d gotten yourself excited at the idea of being more intimate with Harry. But once again you know he is right, that it’s a good idea to wait a little longer. 

You nod and say, “I had a wonderful time tonight. Thank you again for dinner.”

“It was my pleasure,” he replies. “I’ll text you this week and we can set something up for our next date.”

“I look forward to it.”

“I do as well. Goodnight, Y/N.” 

“Goodnight, Harry.”

Again like last time, he leans down, large hands cradling your cheeks as he meets you in a soft kiss. Again, it leaves you wanting more, and he knows it if his smirk is anything to go by. 

“All in due time,” he murmurs as he pulls away. 

You finally walk into your home, tummy full of butterflies, and can’t help one more glance out the window. You catch Harry just as he’s getting in the car and you watch as he drives away. 

‘All in due time’ you tell yourself, feeling excited about what is to come.

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

[fairyberkshire]

FALLING FOR SHADOWS | RAFE CAMERON AU

pairings: frat!rafe cameron x female!reader

a/n: this is officially the first chapter of this au ! i hope you all enjoy !

parts: 1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . .

The music loudly played from the speakers as she walked around the frat house– this was not at all what she expected her Friday night to look like, but her friends decided to drag her along saying they’d bring her one way or another, so she caved. Though, obnoxiously enough, her friends had gone in their own directions, going to do their own things, leaving her…alone. So, here she was, standing slightly off to the side, nursing a drink in hand as she tried to act as if she belonged, her eyes glancing around the room when all of a sudden they locked with a pair of blue eyes– though she has no idea why but as she stares into the eyes of this boy, she senses something behind them…Something she can’t quite explain. 

It's almost as if he’s looking at you like he could save you, all while completely ruining you.

Though, she has no time even to think further, before he walks over, stopping in front of her. 

“Let me take a guess– you only here because of…boyfriend? friend?” he questions, eyes not leaving hers. And, she knows she should probably just brush him off– this whole party scene isn’t like her– but something about the confidence he holds makes him impossible to ignore.

“No, uh– no boyfriend…” She starts, and a small smirk appears on his lips. “Friends dragged me out, thought I could use some fun– but clearly frat boys and I have very different types of fun”  

“And what exactly is your type of fun?” 

“Well certainly not beer pong– more so…bookstores” 

And there it is again– that smirk from him. “Tell you what– you beat me in a round of beer pong, And I’ll personally take you to a bookstore here in town– it’s on me” She lets out a soft laugh, “You don’t exactly seem like the…reading as a hobby type” she hesitates, curious if he’s playing with her or not.

Guys like him don’t usually go for girls like her…right?

“So you’re checking me out?” 

“Awfully cocky for someone failing their classes–” 

“Damn– but I’ll have you know, I’m actually passing…some, of my classes” 

“Oh? And here I thought I was getting wrapped up with a bad influence” 

Rafe smiles, “Thought you’d like a bad influence…” 

“Who knows– but you do look like trouble,” she says as she takes a sip from her drink. Rafe's eyes flick down to her lips when she pulls the cup from her mouth. 

“You look like someone who could use some trouble…”

a/n: feel free to leave feedback and come chat in my inbox !

[maryangelex]

Never Let Me Go

Captain John Price x f!Reader

Part 2 here

Summary: You worked at a coffeehouse, your life is filled with mundanity and you wouldn't change it for anything else. That is, until one crisp autumn morning, you meet the handsome Captain John Price and there’s an immediate, undoubted connection between the two of you.

WC: 3,352

Warnings: fluff, smut in other chapters, cheesy coffee shop au, inaccuracies, soft!price, barista!reader, some reader descriptions, slow romance, pet names, meet-cute.

A/N: Remember that Price series I mentioned? Here ya go!!! Each chapter will be the title of a song I feel is related to it or that I was listening to while writing it hehe so make sure to check that out ;) I'm planning for 6 chapters but there might be more. Smut will happen eventually, of course!

The song for Chapter 1 is I'm On Fire by Bruce Springsteen, but also the covers of it by Awolnation and Gus Dapperton.

Happy reading!!

Dawn was breaking through the clouds. The waking sun broke through grey clouds that poured a steady, incessant shower of rain; the contrast of the glimmering rays against the somber clouds painted a watercolor sky. 

You walked down the cobblestone street, the heel of your shoes clinking with every stride as you walked into the coffeehouse at a speedy pace. It was the middle of autumn, the weather was tepid and chilly. You worked at Roasts & Poets, a hybrid of a cafe and a bookstore that your sweet aunt had left your favorite cousin, and she had been gracious enough to let you run it alongside her. 

Every morning was the same, and you wouldn't change a thing about it. You arrived at the crack of dawn to open the cafe, you were alone until your cousin arrived much later; you had always been more diligent and work-oriented than her when it came to running the cafe. You went through the whole process of the opening shift: setting the chairs and tables, stocking the sugars and napkins, picking up your cousin's slack from yesterday's closing shift, and setting out the freshly baked pastries. 

That's how you start your day every day. Your life was simple yet rewarding. Alone behind the counter, you took in the sight of the deserted shop, the smell of the books on their shelves collecting dust hitting your nostrils while sleep was still weighing down your eyes. The stillness and silence of the shop every morning made you content and warm. 

About half an hour later, your cousin arrived. The energy in her contrasted your mellowness. The minute she walked through the door, the sound of her cheery greeting and of the edge of the door's swing knocking the bell atop it sparked you awake. You gave her a wide smile as she stormed in, the rays of sun being her spotlight. 

"Morning, cuz," she beamed, you returned the greeting mid-yawn, followed by you letting out a loud sigh. She set her coat on the hooks next to the door beside yours -- you two had set those there as a cozy detail for your customers. 

"I had the best night last night," she started, walking towards you behind the counter and tying an apron around her waist the same as you. "Remember that guy I told you about?" 

"The Birmingham one?" you scoffed, remembering the drunken night when your cousin could not stop rambling about the bloke from Birmingham who stood her up.

"No," she rolled her eyes, "the hot one my friend set me up with!" 

You vaguely recalled, giving her an affirmative nod as your eyes drifted up, trying to remember the details of her extensive, messy love life. The two of you had been close and very similar since you were kids, but what stood out between you was how much of a hopeless romantic she was. You were more reserved about it; even though you knew it sounded cliche, you had decided long ago that the right man for you would come to you one day. Your knight in shining armor, your prince charming, perhaps. So you'd rather wait passively for that moment rather than how your cousin approached men head-on. 

You listened to her fawning over her most recent rendezvous with her new suitor, amused and enjoying her experience vicariously. 

As the day progressed, you welcomed and attended more patrons. You and your cousin took turns between taking orders and ringing up anyone who purchased books. There were a few regulars who came in every morning for a quiet space to work in, and others who just liked to lounge and read a book they had purchased along with a coffee in the comfy sofas you and your cousin had picked out when setting up the shop -- you had lost count of how many years ago that had been. 

When the shop was slowing down, you liked to prop your elbow on the counter, resting your chin on your hand as you people-watched. You loved the tranquility of it, thinking about each one's stories, reading them like books. 

One of the regulars was a man who always came in a burgundy knitted sweater and sat down with his laptop and headphones. He was quiet and reserved but always left you gratuitous tips; you knew his order and routine like the back of your hand. Another one was an older lady who always wore something pink, no matter what the rest of her outfit consisted of or what the occasion was. She was kind as well, but when she was feeling chatty she would sit at the counter and talk your ear off; today was a quiet day for her as she sipped her chamomille and read her novellas.   

As much as you enjoyed the peace of the shop, today was not a great day for silence for you. You hadn't gotten the best sleep last night, you had opted for binging the show you had been obsessing over and downed an entire bottle of wine by yourself. So, between your early start to the day and the light thumping of the headache you had medicated was making your eyes heavy with sleep. You couldn't wait for your shift to be over, maybe you would ask your cousin to let you lie down in the back. 

The sound of the bell as the door swung open jolted you awake for the second time today. You stood upright, fixing your posture and glancing at the door to greet the incoming customer. Your eyes captured a man you hadn't seen before around the area. He was tall with a bearded face and had a burly physique, sporting a navy blue sweater and grey coat that matched the beanie he slid off his head. You gave him a welcoming smile, not paying him much mind because of the sleep that still crept into your eyes. He returned the gesture as he made his way across the store, disappearing from your vision. 

You let out a sigh as you rubbed your knuckles into your lids. You desperately need a coffee if you want to get through the day, you thought, turning on your heels to pull yourself two shots of espresso. You poured the shots into a cup of milk you had frothed, making yourself a latte to spark some energy into you. 

As you turned back around to face the counter you were caught off guard by-- 

" 'Scuse me, miss?" a smokey voice startled you, making your body jump in place with a gasp escaping your lips. The latte in your hands splashed in your grasp at the sudden response of your body, its contents lightly spilling over your apron. 

"Shit!" you hissed, setting the cup down on the work counter behind you and grabbing the nearest rag to wipe your hands clean from any coffee that got on them. You looked up to the man across the counter, laughing at yourself in a mix of embarrassment at your clumsiness and lighthearted amusement. 

At that moment, your eyes caught onto the face of the mystery man who had recently walked in. His expression was genuinely concerned and apologetic, truly not knowing what to do with himself as he stood across the counter. 

"I'm so sorry, love, didn't mean to startle you," he stumbled over his words, "you alright?" 

His voice was raspy and deep, sultry even. You noted the details of his face: blue eyes stared back at you, surrounded by long lashes and bushy eyebrows, his pink, velvety lips slightly parted as if having more apologies to let out, his nose pointed and narrow, and his beard neat and full. He was handsome, truly, and you couldn't look away. 

"No worries!" you finally let out, a large smile on your face. "That's what these things are for!" you let out an awkward laugh, too loud to not give away the fact that you were flustered by his looks. Your hands worked the knot of the apron that tied at your waist as you spoke. 

The man let out a nervous chuckle as he watched you, still dumbfounded and itching to help in some way like he was uncomfortable with himself for just standing by.

