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acid-ixx · 6 months ago

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How do think readers relationship with each of the batfam would be had they not been neglected?

what if...? ft. domestic headcanons w/ your family

series masterlist &. request masterlist — long post ahead !

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: 6400+ words, no beta i'm genuinely insane. help i literally thought abt this yesterday !! i may or may not post a drabble about this one specific dream the reader had about where they had a normal relationship with the batfam but at the same time i want to implement it in the next chapter instead so have food for thoughts instead! slight spoilers below. also please do comment and reblog if u like this ! ^^ supporting my writing just makes me further motivated to write even more !

if you were never neglected by your own family, then i could say that the process of them turning yandere would be a tad bit better or worse. i'm saying, because of your past and because of an incident during your elementary years (that could've been avoided if your family actually never ignored you; so let's assume that that incident actually never happened but it opened a gateway for an even more protective family) the batfam could easily be either a dream or nightmare.

let's say it was bruce and dick who had picked you up from the police station. the moment he sees his own firstborn child, all his thoughts would circulate from just how broken and hopeless you absolutely looked, how the injuries litter throughout your entire body, the way your empty eyes stare at anything.

the child, his child, looked exactly like him all those years ago. he knows just how painful it is to bare losing all your loved ones.

he wouldn't hesitate to approach your form, immediately picking you up and letting your head lean on his shoulders as dick follows in tow, cooing about his significantly younger sibling.

that would be the first time dick would call you his baby bird, with the way you'd stare at him with mixed emotions in your eyes.

if him and dick were to hear about what happened to you inside your old apartment from the police (drugged and abused by the same men who took your mother away from you), then be guaranteed that batman and nightwing would be more brutal during their patrol afterwards (dick would even take more weeks off from bludhaven just to care for his younger sibling), even going as far as formulating a plan for your captors, having oracle stalk each and every person involved in your life.

if anyone thinks the vigilante would abide by his no-kill rule then they're wrong, because he'd turn a blind eye for once if dick were to brutally stab someone at any moment. why? because batman will not settle until his own child's attackers are thrown into putrid prison cells with no guarantee that they'll see the light of the day. the criminals should be grateful that red hood isn't even in the picture yet.

your father would be more perceptive of your emotions if he had never neglected you. he will always be the one giving you rides, he'll shield you away from the mass media trying to take photographs of you— and you're getting carried throughout the manor if your little body were to even express fatigue.

bruce wayne wouldn't admit it, but he absolutely cherishes you and your youth. he had adopted dick and grayson when they were above the age of ten, when they were already growing some sort of consciousness about the world they live in. but you? you're so small and you have so much to learn, your innocence is something bruce would protect. you'll be absolutely coddled by your father, your grandfather figure, alfred, and your oldest brother, dick. even future members of the family knows just how important you are maintaining their sanity.

that means you have the manor in the palm of your hands. you had a nightmare tonight? don't worry, your dad would always be one step ahead of you and would immediately be in your room. hell, if you were comfortable enough, you'd be sleeping in the same bedroom as your dad for the first few years you'll live inside the manor. he'll read you bedtime stories if you want and even have alfred prepare you warm milk or chocolate before you go to sleep. his entire schedule would also be centered around you, making sure that he would always arrive on time from business meetings to have dinner with you, and coming home early from patrols. if he leaves the manor before you're set off to sleep, then he'll be giving you a good night's kiss whilst alfred would be the one substituting for your nightly bedtime stories.

you may call him overbearing once you start to notice the signs the more you grow older, but your father will always track your sleep schedule - he even makes you wear a watch that records your heart rate - from the moment you drift into dreamland to the times you get nightmares— he makes sure the food you eat before dinner is light, booking appointments with nutritionists to make sure you're healthy. he even does specialized training with you, for self defence and to also maintain a healthy lifestyle.

and dick grayson? his visits to gotham would be more frequent. even if his relationship with bruce is strained, he'll always be in the manor faster than you could say 'i miss you' to your older brother on the phone. he loves coddling his baby bird, especially since you were adopted right after jason's death; dick doesn't want a repeat of the past, always making sure you get proper cuddles and affirmations.

spending time with dick means you get all the power to draw on his arms or face or make arts and crafts with him. he enjoys it when his baby bird is at their comfiest state so even if you were seated on the floor, there would always be cozy blankets that count as your chairs and snacks right beside you. you could ask him to get something for you and he's right at it.

he would be the older brother who normalizes physical affection in the household. dick would constantly kiss your cheeks, your foreheads, and any injuries you would obtain (a habit that even bruce adopted once your dad realized how it's an effective way to soften your cries and ease your heart). he's not afraid of picking you up even! always tossing you to the air under alfred or bruce's supervision whenever you feel down. dick would always hold your hand, too, as an assurance that your beloved older brother is always there for you.

you'd probably ignore all the red flags he carries around because of how early he shows off his signs of obsessiveness. so don't question it if him and bruce wouldn't allow you to go to sleepovers with your other friends or if sometimes, just sometimes dick feels the need to just have you in his arms for hours without end after particularly brutal patrols. you're the only person holding him up and if he doesn't breath in that reminder then he might just lose himself.

your brother would literally prioritize you over anything else. he can and will pick you up from school, he makes sure nobody in your class is there to bully you, he'll spoil you with sweet treats whenever bruce is too busy with business meetings. he wants to be seen as your favorite ever since he's discovered himself to be your idol, so he'll always show off his acrobatic skills for your eyes only.

whenever dick would say "i love you!" it always translates to, "if you want me to, then i will give you the world." which means he'll drop anything he's doing right now the moment you invite him over to design your diaries or sketchbooks.

your talents very early on would be heavily acknowledged by your family. that means any single drawing or craft you'd do, whether poorly done or not, would be stored in very protective places or shows off in every crevice of the manor. any father's day gift from you would be framed in bruce's personal office, a personal reminder to him that you are the light at the end of the brooding tunnel he puts himself in. so even if he can't always be there for you, he will always have you in his mind and in his heart.

your existence in the manor would prove to be a healthier way for bruce to cope, for him to get his mind off of the loss of his second child. whenever he looks at you, he'll always be filled with a determination to protect gotham from any further danger, to save the city - if not himself, then for your sake, for his baby to feel safe whenever they would walk on the streets, for his baby to feel protected whenever you two would eat in fancy restaurants or go shopping for your diary's supplies.

criminals would immediately get the message that messing with you means getting on the bad side of both batman and nightwing. you may be the child of bruce wayne, (name) wayne, but if they even think of kidnapping you for ransom then they should pray; pray because if batman's baby even gets a single nick, a single droplet of blood on their body then they're gone. there's no such thing as holding back if it comes to you.

now, your older sister figure, barbara gordon, despite her constantly being busy because of her role as the oracle, would find ways to at least entertain you whenever you would visit her in the batcave. if you feel like your father's overprotective nature and your older brother's coddling is too much, then she will be offer you solace by her side. she may not always be physically there but you two are as close as you are to the other members of your family because you're a creative one. it's not often barbara gets to spend time with someone like you who enjoys having her as a muse for your art pieces. she allows you to also style her hair, and if you like to design clothing, then she'd be your model for as much as you want.

barbara is also your go-to for when dick and bruce are both unavailable. she lets you watch her hack through multiple security systems, explaining concepts that you don't understand. and, because she's the most emotionally stable out of all of them, you'd prefer gossiping to her about your school's drama compared to dick, as she actually gives you helpful advice!

well, little do you know that she had already hacked your school's camera footage and wired multiple recorders on your bag but you don't have to know that! after all, barbara wants to keep the only sane person in the household safe and happy. she's not openly obsessive towards you, but whatever secrets you have that don't compromise your safety are secrets she promises she will bring to the grave. that means if you ever have a crush on a someone then she will hide it from the others.

... that is until you actually end up trying to get into a relationship too early for even her eyes then she won't hesitate sending out the signals to bruce and the others. she can't afford exposing her younger sibling to heartbreaks and emotional attachment towards strangers! so do forgive her if there are times where you feel like there's someone constantly watching your back, because she is that someone; with all the intentions in the world that you wouldn't have to go through what she did with the joker or any other villains who could whisk you away from their arms.

it's obvious that, of course the oracle will use all the power in her hands to guarantee all eyes are on you, so that there would never be an opening for any danger towards you. even if you do know that she's the one in-control of the strings, there's not much you could do but accept it.

then there's tim drake. your brother who had stalked batman and nightwing just to prove a point. his parents are alive and he's fine being on his own, but fuck it if he prefers being in the wayne manor! once you're introduced to tim, he's immediately researching about the first biological child of bruce wayne. and thank god bruce requires the two of you to become familiar with each other because you're just so interesting to him, you and your curious eyes, your small habits— the way you shift in your position as your father's hands are clasped on your shoulder protectively.

tim can already feel himself blast off in excitement just solving the mysteries about you! yet he doesn't know it in himself that the longer you spend time with him, the more the urge to just stitch himself into your very life grows stronger.

if you were never neglected by your own family then you would instead be analyzed constantly. tim is just another set of eyes constantly watching you, but unlike the others, he picks off every single detail about you to a T.

you, your interests, your hobbies, your favorites, your friends, you name it; he will have an entire collection of case files on everything, picking apart your very mind to the seams. it's like he's eating up the information about you, spending sleepless nights researching about a movie you two would watch soon, because the look of amazement in your eyes feeds the growing love he has for his sibling.

at first he'd never understand why bruce and dick seems so smitten towards you other than the case regarding your mother. but he slowly starts to understand why— because just like him, you're perceptive of his well-being. if dick isn't around then you're always the one hanging around his room, visiting him with snacks in your arms or an invitation to watch a cartoon show.

he likes doing your assignments for you, especially your projects even if he neglects his own duties for his own school. and despite how emotionally constipated or unaware he seems, he's obsessed with your personal life. that means you don't even have to rant to him about school drama or your friends or crush because he can and will know it. what he doesn't like, though, is when your attention is towards anything but him. he may not be the most physically comfortable to cuddle but he will offer you his jackets which he would end up not washing right after you use them, instead he wears them, feeling closer to you than ever.

it even lulls him to sleep for the times you're unable to sleep over at his room.

tim may not know how to comfort you like dick whenever you wake up from nightmares but he does know ways to avoid them; he knows a lot of strategic methods to get you drowsy after a moment's panic.

bonus points if you cuddle him afterwards! he loves the warmth that you emanate, loves it when your body leans against him and makes him feel so important. tim loves it when you snuggle him unknowingly, tightening your already bruising grip on him, he loves reciprocating it too, feeling a special bond with his sibling that not even his parents could offer.

though he doesn't openly tell you that he loves you, he does so in his own ways! you don't want to see an entire photography room dedicated to his younger sibling— most pictures contributed by tim. you don't want to see the terabytes of files that are all about you and your interests, millions of video imagery of just you sketching or writing diary entries, sometimes eating or rambling senselessly. you don't know it but tim loves playing the videos of you in the background, especially the ones where you're humming a tune or singing a lullaby; those are his favorites.

it's not his fault that you're just so interesting to him, that your presence is so comforting, that you're the only person closest to him that has the ability to make him melt into you, unknowingly succumbing to your spoiled wishes.

jason todd comes into the picture later, and he is a very enraged man. he's mad at his replacement, at bruce, at you, at the entire universe.

at first he just doesn't understand anything. he doesn't understand why bruce finds it so easy to not only replace his status as robin but to also bring in another child, who's valued and loved more despite not taking the mantle of robin. he's mad at just how quick he was replaced, how it seems like bruce never avenged him, and yet if he threatens your safety then the old man suddenly turns violent towards him?!

jason wouldn't bring you into the fray, because you're unaware of the entire situation, but fuck, he doesn't understand why you are just so cherished when he'd watch the news and sees your picture plastered all over the reporters' walls, talking about the child who bruce never allowed to separate from his side. they talk about how you're the sheltered one, the hearthrob of all media with just how clingy the billionaire is towards his supposed younger sibling.

he's not jealous, he gets why bruce is protective and smothers himself all over you; but he hates feeling replaced, feeling discarded and forgotten by the very man who'll avenge your death if that ever happened.

hence why he has to see it for himself, has to see you for himself. it's a coincidence, a miracle actually that he just seems to easily find you by the kitchen of the manor— a manor whose aura is now different from last time, it seems like it now reeks of life, of personality. clearly you were the main cause of all of this.

you could simply be reading a book and sipping your nightly tea, but jason would soon realize just how... vulnerable you are at the moment. you find him hiding in the shadows and all you offer is a wide stare with no sense of self defense whatsoever. it's the same vulnerability that he sees off the cruelest streets of gotham. you're exactly like the innocent kids who get brutally murdered without justice, just like the children who have never once gained penance for the torture they had to experience just living off of personality.

jason isn't a dumbass, living near the crime alley means hearing the gossips of every citizen. your name, or preferably your last name is famed even in the underground. your mother is infamous for catching the attention of most crime lords by running off with their cash, successful staying hidden to care for her child, just right until she met her untimely demise. you lost her early just like how he lost his mother early as she had fallen victim to drug overdose.

he'll discover why gotham's vigilante seems to be so protective over you. the way you carry yourself, the warmth you give off as you offer him your leftover dinner despite not

you told him that your dad taught you to never talk to strangers— but clearly he's not because "how else would you be able to trespass the millions of security alarms in the manor? you must've lived here before." you'll state as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, sipping your drink before you offer him a seat next to yours, unafraid of the dangers that lie ahead of you—

"you must've really been pampered by the old man, huh?" is all his reply, the voice changer of his makes him sound naturally intimidating, like he's ready to attack but no, that's not his intentions with you. he'll take a seat beside you, try to make out what book you're reading and that's when he knows that you truly have no idea that it's your dead brother who's talking to you. you have no idea of his resurrection whatsoever as you start to mumble off about the novel— he finds it quite amusing that, finally, he's not the only guy who enjoys literature in the family, even going as far as to recommend his own fair share of favorite novels to you.

once he leaves out of the window after a seemingly long session of talking, definitely aware that yes, bruce does have a microchip inserted under your skin, and the watch you're wearing has a voice recorder that sends recordings straight to the batcave's system; jason takes note to visit you more often, finding the normalcy you offer very welcoming.

he likes it, likes your mellow behavior. he'll even admit that you're the only proof that bruce can, in fact, raise a child right, even if that means tracking their entire life. but that's the old man's love language, and jason knows it in himself that he's already planning for a way to take you to ride his motorcycle at night without bruce's knowledge; just so his angel knows the feeling of gotham's breeze flowing through their hair since bruce seems to love dictating your every move.

once he does form a solid plan to take you away, even just temporarily, you don't have to worry about the criminals who litter the streets because jason made sure that nobody's gonna mess with him and his angel's bonding time together.

the youngest, damian wayne, and the second biological child of bruce is a special case. his upbringing as an assassin makes him susceptible to his fits of tantrums. the first time he steps foot into the manor is the same time he will threaten anyone around him; and that includes you, the bastard child. quite frankly, your first greeting with him would be the same as the one in the original storyline, you'll greet him with a tray of sweets in your hand and a small smile and he'll reply with a sword on your neck. but the difference would be the undeniable fact that dick and bruce immediately stopped him from even nicking your delicate skin.

dick's swearing was shut down by alfred's scolding and you, again! pulling on your oldest brother's sleeve with an assurance that you're okay.

that's the very first time he sees his father truly reprimand him with nothing but rage in his eyes. despite damian's annoying antics towards his father the entire day, it seems like you were the snapping point.

his father, bruce wayne, made it very clear that he can mess with anyone and everyone in the family but you. that you have nothing to

his only reply would be a sneer as he demands they take him to his room immediately, unable to shut you down when you offer to help bring his luggage despite bruce's firm unwillingness and dick's hesitant request that his baby bird should instead spend time in his room instead.

but it was always your word above everybody else's and damian hates that, hates that everyone just seems to succumb to your request as long as it doesn't compromise your safety. the bitterness that keeps resurfacing in his heart whenever he sees you wearing tim or dick's jacket, or if he caught sight of bruce giving you affection was a feeling he tried to convince himself wasn't jealousy.

not jealousy towards you, no, but towards them. your behavior towards him was nothing but kind, a kindness that was taught to him as weakness. he thinks you're weak and undeserving of being spoiled and yet he hates it whenever he sees his blood sibling (whom he called a bastard child so many times) become too close with anyone but him.

he hates it, he hates you and his conflicting feelings. he hates it when he pushes you away, hates it when he sees you pout after another failed attempt at trying to have your youngest sibling talk to you.

and as the days or even weeks pass by, with all your effort to try to bond with him, with the days where he can feel dick's energy drain because you insisted on spending time with damian instead of dick again, with tim's intolerable treatment towards the him because you chose to bother damian instead of that loser— are the days he feels himself actually becoming closer to you because he relishes in your insufferable behavior towards them, because you just seem so sweet to him.

damian feels that it's right that you make him the exception.

so it's inevitable that damian will eventually discover both your talents towards art and the love for nature. it's a mistake, really, when one day as he stalks through the hallways he'd find you in your own atelier, painting a portrait of a robin with a color scheme that matches his vigilante suit. the beams of sunlight seems to hit you just right because you looked so at peace with your surroundings, humming a tune, unaware of your youngest brother who has found himself at your most natural state.

he'll budge in without moment's hesitation afterwards, steering clear behind you as he analyzes your art. it would only be after a few minutes would he announce his presence in the room, expecting you to scream at him to buzz off but all you did was jump in your seat, looking back to eye the intruder only to find out it was damian all along, offering him a smile and a seat beside you.

after he does so, you'll both end up spending the entire day bombarding each other with art tips and animal facts. he'll give you comments about the bird's proportions and you give him guidelines on how to properly mix your colors without it looking muddled. it's like you two are meant to be siblings because damian swears he ended up clinging to your side after your painting session, refusing to even seat beside anyone during dinner time if it isn't you because he's not done rambling about the rainbow eucalyptus you had told him you'd seen in a nature documentary once�� so it's rightfully his place to be beside you and not drake's or grayson's or even his father.

eventually you two would be as close as peas in a pod because you're seemingly the only one who knows how to calm him down, the only one with the right to raise your voice at him and to ask him of favors because you're his blood sibling. and because you both share the same blood, that means you both should share clothes that complement each other, share snacks and treats, share matching bracelets and necklaces and any jewelry, you're the only one allowed to hang around his room and him in yours.

the others find it annoying that you let him be, but what choice do they have? unless they would like to hear an earful from damian then they should stay silent because you both aren't done painting each other's nails yet!

stephanie brown is shortly introduced to you after her incessant insistence on meeting you right after stepping foot into the manor. she knows of your internet fame for being the beloved bruce wayne's 'favorite' child and she's not afraid to admit that you are indeed adorable in person! unlike your first meeting with damian, steph would immediately coddle you at first glance, insisting you call her by 'steph' and that

due to the short period of time as her robin and her being constantly reprimanded for her antics, you'd take it in yourself to become closer with her, and she accepts your offer without any complaints. she's also one of your muses for your art and it's a good thing she has a sense of style unlike your brothers who are either too flashy (you had to stifle a laughter looking at the discowing costume) or too dull. damian's fashion sense is good but he's often out during the time period you spend with steph, and even if she often doesn't stay still, you at least hsve someone to talk your ears off whilst you try to sketch the poses she chose.

her obsession towards you stems from your willingness to "match her freak" or whatever internet lingo she finds that day, but she's a fun company to be around! she's always there for you when you need to rant about anything regarding your feelings, especially since you're at the age where you're a teenager and your emotions towards your family would be all over the place and she'd relate the most towards that.

so other than barbara, you'll find yourself speaking up about any concerns you have to steph, and she turns your 'favoritism' towards her her entire personality.

but if you think of even spilling your secrets about a highschool crush to steph or news that someone had asked you out for prom them then spoiler alert! don't. like her mentor, steph will drop signs and clues and your brothers would promptly deal with that. awe, don't worry about feeling alone though or if you weren't permitted to go to your highschool prom because steph and babs will be the ones to convince bruce to throw you your own very elegant gala where you would dance with only your siblings!

see, isn't she so strategic that way? psht, you don't need a boy or a girl acting as your temporary reprieve when your entire family is there for you! steph is here for you and you did technically promise to go out with her today to go shopping so...

it's not that she isn't on your side, no! but you're very much the entire family's baby and she doesn't want you losing your attention on her, definitely not! her goofy personality towards you really does cover her intense urge to be by your side really well. unlike damian, it's not obvious that she's trying so hard to monopolize your time for herself but you're just so fun to be around and she's at her best behavior when it comes to you.

so what's wrong if she ditches her other friends to bond with her beloved sibling? it's not like they'd understand what it's like having someone who actually looks at her for her rather than just the surface level.

don't question why most of the gifts she had given you (which ranges from attires like jackets and shles, to matching bracelets, even little fidget toys) all don a shade of purple and blue! and don't also question why her gallery is filled with cute selfies of you and why your phone's lock screen wallpaper is now suddenly matching with hers.

after all, steph likes making it known that you are her favorite!

cassandra cain, when she first saw you, is, of course, silent. but she makes her presence known quickly after she has enough proof that you've no fight in your body. she may not be the most expressive in words but she is through actions.

you were actually the one who had first approached her after bruce initially introduced you two to each other, offering her a handshake and a greeting in sign language. albeit it being crusty, and her insisting that it's alright if you do the talking, it seems like you were more than willing to learn sign language just for the sake of your new sister and she likes it.

she really, really likes it, appreciates how there were no signs of malice in your movements and just how comfortable you seemed with someone who could potentially end your life with just a snap of her fingers. and yet you treat her like she's not a weapon of murder but rather another sibling who is welcomed into your own world.

you ask her if she wants to hang out with you and steph in your own personal sleepover inside your room and she accepts it because of just how comforting your presence is. it's been so long since she had last felt like she was treated as a human and you were proof that she's glad she never took the path to human carnage like her father intended her to because then she wouldn't meet someone who would soon be so precious to her.

cass may not talk a lot but she is a listener.

a listener to both your words and your body language. it's quicker for her to notice if you ever needed a hug or a catalyst for comfort. she knows your boundaries and when you need space the most. she knows it when you want to open up to her about how stuffy the manor is beginning to feel, how it feels as if they're becoming more sensitive about your social life, how you wish your friends aren't distancing themselves from you because of how intimidating your family is.

and you can say all that to her because cass, alongside duke and sometimes steph, would be the only ones keeping your deepest darkest desires to their grave. although she may not understand your reasonings on why you even felt like your family is coddling you too much (because they're not! they love you very much and she does too) in the first place, she's always the one offering you to hold her hands whenever you're going through a momentary panic attack or a shoulder to lean on whenever dick would scold you for something impulsive you've done.

unlike your neglected counterpart, cass would always be by your shadows, watching every one of your moves and to abide by bruce's order to make sure you wouldn't escape, shall you ever feel rebellious during your teenage years. you may be older than her but she's stronger than you, more experienced and can even combat your dad if she wants to.

yet she always seems to let her guard down when it comes to you because you just seem to have that alluring effect on everybody. can't you understand just how important you are to everybody? you're the most important to her, you're one of the first few people who had treated her like a human so she swears on her life to protect you from harm's way like you did her whenever she's often in a pit of despair.

cass isn't the most expressive, so she makes up for it by instead leaving signs that she really cares for you, or sometimes hiding little trinkets for you to find in your room. it's like her very own message that translates 'cass was here'.

whenever you sit beside her at the dinner table, she always slips in extra food by your plate without you looking or sometimes even filling your glass bottles with extra juice and you'll never know why until you realize that it's her way of telling you to eat more. sometimes, your clothes would go missing until you see your sisters wearing your own collection of jackets and hoodies then swapping them in your drawers for their own— you'd realize that cass got that idea from steph and you can't get mad at her or anybody else as it soon becomes tradition that you'll have an entire closet dedicating to the missing clothes you have that your siblings have replaced to their own attire.

cass really does love you and although she can't always say it out loud, you'll always have a constant reminder instead. as long as you're safe and sound then you don't have to witness the darker sides of her that she hides from you.

then finally, duke thomas. he may have been introduced to you the latest but you could say in terms of every trait, he'd be the brother you'd like to keep close for every situation. your first meeting with him is quite frankly the most normal one of them all, introducing yourself to duke through dinner. although he may be temporarily under bruce's guardianship over anything else, he's incredibly comforting to be around as he's quick to catch on your emotions but unlike the others, he doesn't push you to open up to him, but he won't leave your side at all either.

duke is the only metahuman you're probably allowed to be close with because your dad absolutely refuses you from even trying to talk with the superfamily. and duke heavily prides himself with that information, often secretly showing you his metahuman skills and answering whatever questions you have about them.

like jason, duke wouldn't fully delude himself into thinking you're innocent, that you need to be babied to the point they feel the urge to track even the food you eat— so he's your reliable source for any video games you were forbidden to play or any movies dick would consider too gruesome for you. he's chill, he even sneaks you unhealthy chips once in a while which makes him automatically one of the top in your tier list.

but don't think he's entirely on your side, because whilst duke seems the most normal to you - the only sibling who wouldn't smother you in blankets the moment you accidentally cut yourself with a kitchen knife - he's also batshit crazy for his own sibling and he'll sacrifice a lot for you two. so if you even dare try to suggest an idea that duke knows would risk not only him, but especially you, then that idea automatically is relayed to your dad and you wouldn't really want your father's gentle scolding anymore.

you can try to find a loophole to go out with him though! if you want to eat batburgers outside then you can do so when he's at his patrol, seeing as how he's the only batkid who does daytime patrol and that's way safer than eating at night, no?

so do expect spending more time with him the most outside, other than with dick and damian, but you'll be forced to sit in the sidelines where nobody can lay their hands on you whilst duke would be busy fighting crime and afterwards treating you to ice cream like he didn't just 'accidentally' and brutally body slammed a criminal into the wall for giving you heart eyes.

'most normal member of the family, my ass' would be the first thing that pops into your mind, but hey! at least you didn't have to be always locked up into the stuffy manor, right...?

at least you get to spend time with all of your siblings and a very loving and attentive father..!

little did you know that the only reason they allowed you out is to give you this false sense of independence, slowly but surely planning for the ultimate day where they truly would lock you up away from the world.

but they just can't help it, you know? the media's greedy hands are starting to take more than they could; so many eyes are on you and danger awaits at every corner in gotham— they can't afford having their beloved being pried away from their arms.

so is it truly a blessing or a curse in disguise? you don't know anymore.

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joemama-2 · 22 days ago

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velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 8564 tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation a/n: longer chapter woohoo, was gonna write after break but had so much inspo. wrote on my phone, so if there’s any typos, please ignore 🥹 series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

The nights haven’t been easy in the past couple of days. Mingled with a growing sense of anxiety added on top of your already heightened stress, your brain just can’t seem to shut off. You’ve tried melatonin and no more caffeine, but caffeine is ultimately getting you through the day and keeping you up when needed. In all honesty, you’ve already been struggling with sleep, but with the surprise meet with Suguru, dread’s been pooling in your stomach.

You have no doubt he spilled the beans. Hell, you would too if that was your best friend. You can only hope he somehow didn’t, though. A small part of you would be a little annoyed if he did, because again, he has no role in this. At least not a big one.

A sudden banging on your door jolts you upright, checking the clock and it’s not even 7:30 yet. Only one person could be demanding your presence so early. A heavy sigh leaves you, forcing your stiff muscles out of bed, wrapping yourself in a robe before trudging to the front door. When you peek through the peephole, your landlord stands there with an annoyed expression on his old face, foot tapping the ground in impatience.

“Bastard,” you mumble to yourself before opening the door. “Good morning, Mr. Sato.”

Seems he doesn’t have time for fake pleasantries, “Y/N, I’m assuming you saw the eviction note I left on your door yesterday morning.”

Unfortunately. “Yes, sir. I did.”

His arms cross, scratching at his greying mustache, “So, is it also safe to to assume you’ll have the money by next Friday?”

You sigh heavily, hand running through your hair. This is not how you wanted to start your morning. He was already making your life hell by suddenly raising your rent out of nowhere three months ago for so-called “renovations”. But you’ve yet to see any actual renovations being done. Not to mention, you’ve been bugging about your heater no longer working, and during this time of year, you and Koji are practically freezing to death. You had to buy a portable heater, small, but it gets the job done. Although it’s mainly in Koji’s room because you’d rather freeze than let him. “Look, Mr. Sato, I’m really trying here. I’m working hard to get the money, but please understand that—”

“Understand? I’ve been understanding, Y/N. I even applied last month’s rent to this month, just ‘cause of you.”

Of course, he’s gonna throw that in your face. Landlords seem to take their title so literally that if he didn’t have this much control over your space of safety, you would’ve ripped him a new one. Also, how could you forget that to even get him to agree to that plea deal, you were forced through an hour and a half of an uncomfortable, infuriating dinner with the man. Really, he’s not giving you much to work with here, but then again, you shouldn’t have had such high hopes. “I know, I know,” you reply, scratching at your roots. “I’ll have the money, okay?”

“You better,” he says gruffly. “Or I’m renting this unit to someone who can actually afford it. I’m hurting here too, you know?”

You huff. “Yeah, thanks.”

Without another word, you close the door in the man’s face, locking it. Leaning your back up against the hard surface, you close your eyes and will yourself to stay calm and positive. Counting back from ten and then back, a small tip your therapist showed you before your insurance no longer covered it. It’s okay. It’s only the start of the day, you have 20 something hours left. Now’s not the time to throw yourself a pity party and play woe is me. Now’s the time to just pick yourself up and move on. You’ll find a solution for the money, you always do.

Though this time, you can’t help but feel you’re really fucked.

I mean, you honestly have no idea how you’re going to come up with almost four thousand dollars in just a week. That sounds quite literally impossible in every single way. You get paid next week, but with taxes, you’re going home with maybe three thousand, so how will you get that extra thousand?

Unless some miracle decides to hit you, which almost never seems to happen. You used to think someone hoaxed you, or you were just born with the most unluckiest luck ever. Or, the more cynical thought you tend to have, you were fated to live a life in strict financial management, and hardships are constantly thrown at you left and right.

But hey, you’ve made it this far, right?

“No, I haven’t.”

“You what?!”

“I haven’t told him.”

“Y/N, what the fu–”

“Jesus Christ, I know, Hana. You don’t have to make me feel even more like shit.”

Your friend stops mid-way, eyeing your very displeased expression. She sighs and relents, slumping back in the small chair in the backroom of the cafe. She doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, letting your confession simmer and process. When she does, it’s an honest question. “But…why?”

Why. You feel like you’re staring to hate that damn word. “A lot of reasons, I know it’s not really justified, but I just…need someone to understand me for once. Not come at me for my dumb decisions.”

Your words feel bare and raw, not completely exposing the extent of the emotions you’ve been harboring, but enough to make her stop. Hana regards you with pursed lips, a hint of sadness in her eyes. Finally, she nods. “Okay, I won’t question you anymore. You have your reasons, and your reasons are always valid. So, I’m behind you on this. We stick together, remember?”

A hint of a smile forms on your lips, quietly thanking her. She comes forward to give you a hug, one you immediately reciprocate. Her auburn hair tickling your nostrils, arms seemingly tightening. “Don’t go holding things in anymore, I told you that. I’m here, to talk, listen, whatever.”

You and Hana met three years ago. She was just your co-worker at the time, now promoted to your manager. Although she’s two years younger than you, you two relate to a lot of things. Whether that be movies, food, what guys are hot, or alcohol. If anything, Hana might be your only friend in general. It’s a little sad, maybe, but at least you have someone to come to when you need to talk about adult issues your five-year-old wouldn’t be able to comprehend.

“I love you.” You find yourself muttering.

“I love you too, girl. Now, get out there, your break’s up.”

Jokingly scoffing and nudging her, you stand from the seat and do a quick stretch. Preparing yourself for yet another few hours of dreaded customer service and fake smiles, you walk out of the backroom, pushing the small curtains aside that separate the back from the counter, and clock back in.

“Cash or card?”

“Hello, how can I help you today?”

“Would that be all?”

“Have a nice day.”

Are all phrases any retail or customer service worker finds a little annoying, if not a lot. It’s so draining. And when the customers don’t greet you back, your pettiness shines through and you won’t even say have a good day to them when they’re leaving. Although, the job does have some upsides to it. For example, you get to make free coffees, take whatever pastries are left at the end of the day home, and the customers are never really bad. Of course, you have had a couple experiences, but nothing compared to a chain store. You’re even starting to use your customer service voice throughout the day, even when you’re not at work. Honestly, that’s not very good.

As you’re wiping up the counter, you feel a buzzing in your pocket. Taking your phone out, you see a set of numbers, an unsaved contact. You give Hana a quick glance, muttering a “just a sec”, before going back to the back to answer. “Hello?”

“Y/N?”

God, it’s gonna take some time getting used to his voice on the regular now. “Oh, Suguru. hey…uh–what’s up?”

There’s some shuffle on the other side like he’s adjusting the phone. “Are you busy right now?”

“Well, yes. I’m on the clock.”

He sighs, phone switching to his car output. “Where do you work? I’ll come now.”

“What?” you splutter out, head shaking. “No, Suguru, you can’t just pop out at my job. I’m busy, just tell me what you need right now.”

“I’m not sure I should.”

That statement alone scares you a bit. His cynicism always got on your nerves, but it also worried you from time to time. Most of the time, he didn’t mean any harm because that’s just how Suguru was, but it still did its job. Contemplation strikes through you. “Is it bad?”

He hesitates, which only further skyrockets your anticipation. “Honestly, it’s not too bad. But still, I need to talk to you.”

A breath emits from your lips, one you didn’t know you were holding. Eyes meeting the ceiling, you ponder over your decisions. Eventually, you come to a conclusion. “Fine, but it can’t be too long. I’m at Deja Brew, the cafe on–”

“On Express, got it. Be there in a bit.”

He’s hanging up before you even get a chance to question that he knew the cafe you worked at. If he did, surely he would have visited at least once, but you’ve never seen him come in. And you’re every day. Unless he usually comes when you’re not clocked in anymore. Anywho, you steel yourself for the inevitable conversation. Anticipating whatever bad or not-so-good news he'll give you.

“So.”

“Mm, this is good.” Suguru nods appreciatively, sipping from his coffee. You made it for him before he arrived, as a weird sort of gift to him. You two have situated yourself in a booth in the corner. Hana was a little confused as to why you were taking a break while you were on the clock, even regarding you with an almost scolding look. But the second she saw Suguru follow, her expression changed.

You practically saw the heart eyes form, smiling in a bashful way. That’s one thing you forgot about. The way girls would magnetize themselves towards the man, his best friend too. The two together were an almost deadly duo.

“Suguru,” you say, a hint of exasperation in your tone. “Please just…don’t stall anymore. Why did you want to see me?”

“Right,” he clears his throat, sitting up straighter. Once more, his steely gaze meets yours, you have to hold back the sudden urge to look away. “Like I said, it’s not terrible news, but not very good either.”

You nod, wanting him to just stop with the extraness and get to the point. “Okay, say it.”

“Satoru.” is the first thing he says, gauging your automatic grimace to his name. “He knows.”

Figures. “And you told him?”

He nods in response. You exhale, rubbing your face. “Suguru, why? I didn’t say you could.”

“I mean, I didn’t think I needed permission to tell my best friend he has a secret love child he hasn’t known about for five years, Y/N.” You hate when his voice gets like that, like you’re a school child who’s just been caught by her teacher for doing something she wasn’t supposed to. “Anywho, he knows. He wasn’t…very happy.”

You slowly ask, unsure if you’re ready to hear the answer. “What did he say?”

“More so what he did than said,” he pushes a stray strand of black hair out his eye and behind his ear, arms crossing. “He’s been quite easy to anger. I mean, I haven’t really talked to him because he’s not answering my calls, but I’ve been hearing from people at the office. He also kicked my ass out right after I told him. But that’s all I know at least, Nanami says he’s like a ticking time bomb.”

Jesus Christ. You don’t know what else you were expecting, you’re surprised he hasn’t done worse, but like Suguru said, that’s all he knows. His state is most likely a hundred times worse than what’s being thrown at you right now. You feel an intense guilt pool, mixing with a slight fear. “Did he…do anything else? Say anything?”

“I don’t know, he’s not talking to me right now.” Suguru concedes, leaning closer to you, brows furrowing in a seriousness. “Look, I’m not telling you this because I want you to feel worse, but I should let you know. He’s going to try and seek you out now that he knows about his son. You know that, right?”

Of course, you fucking know that. That’s what makes you scared, the possibility of somehow running across him in the most unsuspecting of places makes you want to stay holed up in your shitty apartment. “Yeah,” you gulp. “I figured.”

“I don’t know how he’ll react if–when–he does see you.” he honestly admits. “I just think you should reach out to him first, before he does it. I have his number, you should ca—”

“Stop.” you hold a hand up, eyes closing. “No more, I don’t want to be told what to do. I just…need some time processing everything right now.”

“Y/N–”

“Suguru,” your eyes open, staring at him dead on. “You seriously can’t expect me to jump from one thing to the next. I need fucking time to figure out what I’m gonna do. I’m already stressed as it is, now I have to worry about my son’s father possibly trying to reach out and that just sets me more on fucking edge. You come to my work, spring this on me, and I–” you’re rambling. Cutting yourself off in the middle of a sentence, choosing not to finish it. The last thing you need to do is rant to him. Besides, you’re just starting to see him again after five years, that would absolutely put him in a weird place between comforting someone who was once his friend, and backing up his life-long best friend.

You jolt a bit when you feel a warm palm envelope your hand, his thumb gently rubbing across your knuckles. Looking back at him, he gives you an all too familiar look. One that can make you just pour out everything you’re feeling right at that second. It’s a horrifying technique he has. “I’m sorry. Really, I’m sorry. The last thing I want to do is make you feel like shit. I should’ve been more considerate. I’m sorry.” He apologizes with a soothing intonation. Again, it’s making you feel warm. “It’s a hard situation, I could never know exactly what you’re going through. but…I care about you, Y/N. I always have, even without Satoru’s involvement. So, I’ll do better and not overwhelm you.”

Damn it, Suguru. Now you’re making me feel bad! Not trusting yourself with words, you meekly nod, slowly pulling your hand out his grasp. You miss the way his eyes dart down to his now empty grip, a small downward twitch to his lip that he expertly hides. “I should go back to work, I’m assuming you do too.” You stand on wobbly feet, giving him one last lingering gaze. “On the house, by the way….yeah, bye.”