"What can I help you with, sir?" You asked, tossing the apron in a bin under the counter, where you and your cousin kept any kitchen cloths and rags that needed to be washed after your shift. You didn't break eye contact with the man as you did, you found it impossible to when his blue eyes sucked you like the depth of an ocean. 

The man cleared his throat and fixed his posture, a nervous smile pulling at his bearded cheeks, "I was just wonderin' if y'could help me pick out a book" he pointed his thumb over his shoulders to the shelves behind him, "Any recommendations? 'M not sure where to look."  

You responded with an eager 'of course' as you circled the counter, leading him to the array of shelves. "Are you looking for anything in particular?" 

"Erm, up to your suggestion, really," he stood behind you, letting you take the lead, his eyes weighted on you. You responded with a pensive hum as your eyes scanned the shelves, hand holding your chin. You mumbled something under your breath and moved on to a different shelf. You reached for one of the books and turned back to him, handing the selection over to him. He took it from your hands.

Large hands, you observed. You hadn't realized until now how much taller the man was compared to you. You weren't a petite girl, but, this man stood tall; the way he carried himself proudly made him look even larger. 

He eyed the book, taking a moment to read the cover. He chuckled lightly to himself and glanced over to you. 

"As You Like It," he read. 

"You read it?" you asked a bit flustered, afraid you had made the wrong choice, "I recommend it to everyone." 

"I haven't, actually," he looked over to it again, "Not very well versed in Shakespeare." 

You chuckled a bit, "Well, this is a good one to get you into it." 

"I trust you," he said, a smirk on his face that made your cheeks burn. 

"It can be a bit hard to read but..." you shrugged, "It's one of my favorites." 

"I'll come to you if I need help, then." 

Your stomach fluttered at his words. Was he flirting? Maybe he's just a charming guy, nothing special. 

"Would you like anything else?" you stuttered. His gaze made you shift and adjust yourself, making you feel vulnerable to have it on you. 

"I'd like a tea to keep you company while you finish your coffee if that's alright," he flirted, his husky voice made the hairs on your arms stand up. 

You simply nodded with a smile and he followed you back to the counter. He sat on one of the stools as you stood behind the bar, he had asked you for a black tea and you steeped it for him, setting down a creamer and cup of sugar for him to add to taste. You went back to the latte you had made yourself, pouring it into ice after having let it get cold, and observed the man as subtly as you could manage. You noted he liked his tea on the sweeter side, maybe you would use that information for the next time he came around. You hoped he would. 

You watched as he took a sip from the cup, humming to himself and licking his lips as he set the cup back down. 'Good tea', he said softly as if to himself. You couldn't help but let a smile tug at the corners of your lips; something about him enjoying it was pleasant to you. 

"I'm John, by the way," he spoke up, his arms crossed on the counter. His eyes were on you again, and they were amiable and warm as they held contact with yours. You responded by telling him your name. 

"Are you new around here, John?" you reclined on the counter behind you, your coffee in one hand. 

"I am, I just moved in nearby," he took another sip from his cup. 

"What made you pick this place, if I may ask?" 

"Well, military accommodations, mainly," he cleared his throat. 

Military, you thought. No wonder he was such a large and buff man. You noticed the flexed muscles that bulged under his sweater. That sweater did them no justice, you were sure. 

"So you're a soldier?" 

"Somethin' like that, yeah," he scoffed with a smirk. You gave him a small smile as well but chose not to press any further. 

"What about the shop, what made you come in here?" 

"Seemed like a cozy place to spend the day," he gave you a once over, not very conspicuously, "the pretty barista's a bonus." 

You rolled your eyes at his comment but couldn't help the reddening of your cheeks or the growth of your smile that you tried but failed to suppress. 

At that moment, your cousin walked through the door. John's eyes didn't budge to look at the door, though, they were glued on you. She passed behind him, giving you the most excited expression you had seen on her face thus far, and mouthed something along the lines of 'He is so fit!" as she made her way to the back of the store with bags of ingredients in her hands. You scoffed at her and returned to look at John. 

"You flirt with all the baristas you find pretty, John?" 

"Only the ones that look like you," the man quipped, chuckling lightly to himself as if acknowledging how cheesy he was being. His comment made you laugh wholeheartedly, shaking your head at it.  

John finished his tea and fished into his pocket for his wallet, "I hate to leave, but... how much do I owe you, love?" 

"It's on the house," you crossed your arms over your chest, giving him a cheeky look, "for being a first-time customer." 

John gave you a smile with lightly flushed cheeks himself along with a grateful nod. He left his wallet in his pocket as he stood up from his seat and dressed his head with the beanie he had come in with. 

"I'll come back 'round to tell you how the book's goin'," he signaled the book in his hand on the way out the door, "You make great company, love." 

"Likewise, John," you bit your bottom lip to keep yourself from gushing at his words. You were using every atom in your body to not let yourself completely overflow with glee. 

John gave you a final look and raised his hand goodbye before exiting the shop. You returned the gesture and watched him walk away down the street until he disappeared from your line of sight. 

Once he was gone, you let out a deep breath you didn't know you were holding. You felt your heart skip a beat, maybe two, or even three beats as all the blood from your body surged to your face. Your cousin came skipping giddily from the back of the store, squealing like a schoolgirl as she embraced you. You couldn't help but join her in excitement. The two of you spoke in loud whispers behind the counter.

"That man is in love with you!" 

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, he was just flirting!" 

"Don't you be ridiculous! His eyes were devouring you, idiot! He might as well have fucked--" 

You shushed her loudly and cupped your hand over her mouth, the two of you giggling. You two realized you were still on the clock, with some of the patrons shooting glances at you. It made you both adjust and compose yourselves as best you could, but shot each other knowing looks as you returned to work, cleaning dirty dishes and whatnot. 

"So what's his name?" she asked. 

"John, he just moved around here-- says he's in the military." 

"Agh, hot!" she sang the last word. You rolled your eyes. 

"What book did you give him?" 

"As You Like It" 

"Should've given him Lady Chatterley's Lover, maybe he would've taken the hint," she laughed as you pushed her with a hand playfully. 

The rest of your shift went by uneventfully. You continued to serve more customers, tended to the regulars, and maintained the space. When it was closing time, the rays of the sun entered through the large windows, this time casting the golden glow of dusk. You mopped the floors of the shop and let yourself go deep into your thoughts. 

You thought about John, of course, studying all the details you had taken note of. The way his lashes fanned over his deep, crystal blue eyes; how much care was put into maintaining his facial hair and how soft it looked; how chiseled his nose was; how the sweetness of his smile complimented the sweetness he liked in his tea. He looked much older than you, but you didn't mind the slightest, it was a minor detail to you, if anything. You recalled how he called you pretty, and it made you blush and gave you butterflies. You really hoped he'd come back, but didn't want to disappoint yourself if he didn't.  

Once you two had finished closing, you stood outside the door with your cousin as she turned the key and locked the shop. She continued to tease you about John, making both of you laugh and making you blush with the innuendos and childish taunting she kept telling you. You bid each other farewells until tomorrow, walking your separate directions. 

You lived just a couple of blocks away from the cafe in one of the many apartments nearby. A flat you had all to yourself and you enjoyed the solitude, you had learned to be with yourself from having been your only company, besides your cousin, throughout your life. 

It made you think about the fact that it had been a while since you had liked someone. Did you like John?  The question stood out in your mind. It was definitely too early to tell, you had just met the man quite literally today, hours ago even. But you would be lying if you didn't say you felt some sort of attraction, chemistry between the two of you. Those hopes for seeing him again only grew the more you suppressed them.

But you kept telling yourself 'Don't get too excited,' because you might not see him again, after all. For now, let's simply call it a crush, it's all it was, really. Just a man you found attractive, a kind stranger you made you feel pretty and flattered momentarily, after so long of not hearing any men do so or having their attention.

John certainly gave you a lot of his attention, you thought. Those blue eyes of his. He entrapped you with them. An act as simple as being looked at by him made you feel undressed and vulnerable. 

You shook your head when you were in your flat, just standing there in a trance deep in thought. You sighed and cursed at yourself under your breath. 

You practiced your nightly routine of eating dinner by yourself, showering, dressing in your coziest pajamas, and sitting on your couch alone with either a book or a movie, and maybe a glass of something, maybe wine or a soothing tea.

And for once in your life, you hated being alone.

For once you wished there was someone to keep you company. A company as nice as John had kept you today even if it was brief. You sulked a bit on your sofa as you let that forlorn feeling take over just a little bit. 

And though as much as you loved mundanity, the feeling of having someone new and exciting disrupt your routine sparked a warmth in you. 

God, you hoped you'd see John again. 

[www-loser-org]

Tulips and a Broken Clock

Pairing: Post-Scratch!Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Bookstore-Owner!Reader

MDNI 17/18+ ONLY

SMUT WARNING

A/N: Unfortunately, English is my first language, but I hope you enjoy it regardless! No use of y/n. This was inspired by a post prison Spencer fic called Hourglass by @nereidprinc3ss , it was so good and I loved the premise of it, so I decided to attempt my own.

Content Warnings: 17/18+ ONLY, MDNI, semi-canon Hotch, smitten!Hotch, time skips, not physically descriptive reader, physically descriptive Hotch, 1st person reader, protected sex, interchangeable use of cock and dick, oral sex (fem! receiving), missionary, fluff, angst, smut, use of pet names (darling, honey, baby, sir, counselor, captain, etc.), dirty talk, female is vocal, Hotch isn’t (not surprising), tit sucking, clit play, mention of real life events (COVID), I DO NOT OWN ANY CRIMINAL MINDS CHARACTERS, hair pulling (male receiving), scratching (no mentions of Scratch/Peter Lewis), “I need to know you’re real” sex, OC side characters (Mrs. Johnson), mentions of Before I Let Go by Kennedy Ryan, let me know if there’s more

Word Count: 5,375 words

The clock was ticking by very slowly today. Too slow. I kept eyeballing it as I anxiously waited for the seconds to pass by, silently wishing it would go by faster. It was just another day at the cozy bookshop I had opened a little over 2 years ago. The smell of vintage, used, and new books blended together in harmony with the mix of my lavender essence I had at the front. A few customers roamed amongst the shelves, skimming their fingers along the edges and quiet voices humming in the air. It was a slow day, by any means, but it was even slower as I waited impatiently for the clock to start my wonderful date night. I tapped against the book I was reading and watched as the seconds clock ticked by. Is it getting slower? I should have the mechanic check it out. But that’s so expensive, I can just do i-

“Are you okay there, sugarplum?” The customer asked, interrupting my thoughts.

I shook a little, but smiled nonetheless. “Yes, Mrs. Johnson. I’m just a little distracted today.” I replied, scanning her books. 

“What’s got your mind warped, sugar?” She asks, taking out her wallet.

“Well,” I started, bagging her order and tapping on the screen. “I have a date tonight.”

“Oooo, is it that attractive, serious, brunette man? He’s been looking at you with sparkles in his eyes.” She said.

I nodded, cheekily smiling. “Yes, we had gone out on a few dates over the past 4 months and I really like him.”

She chuckled. “That’s good, sugarplum. Have fun tonight, and be safe.” She warned, pointing an accusatory finger at me as she grabbed her bag and walked out. I giggled and waved at her. “I will, goodnight Mrs. Johnson!” 

I looked back at the clock and not even 5 minutes went by, the hour hand remaining on the 5. I sighed and pulled out my book again, attempting to continue my reading as the remaining customers wandered and filed out. Purchasing or window shopping. 

One by one, chapter by chapter, it soon became 6:30 and I was able to close for the night. I counted out the change and the register and placed them in the safe, putting in the code to ensure its safety. It was then I heard the bell go off in the store. I got up quickly and reached for the bat behind the door. “We’re closed!” I shouted into the store, my hand twisting the bat nervously. I stepped out and closed the door to the office, placing the bat in both my hands. Stupid! You should’ve just hid and called the police! I scolded myself. I walked out slowly, crouching slightly in case the intruder could see me. 

“It’s just me.” I suddenly heard from my right side. I swung the bat towards my intruder before hearing a yelp. “Aaron?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I know we agreed on 7:30, but I was off earlier than expected and came over immediately.” He explained as I turned on the lights, revealing him in his work attire and holding a bouquet of tulips. Pink tulips. Aaron had fallen and was now laying in between the back reading chairs. He held out the tulips for me to take. I breathed the sweet scent of them and sighed, smiling sweetly at him before holding a hand down to him. He took it and I pulled him up. He stood up quickly and so close to me, I could feel his breath on my nose. I smiled and looked up into his eyes. “Hi.” I whispered.

“Hi.” He whispered back. He smiled and I stole a glance at his lips. He noticed and glanced at mine. Slowly, he leaned in, closing most of the gap between us until his were brushing mine, teasing mine. I decided to minimize the distance and close the gap, kissing him fully. The kiss was soft and sweet, slow enough to stop the world. I closed my eyes, heaven taking over my senses. I let go of his hand and reached to cup his jaw and his grazed my other hand that held the roses. The kiss stole our breath away as we’d break apart for a few seconds and return to the kisses. Heaven blessed this world as we continued to kiss each other in the back reading area of the store. 

Soon his hands caressed my waist as he gently pushed me back. I opened my eyes and pouted teasingly. “Don’t you have to get dressed?” Aaron asked.

I giggled lightly. “You’re right, I do. Give me 20 minutes. You can come up if you’d like. My place is just above the store if you wanna wash up and wait.”

He nodded and followed me upstairs. I led him into the living room, nodding my head as I told him to sit. I went into the kitchen and grabbed a clear vase for the flowers. I felt a presence behind me as he grabbed the vase with one hand. “I got this, it’s okay. Go get ready, don’t worry, we’re still early.” I smiled and kissed his cheek before briskly walking towards my bedroom. 

***

We were walking towards the restaurant doors, hand in hand, smiling at each other. Aaron had a reservation at 8 for the place. I was decked out in a white dress with white shoes, opposite of his dark suit and red tie. Aaron told the hostess his name and she then led us to our table. Aaron had let go of my hand briefly to pull out my chair. “And they say chivalry is dead.” I teased as I sat down, pulling my chair in slightly. 

“Well honey, I keep the chivalry's heart pumping.” He smiled before sitting down in his seat, pulling out his menu as I pulled out mine.

We spent hours there, just talking, laughing, and smiling overall. My heart fluttered at every little thing Aaron had done. From asking the waiter for a refill for my water to asking me little questions about my shop. Whether it be the workload, the stock of books, or even the customer shenanigans, I understood that he cared. I also discussed my past life, parts I never really discussed with anyone else, how I never kept in contact with my parents because their dreams for me were different from mine, how my fiance died in a car crash, how hard it was to start up another small business bookshop, etc. We also discussed some of his old cases. They were brutal, not brutal enough for nightmares, but enough to scare me a little. He had told me about his late ex-wife, Haley, and his son Jack, who was with the babysitter tonight. He spoke highly of her, mentioning how though they divorced, she had always understood his job and odd hours. He stated how she had aggressive opinions against it, but it was understandable given the circumstances and the effects on the relationship. I reached out for his hand and grasped it softly, hoping to comfort him. He explained that his job is what got her killed, how a serial killer named George Foyet had shot and killed Haley. He also talked about Jack and how tough it was to raise him with his job and how much help Jessica, Haley’s sister, had helped out when watching Jack when Aaron had a case. I nodded in understanding, allowing him to continue his stories throughout the night. 

Later that night, he walked me home. He held an arm around my waist as we slowly walked the path to my home. I adorned his black trench jacket and his tie was loosened. We shared whispers of little things that had happened today, swapping little stories with each other as the wind brushed around us. 

Once we reached the front door of the store, we stopped. I looked at him and turned to fully face him. “You can say no, but do you wanna head up with me?” I asked hesitantly with hopeful eyes. 

He eyed upstairs before closing his eyes, groaning quietly. “I would love to, honey. But I forgot that the babysitter doesn’t do nights.”

I nodded, slightly disappointed. “It’s alright. I understand. Besides, we had that other time a few weeks ago.”

He chuckled before pulling me in close, kissing my forehead. “I’m really sorry, sweetheart. I promise, I’ll make it up to you next week. I’ll push Jack to have a sleepover or something.” He looked into my eyes, guilt glossing over the surface. “I’ll think of something, I swear.”

I smiled before leaning more into him. “I know you will, Hotchner. You always do.” I kissed him. And then I kissed him again. And then I leaned in for another kiss, brushing his lips with mine. He laughed lightly at the trick and held my jaw in his hands before leaning in and kissing me slowly, closing his eyes. I closed mine as I grabbed his torso and pulled him closer to me.

We eventually let go and breathed in the fresh air. “Good night, darling.” Aaron whispered, letting go.

“Good night, Captain.” I replied, unlocking and opening the door. Once I entered, I immediately went upstairs before realizing that I still had his jacket. I placed it on the coat rack and took a picture of it, sending it to Aaron. You forget something? I texted him. 

He replied, Keep it, save it for our next date.

I smiled before replying, Ok ;). My heart buzzed as I thought of all the possibilities of our next date. I was so excited. I think I like him a little more than I thought. 

***

The next date never came. In fact, there were only a few texts exchanged before Aaron completely ghosted me. A 44 year old man with PTSD and a 11 year old son ghosted me. I scoff at the fact less than I cry over the fact. I thought we were going somewhere with this. I thought we were lovers at that point. I guess I was wrong. I was still managing my bookshop, as usual. From 9 am to 8 pm, customers came and went, buying books, selling books, etc. The pandemic made it hard for the store to survive. I reopened the store as soon as it was allowed, following all the regulations and rules in hopes that I could sell more books and keep the store on its feet. However, during the pandemic, my late grandmother had caught COVID and had died, leaving me an inheritance that kept the store alive and thriving. That and the coffee bar I had installed along with the 9 am to 6 pm barista, who gets paid separately and pays rent on the space.

The tulips from my last date with Aaron sit on the desk, wilted and dried out. I kept them there out of hope, no matter how many times my friends had told me to get rid of them and no matter how many dates I went on, no one could compare to Aaron. It’s silly and stupid, that after 8 years of him disappearing, I still had hope he would come back for his jacket. But he didn’t. And so the tulips were one of the good memories I had with Aaron. 

Sighing, I looked at the clock and saw that it had not moved since noon. I checked the time on my computer and saw that time had sufficiently passed. It was 6:52 and I knew I had to get ready to close. Looking around, I saw the only person left was Mrs. Johnson in the back reading area. I smiled before getting up and tapping her shoulder lightly. “Mrs. Johnson, it’s almost closing time. Would you like me to ring you up?”

“Oh, yes please, sugarplum. Just the one, please.” She replied, holding out one book, Before I Let Go by Kennedy Ryan as I helped her up.

“Good book?” I ask, walking up to the register and ringing her up.

“Oh, it’s great! Reminds me of my husband, Richard, and I,” She smiled fondly. “Falling back in love after thinking we fell out of it.”

“That’s sweet, Mrs. Johnson. I’ll have to check it out myself.” I smiled back.

She nodded, glancing at the flowers. “Don’t lose hope, dear.”

I solemnly smiled. “Good night, Mrs. Johnson.”

She nodded in reply and walked out of the store. I followed behind her and started to pull in the outside coffee tables and chairs, wiping them down as I brought them in. I locked the door, making sure the door didn’t budge. I wiped down all the shelves and the register area, placing the cleaning items under the desk. I glanced up and saw the clock. Snapping my fingers, I pulled out a drawer in the register desk and grabbed a couple batteries along with a screwdriver. I grabbed a ladder and opened it out. Stepping up the ladder, I grabbed the clock off the screw in the wall. I stepped back down the ladder when I heard a knock at the door. Stopping my movements, I placed the clock down on a nearby shelf before walking out into the main area. Looking through the glass, my breath stopped. His back was turned to me, but I knew it was him. Aaron Hotchner.