Suguru watches you disappear behind the curtains, a small pit expanding in his gut. He pushes it away without thought, sighing to himself as he stands and exits the cafe. He walks down the sidewalk to his blacked out 2025 Mustang GT parked on the street. Getting in with a heavy head that’s full of all kinds of emotions. Some he doesn’t try to acknowledge, but the ones he does, it’s all worry and concern. He really doesn’t see how this situation can somehow turn around. Maybe you two will have a very mature and calm conversation when you cross paths.

He almost laughs to himself when he begins driving. Calm? Mature? Yeah, right. How do you have a calm conversation about hiding a kid for five years? Not to mention, you and Satoru are equally stubborn; it used to be so infuriating for him.

Suguru had patience, a lot of it actually. But you two tended to test that. Although, he would always forgive one of you the quickest. Cough, cough. You. It was like you had this weird thing about you that made the people around you just…like you.

His grip tightens on the wheel, biting his lip. He gets to a red light, thumb tapping on the material. Damn it all.

There’s a ringing that emits from the car’s speakers, looking at his touch screen to see the familiar name. Using this as a distraction, he answers. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Shoko’s voice sounds out. “Where are you? Thought you were paying for my lunch.”

He huffs, eyes rolling, and moving the car forward once the light turns green. “I never agreed to that.”

“Sure you did,” Shoko replies, exhaling a breath. She must be smoking. “Anyway, hurry up. I’m already waiting outside. I thought Satoru was coming, is he gonna be late again?”

Yeah, no. “I don’t think he’s coming anymore.”

“Why not?” Shoko asks.

Suguru exhales heavily, turning the street towards the meet-up spot with his friend. “Some shit happened, I don’t think he’s doing good.”

Shoko pauses, adjusting her phone in hand. “What happened?”

Suguru too stops, completely forgetting how Shoko has no idea about what has transpired in the past couple of days. “I’ll tell you when I see you.”

Satoru has never been surprised before, not technically. He’s a smart man with quick instincts and a good foresight, it’s like he can always tell when something is going to happen, before it happens. Even for birthday parties, his perception and people reading skills are great, he knows when someone’s lying or not telling the full truth.

In short, he knows a lot of things.

But, what he didn’t expect was for 1) even hearing your name ever again after the breakup, and 2) you have a son, his son. A son he had not one goddamn clue about. The only person who’s ever been able to throw him off his game is you.

Even back when you two dated, there were moments where you’d either say or do things that would make him pause for a second and think how unlikely that was of you. He knew you’d lie sometimes, small white lies weren’t foreign to him because he did it too. But, he never thought you’d deliberately keep something like this from him.

And to top it off, if Suguru never saw you by chance that day, would you have ever even told him?

Now that really fucking pisses him off.

When Satoru is mad, everyone else’s day is ruined. When he’s mad, you can see it in his face, his body, how he’s just barely holding himself back. It’s even more scary when Satoru is known as the laid-back, playful and unserious type of man. So when he’s mad, almost no one in the office wants to make him even angrier, let alone be around him.

He’s barely slept a total of ten hours within the past two days, mind keeping him awake. He’s trying to not imagine the image of you holding a boy who looks like him because he’s already broken one too many pairs of glasses and the thought alone makes him infuriated. He sees a blinding white flash of betrayal, hurt, confusion, and anger.

He doesn’t mean to take it out on his employees, but their feelings are not on his list of priorities.

He has a son.

A son who’s five, apparently.

Five whole years of being kept in the dark, not even being blessed with a smidge of information about his offspring. While he was off fucking women, having fun, dreading about taking over his father’s business, you were god knows where, changing fucking diapers and losing sleep. And for what? Were you that fucking scared to tell him?

Oh, he’s so going to rip you a new one when he sees you.

But, he’s still not sure if he wants to do that. Afraid of what might happen, he’d rather not blow up on you, but can you blame him if he does?

He just found out he has a secret love child from a woman he knew years ago and know he’s expected to act like everything is normal in this boring fucking meeting?

Not to mention, if his father finds out, he’s not sure what will happen. If anyone else finds out, for that matter. If anything, he needs to get a reign over this messy situation before he’s allowing anyone to know.

“Mr. Gojo? What do you think?”

At the sudden mention of his name, he snaps back into focus. Eyes flickering over to the bald-headed man who currently stands in front of the table of other withering men, the screen projector displaying a multitude of different statistical data. The man falters slightly, his grip tightening on the laser pointer as Gojo’s eyes land on him

Shit. He has no idea what they were even talking about. “About?” He clears his throat, appearing nonchalant, though the tight hold on the ballpoint pen says otherwise, the faint click of it opening and closing the only indication of his simmering irritation

The room feels colder, quieter.

The man clears his throat nervously. “The expansion plan... into the Asia-Pacific region. Whether you think it’s viable in the current climate.”

Gojo leans back in his chair, his posture relaxed, though his pen continues its faint, rhythmic clicks. His expression is unreadable, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he lets the silence stretch a moment too long. “And you need my opinion on this?” he says finally, his tone polite but tinged with condescension.

The bald man shifts on his feet, adjusting his glasses. “W-We... wanted your insight, given your, uh, experience overseeing the European division.”

“Right,” Gojo says, dragging the word out just enough to make the man squirm. He tilts his head, his icy blue eyes narrowing slightly. “Well, if I’d been paying attention, I’d probably say something about how overly cautious you all seem to be. But that’s just a guess.”

The bald man blanches, stammering, “O-Overly cautious? We’ve taken every factor into account—”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” Gojo cuts in smoothly, his voice softening just enough to disarm the growing panic in the man’s voice. “I’m just wondering if maybe all those ‘factors’ are holding you back. Are we leaders, or are we playing it safe like everyone else?” His eyes flicker briefly over the rest of the table, daring anyone to challenge him.

The bald man hesitates, then nods quickly, his nervous energy palpable. “Of course. You’re absolutely right, Mr. Gojo. I’ll revisit the projections to—”

“No need,” Gojo interrupts again, flashing a faint, humorless smile. “I trust you’ll figure it out. Unless you think I shouldn’t.”

The man practically trips over his words in an effort to assure him. “No, no, of course not. I’ll make the adjustments immediately.”

“Perfect,” Gojo says, the finality in his tone dismissing the topic entirely. He shifts his attention to the projector screen, the numbers and graphs blurring together as his thoughts drift.

The room eventually moves on, the hum of conversation resuming. But Gojo doesn’t miss the quick glances from across the table, the subtle unease lingering in the air.

He taps the pen against the table, his jaw tightening. It’s taking everything in him not to snap, not to let the weight of the fact that his ex-girlfriend is a filthy fucking person seep through the cracks.

Let them sweat. It’s the only thing keeping him entertained today.

The minute the awful meeting of ifs and hesitant decisions is over, he’s pushing out his chair, being the first one to leave the haunted room. It’s a bad mistake on his end, because his secretary, Aiko, is on his ass. “Mr. Gojo, your father is waiting for you in your office.”

Great, as if things couldn’t get any fucking better. He holds back a remark, gruffing out. “For?”

“He didn’t say, sir. He just wanted me to tell you to see him as soon as the meeting finished.”

He really, really doesn’t want to see his father right now. The two were too alike, constantly butting heads which only ended in a harsh set of insults being tossed around, mingled with occasional threats of “never passing the company down to someone as idiotic as you”. His father is bluffing, of course. He has no other person to pass it down to, with Satoru being the oldest and only son of his father’s. His long legs easily lead him to the doors of his office, to which he hesitates. Taking in a big breath, before opening the doors and closing them soon after. “What is it?” he asks, walking over to sit in his chair, leaning back comfortably.

His father, Yamato Gojo, the current CEO of the Gojo Group, who sits leisurely on the black leather coach stands up to position himself across from his son. Arms crossed and the permanently etched frown on his face. “Why didn’t you come to the dinner yesterday? There were very important people there you needed to meet. I texted and called you.”

Why didn’t he go? Can he really just say “sorry dad, I was stressing about this shithole I’ve found myself in”. No, he can’t. Instead, he shrugs and brushes his father off. “I was already busy.”

“Busy with what? What’s more important than networking?”

“A lot of things, actually.”

Yamato dislikes that answer quite a lot, frown seemingly deepening, regarding his son with another usual disapproving look. “Satoru, this is serious. They were expecting you and you embarrassed me. I won’t let this happen again, when I say you need to be somewhere, you be there. No if, ands, or buts. You’re pissing me off.”

How ironic of him to say that considering he’s having the exact same effect of Satoru. He isn’t scared of his father, hell no. But he does know to pick and choose his battles. And with the way his mind is completely scrambled right now, he forces himself to intake a huge breath of air. “Yeah, yeah. Fine, I’ll be there next time. Happy?”

“Only after you prove it.” Like father, like son. Satoru hates how his father always seems to want to get the last word in. But his father hates how he does the exact same.

Throughout the entirety of his shift, up until he clocks out of work and walks to his designated parking spot which houses his white 2025 Mercedes-Benz SL-Class. Driving back to his high rise penthouse on autopilot, his thoughts zeroed in on one person only. Or well, two people.

Satoru wasn’t ever sure he wanted to be a father. He knew it was expected of him, but so many people had such high expectations of him, it became exhausting. Too exhausting. Does he even have a right to call himself a father to a child he never knew, a child who probably doesn’t even know him?

His right hand reaches for his phone, calling a number without taking his eyes off the road. It answers on the first ring, but Satoru doesn’t give him the chance to respond. “Do you know where she lives?”

There’s a falter, hearing Suguru’s deep breath come out on the other end. “No, I don’t. And nice to hear from you too.”

“I don’t have time for your sarcasm right now.” He stops at a red light, using his left hand to rub the crease between his furrowed brows. “Do you know anything? Her number? Where she works? Where did you see her so I can go over?”

“Satoru, I’m not sure it’s a good idea for you to go meet up with her again. You’re obviously not in the right mind space and I don’t want you two to—“

“I’ll argue with her all I want, I have that goddamn right to.” Satoru grits out, interrupting his friend before he has the chance to spew out more shit he’d rather not listen to right now. “Answer me.”

In Suguru’s mind, he knows if he gives Satoru even the tiniest bit of information regarding your whereabouts, he’ll storm over there and probably say things he doesn’t mean. Satoru tends to think emotionally in very dire situations, a bad habit of his. Still, although he knows his best friend should be angered by this situation, Suguru doesn’t want to involve himself. More than he has. After speaking with you, he’s come to the conclusion that you’ll reach out to Satoru soon. Considering the fact that he already knows. “I don’t know, I saw her at a grocery store, but she was just shopping.”

“Fuck,” Satoru groans, moving his car forward again. “Well how the hell do I—“

He’s cut off by a small vibrate to his phone, a message. When he looks down, the screen is overtaken by a new call coming in from Himari. Honestly, she’s the last person he wants to talk to right now.

“What’s wrong?” Suguru asks, after noticing the small beat of silence from the other end of the phone.

What isn’t wrong? “Gotta go, call you later.”

“Sat—“

Satoru ends the call, picking up the new one. “Hey.”

“Baby,” Himari’s light voice fills his ears, sighing in relief. “Can you come pick me up? I’m at the mall but the tires of my driver’s car popped.”

He’d rather not, but Satoru has found out that it’s been quite difficult to say no to his girlfriend. So, he puts his own internal and external battles to the side, making a right turn and exhaling. “The mall?”

“Yes, baby. Thank you so much.”

He hums back in response. “Be there in ten, wait outside.” Once again, he hangs up and a suffocating silence fills his car. Hands tightening around the wheel, he reels himself in with a big inhale, then exhales. He can’t show these sorts of emotions in front of the woman, for she’ll no doubt question and question about what’s wrong, which will then lead to an argument. He doesn’t need arguments.

As Satoru sees the mall in the distance, he’s overrun by the sudden determination. The determination to find you and meet his son.

“Just one more question, Koji. Then let’s eat dinner, how does that sound?”

The young boy groans in annoyance, the math work of simple addition problems laid out in front of him. He hates math, almost as much as you, excelling in other subjects like English and Art. “But Mama……” he drags the words out in a childish manner.

Plating two plates of tonkatsu chicken with curry, one plate smaller than the other, you turn to your son who now has a pout on his face. You resist the urge to pinch his cheeks. “You can do it, you did the other ones so well.”

Sitting next to him, you look over at his workbook. Just one more problem. It’s a problem consisting of three numbers, 5, 23, and 6. Simple in your eyes, but a disastrous monstrosity in the eyes of a five-year-old. “Mama will help you, okay?”

“Okay, Mama.” Koji grumbles, reluctantly grabbing his red pencil again.

Times like these you cherish. Sure, it’s mundane and not very exciting. But it’s the little things that matter most to you. Helping your kids with homework, helping them learn to ride a bike, tie their laces, it’s all wonderful experiences from your perspective. Proof of the fact that your chubby little baby isn’t very little anymore, growing into his own person. Although, the more he grows, the more he’s starting to resemble his father. It’s scary at times, when he looks at you and you get random flashbacks.

Eating dinner and washing up is another thing you love. After such a hectic day, you just want to unwind with your son. You had put in your PTO for the convenience store a month in advance; after a particularly hard month. Finishing at 5:00pm, like most people do, is a breath of fresh air.

You let Koji tire himself out in the tub, then the living room, to which he has Cars playing (his favorite movie at the time). He plays with his own small set of matching cars, while you sweep the kitchen. Your eyes flicker over to your phone that lays face up on the island, a bubbling sensation forming in your being, one of contemplation. You wonder to yourself, would you call Satoru? You know his number by heart, he most likely hasn’t changed it.

After the breakup, you cut off all contact with him and his friends, even choosing to get a new phone and new number, just to avoid any possibly drives of texting him, or to avoid him texting you. You quite literally wanted to erase every memory about him.

Kinda hard to do that when you’re raising his carbon copy.

After another blind minute, you pause your sweeping and grab your cellular device. You’re about to grab Suguru’s business card from your purse when a sudden question hits you.

How was he able to call you earlier at work if you had never given your number to him in the first place?

Your brows knit together while you come up with any possible solutions and reasoning to that thought, coming up blank. Seriously, how did he call you? Without thinking, you go to your recent calls, pressing the first one, and raising your phone to your ear.

It rings for about a second, before Suguru’s coaxing voice follows. “Hello?”

“How did you get my number?”

“What?”

“How did you get my number? I didn’t give it to you at the store.”

You can practically hear the way he’s trying to formulate an answer. Coming up with a shitty one. “I just…guessed.”

You say nothing, your eyes narrowing on a certain spot on the blank white walls of your kitchen.

Another second passes before he gives in, too easily. “Okay, okay. Look, I don’t want to sound creepy or anything but—“

“Were you stalking me?”

“What?! No! Of course not, Y/N. I’d never do that.”

“Then tell me how you got my number without me telling you.”

He sighs. “…I have a friend. He’s in the law enforcement and I…may have asked around. But before you get any ideas, I was worried. You just fell off the face of the Earth and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

You can’t stop the huff that leaves you. Should you feel complimented that he went out of his own way to do all this or invaded? Maybe both. Honestly, you did that all for a reason. And he blatantly went behind yours, probably everyone’s, back to get some information on you in a shady way. Isn’t that illegal or something? “Suguru, when people do that, it doesn’t mean they want to be found.”

“I know, Y/N. But I was worried, so was Shoko and Satoru—“

“Does he know my number too?” You ask, already feeling your panic run up your veins, boy straightening into a stiff position.

“No, no, he doesn’t. Just me.” He quickly relieves you.

You guess that’s somewhat better. Although you still feel mildly annoyed at Suguru for what he did. “Is that all you know?” The way he doesn’t respond immediately makes you feel even more frustrated, jaw clenching.

“I….” He lets out a heavy breath. “No, it’s not.”

“What else do you fucking know?”

He winces at your now harsh tone of voice, though he knows it’s all expected. “It wasn’t on purpose, I just wanted your number, I swear. But when you’re looking for that kind of stuff, other things pop up like…address and…yeah.”

If only he could see your expression right now. “You know where I fucking live?”

“Yes, Y/N….”

Okay, now your privacy is very invaded. You have never really gotten angry with Suguru, let alone get into an argument. He always knew when to stop, what not to say to make someone else feel worse, but did he just get fucking dumb after all these years? “…are you serious?” You know he is, not even giving him the chance to answer your rhetorical question. “Fuck you, Suguru. I can’t believe you—you completely—I don’t even know what to tell you right now.”

You can hear the guilt in his voice, tone softening. “Y/N, I’m sorry. I had the best intentions, I was never going to visit you or call you without your specific permission to.”

“Did I give you permission to call me earlier?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Exactly.” With another scoff, you bite your lip, picking the correct words to voice out. You wouldn’t say you’re a word vomit person, usually. But right now, you just feel…slightly weirded out. All this time, you thought you had solitude. But Suguru knew where you were this entire time? “Goodbye, Suguru.”

“Y/N, wai—“

“Don’t. If I need you, I’ll tell you. But right now I don’t want to speak to you.”

He pauses, feeling his gut tighten. Nonetheless, he nods and mutters. “Okay, I’ll give you space. Just please know I’m sorry and I really didn’t have bad intentions.”

Seems like this is the second time today he’s apologizing to you. You don’t like it. Without another word, you end the call, putting your phone back on the hard surface of the island. Jesus Christ. What the hell is going on, seriously?

One minute you’re stressing about getting evicted, then you have to worry about Satoru somehow running into you, and now you find out Suguru has just casually known your address all these years. Why is all of this deciding to be sprung on you all at once? Out of no where? The world must be punishing you for every unholy deed you’ve done in your life; it really doesn’t seem fair. At all. Can’t things just go right for once in your life? You just want to go at least a day without external stressors fucking you over in every way possible.

Of course, you’re unlucky. That’s just how things have always been for you. The universe has a twisted sense of humor, and you’re the punchline to every cruel joke. The thought of Suguru knowing your address sends a cold, uncomfortable shiver down your spine. What else does he know? What else has he been hiding?

The questions swirl in your mind, each one more suffocating than the last. You sit down heavily on the edge of your worn-out couch, its cushions sagging beneath you as though they, too, are tired of carrying your weight. You bury your face in your hands, the skin of your palms rough against your cheeks, and take a deep, shaky breath.

Satoru (and Suguru). Their names alone bring up a storm of emotions you can barely keep bottled up. You’ve worked so hard to keep them, and everything they represent, in the past. Yet here they are, forcing their way back into your life like unwelcome ghosts.

You glance at the stack of overdue bills on the coffee table, mocking you with their bold red lettering. As if you didn’t already know you were drowning. Maybe it’s time to stop fighting the tide.

You watch Koji focus on the bright screen, moving his toy cars in unison with the movie. Willing yourself to worry about the now, to convince yourself that you’re not done, that there’s still some fight left in you.

However, that seems to be proving harder each and every single day.

It’s a chilly, but sunny winter day. The sidewalk filled with other people going about their day. You’re wearing a black trenchcoat, along with a scarf. Hands stuffed into the pockets of your coat as little puffs of white air leave your mouth, a stark piece of evidence of how cold it is today. The heels of your shoes clacking down the concrete, making your way to the familiar cafe of Latte Lounge.

Saturdays are supposed to be happy days, a final breath of fresh air after the business of the weekdays prior. The day where people enjoy Mother Nature and what she has to offer, a day of sleeping in, a day of no responsibilities.

A woman like you has no Saturdays. It’s like every day is a cold, hard Monday.

You finally spot the cafe, its large, glass windows giving you a sneak peek to the liveliness that resides inside. Of course, most people do choose to go to cafes on Saturdays. Especially this early in the morning. Walking in, the small bell above the door dings. The workers behind the counter greet you; while you give them a half greeting back, your eyes scan the environment. It takes a few seconds, but you see Mr. Ito sitting at a table for two in the corner.

You prepare yourself with a heavy sigh, forcing your feet to maneuver you over to the man who smiles and stands once he sees you approaching. “Ms. Y/N, good morning.”

“Good morning.” You’re a little caught off guard when he takes the empty seat from across from him and pulls it out, a silent move of help. Sitting down, he pushes your chair in then walks back over to his own. He laces his fingers together on top of the table. “Get whatever you’d like, on me, remember?”

“Oh, I’m not very thirsty right now.”

“No, please. It’s my pleasure, especially for meeting with me so early this morning.”

A part of you wants to deny his niceness. But, he did cause you to lose money you could’ve still had to spare if you didn’t have to call in Sana to watch Koji. And well, coffee always makes you feel better. “Just an iced vanilla latte.”

He nods and stands up. “Great, I’ll be back.”

Watching him go up to the counter and order, you look back down at your lap. Koji misbehaving sounds odd, he’s always been an obedient kid. Of course he has his moments, but he understands when to listen and when to goof around. A few minutes later, Mr. Ito sits back down with two cups of coffee, sliding yours over to you. You thank him and sip. Hm, not too bad.

There’s a small silence that flows over you two as you taste your coffees, but you wait for him to speak first. He did schedule this little meeting, after all. He clears his throat. “So, Ms. Y/N, again thank you for meeting with me.”

You nod. “Of course, Mr. Ito. Anything for Koji.”

Mr. Ito smiles, his hand waving you off. “Oh please, call me Haruto.”

Already trying to get on a first name basis. Simply nodding again, you raise an eyebrow for him to continue.

“Anywho, like I said earlier this week, I have concerns about Koji’s behavior. You see, he’s had about six instances where he doesn’t listen to me when I say it’s time for silent reading time. I understand he’s a talkative child, but he usually does not act out like this. Would you happen to have any idea as to why he is behaving this way so suddenly?”

“No, I don’t. Koji listens well, and he hasn’t come to me specifically about getting in trouble.” You respond, lips pursing.

Mr. Ito nods in understanding. “I can assume so, but his behavior has started affecting his peers, as well.”

You sit up straighter in your chair. “In what way?”

“Well,” Mr. Ito tilts his head, seemingly recounting the times Koji has misbehaved. “The students who sit around him have started coming to me, complaining about how Koji doesn’t leave them alone. They feel as if he’s taking away from their learning.”

What? Not to mention that that sounds quite…interesting for other five year olds to say, but no way Koji has been that bad. Maybe it’s your bias as his parent, but this is brand new to you, very brand new. Even when he’s home, Koji always insists on doing his homework before playing or eating dinner. So really, you’re not sure how to react to this surge of new information about your own child. “I really don’t know, Mr. Ito. I mean, Koji is a great boy, he listens very well to me and the other adults in his life. I’m just as shocked as you are right now.”

Mr. Ito leans back in his chair, his lips curving into a faint, knowing smile. “I’m not doubting your parenting skills. Koji’s clearly a bright and energetic boy. Maybe too energetic for some of his classmates to handle.” His tone is light, but there’s an undercurrent there, something you can’t quite place. “It’s possible he’s just seeking attention in ways that might not be obvious at home.”

You nod slowly, though his words don’t sit right with you. Koji doesn’t come across as attention-seeking at all. If anything, he’s a bit reserved until he’s comfortable around someone. “I’ll talk to him tonight and see if I can figure out what’s going on. Maybe there’s more to this than meets the eye.”

“I’m sure you will,” Mr. Ito says, his smile deepening as he leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk. The movement feels deliberate, like he’s closing some invisible gap between the two of you. “You’ve always struck me as a very attentive parent.”

The compliment lands awkwardly, and you find yourself straightening your back again, instinctively pulling away from his lingering gaze. “Thank you, Mr. Ito,” you say curtly, steering the conversation back to its purpose. “I just want to make sure Koji’s doing well and that his behavior isn’t affecting his classmates.”

“Of course,” he says smoothly, not missing a beat. “And I’m here to help however I can. We could even set up regular meetings if you’d like, to make sure we stay on the same page about Koji’s progress.”

“That won’t be necessary,” you say, your polite tone edging into firmness. “But I do appreciate the offer.”

His smile falters for a brief moment, but he quickly recovers, leaning back in his chair as though he hadn’t just been testing the waters. “Understood. Please, don’t hesitate to reach out if you ever need anything. My door is always open.”

You nod, feeling a distinct shift in the atmosphere—one you’re eager to step away from. “Well, are there any other concerns I should know about, Mr. Ito?”

He looks like he wants to say more, but decides against it. “No, Ms. Y/N. None at all, thank you for coming out.”

“Thank you for the coffee, have a nice day.” You reply, wasting no time in standing up, grabbing your drink in one hand and bag in the other. Though, his voice speaking again causes you to stop.

“Ms. Y/N,” Mr. Ito’s voice stops you just as you push your chair back. You glance at him over your shoulder, and there’s a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. “I really hope I didn’t come across as too forward earlier. I’m just...invested in making sure Koji has everything he needs to thrive.”

You offer a polite smile, settling the strap of your bag on your shoulder. “Of course, Mr. Ito. I appreciate that.”

He smiles, but there’s a pause before he continues. “It’s rare, you know, to see a parent as involved as you are. It’s refreshing.”

The compliment makes you pause, and you clutch your coffee cup a little tighter. “Well, Koji’s my world,” you reply simply, brushing off the remark.

“As he should be.” Mr. Ito leans back in his seat, his fingers lightly tapping the side of his own drink. “But I imagine that must get exhausting sometimes, especially since you seem to handle everything on your own.” His tone is casual, but there’s a softness to it, as if he’s inviting you to confide in him.

You blink, his words catching you off guard. Is he fishing for something? “It’s not always easy,” you admit cautiously, “but that’s just part of being a parent.”

“True,” he says with a small nod, his eyes lingering on you a moment too long. “Still, you shouldn’t hesitate to lean on the people around you when you need to. It’s not a sign of weakness, you know.”

You stiffen slightly, unsure how to interpret his words. They seem innocuous enough, but the way his gaze flickers toward you feels... calculated. “I manage just fine, thank you,” you reply, keeping your tone light but firm.

“Of course,” he says smoothly, raising his hands slightly as if to placate you. “You strike me as someone who handles things with grace. It’s admirable.”

You glance at your watch, eager to end the conversation. “Well, I should get going. I’ll talk to Koji about everything we discussed.”

“Of course.” Mr. Ito stands as you do, his smile as steady as ever. “Thank you again for meeting me. And...if you ever want to talk more, even just about life in general, I’d be happy to listen.”

His words hang in the air for a moment, and you force another polite smile. “Thank you, Mr. Ito. Have a good day.”

“I can walk you to your car, I’m heading out as well.” He quickly suggests.

You shake your head almost instantly, smile feeling more narrow. “No need, thank you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite sure.”

“But I—“

“Thank you again, but I really must go.” You cut him off, feeling your patience run thin and the desire to be cordial and polite stretching too much. You nod stiffly and turn around to briskly walk out the cafe. However, just as you do so, you collide into something, or someone.

Your open-lidded coffee fumbles a bit in your hand, quickly steadying it. Though it does manage to stain the white shirt of the person you just bumped into. Just great. You hold back a wince and apologize. “I’m really sorry, I wasn’t—“

Your words leave you, your breath feeling like it’s been stolen straight from your chest. Every hair on your body stands up straight, your heart falling straight to your ass like you’ve just hit the biggest drop on a rollercoaster. You know that feeling when you question if something is real or not, pleading with yourself and every deity watching that it’s not? Well, that’s exactly how you feel right now.

It feels like a spotlight has been shone on you without your consent and you suddenly want to throw up. Because as your eyes have moved up to profusely apologize to the stranger, a bucket of water filled with nostalgia and past memories drowns you.

The bright blue, unmistakable irides stare back down at you. A million memories play on repeat, but one thing’s for certain.

The past has never felt so close, and you suddenly want to erase it all and scream.

a/n: the dreaded reunion is here! thank you for reading and the tremendous support! <3 stay tuned for next chap, sorry if yall thought these two were boring, chapter 3 will be getting more into it

taglist: @celestialforce @theclassbookworm @tbzzluvr @uhenivid @ofkilljoysandslytherins @sadmonke @bunheadusa @shartnart1 @lady-of-blossoms @itsinherited @duooy @ari-sa @dakotali @mew4-ever18 @iv-vee @devils-blackrose @a-girl-with-thoughts

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seospicybin · 3 days ago

Text

THE FUCKBOY NEXT DOOR.

FINAL PART.

Bangchan x reader. (s,f,a)

Chapters: Part I / Part II / Part III

Synopsis: When a new fuckboy, Minho, moves into the building, Chan’s sense of security is shaken. Minho’s flirtatious confidence and bold claim to win you over rattles Chan, igniting a rivalry. As Chan struggles to defend his relationship, he’s forced to confront his insecurities while proving his worth to you. (18,1k words)

Author's note: It's been fun writing this series. Thank you for enjoying this "fuckboy". Hope you enjoy this one too, my darlings ♡

The early morning light filters through the window, painting the room in soft hues of gold. You blink awake, your senses still heavy with sleep, and it takes a moment to realize where you are—wrapped in the warmth of Chan’s bed, tangled in the sheets that carry his comforting scent.

Turning your head, your gaze falls on him. Chan lies next to you, his face relaxed in sleep, his lashes casting delicate shadows over his cheeks. His soft curls are a tousled mess, a few strands falling over his forehead. He’s snoring lightly, the sound barely audible but undeniably endearing.

You can’t help but smile as your heart swells with affection. Careful not to wake him, you reach out, your fingers brushing his curls gently, marveling at their softness. The light touch doesn’t disturb him; he shifts slightly, murmuring something unintelligible before settling again.

Your hand trails lower, tracing the line of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbone, the slight bump of his nose. He looks so peaceful, so utterly beautiful, that for a moment, you’re content to simply watch him.

You know you should wake him, ask if he wants to come with you to the farmer’s market like you’d planned. But seeing him like this, so serene, you can’t bring yourself to disturb him. Instead, you lean down and press a feather-light kiss to his lips, his soft breathing tickling your skin.

With a final glance, you slip out of bed and quietly gather your things. Pulling on yesterday’s clothes, you tiptoe out of his apartment, careful not to make a sound.

As you step into the hallway, the door closing gently behind you, you nearly jump when you see Minho standing a few steps away, leaning casually against the wall. He’s dressed for the day, a small smirk playing on his lips as he takes in your disheveled appearance.

“Morning,” he says, his tone teasing but not unkind.

You feel the heat rush to your cheeks, shyly hugging yourself to hide your rumpled clothes. “Good morning, Minho,” you mumble, offering him a small, embarrassed smile.

“You're a morning person, I see,” he adds with a playful lift of his brow, his eyes flicking down from your head to your toe.

Your face burns hotter, but you muster a weak laugh. “Why are you even awake this early?”

Minho shrugs, his smirk softening into something closer to amusement. “Wanted to check out the farmer’s market. Fresh produce, you know?”

Your eyes light up, relief washing over you at the change of subject. “Really? I was actually heading there too.”

“Perfect timing,” he says, straightening up. “Want to go together?”

You nod, grateful for the distraction. “Sure, just give me a minute to change. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

As you move past him, hugging yourself tighter, you catch Minho’s amused glance lingering. It’s clear he’s enjoying your flustered state, but he doesn’t say anything more.

Safely inside your apartment, you lean against the door, exhaling deeply. You glance down at yourself—messy hair, wrinkled clothes—and groan softly, vowing to make yourself presentable before facing Minho again.

You can still feel the warmth of Chan’s bed, the softness of his curls beneath your fingers, and the image of his peaceful face stays with you as you quickly get ready. It’s a walk of shame, sure—but you can’t find it in yourself to regret it.

Chan stretches out on the bed, his hand instinctively reaching for the space beside him. It’s empty, but the faint warmth still lingering on the sheets tells him you haven’t been gone long. The sunlight filtering through the curtains reminds him it’s Saturday—your farmer’s market day.

He sighs, running a hand through his messy hair as he sits up. Saturday mornings are quiet without you. Your trips to the farmer’s market are a ritual he admires, though he can’t help but miss waking up to your smile.

Throwing on a hoodie, he pads into the kitchen. The apartment is quiet, save for the hum of the fridge. He pours himself a glass of orange juice, sipping it while glancing at the clock. You should be back soon.

As if on cue, the sound of your laughter echoes through the hallway. Chan perks up, moving to the door just in time to hear another voice—deeper, smooth, and unfamiliar.

Curious, he cracks the door open. You’re standing there, balancing bags filled with fruits and vegetables, laughing at something the man beside you has said.

“Let me take that,” the new neighbor, Minho, offers, easily grabbing one of the heavier bags from your hand.

“Thanks, Minho,” you say with a warm smile.

Chan’s chest tightens as he opens the door wider. “Hey, you’re back,” he says, keeping his tone casual.

He leans in to give you a kiss on the cheek and you subtly dodge away again by turning your head, beaming. “Chris! Look who I ran into at the market.”

Minho looks up, flashing Chan a confident smile as he extends a hand. “Morning, Chris.”

“Morning,” Chan weakly replies with a faint smile.

“We bumped into each other,” you explain. “And he’s new to the area, so I showed him around a bit.”

“That was kind of you,” Chan says, the words sharper than he intends.

Minho doesn’t seem fazed. “She's got great taste. She picked out the best peaches I’ve ever seen.”

Chan’s jaw tightens as he opens his mouth to reply, but Minho shifts his attention back to you before he can. “Here, let me carry this for you,” Minho says, gently brushing your hand as he takes another bag from your arm.

“Thanks, but I’ve got it,” you reply, though your smile stays warm.

“Too late. Can’t let someone as lovely as you strain herself,” Minho says smoothly, winking.

Chan’s stomach churns, his grip tightening around the doorframe. “I think she’s stronger than she looks,” he mutters, his tone laced with a subtle edge.

Minho turns, a smirk playing on his lips as if he hears the challenge in Chan’s voice. “Maybe. But I’m just trying to be neighborly.” His eyes flick to Chan’s, sharp with a silent taunt, before he turns back to you.

“Well, I’d better get these inside,” you say, oblivious to the tension. “Thanks for helping with the bags, Minho.”

“No problem,” Minho replies, stepping back toward his apartment. “See you around, neighbor.” His voice is light, but as he passes Chan, his shoulder brushes just enough to feel deliberate.

Chan watches as Minho disappears behind his door, leaving the two of you alone in the hallway.

“Nice guy, huh?” you say, unlocking your door and stepping inside.

“Yeah,” Chan mutters, following you in. But deep down, he knows Minho isn’t just being friendly.

As you step inside, you nudge the door open wider, motioning for Chan to follow. "Come on, don’t just stand there."

He steps in, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The moment it’s shut, Chan’s frustration bubbles to the surface.

“So,” he starts, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall, “why do you always dodge me when I try to kiss you outside?”

You pause, setting the bags on the kitchen counter. “What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean,” he says, his tone half-playful, half-serious. “I went in for a kiss earlier, and you just… turned away. Again.”

You exhale, pulling a carton of eggs from one of the bags and placing it in the fridge. “I’m just not comfortable with public displays of affection, Chris. It’s not you—it’s me.”

“Yeah, but it’s hard not to take it personally,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair.

You walk over to him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you feel like that. It’s not about you. It’s just how I feel. I promise it’s not because I don’t care about you.”

He glances at you, his frown softening slightly. “I just… I like showing the world you’re mine, you know?”

You smile, cupping his cheek. “I know,” you murmur, brushing your thumb against his skin, “but in here, you can kiss me as many times as you want.”

His face lights up at your words, the tension in his shoulders melting away. Without hesitation, he pulls you into his arms, holding you so close there’s barely any space between you.

His lips find yours, soft and eager, moving with a tenderness that makes your heart flutter. You kiss him back, threading your fingers through his hair, feeling him relax under your touch.

The kiss deepens, Chan’s hands sliding down to your waist, pulling you flush against him. His lips grow hungrier, and his grip tightens as he starts to lose himself in you. Sensing the shift, you gently pull back, your lips lingering on his for a moment before parting.

“Easy there, tiger,” you tease softly.

He groans, resting his forehead against yours. “You’re killing me.”

You laugh, stroking his hair. “Come on. Let me make you breakfast.”

He sighs dramatically but steps back, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Fine. But only if I get to watch.”

“Deal,” you say, heading toward the kitchen, feeling his eyes on you the whole way.

As you start pulling ingredients from the fridge, Chan takes a seat at the table, watching you with a soft smile. Moments like these remind him why he doesn’t need the validation of public displays—this, right here, is what matters.

It’s one of those rare weekends where neither of you has work pulling you in different directions, and Chan insisted on making the most of it.

“Just a normal date,” he’d said, grinning like a kid as he scrolled through movie listings.

Now, as you step out of the restroom, the smell of buttery popcorn fills the air. You spot Chan at the concession stand, leaning slightly against the counter as he waits for the popcorn and drinks. He’s smiling, that warm, dimpled grin you’ve come to adore.

But it’s not for you.

The girl behind the counter, probably a college student, is laughing at something he said. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her gaze lingering a little too long on him. You know that look—girls are always drawn to him like moths to a flame.

You don’t even feel a pang of jealousy anymore; it’s practically routine. Still, you’re not about to let her think he’s single.

Walking up beside him, you clear your throat. “Got the tickets?” you ask casually, your voice cutting through their little bubble.

Chan startles slightly, his grin faltering before he turns to you. “Uh, yeah, got them right here.” He pats his pocket like a man trying to prove he hasn’t lost his wallet.

The girl’s expression falters, and she quickly hands over the popcorn and drinks. Chan fumbles with his wallet, hurriedly paying as if he can’t get away fast enough.

Once you’re walking toward the theater, his shoulder brushing yours, he exhales and glances at you sheepishly. “You could’ve let me hold your hand, you know. Then everyone would’ve known I’m with you.”

You roll your eyes, the corner of your mouth quirking up. “I never said you couldn’t hold my hand, Chris.”

His face lights up with a grin, and before you can react, his hand slides into yours, warm and secure. “You’re right,” he says smugly, giving your hand a squeeze. “You didn’t.”

Shaking your head, you let him lead you into the dim theater, his thumb brushing against yours. As the movie starts, Chan leans closer, whispering, “Next time, I’m holding your hand the whole time, no excuses.”

You bite back a smile and focus on the screen, feeling the warmth of his hand in yours. Some things about Chan might drive you crazy, but moments like this make it all worth it.

The movie is halfway in, but Chan's attention is barely on the screen. Instead, you catch him watching you out of the corner of your eye. His hand stays in yours, his thumb idly tracing circles against your skin, but his gaze keeps flickering your way.