He was holding white tulips and anxiously looking around. I walked closer to the door, my eyes trained on him and his stature. He turned around and our eyes met. Slowly, I walked over to the door. My hands shook as I slowly pressed the handle bar of the door. I pushed the door open and looked back up at him. His eyes stared back into mine. He looked different. More rugged features on his face. He had grown out his beard and was more fit in. He was wearing much more casual wear, no suits. He was wearing an open blue button down with a white shirt and jeans, sneaker clad. I slowly reached a hand up to his face before cupping his cheek. He leaned in a little to my hand. I gasped quietly before caressing more of his face. His eyes were glazed with tears, reflecting mine. “You’re really here.” I confirmed, tears slowly falling from my eyes. 

“Yes. And I’m so sorry.” He replied, sincerity in his voice.

I shook my head. “Shut up.” I grabbed both sides of his face and pulled him in for a kiss. I closed my eyes as he reciprocated immediately. He wrapped his arms around my waist, careful for the flowers. This gave me the opportunity to pull him closer to me, wrapping my hands around his neck. His beard tickled my chin and tears flavored the kiss. I pulled away with my head still against his, a quiet sob wracking my throat. “You’re really here.” I said again, more breathily than the first time. My eyes were still closed because I feared that if I opened them, he would be gone again. “I’m really here.” He confirmed, as if he had heard my thoughts. I laughed lightly before opening my eyes. He was already looking at me, quiet tears flowing down his face. I kissed him again, much softer than the first time. 

I kicked out my foot and pushed the door more open while pulling him inside by his neck. As I pulled him inside, the kisses got more desperate as we swerved towards my cash desk. Aaron placed his hands on either side of the desk, placing the flowers down on the counter. I pulled him closer, molding our bodies as close as possible, grinding against his clothed dick. His hands gripped the desk counter, knuckles turning white at my movement. He groaned into my mouth, which sent shivers down my back. He pulled away first, both of us gasping for breath. “Wait.” He said and I paused, opening my eyes and looking at his. “Are you sure you wanna do this?”

I placed my hand against his mouth. “Aaron, I’m positive. You’re alive and I hate you for that and I want to understand why. But right now, I need you to fuck me like you promised. I need to know you’re still here and you won’t leave again.”

He shook his head, eyes running crazy. He removed my hand and placed a kiss on the back of it. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

“And Jack?”

He chuckled, reminiscence in his eyes. “Jack is almost 19 years old and in college. I’m pretty sure we’re fine.”

“Okay, just double checking.” I confirmed. He tapped my hips. I immediately understood and jumped, him catching me. I placed a hand around his shoulder and patted his chest with the other. “Why don’t we take this to my room.” I said.

“Absolutely.” He replied. He then walked as quickly as possible towards the office door, opening and closing it while still holding me. He walked us up the stairs and put me down once we reached the living room. I grabbed his face and pulled him towards mine, heavy breaths mingling with one another. I pulled him in for another hot kiss before my hands moved to push the button down off “Is this okay?”

“Yes.” He replied, desperately, allowing the garment to fall onto the ground. He fiddled with the hem of my own shirt, teasing my skin. “Is this okay?” He asked, raising a brow.

“God, yes.” I replied, lifting my arms. He removed the shirt and pulled me into him by my hips. His lips sought mine out and I followed the suit, kissing him deeper. I kicked off my shoes and he did his. I pulled him by his neck into my bedroom, the door pushing open with our force. I let go of his lips and gasped for air, falling back into my queen bed. I pushed myself all the way up to my pillows, curling my finger to tease him towards me, smiling cheekily. He followed me up, lips kissing up my skin from my jean clad hips. My hands sought his hair as I basked in the heat of his lips. He reached my bra and pulled it down enough to reveal my nipples. They hardened at the cold air and at his movements. He kissed each one teasingly. I watched him with bated breath. His eyes bore back into mine as he proceeded to take my right nipple in his mouth, sucking sweetly and swirling his tongue. I moaned at the contact, grabbing his hair. He continued his mantra of sensuality, taking moments between suckling and swirling his tongue. His right hand twisted and flicked my other nipple. The movements alone had me moaning at the contact and pulling him closer into me. He switched to the opposite side, making sure to give the second nipple just as much attention as the first. I let out another moan at the switch, leaning my head back and shutting my eyes. He continued this mantra as much as he did the first one until both nipples were perked and red from the attention. His trail of kisses reached my neck as he sucked bruising kisses on my neck. His lips reached mine and he pressed deep, hot kisses on my lips. He teased his tongue, prodding at my lips and I opened my mouth. His tongue and taste invaded my senses, he tasted of cinnamon vanilla as I explored more, fighting him for dominance. He won, as usual, taking over all my senses, smell, taste, touch, you name it, he owned it. 

His fingers tapped the waistband of my jeans. He let go of my swollen lips with a gasp. “Is this okay?”

“Please.” I whispered.

“Huh? I didn’t hear that darling. You need to speak up for me, darling girl.” Aaron teased

“Please, Aaron.” I pleaded louder, lifting my hips to meet his. 

He chuckled. “So impatient.” He kissed my jaw. “So needy.” He kissed my neck, trailing his kisses back down until they reached my belt. His fingers fiddled with the buckle, opening the belt. His fingers unbuttoned my pants and he pulled the zipper down, easily pulling the pants down. I lifted my hips off the bed to give him more access to pull the jeans off. After he pulled my pants off, I reached around my back and unclasped my bra, throwing it off to the side. Aaron positioned himself right in front of my entrance, licking his lips as if he were starved. He looked up at my eyes from his position. “May I?” He asked gently against my pussy, ever the gentleman. 

I nodded. “Yes, please, Aaron.” I pleaded. 

He obeyed, chuckling slightly. He pulled down my panties and groaned when he saw how wet I had gotten. He looked completely enamored with my pussy, watching how it glistened and clenched, waiting for him. I felt him breathing at the entrance and felt my walls clench around nothing. I made a small noise from my throat. “Please sir, I need you.”

Aaron’s eyes lit up and he smirked. “Don’t worry, pretty girl. I got you.” His tongue reached out and licked a big stripe against my pussy. I gasped at the sudden contact but lifted my hips nonetheless. He wrapped his (big, beefy) arms around my thighs and grounded my body against my bed. He pulled my lower half towards his mouth, licking his way into my entrance. I moaned and gasped at the feeling, allowing him in. His tongue licked stripes on and inside my pussy, varying in patterns and paces. He moved one hand from my thigh and prodded one finger inside. I felt it slide in and moaned at the contact, leaning my head back and shutting my eyes. His finger pumped in and out in a slow rhythm as he licked stripes up and down my labia. 

After a few more pumps, Aaron added another finger inside my entrance. He moved his tongue up from its position and swirled it around my clit. I gasped at the sudden change and grabbed his hair, pulling slightly. He groaned a little and it sent vibrations up my body, letting moans fall out my mouth like a river. His mouth switched from swirling to sucking my clit. His fingers pumped in and out of my pussy. One of my hands was down grabbing his hair, pulling him closer to my pussy. My other hand was under my pillow, grasping the sheets of it and twisting. He sped up his fingers, pumping them in and out of me faster. I gasped at the change and moaned. His tongue swirled my clit until his thumb replaced it, circling it slowly. His fingers sped up as well as his thumb and it made me gasp, my thighs threatening to close in. “Oh shit, Aaron.” I moaned out.

“That’s it, darling. Say my name.” He replied, continuing his movements at the same pace. “Aaron, Aaron, Aaron.” I repeated, like a chorus, my moans and gasps making up the verse. His fingers were quickly working me up, closer and closer. “Oh my god, Aaron. Don’t stop.” I gasped out. He started leaving kisses over my thighs, stopping every few kisses to suck hickies into my thighs. “Please, don’t -fuck, don’t stop!” I pleaded, moving both hands to grip his hair, pulling slightly. The overwhelming pleasure of everything, his thumb, his fingers, his kisses, it all hit me as that knot twisted tighter in my stomach. “Oh fuck, I’m about to cum!” I let out, gasping and moaning, unable to stop myself. His fingers kept the pace but went harder and harder, making me gasp even more than before. “Oh fuck Aaron, I’m about to-” I was cut off when the knot broke in my stomach and I came with a moan. Aaron reached his head down, licking up every droplet like a man starved. His fingers continued to slowly fuck me through my orgasm, drawing it out until the first load was gone. I moved both of my hands to my forehead, catching my breath.

After he had finished, he brought himself back up to my face. “Breathe, darling. It’s okay.” He said. He kissed me softly on my cheeks and nose. I brushed my fingers through his hair and brought it to the back of his neck. I pulled him back to my lips and kissed him desperately. I moved my other hand down his chest and fiddled with the hem of his white shirt. He immediately understood, sitting up and taking it off. I moved my hands to his belt buckle and tried to get it off. He grabbed my hands and placed them above my head. “I know that you’re impatient, baby, but I gave you what you want-”

“Please Aaron, I want more.” I reply, lifting my hips to grind towards his. 

“First of all, it’s sir. Second of all, it’s going to be sir for the rest of tonight, or you’re not gonna cum. If you want anything, you ask. Are we clear?” He responded in a demanding tone.

“Yes, counselor.” I tested, smile spreading, testing him. He turned his head to the side curiously, smiling curving in his features. He chuckled, “I’ll allow it.”

Slowly, he let go of my wrists and sat back on his knees. I pulled my elbows up, positioning myself towards him. He unclasped his belt and pulled down his pants, leaving him in his white boxer briefs. I sat up and slowly reached for his cock, feeling out how hard he was. Aaron wrapped a hand around my wrist and pulled it away slowly. “No, not tonight,” He laid me back down and I wriggled to get more comfortable. He grabbed the spare pillow from beside me and tapped my hips. I obeyed and raised them. “Tonight’s all about you, my darling.” Aaron put the pillow under my hips and stripped himself of his boxer briefs. His dick was leaking with precum, the red tip begging for attention. I stared with my mouth agape. He was 6.5 inches and I knew I was in trouble. I had forgotten how big he was, 8 years time will do that to a person. He reached behind and pulled a condom from his pants pocket. He opened the package, pinched the tip of the rubber and rolled it down his cock. He looked at my face and caught me staring. Aaron chuckled and it caught my attention, changing my line of sight to look at his eyes. “Have you not been taken care of, baby? I’m sorry, I’m here now.” He said, teasing my pussy with his tip. I gasped at the contact, looking down at him holding his cock and where our bodies met. He hissed slightly. “God, you’re so wet.”

“Please sir.” I pleaded.

“Please what?”

“Please stop teasing.” I whined, slowly reaching a hand down to his dick. I reached down and gathered some slick from my pussy and rubbed it on Aaron’s dick, pumping it a couple times. He hissed again before fully grabbing his dick and slowly entered my pussy. I gasped at the stretch, not used to it like I was and closed my eyes, concentrating on relaxing. He leaned down and kissed my neck softly. “Just let me know honey. When you want me to move.” He whispered. 

Once he fully entered me, I moaned at the contact, taking time to adjust. Eventually, I whispered a small yes and Aaron started to thrust back and forth into me. I moaned at the contact as he groaned. Slowly he thrusted in and out of my pussy, taking one of my hands on his and placing it above my head. I moaned out at his thrusts as they hit my pussy deep and hard. Aaron grunted as he thrusted, the sexy sound spilling from his lips as he kissed my neck. I took my free hand and wrapped it around his neck and down his back, softly clawing at it as he moved. “Faster.” I whispered.

“What was that?” He asked in a teasing tone, hitting harder, causing me to yelp in surprise. 

“Please sir, faster.” I gasped out. He obeyed, moving his hips faster and harder, hitting that sweet spot. A high pitched moan left my lips as I clawed his back, my legs wrapped around his waist. He suckled more hickies into my skin, moving his hips faster. “Oh god, sir.” I called out, gasping at the pace of his thrusts. “Yeah? How do you feel, honey?” He teased. 

“So. Fucking. Good.” I replied in a gaspy, whiny tone. He moved my hand to his hair and moved his lips down towards my boobs, suckling more hickies down the trail. He latched his mouth around one of my nipples. His hips moved faster, the veins of his dick rutting pleasure through my walls. His tip continued to hit my spongy sweet spot, causing me to silently scream. My hand tightened on his hair, not pushing or pulling him anywhere, just tightening which caused him to groan. My other hand dug my nails into his shoulder blade, scratching and grabbing onto anything to ground me in my heavenly state. Serieses of “oh fuck” spilled out of my lips like a chorus. Our sweaty bodies are moving with the shaking of the bed.

I decided to open my eyes and look down at Aaron. His eyes were focused on my boobs before he looked up into my eyes, switching nipples. The multitude of sensations were overwhelming, but not enough to get me where I needed to be. That knot in my stomach was so close to breaking. I leaned my head back and squeezed my eyes shut, mouth forming an “o”. “Harder, please sir.” I called out, scratching his head. He obeyed, snapping his hips into me, fast and hard, causing me to gasp and throw my head to the side. I continued my series of “fucks” and moans as he continued to fuck me into oblivion. I squeezed around his cock, getting closer and closer. He got the message, reaching a hand down and swirled his thumb around my clit. “I know baby, you’re so close.”

“God, yes.” I replied, gasping at the contact, arching my back some more. 

“I am too, come on baby.” He groaned out. My moans staggered with his thrusts. His fingers. His mouth. His voice. His words. His dick. It all hit me as the knot tightened even more. “Oh fuck, sir, I’m about t- oh god.” I cried out, rutting my hips to match his pace. 

“That’s it honey, let go, I got you.” He said and I did. I let go and came at that. He grunted and came as well, the condom filling up inside me. 

We both took deep breaths and I whined as he pulled out of me. We were both breathing heavily and Aaron got up from the bed. He walked towards the bathroom and threw away the condom. He closed the door and I heard the sound of him using the restroom. I reached a hand out, vision blurry and searching for him. I needed his touch. My fingers twitched for him, gasping his name out. He came back out with a damp towel and a cup of water. He handed me the cup of water and went down to my legs and pussy, gently wiping away the juices and cum from the sheets and my body. I sat up after he was finished and drank the water greedily as he removed the pillow from under my back. He used the remnants of the damp towel to wipe down my sweaty body. He threw the towel in the laundry basket before getting up again. I grabbed his wrist quickly and looked up at him with pleading eyes. “Please don’t leave again.” I pleaded, tears forming in my eyes. He leaned down and kissed my forehead, firmly with his hand on the back of my head. I closed my eyes at the contact and the tears fell down my face. I felt him pull his lips back and wipe the tears from my face. I opened my eyes and looked at him. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here with you.” He confirmed. 

Aaron walked around the bed to the other side and got under the covers, motioning me to join him. I got under the covers and wrapped my arms around his torso, leaning my head on his chest. He placed his chin on the top of my head as I drifted off to sleep.

***

I woke up to my alarm and an empty bed. Blearily, I got up and grabbed a shirt off the floor and pulled on the panties, too. Aaron! I thought to myself, waking me up quickly. Putting on my slippers quickly, I headed out into the common area. Hope had faded as I didn’t see him. Panicking, I quickly thought if it was a dream and reached for the counter. Tears pricked my eyes as the lonely presence loomed over me. That was until I heard a muffled clank and a quiet “shit!” from downstairs. I gasped before turning towards the stairs.

I headed down them and opened the door to find Aaron on the ladder, positioning the clock on the nail in the wall. As if he sensed my presence, he turned towards me and smiled. “Good morning, I got us breakfast and coffee. Made it the way you like it.” He said, climbing down the ladder. I saw the food and drinks at the register desk as well as the white tulips in a vase with water, right next to the dried tulips. I walked towards the desk and Aaron appeared behind me. He kissed my cheek. He licked his lips before concern crossed his features, turning me to face him. “Are you okay?” He asked. 

I smiled and nodded. “I am now.”

He smiled back and hugged me tightly, swaying slightly as we drank in each other's presence.

A/N: Hehe, it's finally done and I honestly love it, let me know what you guys think and if I should start a taglist on this or something.

Buy me a ko-fi if you enjoyed it. I also do commissions! Likes and reblogs are also helpful!

https://ko-fi.com/katelynyava1130

[cheollollipop]

Fragments of Us - Chapter 2. | c.sc

pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader

genre: angst, fluff, smut (minors fuck off, in the nicest way possible)

warning(s): mentions of drinking, kissing, swearing, yn struggles with finding happiness, fluff (yn and new boo are too cute), DK yells at yn, jihoon and yn get into it pretty bad. EVERYONE IS ARGUING OKAY!!!

summary: two years after a messy breakup, seungcheol and yn reconnect unexpectedly.

word count: 6.6k

start date: nov. 20, 2024

end date: -

I roll over in bed, groaning softly as I squint at the clock on my nightstand. The bright red digits read 9:17 AM. It's later than I planned to wake up, but there's no real urgency. I have the next few days off—a rare self-given break—and I've decided to dedicate today to self-care. The idea of no obligations, emails, or expectations feels like a gift.

With a sigh, I throw off the covers and stretch, savoring the small pops in my spine. The cool air of my room prickles against my skin as I shuffle toward the bathroom. My reflection in the mirror greets me with an unruly mess of bedhead and dark circles under my eyes, but I'm too tired to care. After a long, hot shower that leaves me feeling more like myself, I brush my teeth and throw on my favorite oversized sweater. It swallows my frame in a comforting way. I step to the mirror and see my reflection looks slightly less disheveled now—a small win.

Feeling a bit more alive, I head to a nearby café/bookstore I haven't visited in what feels like forever. It's been a year, maybe more since I last set foot in that little haven. It used to be my second home when I first moved into this neighborhood—a place of quiet comfort where the scent of old books mingled with freshly brewed coffee. The thought of returning excites me. I wonder if it still feels the same or if time has changed it in ways I won't like.

The air outside is crisp, the faint smell of rain lingering from last night's storm. A short walk later, I push open the café's door, a small bell tinkling overhead. The warm aroma of coffee hits me instantly, along with the faint hum of a record player in the background. Nostalgia washes over me.

Then, a familiar voice pulls me from my reverie.

"My eyes must be deceiving me. I haven't seen you around in a while! Where the hell have you been?"

I look up, and there he is, Kim Subin, standing behind the counter with that signature mischievous grin.

Kim Subin was one of the first people I met after moving here. He's a quirky yet soft-spoken guy with a knack for making you feel at ease. He's slender, with sharp features and an effortlessly attractive air about him. I've always thought he looked like someone who wandered out of a dream. Did I also mention how attractive he is?

"Oh, you know. Around," I reply, offering him a slight smile.

His eyes narrow playfully. "Started to get worried about you. You look good," he says, scratching his head in a way that almost seems shy.

I glance down at my outfit—an oversized sweater hanging off my shoulders, well-worn jeans, and scuffed Converse. It's hardly an ensemble worth complimenting. "Do I?" I say skeptically.

"I mean, yeah. You always do," he says quickly. His words feel honest, though the awkwardness in his tone makes me tilt my head curiously.

"Was that weird?" he stammers, his cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink.

"Kim Subin, are you flirting with me?" I tease, unable to suppress a chuckle. His eyes widen in panic.

"What? No! I mean, not that you're not—you're—"

"I'm joking!" I cut him off, laughing softly. "But thanks. I'll take the compliment."

"You are evil," he laughs, his tension easing.

"Only sometimes," I reply, slipping behind the counter and settling on the stool next to his—a habit I formed during my many visits here. "So, how have you been?"

He shrugs, already stacking a pile of returned books on the counter. "I've been okay. But I miss you hanging around. Seriously, where've you been? The crew was starting to get worried."

I hesitate before responding. "Ah, you know. Just here and there. I've had a lot going on, and I needed some time alone."

He swats my hand away when I try to help with the books. "Don't do that—I'll get fired. Are you okay, though?"

"Yes and no."

His brow furrows as he sets the books aside and leans in slightly. "Care to elaborate?"

I take a deep breath, debating how much to share. "Not to trauma-dump, but... my dad passed away a few months ago. I've just been trying to deal with that, among other things. But I'm doing better now. Promise."

His hand freezes mid-motion, and his expression softens into something almost heartbreaking. "Don't say it," I add quickly, holding up a hand to stop whatever sympathetic words are forming on his lips. "I'm really okay."