You nudge him gently. “Chris, the screen is that way. You’re missing the movie you wanted to see so badly.”

He grins, unapologetic. “Yeah, but I kind of regret taking you here now.”

You raise an eyebrow, curious. “Oh? And why’s that?”

He shrugs, leaning closer so his voice doesn’t carry. “If we were watching this at home, I could actually cuddle you... maybe kiss you a little.” His grin turns teasing. “Or a lot.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “This whole thing was your idea.”

“I know, I know,” he admits, squeezing your hand. “But I can’t help it. You’re right here, looking all cute, and I’m supposed to just sit here and watch the movie?”

You glance at him, warmth blooming in your chest despite his antics. You’ve always appreciated how much Chan respects your boundaries. One of those boundaries being your aversion to public displays of affection.

But right now, sitting in the darkened theater with no one paying attention, you’re tempted to bend the rules. You put your bucket of popcorn aside, turning fully to face him. Gently, you cup his cheek, drawing his attention to you. His eyes widen, and you can see the curiosity sparkling in them.

“It’s dark in here,” you whisper, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “I think we can make an exception just this once.”

Chan doesn’t need to be told twice. He leans in immediately, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s soft at first, almost testing. But as you respond, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, his hand comes up to cradle your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek.

It’s as if he’s been waiting all day for this, and the world outside the theater melts away. The movie becomes background noise as the two of you lose yourselves in the moment.

By the time you both pull back, slightly breathless, the movie is already well past its climactic scene. You glance at the screen, then back at Chan, who looks utterly content.

“We missed most of it,” you point out with a low laugh.

“Totally worth it,” he murmurs, his fingers still entwined with yours.

He leans in again, clearly aiming for another kiss, but you grab a piece of popcorn and pop it into his mouth instead. His lips close around it, his expression shifting to surprise before softening into amusement.

You laugh quietly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “Focus, Chris. At least pretend to watch the ending.”

He chews the popcorn, grinning as he leans back into his seat. “Fine, but just know I’m only staying for you, not the movie.”

You shake your head, trying to hide your smile as you settle back beside him. Chan might be incorrigible, but moments like this make you fall for him just a little more.

The elevator hums quietly as it ascends, but Chan barely notices. His attention is entirely on you—your hand in his, the faint smile playing on your lips, and the soft glow of the overhead lights casting shadows over your features.

He feels giddy, almost buzzing from the events of the night. The movie had been fun, but honestly, he can barely remember the plot. What he does remember is you, and how you made the entire evening feel like something out of a dream.

Unable to help himself, he leans in and presses a quick kiss to your cheek. You turn your head, meeting his gaze with a raised eyebrow, and he grins mischievously.

“So... Your place or mine?” he teases, his tone light but with a playful edge.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Neither. I’m going to my place to sleep because I’m working tomorrow.”

His grin fades into a dramatic pout, his shoulders slumping. “What? No fair. I thought we were having a date night, not a goodnight.”

The elevator dings softly as it reaches your floor, and before he can protest further, you tighten your grip on his hand and pull him along toward your apartment.

Once you reach your door, you turn to him with a sly smile, one that makes his heart skip a beat. “You’re staying at my place tonight, Chris.”

His pout vanishes instantly, replaced with a boyish grin. He doesn’t need to be told twice.

The moment you unlock the door and step inside, Chan pulls you close, his arms wrapping around your waist as his lips find yours in a kiss that’s anything but restrained. All the affection he’s been holding back spills out as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss.

His hands wander to your lower back, pressing you flush against him, and he groans softly when you respond with equal fervor. The scent of your perfume lingers between you, mingling with the faint warmth of the apartment.

Chan smiles against your lips, murmuring, “I don’t care how early you have to wake up tomorrow. I’m not letting you go.”

And for now, it seems, you’re just as unwilling to let him go either.

"Are you going to be my girl tonight?"

Chan's voice is husky, teasing, as his lips capture yours in a deep, heated kiss. He doesn’t wait for an answer—not with the way your body responds to him. His hands glide down your sides, firm but tender, pulling you closer, despite you already being laid bare before him.

He finally breaks the kiss, only to continue down your body, his lips leaving a burning trail on your skin. You're sprawled across the bed, your legs dangling off the edge, and the way Chan looks at you feels like he’s savoring every second.

“I know you like it when I call you that,” he murmurs as he parts your legs, kneeling before you like you’re the only thing that matters in the world. You giggle softly as he places a teasing kiss on the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

“You are my girl,” he breathes, his voice thick with reverence. “My sweet, sweet girl.”

He punctuates each word with a kiss closer and closer to where you need him most. You barely have time to prepare before he surprises you, tugging your body toward the edge of the bed and positioning himself closer, deeper. Your breath catches as he throws your legs over his shoulders and dives in, his mouth working magic that has you squirming in seconds.

Chan’s skill is unmatched—his nose pressing against your most sensitive spot, his tongue exploring with precision and intent. Your hands find their way to his curls, your toes curling, your body writhing under his ministrations. The sound of your moans fills the room, sweet and breathless, as he pushes you closer to the edge.

And when you finally unravel, shattering in his hands and on his lips, he doesn’t let up. Instead, he lingers, soft kisses marking your thighs, his tenderness grounding you in the aftermath of bliss.

Hovering above you now, Chan takes in the sight of you, your chest rising and falling, your face radiant with pleasure. His dimples appear as he smiles, brushing stray hair away from your damp forehead. He leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss so gentle, it feels like a promise.

“Hey,” you tease, your voice light and playful as you encircle his neck with your arms. “Your girl wants you to put it in now.”

His brows raise, his grin widening. “My girl wants it inside?” He presses his forehead to yours, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Now?”

You nod, your sly smile making his chest tighten with affection. “Mm-hmm.”

With deliberate slowness, he drags his lips down your jaw, leaving a trail of heat on your skin. “Only if you say please,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Baby, please,” you coo, and the way the pet name falls from your lips has him grinning, his dimples sinking deep into his cheeks.

Chan doesn’t need more encouragement. He shifts lower, positioning himself at the edge of the bed. One hand holds your leg open while the other guides himself to your entrance. As he pushes in, his eyes lock onto yours, drinking in the way your expression shifts—the way your lips part in a gasp, the way your body arches to meet his.

Fully sheathed, he pauses, his chest rising and falling as he takes in the sensation of you. With a satisfied smile, he begins to move, the angle perfect thanks to the bed’s height. Each thrust is measured, deliberate, his focus entirely on you. Your hands glide over his shoulders, down his arms, feeling every inch of him. They trail lower, cupping his ass with a playful squeeze that earns you a breathy chuckle.

He leans down, teasing you with a slow kiss before pulling back just enough to ask, “Impressed?”

Your gaze is locked on his, unwavering, and you nod firmly. “Very.”

Your moans mix with his quiet groans, the room filled with the sound of shared pleasure. Chan’s eyes never leave you, watching every flicker of emotion that crosses your face. He’s close—he can feel it, and with the way you’re tightening around him, he knows you are too.

“Where do you want it, hmm?” he asks, his voice rough with restraint.

But instead of answering, you pull him into a kiss, hot and heavy, your tongues tangling as if the world outside doesn’t exist. The kiss steals his breath, and the moment takes him over the edge.

With a groan, Chan pulls out at the last second, climbing onto the bed and positioning himself over you. His hand moves quickly, chasing his release as your hands rest on his thighs, your gaze locked on him in anticipation.

Moments later, with a shudder and a raw moan, his release spills over your chest, painting your skin in streaks of white. You gasp softly, the sight of him undone above you leaving you breathless.

Chan collapses onto his elbows, framing your face with his arms. He kisses you deeply, his lips lingering as he brushes your hair back with tender fingers.

“Stay, yeah? I’ll grab a cloth,” he whispers against your skin, his tone filled with affection.

You stop him with a soft kiss, smiling. “Okay.”

After a quick cleanup in the bathroom, he returns to find you sitting up on the bed, your hair swept back, your skin glistening wet in the aftermath of passion. With gentle care, he wipes you down, his touch lingering longer than necessary.

When he’s done, you reward him with a kiss, your lips soft and full of promise. “Thank you,” you say with a grin.

“Time to cuddle.” He eagerly moves to his side of the bed, ready for his favorite part of the night.

You hold a hand to his chest, stopping him from pulling you in. “Hold that thought,” you tease, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “I have to pee.”

Chan laughs, watching you saunter off to the bathroom, and admiring how beautiful you are with your skin glowing under the soft glow of your bedroom lights.

“That’s my girl,” he delightfully sighs, his smile full of adoration.

Chan is already smiling when you step out of the bathroom, his head resting lazily on the pillow, the sheets pooling around his waist. The way he looks at you, with an easy grin and a softness that doesn’t quite match the image he projects to the rest of the world, almost makes you forget to breathe. But his smile drops the moment he notices you pulling on a t-shirt.

"Hey," he whines, propping himself up on his elbows. “Take that off. It’s illegal to wear clothes in bed when I’m here.”

You roll your eyes, tugging the hem of the shirt into place. “I’m cold.”

“Excuses.” He opens his arms wide, an irresistible invitation. “Come here. I’ll warm you up.”

With a small shake of your head but a smile on your lips, you crawl into bed beside him. He helps you taking the t-shirt off and aggressively tosses it onto the floor after. His arms wrap around you immediately, pulling you close until your head rests on his chest. His hand finds its way to your hair, idly brushing through the strands while his other arm holds you securely against him.

For a while, there’s just comfortable silence. Chan’s chest rises and falls steadily beneath your cheek, and you let yourself relax into the comforting rhythm.

Then, out of nowhere, Chan breaks the quiet.

“Why aren’t we dating yet?”

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

“I mean, think about it,” he says, his voice contemplative as his hand stills in your hair. “We like each other, right? That much is obvious. And the… uh, sexual chemistry?” His lips curl into a sheepish smile you can feel more than see. “It’s off the charts. So why aren’t we just… together?”

You lift your head to look at him, raising a playful eyebrow. “What happened to the guy who used to hide in my apartment to avoid having these kinds of conversations with the girls he was seeing? Huh?”

Chan chuckles, the sound low and warm. “That guy grew up, okay?”

You hum, pretending to think. “Who are you? And what did you do to the fuckboy next door?”

He laughs outright this time, shaking his head. “He retired. Sold the title. But seriously...” His voice softens as he meets your gaze again. “I want this. I want us. So why not just make it official?”

His earnestness leaves a slight ache in your chest, but you press it down. Instead, you offer him a soft smile, reaching up to brush his cheek with your fingertips.

“I think,” you begin carefully, “that we shouldn’t rush it. Relationships are a big deal, and I don’t want to mess this up. We’ll know when it’s the right time, Chris. I promise.”

He searches your face for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he sighs and nods. “Yeah. Okay. I get it.”

But you can feel the tension lingering in his shoulders as he pulls you close again. You know what’s bothering him, even if he doesn’t say it. Minho. That bold, smug smile. The little comments that he probably thinks are harmless but dig under Chan’s skin like splinters.

And for all his charm and newfound earnestness, Chan is still afraid. Afraid of losing you before he even truly has you.

The bed shakes, pulling Chan from the light doze he’s been enjoying. He cracks an eye open, disoriented, and watches as you bolt out of bed, mumbling something about being late. The slam of the bathroom door jolts him further awake, and he groans, dragging his hand down his face.

A quick glance at the clock confirms it—you’ve overslept. Knowing how rushed you must feel, Chan forces himself up despite wanting to stay cocooned in the sheets a little longer. He stretches, yawns, and heads to the bathroom. The sound of water rushing in the shower drowns out any chance of conversation, so he settles for a quick wash at the sink before leaving you to it.

In the kitchen, he moves on autopilot, pulling ingredients from the fridge and setting the coffee machine to brew. Within minutes, the smell of toast fills the air, mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Chan prepares a cup just the way you like it and grabs a plate with a buttered toast before making his way to the bedroom.

When he enters, you’re perched in front of the vanity, expertly applying your makeup in quick, efficient motions. You glance at him in the mirror and flash a grateful smile as he sets the coffee and toast down beside you.

“Thanks, baby,” you murmur, pausing briefly to take a sip of coffee and a bite of toast before resuming your routine.

Chan smiles hearing you used a petname for him and then he leans against the wall, watching you with a fond smile. “Want me to help dry your hair while you do that?”

You glance at him and nod. “That’d be great.”

He picks up the hairdryer and begins carefully running his fingers through your hair as he dries it, making sure not to disturb your makeup process. It’s a small thing, but he loves moments like these—helping you in the ways he can, being part of your busy mornings.

When you’re finally ready, you sit on the bench by the foyer to put on your shoes. Chan hovers nearby, watching as you lace them up.

“Want me to pick you up at the bus stop later?” he asks.

You glance up, slipping your second shoe on. “I’m working on a photoshoot today. I’m not sure when I’ll be done.”

Chan nods, already mentally preparing to wait up for your call regardless of the hour. You stand, heading for the door, but Chan stops you with a light tug on your arm.

“You’re forgetting something,” he says, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

You blink and smirk, leaning in to give him a quick kiss. “There.”

Chan laughs, holding up your phone. “Not that, genius.”

Your cheeks flush, and you laugh along with him, snatching the phone from his hand. “Thanks. Again.” This time, you cup his face and give him a longer, lingering kiss, leaving him momentarily breathless.

The two of you exit the apartment together, and just as the elevator arrives on your floor, you step inside, waving goodbye with a rushed smile.

Chan stands there, hands in his pockets, watching the doors close with a content grin on his face. He couldn’t ask for a better way to start his day.

The elevator doors slide shut, and Chan stands in the hallway for a moment, a warm smile lingering on his face. He stretches, ready to head back inside for a quiet, lazy morning. Just as he turns to his door, a voice cuts through the peaceful silence.

"Well, isn’t this a cozy little scene?"

Chan looks up to see Minho leaning casually against the doorway of his apartment, arms crossed and a smirk plastered across his face.

“Good morning, Chris. Or should I call you ‘Neighbor Boyfriend’ now?” Minho teases, his voice laced with mock amusement.

Chan’s grin falters slightly, replaced by a frown. “Morning,” he half-heartedly replies, trying to keep his tone neutral.

Minho straightens up and steps into the hallway, his smirk only widening. “Gotta say, you two are quite the sight. She’s so... composed, and then there’s you, acting like a lovesick puppy.”

Chan exhales sharply through his nose, willing himself to keep his cool. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, don’t I?” Minho chuckles, casually leaning closer. “I mean, I’ve only been here a few days, and it’s already obvious. You’re head over heels, but her?” He shrugs, feigning innocence. “Hard to tell.”

Chan clenches his jaw but forces a smile. “Thanks for the unsolicited opinion, Minho.”

Minho chuckles again, stepping back toward his door. “Just calling it as I see it. Enjoy your day, Chris.”

He gives a mocking little wave before disappearing into his apartment, leaving the door slightly ajar as if to taunt him further.

Chan stands frozen for a moment, hands curling into fists at his sides. He lets out a deep breath, shaking his head as he steps back into his own apartment, Minho’s words still echoing in his mind.

Ugh. So much for a peaceful morning.

Chan wipes the sweat off his forehead as he steps into his apartment, dropping his gym bag by the door. His phone buzzes, and he checks the screen to see a message from you:

Almost done with work! Heading to the bus stop soon.

A grin tugs at his lips, and he glances at the time. “Perfect,” he mutters, making his way to the bathroom for a quick shower. He knows you’ll appreciate him being on time, especially after how hectic your morning started.

Minutes later, Chan is freshly showered, towel-drying his hair as he scans his wardrobe for something decent to wear. Settling on a simple hoodie and jeans, he slips into his sneakers and grabs his phone, ready to text you that he’s on his way.

Before he can type a word, there’s a knock at the door. His brows furrow. It’s too early for you, and he’s not expecting anyone else. When he opens it, the sight on the other side is the exact opposite of what he wants to see.

Minho stands there, a sly grin plastered across his face.

“Chris! Just the guy I was looking for,” Minho says, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Chan crosses his arms and narrows his eyes. “What do you want, Minho?”

Minho straightens up, his grin widening. “Oh, nothing much. Just here to show someone where you live.”

Before Chan can question him further, Minho steps aside, and someone else comes into view. His stomach twists as he sees her. Sue.

The familiar face catches him off guard. Sue, with her perfectly styled hair and charming smile, greets him warmly.

“Hey, Chris,” she says, her tone light and casual, as if no time had passed since they last spoke.

Chan’s hand tightens on the doorframe, his mind racing. Of all the people to show up here, Sue is the last person he expected—or wanted—to see.

“...Sue,” he finally manages, his voice clipped. He shoots a quick glare at Minho, who’s now leaning against the hallway wall, looking far too pleased with himself.

Chan forces himself to meet her gaze, bracing for whatever reason she’s here—and for whatever game Minho thinks he’s playing.

Chan sets the glass of juice on the coffee table in front of Sue, trying to balance politeness with the unease creeping up his spine. He forces a small smile as she thanks him, her eyes scanning the room before landing on him again.

“Nice place, Chris,” she says, her tone light, her lips curving into a warm smile. “It’s cozy.”

“Thanks,” he replies curtly, sitting down on the armrest of a nearby chair instead of joining her on the sofa. He fiddles with the hem of his hoodie, feeling the seconds stretch awkwardly between them. “So… why are you here, Sue?”

Sue’s expression brightens as if she’s been waiting for the question. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a tie, holding it up.

“This,” she says, a playful tone in her voice. “I believe it’s yours. From that wedding we were at a while back. You left it behind.”

Chan stares at the tie for a moment before taking it from her. It’s familiar, all right—the tie he wore the night they reconnected. He thanks her, though the gesture feels unnecessary. A tie isn’t exactly something worth returning.

“You really didn’t have to go out of your way for this,” he says, placing it on the coffee table.

Sue shrugs, crossing her legs. “I thought it’d be nice to stop by. And I figured it’d give us a chance to catch up.”

She leans back, her gaze softening. “It was such a surprise seeing you again that night. It brought back so many memories, you know?”

Chan nods, his smile tight as he feels her words start to linger in the air. He’s polite but cautious, sensing the subtle shift in her tone.

Sue continues, her voice lowering slightly, as though sharing a secret. “And if we're being honest, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since then.”

Chan freezes, the implication behind her words settling heavily between them. His heart sinks as he realizes where this conversation is heading.

Clearing his throat, he straightens his posture. “Sue,” he starts, his voice measured. “I think I wasn’t clear enough the last time we talked.”

Sue tilts her head, her smile faltering ever so slightly.

“I know what you’re trying to do here,” Chan continues, his tone gentle but firm. “And I really don’t want to lead you on.” He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m seeing someone right now. It’s… getting serious.”

For a moment, Sue doesn’t say anything. Then, her expression shifts, disappointment flickering in her eyes as she processes his words.

“Oh,” she murmurs, lowering her gaze. “I… I’m sorry, Chris. I didn’t mean to—”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Chan interrupts, his tone softening. “Really. I’m flattered, Sue. You have no idea. If anything, I feel like my teenage crush has finally come full circle.”

Sue blinks, her lips curling into a reluctant smile. “Teenage crush, huh?”

Chan chuckles, feeling the tension ease between them. “Yeah. I mean, come on, you were way out of my league back then. And still.”

Her laugh is genuine now, and she shakes her head. “I guess timing was never on our side.”

“Guess not,” Chan agrees, a warmth settling in his chest as they share a moment of mutual understanding.

As the laughter dies down, Sue rises from the sofa, smoothing her skirt. “Well, I should get going. Thanks for the uh... juice and the honesty, Chris.”

Chan stands, walking her to the door. “Take care, Sue.”

She gives him one last smile before stepping out into the hallway. As the door clicks shut behind her, Chan exhales deeply, feeling a strange mix of relief and gratitude. Timing really wasn’t on their side—and for once, he’s perfectly okay with that.

Chan’s knuckles rap softly against your door, the sound almost drowned out by the racing of his heart. He adjusts the hem of his hoodie nervously, rehearsing his apology in his head. When the door opens, your bright smile greets him, and all of his words evaporate on his tongue. Without a second thought, he steps inside, cups your face, and kisses you.

The kiss lingers, soft and apologetic, before he pulls back just enough to speak. “I’m sorry about last night,” he begins, his voice low and earnest. “I meant to pick you up, but something—”

Before he can finish, a figure emerges from your bathroom. Minho steps into the living room, his white t-shirt clinging to his chest, soaked through as though he’d just been caught in the rain.

Chan freezes, his words dying mid-sentence. Minho runs a hand through his damp hair, offering Chan a sly smile before addressing you. “Hey, the shower head’s fixed, but it might still leak a little. You’ll probably want to check it later.”

Your smile falters slightly as you glance between them. “Thanks, Minho. Let me grab you a towel.” You disappear down the hallway, leaving the two men alone.

Chan shifts uncomfortably, glaring at the floor while Minho leans casually against the wall.

“Rough night, huh?” Minho starts, his tone far too conversational. “Must’ve been, with your guest and all.”

Chan’s jaw tightens, his gaze snapping to Minho. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Minho shrugs, feigning innocence. “Oh, nothing. Just thought it was interesting helping your friend return your tie. You know, the one you left in her hotel room?”

Before Chan can respond, you return, handing Minho a towel. “Here,” you say with a warm smile. “Thanks again for helping with the shower.”

“No problem.” Minho takes the towel, winking at Chan. “I’ll leave you two to it.”

As the door closes behind Minho, Chan lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. His gaze moves to you as you sit down on the sofa, looking at him expectantly.

“Okay,” he says, standing in front of you. “I need to explain something.”

You nod, but your attention drifts almost immediately. Your eyes flicker downward, then linger a little too long.

“Are you listening?” Chan asks, noticing your distracted expression.

You blink and meet his eyes, caught off guard. “Yeah, of course,” you say, though your gaze quickly strays again.

Chan follows your line of sight and catches on, his cheeks flushing as he realizes where you’re looking. “Hey, my eyes are up here,” he teases, a nervous laugh escaping him. “Are you even listening to me?”

You finally snap out of it, sitting straighter. “I am,” you insist, though your shy smile betrays you. “It’s just…”

Chan raises an eyebrow, waiting.

You hesitate, then admit, “It’s hard to focus when you’re wearing those grey sweatpants.” Your cheeks heat as you gesture vaguely toward his lower half. “They’re… distracting.”

The flush on Chan’s face deepens, and he stumbles over his words. “What? These? They’re just—” He glances down, clearly self-conscious now. “I wasn’t—this wasn’t—”

You lean closer, your voice dropping to a seductive murmur. “I don’t have much time before work so…” You let the sentence hang, your lips curving into a teasing smile. “Can we talk about it in the shower?”

Chan’s breath hitches, his brain short-circuiting at your suggestion. The apology he had so carefully crafted is long forgotten as you take his hand, pulling him toward the bathroom.

The steamy mist envelops the bathroom as Chan steps in, his heart racing the moment his eyes land on you. Warm water cascades down your body, tracing paths he longs to follow with his hands and lips. He stands there, momentarily stunned, feeling like he’s witnessing something ethereal.

Unable to resist any longer, Chan moves closer, slipping his arms around your waist. The heat of your skin against his sends a shiver through him, and he presses a tender kiss to your shoulder, letting his lips linger on the beads of water glistening there. His mouth trails up to your neck, the salty-sweet taste of your skin driving him wild.

You turn in his arms, your hands resting firmly on his chest. The mischievous glint in your eyes makes his pulse quicken. Gently but insistently, you push him back until his back hits the cool tiles of the shower wall. Chan’s breath hitches as you lean into him, your wet body pinning him in place.

Your lips hover tantalizingly close to his, and he instinctively leans forward, only for you to pull back, teasing him with a sly smile.

“Patience,” you murmur, your voice low and sultry.

He groans softly, his hands finding purchase on your waist as you finally close the gap, kissing him deeply. Chan melts into the kiss, his arms pulling you impossibly closer, the warmth of the water surrounding you both like a cocoon.

You move your lips down to his neck as your hand glides down his front, not stopping until your hand meets his hardening member. He's helpless as you're kissing his sensitive spot and your hand wrapped around his length, and the warm water does nothing but contribute to the rise of the temperature.

As you slowly stroking his cock, you press your mouth to his ear. “Mmh... so big.”

Chan drops his mouth on your shoulder, drinking in the scent and beads of water on your skin. His hand snaking down your back, kneading on your ass cheek.

“Want to feel it getting bigger in mouth,” you whisper and with that, you put your knees down on the bathroom floor.

Your hand keeps stroking his cock while your eyes fixated on him, you tease its head by circling it with your thumb. You begin teasing his tip with kitten licks and you hold his cock slightly upward to land a lick along his length, earning a raw groan from him.

You slyly smile seeing him losing focus of you but you surprise him by cradling his balls in your hand while your mouth starts taking his length. You take and keep on taking his length until it fully disappeared into your mouth.

Chan lets out a deep growl as you close your lips around his length and sucking at it, your tongue feels hot around him, oh... he knows he's about to lose it soon.

While keeping the eye contact, your head bobbing as you pull away and take more of him, twirling your tongue around it, sucking him harder and using your hand to compensate the rest that you can’t take.

Next thing he knows, Chan is teetering on the edge, it's the way you're looking at him, your eagerness to please and just how good you are with your mouth. He tangles his hand in your damp hair, breathlessly he says, “I'm about to cum, baby.”

With your mouth full of him, you can exactly respond to him but ypu blink your eyes, signaling that you hear him. You slowly pull away, replacing your mouth with both hands now, continuing building the tension that's about to burst soon.

You tilt your head upward, watching him falling apart at the seams as you tirelessly pumping him with your hands. A smile tugging at your lips ad you wait for him to come undone before you.

“I'm coming, I'm coming,” he says with a rushed tone.

You close your eyes to brace yourself to receive his load on your face and you gasp as the first streak of his seed lands on your cheek and some more landing on your chin and around your mouth. When you think he's done, another one lands across your eyelid.

“Chris, not my eye!” you grumble with a playful laugh. You keep your eyes closed and freeze, unsure on what to do.

Chan pulls you up so he can help you with it, he collects some water from the shower and gently, he washes your eyes with it and eventually all over your face.

“There. Done,” he announces as he wipes the last of his cum on your chin and gives you a quick kiss on the lips.

You slowly open your eyes and smile at him. “That was fun,” you teasingly comment.

Chan shyly smiles and pulls you close. “I think that was hot.”

Your arms slide up to rest around his shoulders, and you look at him with a playful yet expectant expression. “Alright,” you say with a grin. “I’m ready to listen now.”

Chan blinks, momentarily disoriented, before the memory of why he came over resurfaces. “Right… Sue,” he begins, his voice slightly breathless. “She stopped by yesterday to return a tie I left behind. That’s all it was.”

You raise an eyebrow, tilting your head. “Uh-huh. And why’d you leave your tie at her place in the first place?”

“It was from a wedding I went to, remember?” he explains hurriedly, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your hips. “I didn’t even realize I left it. She just… used it as an excuse to show up.”

You can’t help but laugh softly, leaning your forehead against his. “Chris, you could’ve just told me that. No need to make it a big deal.”

He sighs, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “I know, I just didn’t want you to get the wrong idea. I’m not… like that anymore.”

You chuckle, your fingers brushing through his damp hair. “I know you’re not. But for the record, if you get into trouble again, you might want to hide your ties better.”

Chan laughs, his heart feeling lighter as he kisses you again, this time slower, savoring the moment. All his earlier worries melt away under the warmth of your touch and the water cascading around you both.

The soft hum of conversation fills the lobby as you step in, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. Your eyes scan the space and quickly land on Minho, standing by the mailboxes, sifting through a stack of letters. He looks effortlessly put together, dressed casually yet sharply, and you can’t help but smile as you approach him.

“Morning,” you say, catching his attention. He looks up, his lips curling into a small, knowing smirk.

“Morning. Shower still working?” he asks, setting the mail aside.

You nod, feeling a bit sheepish. “Yes, perfectly. Thank you for fixing it this morning. I really appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” he says with a wave of his hand, as if it were no big deal. Then his gaze flicks to your bag. “Heading to work?”

“Yeah,” you confirm with a small smile.

Minho tilts his head slightly, a spark of mischief lighting his eyes. “Want a ride?”

“Oh, no, I’m good,” you reply quickly, shaking your head. “It’s not that far, and I don’t want to trouble you—”

“Trouble me? Please,” he interrupts, his smirk widening. “It’s literally on my way. Just say yes.”

You hesitate for a moment, but Minho raises an eyebrow, clearly not taking no for an answer. “Come on,” he urges. “Unless you want to be late?”

With a soft laugh, you relent. “Okay, fine.”

The ride starts off light, the radio playing softly in the background as Minho drives. He’s casual, one hand on the wheel, the other draped over the gear shift. It’s comfortable, easy—until he glances over at you and breaks the silence.

“So,” he begins, his tone teasing but laced with curiosity. “You and Chris. What’s the deal?”

Caught off guard, you blink at him. “Uh… what do you mean?”

“I mean, are you guys… serious? Casual? Still figuring things out?” He spares you a quick glance before returning his focus to the road.

You shift in your seat, feeling a flicker of nervousness. “We’re still getting to know each other better,” you answer carefully. “It’s… new.”

Minho hums thoughtfully, and you can tell he’s not convinced. “You sound like you’re hesitating,” he observes, his voice soft but perceptive.

“I’m not hesitating,” you counter quickly, meeting his gaze briefly. “I’m just… being careful.”

“Careful,” Minho repeats, the word hanging in the air. Then his tone turns playful. “Is that because Chris has a bit of a, uh… reputation?”

You can’t help but laugh softly at his bluntness. “No, it’s not that,” you say, shaking your head. “It’s because… I like him. A lot. And I don’t want to ruin this—for either of us. Like I did with my last relationship.”

Minho’s teasing demeanor softens slightly, and he gives you a sidelong glance, a flicker of understanding in his expression. “Ah, I get it. You’re serious about this one.”

“I am,” you admit, your voice quieter now. “I just want to do things right.”

A beat of silence passes before Minho’s smirk returns, albeit gentler this time. “So, you’re saying I don’t have a chance?” he asks, feigning disappointment.

You laugh, the sound genuine and light. “Sorry, Minho. I’m very much taken at this point.”

He lets out a dramatic sigh, playfully smacking the steering wheel. “Chris is a lucky bastard,” he grumbles, though his tone is laced with good-natured envy.

You shake your head, still laughing softly. “He’s… something else,” you admit, warmth spreading through your chest at the thought of Chan.

Minho glances over at you again, his smirk softening into a smile. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re happy, neighbor.”

As Minho pulls up in front of your workplace, he shifts the car into park and turns to you, a teasing smirk already forming on his lips. “Well, here we are,” he says, gesturing grandly like a chauffeur.

“Thanks for the ride,” you say with a grateful smile, reaching for the door handle.

“Don’t mention it,” he replies. Then, just as you’re stepping out of the car, he adds with a mock-serious tone, “But don’t think I’m fixing your shower again.”

You freeze mid-step and turn back to him, laughing softly. “What? Why not?”

“Because next time, I’m charging you,” he quips, leaning back in his seat. “Or better yet, I’ll let Chris deal with it. He can pick up a wrench for once.”

You roll your eyes but can’t stop smiling. “Noted. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Minho grins, clearly pleased with himself. “Good. Now go have a nice day at work. And tell Chris he owes me for this ride, too.”

Shaking your head, you step out of the car, shutting the door behind you. “Thanks again, Minho,” you call out with a wave.

“Anytime,” he replies, winking. “But seriously—no more broken showers.”

You laugh, turning toward your workplace as Minho drives off, his playful words lingering in your mind and leaving you with a lighthearted smile for the rest of the morning. You can’t help but feel a little more certain of the path you’re on—with Chan, and maybe even with Minho as a good friend by your side.

The evening air feels warm and easy inside Chan’s apartment. You're perched on a stool next to his DJ setup, your fingers hovering uncertainly over the turntable as Chan stands close, guiding you through the basics. His voice is soft but enthusiastic as he explains how to cue up tracks, mix beats, and create seamless transitions.

“See? Just like this,” he says, demonstrating the movement with fluid precision. His hands brush against yours, and you feel the slight buzz of electricity from his touch.

You bite your lip, pretending to concentrate. “So, what happens when a girl comes into your DJ booth?” you ask teasingly, glancing up at him with a playful smirk.

Chan grins mischievously, his dimples deepening. Without missing a beat, he takes you gently by the waist, pulling you into the open space of his living room.

“This happens,” he replies, starting to sway with you to the beat of the music.

You laugh, a little awkward as you try to follow his lead. “You know I’m terrible at dancing, right?”

“There’s no such thing,” Chan counters, spinning you around playfully before demonstrating a goofy dance move, making you burst into laughter. “See? Now you’re better already.”

Shaking your head, you try to mimic his move, but it’s hopeless. He chuckles and takes your hands, pulling you closer until there’s barely any space between you. “Alright, let’s make it simple,” he says, lowering his voice. “Just follow me.”

Despite the upbeat track playing in the background, Chan slows his movements, leading you into a slow dance. The contrast feels silly and intimate all at once, and your heart beats faster as he gazes at you with a soft, unguarded look.

He leans in, his lips brushing yours, and you melt into the kiss. His hands tighten slightly on your waist, anchoring you as the world shrinks to just the two of you and the music in the background.

When you pull back, you tilt your head and narrow your eyes playfully. “Do you do this with every girl who comes into your booth?”

Chan smirks, his dimples making another appearance. “Absolutely not,” he says smoothly, his tone dripping with mock seriousness. “I’m very selective about who gets into my booth… especially who gets to touch my turntable.” He pauses, his grin turning cheeky. “And let’s be honest, no one handles my knobs like you do.”

Your jaw drops as you laugh at his lewd joke, swatting his arm. “Chris!”

He laughs along with you, catching your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “What? It’s true,” he says with a wink, pulling you back into his arms for another dance, the music now forgotten as the two of you move to your own rhythm.

The music hums softly in the background as Chan’s lips move with yours, his hands firmly holding your waist as the two of you sink into the plush sofa. The warmth of his body against yours, combined with the way he kisses you—urgent yet tender—sends shivers down your spine.

Chan’s fingers trace slow, teasing patterns along your sides as the kiss deepens, pulling you closer. His breath hitches as your hands tangle in his hair, tugging slightly, eliciting a low groan from him.

Then comes the knocking.

Chan stiffens slightly but doesn’t stop, his lips still lingering on yours. When the knocking persists, you reluctantly pull back, breathless. “Chris,” you murmur, your lips still brushing his. “Someone’s at the door.”

He groans audibly, his forehead dropping against yours. “Ignore it,” he mutters, his voice heavy with frustration.

The knocking grows more insistent, and you nudge him lightly. “You can’t just ignore it forever.”

With a resigned sigh, Chan pulls himself up, running a hand through his messy hair as he trudges to the door. He swings it open, already prepared to send whoever it is away, but freezes when he sees Minho leaning casually against the doorframe.

“Chris,” Minho greets with a smirk, his tone infuriatingly casual. “Nice party you’re having. Could hear it from my place.”

Chan narrows his eyes and lets out a sigh. “What do you want now, Minho?”

Before Minho can reply, you appear behind Chan, peeking over his shoulder. “Minho,” you say with a smile. “What brings you here?”

Minho straightens up and gives you a polite nod before turning back to Chan. “I actually need a favor,” he starts, leaning just a little too casually against the doorframe. “There’s this heavy piece of furniture I need to move from my old apartment, and I figured Chan here could help me out. It’s too much to handle on my own.”

Chan’s jaw clenches, clearly unimpressed by the request. Deep down, he’s looking for an excuse to say no, but when you glance up at him with an encouraging smile, he knows he’s already lost.

“That’s so nice of you to ask Chris,” you say warmly. “He’s always so helpful.”

Chan exhales sharply, knowing he can’t refuse in front of you. “Fine,” he mutters, his tone begrudging. “When do you need help?”

“Tonight,” Minho replies, his grin sly and victorious. “I’ll swing by to pick you up in... 15 minutes?”

“Okay,” Chan replies just so the conversation ends quickly.

“Thanks, man.” Minho gives Chan a quick pat on the shoulder before sauntering off, clearly pleased with himself.

Chan closes the door a little harder than necessary, turning to you with a pout. “You know I didn’t actually want to do that, right?”

You laugh softly and loop your arms around his neck. “I know,” you tease. “But I like having a boyfriend who’s nice and kind. It’s very attractive.”

Chan pouts deeper, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t like him.”

You nudge him playfully. “Come on, Chris. We didn’t like each other at first either, remember?”

He crosses his arms, his pout unrelenting. “This is different. I’ll never, ever be in love with Minho.”

Laughing, you pull him into a hug, resting your head against his chest. “Good,” you murmur with a smirk. “One reformed fuckboy is enough. I don’t think I could handle another one.”

He softens under your touch, his arms coming around you as he mumbles, “I told you, I’m not that anymore.”

You lean back just enough to meet his eyes, a teasing smile on your lips. “Exactly. That’s why I’m keeping you.”

He grins despite himself, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to your lips, his earlier frustration melting away entirely. He sighs as he pulls away, knowing he has to get ready.

“I'll go get changed.”

You playfully slap his butt as he walks towards his room. “Now, that’s my good boy!”

The car ride to Minho’s old apartment is tense. Chan sits in the passenger seat, arms crossed as Minho keeps throwing questions his way.

“So, you and her... it’s serious?” Minho asks, eyes flicking between the road and Chan, a sly grin playing on his lips.

Chan sighs, looking out the window. “How far are we from your apartment?”

Minho ignores the deflection, his grin widening. “You’re dodging the question. Come on, it’s me. You can tell me. Is she ‘the one,’ or is this just a phase?”

Chan keeps his gaze firmly outside, biting back his frustration. “Are we there yet?”

Minho laughs, clearly amused by Chan’s silence. “Touchy subject. Got it.”

When they finally arrive, Chan follows Minho up the stairs, carrying a dull sense of hope that this errand will be quick. Minho unlocks the door, and the sound of music and chatter spills out. The apartment is crowded, with people milling about and laughing loudly. Chan frowns.

“I thought we were here for a table,” he says, glancing at the scene unfolding before him.

“We are,” Minho says nonchalantly, stepping inside and greeting his friend.

Chan hesitates at the door before reluctantly following. Minho is already chatting away, and before long, a drink is being pressed into Chan’s hand.