The smile he offers me is faint but sincere. "I know you say you're okay, but if you ever aren't, I'm here. Seriously."

"The store's open 24/7?" I tease, earning a laugh from him.

"Don't be a pain in the ass. I'm trying to be serious."

"I know. Thank you, Subin. I'll keep that in mind."

He nods and excuses himself to shelve the books. As I watch him walk away, I can't help but smile. Subin has always been like that—a calm, steady presence who listens without prying. Sometimes, that's all you need.

The café looks different than I remember. The old leather sofa near the window has been replaced with a plush forest-green loveseat, and the harsh fluorescent lights have been swapped for warm, ambient lighting. It feels cozy, inviting—more so than ever before. I let myself get lost in the new details until a buzz in my pocket pulls me back.

New Message: Not Donkey Kong 😔 Plans tonight?

I glance up at Subin, who's now struggling to shove a book onto a high shelf, and smile before typing a reply.

Me: Actually, yes.

New Message: Not Donkey Kong 😔 You're lying.

Me: I promise. I'll fill you in later. Love you! New Message: Not Donkey Kong 😔 🤨🤨🤨

Sliding my phone back into my pocket, I turn just as Subin returns, a curious look on his face. "What are you so smiley about?"

"What are you doing later?" I counter, grinning.

"Um, nothing?"

"Perfect! Let's go out!" I declare enthusiastically.

"It's Monday..." he says, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, you're no fun," I pout dramatically.

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Where are we going?"

"Give me your phone." I extend my hand, and after a moment of hesitation, he digs it out of his pocket. "Thank you! I'll text you the details later. I have to go grocery shopping now. See you later!"

Before he can protest, I hop off the stool and skip out the door, excitement bubbling in my chest.

That evening, we find ourselves standing in front of Lotte World. Subin surveys the massive amusement park, his expression equal parts surprise and amusement. "Lotte World?" he asks.

"Too much?" I ask nervously, biting my lip.

"No," he laughs. "Just not what I expected. Good thing I dressed... appropriately."

I glance at his casual jeans and hoodie and smile. "Perfect!"

"You're in for a treat. Come on, I know what to do first," he says as we interlock our fingers subconsciously.

We stop in front of the racetrack, and my eyes immediately go wide, sparkling with excitement. Brightly colored go-karts are lined up, and the smell of rubber fills the air. It's exhilarating. My hands clasp together instinctively, and I bounce on the balls of my feet like an overenthusiastic child spotting their favorite candy in a store window.

"I figured you'd like this," Subin says, his voice laced with laughter as he watches my excitement spill over.

"You're so predictable," I tease, unable to keep the grin off my face.

"Predictable? Or thoughtful?" He raises an eyebrow, feigning offense.

"Depends. Are you ready to lose?"

Subin chuckles, shaking his head. "Lose? L/N, please. You're talking a big game for someone about to eat my dust."

I scoff dramatically. "Bold words, Kim. Bold words."

We head over to claim our go-karts, and as we settle in, I notice him chuckling to himself. His laughter is soft at first, but it quickly builds into something uncontrollable, the kind of laugh that has his shoulders shaking.

"What's so funny?" I ask, narrowing my eyes suspiciously.

"You. You seem hopeful," he replies, barely able to get the words out through his laughter.

"You sure are laughing a lot for someone who's about to get their ass handed to them," I say, smirking.

"In your dreams!" he fires back.

The attendant signals for us to get ready, and the countdown begins. My heart races with anticipation as I grip the steering wheel tightly.

Three. Two. One. GO!

As soon as the light turns green, I slam my foot on the gas pedal and take off with a loud whoosh, leaving Subin behind. I glance over my shoulder and burst into a fit of triumphant laughter as I see him fumbling to get his kart started.

"See ya!" I shout, my voice carrying over the roaring engines.

For a moment, I revel in my lead, navigating the first turn with ease. The wind whips against my face, and my chest swells with pride. But my celebration is short-lived. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a streak of movement—Subin's kart.

He's catching up.

"Not today!" I mutter under my breath, leaning forward as if that'll somehow make my kart go faster.

But my determination wavers when, with a cocky smirk plastered across his face, he zooms past me, his kart screeching around the next corner.

"Later, loser!" he yells, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

"Boooo!" I shout after him, though I can't stop the laugh that escapes me.

With my competitive streak ignited, I pushed my kart to its limits, desperately trying to close the gap between us. The next few laps blur together as I alternate between shouting playful insults and laughing hysterically whenever Subin glances back to taunt me.

At one point, I get close enough to almost overtake him, only for him to block my path with a quick swerve.

"Dirty move!" I holler.

"All's fair in love and racing!" he calls back, his voice carrying over the sound of the engines.

I can't even be mad—I'm having way too much fun.

By the time the final lap comes around, my arms are sore from gripping the steering wheel so tightly, and my cheeks ache from smiling so much. Despite my best efforts, he crosses the finish line first, throwing his arms up in victory.

The race attendant waves us over, and I pull my kart into the parking area, pouting dramatically as I climb out.

"You cheated," I declare as he approaches, his face lit up with the kind of grin that could rival the sun.

"Cheated?!" he repeats, pretending to be scandalized. "Nah, I just think you're too slow."

"Slow?! Please. You were probably sabotaging my kart," I argue, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Oh, sure. I secretly rigged your kart to go slower. Totally plausible," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

I narrow my eyes at him. "You're lucky I'm a good sport."

"A good sport?" He raises an eyebrow. "You're pouting like you just lost a national championship."

I gasp, feigning outrage. "I am not pouting!"

"You totally are," he counters, grinning as he pokes my cheek playfully.

In retaliation, I swat his arm lightly, and he laughs, the sound warm and contagious.

"Admit it," he says, leaning closer. "You had fun."

I roll my eyes but can't suppress my smile. "Fine. I had fun. But I still think you cheated."

"And I still think you're just slow," he teases, earning another playful slap on the arm.

"Don't push your luck, Kim," I warn, though my tone is anything but serious.

Subin simply grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Ready for the next ride, loser?"

"Only if you're ready to lose," I retort, already feeling the excitement building for whatever comes next.

The rest of the night unfolds like a fever dream, surreal and too fragile to touch. We start with the swinging pirate ship, its dizzying arcs making my stomach drop and my laughter bubble out in a way I haven't heard in... months? Years? Subin laughs beside me, carefree and bright, his voice cutting through the screams of the other riders. For a second, I let myself forget.

Forget the quiet void my father left behind just a few months ago. Forget the ache that reared its head when I got a call from an unknown number, telling me Seungcheol had been in a car accident. I don't even know why I went. Maybe it was muscle memory, or guilt, or that strange pull that never fully went away, even after two years of silence.

"Go live a little," Sonya had told me right before I left her apartment the night I confronted her about the engagement. "Stop carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. You deserve to breathe, to laugh, to feel human again."

So here I am, taking her advice, sitting next to Subin as we stagger off the ride and wander toward the churro stand. I dust sugar off my fingers absentmindedly, watching the crowd buzz around us.

"This is the first time in years I've let myself have fun," I blurt out, the words slipping out before I can second-guess them. "Thank you, Subin."

The vulnerability in my own voice catches me off guard, but Subin doesn't miss a beat. His gaze softens, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced by something warmer. He steps closer and wraps me in a quick, secure hug.

"You deserve it," he murmurs, his tone simple but firm as if daring me to argue.

And I can't. Not with him.

Later, we rent one of those glowing moon boats, the lake stretching out around us like a pool of melted neon. The lights from the park shimmer on the water, soft and otherworldly, as we drift lazily in the cool night air. The breeze sends a shiver down my spine, and before I can adjust, Subin shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over my legs.

"What a gentleman," I joke, trying to inject some fun into the moment.

He grins, his dimple flashing. "Only for you."

The boat rocks gently, and the quiet between us feels like it's holding something. I glance at him, the sharp angles of his profile softened by the carnival lights. He catches me looking but doesn't turn away.

That's when it hits me, sharp and sudden: I think I like him.

The thought is like stepping too close to the edge of a cliff. My chest tightens, my pulse quickens, and my brain scrambles to keep up. No. No, this isn't safe. Not now. But the way he's looking at me like I'm more than just the broken pieces I've been carrying around makes me want to lean in despite myself.

The last time I felt anything like this, it fell apart. With Seungcheol, it started with sparks but ended with silence, with words unsaid and wounds unhealed. The hospital visit reminded me of that, of how easily something beautiful can shatter.

But Subin isn't Seungcheol. And even though the thought terrifies me, it also stirs something tender, something hesitant but alive.

I shift my gaze to the water, hoping he didn't notice the way my breath hitched. He says nothing, just sits there with that quiet steadiness of his, as if he knows I need the space to figure it out.

And I do. Because for the first time in years, I'm not just surviving—I'm feeling. And it's terrifying. And it's exhilarating. And it's him.

We head back to the car, the cool night air wrapping around us like a blanket. The sound of distant chatter and occasional laughter from other people enjoying the evening fades as we reach his car. For a moment, we just stand there, talking. It's light and easy, the kind of banter you fall into without even thinking about it. But then, I notice it again. Subin's eyes flicker to my lips. It's subtle, barely noticeable, but it's the millionth time tonight, and I'm not one to ignore such a pattern.

A boldness I didn't know I had bubbles to the surface, and before I can second-guess myself, I speak.

"If you're gonna kiss me, just do it already," I say, my tone confident even as my heart pounds in my chest. His eyes widen, just for a second, before a slow, mischievous smile spreads across his face. A low chuckle escapes his lips.

"You sure?" he asks, his voice teasing but with an undercurrent of something deeper.

"Oh, for the love of God," I groan, half laughing, before l lightly grab the back of his head and pull him toward me.

The moment our lips meet, it's like everything else fades away. The kiss is soft at first, exploratory, but it quickly deepens. His lips move against mine, and it feels electric-like, something I didn't know I'd been craving until now. He steps closer, and I instinctively step back, my back pressing against the car. The cool metal contrasts the warmth of his body as he leans in, his hands making their way to my waist.

His touch is firm but not aggressive, just the right amount of pressure to make my head spin. Without thinking, I tug lightly on his hair, eliciting a low groan from him that sends a shiver down my spine. One of his hands moves, hesitating for a moment before giving my ass a light squeeze. The action catches me off guard, and I laugh into the kiss. He pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against mine, both of us breathless and grinning.

"Let's go," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, stepping back, and we both climb into the car. The ride back to my apartment feels longer than it should, the tension between us lingering in the confined space. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, and every time I catch his gaze, I can't help but smile.

When we finally park, I almost sigh in relief, eager to shake off the tension and let the night end on a high note. But as we make our way up the stairs to my apartment, I hear familiar voices.

"What the hell..." I mutter, confused.

As we reach the top of the stairs, my suspicions are confirmed. Sonya, Jihoon, and Dokyeom are standing outside my door. Their conversation ceases the moment they see me, and their eyes go wide.

"Um, hi?" I say, raising an eyebrow.

"Where the hell have you been?!" DK demands, his tone half accusing, half relieved.

"Lotte World," I reply, my voice bright and unapologetic.

"Why didn't you tell me?!" he whines, pouting.

"You change your code?" Sonya adds.

"I did tell you I had plans, and yes, I did," I counter, crossing my arms.

"Yeah, but I thought you were lying and just wanted to stay home alone," he says, sulking.

I glance between the three of them and chuckle. "I guess that explains why you're all standing here like you've seen a ghost."

"Who's that?" Jihoon asks, nodding toward Subin, who shifts uncomfortably behind me.

"Oh, everyone, this is Subin. Subin, meet everyone," I say, gesturing between them.

"Hello, everyone," Subin says, giving an awkward little wave.

For a moment, the air is thick with silence. Subin looks like he'd rather be anywhere else, and I don't blame him. He clears his throat.

"I'm gonna... go," he says, taking a small step back.

"No, you don't have to-" I start, but Dokyeom cuts me off.

"I planned on staying for a bit. How about you guys?" he asks, turning to Jihoon and Sonya, who nod in agreement.

I glare at them, but they feign innocence. Subin looks at me apologetically.

"I'll see you later?" he says softly.

I sigh and nod. "Yeah, I'll text you. Thanks for today."

He smiles before walking away, and I watch him disappear down the stairs before turning back to my friends.

"Alright, what's going on with you guys?" I ask as I unlock the door and usher them inside.

Sonya crosses her arms, her expression demanding answers. "Who was that, really?"

I roll my eyes. "I told you. Subin."

"No, yeah, I got that. But who is he?" she presses.

"Whoa, calm down, Mom," I say sarcastically. "He's...a friend."

"I've never heard that name before," Jihoon adds, his tone skeptical.

"He works at the bookstore I always go to," I explain.

"Hm," DK says, drawing out the sound like he doesn't believe me.

"Dokyeom, I told you I had plans. Seriously, what is your problem?"

"Min and I have been calling you nonstop," Sonya says.

"Your phone kept going to voicemail. We got worried."

"Oh." I glance at my bag, remembering my dead phone. "My phone died. Sorry. But as you can see, I'm fine."

"I see that," DK says, smirking.

"Don't do that," I warn, narrowing my eyes.

He raises his hands in mock surrender, but the grin on his face says otherwise.

"Guys," I say, exasperated. "I don't need you checking in on me 24/7, okay?"

Sonya's expression softens, but only slightly. "Last time you didn't answer your phone or call back, I came to check on you and-"

"Sonya," I interrupt, my tone sharp. "Don't."

Jihoon and DK exchange curious glances, but I shake my head, silently pleading with them to drop it.

Dk's eyes suddenly light up, his grin widening. "Wait a second. Did we just... cock block you?!"

"What?! No!" I exclaim, my cheeks heating.

"Oh my God!" Sonya says, her voice gleeful. "You were about to get laid!"

"I was not!"

"How long have you two been seeing each other?" Jihoon asks his tone a mix of curiosity and something colder.

"It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, okay?"

"Right," he says, clearly unconvinced.

I hesitate before muttering, "Okay, fine. We might've... kissed."

"I knew it!" DK shouts, throwing his arms in the air.

"Oh my God," Sonya and Jihoon say in unison, though their tones couldn't be more different-one excited, the other disapproving.

"Guys, calm down," I say, trying to regain control of the situation. "It was just a kiss. A good day. We got caught up in the moment, that's all."

"Bullshit," Sonya says, grinning. "You like him."

"I do not!"

"Look at her! She's blushing!" DK exclaims, rushing over to pinch my cheeks. "My baby is growing up!" I laugh despite myself, swatting his hands away.

"Listen," I say, rubbing my temples. "It's been a long day. Can we table this conversation? I'd like to shower and unwind."

"Fine," DK says, but he points at me. "I want details. Full details."

I nod absentmindedly, but my eyes drift to Jihoon. He hasn't said much, but his silence speaks volumes. His expression is unreadable, and it unsettles me.

"Hey, Ji," I say softly as the others head toward the door. "You okay?"

His jaw tightens. "Are you just going to throw away everything you had with Seungcheol?"

The question hits me like a slap. My chest tightens, and I stare at him, hurt and angry.

"That's not fair," I say quietly.

"I'm just saying," he starts, but I cut him off.

"No. You don't get to do that. You, of all people, don't get to judge me. Whatever Seungcheol and I decide is between us, not you."

Jihoon exhales sharply. "I think you're both being ridiculous. I mean come on! You were engaged for fucks s-"

"No, Ji! It's no secret he's trying to move on, and guess what? So am I, okay? I think I speak for both of us when I say the last two years have been miserable. Miserable. But today—today has been the best day I've had in so long, and you don't get to take that away from me. I get it, alright? You had this perfect plan in your head, this fantasy where we'd all stay together forever, like the old days—you, me, Seungcheol, Jeonghan, and DK. But guess what? Life doesn't work that way. Things happen, people change, and you need to accept that. Why can't you just be happy for me? Why can't you see that I'm finally happy?" I cut him off, my voice trembling with frustration.

For a moment, he doesn't respond and seems conflicted.

"Look, Jihoon-" I start, but he shakes his head.

"Fuck this," he says and then walks off.

"Jihoon!" I yell, but he disappears down the stairs.

"Fuck this," I say mockingly and close the door.

Later, lying in bed, I can't stop replaying the argument. My fingers hover over my phone's keyboard, debating whether to text Jihoon. But before I can decide, a message from Subin pops up.

Subin: Well, that was awkward...

I laugh, the tension in my chest easing.

Me: Trust me. Be glad you left when you did. Subin: Uh oh. Did I get you in trouble? Me: Nothing I can't handle. Don't mind them. They're just looking out for me. Subin: Well, for what it's worth, I had a lot of fun today. Sooo... I want to return the favor. What are you doing Friday? Me: I have a feeling you're about to tell me. Subin: Guess you'll have to wait and see... Goodnight, YN. Me: Goodnight, Subin.

As I put my phone down, I catch myself smiling. For the umpteenth time, it feels like things might actually be okay.

"Kim Subin," I whisper, the name rolling off my tongue like a secret, before I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.

“What do you mean we're not having a sleepover anymore?!" DK yells through the phone, his voice loud enough to make me wince.

I roll my eyes and sigh. "Seriously, Kyeomie? It's not a big deal."

"Is this because of that stupid argument between you and Jihoon?" he presses.

"So you heard, huh?"

"YN, it's not like you live in a soundproof fortress. Of course, we heard everything. And honestly, it didn't take a genius to figure out something happened. Ji was pissed when he got to the car," he explains.

"Well, I don't know why. He started it," I snap, feeling my irritation rise.

"Cut him some slack, YN," DK says, his voice softening. "He's just trying to adjust to everything. It's been a weird week, and even if he pretends otherwise, he's struggling. Coping with you being gone and suddenly appearing again isn't exactly easy for him. You were...are his best friend."

Hearing that stings more than I want to admit, but I shove the feeling aside. "Yeah, well. You're not treating me like shit or being a jerk about me trying to move on," I retort.

"You two are so fucking annoying! You fight like siblings. Can you just make up and move on already?" he groans.

"Not unless he apologizes. And honestly, shouldn't you be telling him this? I didn't do anything wrong."

"He won't listen to me!" DK exclaims, exasperated.

"Well, that makes two of us," I mutter.

"He's even ignoring Seungcheol now! Come on, can't you just talk to him?"

"Kyeomie, I'm busy. Can we talk about this later?"

"NO! Why can't you guys just be—" I hang up before he can finish, pinching the bridge of my nose as frustration bubbles up.

I get where he's coming from, but putting this all on me is ridiculous. I glance at my phone as it buzzes on the desk next to me, debating whether to check it. I sigh and get up, needing a distraction. Cutting my vacation short to work today seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I regret it as a migraine starts to creep in.

I check my phone for what feels like the tenth time in five minutes—no new messages. The only notifications are from DK spamming me, and he is most definitely offended by the fact that I hung up on him. I sigh again, glancing at the clock: 4:39 p.m. Please let the next 21 minutes fly by.

Just then, my work phone rings. Seeing it's my boss, I grabbed it and answered immediately.

Good afternoon, Sumin," I greet warmly.

"So the rumors are true. Why are you working today?" she asks, her tone teasing.

"I appreciate the extra time you gave me, but come on, Sumin. You can't keep me away forever."

"This is why you're my favorite. Always so eager to work," she laughs. "How are things? I see you've got a few meetings lined up next week, and the team you've put together is impressive."

"Oh, yeah! I wanted to ask if you would mind sitting in on a few. I have a really good feeling about this project," I say, feeling a spark of enthusiasm return.

"I trust your judgment. But I'd be willing to join... under one condition."

"You always have to make things complicated, don't you?" I chuckle.

"Come back to the office. We miss you here," she says, her voice sincere.

"About that..."

"No way! You're thinking of coming back?"

"I'd be lying if I said it hadn't crossed my mind."

"YN! This is amazing!" she squeals, practically bouncing through the phone.

"Thinking," I emphasize, laughing.