“Relax,” Minho says, grinning as he sips his drink. “The table’s in the kitchen, but look at it—it’s holding up all the drinks. Can’t exactly take it now, can we?”

Chan’s eyes narrow as he spots the dining table in question, completely covered in bottles and snacks. He exhales sharply, already regretting agreeing to this. “So this is a party. Not a quick errand.”

Minho shrugs, his grin unrepentant. “Two birds, one stone. Come on, have a drink. Socialize a little. You used to be great at this.”

Slumping into a seat, Chan takes a reluctant sip from his drink, more out of necessity than enjoyment. He knows Minho well enough to realize there’s no rushing this.

As the evening drags on, Minho leans back in his chair, eyeing Chan with a mischievous glint. “You ever miss it?”

“Miss what?” Chan asks, his tone clipped.

“The lifestyle,” Minho says, spreading his arms. “No strings, no commitments. Just fun. You were the shit back then. Why’d you give it up?”

Chan takes another sip, avoiding the bait. He knows what Minho’s doing.

Minho smirks, leaning closer. “Me? I don’t get it. Settling down when you could have this.” He gestures around the room. “You’re still young. Still good-looking. You could have it all. Why lock yourself down?”

Chan keeps quiet, his grip tightening on his glass.

Moments later, a group of girls approaches their table, all bright smiles and curious eyes. Minho grins, clearly in his element, and introduces himself—and Chan.

“This is my boy Chris,” Minho says, slinging an arm over Chan’s shoulder. “He’s a legend. Used to be the life of every party.”

The girls giggle, their attention now focused on Chan, who shifts uncomfortably. Leaning in close, Minho whispers in Chan’s ear, his tone low and tempting. “You can have fun, you know. No one’s going to find out. I won’t tell her.”

Chan’s jaw tightens, the words cutting through him like a blade. He sets his glass down, staring at the table. This is what Minho wants—to see if he’ll crack, to see if he’ll slip back into old habits.

But Chan knows better. He’s not that person anymore. And he’s not about to prove Minho right.

The moment Chan leaves, you find yourself wandering around his apartment. Though you've been here countless times, something about being alone in his space feels different. It’s like you’re seeing it through fresh eyes—the meticulous way he keeps everything in order, the slight personal touches that reflect his personality.

You run your fingers along the edge of his desk, smiling at the neatly stacked papers and perfectly aligned pens. His living room is spotless, not a cushion out of place. Even his shoe rack catches your attention, with every pair arranged in perfect color coordination.

When you peek into his bathroom, you can’t help but chuckle softly. His toiletries are lined up like soldiers on parade, everything from his toothbrush to his cologne standing in perfect order. It’s so Chan—practical, disciplined, and oddly endearing.

As you wander further, you pass by the laundry room and pause. A small pile of clothes spills out of the dryer. Without thinking, you step inside, deciding to fold them for him.

You reach for the first item, a hoodie you’ve seen him wear so many times before. Lifting it to your nose, you inhale deeply. The scent of fabric softener mingles with the faint, familiar smell of Chan himself—clean, warm, and comforting. An unexpected ache blooms in your chest, a longing for him even though he was right here just hours ago.

Smiling to yourself, you finish folding the clothes and set them neatly on the counter. You glance at the clock, realizing it’s later than you thought, and decide to wait for him to come back. You make your way to his bedroom, lying down on the bed that smells just as much like him as the hoodie did. It doesn’t take long for sleep to claim you.

As the night drags on, Chan finally decides he’s had enough. He stands, leaving his half-finished drink on the table, and starts making his way toward the door. The noise and chatter fade into the background as his only focus is getting out of this suffocating situation.

“Leaving already?” Minho’s voice cuts through the din, and Chan turns to see him catching up, his grin still infuriatingly smug. “What’s the rush, man? We haven’t even moved the table yet.”

Chan sighs, his patience wearing thin. “I’m not wasting any more time here. You didn’t need me for this. You just wanted an excuse to drag me into your mess.”

Minho laughs, stepping in front of him to block his path. “You’re so obedient these days. Might as well put a leash around your neck and hand it over to her, huh?”

Chan’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. “Move, Minho.”

Minho tilts his head, mock curiosity in his eyes. “What’s the rush? Afraid she’ll get mad at you for staying out too late? Or is it guilt because you know I’m right?”

Chan glares at him, but doesn’t respond. Instead, he pushes past, his hand already on the doorknob.

But Minho isn’t done. “You know, relationships like yours don’t last long,” he says, his tone deliberately casual. “Guys like you? You get bored. You might not want to admit it, but I know you, Chris. You’ll start to crave what you gave up. And her?”

Chan freezes, his grip tightening on the doorknob.

Minho takes a step closer, his voice dropping to a mockingly sympathetic tone. “She doesn’t even address the relationship, does she? Never flaunts it publicly. Almost like she’s already bored of you. But hey, maybe that’s a good thing. Makes it easier for you to go back to your old self.”

Chan exhales sharply, his knuckles white as he grips the doorknob. He turns his head slightly, just enough to meet Minho’s gaze. “I’m not the same as you, Minho.”

With that, he steps out, slamming the door behind him. The cool night air hits him, but it does little to cool the frustration simmering in his chest.

As he walks away, Minho’s words echo in his mind, planting seeds of doubt he desperately doesn’t want to acknowledge.

Is Minho right? Would you get bored of him? Would he?

Chan shakes his head, trying to dispel the thoughts, but they cling to him like shadows, following him all the way home.

The sound of the front door opening wakes you. Disoriented, you scramble out of bed, brushing your hands through your hair as you hurry to greet him.

Chan steps inside, his jacket slung over his arm and a weariness etched into his features. His eyes meet yours briefly, but there’s none of the usual warmth in them.

“Hey,” you say softly, approaching him. “You look exhausted. Was the furniture that heavy?”

He doesn’t respond, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto the back of the couch. His silence makes you hesitate, but you press on. “How was it? Did you—”

“Do you even think of me as your boyfriend?” he suddenly bursts out, his voice sharp and filled with frustration.

The question hits you like a punch to the gut, leaving you momentarily speechless. “What?”

Chan steps closer, his eyes searching yours, his tone a mixture of anger and vulnerability. “Do you? And if you do, why don’t you ever talk about us? Why don’t you ever want anyone to know? Do you want this relationship? Or are you already bored with me?”

You stare at him, completely thrown off by the intensity of his words. You’ve never seen him like this before—so raw, so unguarded. It’s clear something is bothering him deeply, but you can’t figure out what triggered it.

“Do you even want to be with me?”

“Chris…” you begin, but your voice trails off when you see the exhaustion in his eyes.

He sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair and turns his back to you, avoiding your eyes. “I’m not feeling well tonight.”

You take that as your cue to leave him alone. Nodding, you grab your things, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Goodnight,” you whisper before slipping out the door.

As you walk back to your apartment, your mind races. What happened tonight? Why was he so upset? You replay his words over and over, trying to piece together what might have caused such a drastic change in his mood. Something feels off, and you can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t just about tonight.

The next morning, you find yourself standing in front of Chan’s door, your knuckles poised mid-air. You’ve been replaying last night’s events over and over, trying to make sense of his sudden outburst.

You knock softly once, then twice. On the third knock, you pause, lowering your hand. Maybe he’s still sleeping. He probably needs the rest, you think to yourself, chewing on your bottom lip as you hesitate to disturb him further.

Just as you’re about to turn and leave, the door across the hall creaks open. Minho steps out, his ever-present smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Morning,” he greets casually, leaning against his doorframe as if he’s got all the time in the world.

You offer a polite smile and greet back. “Morning, Minho.”

Deciding not to linger outside Chan’s apartment, you turn and make your way toward the elevator. Minho follows, his footsteps echoing lightly in the hallway.

As you press the button to summon the elevator, you glance at him. “So, did you manage to get that furniture back to your place last night?”

Minho’s smirk widens slightly, and he shrugs nonchalantly. “Yeah, something like that.”

His vague answer doesn’t sit right with you, but you choose not to press further. Instead, you take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts before speaking again.

“Minho, can I be honest with you for a second?”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Sure.”

You turn to face him fully, meeting his gaze with calm determination. “I like you. I think you’re a great guy, and I really appreciate how friendly you’ve been. But I just want to make sure we’re clear about something.”

He tilts his head slightly, his smirk faltering just a little.

You continue, your voice steady. “I’m with Chris. We’re building something together, and he’s been working really hard on leaving his old habits behind. I know it’s not always easy for him, but he’s trying, and I want to support him in that.”

Minho’s expression doesn’t change much, but there’s a flicker of something—curiosity, maybe—behind his eyes.

“I’d really appreciate it,” you say, your tone firm but not unkind, “if you could stop… whatever it is you’re doing to him. I want us all to stay friendly neighbors, but I need you to respect that Chris and I are in this together.”

For a moment, Minho doesn’t say anything, his smirk fading into a neutral expression. Then he chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Fair enough.”

The elevator dings, and the doors slide open. You step inside, glancing at him one last time.

“Thanks for understanding, Minho,” you say, offering a small smile.

As the doors close, you can’t help but wonder if your words got through to him. You don’t know what exactly happened last night, but you’re determined not to let anything—or anyone—get in the way of what you’re building with Chan.

Chan heard your knocks this morning. He was sitting on the sofa, debating whether to open the door. He wanted to. He even stood up, reaching for the handle, but then your voice carried through the door.

You were talking to Minho.

At first, he tensed, expecting some kind of casual banter, but what he heard instead made him freeze. You were telling Minho off. Not angrily, but in a calm, respectful way that had him smiling despite himself.

Chan leaned against the door, listening to every word, and for the first time in a while, he felt lighter.

Now, as the hours tick by, he waits for you to come home. His ears are tuned to every little sound in the hallway, and when he hears the chime of the elevator, his heart jumps. Without thinking, he scrambles to the peephole. There you are, stepping out of the elevator, looking just as calm and composed as you did this morning.

Chan feels a surge of emotions he can’t quite untangle. Guilt for the things he said last night. Gratitude for the way you stood up for him. Relief that you’re still here.

He retreats back to the sofa, sitting down heavily, running a hand through his hair. He doesn’t have a plan. Part of him wants to rush out and hug you, to thank you. Another part reminds him of the way he hurt you last night, and the words that might have planted doubts.

His thoughts spiral until a knock at the door snaps him back to the present. He’s on his feet in an instant, heart racing. When he opens the door and sees you standing there, smiling softly, it takes everything in him not to collapse into you.

“Hey,” you say gently. “Just want to check if you're feeling any better.”

Chan doesn’t respond with words. He steps forward, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into a tight hug. His face buries in the crook of your neck, and he breathes you in, letting your presence soothe the storm inside him.

You don’t hesitate. Your arms circle his back, your hand rubbing slow, comforting circles. “Aw, poor baby,” you coo playfully, your voice warm and teasing.

Surprisingly, Chan doesn’t mind. He lets himself melt into your touch, holding you as if you’re the only thing anchoring him. Because right now, that’s exactly what you are.

The room is dimly lit, the warm glow of the bedside lamp casting soft shadows as Chan curls into you on the bed. His head rests against your neck, his arms securely wrapped around your waist as if you’re the only thing tethering him. He sighs softly, comforted by your fingers threading through his curls.

Every now and then, you press a gentle kiss to his head, and Chan feels his heart swell. Moments like these are rare, and he’s determined to soak up every second.

You take his hand, your fingers lightly tracing the rough calluses on his palm. “Where did these come from?” you ask, curiosity lacing your voice.

“Deadlifting,” he mumbles, his voice slightly muffled against your neck.

Your eyebrows lift in surprise. “And how much can you lift?”

“Three-fifty,” he answers casually.

You gasp, pulling back just enough to look at him. “Three-fifty? You can lift that much but crumble like a baby from a slight fever?”

Chan pouts, his lips jutting out adorably as he buries his face deeper into your neck. “That’s different,” he grumbles, voice tinged with mock indignation.

You laugh, the sound light and teasing. “Aw, is my big strong man pouting?” you coo, planting a soft kiss on his pout to make it disappear.

For a moment, everything feels lighthearted and easy, but Chan knows he can’t avoid the topic forever. He exhales deeply, adjusting slightly to look at you. “I need to talk about last night.”

Your fingers pause in his hair, and you pull back slightly to meet his gaze, your eyes filled with understanding. “Okay. I’m listening.”

Chan hesitates for a moment before speaking. “It wasn’t about Minho. Not really. I mean, he has a way of... getting under my skin, but that’s not why I blew up.” He takes a deep breath. “It’s me. My fears, my insecurities. I’ve spent so much time trying to change who I was—trying to be better for you—and sometimes I worry I’m not enough. Or that... you’ll realize I’m not worth it.”

You frown, your hand cupping his cheek. “Do you really think that?”

He nods reluctantly. “Last night, when I said all those things... I didn’t mean them. Not really. I was scared. Scared that maybe you don’t see this—us—the same way I do. And I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”

You soften, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “Thank you for telling me. And I’m sorry too—for anything I’ve done that made you feel like that. I want you to know that you are enough, Chris. More than enough.”

His chest feels lighter at your words, and he leans in to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

You smile against his lips, wrapping your arms around him. “Always.”

As you settle back into the embrace, Chan feels himself relax completely. The warmth of your touch and the reassurance in your words lull him into a sense of peace. His breathing slows, and before he knows it, sleep starts to claim him, safe in the comfort of your love.

The sound of soft breathing fills the room as you glance over at Chan, still fast asleep. His features are peaceful, his chest rising and falling steadily. You carefully slide out from under his arm, pressing your knuckles gently to his neck to check his temperature. It's lower than before, a relief that makes you smile softly. Quietly, you adjust the blanket over him, tucking him in snugly before stepping out of the room.

Your mind races as you head to your apartment. Dinner time is approaching, and you remember Chan once mentioning his favorite comfort food. It’s been a while since you’ve cooked, but for him, you’re willing to try.

Gathering ingredients from your fridge, you return to his apartment, silently letting yourself in. The kitchen is as neat as always, but it doesn’t take long for it to be filled with the sounds of chopping, sizzling, and the occasional clatter of a utensil. You hum softly as you stir the curry, hoping it will turn out as close as possible to what he likes.

You’re so focused on your task that you don’t notice Chan until you feel his arms wrap around your waist from behind. His warmth and familiar scent surround you, and his voice, soft and a little groggy, breaks your concentration. “What you doing?”

You glance over your shoulder, smiling at him. “Making you curry. Thought you might want some comfort food.”

His eyebrows lift slightly in surprise, and a small smile tugs at his lips. “You remembered?”

“Of course,” you say, turning back to the stove. “But don’t thank me yet—it could be inedible.”

Chan leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, his arms still loosely around you. “I’m thanking you anyway,” he murmurs.

You try to act unfazed, brushing him off with a teasing smile, but the warmth in his voice makes your heart flutter.

When the curry is finally done, you serve it with some rice and set the plates on the table.

Chan takes a bite, his eyes widening slightly as he chews. He grins, shoveling in another mouthful before looking at you with exaggerated enthusiasm. “This is amazing! Like, Michelin-star worthy. No, better!”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re just saying that because I made it.”

“No, I mean it! This is comfort food and happiness in one bite,” he says, still grinning as he digs in.

Watching him eat so heartily makes you momentarily forget your own plate. He looks so genuinely happy that you can’t help but feel a warm glow in your chest.

“Do you like it?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

“Like it? I love it,” Chan replies, his voice bright and sincere.

As he finishes the last bite, you remember something important. “Oh, by the way, I have to go out of town for work tomorrow. I’ll be back Friday.”

Chan’s expression falls into a dramatic pout. “Who’s going to take care of me while you’re gone?”

You chuckle at his reaction. “Minho can,” you tease, watching as his pout deepens.

“I’ll starve,” he mutters, slumping in his seat.

You roll your eyes and lean closer, gently patting his cheek. “You’ll survive.”

As Chan finishes the last of his curry, he leans back in his chair, looking content and drowsy. His cheeks are slightly flushed, probably from the warmth of the food and the lingering effects of his fever. You watch him quietly, a smile tugging at your lips as he gives you one of his bright, boyish grins.

“What?” he asks, tilting his head.

“Nothing,” you reply softly, shaking your head. “Just glad you liked it.”

But it’s not nothing. Not really. As he leans forward, resting his chin in his hand and watching you with those warm, chocolate-brown eyes, something inside you feels steady, sure. This isn’t just a fleeting feeling, a passing infatuation. It’s deeper than that.

In Chan, you see someone who works tirelessly, who loves with everything he has, even when he’s afraid. Someone who has his flaws but owns up to them, who’s willing to grow and try harder. He’s not perfect, but he’s real. He’s kind, patient, and someone who makes you feel safe just by being near.

You reach out, placing your hand on top of his. “You know,” you say softly, your voice carrying a weight of sincerity, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this certain about anything before. About how I feel about someone.”

Chan blinks, caught off guard by your words, but the way his face softens tells you he understands. “Yeah?”

You nod, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. “You’re the person I want to be with, Chris.”

For a moment, he’s silent, his expression unreadable. Then, with a shy but radiant smile, he squeezes your hand. “I’m glad. Because… I feel the same.”

The moment feels still, like the world has quieted around the two of you. You lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, and when you pull back, the look in his eyes is one of pure affection.

“Now,” you say, breaking the quiet with a teasing grin, “finish your curry so I can clean up and start packing for tomorrow.”

Chan laughs, the sound light and happy, and as he dives back into his plate, you can’t help but think that, with him, you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

Chan wipes his forehead with the towel slung around his neck as he steps into his apartment, still catching his breath from his gym session. The familiar hum of quiet greets him, but his first thought isn’t about the silence—it’s about you.

Grabbing his phone off the counter, he unlocks it with quick swipes, scrolling through to see if there’s a text from you. Nothing. His brows furrow slightly as he opens the messaging app, his thumb hovering over the screen to type. Where are you? he begins, but the sound of a knock at the door stops him mid-sentence.

Setting his phone down, he walks over to the door and opens it, and there you are. Leaning against the doorframe, you look up at him, your eyes wide but glittering with a playful edge. His heart gives an involuntary thump against his ribcage.

“You didn’t text me you were here,” he says, trying to keep his tone casual, though his mind is already spinning at the way you’re looking at him.

You don’t answer right away. Instead, your gaze drops, roaming over him like you’re savoring every detail. He suddenly becomes hyperaware of himself—his black compression top clinging to his chest, the sheen of sweat on his pale skin, the way his grey sweatpants hang on his hips.

“Hey! Eyes are up here,” he teases lightly, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorframe, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

You blink, snapping yourself out of it with a slightly sheepish but unapologetic grin. “Right. Sorry.”

You straighten up, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “I just came by to remind you—it’s pajama party tonight. Be ready by 9.”

“Got it,” Chan replies with a nod, though he can’t help noticing the way your eyes still linger on him, making him feel like he’s under a spotlight.

You flash him a sly smile, leaning in close enough for him to catch a hint of your perfume. “I can’t wait for tonight,” you murmur, and before he can say anything else, your lips press against his in a slow, lingering kiss.

When you pull away, your eyes sparkle mischievously, and with one last glance—one that travels shamelessly from his head to his toes—you turn and start walking back to your apartment.

Chan leans against the doorframe, watching you go. You glance back just before closing your door, flashing him another teasing smile that makes his chest tighten and his pulse race.

He closes the door with a soft click, leaning his back against it as he exhales slowly. His pulse is still racing, and it has nothing to do with his post-workout adrenaline. The way you looked at him just now—the glint in your eyes, the sly smile, the lingering kiss—was enough to leave him completely disarmed.

He glances at the clock to check how much time he has until he has to go to your place. His lips tug upward in a small smile as he thinks about it. Pajama parties with you were always something to look forward to, a mix of playful banter, laughter, and quiet moments where the rest of the world seemed to fade away. But the way you'd just looked at him… He had a feeling tonight would be different.

“Cold shower,” he mutters to himself, already heading toward the bathroom. "Definitely need a cold shower."

Shaking his head, he pushes off the door and heads inside the bathroom. The memory of your lingering kiss makes his lips tingle, and he absentmindedly touches them as he grabs a towel.

“You’re really gonna be the death of me,” he mumbles to himself, stepping into the shower and letting the cold water wash over him. It doesn’t do much to cool the warmth that spreads across his chest, though.

As he dries off and changes into something comfortable, his mind drifts back to you—your smile, your voice, the way your eyes seemed to linger on him. He can't help but feel a mix of anticipation and nervousness. Tonight, he tells himself, will be another reminder of just how much you mean to him.

And honestly, he can’t wait.

Chan inhales deeply before knocking on your door, his nerves already getting the better of him. He tries to keep calm, shaking out his shoulders and muttering under his breath to steady himself. When the door finally clicks open, and he sees you standing there with that soft, welcoming smile, it’s like the air is stolen from his lungs.

“Hey,” you say gently, stepping aside to let him in.

“Hey,” he replies, his voice quieter than usual as he walks into your space.

The scene you’ve set hits him instantly. The lights are dim, candles flicker softly around the room, and the scent of something sweet and warm lingers in the air. You’ve transformed your sofa into a makeshift bed, complete with blankets and pillows, all perfectly angled toward the TV.

It’s obvious you’ve gone all out tonight, and that realization makes Chan’s pulse quicken. He knows where this could lead if he lets it, but he silently resolves not to give in so easily.

“Make yourself comfortable,” you tell him, already heading toward the kitchen.

He nods, sitting on the edge of the sofa and rubbing the back of his neck as he tries to steady his thoughts. You’re just here to watch a movie. Keep it together, Chan.

When you return, balancing a tray of snacks in your hands, Chan smiles at the sight of you—until you set the tray down and shrug off your silk robe.

His throat goes dry.

You’re wearing a silk slip dress that clings to your figure in all the right ways, but what nearly makes him lose composure is the white stockings you’ve paired with it. He swallows hard, suddenly hyperaware of how close you’re standing.

You sit next to him, curling your legs up on the sofa as you flash him a teasing smile. “Ready?”

“Y-Yeah,” he stammers, clearing his throat as he fixes his attention on the TV.

The movie starts, and Chan leans back slightly, trying to focus on the screen. But then you shift closer, snuggling into his side, your warmth seeping through his clothes.

“So, how was your day?” you ask casually, your fingers grazing his arm.

“Good,” he manages, his voice steady despite the way his heart is hammering. “Spent most of it at the gym.”

“Is that why you're so tense?” you murmur, your hands sliding to his shoulders. Before he can respond, you’re massaging the knots in his muscles with deliberate care.

Chan sucks in a breath, closing his eyes briefly as he mutters, “I–I'm fine.”

You hum softly, but from the corner of his eye, he notices you’re barely watching the movie. Your gaze is on him, studying him with an expression that’s both mischievous and affectionate.

“This is a good movie,” he says, desperate to break the tension.

“You’re a good movie,” you tease back, your tone light but laced with heat.

Before he can protest, your lips brush against his neck, slow and deliberate. Chan’s breath catches, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as his resolve wavers.

“Focus,” he whispers to himself, gripping the edge of the blanket tightly.

You don’t make it easy for him, planting more soft, heated kisses along his neck, your hands tracing slow patterns over his chest.

Somehow, by sheer willpower, Chan makes it to the end of the movie, though he has no idea what happened onscreen. His thoughts were too consumed with resisting the endless temptations you threw his way.

As the credits roll on the movie, Chan exhales a long breath, his muscles tense from an evening spent in quiet restraint. He feels like he’s been holding his breath the entire time, caught between wanting to let himself relax and staying vigilant.

“I’ll be right back,” he murmurs, standing up and heading to the bathroom.

Once inside, Chan splashes cold water on his face, gripping the edge of the sink as he stares at his reflection. Get it together, he tells himself. You’ve made it this far.

He dries his face, takes a steadying breath, and steps back into the living room. The sight waiting for him freezes him in place.

You’re lying on your side, one arm propping your head up, the hem of your silk slip dress riding high up your thigh. His eyes trail down, catching a glimpse of the garter encircling your leg—a detail so provocative it sends his resolve teetering on the edge.

Chan swallows hard, forcing his face to remain impassive as he approaches the sofa. “So,” he says casually, his voice steady despite the way his heart races, “what movie are we watching next?”

You smirk, your eyes sparkling with mischief. Instead of answering right away, you reach out, grabbing his wrist and pulling him down beside you. Chan lets himself be tugged into the space next to you, your warmth immediately invading his senses.

You lean in closer, your voice low and teasing as you finally reply, “What you’re watching next… is me.”

Chan freezes, his breath catching as your words sink in. For a split second, his mind goes blank, and then he feels the corner of his lips curve into a smile, his carefully constructed resolve cracking just slightly.

“That’s it! I give up,” he murmurs, his voice soft but filled with a mix of amusement and surrender. He takes you by the waist with force, sending the two of you collapsing onto the mattress.

A triumphant smile spreads across your face as Chan finally gives in, his whispered declaration of defeat filling the quiet air between you. Before you can say a word, his lips find yours, urgent yet tender, his hands gripping your waist as if anchoring himself to you. Though you're already straddling him, he pulls you closer, closing any remaining distance as if afraid of letting you slip away.

His lips wander to your neck, brushing soft, tickling kisses that make your shoulders twitch in delight. You can’t help but giggle, the sound light and airy in the warmth of the moment. When his head tilts up to meet your gaze, you gently cradle his face in your hands, his flushed cheeks warm beneath your palms.

“Chris,” you begin, voice steady yet filled with quiet conviction. “I’m ready. Let’s do this. You and me.”

Chan freezes, his expression unreadable for a heartbeat too long. The silence stretches thin, but then he pulls you into another kiss. This time, it’s different—deep, deliberate, and brimming with every emotion he can’t put into words. Your hand presses to his chest, and beneath your fingertips, you feel the frantic, erratic rhythm of his heart.

It gives you pause. You pull back slightly, just enough to study his face. His breathing is shallow now, his chest rising and falling unevenly. Concern prickles at the edges of your joy. “Are you okay?” you ask softly, brushing your fingers along his jaw.

“I’m fine,” he replies, but his voice is barely above a whisper, and it doesn’t convince you.

His heartbeat only quickens, thundering against your hand, and a flicker of panic crosses his eyes. “Chris,” you murmur, your worry rising. You start to slide off his lap, intending to get him some water or give him space, but his arms tighten around your waist.

“Don’t,” he whispers, his voice cracking slightly as he holds you close. His lips part, struggling to form the words. Finally, with a quiet, almost trembling breath, he confesses, “I love you.”

The raw vulnerability in his voice makes your chest tighten. The weight of his words lingers in the air, fragile and unguarded. Suddenly, everything makes sense—his uneven breathing, his racing heart. It wasn’t fear, but the overwhelming intensity of his feelings for you.

Relief floods through you, and you let out a soft sigh, cupping his face gently. “Gosh, you worried me,” you murmur, your thumbs brushing over his cheeks. Pressing your forehead to his, you let out a slow, steady breath, grounding both him and yourself in the moment.

Gathering your courage, you lean in and press a feather-light kiss to his lips. “I love you too, Chris. So much,” you whisper, your voice trembling with sincerity.

His eyes search yours, wide and hopeful, his emotions laid bare. As the tension melts from his body, he exhales deeply, a sound filled with relief and quiet joy. You stay like that, foreheads touching, your breaths mingling in the shared stillness.

Gradually, the wild rhythm of his heart begins to settle, syncing with the steady cadence of your own. In that moment, the world outside fades away, leaving only the two of you—connected, understood, and wholly in love.

Chan towers over you, his eyes dark with want as he works with practiced ease, removing each piece of clothing until there’s nothing left but the soft white stockings clinging to your legs. You feel the heat of his gaze, the weight of his admiration, and it sends a thrill coursing through you.

Your lips curl into a sly smile as you meet his eyes. “This isn’t fair,” you say, your voice low and teasing. “Take it off.”

He doesn’t argue. With a grin that makes your breath hitch, Chan reaches behind his neck and pulls his shirt over his head, revealing the chiseled perfection of his chest and abs. The sight steals the air from your lungs—it always does. No matter how many times you’ve seen him like this, it feels like the first, like you’re witnessing something sacred.

You sit up slowly, your gaze locked on the hard ridges of his torso. Your fingers lift almost instinctively, tracing the outline of his muscles, the way his body shifts and flexes beneath your touch. His skin is warm, smooth, and alive under your fingertips.

Leaning forward, you press your lips to his abs, soft at first, letting them linger for a moment before moving to the next spot. You taste the faint salt of his skin, the heat of him, and it makes your pulse quicken. His breath hitches as your kisses turn bolder, your tongue flicking out to trace along the defined lines.

A soft chuckle escapes your lips as you gently nip at his skin, your teeth grazing just enough to tease. The sound is playful, dripping with mischief, and you feel a rush of satisfaction when his body tenses in response.

You glance up, catching his gaze. His smile is tender yet filled with unmistakable desire, his dimples deepening in a way that makes your heart flutter. There’s something intoxicating about the way he looks at you, like you’re his entire world.

You let your lips trail lower, your fingers continuing their journey, savoring every second. Each kiss, each touch, is deliberate, a silent declaration of your adoration. You linger, taking your time, committing the feel of him, the taste of him, to memory.

And as you feel him relax under your touch, you can’t help but smile, knowing he’s completely and utterly yours in this moment.

You brace your hands against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palms. With a sudden surge of boldness, you push him down, catching him completely off guard. He falls back onto the bed with a soft grunt, his sly, mischievous grin spreading wider as he looks up at you.

You straddle him, your thighs framing his waist, and his gaze darkens with anticipation. There’s nothing between you now, and the heat radiating from his body only fuels your desire.

“I’ve been dreaming of this,” you confess, your voice low and dripping with intent. “Of riding your abs.”

His brows lift, and his dimples deepen as he lets out a low, amused chuckle. “Yeah?” His voice is a rich hum of approval, laced with arousal. “Then don’t let me stop you.”

He props his hands behind his head, his biceps flexing as he settles back to watch you. “Do whatever you want, baby,” he murmurs, his eyes locking onto yours. “I’m all yours.”

You feel a rush of exhilaration as you scoot forward, positioning yourself so that your core hovers above his perfectly sculpted abdomen. Slowly, deliberately, you lower yourself, your wetness meeting the firm ridges of his abs. His body tenses beneath you, muscles hardening, and you gasp softly as the sensation sends a jolt of pleasure through you.

Chan flexes beneath you intentionally, giving you exactly what you need, and the friction only heightens the thrill coursing through your veins. You begin to roll your hips, dragging yourself along the hard contours of his body, painting him with your essence.

Your head tilts back as a moan slips from your lips, the sensation unlike anything you’ve felt before. His hands remain where they are, but his eyes follow your every movement, dark and heated, his mouth slightly parted as if he can feel every wave of pleasure you’re experiencing.

“Look at you, baby. So perfect,” he murmurs, his voice strained with desire.

The way he looks at you—like you’re the only thing in the world—makes your pulse race even faster. His chest rises and falls steadily beneath your palms, but there’s a tension in his body, a barely contained restraint that tells you he’s just as affected as you are.

You grind harder, your movements becoming more erratic as your pleasure builds, and the sound of your moans fills the room. Chan watches you with an intensity that makes your skin tingle, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk.

“That’s it,” he whispers, his tone low and reverent. “Take what you need, baby.”

And you do—letting go of everything else and losing yourself in the intoxicating rhythm of your body against his, feeling completely and utterly alive under his gaze.

Your body is a vision before him, a masterpiece of curves and softness that Chan could never tire of admiring. As you settle onto your hands and knees, the arch of your back catches his breath in his throat, the way it flows so naturally into the curve of your hips. He's already buried deep inside you, but the way your body welcomes him only fuels his desire to savor every single moment.

His hand glides down your spine, his touch reverent as though he's committing every dip and line to memory. The softness of your skin makes him whimper—a sound he doesn’t try to hide—his fingers trailing upward until they reach the nape of your neck. Without hesitation, he tangles his hand into your hair, gently tugging to tilt your head to the side, baring the column of your neck for his lips.

He dips down, pressing hot kisses along the sensitive skin, each one deliberate and full of hunger. The way you shiver under him only spurs him on, and he tightens his grip, tugging your head back further. Your lips part slightly, just enough for him to claim them in a rough, demanding kiss, the kind that leaves no room for doubt about who you belong to in this moment.

Without warning, Chan begins to move, his hips setting a steady rhythm that has you gasping into his mouth. The way your body reacts to him, the way you’re already melting under his touch, sends a rush of satisfaction through him. He grins against your lips, knowing he’s in complete control, playing with the balance of gentle and rough in a way that keeps you guessing.

“God,” he groans, his voice deep and strained. “You’re so perfect like this. Do you know what you do to me?”

Your moans grow louder, and Chan feels your body start to tremble. He knows you’re close, and it only drives him to push you further. His lips trail back to your ear, his breath hot against your skin as he murmurs, “Bite the pillow, baby. I’m not holding back anymore.”

With that, he releases your hair, letting your head fall forward onto the pillow. He watches as you follow his command, sinking your teeth into the fabric while your hands clutch the sheets. The sight sends a fresh wave of arousal through him, and he plants both hands firmly on your hips.

Then he lets loose. His thrusts become harder, faster, each one drawing a sharp cry from your lips muffled by the pillow. His grip on your hips tightens, fingers digging into your flesh as he drives into you with relentless intensity. Sweat beads on his forehead and runs down his chest, but he doesn’t slow down—not until he feels you clench around him, your body trembling violently as your release washes over you.

“That's it,” he growls, his own pleasure building to its peak. “Let go for me. Come for me, baby.”

The way you pulse around him is almost too much to bear, but he keeps going, determined to give you everything before letting himself fall over the edge. And when he finally does, it’s with a guttural groan, his body shuddering as he pours himself into you completely, lost in the overwhelming sensation of having you in every possible way.

Chan watches as your body shudders beneath him, the aftershocks of your climax slowly ebbing away. He gives you a moment to recover, his hands gently tracing soothing patterns over your hips and lower back. Carefully, he pulls out of you and rolls you onto your back, his movements tender as though handling the most precious thing in the world.

His eyes search your face, concerned yet soft. “Are you okay?” he murmurs, brushing a stray strand of hair from your damp forehead.

You meet his gaze with a weak but contented smile, nodding. “I’m okay.”

Chan leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then to your cheek, and finally to your lips. “Good,” he whispers, his voice filled with a mix of relief and affection.

He gives you another moment, letting you bask in the afterglow. His lips pepper soft kisses along your collarbone and shoulders, his fingers trailing lightly over your skin, grounding you in the tenderness of the moment. You let out a small, blissful sigh, and he can’t help the smile tugging at his lips.

When you start shifting under him, signaling that you're ready, Chan positions himself between your legs again. He kisses you deeply, his lips molding to yours as if trying to convey everything he feels but can’t say. Then, he enters you once more, this time with infinite care, his movements slow and deliberate.

His thrusts are unhurried, every roll of his hips designed to make you feel cherished. His lips barely leave yours, his kisses deep and consuming. When he pulls back to breathe, he whispers sweet nothings against your lips, his voice a soothing melody.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his gaze locked with yours. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”

Your hands find each other amidst the tangle of sheets, fingers lacing together as you share this quiet intimacy. Chan feels something new, something deeper—a connection that goes beyond the physical. For the first time, he feels like he’s truly becoming one with you, not just in body but in soul.

The sheen of sweat on your skin doesn’t matter. The messy sheets don’t matter. All that exists in this moment is you and him, moving together in perfect harmony.

When the two of you finally reach your peak, it’s as if time slows, the world narrowing to the shared rhythm of your breaths and the racing of your hearts. He presses his forehead to yours, groaning your name as you both shatter together, your bodies trembling in unison.

After a long moment, Chan shifts slightly to look at you, his expression soft and full of adoration. “How you doing?”

You let out a tired laugh, your voice teasing. “Remind me to send a thank-you note to your personal trainer.”

Chan blinks, then bursts out laughing, his chest shaking as he collapses beside you. “Oh, gosh,” he says between his shy laughs, pulling you into his arms.

You nestle against him, a playful grin tugging at your lips as you add. “That if my hand can ever grip a pen again.”

Chan shakes his head, still laughing as he presses a kiss to your temple. “I think I’ll keep that note for myself,” he murmurs. “After all, I’m the one who gets to make you feel this good.”

You hum in agreement, your smile softening as you drift into the comfort of his embrace. And as the two of you lie there, tangled together, Chan feels a deep sense of contentment, knowing this moment is one he’ll carry with him forever.

The movie is long forgotten, a faint hum in the background as Chan lies sprawled on top of you, his body perfectly molded to yours on the makeshift sofa bed. His head rests just above your chest, the steady rhythm of your heartbeat grounding him. Your fingers weave through his curls, gentle and soothing, while he trails soft kisses across your chest, his lips brushing against your skin like whispered confessions.

He’s elated—completely and utterly elated. The words you said to him, “I love you too,” keep replaying in his mind, wrapping around his heart and filling him with a joy he can hardly contain.

He lifts his head slightly to look at your face, illuminated softly by the glow of the room. You’re so beautiful, so perfect, and it feels like this moment is too good to be true. His chest tightens with emotion, and for a fleeting second, he wonders if he needs to pinch himself to make sure he’s not dreaming.

“What are you thinking, mmh?” you ask, your voice soft and teasing as your fingers trace his temple.

Chan hesitates for just a moment before answering, his voice low and earnest. “I’ve been thinking about the future. About you being in it. And how… happy that makes me. For the first time, I can’t wait to live that future with you.”

Your lips curve into a playful smile. “Oh yeah? What kind of future are we talking about?”

His cheeks flush slightly, but the words come naturally. “A house. A family. Seven kids. And a dog, of course.”

Your eyes widen, and you gasp in mock horror. “Seven kids? Are you serious? You’d better find another girlfriend if you want seven kids because I’m not doing that.”

He grumbles, a mix of amusement and protest, and buries his head into your neck. The scent of you, the warmth of your skin—it’s all so grounding.

“Too late! You can't back out now,” he mumbles against your collarbone as he possessively holds you. “This fuckboy is yours.”

Your laughter vibrates through him as you wrap your arms tighter around him, holding him close. You press a soft kiss to his forehead, and he feels himself melting further into your embrace.

Chan closes his eyes, sinking deeper into your warmth. For the first time in his life, he feels like he’s standing at the beginning of his happy ending—and he’s never felt so sure about anything.