"Oh, please! You wouldn't have told me if you weren't considering it," she teases, and I can't help but smile because she's absolutely right.

"You know me too well. Let's talk on Monday. I still have a few emails with project details to send out, and I'll send one your way," I say, pulling up my email tab.

"And here I thought my day couldn't get any better. I better hear from you on Monday!" she says, and we exchange goodbyes.

After finishing the last bit of work, I clock out and head to the kitchen, grabbing a bowl of ramen. I settle on the couch, scrolling through movie options until I pick something random to play in the background. As I savor the warm meal, the comforting noise fills the room.

About 30 minutes later, my phone rings. Subin's name flashes on the screen, bringing a smile to my face as I answer.

"And here I thought you'd forgotten about me," I tease, laughing as he chuckles on the other end.

"I could never forget that beautiful face of yours," he replies confidently, making my stomach flutter.

"You better not. I'd be a little sad if I'm being honest."

"Oh? My opinion matters that much?"

"Shut up," I laugh.

"So, what's up?"

"I don't want to wait until Friday to see you," he admits.

"You do realize Friday is only three days away, right?"

"You're ruining the moment," he jokes, his laugh warm and familiar.

"Alright, alright! Does this mean the oh-so-secret plan is finally being revealed?"

"Absolutely not. We're still waiting for Friday. But how about we go out for drinks?"

"On a Tuesday night?" I ask, raising an eyebrow even though he can't see me.

"Look who's suddenly not so fun."

"You're so annoying. Fine. I can be ready in 10."

"I'll be there in 15," he says eagerly.

"See you then."

"15 it is," he confirms, and we hang up.

Practically flying off the couch, I rush to my room and fling open the closet doors, searching for something to wear.

"Shower or no shower?" I mutter to myself before darting to the bathroom for a quick rinse.

Back at my closet, I pause. "Wait... Is this a date?" I wonder aloud. Drinks could mean a lot of things. After debating, I settle on a black skirt that hugs my curves just right, a fitted black long-sleeved shirt, and a black and green flannel to dress it down.

I quickly apply eyeliner, mascara, and lip gloss in the bathroom. Just as I finish, my phone dings from the bedroom.

New Message: Subin ◡̈ Your chariot has arrived 😉 Me: Better not keep you waiting!

I give myself one last look, grab my bag, and head out the door, excitement and nerves bubbling inside me.

The neon lights of Seoul shimmered in the puddles as Subin, and I strolled through the winding streets of Gangnam. Our destination was an unassuming bar he'd mentioned earlier. The city was alive with energy, but my thoughts were stuck on last night.

Lotte World had been perfect—laughter, dizzying rides, and moments that felt suspended in time. But what I couldn't shake was the kiss near the car. It hadn't been planned or calculated. It just... happened.

Even now, the memory of it makes my heart race: the warmth of his hand grazing mine, the way he leaned in like he'd been waiting forever, and the quiet conviction in the way his lips met mine.

But the moon boat ride—that was where it started for me. Floating under the glowing lanterns, his face soft in the warm light, I saw something in him I hadn't dared to notice before.

Subin walked beside me, his long strides effortless as he talked about some celebrity scandal I wasn't entirely following. His voice was warm, rich with the teasing tone he reserved specifically for me. I let him ramble, focusing instead on the rhythm of his steps, the way his hand brushed close to mine every so often.

"You're not even listening," he said, glancing at me.

"Hmm?" I replied.

Subin stopped abruptly, spinning on his heel to face me. "I just told you the juiciest drama of the year, and you give me a hmm? Unbelievable."

I laughed, nudging him forward. "Your 'juicy drama' was about an actor getting caught at a club. That's not news, Subin. That's another Tuesday."

"Wow," he said, holding a hand to his chest. "First, you ignore me. Now, you insult me. Should we just call it a night?"

"Don't tempt me," I said, grinning.

He chuckled and kept walking, but his smile lingered, just like mine.

We turned the corner, leaving the bustling main street behind for quieter, dimly lit side roads. The shift in the atmosphere was immediate—a calm, intimate vibe replaced the vibrant chaos. Subin stopped in front of a small door tucked between two buildings, its frame outlined in soft, warm light.

"This is it?" I asked, arching a skeptical brow.

"This," he said, holding the door open with an exaggerated flourish, "is my favorite hidden bar in Gangnam. Trust me, you're going to love it."

I stepped inside, immediately hit by the cozy warmth of the space. The dim lighting cast golden shadows on the walls, and a jazz rendition of a familiar pop song hummed softly in the background. It smelled like citrus, aged wood, and a hint of something floral.

"Okay," I admitted, sliding into a corner booth. "This is nice."

Subin sat across from me, his grin smug. "Told you. I have excellent taste."

"What are you drinking?" he asked, handing me a menu.

"Something fruity," I said without hesitation.

"Of course," he teased, his lips twitching into a smirk. "Peach soju cocktail?"

"Wow, one kiss, and suddenly you think you know me," I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

His smile froze, and I felt my face heat up. Damn it. I hadn't meant to bring it up so casually.

"You said it, not me," he said, recovering quickly. He leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table. "But since you mentioned it..."

"Don't," I warned, narrowing my eyes at him.

"Don't what?" he asked, feigning innocence.

"You know what," I said, glaring at him, though the corners of my mouth betrayed me by twitching upward.

The server arrived, mercifully interrupting, and we placed our orders—peach soju for me and a whiskey sour for him. Once they left, the silence stretched just long enough to feel noticeable.

When our drinks arrived, I sipped my cocktail, savoring the sweet tang of peach and soju. Subin watched me with a curious expression.

"What?" I asked, setting my glass down.

"You make this little sound when you like something," he said, his voice teasing but soft.

I blinked, caught off guard. "I do not."

"You do. I noticed it yesterday when you bit into that churro as well," he said, leaning forward slightly. "It's cute."

I felt heat creep up my neck and tried to play it cool. "Careful, Subin. If you keep talking like that, I might think you're flirting with me."

"Good," he said, his voice low but steady.

Caught off guard again, all I can say is, “What?"

"I'm flirting with you, YN," he said, leaning back with a small smile. "In case that wasn't obvious."

The air between us shifted, the playful banter giving way to something heavier, more real.

"You're awfully bold tonight," I said, my voice quieter than I intended.

"Last night got me thinking," he admitted, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. "About us. About you."

I swallowed hard. "And what exactly were you thinking?"

"That I've been holding back when I shouldn't have," he said simply.

His honesty caught me off guard. Subin wasn't usually this direct. He hid behind jokes and banter, always deflecting when things got too serious. But now, he was looking at me like he wasn't afraid of what I might say next.

"And why were you holding back?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Because I wasn't sure if you felt the same way," he said, his gaze unwavering. "But then last night, after the moon boat ride... you looked at me like—"

"Like what?" I prompted, leaning in slightly.

"Like you saw me the way I see you," he said.

The words hit me like a wave, and I had to look away, focusing on my drink.

He was right. I had seen him differently last night. On the moon boat, surrounded by glowing lanterns, he'd looked at me like I was whole—not broken, not something that needed fixing, but just... me.

I let out a soft sigh, my fingers gripping the edge of the table. "You make it sound so simple."

"Isn't it?" he asked gently.

"No," I said, shaking my head. "It's not."

He waited, his expression patient, and something about the quiet understanding in his eyes made the words spill out before I could stop them.

"Most people... they look at me and see someone who's a mess," I said, my voice faltering. "Someone who's been through too much. They try to fix me or pity me, and it's exhausting."

"YN—" he started, but I held up a hand.

"But you," I continued, my voice softer now, "you don't do that. You see me, all of me, and somehow, you make me feel like I'm enough."

His expression softened, and he reached across the table, his fingers brushing mine. "That's because you are enough," he said quietly. "More than enough."

I felt a lump rise in my throat and quickly took a sip of my drink, trying to steady myself. "You make it sound so easy," I said again, my voice trembling slightly.

"Maybe it doesn't have to be as complicated as you think," he said.

I looked up at him, my heart pounding. "Subin, I like you. I really do. But this feels... fast. And I don't want to ruin what we have by rushing into something we're not ready for."

He nodded, his lips curving into a small smile. "Fair enough."

I blinked. "That's it? No argument?"

"Why would I argue?" he said, his tone light but sincere. "If you're not ready, then we take our time. I'm not going anywhere, YN."

His words made my chest ache in the best way. Subin always had a way of making me feel seen, but tonight, he made me feel safe, too.

"Let's see where this goes," I said finally, my voice steady.

His smile widened, and he gave my hand a gentle squeeze. "That works for me."

The rest of the night passed in a blur of laughter, shared stories, and stolen glances. By the time we stepped out of the bar, the streets had quieted, and a soft breeze carried the crisp scent of rain.

As we walked towards the car, Subin's hand brushed against mine. I glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow.

"Are you going to hold my hand, or are you just going to keep teasing me all night?" I asked.

He grinned, his fingers intertwining with mine. "What can I say? I'm a multitasker."

I laughed, shaking my head. "You're ridiculous."

"And you love it," he said, his voice warm and sure.

I didn't respond, but I couldn't stop smiling as we walked hand in hand.

The ride back was filled with friendly banter, and when we pulled into my parking space, he decided to walk me all the way to my door.

"This is me," I say as we approach my door.

"Thank you for coming along with me tonight," he says softly. I only smile.

We stand there for a few seconds before he leans in, but he stops himself.

"Is this okay?"

"More than okay," I reply with a shy smile.

Our lips meet. And unlike last night, this kiss is slow and slightly more intimate. I pull away before I get too caught in the moment and place my hand on his chest.

"Baby steps," I say through a breathless chuckle.

"Baby steps," Subin says.

"I'll see you soon?" 

"Of course."

He turns to descend the stairs, but he calls for me before he can get out of my sight.

"Stop by the bookstore soon; Nayeon has been asking about you," he says, and then he leaves.

I enter my apartment and get ready for another night, thinking about Subin, and before getting into bed, my phone dings.

Son-yuh: Invite for the engagement! Bring your friend 😏

"This girl is going to be the death of me."

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