As Chan watches you sitting at the vanity, carefully applying your makeup, he still can’t believe this is his life now. This is his morning—seeing your face illuminated by soft daylight, your focused expression softening whenever you notice him watching. It feels surreal, like the culmination of every quiet dream he’s ever dared to have.

You catch his gaze in the mirror and smile, and Chan’s heart squeezes. He walks over, placing a cup of coffee on the table in front of you, and leans down to kiss the top of your head.

“Thanks, baby,” you say, turning to press a quick peck on his lips before going back to your routine.

As you finish getting ready, Chan busies himself, making sure your bag is packed and you’ve got everything you need for the day. When it’s time to leave, he walks with you to the door.

At the elevator, you pull him into a kiss, your hands resting gently on his chest. He savors the moment, every second a reminder of how deeply he’s fallen for you. When you pull away, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his voice soft as he asks, “Want me to pick you up at the bus stop later?”

You shake your head, slipping a spare key into his hand. “Or you can wait at my place instead.”

Chan stares at the key in his palm, overwhelmed by what it means. It’s not just a key—it’s your trust, your willingness to let him into your life even more deeply. His chest tightens with gratitude and joy, and he leans in for another kiss, slow and lingering, pouring all of his emotions into it.

The sound of a door opening down the hall interrupts the moment. Chan pulls back, turning his head, bracing himself for one of Minho’s sarcastic remarks. But instead, Minho’s door swings open to reveal Sue stepping out.

Chan freezes as Sue says something to Minho, who smirks and leans down to kiss her. The shock must be written all over Chan’s face because Sue looks startled when she notices him.

Minho, on the other hand, is his usual unbothered self, raising a hand in a casual wave. “Morning!” he calls out with a sly grin.

Sue walks toward the elevator, her steps hesitant, and exchanges an awkward smile with Chan. “Hey, Chris.”

“Morning, Sue,” Chan replies with a smile.

“So... This must be the girl you’ve talked about,” she says, glancing at you.

Chan’s cheeks burn as he nods and glances at you. “Yeah. This is my girlfriend.”

You smile warmly, looking between Sue and Chan. “Oh, is this Sue? The one you had a crush on when you were a teenager?”

Chan groans, embarrassed, as Sue’s eyes widen before both you and Sue burst into laughter. Thankfully, the elevator comes and saves Chan from further embarrassment.

“Good taste, Chris,” Sue teases, giving him a wink before stepping into the elevator.

You press a quick kiss to Chan’s lips before joining Sue in the elevator. “See you later!” you call out as the doors close.

Chan stands there for a moment, the absurdity of it all sinking in. His first love meeting his current girlfriend—and laughing together, no less. Added with the fact that Sue is also hooking up with the neighbor he hates so much, Minho. He shakes his head, chuckling softly to himself as he walks back to your apartment, amazed at the twists life throws his way.

Back inside your apartment, Chan locks the door behind him, letting out a deep sigh as he leans against it. He turns the spare key over in his hand, still marveling at how much his life has changed.

The morning had been a whirlwind, but somehow, it left him feeling more grounded than ever. Watching you confidently interact with Sue—teasing him like it was the most natural thing in the world—only solidified his feelings. It struck him that while his first love had been a naive dream, you were his reality, and everything about it felt right.

He makes his way to the sofa, the scent of your perfume lingering faintly in the air. Sitting down, Chan stares out the window, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Life had a funny way of surprising him, weaving paths together in ways he couldn’t have imagined. And now, holding the key to your apartment, it feels like a metaphor for more than just trust—it’s an open door to the future you’re building together.

Chan leans back, running a hand through his curls. His phone buzzes on the table, and he picks it up to see a text from you.

“Miss me yet? ;)”

He shakes his head, grinning as he types back:

“Always.”

As he hits send, Chan realizes he’s not just happy—he’s completely at peace. For the first time, the unknown doesn’t scare him. He’s not caught up in what might have been or what could go wrong. Instead, he’s focused on what’s in front of him and what’s to come.

And he knows, without a doubt, that it’s you.

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cressidagrey · 1 month ago

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It's a Love Story - Chapter 10

Summary:

Azriel's shadows find their master a wife.

Azriel would just really like his heart not to get broken again.

And Sky...well, she's just really surprised that that far too handsome male is interested in her at all.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), I classified this as Azriel x OC, even when it't technically Azriel x Sellyn Drake (but we kinda know nothing about Sellyn Drake other than that she writes books so Sky is kinda an OC), Cassian is kinda a good guy for once, Azriel has a horrible time, as usual... Stuttering, toxic families (For once I do not mean the IC), Self-Esteem Issues, Secret Identity, Body Image Issues, Fat Shaming, People being utterly horrible. Racism against Illyrians/Lesser Faes?

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

“Azriel is fine,” Gwyn repeated drily, her nose buried in a book.

Her friends got to hear all about Nesta’s worry.

“You don’t know that,” Nesta said with a sigh. “I just…gods, I want to throttle Rhysand,” she seethed. For doing this to Azriel.

To Az. Who had always been kind to her. Who had always been…sweet to her. Who was sweet. Even when his exterior didn’t betray that. Who was kind and thoughtful and gave the best gifts…Who had sat with her when she had waken up from nightmares and had been willing to lay down his life to make sure that her sister would be happy.

He was like a brother to Nesta. He was what she had always imagined an older brother to be like. And she knew that he had been utterly miserable, but hadn’t been able to fix what was wrong for him…and now she got to find out that it was all Rhysand’s fault.

Emerge just sighed. “Get in line,” her friend said drily. “Mor wants to do worse than that to him, I think.”

Nesta held back a snort. She believed it once she saw it and not before.

“He is fine. Quite happy even,” Gwyn repeated, a small grin painting her features.

“How do you know?” Nesta demanded, turning to her red-haired friend who just smiled at her.

“Because I saw him yesterday,” Gwyn said simply.

"You saw him?" Nesta asked, her eyes widening in surprise. "Where? When?" When had Gwyn.

Gwyn just sighed. “Why would a male and a female that love each other very much come to see a Priestess?”

Nesta's eyes widened as she realized what Gwyn was implying.

"You don't mean..." she trailed off, shock and disbelief etched on her face. "They're getting married?" she said weakly.

Gwyn just grinned at her, miming to lock up her mouth and throw away the key. "Let's just say that Azriel couldn't have been more in love if he had tried," she said cryptically, flipping the page of her book with a smirk.

“Who is she?” Nesta demanded. Who was Azriel’s mate? Who was the girl that the mother had picked to be good enough for Az?

“Sweet. Quiet,” Gwynn answered easily. “Thinks Azriel hung the moon and the stars.”

That was what he deserved, wasn’t it?

Azriel deserved happiness after everything he had been through, and if his mate could provide that for him, then that was all that mattered.

"Azriel deserves someone who loves him that much," she said, nodding in agreement. "Does he seem happy too?" she asked in a quiet voice.

"He's as happy as I've ever seen him," Gwyn answered, her expression softening. "He couldn't take his eyes off her the whole time. It was like the rest of the world didn't even exist."

Nesta smiled, feeling a sense of warmth thrumming through at the thought of Azriel being so happy. "I'm glad he's found someone who makes him feel that way," she said softly. "He deserves it."

Gwyn just smiled, her eyes twinkling. "I think they're good for each other," she said simply. "They just...fit together, you know?"

That’s what Nesta wished for for him.

And once she had that confirmation… well, it was much easier to calm Cassian.

Who had been near rabid with… Nesta wasn’t even sure with what. A bad conscience maybe. Anxiety, anger…a whole maelstrom of emotions.

"Talk to me," she said simply, as she sat down on the ground a few feet away from where he was stabbing one of the training dummy. She had half expected him to pin a painting of Rhysand to it, to stab his brother’s proxy. “Stop reducing every training double to kindle,” she said drily.

“Az said three days,” and he wasn’t there this morning,” Cassian snapped.

"Calm down," Nesta said firmly. "Azriel is a grown male, Cassian. He can take care of himself. Maybe something came up."

Like breakfast with his wife after they got married.

"But what if he's hurt or...or worse?" Cassian said, his voice cracking with emotion. "We don't even know where he is or what he's doing."

Nesta sighed, knowing that she couldn't brush off his concerns completely. "Look. He said he would be with his mate," Nesta said drily. "I am sure she'll take care of him. And Gwyn did see him yesterday and said he was fine."

"Why did Gwyn see him?" Cassian demanded immediately.

“Because I had a favour to ask," Azriel's voice came from behind them, drily.

Cassian turned around so quickly that she was quite sure that he got whiplash...and then pounced on Azriel in a bonecrushing hug.

"I am so sorry," she could hear her mate apologise. "I had a talk with Rhys. I imagine you'll get a apology from him as well. It's not enough, it's nowhere near enough, but...maybe it could be a start," Cassian said softly. "I am sorry that you didn't feel like you could come to me when you found your mate."

Even when Azriel had a temper...if it was about his family he was more forgiving than they had any right to, Nesta reflected drily, as she watched him return the hug from Cassian.

"It's not your fault," he waved him off, his voice dry. Cassian disagreed with that assessment, Nesta knew. Cassian thought that he should have said something earlier, done more...

She had never seen him as angry with Rhysand as he had been over the last few days. Actually, Nesta hadn’t thought that she would ever see the day that Cassian broke his High Lord's nose on purpose.

Cassian pulled back slightly from the hug, his expression still earnest. "I mean it, Az," he said. "I should have been there for you. I should have had your back."

"He did break Rhys'nose on your behalf," Nesta said drily.

Azriel's lips twitched into a faint smile. Thank you," he said, amusement in his voice. "That...means more than you know."

Cassian just shrugged, still feeling guilty for not having been there for Azriel when he needed him. "I should have been a better brother to you," he said quietly. "I'm sorry I let you down."

Azriel said nothing, but squeezed Cassian’s shoulder.

Nesta couldn’t help but look for a ring on his hand. A simple gold band glinted there on his finger, and she was unable not to smile at it.

“Congratulartions,” she said quietly, nodding to the ring and Azriel looked at her and then the ring…and then he chuckled as she stood up and hugged him too.

“Thank you,” he thanked her graciously.

“You got married?!” Cassian said, sounding shocked, but the warmth in his voice was apparent. “Congrats!”.

"So, tell us all about her," Nesta said seriously.

"Why do you want to know?" Azriel asked, staring at her.

"Because she is your mate. She is your wife. She is important to you," Nesta said simply. "She is important to you, so she is important to us. What's her name?"

"Her name is Sky," he answered softly.

Sky.

Her name was Sky.

Named after what Azriel hadn’t been allowed to feel for over a decade. Sky. Named after what every Illyrian held dearest.

"Sky is...the sweetest person I have ever met. With the bluest eyes. She loves books and her cat," Azriel explained, a soft smile on his face.

Nesta and Cassian exchanged a small smile at the way Azriel's face lit up when he talked about Sky. "She sounds amazing," Nesta said sincerely. "We can’t wait to meet her. Whenever you are ready."

"Do you...Do you want to come to dinner tonight?" Azriel offered.

Nesta hadn't expected that. Had expected Azriel to hold a grudge to keep her away from all of them...but he was giving them a chance.

"Are you sure?" Nesta asked carefully. "We would love to come, but only if you're comfortable with it."

Azriel paused for a moment, "I'm sure," he said simply. "Sky would like it, and I...I would like it too."

Nesta smiled, feeling a warmth in her chest at Azriel's words. "We'll be there," she said warmly, Cassian nodding in agreement.

"Good," Azriel said simply. "I'll tell Sky."

"Thank you, Az," Cassian said softly, his expression earnest. "For giving us a chance."

This didn't stop Nesta's mate from telling her about his more and more ridiculous theories about Azriel's mate during their flight into Velaris and the mountains surrounding it.

Nesta couldn't help but roll his eyes as Cassian suggested her being a mythical being like Amren. "I swear, Cassian, you have the wildest imagination," she said, shaking her head. "Can you focus on flying for one minute without dreaming up these ridiculous scenarios?"

Cassian just shrugged, grinning unrepentantly. "Hey, it's fun to speculate," he said with a playful wink. "Besides, you never know...maybe Az's mate is a mermaid princess or something equally as exciting."

Nesta couldn't help but snort with laughter, even as Cassian landed in front of a charming cabin at a mountain lake. As soon as they landed, Nesta took a moment to take in their surroundings. The cabin was indeed charming, hidden away in a picturesque mountain setting near a serene lake. The peaceful surroundings seemed to perfectly mirror Azriel's quiet and introspective nature. Nesta could understand why he had chosen this spot as his home.

As they made their way towards the front door, Nesta couldn't help but feel a flutter of nerves. This was…this was important.

This was the female that Azriel had married, his mate…she was important to him.

Before they had a chance to knock, Azriel opened the door, a slight smile on his face. "Come in," he said warmly.

Nesta's gaze immediately fell to the female at his size. Shorter than average, a body that consisted out of voluptuous curves, with chocolate brown waves falling to her waist. Her hands were clenched together and she was obviously nervous as she stared at Nesta and Cassian with ill-hidden apprehension.

"This...is Sky," Nesta heard Azriel say. Nesta couldn't tear her eyes away. Sky was exactly what she had expected and absolutely nothing like it at the same time.

Nesta's first impression of Sky was that she was undeniably pretty, in a quiet and understated way. But as she looked at the nervous expression on Sky's face, Nesta couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy.

She could only imagine how daunting it must feel for Sky to be meeting Azriel's family for the first time. She gave Sky a warm smile, which she hoped would put the girl at ease. "It's nice to finally meet you, Sky," she said gently. "Az has told us a lot about you."

Sky managed a trembling smile, but the nerves were clear on her face. "It...It's n...nice t...to me...meet y...you t...too," she stuttered, grimacing at her own voice. Azriel's hand on her waist tightened and he fixed both Nesta and Cassian with a look that told them there would be hell to pay if they said a single thing about her stutter.

Nesta just gave him a reassuring smile, as she got the message loud and clear. She wasn't going to make Sky feel even more uncomfortable and insecure than she already seemed to be. Not when it was clear that Azriel cared about her so much.

Cassian didn't even hesitate to pull first Azriel into a hug and then Sky right alongside with him, her small frame utterly dwarfed by Cassian.

“So you are my brother’s mate,” Cassian told her seriously. "We are so happy that we finally get to meet the girl that makes our brother so happy.”

Sky blushed at Cassian's warm words, but some of the tension seemed to leave her shoulders. "Th...Thank you...," she murmured, her tone a barely audible one. She stepped back into Azriel's embrace and he wrapped his arms around her tightly, his wings coming around to encircle her in a protective embrace.

Even his shadows seemed to love her. The shadows that normally kept away from every other person, only clinging to Azriel…seemed to dote on her, curls themselves through her hair, and along the hem of her dress…

"Shall we go inside?" Azriel asked, gesturing towards the open door behind him. Nesta and Cassian nodded, following the pair into the cozy cabin. The interior of the cabin was just as warm and inviting as the outside, with rustic wooden floors and a large stone fireplace that crackled cheerfully. There were shelves filled with books on every wall and a few comfortable armchairs nestled around a low table.

So many books. Nesta was quite sure that it probably could be considered a private library.

But before she could really take it in, there was a rough meowing.

Nesta glanced down in surprise to see a fat, fluffy brown cat sauntering towards them, meowing loudly. The cat rubbed against Sky's ankles before trying to leap on the arm of the couch...and failing horrible. "Is that your cat?" Nesta asked, an amused smile on his face.

"Y…Yes, Th...That's H...Hector," Sky answered, picking up the cat that now pretended that falling off the couch had been totally his plan all along and instead curled himself happily in Sky's arms. His yellow eyes stared in two different directions and his fur was patchy...but he was somehow quite charming.

Nesta liked him. He had character. And his rough purring was adorable.

"He's adorable," Nesta said honestly, holding out her hand towards him. As Hector sniffed at her, she reached out to gently scratch behind his ears. The cat leaned into her touch contentedly, his purrs growing even louder.

"Sky dotes on him," Azriel said with a hint of pride in his voice. "He was a stray and she took him in. She's been taking care of him ever since."

Nesta looked at Sky, who was smiling at her cat. "That's so sweet," Nesta said. "He's a big boy, isn't he?" she said with some amusement. When Sky held him, Hector seemed to be nearly half her size.

"I...It's a...all the tuna he eats," Sky answered drily.

Nesta chuckled, "Well, he's certainly in good hands with you." She watched as Hector purred contentedly in Sky's arms, clearly very attached to her.

Cassian, meanwhile, was eyeing the cat with a playful grin. "Careful, Az, Hector might try to steal your girl with all his charm," he teased.

Azriel just cocked an eyebrow, "Oh he already did," he drawled, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Nesta couldn't help but laugh at their banter. It felt good to see Azriel being relaxed enough to joke around, even if it was at his own expense.

Even Sky was smiling as Hector let out a loud meow, clearly demanding attention. "Someone's jealous," she said softly, scratching him behind his ears. Hector purred contentedly and burrowed deeper into her arms, clearly happy to be the center of attention.

"Y...You want to hold him?" she offered the cat to Nesta. "I need to check on dinner."

Nesta gamely lifted Hector from Sky's arms, cradling him like a baby. "I'll keep him entertained while you do," she said with a smile. Hector mewled contentedly, his head tilted as he looked at Nesta with one eye.

As Azriel and Cassian made themselves comfortable on the couch, “Are you sure that’s a cat?” Cassian hissed towards Azriel. “And not a stunted mountain lion or something?”

“It’s all the tuna he eats. He had a hard life," Azriel said defensively.

Nesta looked up from where she was still playing with Hector. "I can see that," she said with a nod, gesturing towards Hector's missing eye and patched up fur. "I can tell he was loved from the moment Sky took him in though."

Nesta carried him over to the bookcases, eyes greedily reading the names and words on the spines.

It was a whole galore of romance books in these bookcases, a lot that Nesta had never even heard about, though there were some of her favourites between them...another bookcase held books from every which topic that involved sword fighting and horse riding and blacksmithing and everything in between...lots of cookbooks too...and then there was one bookcase that seemed to be solely filled with every Sellyn Drake novel in existence. Even the ones that were so rare that notneven the house had yet managed to get them for Nesta.

Nesta couldn't help but smirk as she ran her fingers over the spines of the 'Sellyn Drake' books. "Seems like Sky is just as big of a fan as I am," she said with a chuckle.

She turned to see Sky in the open kitchen, busy with a large pan. "You have all of her books," Nesta said admiringly. "I can't believe you have some of the rare ones, I have been trying to get those forever!"

Sky looked up from her cooking, surprised that Nesta seemed impressed by her collection. "Y...Yeah, I...I do like them..." Sky replied, her voice soft and hesitant. She turned back to the stove, clearly feeling self-conscious as she stirred the pot.

Nesta sensed her discomfort and decided to lighten the mood. "You know, I think I should officially crown you as the ultimate Sellyn Drake fan," she said with a playful grin. "No one has a collection like this one. Maybe we can talk about our favorite scenes sometime. I'm dying to discuss the latest novel...Did you read it already? Azriel got it for my birthday," Nesta told her brightly. "It's signed. I have no idea how he even managed that."

"I gave it to him," Sky said, turning towards her.

Sky had gotten it for Az?!

"Where did you get it from? It wasn't even out yet?!" Nesta asked curiously. "Tell me your secrets."

Azriel smirked, "I have my ways," he said with a wink. "But I can't reveal all my secrets. The fun is in keeping a few things a mystery."

Nesta just rolled her eyes, "Always the cryptic one, Az." She then turned back to Sky, "But seriously, where did you get the signed copy from? I'd sell my soul to get my hands on one of those."

"The...The author owed me a favor," Sky said, her voice hesitant.

Nesta's eyes widened, "You mean you know Sellyn Drake in person??!!"

"I...I mean...I...she is...me" Sky stammered, her cheeks turning red as she fumbled with her words.

What?

Azriel chuckled warmly, walking over to Sky and wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling Sky close. "What Sky is trying to say, Nesta, is that she is Sellyn Drake," he finished for her.

Nesta just stared for a moment, her mouth hanging open in surprise. "Are you serious?" she asked, still reeling from the revelation.

Sky just gave her a small nod, her face flushed with embarrassment. "Sellyn Drake is… a…actually a p…pen n…name," she said softly. "I couldn't use my real name and still keep my a…anonymity...So Skylar Alden became Sellyn Drake.”

Nesta was still trying to process the news. "So you're telling me that the author of my favorite novels of all time, is standing in front of me, cooking dinner?"

Sky shrugged, "Y...Yes?" There was a hint of uncertainty in her tone, as if she was unsure of what reaction she was going to get from Nesta.

Nesta's face split into a wide grin, "This is the best day ever" she exclaimed. She couldn't believe that she was meeting her favorite author, and it was even better knowing that the author was someone so sweet and unassuming as Sky.

Cassian started laughing, the sound deep and amused. "You have a few tricks up your sleeve, Sky" he chortled amusedly.

Azriel chuckled, the corners of his lips curling into a small smile. "Sky is full of surprises, even to me," he teased.

Sky just swatted at his arm, a soft blush coloring her cheeks

***

Somehow actually admitting that she was Sellyn Drake...that was easy. So easy.

She used to be so afraid to tell people about it. But with Azriel at her side, she felt safer. His love and support made her feel more confident and comfortable in her own skin. She could be herself with him without any judgement.

And why shouldn’t she be proud of her success? She wrote these books! They were her babies!

"Alright, but I need to know what happens next!" Nesta told her, her grey eyes wide and desperate. "You left the book at such a cliffhanger!"

Sky laughed softly, feeling a little less self-conscious now that the cat was out of the bag. She turned back to the stove, stirring the pot once more.

"Maybe I c…can give you a s…spoiler or two," she offered, grinning. "But just this one time. Can't give e…everything away too easily now, can I?"

Nesta leaned in, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Please, please tell me," she begged. "I need to know what happens next!"

"Alright," Sky agreed, amused by Nesta's enthusiasm. "But you have to p…promise not to b…breathe a word of this to my publisher. She would kill me if they knew I was spilling the beans before the book is even published."

Nesta nodded eagerly, making a zipping motion across her lips. "Your secret is safe with me."

"And we lost them," Cassian said drily.

Azriel laughed, "Can't compete with the author herself, Cass. Best to just sit back and enjoy the ride."

Nesta was lovely and Cassian was as loud and boisterous as Azriel had described him to be...and quite frankly, Sky loved Azriel's family. At least the two people that she had met.

"Was tonight...alright?" Azriel asked her softly as he pulled her into his arms that evening.

Sky smiled gently, leaning back into his embrace. She felt relieved that the night had gone well, and that Azriel's family had accepted her with open arms.

"It was...better than alright," she replied softly, feeling a warmth in her heart. She caught his hand in hers, pulling it to her lips, so she could press a kiss to the simple gold band that encircled his ring finger.

Their wedding had been a spur of the moment decision a day ago...but Sky wouldn't have wanted it any other day. It was everything she had ever wanted. Just the two of them.

No need for a big production.

Azriel's eyes softened, and he tightened his arms around her. "I'm glad," he murmured, the emotion in his voice palpable. He kissed the top of her head, holding her close. Neither of them said anything for a while, just holding each other in a comforting silence.

"We have the healer appointment tomorrow," Sky said softly.

Something Azriel had insisted on after their talk about having children. He was worried that the beautiful wings that sprouted from his back would mean a difficult pregnancy for her, an impossible birth…

Azriel just nodded, his face set in a grim expression. "We do," he replied, his voice tight. He was still grappling with his fears about the situation. "But no matter what, we'll face it together," he promised her fiercely.

Madja, that was the healer's name, put these fears to rest however.

"Quite frankly, it's unlikely that the child will be born with wings anyway," she told them after she had listened to Azriel's fears. "It will only be half Illyrian, after all"

"Nyx?" Azriel questioned pointedly. He had mentioned his nephew to her in this context, about him being born with wings which had nearly killed his High Fae mother throughout the birth.

"There were....circumstances around his conception, you know that," Madja said drily. "Skylar is High Fae with a dash of River Nymph. Which quite frankly, could be a point in your favour anyway."

"How so?" Sky asked curiously.

"Your bones are...bendy," Madja told her drily. "Even if the child would inherit Azriel's wings...and would have them at birth...which is unlikely in itself, your pelvis would be able to...expand enough to have the baby pass through the birth canal. However, it is more likely that any child the two of you had would be similar to the other half-illyrian you know," she told Azriel pointedly. "Being able to summon the wings at will, just like Rhysand."

Just like the High Lord?

"Really?" Sky asked, feeling a sense of relief wash over her. Azriel also appeared visibly more relaxed. "So there's a chance that our child will be born without wings?"

Madja nodded in confirmation, giving them a slight smile. "Yes, there is," she said reassuringly. "But even if that isn't the case, your Nymph ancestry would make the birth easier for you."

Azriel's hand found Sky's, squeezing it gently. She could feel his relief mirroring her own. It was a weight lifted off their shoulders to know that their baby's birth might not be as difficult as they had feared.

It was calming. Like all the puzzle pieces were slowly putting themselves together.

"Thank you, Madja," Sky said warmly. "For putting our minds at ease."

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x oc #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #it’s a love story

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alygator77 · 2 months ago

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ᰔᩚ motherhood and matrimony ᰔᩚ

ꨄ︎ pairing. au ceo! satoru gojo x single mom secretary fem! reader

ꨄ summary. satoru gojo, the arrogant and irresistible heir to a billion-dollar corporation and the son of your boss, the ceo... but when satoru’s father dies unexpectedly, his inheritance hinges on a stipulation: he must marry and have a child, but the child doesn't necessarily have to be his, right? together, you strike a deal: a fake marriage that promises financial stability for you and corporate control for him. as the lines between business and emotion blur, you must decide if your partnership is purely contractual or if it could evolve into something real.

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, slow burn, smut, fluff, bit of angst, reader is single mom who recently broke off her engagement, satoru being a cute step dad, naoya is your crappy ex, some triggers of domestic abuse (emotional abuse from naoya but it can be a bit suggestive/interpreted as physical)

ꨄ words: 10.5k

ꨄ a/n. hello my mhm lovelies :') i've missed writing this fic dearly! please note, this is not chapter 7—however, i will be releasing ch 7 this month. this is just a fun little side chapter with some family domesticity for the autumn season. taking place sometime after reader/satoru become official. ♡

ꨄ taglist: closed (ao3)

♬ playlist

series masterlist ꨄ︎

ch 6.5 // harvesting happiness

As the crisp autumn air has arrived, it brings with it a feeling of change—and perhaps nature itself is subtly acknowledging just how much your life has shifted.

It’s baffling. Your time in the Gojo estate has been nothing short of eventful—and it feels like just yesterday you stood in front of Satoru, proposing an arrangement that was as unexpected as it was necessary. But now, with the leaves turning a fiery shade of red, orange, and gold, you realize just how quietly and quickly fall has crept in.

And with all this change, your relationship with Satoru has begun to reshape as well—a new chapter, freshly inked. No secrets, no acts—just the three of you, finding your footing in this new arrangement you’ve embarked on.

But one thing hasn’t changed—Satoru simply can’t say no to Haru.

It’s something that’s too cute for its own good—watching him wrapped around her small little finger, treating her like the princess she is. Ahh…but it’s even cuter how he tries to hide it. Satoru has a heart of gold, and though he may use his wit and charm as a mask, you’ve come to see through most of his tricks now—especially when it involves Haru.

And Haru? Well, lately she has really started to become attached to Satoru—in ways that even surprise you. Everything has been ‘toru this - ‘toru that. The trouble with it? Well... ’toru doesn’t have all the experience of handling a kid, let alone a two-year-old. But day by day, he is learning.

Fall is Haru’s favorite season, ironic given her name translates to “spring.” She adores everything about it—the cool, crisp air that calls for cuddles and cozy sweaters, the cinnamon pumpkin treats that have become a staple in the kitchen, and the magic of “spooky season,” as she calls it.

The latest item on her list? A trip to the pumpkin patch.

The idea had come up over breakfast, as you sipped your chai and watched Haru list off her autumn plans with boundless enthusiasm. The moment she had flashed those wide, hopeful eyes at you both, of course Satoru offered to take her—he stepped in immediately and you’d been surprised but delighted by the offer.

And now, you’re embarking on this journey together—off to the pumpkin patch. You head down the stairs of the Gojo’s estate with Haru’s little hand nestled in yours—chattering excitedly about all the things she wants to do and see at the pumpkin patch.

“Let’s find a big pumpkin, Mama! I wanna pet the animals!”

You smile, nodding along, but as you reach the end of the stairs, glancing into the foyer, you’re greeted by a sight entirely unexpected.

Satoru leans casually against the banister, scrolling through his phone, but he’s dressed down in a way you’ve never seen. Gone are his usual tailored suits and designer dress shoes—instead, he’s wearing an oversized hoodie, a pair of well-worn jeans, and, most surprisingly, a black beanie snug over his white hair. The only familiar accessory he wears is that pair of round, dark sunglasses resting upon the bridge of his nose.

Once you reach the bottom of the stairs, he glances up from his phone, grinning.

“Well, look at you, Mr. Gojo,” you smirk, stepping closer. “You almost look…normal.”

A low hum rumbles from his chest as he takes off his sunglasses for a moment, letting you catch sight of that familiar twinkle in his eyes.

“Almost?” he feigns offense, pushing off from the banister. “Aw man, that’s disappointing, considering that this,” he gestures at his outfit, “is premium low-profile attire.”

You snort, reaching up to playfully tug on one of the strings of his hoodie.

“I didn’t realize you had a whole ‘undercover’ look ready to go.”

“Well… yeah,” he leans forward and presses a quick peck to your lips. “Life of a celebrity, sweetheart. Last thing we need is the pumpkin paparazzi swarming us. I’d rather they didn’t ruin Haru’s big day out.”

His words make you pause, a gentle warmth filling your chest at his thoughtfulness—but before you can respond, a tiny voice chimes in.

“‘toru, you look like a spy!” Haru’s small hand grips the fabric of his jeans, her face alight with excitement as she gazes up at him.

Satoru chuckles, turning his attention fully to her. As he crouches down to meet her gaze, his own expression softens.

“A spy, huh? You’re onto something princess.” He gently ruffles her hair. “Alright… here’s the deal. You can be my sidekick, but only if you keep my secret.” He puts a finger to his lips, and whispers. “No one can know who I really am. It’ll be our secret mission.”

“Secret! I won’t tell,” she whispers with utmost seriousness, and her eyes beam with the thrill of this imaginary game he’s now given her.

“Good,” he murmurs, tapping her nose lightly, “I knew I could trust ya, kiddo,” and as he shoots her a wink, she dissolves into a fit of giggles.

You watch them from a few steps away, leaning back against the banister with your arms crossed—a soft smile tugging at your lips. There’s something endearing, almost mesmerizing, about the way Satoru allows himself to be swept up in Haru’s world, and you’re incredibly impressed at how seamlessly he’s growing into this role—this new chapter of his life, and yours. As you catch glimpses of the man he’s becoming, these small, unguarded moments bring forth a version of Satoru that feels both familiar and entirely new.

Just then, Satoru glances up and catches you watching him with that uncharacteristically soft expression. His gaze narrows playfully, and a mischievous smirk spreads across his lips as he stands.

“What, Mrs. Gojo? Enjoying the view?”

Your smile softens, and the words that leave your lips slip out before you even realize it.

“Who knew dad vibes could look this good on you?”

Ah, fuck. The second the words leave your lips; you feel a heat rushing to your cheeks—you’ve spoken without thinking, letting your admiration for him slip out in a way that feels a little too honest—more vulnerable than you intended—giving him a title—that title. You’re still getting used to this… this new, real relationship that you and Satoru share, and moments like this catch you off guard.

Satoru’s reaction is immediate; his eyes widen in surprise, and for a heartbeat, he simply blinks at you, processing what you’ve said. Flustered, you bite your lip—your gaze darting away for a moment as the heat in your face intensifies. There is no hiding the delicate pink painting your cheeks.

But then, his surprise melts into a grin—a slow, pleased smile that lights up his entire face, stretching into a smirk that’s all too self-satisfied.

“Oh?” his voice drips with amusement. “I didn’t realize you were such a fan of my ‘dad vibes.’”

Stepping forward, he tilts his head—studying you with a newfound intensity, and it becomes very clear that he’s relishing in your flustered reaction.

Ugh. You don’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed in his response. Clearing your throat, you try to salvage a bit of dignity.

“I, uh… I just mean, y’know… you’re getting the hang of this,” you mumble.

You should know better—that playful glint in Satoru’s eyes tells you he’s not letting you off the hook. His eyes beam with mischief as he leans in close, and you desperately try to advert your gaze.

“Oh, no, no, no. Don’t backtrack now,” he smirks, turning your face to meet him.

The warmth in your cheeks intensifies under his gaze, and his fingers linger, brushing tenderly against your chin. Your breath catches the moment he moves in closer—lips ghosting just over yours.

“I think I could get used to is this kind of flattery…”

You suck in a breath and playfully roll your eyes. “The last thing you need is an ego boost. Don’t get too used to it…”

“Too late,” he whispers back.

Before you can say anything else, a small, impatient voice breaks the moment.

“Mama, ‘toru! Let’s gooo! Pumpkins!” she pouts.

You both blink, snapping out of the moment as you glance down at Haru, who’s now tugging on your hands with eager impatience.

She’s not about to let her pumpkin adventure be delayed by your moment.

“Alright, alright, princess, we’re going,” Satoru chuckles, ruffling her hair playfully. “Besides, I’m not the only one going incognito today.”

Turning towards a nearby table, he reaches for a small shopping bag you hadn’t noticed before, and you raise an eyebrow in curiosity as he holds the bag out to you with a smirk. The moment the bag is settled in your hands, you immediately open it—revealing your own matching beanie, followed by a pair of sleek designer sunglasses.

“Gotta keep my partner in crime undercover too.”

“Ah, of course,” you muse, grinning at you pull your disguise out of the shopping bag. “Didn’t realize we were going full ‘spy mode’ for this outing.”

Satoru chuckles, but his eyes soften as he watches you slip the beanie over your head and position the sunglasses on the bridge of your nose with a flourish.

“How do I look?” you pose playfully.

“Like the perfect accomplice,” he declares with a grin. “No one will suspect a thing.”

Haru’s face lights up and she claps her hands in excitement.

“Mama’s a spy too!” she squeals.

The thrill in her voice pulls a laugh from both you and Satoru—she’s completely swept up in this game. Satoru mirrors after you—slipping on his own sunglasses with an exaggerated flourish as he flashes Haru a mischievous grin. He shoves his hands into his hoodie pocket and whispers conspiratorially—as though letting her in on a top-secret plan.

“That’s right, kiddo. It’s a full family mission.”

Haru’s eyes beam with childlike wonder as she nods—putting her finger to her lips again—mimicking his serious expression. Suddenly, Satoru pulls out a set of keys from his hoodie pocket and begins dangling them in front of you with a grin. The silver glints in the sunlight as he places them in your hand.

“C’mon, you’re driving today,” he says with an easy nonchalance.

It takes a moment for you to register that it’s your keys he had set in your hand, and you blink down at them for a moment while he steps towards the door. It’s been so long since you’ve driven your own car that it feels oddly unfamiliar—like a relic from another life.

“Oh, uh… yeah, sure,” you stammer, still caught off guard as you follow him out the door, with Haru skipping beside you—a cascade of excitement as she babbles about today’s adventure.

Once you step outside, your gaze lands on your car waiting in the driveway—a dark blue sedan with a soft, understated shine—a small piece of normalcy you’d left behind in the wake of Gojo's luxury. It’s nothing extravagant, but it’s always been reliable.

Driving out of the Gojo estate… in your car? It’s a strange, almost surreal concept after all the chauffeured cars and limos that have now oddly become routine. A rush of familiarity surges through you—remembering the simpler times, a glimpse of the life that once belonged solely to you.

While you’re lost down memory lane, Satoru strolls toward the passenger side. He pauses, glancing back to find you standing there—keys in hand, a touch of nostalgia softening you features. His signature smirk settles into place as he leans casually against the passenger door and muses.

“What’s the matter? Afraid you’ve forgotten how to drive? Or…” his eyes narrow with playful mischief as he raises an eyebrow, “are you too fancy to drive your own car now, Mrs. Gojo?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes before striding over to the rear passenger door, where Haru waits—her small fingers clutching the edge eagerly.

“Says the one who never drives,” you shoot back, grinning as you pull open the door. “Mr. ‘Passenger Princess.’”

Your comment earns you a dramatic huff as he places a hand over his chest—pretending to be affronted—though the grin curling upon his lip tells you he’s anything but offended.

“Excuuuse me, but this ‘passenger princess’ comes with premium commentary and a charming smile. Not everyone’s lucky enough to have this level of company in the front seat.”

Shaking your head, you roll your eyes again as you reach down to lift Haru into the car.

“Lucky me,” you mutter with a grin.

But just as you begin to settle Haru into her car seat, her demeanor shifts—before you know it, she’s twisting in your arms, pressing her hands against your shoulders, all while her little brows draw together in a determined pout.

“No, Mama!” she wriggles free—scurrying down to plant her feet on the ground. You blink the moment she crosses her arms and defiantly declares, “I want ‘toru to do it!”

The request takes you off guard, and you find yourself momentarily speechless. Uhhh… come to think of it, does Satoru even know how to strap a toddler into a car seat? You glance over at him, and he looks equally thrown off—an uncertain smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

You can practically see his internal debate unfolding—he subtly glances between you and Haru—clearly flattered but just as visibly out of his depth.

Oh, Haru. She absolutely adores him—and while Satoru isn’t exactly resisting the role she’s suddenly assigned him, you know first-hand that he’s pretty much clueless with toddler basics. Car seats and sippy cups? Yeah… not exactly his area of expertise.

With a sigh, you kneel beside Haru—a gentle smile on your lips.

“Haru, honey… Satoru doesn’t exactly—"

Satoru clears his throat.

“—uh… sure, I can do it,” he straightens, pushing himself off the side of the car with a nonchalant shrug as he gives you a small, uncertain grin. “How hard can it be?”

A giggle breaks from Haru’s lips as he swoops her up, and her little arms wrap around his neck with delight—but Satoru’s eyes narrow at the car seat like it’s some sort of complex machinery he’s about to dismantle. Oh… this is gonna be good.

He carefully lowers her into the seat, and his brows furrow with intense focus as his fingers begin to slip over the unfamiliar buckles.

“Alright… this goes here… or does it?” he mutters.

Biting back a smile, you marvel at how determined yet adorably out of his element he is—untangling the straps. But as you watch him struggle, you are suddenly struck with the realization of how different this moment feels from anything you have ever experienced in the past.

Naoya? He would never have humored Haru’s whims, let alone spent time trying to puzzle out something as simple (yet surprisingly complicated) as a car seat. No—it was easier for him to hand off the messy tasks of parenting.

But Satoru? Here he was, eyebrows knitted in stubborn determination—refusing to give up on this minor challenge, simply because Haru had asked him to. Each small stumble, each adjustment he makes, only seems to fuel his resolve to get it right.

After a few moments, a sigh of mild frustration escapes him, and he pauses, staring at the tangled straps in front of him in defeat. Finally, glancing over his shoulder, he casts you a sheepish look that’s so uncharacteristically vulnerable it melts you.

“Uhh… I’m doing this right…right?”

Oh, he’s too cute. He’s trying so hard, and something about it makes you want to lean in and kiss him, just for being so completely, irresistibly endearing.

Stepping forward, you smile softly, inspecting his work with a practiced eye.

“You’re doing great,” you assure him warmly, reaching out to gently adjust the chest clip. “But you’ll want to raise this a little higher—it should be level with her armpits, and maybe tighten it a bit more.”

His eyes focus closely on your hands as you gently guide him through the adjustments, and he nods—carefully stepping back in to finish the task with a newfound confidence.

“Okay, got it.”

Your slight encouragement seems to have spurred his fingers to move more purposefully now. Tightening the strap, he gives it a final tug to check the tension, and with a small huff of triumph, a wide grin spreads across his face as he leans back—admiring his handiwork.

“There,” he announces, sounding both relieved and just a little proud. “One secure kiddo.”

Haru beams up at him, her eyes sparkling with delight.

“Good job, ‘toru!” her voice is filled with an adorable pride, as though she’s the one teaching him.

“Anything for you, princess,” he chuckles, gently closing her door and casting her one last fond look through the window. Then, with an easy stride, he slips into the passenger seat beside you, settling in with an air of satisfaction.

“All right, you two,” you exhale, securing your seatbelt with a satisfying click. “Let’s hit the road, shall we?”

After securing his own seatbelt, Satoru’s eyes flicker to yours with playful adoration. He leans back with a contented sigh.

“Yup. And with you behind the wheel, I get the best view in the car,” winking playfully, his trademark smirk appears as he adds, “Ready when you are, Madam Chauffeur.”

ꨄ︎

The pumpkin patch sprawls before you like a painted autumn wonderland. Rows upon rows of pumpkins in every imaginable shape and size dot the field—their bright orange hues glowing under the soft, golden light of the afternoon sun. Rustic wooden signs swing gently in the breeze, directing families to activities like hay rides, corn mazes, and a “Pumpkin Painting Station.” You’re welcomed with the earthy scent of fallen leaves, mingling with the sweetness of spiced donuts and apple cider—a warm nostalgic embrace of autumn.

Nearby, children dart between the pumpkins, shrieking with laughter as they kick up leaves. Parents snap photos, their laughter joining the symphony of crunching footsteps and cheerful voices. You glance at Satoru, who’s paused just past the entrance—his gaze sweeping across the scene with a mixture of awe and slight bewilderment. There’s a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes, like he’s trying to take in every detail of this unfamiliar world.

“Well?” you ask, nudging him gently with a smile. “What do you think?”

He shrugs, flashing a lopsided grin as he meets your gaze.

“Honestly? I’m not sure what I was expecting. Maybe something a little more… contained?” his eyes flick to a group of kids who’ve just toppled over in a pile of leaves—sending a cloud of autumn colors flying around them.

“Contained?” you echo, a smirk crossing your face. “Satoru, it’s a pumpkin patch, not a black-tie event. Consider it an adventure in rural living.”

He lets out a low chuckle, and his usual confidence is softened by a rare, boyish charm.

“Mmm... well I guess I’m overdue for an adventure like this,” his gaze drifts over the rows of pumpkins—families bundled in scarves and jackets as the haze of afternoon sunlight filters through the trees. His tone dips into something warm, almost tender. “Hard to believe, but I’ve never actually been to one of these before.”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise. “Never?”

He shakes his head, looking almost sheepish.

“Nah... let’s just say pumpkin patches aren’t exactly a Gojo family tradition…” he chuckles softly, but there’s a bit of sadness coloring his voice as he scratches the back of his head. “I guess most of my autumns were spent in places a bit… less pumpkin-filled.”

His unguarded honesty tugs at something deep within you. It’s easy to forget, sometimes, just how much of a different world he comes from—how even the smallest traditions, like visiting a pumpkin patch, might’ve been out of reach for him.

Without a second thought, you reach over, sliding your hand into his, your fingers curling around his in a gentle squeeze. He looks down, surprise flashing in his eyes, before his expression softens as he meets your gaze.

“There’s a first time for everything,” you murmur softly. “And… now you’ve got Haru and me to show you how it’s done. We’re practically pumpkin patch experts.”

A soft smile breaks across his face, and for a moment, he looks like he’s letting down a guard you hadn’t even realized was there.

“I couldn’t ask for better teachers,” he squeezes your hand back.

Just then, a delighted gasp breaks the stillness as Haru tugs excitedly on Satoru’s hand—her eyes are wide and shining with wonder as she points to a patch of particularly large pumpkins.

“Look, ‘toru! Big ones!” she practically bounces with energy. “Let’s go! Pleeease?”

Satoru’s expression softens even further as he glances from you to Haru, and with a small laugh, he nods—allowing himself to be pulled forward by her tiny but insistent hand.

“Alright, alright, lead the way, pumpkin expert,” he says, casting a quick, affectionate glance back at you—and your heart swells from the way his eyes twinkle with amusement, and maybe, just a hint of gratitude.

ꨄ︎

“This one?” Satoru asks, holding up a pumpkin with a proud grin.

“No!” Haru exclaims immediately, her face scrunched up in disapproval. “Too skinny.”

Satoru raises an eyebrow, giving the pumpkin an exaggerated, doubtful look.

“Too skinny, huh?” setting it down with a sigh, he brushes off his hands—back to square one. “Alright, let’s keep looking.”

He takes a few steps, scanning the rows, and his gaze falls on another pumpkin—rounder this time, but with a bit of a tilt to one side. He bends down to pick it up, then holds it out with a contemplative look.

“Hmm… how about this one? Good color, nice and round—”

“Nope!” Haru cuts him off, shaking her head with a serious frown. “It’s bumpy.”

Satoru sighs—a huff of a chuckle. He places the pumpkin back down with mock solemnity.

“Alright, alright. No bumps, no skinniness. Got it.”

Glancing back, he casts you a quick look—an amused twinkle in his eye as he mouths, she’s tough. Stifling a laugh, you sit back on a nearby hay bale, watching their search unfold with growing amusement. Haru’s standards have always been impressively high, and Satoru, is finally getting a taste of that.

As they wander a little farther down the row, Satoru’s gaze lands on another contender—a medium-sized pumpkin with a perfectly round shape and a smooth surface. Crouching down beside it, he inspects it with all the seriousness of a seasoned pumpkin picker, then holds it out, giving Haru a hopeful look.

“This one? Look, it’s perfectly round and no bumps in sight.”

Haru narrows her eyes, stepping forward and scrutinizing the pumpkin with an intensity that belies her age. A tiny, dramatic sigh escapes her as she shakes her head in disapproval.

“No, it’s not orange enough. Has to be super orange!”

“Super orange,” he echoes with a dramatic nod. “Of course. What was I thinking?” He places it back with a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as he searches the rows—clearly determined not to give up.

Biting back a smile, you watch him crouch beside her yet again, leaning in close to match her intense expression. Then, he picks up another pumpkin and holds it out in front of her, trying to contain his hope.

“This one?” he asks, almost pleading.

Haru barely spares a second glance.

“Nope! The stem is too small.”

With a defeated sigh, Satoru watches as she continues her search, undeterred and unbothered by his less-than-stellar picks. After a moment, he walks back over to you and plops down on the hay bale—his shoulders slumping in mock exhaustion.

“Is there such a thing as a perfect pumpkin, or am I just doomed to fail here?”

You can’t help but grin—reaching over for his hand. As your fingers intertwine with his, you rest your head gently against his shoulder.

“Oh… I think there’s one out there somewhere,” you murmur, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t give up now, Mr. Gojo. Just think of this as your first lesson in pumpkin-picking perseverance.”

A soft chuckle rumbles through his chest—low and warm.

“Perseverance, huh?” looking down at your joined hands, his thumb brushes tenderly over your fingers, before his gaze lifts to meet yours—there’s a softness in his eyes, a kind of warmth that feels as comfortable as the autumn sun. “Alright… if you believe in me, I guess I’ll keep trying. But if she shoots down one more pumpkin, I might need a pep talk.”

You laugh, giving his shoulder a playful nudge.

“I’ll be here, ready with all the encouragement you need. This is serious business, y’know.”

He rolls his eyes good-naturedly, but there’s a spark of determination there as he watches Haru continue her search with relentless focus.

“Serious business, huh?” he mutters, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Well… far be it from me to let a toddler outdo me.”

Before you can respond, a delighted gasp cuts through the air.

“Mama! ‘toru! I found it!” eyes wide and sparkling, Haru points proudly at a pumpkin nestled snugly in the dirt.

The triumph in her voice makes Satoru’s eyes light up. Standing from the hay bale, his hands nestle into the pockets of his hoodie as he strides towards Haru, with you following closely behind.

“Really now? Let’s take a look at this prize pumpkin.”

Crouching down beside it, Satoru lifts the pumpkin carefully with both hands—as though it’s the crown jewel of the pumpkin patch. His brow furrows with an exaggerated seriousness as he turns it slowly, examining every curve and contour.

“Hmm… yes, I think you’re right,” he declares, voice thoughtful. “This is one smooth, super orange, pumpkin…and just look at that stem!” he taps the pumpkin’s top lightly and flashes Haru a crooked grin. “You’ve got a great eye, kiddo. I’d say you found the best one here.”

Haru’s face lights up with pride.

“Yay!! Look, Mama look!” she beams, her smile stretching from ear to ear—glowing with joy.

Crouching down beside her, you run your hand gently over the pumpkin’s surface. “Wow, sweetie—I love it. It’s absolutely perfect.”

You catch Satoru’s gaze holding yours for a moment—a soft smile stretching across his lips—and then, he reaches down to lift the pumpkin effortlessly—cradling it like a treasure.

“So… do we take it home now? Looks like we’ve got our perfect pumpkin, after all.”

You rise—shaking your head with a grin as you hold up a hand to pause him.

“Not so fast apprentice. You didn’t think we’d leave without experiencing the whole pumpkin patch, did you? C’mon, we’ll bring it up front, but check out later.”

Satoru chuckles, shifting the pumpkin under one arm as he raises his hands in mock surrender.

“Alright, alright. Guess I shouldn’t rush the experts,” his eyes shift to Haru and his smile softens. “So… what’s next on our agenda, sweetheart?”

ꨄ︎

As the three of you stroll hand in hand through the bustling market stalls, the air is rich with the warm aroma of spiced cider, caramel, and freshly baked treats. Each booth is piled high with autumn delights—jars of golden honey, hand-painted gourds nestled among small pumpkins, and cozy knit scarves draped invitingly over wooden displays.

But Satoru’s attention is instantly captivated by the booth ahead—his eyes brimming in boyish wonder as they land on a display of sweet treats.

“Is that cider? And caramel apples?” he exclaims. “Come on, we have to try these,” and he’s steering you both eagerly towards the booth—like a moth to a flame.

You blink—a little surprised by how openly delighted he is over something so simple. But soon, a warm smile breaks across your face, and you can’t help but chuckle softly while he tugs you along.

“You’re like a kid in a candy store right now.”

Glancing over his shoulder, he flashes you a grin so bright, it feels like a burst of sunlight breaking through the autumn clouds. His enthusiasm is contagious, and before you know it, you’re swept up in his excitement.

He eagerly orders three caramel apples and a steaming cup of cider to share. Then, turning back, he holds the treats up with a triumphant, radiant smile—gleaming with delight. Handing the first one to Haru, you watch as she sinks her small teeth into the sticky treat without hesitation.

“Mmm! Yummy!!” Caramel smears her cheeks, but she looks up at you both, absolutely beaming.

Satoru chuckles, reaching down to ruffle her hair fondly before turning back to you. With an exaggerated flourish, he extends a caramel apple in your direction—bowing slightly as he adopts a tone of mock chivalry.

“For you, my lady,” he says with a smirk.

Unable to hold back a grin, you roll your eyes at his theatrics—taking the apple from him.

“Why, thank you, kind sir.”

As you bring the treat to your mouth, the rich sweetness clings to your lips in a sticky kiss. But you can’t resist glancing over at Satoru—and there he is, utterly lost in the simple pleasure of it. He bites into his own apple with unfiltered delight, like it’s the best thing he’s had all day.

A smile pulls at your lips as you watch him—licking a stray bit of caramel from his thumb. He’s entirely unbothered by the sticky mess, but then, as if feeling your gaze, he looks up—catching your eyes with a glint of amusement. A slow, satisfied grin spreads across his face, unashamed and utterly charming.

"I didn’t peg you as someone who’d go for something this messy," you tease, taking another bite of your apple as he shrugs.

“You say messy; I say worth it,” he counters.

Your eyes linger on a small smudge of caramel at the corner of his mouth, and without thinking, you reach out—brushing your thumb gently across his lips to clean it away. But just as you begin to pull your hand back, he captures your fingers—holding them in place while his gaze meets yours. His lips curl into a smirk that promises nothing but trouble, and a shiver tingles up your spine the moment he brings your thumb to his lips.

Slowly, deliberately, he closes his lips around your thumb—enveloping the sticky sweetness in his warm mouth while sucking it off with a teasing slowness—leaving you breathless.

“You’re impossible…” you mutter.

Releasing your digit with a soft, tantalizing pop—your breath hitches, and there’s a smug delight in the way he studies you, reveling in the effect he’s stirred within you.

“What can I say?” he hums, licking his lips with a casual ease. “Sweet things are my weakness.”

Your eyes are helplessly drawn to his lips—watching as his tongue glides over his bottom lip, catching the last traces of caramel. For a heartbeat, you can’t look away; his lips look even more tempting than the caramel itself, and something about his self-assured gaze has you feeling flustered and captivated all at once.

“Your weakness, huh?” you breathe, finally managing to lift your gaze back to his, trying to sound nonchalant. “Good to know… I’ll remember that next time you act like you’re above everyone else.”

A rich, low chuckle rumbles from his chest as he leans in, and the air around you crackles with anticipation as his gaze drops to your still sticky lips.

“You should,” he whispers, his eyes flicking back up to meet yours—a glint of mischief and something softer. “Especially since caramel apples aren’t my only weakness.”

Before you can even catch your breath, he leans in, bridging the small distance between you until his lips hover just a whisper away. His mouth brushes against yours, feather-light at first—a tentative, lingering touch that sends a shiver through you. Instinctively, you find yourself mirroring his movements, returning the kiss with gentle insistence.

As his hand comes up to cradle your face, his thumb strokes a slow, comforting line along your cheek, grounding you, though his lips leave you feeling weightless. The kiss is a delicate dance, as intoxicating as it is tender, and you can taste the faint sweetness of caramel mingling with the warmth of him.

Pulling back, his warm breath mingles with your own as he rests his forehead gently against you. His eyes, soft and half-lidded, meet yours, and a small, satisfied smile tugs at his lips.

“You know…” he murmurs, caressing your cheek, “you taste even better than the caramel.”

“Sweet talker…” you mumble, your cheeks warming under his gaze as his smirk widens.

“Mmm, but you’re the sweetest thing here,” he breathes, voice dropping as he draws close again. “But… I think I need another taste. Just to be sure.”

This time, his lips press with a deeper, more assured insistence, moving against yours in a rhythm of warmth and quiet intensity. A low hum of approval escapes him, vibrating softly against your lips, and his hand slides to the back of your neck—fingers weaving through your hair as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss.

But just as you begin to lose yourself in the moment, a small, determined voice slices through the quiet intimacy like a record scratch.

“Hey!” Haru scolds, stern and resolute. “Bad ‘toru! Don’t squish Mama!”

Startled, you both break apart, blinking at each other as you catch your breath. You turn to see Haru standing nearby, her little arms crossed over her chest as she fixes Satoru with an adorably fierce look. Her brows are furrowed in a way that would be intimidating—if she weren’t so tiny.

Oh, Haru.

You exchange a quick, sheepish glance with Satoru, and he lets out a quiet chuckle, reaching down to ruffle her hair in an attempt to defuse her stern gaze.

“Don’t worry, kiddo,” he says, grinning. “Mama’s tougher than she looks.”

Wriggling out of his reach, she stomps her foot with a determined huff.

“That’s my Mama! You be nice, ‘kay?”

Satoru blinks—the corners of his mouth twitching up as he struggles to keep a straight face. Biting back a grin, he raises his hands in mock surrender.

“Right. You got it boss,” he nods solemnly. “I’ll be extra nice.”

There’s a brief pause as Haru narrows her eyes at Satoru.

“Promise ‘toru?”

“Promise.” He taps his chest for emphasis, as if making a sacred vow.

After a long, scrutinizing pause—deciding whether to take his promise seriously—Haru nods, a satisfied “hmmph” escaping her as she plops down beside you with her candy apple in hand.

“No more squishing,” she mumbles around a bite—keeping a wary eye on him.

That’s it—you can’t hold it in any longer. Laughter bubbles out of you, and Satoru glances up, catching your eye with a grin that’s equal parts amused and exasperated.

“Well…” he sighs, as if he’s been given the most impossible mission, “guess I’ve been told.”

ꨄ︎

As the three of you meander through the pumpkin patch, Haru skips along—tugging on your hands and pointing out each new discovery in delight—a scarecrow with a tilted hat, a butterfly fluttering briefly on a tall stalk of corn, a perfectly round pumpkin nestled under twisting vines.

Then, bouncing on her toes, she points toward a massive, lumbering tractor—its green paint chipped and worn, but still carrying an undeniable charm.

“Look, ‘toru! I wanna ride it!” she exclaims.

As Satoru’s eyes narrow on the rumbling machine, you can see the gears turning in his head. Him—a man of luxury and refinement, clambering onto a dusty old tractor?

But after one look at Haru’s eager face, his resolve crumbles.

And of course, moments later, he’s perched on a bale of hay—Haru bouncing with delight on his lap as the tractor lurches to life. The wheels crunch over the fallen leaves, and Haru chatters happily, pointing out every bump and turn in the ride—blissfully unaware of the incongruity of a billionaire on a hay bale.

After the bumpy ride, the petting zoo became Haru’s next paradise. Dashing from pen to pen, her tiny hands pressed against each fence—pointing at each animal with wide-eyed wonder—calling out, “Look, Mama! Look, ‘toru!”

Each discovery sends her gazing up at Satoru with curious eyes, expecting him to know everything about each creature, and he humors her with a quiet patience—kneeling down beside her to answer her endless questions with a tender fondness that tugs at your heart.

But as you’re savoring this rare, serene moment, you feel a subtle shift in the air. From the corner of your eye, you catch sight of a woman a few feet away, dressed in a cozy autumn sweater and a scarf, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail that spills over one shoulder. She’s dressed casual in appearance—completely harmless—but what unsettles you is the intensity in her gaze—a gaze that lingers on Satoru a bit too long.

At first, you try to brush it off. Maybe she’s just admiring him—after all, he’s breathtakingly attractive, and his presence has a way of turning heads even on his most inconspicuous days. But then, her expression shifts, morphing from idle admiration to something sharper.

Recognition.

Your heart sinks as you see her eyes widen, her mouth parting slightly in surprise. Holding your breath, you hope she’ll just let it go—that it’ll be a fleeting thought.

No such luck.

With a quick, subtle gesture, she nudges her friend beside her, her excitement barely contained. The friend follows her gaze, squinting slightly before her eyes, too, widen in realization. Their quiet murmurs are punctuated by eager glances your way, confirming your worst fear: they know who he is.

The comforting illusion of anonymity you’d clung to here—the precious notion that, for once, you could just be a regular family enjoying a simple day out—begins to fray at the edges, unraveling under the weight of their recognition. No matter how far you venture from the city, from his world of fame and fortune, it seems his reputation is impossible to outrun—constantly creeping back to claim him… to claim you.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly approach Satoru, who’s still kneeling by Haru as she excitedly babbles about the sheep. You crouch down beside him and gently place your hand on his shoulder—catching his attention. Turning to you, his expression softens at the sight of you—until he notices the concern in your eyes.

“They recognize you,” you murmur, tilting your head slightly toward the two women.

Following your glance, a shadow of something unreadable passes over his face as he takes in their intrigued, lingering stares, and for a moment, you feel the hopelessness creeping in—the reality that moments like these are fleeting—vulnerable to the slightest shift in attention.

But then, something shifts in Satoru’s expression—his gaze sharpening with determination as he catches sight of the disappointment settling in your eyes. Glancing around, he begins assessing the layout of the pumpkin patch—searching for an escape route.

Then, his gaze lands on it—a tall, winding corn maze, its entrance just a few yards away, partially hidden behind a cluster of hay bales.

Perfect.

Without a beat of hesitation, he leans in close to Haru—who’s blissfully caught up in a bunny nibbling on some hay.

“Agent Haru,” he intones with mock seriousness, “do you remember our mission?”

Haru’s head snaps up, her face lighting up instantly as she turns to him.

“Yeah!” she squeals, grinning with a spark of adventure.

“Good,” he nods, casting a quick, discreet glance toward the approaching women. “We need to escape without being spotted by those two ladies over there,” he gestures subtly, grinning. “Think you can handle it?”

Haru’s face scrunches up in concentration, and her tiny hands clench into fists as she straightens up. Her expression breaks into one of fierce determination—one that’s both adorable and earnest.

“Yes, ‘toru!” she whispers back, nodding.

With a reassuring smile, Satoru’s on his feet—taking your hand in one of his and Haru’s in the other.

“Hold on tight,” he quips, a smirk playing on his lips as the three of you dash toward the maze.

The moment you break into a run, Haru’s delighted giggles mix with the crunch of leaves underfoot, and soon you plunge into the tall, twisting rows of corn.

You steal a glance back towards the petting zoo, half-expecting to see the curious women following, but the corn closes in behind you like a cocoon, swallowing them from sight.

Satoru’s hand is warm around yours, grounding yet electrifying, and his laughter mingles with Haru’s squeals. With a sideways glance, his eyes meet yours and his grin is wide and exhilarating. Giving you a quick wink, he turns forward again, tugging you along as you dive deeper—daring you to keep up.

“Agent Haru, status report! Any enemies in sight?" he calls out in a mock-commanding tone.

Haru, bubbling with laughter, scans the rows of corn with exaggerated intensity—clutching his hand with fierce determination as her little legs pump as fast as they can.

"All clear ‘toru!" she yells back, brimming with excitement.

In that instant, the lingering worry, the quiet ache of reality, all of it dissolves into the thrill of escape—the magic of this moment. There’s no fame, no recognition, no judgement here; only the unrestrained joy of play, of racing through a maze as though the world is nothing but this stretch of golden corn and laughter.

You weave together through twists and turns—a blur of giggles and hurried footsteps until finally, you reach a small, secluded clearing tucked deep within the towering stalks.

Gasping for breath, you lean back against one of the tall stalks, and after a moment, you let yourself slide down to the ground—pulling your knees to your chest as you catch your breath, the crisp autumn air cooling your flushed cheeks.

Beside you, Satoru braces his hands on his knees, exhaling deeply before he follows your lead and sinks down onto the ground next to you. Though ahead, Haru seems immune to exhaustion. She’s already a few steps away, her eyes wide with wonder as she spots a butterfly lazily drifting through a patch of sunlight. Completely captivated, she crouches down, watching its gentle path—momentarily lost in her own little world.

Satoru’s eyes meet yours with a shared, silent thrill. Nudging your shoulder with his, a smirk tugs at his lips.

“Didn’t know a pumpkin patch would turn into a covert operation,” he exhales.

You laugh, breathlessly.

“Not exactly what I had in mind for a relaxing day out,” you give his knee an affectionate shove with yours. “But… I guess life with you is never boring.”

He chuckles, throwing his head back and gazing up at the autumn sky—a few streaks of orange and pink peeking through the corn tops.

“Well…” his eyes flicker to yours, sparkling with that familiar, teasing gleam. “You did sign up for the full Gojo experience. Adventures, paparazzi, occasional cornfield chases… it’s all part of the package sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, though you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips.

“Uh-huh, sure, sure. I just thought it would involve more champagne and less running,” you quip, nudging him playfully.

“Oh, you want champagne?” he grins, raising an eyebrow in mock challenge. “You sure you can handle it? Remember that first charity gala? You were practically clinging to me by the end of the night.”

Your cheeks flush at the memory, and you laugh, slightly flustered.

“Okay, but did you expect me to be completely unfazed? My first gala, fancy dresses, and…"

The words die on your lips—the memory of that night creeping in; the low lights, the glint of champagne glasses, and then… that kiss. Your first kiss—with Satoru.

A kiss that was completely under the guise of putting on a show for Naoya… though let’s be real, it was anything but pretend.

Satoru’s eyes light up with interest as he catches your hesitation, his smirk widening like a cat about to pounce.

“Go on. Fancy dresses and… what, exactly?” he prompts, a playful drawl.

As he tilts his head with that infuriatingly charming glint in his eye, you know, that he knows, exactly what you were thinking. Ugh. He can be infuriating.

Your cheeks burn as you try to wave it off.

“Nothing! Just… the whole night was… overwhelming,” you mumble, trailing off as you divert your gaze.

A low, amused hum escapes him—rumbling through his chest as his knowing look revels in your embarrassment.

“Overwhelming, huh?” he echoes, grin widening. “Interesting choice of words… considering you were the one who practically jumped me in front of your ex.”

With an exasperated groan, you roll your eyes in protest.

“Well, what can I say?” you sigh, feigning indifference as you rest your head on your knees. “Drastic times called for drastic measures.”

“Mmm-hmm, sure, keep telling yourself that,” he chuckles—dropping his head to rest against his own knees. You hold your breath as his blue eyes catch yours with a quiet, teasing intensity. “But… I’m pretty sure you just couldn’t resist me…” his crooked grin grows, “after all, that kiss was all you.”

You scoff, your cheeks heating as you stretch your legs—trying to hide your amusement. “I think you’re misremembering things. If anything, you were the one clinging to me.”

His laughter spills out, rich and unrestrained. With a content sigh, he follows your movements, stretching out beside you.

“Sure, sure. Believe what you want, sweetheart.”

The comfortable silence settles over you, and you find yourself glancing back to where Haru is still entranced by a butterfly drifting through the sunlight, her face lit with pure wonder.

She’s so… happy. And that fills you with a deep, quiet gratitude. Moments like these are what you’ve always wanted for her. It’s what she deserves, and it warms your heart to know you’re able to give her a day like this.

A sigh escapes your lips, and your voice softens into a gentle murmur as you nod in her direction.

“For a minute there… I really thought we’d have to cut the day short.”

Satoru’s gaze flickers over to Haru, a fond smile softening his expression before he turns back to you. Without a word, he reaches for your hand—fingers intertwining with yours, steady and grounding.

“Nah,” he murmurs, quietly but firmly. “Not a chance. Nothing’s cutting this short. Todays about you and Haru.”

A warmth blooms in your chest, melting away any lingering traces of tension as his words sink in, wrapping around your heart like a gentle embrace. You smile, squeezing his hand in return.

“Just us, huh?” you whisper.

“Just us,” he echoes, brushing your knuckles with his thumb.

Then, with a soft sigh and a playful glint in his eye, he unclasps your hand to raises both hands to his mouth, calling out to Haru.

“Hey, Agent Haru!” he shouts, “Ready to finish our mission?”

Haru’s head snaps up, her eyes bright with excitement. She breaks into a grin and dashes over, grabbing each of your hands with her small, eager fingers.

“Yay!! C’mon mama, ‘toru! Let’s go!!”

ꨄ︎

As the golden light of early evening filters through the trees, the day is winding down, and the three of you start making your way back toward the entrance—weaving through the brightly colored stalls—each one bathed in the honeyed light of sunset.

But then, just as you reach the last stretch of the path, a delighted squeal breaks Haru’s focus the moment her gaze lands on a large, freshly raked pile of leaves just off to the side—a mound of vibrant reds, oranges, and yellows stacked high like a miniature mountain waiting to be conquered. Without a second thought, she breaks free from Satoru’s hand—dashing toward the pile with uncontainable excitement.

Zeroing in on the pile, she abruptly halts—her tiny form silhouetted against the colorful heap. You watch curiously as she glances back over her shoulder—her eyes alight with mischief and her cheeks flushed pink from the chill in the air.

Beaming with the thrill of discovery, she flings herself into the pile—a burst of leaves scattering around her in a vibrant whirlwind as she bursts into a fit of giggles.

“‘toru, look, look!” she calls out, peeking up from within the pile. “Come play, ‘toru! Come play!”

Satoru stops, watching her with a raised brow and an amused grin. He chuckles softly, though you can hear the reluctance coloring his tone. Diving headfirst into a pile of leaves? Clearly, that’s a foreign concept for Satoru Gojo—it’s more of that childlike wonder he missed out on.

Noticing his hesitance, you step up beside him—giving him a teasing nudge with your shoulder.

“C’mon ‘toru, afraid of a few leaves? Don’t tell me the ‘perfect’ Mr. Gojo is worried about getting a little dirt on him?”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes—though a smile is already tugging at his lips.

“Afraid? Me?” his hands burrow into his hoodie pocket as he casts you a sideways glance. “Hardly. I’m just… y’know… assessing the situation.”

Biting back a grin, you begin to take a few slow, deliberate steps backwards—inching toward the pile where Haru is waiting as your eyes hold his with a silent dare.

“Assessing, huh?” you raise an eyebrow and smirk. “Mmm… I dunno, sounds like stalling to me. Come on, live a little, Mr. Gojo.”

He smirks, but before he can respond, you twirl around and dive into the pile beside Haru—scattering a burst of leaves around you. Your laughter blends with Haru’s giggle as you sink into the softness, and immediately, she reaches for a handful of leaves—tossing them up in the air so they flutter down like confetti.

Satoru tilts his head, grinning but not budging as the kaleidoscope of autumn colors rain down upon you both. But Haru? She’s not about to let him sit this one out.

Peeking over her shoulder, her eyes immediately set back on Satoru, and her expression morphs into one of adorable determination.

“’toooooru,” she whines, wide eyes practically glowing with hope. “Pleeease. Come play!”

Oh, Haru. He’s powerless against her persistence—and perhaps, against the joy that radiates from the two of you in that pile of leaves. With a theatrical sigh and a reluctant grin, he finally pulls his hands from his pockets.

“Alright, alright,” he mutters, mostly to himself, and makes his way towards the leaf pile.

Standing at the edge of the pile, he kneels down to brush his hand over the crisp leaves—and then, with a sudden burst of resolve and dramatic flair, he lets himself fall back into the pile—flopping down as the leaves scatter around him. Haru wastes no time throwing herself on top of him.

An exaggerated grunt slips through Satoru’s lips, and Haru bursts into laughter as her small hands begin to bury him under a layer of vibrant foliage.

“Oh no!” he lets out a mock gasp as she buries him deeper. “I’m being buried alive! Save me!”

Haru’s laughter bubbles up, uncontrollable and infectious, as she adds even more leaves. “Stay still!” she scolds through her giggles, patting the leaves around his arms. “Don’t move, ‘toru!

“So, I’m supposed to just lie here and accept my fate, huh?” he huffs in defeat and glances up at her with wide eyes. “Are you sure this isn’t some secret plan to take me out?”

“Shhh!” she grins, putting a finger to his lips. “Magic leaves.”

“Oh, magic leaves? Well, why didn’t you say so?” his eyes glint with amusement as he lies still, trying to keep a straight face, though the laughter in his voice betrays him.

Haru continues to stack leaves atop him with a determined precision, until for a moment, she pauses—her eyes narrowing with that familiar glimmer of mischief yet again, as if she’s calculating her next move. Then suddenly, with a burst of energy, she tackles him with all her might—giggling as she sends the carefully arranged pile of leaves flying in every direction.

“Oh, it’s on!” Satoru laughs, his own grin widening as he grabs a handful of leaves to fling back at her. “You think you can get me like that, huh?”

In an instant, they’re caught in a whirlwind of laughter and autumn leaves. Seated nearby, you observe their playful battle unfold—Haru shrieking with joy as she ducks and scrambles to gather more ammunition. The warmth in your chest blossoms, and you feel almost entranced by the sight before you.

As Satoru’s deep, unrestrained laughter blends with Haru’s giggles, you realize in this moment just how rare it is to see him like this—completely carefree and unguarded. Gone is the man who must always play his part. Gone is the man who so often conceals his true self beneath layers of poise and duty. Here, with Haru, he is simply Satoru—someone who can laugh until he’s breathless and lose himself in a child’s game without a care.

You wonder how many other moments like this he’s missed—the boyish enthusiasm makes it seem almost as if he, too, is experiencing this kind of carefree fun for the first time. And that alone makes this moment feel so precious—something you wish you could capture and keep forever—suspended in time.

He deserves to feel this light, this unburdened.

“Okay, okay! I surrender!” he finally laughs, throwing his hands up in mock defeat before collapsing back into the pile—his chest rising and falling with exhilarated breaths as Haru cheers in victory.

“Gotcha, ‘toru!” she declares proudly—triumphantly piling more leaves on him. “You’re a leaf monster!”

Satoru chuckles, brushing a stray leaf off his nose as he props himself up slightly. “A leaf monster?” his eyes gleam playfully. “Well… you better be careful then—I might come back with vengeance.”

She squeals with laughter and her eyes sparkle with excitement as she scrambles to her feet. “Ahhh! Go away ‘toru!” she shrieks—darting away to dive into another pile of leaves nearby.

Watching her go, Satoru’s expression softens—a peaceful sigh slipping past his lips as he takes a moment to catch his breath. “She’s got endless energy, doesn’t she?” he murmurs, tilting his head up to meet your gaze.

Your heart flutters at the warmth in his eyes, and you lean back on your hands, letting your own smile mirror his as you watch Haru’s figure disappear into another pile of leaves. “She does,” you breathe softly. “But… I think you’re doing a pretty good job keeping up.”

A quiet hum of contentment escapes him, and a soft smile tugs at his lips. Almost instinctively, he shifts closer, letting his head nestle in your lap as he leans back into the leaves.

“Maybe…” he trails off into a lazy, satisfied sigh. “But I think I’ll take a break right here… if that’s okay.”

As the dappled sunlight filters through the golden autumn leaves above, it casts soft shadows across his face—illuminating the gentle warmth in his eyes. Your heart swells at the sight, and without a word, you reach out—threading your fingers through his hair, each strand slipping through your fingertips, softer than you expected. He hums, sinking into your touch, his eyes drifting shut as a slow, contented smile spreads across his lips.

Around you, the world seems to quiet, holding its breath. Haru’s distant giggles mingle with the soft rustling of leaves stirred by a gentle breeze, wrapping the two of you in a cocoon of peace.

“You know…” you murmur, “I think this is my favorite side of you.”

His eyes flutter open, a flicker of surprise giving way to something unguarded and vulnerable. Slowly, a tender smile forms on his lips as he reaches up, brushing his hand gently against yours.

“Yeah?” he drawls, “Didn’t know I had a ‘favorite side.’”

“You do…” your fingers trace gentle circles through his hair, savoring the feel of each delicate touch. ��It’s the side where you don’t have to be anything but… here, with us.”

For a heartbeat, he’s utterly still, as if each word you’ve spoken has wrapped itself around his heart. His gaze deepens, and your breath catches—it’s like he’s seeing you in a way that reaches beyond words. Gently, his hand comes up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear—his fingertips grazing your cheek with a touch so tender it makes your heart ache.

“Guess I didn’t know I could just… be that,” he whispers.

You lift your hand, covering his and pressing it to your cheek. “Well, you can. With us, you always can.”

His gaze holds yours, something vulnerable yet content in his eyes, but then, as if unable to help himself, the warmth shifts into a familiar glint—a spark of playfulness creeping back into his expression. “Alright, alright…” he lets out an exaggerated sigh, “let’s not get too sentimental. I gotta keep up my ‘mysterious’ reputation, remember?”

A laugh spills from you, light and unrestrained, as you roll your eyes in amusement. “Oh, you’re plenty mysterious. Half the time, I still can’t tell if you’re serious or just messing with me.”

He lets out a long, exaggerated sigh, leaning back further into your lap as if he’s completely relaxed—the picture of contentment.

“You should know by now…” he murmurs, feigning seriousness as he closes his eyes, “…it’s usually both.”

The corners of his mouth twitch, barely hiding the smirk he’s trying to restrain, and you can’t help but shake your head, grinning at his theatrics.

“Well… for the record,” your voice naturally softens, “I think a little tenderness suits you.”

One eye flicks open at your words, his brow quirking as he regards you with amused curiosity. Closing his eye again, his smirk deepens as he nestles further into your lap.

“Oh, does it?” he murmurs lazily, but there’s no mistaking the glint of interest coloring his tone.

“Yup,” you reply, leaning back on your hands and glancing up at the sky with feigned indifference. “I dunno… it’s kinda cute, actually.”

The words slip out like a quiet confession, and you notice the shift in him immediately—a subtle but unmistakable change.

Unable to keep up his act any longer, a bright, satisfied grin breaks across his face as he sits up—lifting his head from your lap—and his fingers slip through yours, intertwining and pulling you near him.

“Cute?” his voice drops as he brings his face achingly close to yours. “Careful now… saying things like that? You’re gonna get yourself in trouble.”

You feel your heart pounding—the thrill of his closeness electrifying as his breath fans your skin, but you hold his gaze boldly with a smirk.

“Well, maybe I like a little trouble,” you whisper back.

A playful growl rumbles in his chest, his smirk deepening as he tightens his grip on your intertwined hands.

“Oh… now you’re really asking for it. You’re officially in trouble.”

In one swift motion, he wraps his arms around you—sending you both tumbling back into the soft bed of leaves. The world around you blurs into a whirl of amber and gold as laughter escapes your lips, filling the crisp autumn air. But as you settle, your laughter fades, leaving only a quiet, shared breath between you and a gentle smile lingering on both your faces.

Hovering above you, his gaze softens as the leaves cradle you beneath their rustling blanket. It’s as though he’s committing every detail to memory as his eyes trace each curve and contour of your face, and you take in a quiet breath as his hand finds its way up your cheek—brushing over your skin and making you melt under his touch.

“Gotcha,” he whispers, brushing his nose gently against yours.

A quiet gasp slips past your lips, your pulse quickening as his proximity becomes all-consuming. Still, you muster a playful eye-roll, though the warmth in your gaze betrays your affection.

“Is this your idea of ‘assessing the situation,’?”

“Absolutely,” he murmurs, eyes softening. “God, you’re beautiful…”

The sincerity in his voice leaves you breathless, and a warmth blooms in your cheeks that reaches all the way to your heart. Before you can respond, he closes the distance—his lips capturing yours in a kiss so soft, so achingly tender, it leaves you dizzy.

As he deepens the kiss, a soft sigh escapes you, your fingers finding their way into his hair, pulling him closer. Each brush of his lips is slow, deliberate—and everything else fades into nothingness, leaving only the warmth of his touch, the press of his lips, and the steady rhythm of your heartbeats entwined.

But just as you’re about to melt entirely into him, a tiny voice breaks through the haze of warmth and closeness.

“Hey!” Haru’s voice calls out, stern and unwavering. “Bad ‘toru!”

Pulling back, Satoru groans softly, chuckling under his breath. His gaze flicks to Haru, who stands with her hands on her hips, looking every bit the tiny but fierce protector. He drops his head in defeat, shooting you a look of amused resignation.

“Well, looks like we’ve been caught,” he whispers, brushing a stray leaf from your hair with a soft, lingering touch.

You stifle a laugh, trying to keep your composure as you glance back at Haru.

“We should probably get back to her before she starts scolding you again,” you sigh, rising to your feet with his help.

“Yeah, I don’t think I can handle another ‘squishing’ intervention,” he mutters, intertwining his fingers with yours as you both walk back to Haru, who’s watching the two of you with narrowed, all-seeing eyes.

With the sun dipping lower in the sky, it paints the fields in shades of amber and gold. The three of you make your way back toward the entrance of the pumpkin patch—Haru skipping along, her small hands clasped in both of yours as she chatters excitedly about everything she saw—even as the day winds down.

But as you approach the entrance, ready to leave this little haven of laughter and leaves behind, a quiet warmth settles in your chest—a feeling that this moment, this fleeting, joyful day with the people you cherish most, is a memory you’ll carry with you. This is your little family, and it’s worth all the chases, all the whispers, all the adventures.

For now, that’s all that matters.

thanks for reading this special little fall chapter! satoru is such a cutie pie with haru 🥹 i really wanted to have this out before october ended, but alas, my perfectionism kept holding me back 😅 anyways, ch 7 is indeed in the works—that'll be my next post, and it will be out by the end of this month. i appreciate you all being so patient, hope you had a lovely halloween 🎃 -aly 💛

taglist:

@geniejunn @fortunatelyfurrygiver @rosso-seta @acowboykisser @mikyapixie

@shokosbunny @fire-child-kira @aluvrina @laviefantasie @kurookinnie

@poopypipi @painted-hills @stillserene @mira-lol @k-kkiana

@sebastianlover @blueberrysungie @kalulakunundrum @doireallyhavetonamthis @lingophilospher

@ichikanu @artist1936 @christianacj27 @watermelon-online @jkbangtan7

@angelina7890 @aruraa @han11dh @jonesmelodys @k1ttybean

@a-trashbag @jotarohat @khaleesihavilliard @tsukistopglazer @elliesndg

@maskedpacific @that-redheadd @lovelyartemisa @eolivy

@valleydoli @voids-universe @sukunadckrider @aishies-stuff

@saccharine-nectarine @ilianasau @pinksaiyans @gojoslefttoenail

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backinmyphase · 2 months ago

Text

Not the whole truth

Synopsis: You didn't know why, but Satoru Gojo was acting different than usual and not in a good way. Well, your husband was sure that you were lying to him.

Or: Satoru Gojo doesn't even know how attached he will grow to his wife yet.

Pairing: Gojo x reader, 3100 words

Series masterlist

Contains: arranged marriage, generational trauma, jujutsu clans and higher ups, much Angst, trowing up, mention of curses

I'm sorry that this chapter is a bit later than usual, I was feeling a bit sick and fitting with the chapter I threw up :') But I hope you enjoy and feel free to comment, I love to read your thoughts!

"Were you expecting a letter?"

Your husband Satoru Gojo doesn't even look at you as he speaks. Instead his face is expressionless, like a mask he was wearing. Almost like your mother.

He was acting so different from yesterday, it was scary. Did you cross a line?

"No, why? Did a letter come?"

His voice isn't heared a couple of seconds, until he spoke again. "Yeah, from your mother."

Your eyes couldn't help but widen as his words sunk in. She knew. She knew where you were. The house wasn't yours anymore, she knew. How? Since when? HOW?

Satoru's head rose and his eyes suddenly seemed so far away. Like an ocean you will never cross. Cold, like the icebergs in the Antarctica. Not like anytime you saw them before.

"Oh really?"

You kept your voice steady as you took a grape from the offered lunch of the hotel.

"Yeah, here." he slided the piece of paper across the small table to you. Your name written in the handwriting you knew so well. "Does she write you regularly?"

Your mind froze as you thought back. Yeah, she did. But not because of the reason he thought she did. Not because she was worried about her precious daughter. No, more like she worried about her hopefully grandson.

You just nodded and wanted to open the letter as his warm hand grabbed yours.

For a moment he seemed approachable. His eyes bigger than before he looked at you with almost desperation in those deep eyes.

"Are you really close with her?"

The piece of paper sank deep into your skin as you looked at him. What should you do? You couldn't let him know, your mother would kill you! But...

It was so hard when he looked at you like that.

Your hands fiddled with the piece of the paper and drew your whole attention. They were twitching. You wanted to rip them out.

"Yes, I am." the lie left your mouth like a rock falling down a mountain. Fast but not safe. "Didn't I tell you that already?"

His eyes and mind closed from you eight in front of your eyes. You could see his emotions being pushed down and his body sitting up straight.

"Well, then." he stood up to go to the bathroom. "Could you tell me later what was written inside?"

You just nodded as he left. What happened since yesterday? What did you do? How did you get in this situation?

+:★:+*━━━ A bit ago ━━━*+:★:+*

The bed was cold. So so cold. Your consciousness slowly grew as you shivered at the unexpected coldness under the covers of the big bed.

He wasn't here.

Did you wake up early than usual? Normally he would wake you by accidentally being a bit louder when he came back from his round around the town. But Satoru didn't seem in sight.

Your body had the usual heaviness it was yesterday freed from. It wasn't easy to leave the bed but you wanted to get up.

You felt terrible.

The tiredness became unreal. Why couldn't you just be well rested after that much sleep? It felt like a boulder pressed your body down and chained you to the bed. Your body seemed so lazy.

Legs heavy, you slowly made your way to the bathroom. The clock surprising you.

10:24?

That couldn't be right. No, Satoru should have showed up by that already! And you surely haven't slept that much! Right?

As you looked at your things you needed to get ready, you sighed. There it was like every morning. The hairpin of your mother, your wedding present.

Why did you even take it with you? Yes, it was pretty but the guilt that came with it was far more influence. And you didn't even use it!

It almost seemed to look at you disappointed.

Your exhaustion was really getting out of hand! Maybe you should talk to Hina's grandmother for advice against sleeping problems...

As you began to brush your teeth, you this feeling of uneasiness began to creep up your back. Slowly, like a someone was watching you. Like something will happen...

The sound of the door opening made you cough up your toothpaste.

"Er, phew! Satoru?" you called over your shoulder while washing your face.

"Yeah?"

"Did you have trouble?" you dried your face trying to get your eyes to open properly. "You're later than usual."

He kept quiet for a couple of seconds. Then he sighed. "Yeah, you could say that."

The silence after that wasn't like the silence yesterday. It was awkward, you didn't know what to say. You couldn't explain it, but he sounded different. He didn't sound like smiling.

"I'm going down to eat lunch." his voice got a bit more quiet and moved away. "I didn't get anything."

"Okay." you didn't know what was happening, but something was wrong. The comfort of yesterday wasn't seen in any corner, didn't matter how much you searched for it.

Oh, god you did something wrong, didn't you?

+:★:+*━━━ Now ━━━*+:★:+*

Your letter weighed heavy in your hand. And as you opened it, the weight only seemed to grow.

Dear daughter,

I hope this letter finds you enjoying yourself. Well, after all that's what you so desperately seem to want. You can count yourself lucky, your slip up is being forgiven. The higher ups seem to be of the opinion that you acted for the greater good and just didn't think. That you wanted to take action in the matter heir.

They expect that you will expect a child when you come back.

The luck really is on your side. They wouldn't be half as kind if they weren't aware of where you were. Your vacation isn't frowned upon, as long you don't forget why you took it.

Enjoy your days, Sincerely, your mother.

On the back was the date of your next meeting engraved. She didn't write you anything else. You felt like throwing up.

Taking action in the matter heir? Expecting a child? You weren't close to anything like that!

What would they do to you, if they find out? No, when they find out? What will your mother say?

The table full of things to eat was suddenly all grey. You didn't feel hungry anymore, even though you didn't eat much.

Tears began to form in your eyes. You couldn't help it. The reality of what you were supposed to do came crushing down on you, making no room for the lightness of yesterday.

You desperately rubbed your eyes, trying to stop the tears but it was no use.

You couldn't show yourself like this to Satoru.

Your room didn't have the thickest walls, he would hear you in the bathroom. So you moved to the bathroom for the guests that weren't staying over the night and tried to calm down.

What were you supposed to tell Satoru?

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

Satoru knew that he should have given you both letters. But there was this uneasiness in the room with all these questions.

Why did these old hags even write you?

He couldn't explain it to himself. And he wanted to open the letter so bad to find the answer. But...

He didn't want to open letters that were for you. That felt so wrong. Like he was using your trust and god he didn't want you to be mad at him again.

But did you even trust him?

If you did, why were you lying to him? You seemed to have anything but a good relationship with your mother. But when he asked you, you insisted that you did. Two times.

Your face as you looked at the letter wasn't screaming happiness. No, it was confusion and even something like fear.

Did you think you could fool him?

The mirror was fogged as he left the shower. He felt uneasy. Like he wasn't seeing something he should.

Sighing, he started to get ready. Maybe he was over thinking. Maybe you did have a good relationship with your mother. You did have meetings with her a couple of times.

Which were really long...

The meetings?

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

"You don't look well. Are you okay?"

In fact you looked like you had cried. But you didn't seem to show that to him, meaning you smiled at him like that would be a prove.

"Yeah, don't worry."

He couldn't stand this charade that you played now. But he decided to play along. "What did she write to you?"

"Oh, the usual. I should greet you from my mother. She wished us a good honeymoon and that we would enjoy our time." the laugh that followed was more than forced.

He felt his patience slipping away. "I thought she didn't like me?"

You looked at him like he was speaking another language. "I mean yeah-, but your still my husband which she respects." the fastness with wich you spoke gave you away.

You were nervous. Why were you this nervous in his presence?

"Ah."

"Are you okay?" you looked at him with a frown. "You seem on edge."

Oh and how he was on edge. Who wasn't, when they knew they were being lied to?

"Yeah, just a bit stressed." he couldn't help but look at the letter in your hands. "Have the feeling there is a curse nearby."

"A curse?" your eyes were grewing big. "Here?"

"I will look for it later." he was sure he needed some time alone after this. "We can go to the restaurant some other time, right?"

You nodded, a terrified look in your eyes. "Of course!" you stood up. "I should go to our room, I don't want to hinder your work."

"Wait."

Now or never.

"I wanted to ask you something."

You stopped. Your tense back to him. "What is it?"

"Did the higher-ups bother you with something? Regarding our marriage?" he cleared his throat. "Just curious."

You didn't look at him, just muttered a small 'No' and 'Is there anything else?'

He let you go upstairs. Now he was sure of it. You kept something from him. And this something was in those letters.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

Satoru was out for hours.

You were worried about him. He seemed so out of it this morning. And then these questions...

Was he onto something?

You couldn't afford his mistrust. Not when your whole purpose is making an heir!

That sounded so wrong.

You looked at the books on your night table he bought for you. They were all a bit different. Some a different genre. Like he wanted to make sure you had at least on book that you would like.

You hated yourself for lying to this man.

You sighed as the usual tiredness overcame you again. Grabbing a book you read. Just wanting to forget this morning.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

It was late. The moon was already up and as he went up the stairs he knew that you would already be in bed.

He canceled your reservation.

He wasn't sure why, but he didn't want to ho there anymore. Not after he read what these douchbags were writing you.

Not after he knew what you kept from him.

He opened the door slowly and careful trying not to wake you. You were curled up on the bed, you seemed to shiver.

On the table next to you the second letter.

"Satoru, is that you?" your teeth were chattering.

"Yeah, it's just me."

He felt so dumb as he looked at you. So dumb for thinking you could just have a normal honeymoon, when you weren't even in love.

"Need your warmth." you sniffled. "Please?"

He was fighting with himself. He didn't want to invade your personal space, not after reading all of that. Not when you thought of it like it was your duty to-

He shivered just thinking about it.

But at the same time he didn't want you to be cold. And how could he deny his darling wife?

"I'm coming." very carefully he laid himself next to you, trying to avoid touching you, just carefully hugging you. "Is that better?"

You seemed to sleep already.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

It was so cold.

Your body felt like being pushed around, everything seemed to spin. Your hands felt frozen, like they didn't were under the covers.

Your throat was dry and something sticky seemed to make itself home in it. The force that held your eyes closed was so strong.

The spinning didn't seem to end.

Wait, a second... It didn't just feel like your body moved, it did!

With much willpower you forced your eyes to open and slowly turned around. And your blood seemed to freeze with your body.

There was Satoru sleeping but had a frown on his face. And a distance between you. But not because he moved, you were pushed back. By something you couldn't see. By infinity.

...

You forced yourself up, away from the bed. Everything started to make sense. He wasn't comfortable in your presence. After yesterday he searched for distance, even in his subconsciousness.

You were to pushy, god, why were you so pushy?!

Slowly you took steps back, trying to get away from the invisible wall that so clearly pushed you away. Almost stumbling you went into the bathroom.

01:24

Kinda ironic.

As you looked in the mirror you gasped. You looked like a corpse. Your fingers in the light even a bit blue. Panic started to rise and pushed you onte the ground.

Spit began to collect in your mouth and your stomach twisted. Your head was so heavy as you slided over to the toilet.

And then it just fell all out.

Your stomach twisting and turning, the pain slowly leaving but your eyes were burning even more.

It seemed to go for hours as you sat there. Defeated, so so powerless.

You felt disgusting.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

You didn't know how, but somehow you collected all your pieces and cleaned everything before falling onto the couch.

It was harder then the bed, but that didn't bother you anymore. The distance between you was far more important now.

He seemed to sleep so peaceful now.

He had moved since you stood up. God, now you were the one watching him sleep, you should get your act together.

But even though you were so so tired, you couldn't sleep.

Your surrounding seemed to watch you and the uneasy feeling from the morning came doubled back.

The luck really is on your side. They wouldn't be half as kind if they weren't aware of where you were.

They knew where you were. They could just come. Maybe even tomorrow. And even though you knew that would be unreasonable, the fear didn't leave.

You wanted to cry. But it was so cold.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

It was early than usual. Satoru was still sleeping as your eyes opened. Your body was heavy but the feeling of disgust with yourself made you move.

Normally you wouldn't go downstairs, you would hjust read. But you didn't want to be there when he woke up. No that would be unbearable.

So you went into the bathroom again, the crime scene of the night nowhere in sight. The hairpin waiting for you on the counter like it was ready to stab you.

A laugh escaped your lips.

Your mother really couldn't leave you alone, even now she stole herself into your thoughts.

Why were you even here?

Trying to get away from all of these curses in this hotel room, you hurried as you stepped the staircase down. You really needed a light chat with Hina's grandmother.

And some tips against bad sleeping.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

Satoru hadn't slept so bad in a long time. He turned and turned but couldn't get any good position. And he was sure that that couldn't be normal.

Normally he had a rhythm in his sleep. Get the minimum that you need and get up. He normally had to work after all.

But now his thoughts just couldn't shut up.

He woke up much later than usual. And he knew something was wrong when his six eyes were tired.

You weren't in the room.

The room was so coldly empty, his thoughts almost were silent. But only for a short time, they began to circle around the thing that was bugging him, even in his dreams.

Your lying.

And he knew he shouldn't, he knew that what he was doing was maybe much much worse than just lying but the letter from your mother was right next to him on the night table.

"Didn't I tell you that already?"

Fuck it. Maybe this was unreasonable, but he had to live with you for the rest of his life. And he hated secrets.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

"Oh, Mrs. Gojo you look like you didn't sleep well, is everything alright?" the sweet elderly woman looked concerned as you sat down in front of her.

"Just trouble with sleeping. Do you have any tips?"

Her concern only grew in her eyes. "Well I drink warm milk before sleeping, I can bring you a cup every evening, if you want?"

You smiled at her. "That would be lovely, thank you."

She just nodded, hesitant smiling back. "It's naturally."

She brought you a hot chocolate, while she handled the organization of the guests. Turning the pages in the guestlist she spoke again.

"Were you happy to receive the letters?"

"Oh yeah, my mother is always a surprise." you began to chuckle a bit, but it died down in your sticky throat as you realized what she has just said.

"Oh I can relate! I write Hina always a couple of letters at the same time!" the woman chuckled a bit. "But I thought the two letters were from different people?"

"Oh they were." you tried to keep your composure even though the panic mixed with lots of anger made it really hard for you.

Really Satoru?

Two letters?

Taglist (if you want to be added just say so):

@zoeyflower @bubera974 @ssetsuka @lady-of-blossoms @peqch-pie

@karlaolea @slut-for-fictional-men @tnt-kokoo @gojoscumslut @sillyfreakfanparty

@tbzzluvr

@emi311 @the-number7 @o-ikawaii @doodle-cat16 @yozora7154

@levisfavoriteteashop @roscpctals99 @starlightglimmersworld @manyuyuu

@dahliawarner @aliisinwonderland @lov3vivian @inthedarkshadows000

@haikyuusimpsblog @sheismaryy @asahinasstuff @honeydew-cheesecake

@sanriosatoru @kimsrie @444na0m1 @humongousdreamlandbear

@elitesanjisimp @dummyf @elernity

@s4ikooo1 @roseyposeylemonsquozey @shitforbrainsmal

@mo0nforme @local-mr-frog @lovemiss-vale @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore

@holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni @meowforluv @rirk-ke

@certainduckanchor @uknowimdumb @smolbeanzzz @deliciouslydeliciouspenguin

@bloopsstuff @rnriz @saihar4s @m3ntally-unstable @feyrfly

@ughbitchasspussy @cherubsptals @allthestarsarecloserrrrrrr @thatglamourist

@kujofam @sakusas-sugarbaby @konigswifeyforlifey @duh-nik

@alinasromanova @miizuzu @cgmajor @reactwithjan @mereniss

@seungminsapuppy @junslay @melonmako @staarflowerr

@kiarathace @ghost-buddies @poopypipi @somestardeww

@oneofthesevensins @teramisuyhin @bloomingwitch @tedbunny333

@berryjuicyy @pretty-bandzz @itspapachulo @mo0sin

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jjk satoru #jjk x reader #gojo angst #jjk #jjk gojo #arranged marriage #tw throwing up

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w4ndal0ver · 2 months ago

Text

The Art of Submission (1)

[minors don't interact, 18+]

pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: As a growing author, you're grappling with a frustrating writer's block while trying to craft your next lesbian erotic novel. With a lack of personal experience holding you back, inspiration seems just out of reach. But when a captivating neighbour steps in, offering unexpected support and a tantalizing invitation to explore the depths of desire, you find yourself on a journey that blurs the lines between reality and fiction, leading to a discovery that you definitely weren't expecting.

content warnings: lead up, talk of submission and sadomasochism, flirty touches and conversation.

note: This is the first chapter of a new story that I'm writing, any ideas or inspiration would be appreciated so if you have any ideas feel free to drop them in my requests, other than that buckle in! (I will try to get the next part out as soon as possible)

The Art of Submission - Chapter One

The soft glow of your laptop illuminated the cluttered desk, your cursor blinking impatiently on an empty document. You stare aimlessly at the screen, your fingers hovering above the keys waiting desperately for inspiration to strike. It had been hours since you sat down, hoping to squeeze out something, but your mind felt trapped and foggy, yet every time you wrote a sentence, you only sank deeper into it. The end result had started to feel completely out of reach.

Your last book had done okay. It wasn’t groundbreaking or a bestseller, but it was just enough to remind you that you could do this. You could write and publish your writing and make some level of a name for yourself in the world of lesbian erotica. Not that it was hard considering the low level media attention that your field rarely gained. The reviews had been mostly kind and the sales had trickled in steadily enough that you were managing to stay afloat, but nowhere near the level of success that you first imagined when you wrote your first novel.

Your apartment is a mess, the evidence of your creative block scattered pointlessly across the room. Empty coffee mugs crowded your desk, some still holding the cold remnants of yesterday's caffeine-fueled desperation. You’d also not left the apartment in days, time becoming a blur of restless nights and sluggish mornings, avoiding stepping outside. You found it was easier to stay here, trapped within the confines of your own thoughts, hoping something would come to you.

You lean back in your chair, groaning in frustration. You thought about getting up and attacking the massive pile of laundry that had sat abandoned in the corner for days, but you quickly pushed that aside, realising that there was no point until you at least got another page written. The cursor was blinking furiously at you and you felt yourself going slightly insane. You wanted to smash your head into the keyboard, but instead you imagined yourself doing it which brought a small smile to your lips.

It was at this moment that a sharp knock sounded at the door, you spin in your chair, frowning as you try to glance over at the entrance to the apartment. You wracked your brain trying to remember if you’d ordered something, but you couldn’t work it out and you knew you definitely wasn’t expecting company. You push yourself out of the chair with a deflated sigh, stretching your legs out as you go towards the door. The knock came again, firmer this time. Whoever it was, they weren’t planning on leaving.

Shuffling to the door, you don’t bother to smooth the wisps of your hair or fix the crumples in your shift, you just swung it open.

“Hey, I hope I’m not intruding, but I thought you could use a break.”

You blink in shock, momentarily stunned. Wanda stood in your doorway, her familiar yet distant neighbour from across the hall. You knew her as the woman who you occasionally exchange small talk with in the corridor, but there she was holding a bottle of wine like she’d been planning this all along. Her reddish-brown hair flowed over her shoulders, perfectly catching the dimming light of the room, the colours of her striped blouse almost too cheerful for the cluttered mess that she would soon walk into.

“I can basically hear your sighs from across the wall. Writer's block?” Wanda smiled, her green eyes warm but with a hint of darkness behind them, as if she knew something that you didn’t. She stepped further inside, her presence filling the small apartment yet you didn’t move to stop her, you didn’t feel the need to.

“Yeah no of course, come on in.” You say, brows furrowed in confusion. You hadn’t told anyone that you were trying to write again, come to think of it, you hadn’t even told her that you were a writer in the first place. Suddenly, your cheeks flushed pink in the realisation that she knew who you were.

Wanda set the bottle down on the counter, next to a half empty cup. The sound of it landing felt louder than it should, cutting through the quiet tension that was arising around the pair of them.

“You’ve been in here too long, I thought wine might be a good excuse to step away from the screen for a bit.” Wanda spoke with a caring tone beneath her soft voice, yet you found it unsettling in how she acted so naturally, offering up solutions to problems that you hadn’t even told her about.

Wanda always seemed to have a way of appearing when you least expected it, offering little moments of relief, like that time she helped carry groceries up the stairs. She was friendly, sure, but there was an edge to her friendliness. A knowing look, like she was always a step ahead of you, just waiting for the right moment to weave her way into your life. You didn’t know why, but you weren’t exactly complaining about it.

“You know, I’ve read some of your stuff.” There it was, you freeze, your heart skipping a beat. Your eyes dart to Wanda’s face, as if you were searching for any hint of a joke but instead you’re met with a calm, confident smile. That wasn’t what you were expecting. You’d always presumed that your audience was horny teenage girls, but Wanda was a mind-blowingly gorgeous woman, the exact opposite of who she was expecting. Besides that, your books lived in a cosy corner of the erotic fiction world, usually flying under the radar, definitely not the type of thing a neighbour casually brings up over wine.

“You have?” You ask, trying to sound casual but your voice comes out a little more strained than intended. You walk around the kitchen counter where Wanda had perched herself, your hands almost shaking from the unexpected social encounter. You reach into the cupboard, finding two wine glasses and placing them down between the two of you.

“Mhm.” Wanda leans against the counter, an almost playful spark in her eye, “You’re good. The way you write about submission, it’s real, raw. It’s incredible.”

You feel your cheeks warm up, unsure on how to respond. This was the first piece of praise you’d received from inside your own kitchen. You felt your pulse quicken, the fact that Wanda had read those words, the intimate fantasies that you’d put into your stories was making this situation way more intimate than deemed necessary.

You literally were stuck in a state of speechlessness, but Wanda was acting like she expected this. She lets you stand with your back against the counter opposite her, fiddling with the ends of your hair while she pulls up a stool. “Corkscrew?”

“Oh yeah, of course.” As you turned you wanted to slap yourself, why were no words coming out, you are absolutely embarrassing yourself, yet the redhead was still gleaming at you as if you were adding something to the interaction. You rummage through your drawers to find what you needed before handing it over to her.

“You know, when I first picked up one of your books I wasn’t sure what to expect.” She chuckled, tilting her head thoughtfully as she worked on opening up the bottle. “But then, well, I couldn’t put it down. Dangerous stuff.”

This time you manage a small laugh, still processing the idea of Wanda - the beautiful and put-together woman from across the hall - curled up reading the things you’d written. “I guess it’s not what most people expect from their neighbours.” Once again you’d tried so hard to sound casual that your voice was wavering in response.

“Well maybe we just don’t know our neighbours as well as we think we do.” With that, she pulled the cork from the bottle and filled up the two glasses, leaning in a little closer as a smile grew into a smirk.

You glance down at her as you reach for the glass, “I never really imagined someone like you reading my books you know.” You say sheepishly, taking a sip of the wine hoping to mask the nerves that were creeping up your spine.

Wanda raises an eyebrow, her smirk more prominent now. “Someone like me?”

You shrug, avoiding her gaze as you fiddle with the stem of your glass. “You know, my audience is usually different. Younger maybe.”

She chuckles softly at your response, “Are you saying I’m too old for erotic fiction?” Her tone is teasing, yet there's a glint in her eye that makes your palms sweat. Her comment about submission still lingers in the air, your cheeks continually growing warmer.

“No! No, I just-” You stammer, flustered by how casually she was controlling this conversation, “I didn’t think you’d be into, you know, that kind of thing.” Your voice is desperately pathetic and all you can do is smile shyly, trying to lighten the tension that was twisting in your chest.

Wanda takes a slow slip from her glass, her eyes never once leaving yours. “Don’t assume you know what I’m into,” she comments, voice soft but full of unspoken meaning. There's that look again, the one that says she knows more than she lets on. “But seriously, I thought your writing was refreshing. You don’t hold back and that's what makes it compelling.”

You feel the blush rise again, her praise catching you off guard. “Thanks, I guess.” You mumble, feeling a little more exposed than you’d like.

She waves a hand in the air, brushing off the awkwardness as she crosses her leg over the other. “I could tell you were stuck though,” She adds, swiftly changing the topic with a casual flick of her wrist. “So I figured I’d rescue you from yourself for a bit.”

It was your turn to raise an eyebrow, “Rescue me?”

She nods, her eyes twinkling. “I’ve been hearing you pace around for days, It’s not hard to guess you’ve got yourself into a block.”

You can’t help but laugh, the conversation switching to something that was making you more comfortable to talk about. “Yeah, something like that. I’ve been staring at that god stupid screen for hours.”

Wanda shakes her head, mock disapproval on her face. “That’s no way to get inspired, sometimes you just need to step away.” She gestures to the wine and the dim, cosy lighting of the room. “This is your moment to relax.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight on your chest lighten ever so slightly. “I guess I have been driving myself crazy.” This would usually be an overstep in a first proper conversation, but the curious look behind Wanda’s eyes made you feel like she was making you say all of this, like she was dragging the vulnerability out of you.

Wanda smiles at your openness, a knowing, almost secretive smile as she lifts her glass to her lips again. “There's a reason they say inspiration strikes when you least expect it, maybe you just need to stop expecting it.”

The laughs were more relaxed now, “Oh, is that how it works?” You tease playfully, finally getting to a point where your nerves have stilled out. You could feel the tension in your body loosen just a little, but Wanda’s gaze still never faded.

She grins at your response, swirling the wine around in her glass. “Well sometimes it helps to just let go.” Her eyes sparkling as she watches you. “So what’s this book about anyway? What's got your pretty little head in a spin?”

You hesitate for a moment, unsure how to respond. There's no easy way to explain what you’re writing without dipping into something personal and intimate. But the way Wanda is watching you so intently, waiting, you decide to just go for it. You’re thinking maybe talking about it will help you sort out what’s been blocking you.

You clear your throat, and look down at the glass in your hands. It’s, uh well, it's another one in the same genre as the others.”

Wanda cocks her head at you, leaning in again. “Mhm, go on.” She pulls out the stool next to her, tapping on the top of it. You smile in the safeness of her space, walking round the counter and sitting down next to her.

“It’s about sadomasochism actually. I’m trying to explore that dynamic, the balance between pleasure and pain, trust and submission.” You feel your face flush, realising that there's no backing out now. This is supported by Wanda’s lips curling into an all too well knowing smile.

“So you’re digging into the darker side of submission? That’s bold.”

You nod, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah it’s more about the psychological aspect of it - how it feels to surrender completely to someone else but it's hard to get it to feel real rather than just something for someone to get off on.”

There's a brief pause, both of you deep in thought, but you can feel Wanda’s gaze like a weight on your skin. Her eyes darken, just for a moment, as she processes your words. “Sounds intense.” She murmurs, her voice dropping a little lower.

You let out a nervous laugh, trying to break the tension that you’d created. “Yeah well it’s not exactly an easy thing to write about. I want to portray it with respect.”

The redhead has now turned in her chair to face you completely head on, her head tilted as she rolls her lips together. “Maybe that’s because you’re overthinking it.” She pauses, then adds, almost as an afterthought, “Or maybe because you haven’t experienced it enough yourself.”

Your breath catches in your throat at her suggestion and you can’t hold her stare anymore, quickly glancing away with a small cough. “I- Well I’ve written about it plenty.”

She chuckles gently at your answer, her tone life but her words heavy with meaning. “It’s not quite the same thing though is it?” Wanda’s fingers gently brush against yours as she reaches for the wine bottle to refill her glass. The touch is light, fleeting, but she doesn’t pull her hand away immediately. Instead her fingers linger just long enough to make you wonder if it was an accident or something more deliberate.

You attempt to laugh it off, but your voice falters slightly. “I guess not.”

She meets your eyes again, her gaze almost daring, “You know, sometimes the best way to get through the writer's block is to immerse yourself in the subject matter.”

You swallow hard, praying that she didn’t hear the gulp that erupted in the back of your throat. The air between you had grown thicker than before. “Yeah I’ve heard that before.”

She smiles, leaning just a little closer, her arm brushing against yours as she picks up her glass. “So what’s tripping you up? The emotional stuff, or you know the physical details.”

The way she’s looking at you, so calm yet so confident. It’s like she’s pulling the words out of you without you even realising it. “Both. It’s hard to get the balance right, making the dynamic feel believable.”

Wanda nods thoughtfully, biting the tip of her finger as she indulges herself into your problem. “Have you thought about how you’re building the dynamic between them?” She shifts closer and in the process her knee scrapes past yours under the lip of the counter top. You’re hyper aware of every small movement now and it's impossible to be an accident. “Like what does submission look like to you? What does it feel like in the story?”

You blink, caught off guard by the directness of her question. “God, I don’t know, It's like surrender, like when you trust someone enough to give them complete control.” You pick up your glass again, taking a massive chug in order to keep your hands steady. “It’s like you know they won’t hurt you, even when you’re in your most vulnerable state.”

She nods understandingly, leaning ever so slightly closer to you. “Okay so what does that look like physically, how are you going to write that?”

Your pulse is going crazy now, you’re convinced that Wanda can hear your heartbeat quicken from just her words. “It’s about touch,” You say, your voice almost wobbling, “The way they respond to each other. The way a person can take control with just a look or a gesture.”

As you speak, Wanda’s lips turn up into a smirk, her gaze still unwavering. She’s so close to you now that the warmth of her body is radiating off of your skin. Her hand rests slightly above your knee, the touch intimate, sending a shockwave up the back of your spine. “Show me.”

Your breath hitches, heart racing as her fingers begin to trace a small circle against your leg. The motion is almost absentminded, yet it feels nothing but deliberate. She maintains her eye contact, her expression open but charged with a spark of something playful and dangerously enticing.

You freeze, caught in a whirlwind of sensations as the room feels smaller now, the air thick with unspoken tension. You know exactly what she’s suggesting without her having to say it.

You open your mouth to respond, but immediately close it, earning a small chuckle from the redhead. “If you can describe it so well, you shouldn’t be stuck here right.” The dangerousness in her tone makes the words evaporate and you become acutely aware of the heat radiating from her body, the way her thumb brushes softly against your skin, drawing you in deeper.

Wanda pulls back just slightly, but her hand lingers where it is, a gentle weight that feels both reassuring and electric. Her eyes lock back with yours, searching, waiting for your answer. “It’s okay.” She whispers, her voice soft yet commanding, as if she's completely in control in this delicate moment, “I’m just trying to help you get… unstuck.”

You can’t look away from her, caught in her captivating gaze. Her confidence is wrapping itself around you, urging you to step closer to the edge of your own desires. The space between you is charged, the possibilities suddenly hanging thick in the air as you contemplate what she could do next.

“Have you thought about drawing from your own experiences?” Wanda questions, still attempting to find a solution to a problem you couldn’t tell whether she was actively helping or not. “You know, sometimes personal stories can ignite that spark of inspiration.”

You swallow hard, feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension. “I wish I could.” You admit, your pulse is still racing from her touch that she has now released, yet her body still remains just as close. “I’ve never really had anything that intimate.”

A playful glint flickered within the green of her eyes, her gaze sharpening. “Really? Nothing? Not even a fleeting moment that made your heart race?” She tilts her head slightly, studying your face as if searching for unspoken truths buried inside of you.

You shake your head, feeling the embarrassment paint itself across your face. “Not like that, I mean I’ve had relationships, but nothing that’s ever made me feel like I was completely out of control, everythings always felt so safe.”

“Safe can be good, but isn’t there something thrilling about stepping outside of your comfort zone?” Her face leans closer to you once more, the feeling of her leg permanently resting against yours now.

You nod, the thought resonating with you, but you’re still hesitant. “I just don’t know how to write something so raw and believable if I haven’t experienced it myself.”

Her expression softens, shifting her weight slightly. Her gaze drops to your lips for the briefest moment before locking back onto your eyes. “Kiss me,” She whispers, the command both shocking and exhilarating.

Your heart races, a jolt of electricity coursing through you at her words. You can’t look away, caught in the depths of her stare. The space between you feels impossibly small, filled with a tension that pulses with possibility. “Just one kiss,” She adds, her voice a sultry invitation. “It might just unlock everything you’ve been trying to write.”

With her eyes gleaming into yours, the world around you fades into the background leaning only the two of you in this moment. You’re drawn to her, every instinct telling you to surrender to the rush of desire coursing through your veins. You lean in, heart racing as you connect your lips together. The kiss is soft at first, a small tentative exploration, but it quickly deepens, igniting something almost primal within you. Wanda’s hand slides from your knee to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as if she wants to consume every part of you. You pull back, the softness of her lips still lingering against yours. You’re panting slightly, taking in the depths of what you just happened.

Wanda’s eyes gleam with satisfaction, her finger touching her lip and you can’t help but smile widely at her. “See.” She murmurs, her tone low and teasing. “Just a taste of what it feels like to let go.”

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smartkookiee · 1 month ago

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How to Lose A Guy in 30 Days! || Ch.3 — jjk.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。 ❥pairing: Jungkook x Reader (she/her, afab) ❥genre/rating: strangers to lovers, 18+❥chapter warnings/tags: software engineer!Jungkook, writer!Reader, fluff, 2000 rom com vibes, making out, flirting. drinking, swearing, crying, sweet pining Jungkook, Jungkooks past comes up (boooooo), ex situationship thingsss, its a sweet chapter and they make out and I love it, legit the easiest chapter I have written so far ❥word-count: 10.7k ❥Series Masterlist Previous Chapter ||❥|| Next chapter fic is cross posted to ao3 - send an ask or comment on post to be added to the tag list. ❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

Day 3

“And you really believe this guy is going to work for this?” Yoongi said, looking over your notes and layout of the entire plan you had.

“Absolutely sir.” You nod.

It was the Tuesday following you and Jungkook’s date. You two had gotten some dinner and then you went home. You tried not to let that text ruin your mood but it did bring you down for the meal. You and Jungkook just talked more about what you do and things you liked. Just easy conversation and sharing social media, small things that you could mask your disappointment with and give cheerful and in depth answers too.

That text sucked to see. It sucked to see that he made this promise to be serious but he was just playing you.To be fair, you didn’t know him. It was your first date and he didn’t owe you anything. It would just make this easier.

"Already past the first date. You’re jumping in head first," Yoongi mused, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "So, what’s next?"

"The plan is to keep things moving. I only have thirty days, so I wanted to start strong. The first date was just to break the ice. Now, I'm aiming to stay in touch throughout the weeks—get more annoying to make sure I stay on his radar."

Yoongi chuckled. "And what does annoying entail in this case?"

You grinned, feeling a mischievous spark. "I was thinking some things like being a little too clingy. Getting a bit too personal too soon. Social media stalking, maybe even acting overly sensitive to anything he says about 'dating' or 'us.' Just... trying to inch my way into his daily life, so he can’t quite shake me off. Then next week I will take things to the next step."

Yoongi nodded in approval. "I like it. Thorough and unexpected, just what we want. Let’s round back around next week and check-in. We’ll go over your progress and adjust as needed. You’re off to a good start."

You gave him a grateful nod. "Thank you, sir."

With a wave of his hand, “Now go write, be amazing.” Yoongi dismissed you, and you returned to your desk, your mind already spinning with ideas. You were ready to dive into this full force, but there was one small snag, a small but persistent worry. You’d sent Jungkook a quick text yesterday, just a light “good morning” and a note about enjoying the date, but there hadn’t been a reply yet.

It wasn’t a big deal but already not responding to a text after a whole day was not sitting well with you.

Settling yourself down into your chair, that small disappointment from seeing that text on Jungkook's phone was still nagging at you. Your friends had warned you not to get attached, to keep things light, but you’d ignored them. They called this from a million miles away and you, like an idiot, let your guard down like always.

Well, not this time. This was just a job. No more emotional slip-ups.

“Damn it, I’m a writer,” you muttered under your breath. “This is just research. He’s just a random guy.”

With renewed determination, you opened your laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard as you drafted the first section of your article. Reliving the details of your first date, you kept it light and short because this wasn’t about how the first date went great, it’ll be about everything that happens now. You had your plan ready for action.

You were finally hitting a flow, words forming exactly as you wanted, when you heard footsteps stop just outside your cubicle.

“Special delivery!” Ann, one of the front-desk clerks, appeared with a bright smile, holding a small bouquet. "Someone’s got an admirer!"

She set down a small bouquet of sunflowers. The choice of flower surprised you most of all, you loved sunflowers. They were tied together with a with a purple ribbon and card attached to the end. Opening it, “A little bit of sun for a rainy first date. Thank you for listening to my fish facts. JK.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet,” Ann cooed, lingering a moment to admire the flowers. She shot you a grin before heading back to the front, and you tried to keep your reaction composed.

You couldn't help but feel that small spark of joy, despite yourself, as you read the card. The sunflowers, your favorite, were unexpected and so charming. Tied with a cute ribbon that added a touch of thoughtfulness. You’d never been given flowers by anyone other than your parents and that one college boyfriend. Yet here they were, sent to your office, just for you.

If this had been any other situation, you’d probably be blushing and grinning like an idiot, falling head over heels way too fast. But the reminder of what you knew—what he was likely doing, the kind of guy he really was—kept you grounded.

As you stared at the bouquet, lost in thought, the telltale squeak of a chair wheeling over caught your attention.

“Wow someone’s special.” Ronnie rolled right next to you. “Are those from who I think they are from?”

"Looks like it," You replied casually, flashing her the card. "Just… a little thank you gift."

Ronnie waggled her eyebrows. "Oh, just a thank you gift? The guy sent you your favorite flowers, after only one date. You sure you aren’t already planning your future house decor with him?"

Rolling your eyes, you turned back to your laptop, brushing off the teasing. "Maybe," But the flicker of disappointment crept back in. "If he hadn't got that text on our date. Then maybe this would be a sweet gesture. There's no way I'm getting attached to someone who’s probably chatting up another girl at the same time."

Ronnie gave you a skeptical look. "You still haven’t told me what it said, just that you went from mildly hopeful to permanently sour about him. Especially after you begged me and Jin to let you pick another guy before the date even ended."

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. "It was… friendly, if you know what I mean."

“Oh, friendly friendly?” she echoed, her voice heavy with implication. She winced sympathetically. "I’m sorry."

You shook your head, swiveling to face her. "No, no. We’re not doing the whole pity party thing. No look at Y/N she got fooled by another asshole again. This is work. I knew what I was signing up for with this guy, and it’s why I chose him. I can handle it."

Ronnie raised her brows. "Yeah, sure. You sound totally fine."

“I am fine,” you insisted, forcing a smile. “It’s all part of the assignment, right? A totally detached, unbiased observation. Think of me as an objective researcher.”

“Okay Dr. Detachment. How are you going to respond to these?” Ronnie glanced down to the flowers and then back up to you.

You opened your mouth to answer but paused, glancing at the flowers. You already knew what you wanted to do, but still… you weren’t quite sure how to play it yet.

Meanwhile, across town, Jungkook was still buzzing from his own bold move. He and Hoseok were walking down the street on their lunch break, and Hoseok eyed him suspiciously. Jungkook filled him on the details with a little too much spring in his step, never the way Hoseok had ever seen Jungkook act after a date.

“So… the date went that well, huh?” Hoseok finally asked, giving Jungkook a smirk. “You’re practically skipping.”

“Hey, I am not,” Jungkook grumbled, trying to keep his voice casual as he filled Hoseok in on the date. It had gone smoother than he’d expected, and he couldn’t ignore that spark of excitement.

Jungkook had done a little social media stalking when he spent the day with his parents yesterday. You used a sunflower in your bio and in a lot of your posts, so he took a guess that they may have been your favorite flower. It did take him a little tracking down though, since sunflowers were going out of season.

Hoseok grinned, giving Jungkook an approving nod. “So… flowers and a corny note? You’re going for gold.”

“Exactly,” Jungkook replied, a proud glint in his eyes. “I’m hoping she liked it. She’s into romantic movies and such so I thought it would be a good gesture.” Plus it was a perfect opening note since sending flowers is another classic romantic movie troup. “She should have gotten them by now.” He checked his phone yet again, his screen still frustratingly blank.

Hoseok raised an eyebrow to him, “Does it bother you that she’s not immediately giving you all of her attention.”

Jungkook snorted, “No.” He paused but the silence between them hung a little too long for Hoseok to be convinced, “Okay maybe a little.”

Hoseok let out a laugh, shaking his head with an amused grin. "Wow. Didn’t know you were secretly a heartthrob under all that cool indifference. Who are you, and what did you do with Jungkook?"

“Shut up,” Jungkook muttered, fighting a smile as he looked away. “I’m just… giving this a real shot.”

“And you’re stressing out over whether she liked your flowers or not,” Hoseok added, raising an eyebrow. “Must be a real first for you.”

Jungkook shrugged, feeling his cheeks heat up. “I just thought I’d make an effort, alright? ” He glanced at his phone again, his thumb hovering over the screen before he stuffed it back into his pocket.

“Why do I feel like the grand romantic gesture wasn’t entirely about the bet?” Hoseok chuckled, giving him a playful nudge.

“It’s not because I’m actually dating her remember?” Jungkook replied, a little too quickly, then caught himself.

“You know,” Hoseok said, tilting his head, “there’s no law that says you can’t text her first, right? Might even make you seem… interested.”

Jungkook scoffed, his gaze glued to the sidewalk. “I don’t want to look desperate.”

“Dude, come on. Desperate is sending $50 sunflowers in November,” Hoseok replied, laughing as Jungkook scowled.

Jungkook sighed, but a faint smile tugged at his lips. “I just really enjoyed spending time with her. It’s different.”

“So shoot her a text, lover boy,” Hoseok urged, hit Jungkook lightly on the back of the head. “All the smooth moves in the world won’t matter if she doesn’t know you’re into her.”

Jungkook’s phone buzzed just as Hoseok delivered his advice, catching him off guard. He glanced down and saw your name on the screen. His eyes lit up, and a grin broke across his face—so wide and boyish that it almost unnerved Hoseok.

“Speak of the devil,” Jungkook muttered, barely containing his excitement.

“Well answer it.” He shoves his shoulder.

Jungkook fumbles with his phone and steps off to the side to answer, “You’ve reached Sunflowers on the Go. How may I be of service?”

You humm on the other end of the line in amusement, “So it’s the strangest thing. I got this delivery of sunflowers here on my desk but I don’t remember placing an order.”

“Hmm, strange indeed,” Jungkook replied, grinning. “Turns out we only deliver to Composure magazine. No one else.”

What Jungkook wasn't aware of is you had him on speaker phone so Ronnie was also able to hear him. She brought her hand to her face at his cheesy responses. You also shook your head at absurdity.

“Oh, is that so?” you teased. “Well, there was a little card attached… signed by someone named ‘JK.’”

“Yep, that’s the guy. Don’t know him personally, but he seems pretty cool,” Jungkook said, leaning into the joke. Looking over at Hoseok who was drawing hearts in the air around Jungkook, Jungkook just rolled his eyes.

“Hmmm, I don’t know anyone named ‘JK’. Guess I’ll just have to throw these away then.” You play with the ribbon in your fingers.

“Whoa, whoa, hey! That’s mean!” He protested, laughing. You laughed as well at his protest.

“Okay but seriously how did you know these were my favorite?” You touch one of the petals, sunflowers were definitely out of season so he had to go to some work to find really fresh ones. “Or was it just a lucky guess?”

“I may or may not have noticed a pattern on your socials.” His tone was sheepish and you just shook your head.

“Ah, so you were stalking me.” You nod, you notice Ronnie roll on over back to her desk. Coming back with her phone in hand. She was typing frantically.

“Maybe a little bit.” Jungkook let a beat pass, “I guess more importantly do you like them?”

“They are very beautiful. Especially for this time of year.” You sigh, the gesture really was sweet. Might be fast for Jungkook to send flowers this early on but still sweet.

Jungkook let out a sigh he han’t realized he had even been holding in, “I do have to confess something. I was hoping this would make an opening for me to invite you to dinner.” He shifted from side to side, “Well I would be making dinner.”

“Inviting me over? Wow, bold move. So soon.” You smile, Ronnie giving you a knowing look and you brushing her off. “Would I have to do anything?”

“I will take care of it all, I need to or ove I can make a mean carbonara,” Hoseok gave Jungkook a look like he had no idea he had any cooking skill. “How about tonight?”

“I have plans tonight.” Which wasn’t a lie, you were going to work on some writing tonight. “How about Thursday?”

“Perfect. You’re gonna be impressed, I already know it.” Jungkook chewed on his bottom lip.

“I’m sure I will.”

With some goodbyes you both hung up the phone. You could suddenly feel your heart racing in your chest and you mentally scolded yourself. You needed to remember none of this was long term. Which Ronnie was taking the lead in reminding you about.

“For someone who claims to be totally normal about all of this, you sure are smitten.” She crossed her arms and eyebrow raised observing you, “He totally knew these would work on you.”

“I am totally normal about all of this. This is perfect, we are going on a second date and I get to start implementing my plan. Everything is on track.” You say but ash is looking back to her phone, “What are you looking at?”

“I’m trying to find his instagram.” She continued typing, not looking back up to you.

“Oh he doesn’t have one.” You remembered from dinner on Sunday. It wasn’t abnormal for someone to not have one but Ronnie was surprised.

“Boo, how am I supposed to dig up dirt on him?” Ash slumped down into her chair. You had actually done a little digging of your own the evening before though.

“Pretty sure that’s my job and I already did. He has twitter but he doesn’t post often. He keeps a pretty low presence online so I wasn’t able to learn much that way.” You sigh, it was actually a little refreshing although it did leave you guessing. Makes it tough to be intrusive in the next steps of your plan. “By the way, can you cry on command?”

Ronnie raises an eyebrow at your request, “I don’t but I think we both know who might.”

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。• *₊

Day 5

Thursday arrived, you and Jungkook spent the entire day texting back and forth just talking about whatever came to your minds. You found any excuse to ask him any random question. Send him random things you genuinely thought were funny. He also had something funny to say back or respond with. So you just let that be it, just texting and talking as much as possible.

Jungkook had spent the night before doing a practice carbonara. Watching some guy on youtube walking him through the steps. It turned out pretty good but he knew he could make a better one tonight. He got really nice ingredients that hopefully would push it over the edge. He really wanted to make a good first impression with his cooking. He had no issue inviting you over so soon after knowing you, he felt really comfortable with you already.

He hoped it wasn’t too forward, but you didn’t seem to mind.

He had a bottle of mid tier white wine in his fridge and he also got a red because he wasn’t sure what you would prefer. He also wasn't sure what would pair better with a carbonara. Jungkook dressed his table up all nice, it was nothing special but a candle classes it up a little bit. Classic romantic things. It felt somewhat awkward and made him cringe but also no one else was around to see his effort but you, and you would appreciate it.

Or at least he hoped you would.

He then heard a knock from his front door. He thought it was a little early for you to be here but he didn’t mind, he still was making the food and he could pour you a glass while you waited. He trotted to his door, a wide grin on his face as he swung the door open with some gusto, only to have his features fall.

“Channel?”Jungkook's face twisted into a confused but unamused expression, as she brushed past him into the apartment. “Please, come on in.” He said, his voice clearly sarcastic.

Channel looked like she was dressed for a night out and not for a very cold November evening at that. She had her hair curled and bouncy like it usually was, and the highest heel she could comfortably wear, clicking her way around Jungkook's apartment.

“I want my scarf back,” She had her arms crossed, strolling into the apartment with ease. She had been here enough times to know where everything was. “and since you won’t respond to my calls, here I am in person.”

“Okay, you couldn’t have texted me about this?” Jungkook let his front door close and followed after her through his apartment, as she tried to look under things and around furniture.

She laughed bitterly, “Last I checked, you’ve been avoiding my texts as well.” She continued her hunt around his space. Jungkook getting a little peeved since he spent a good amount of time trying to make his space look good for your arrival. Your arrival which would be really soon and this was not a good look for a guy as you clocked as ‘unserious’.

"I kind of have a life, you know? I can’t answer every text you send.” Jungkook kept his eyes peeled for the scarf, more than ready for this encounter to end.

“Yeah, right.” Channel’s voice dripped with disbelief as she followed him further into the apartment, her arms crossed. “I could tell Hoseok was covering for you.” She paused mid-sentence, catching sight of the dining table set for two, a soft candle flickering in the center. Her expression turned suspicious. “And… what is that?”

Jungkook looked back to the table and then back to her, acting like it’s always looked like that. “Nothing, now where is that scarf?”

“Your place is so… spotless,” she murmured, her eyes scanning every corner of his living room, taking in the lit lamps, the neatly arranged coffee table, and the faint smell of food coming from the kitchen. “Setting a mood, are we?”

“I mean, I clean often. I’m not a slob,” he replied defensively, trying to wave off her assumptions, though he could see she was putting it all together, one detail at a time.

Channel sniffs the air for a moment and then stalks over to the kitchen, “You’re cooking? You don’t cook.”

“Whenever he hung out, cooking really wasn’t a part of the schedule.” He muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, aware that he was pushing her buttons. “I cook all the time.”

“Oh, I see,” She replied, her tone flat but her eyes flashing. She tilted her head, a cruel smile tugging at her lips. “So, who is she, then?”

Jungkook sighed, not fighting her anymore, “no one, and she is coming over soon, let’s find your scarf so you can leave.”

But Channel didn’t budge, her eyes narrowing as she crossed her arms tighter.

“Oh no, no, no. You’re not brushing this off like that. Nice napkins, a candle? You set a damn table, Jungkook. What is this, some kind of date?” Her voice grew sharper with each word, anger and betrayal clear in her expression.

“That’s not really your business is it?” Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck, he needed to get her out of here.

Channel let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Not my business? You know what’s funny? All this time, I thought maybe we were building toward something real. And now, I see you’re doing that with someone else?” She scoffed, her face hardening. “What you just didn’t want this with me?”

Her words hung in the air, clear betrayal laced them. Him and Channel only had a sexual relationship, it’s what they agreed upon from the start. Sometime in there Channel developed some feelings for him and after a few months asked if they could take this more seriously. Jungkook wasn’t ready for that kind of step so they ended it all together. So now this all looks really bad.

Except, he thought, it’s none of her business if he did change his mind. He never lied to her, and he was always very clear that he did not want a relationship. He really didn’t, and this thing with you, although a part of a bet, was something he was dipping his toes into.

“Channel, that’s not it,” Jungkook said, sighing. “I never lied to you. I really didn’t want a relationship.” He hesitated, then finally admitted, “But I met someone, and…we’re trying things out and it’s brand new. So please leave.”

Channel’s face twisted in anger, her voice rising as she spat, “Oh, I get it.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder, looking around his place with fresh resentment. “I bet you’ll dump her as soon as you’ve slept together a few more times. Because that’s what you do, Jungkook.”

He clenched his fists, frustrated but trying to stay calm. “You know, I’ve had enough of this,.” he said quietly, finally spotting the scarf stuffed into a seat cushion. He pulled it out, tossing it to her.

She caught it and threw it around her neck with a sneer. “So what is it about her, huh? What makes her so ‘special’ that suddenly you’re willing to commit?” She shot him a glare, stepping closer. “Maybe I should stick around and meet this one-of-a-kind woman. See what all the fuss is about.”

“No,” Jungkook said firmly, guiding her toward the door. “You’re leaving, now.”

She jerked away from his touch, folding her arms defiantly. “What? Is she coming soon?” Her eyes gleamed with spite. “You don’t want her to know what you’re really like?”

Jungkook let out a slow breath, gathering his patience. “No. I think she would be an adult and actually talk with me about it,” he replied, surprising himself with the honesty in his voice. “And whatever she finds out—that’s for me to tell her and her to decide. So, goodnight, Channel.”

She stared at him, anger simmering as she pulled open the door, glancing back with an icy glare. “Screw you, Jungkook.” With that, she stormed out, letting the door slam behind her.

At the same time she opened the door you were stepping out of the elevator and onto Jungkook’s floor. You spotted a girl storming down the hallway after yelling inside a doorway, as she passed you muttering a quick “Excuse me” without a second glance. You had an uneasy feeling about her, especially as she walked away from the very apartment number Jungkook had given you. You double-checked, confirming the number on your phone with the one she had just exited, and the sinking feeling intensified.

“Jesus Jungkook. At least have some class and spread out your dates so we don’t bump into each other in the hall.” You whisper under your breath, but you still had to go through with this as if you didn’t immediately feel a sense of dread.

You took a steadying breath, willing yourself to ignore the uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. After all, you were here now, and nothing had technically happened to prove your suspicions. So you pushed them down, knocked on the door, and tried to keep your expression neutral, reminding yourself you were maybe a minute early—nothing too crazy.

The door opened after a brief pause, and Jungkook’s face shifted from guarded to bright relief when he saw you standing there. His lips curled into a wide, easy smile, like he was genuinely glad to see you. His hair was a little tousled, his shirt a snug, tucked into jeans that fit him perfectly, emphasizing his lean frame. He looked relaxed, casually put together, which was somehow infuriatingly charming.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice warm, stepping aside so you could enter. “Come on in.”

“Hi,” you replied, acting as if nothing felt off.

You stepped past him, letting your eyes flick around the apartment, taking in the details—the tidy coffee table, a low hum of music playing through the room. He had a nice living room set up around a TV on the wall, the dining setup with an actual candle in the center. He’d put thought into this, that much was obvious. You couldn’t deny it was sweet, even if it left you slightly off-balance, considering what you’d walked past in the hallway moments ago.

“Okay now looking at it now, the candle maybe was a little cheesy.” Jungkook cringed at himself looking at the little set up. You shake your head and wave him off.

“No, I think it's adorable. You even got a scentless one so it doesn’t cover the smell of the food.” You take a seat at the table, “I’m prepared to be wow’d like you promised me.”

“I unfortunately got a little bit delayed so I am not quite done yet.” Jungkook was shuffling his way back into the kitchen, “But make yourself at home.”

“Okay.” You smile as he rounds his way back into his kitchen, he watches you get back up and walk around his living space. Almost like he was waiting for approval. Luckily Channel hadn’t trashed the place.

You took note of all of the little things he chose to have on display, some books, a few polaroid cameras and some polaroid's on the walls, as well as a record collection that lined the side of the living room on some shelves. You thumbed through some of them to see what was available. Impressed with some of his picks, some similar to your own. His place wasn’t terribly big. Classic little bachelor pad. You had noticed he had chosen to keep what you could only assume was his bedroom door closed.

It was something Jungkook thought way too hard about, if he left it open was it like saying he wanted to sleep with you tonight? Would it be way too forward? Or was closing it just as weird? Was closing it like telling you that he didn’t really want you in his space? He went back and forth and then opted to close it to maybe say he wasn’t expecting anything to happen, although he wouldn’t mind if it did.

You on the other hand didn’t barely give it a thought other than noticing it. You picked up one of his polaroid cameras and brought it with you. You round your way back to his kitchen and stand off to the side watching him work. He was pretty zoned in on what he was doing, everything was really smelling great. You usually found it pretty hot if a guy could cook well.

Jungkook took an opportunity to try some of his work and you took a photo right at the moment he took a bite, his eyes widened right at the moment he realized he'd been caught.

The picture came out and you set it down to develop.

“I’m sure that will be super cute.” You laugh, setting down his camera as well. He laughs and you look over his shoulder to see how close he is to being done.

“Coming to inspect my work?” Jungkook glances to his side, seeing you peering over his shoulder to see what he was doing. He was almost done cooking.

“Maybe.” You tease, “I’m a sucker for people who can cook. I’m just… okay at it.”

“Well,” Jungkook stops what he is doing and reaches for a drawer next to him pulling out a fork and twirling some of the noodles onto it. Then holding the fork out to you. “I’m ready for your final score.”

You paused. Debating if you should eat the food off the fork or if you should take the fork. Would it send the wrong message if you ate off it? Or was that exactly what he was doing? The fork wasn’t very close to your mouth but not crazy far. You decided to just take the fork from him and take the bite.

It ended up being really good carbonara.

“Oh my god.” You smile chewing, “it’s really fucking good. Ten out of ten.”

Jungkook did a small fist pump to himself, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth hiding a smile. “I’ll admit, I did a practice run yesterday and it was just okay but I’m glad this one is good.” Jungkook then taking a bite of it himself with another fork. Jungkook upon tasting his own food smacking his own forehead and leaning back.

Causing you to laugh at his dramatic reaction.

You glanced at the polaroid on the counter picking it up to see if it had developed yet, it wasn’t fully done but you could see mostly what the picture would look like. You showed it to Jungkook and he smiled, “Ten out of ten picture. Best one of me yet.”

You looked at it and he did look like a deer caught in the headlights but it was funny, you set it down.

“I’ll admit I’m wowed, to be fair I’ve only had carbonara like one other time.” You lean against one of his kitchen counters watching him as he plates the pasta for the two of you.

“I’ll still take the high praise. Now, should we do a white or a red wine?”

“Hmm, a red works better with this I think.” You nod.

Jungkook tells you where you can find his bottle opener and some glasses. You managed to get the cork screw into the cork but seem to be lacking the ability to actually pull the cork out of the bottle. Jungkook finds some amusement in watching your struggle but you persist. You’ve opened plenty of wine bottles in the past, this shouldn’t be difficult.

“Having some trouble?” Jungkook watched you try and fail to pull the cork out a third time.

“Absolutely not. The cork and I are just having a disagreement.” You shake off your hand a few times and then get a better grip on the screw pulling upward as best you can. With some pathetic struggle, you really swear you can feel the cork moving. You let out a sigh as you let it go again.

“May I?”

“I swear I’m not that weak.” This honestly was just embarrassing at this point, so much so you have to face away from Jungkook at your next attempt.

You make one final grip on the corkscrew and twist and tug, finally the corkscrew and cork pop free. Not before your hand comes straight, hard and fast, into your own face.

“Oh shit,” Jungkook’s face changes as he sees you basically punch your own face. “Are you okay?”

You did dizzy yourself slightly but you set the bottle down. Feeling your face, hoping you hadn’t broken your nose although it certainly would be bruised or sore at least, “Okay maybe I should never open wine ever again.”

Your nose than began to pulse with pain, this definitely wasn’t a part of your plan for sure. you covered it with one of your hands but Jungkook pulled it away. “Here let me look at it.”

“Please tell me it’s not bleeding.” You groan, and Jungkook places his hands on both of your cheeks looking at it. You match his face and he looks genuinely concerned.

“Well, I’m not a doctor but you’re still pretty cute.” He then smiles and rubs one of his thumbs on your cheek. “That’s my professional assessment anyways.”

“Okay, but it still really hurts,” You say, letting your own hands rest on his wrists.

“Hey, it’s probably just a bit sore—no blood, no bruise.” He gently tilts your head from side to side in a silly, exaggerated inspection that makes you giggle.

It’s quiet between you both for a moment, Jungkook still holding your face. He just looks over your face for a moment, your nose was red but it was probably going to be okay. He had hurt his own nose a few times to know if it was broken.

Jungkook’s hands still on your cheeks, eyes meeting as he studies your face. It’s easy to get lost in the warmth of his gaze and how close he is. A little too easy. For a second, you find yourself softening, tempted by the thought of leaning in and just letting yourself enjoy this. But then, just in time, you snap back to reality, realizing you can use this little mishap to your advantage. This damage to your nose might have actually opened up a window for what you had been working yourself up too.

You pull your face away from Jungkook and shake your head, breathing in a heavy breath. Jungkook looked a little confused but then after a moment you were crying. You were crying?

“Hey,” he placed a hand on your shoulder, “I was just teasing you.”

You wave your hands in a frantic show, your voice cracking just a little. “No, no, it’s not you. It’s just….” You let out a little sob. “I’m just so clumsy! And you made this beautiful dinner, and I’ve totally ruined it!”

Jungkook looks utterly bewildered now, glancing around as if the answer to your sudden breakdown might be hiding in his kitchen cabinets. “Really, I promise, you didn’t mess anything up. I’m just glad you’re okay.” He squeezes your shoulder reassuringly, almost nervously.

“Ugh, I can't believe this. I’m totally ruining the mood.” You wipe your tears away.

It was a good little performance. One that was planned.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。• *₊

The evening before.

Day 04

“The art of crying on command.” Here you were again. Ronnie sitting next to you. Jin pacing back and forth with his notepad once again. Unfortunately for you, Jin was the person to have expertise on this subject being an acting teacher.

“Okay I already regret this.” You try to stand up but Ronnie pulls you back down onto Jin’s couch.

“This will help you!” Ronnie protested and leaned on you once you were settled back in. “This can be a part of your over dramatic persona you use.”

“Exactly! It gives you another tool in the toolbox for the charade you signed up for!” Jin pointed at you with his pen and waving it around.

“Fine, continue.” You wave for him to go on and Jin grins.

“Thank you! Now, there are three main techniques for crying on command,” he begins, pacing dramatically. “Some people can just…do it. They snap their fingers and—bam! Tears.” He snaps his fingers for effect. “Others need to go to a sad memory. Something personal and emotional, something that really tugs at the heartstrings. And then, of course, some people have to resort to…ahem, creative methods. Pepper in the sinuses, maybe a little poke to the eye…”

“Let’s please avoid self-injury,” you interrupt dryly, giving him a look.

“Fair enough. Let’s start with the basics and see if you’re a natural,” Jin says, jotting a note on his pad. “Close your eyes, focus, and let’s see if you can will the tears into existence.”

You sit up straight, trying your best to summon tears on command, forcing your eyes to feel…sad? Your face contorts into what you hope is a tearful expression, but as you blink, nothing happens. Your eyes are as dry as ever.

“Nothing?” Jin sighs and makes a dramatic strike-through on his notepad, looking deeply disappointed.

“Yeah, sorry,” You mutter. “Nothing.”

“Okay,” Jin strikes something out on his notepad and you roll your eyes at his dramatics. “Cannot cry on command. So let’s try a memory, or is there a movie scene you can’t think about because it gets you teared up?”

You sit and think, you have some sad memories from your childhood that you bring to the front of your mind. Reminiscing on them, although some things are sad or bittersweet, nothing tear jerking.

“Dry.” Ronnie leans over and looks closely in your eyes, so much so you have to shove her face away from you.

“Dry.” Jin repeats and writes on his notepad.

“Maybe try going to the dark place?” Ronnie snaps and looks at you. “You always get really teary eyed when you think about dying alone.”

“Okay rude.” You sigh, it wasn’t untrue. Whenever you came back from dates that were unsuccessful or you wasted your time on someone who just wanted something casual you found yourself going to, what you and Ronnie have deemed, the dark place. “I don’t like thinking about that.”

“It’s for science!” Ronnie cheers, throwing her arms up like it's supposed to make it more fun or something.

You groan, sinking deeper into the couch. “I don’t know if this is such a great idea, honestly. When I start spiraling about my love life, it’s not exactly…mild.” You look down, already feeling a little prick of sadness starting to stir.

Jin comes and squats in front of you, “Well then just go to the edge of it and don’t think about the whole picture. What about dying alone usually gets you crying?”

You think for a second, and finally, the words come out quietly. “I guess… I cry when I start thinking that maybe I won’t ever find someone who’s…just right for me.”

Ronnie lets out a soft “aww” and nudges you gently.

You let yourself feel it for a moment—the uncertainty, the nagging doubt that, maybe, you’ll keep hitting dead ends. And with that, you feel a familiar, bittersweet ache starting to well up.

Jin nods approvingly, seeing a slight glimmer in your eyes. “Excellent,” he says, jotting down, potential crying trigger identified.

The vulnerability hangs in the air, and you let yourself lean into it a little. Lately, it felt harder and harder to keep going on dates, to believe that love might work out someday. You always seemed to be either too much or not enough—loving too deeply, too slowly, too intensely. It left you feeling drained, to the point where dating felt less like romance and more like a chore.

But with Jungkook, for once, you’d felt...hopeful. Like there was someone who genuinely wanted to share a moment, who put effort into making sure you had a good time. As unintentional as it was, you’d started to feel a little spark, considering the circumstances of your forced meeting. But as soon as you’d started to believe it, you reminded yourself it was all part of the act. You couldn’t let yourself actually believe it. You got your hopes up again, and they were ripped out from under you… again.

So you had slowly felt as time went on, you were losing sight of finding the one.

Then without even realizing it, you had a few stray tears fall from your eyes.

“Boom!” Jin erupted and sprang to his feet, “We have tears!”

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。• *₊

You gripped onto that feeling you let it force a few more tears out of your eyes. Unfortunately you did not avoid the personal injury part of the tears. So this was going really well for you.

You take a shaky breath, letting a few more tears roll down, making sure the sniffle that follows sounds especially pitiful. “Maybe I should just go home,” you say, voice wavering. “This along with my day… it’s all just been too much. You probably think I’m completely insane.”

You manage to start walking toward the door. Jungkook then panics for a moment, how did we go from laughing at you injuring your nose to crying and saying you’re going home? He felt like he had jumped three steps or something. You start toward the front door but Jungkook stepped around you, stopping you.

“Wait what?” Jungkook looked confused, “How did we get here? I don’t want you to leave.”

You sniff even louder, adding just the right amount of snotty dramatics. “No, I should. You barely know me, and here I am—an emotional wreck in your kitchen. It’s… it’s too much.”

“And? You just hit yourself in the nose really hard. I would be a little embarrassed and want to leave too.” Jungkook places a hand on your arm, trying to comfort you. “Besides isn't the whole point of going on dates to get to know each other better?”

“I guess.” You wipe your face again, “I don’t know… I didn’t mean to just… fall apart like this.”

Jungkook sighs a little relieved, that could have spiraled further. “And just so you know, I don’t think you’re crazy at all.”

“Well it’s still early, haven’t had a chance to go full blown crazy yet.” Which gets a laugh out of both you and Jungkook.

“Well I can deal with that I think.” He gives you a small, reassuring smile. “Besides, food is still good. Wine is still out and last I checked a bruised nose doesn’t stop you from eating.”

“Wait, is it actually bruising?” You reflexively go up to touch it, definitely tender to the touch and jungkook chuckles a little.

“I’m teasing. It’s only a little red.” He takes your hand pulls you back into his apartment, with a little reluctance from you. “Stay, at least for a little while. I’m not going to let you walk out of here feeling like this.”

You blink up at him, playing up a hint of uncertainty, but inside, you’re genuinely a little taken aback. “You really mean that?”

“Of course I do.” He tilts his head to the side trying to meet your eyes, that had been darting everywhere else out of real embarrassment. “Look, I don’t care if you cry, I’m the biggest cry baby I know!”

You manage a small, hesitant smile, as if he’s starting to get through to you. “I find that hard to believe.”

Jungkook scoffs, feigning insult. “Oh, don’t underestimate me. Those ‘lost puppy finds his way home’ commercials? I’m done. I’m over here pretending there’s dust in my eyes.”

You laugh again, shaking your head. “Okay, maybe I believe you… just a little.”

“There we go!” He looks genuinely pleased, his expression softening as he sees you relax. “So, if I’m willing to admit my crybaby tendencies, it’s only fair you stick around for dinner, right?” He tucks his bottom lip into his mouth in anticipation of your answer.

“Alright, I’ll stay.” You say it with an air of nonchalance, trying to mask the small spark of mischief hidden behind your agreement. It earns you a relieved, borderline triumphant smile from Jungkook.

“Phew! You’re sparing me from a whole night of wondering if my cooking scared you off for good.” He grins, his dramatic sigh punctuating his relief.

“Oh, please,” you say, rolling your eyes, feeling the perfect opening for a light jab. “If anything, the food is what convinced me to stay.”

Jungkook then serves dinner for the both of you. You both fall into easy conversation as you eat, he really did do a great job with the food. He was very considerate of making sure you needed anything else or pouring more wine when you wanted it. As well as making you laugh at almost every single turn. You really do get it why he got girls to go home with him so easily, between this and your first date the amount of confidence and charm that exudes from him is palpable in the air.

Jungkook would never show it but his lack of practice with dating has actually made this date and your last the most nervous he as been in a while. Jungkook’s mind is racing, carefully cataloging every response you make, every laugh, every nod. He wants—needs—this to go well, not just because he’d prefer to win $300 rather than lose it, but because, in his gut, he actually likes seeing you here, across from him. He catches himself wondering if he’s oversharing when he starts a story, or if he’s going on too long when he recounts his last trip. When you laugh at one of his stupid jokes, he relaxes a bit, but he still can’t quite shake that uncertainty.

You decided no more theatrics for the evening and let this play out naturally, how you would play out any other evening. Anything else would tip him off that maybe you were doing this on purpose.

After a while the two of you had moved into the living room, you had been flipping through his records again, you didn’t take a chance to look at them all earlier. He had a decent collection for sure so you got a good sense of the type of music he liked. You both had a few glasses of wine now and so the conversation had turned more and more flirtatious.

Noting the variety of music—jazz, a little classic rock, some alternative stuff. “You’ve got a good taste,” you say, glancing back at him. “This one,” you pull a record out with a slight smirk, “definitely says something about you.”

“Oh yeah?” He grins, leaning on the side of his couch as he watches you move around his shelves. “And what exactly does it say?”

You tilt your head, pretending to give it serious thought. “That you’re trying really hard to be cool. Just edgy enough.”

He laughs, though you notice he flushes slightly, brushing off your joke with a casual shrug. “Hey, everyone needs a little mystery. Or at least…a halfway-decent record collection.”

“Is that what you’re hiding?” you tease. “A mysterious vinyl collection? Or is it just your immense amount of fish facts?”

“Well, you’ll have to stick around to find out.” The words slip out before he can stop them, and he immediately kicks himself. It feels too... eager, a bit too close to something genuine. But he manages to recover, putting on a self-assured smile. “Not everyone gets to see my hidden jazz albums.”

You laugh, setting the record back and looking at him with a raised brow. “Guess I’ll have to consider myself lucky, then.” Finding a spot back on the couch with him.

Jungkook shifted in his spot so his body was completely facing you now. With the alcohol having set in, his eyes were a little droopy and he was smiling but he looked boyish. He found the more he was learning about you the more he felt fine with telling you things about himself.

“You look tired.” You poke his forehead. “Maybe I really should go.”

“It’s barely even late.” Jungkook takes your hand, lacing your fingers with his. “I’m not tired at all.”

“Your eyes tell a different story.” You laugh, leaning your head against the back of his couch.

“Well what else are they saying?” He smirks, finding any reason to get a compliment from you.

You stare at them for a minute, you were trying to come up with something clever. “Well if I am translating this right… I can’t handle my wine.”

You laugh and Jungkook rolls his eyes, “Wow how did you know?”

“I have a thing for reading people.” You shrug. “What do mine say?”

He leans in really close looking between them. “Wow this guy is so hot and charming I really want to kiss him again,” Jungkook then gasps dramatically leaning away. “That’s scandalous, Y/N.”

“Shut up.” You laugh and get up from the couch trying to leave, Jungkook's hand pulling you back to standing in front of him. “You’re really full of yourself.”

“I’d like to think just a healthy amount.” He grins, Jungkook then places one of his hands on the back of your thigh. The warmth of his hand sends a shiver up your spine, but you do your best to keep your cool, not letting him see just how much his touch is affecting you.

You scoff with a half smile, “We’ll see about that.”

Jungkooks grin widens sitting forward on his couch, both of his hands finding their way to your hips. Tracing small circles with his thumbs, making it impossible for you to think. The way he looks at you—intense, unflinching, like he’s trying to figure you out—has you second-guessing your plans all over again, just for a second. This is what makes this hard, because the way he looks at you makes you believe every single word.

Many guys before have looked at you like this and you always fall for it, you always let yourself go for it.

It’s a little difficult to remember that right now though, your mind clouded by the wine.

You glance down to his lap for a moment then back up to his eyes that haven’t left yours. “Can I?”

Jungkook just nods, allowing you to take your place on his lap. Lifting your legs to either side of his hips. Jungkook really was not intending for this night to go this way but he wasn’t complaining if it had. He found you incredibly hot and would do whatever you wanted. His hands stayed planted on your hips as you found what felt comfortable.

“You’re pretty.” He smiles boyishly, he really did find you gorgeous and would tell you again and again if it wouldn’t be weird. The compliment makes you blush and hum.

“You’re pretty too.” You lace your arms around his neck. Both of your faces coming so close together now. Breathes intermingling for a moment, asking the same question. “You were right though.”

“About what?”

“I do want to kiss you again.” You catch the slight hitch in Jungkook's breath at your words, the way his fingers tighten on your hips, grounding you even as your heart races. His eyes flicker from your mouth to your eyes, searching your face as though he’s almost afraid this moment might slip away.

“I’m not one to protest.” Jungkook swallows for a moment, before you took no time to close the distance between you. Pressing your lips against his soft but certain. Jungkook immediately responds tilting his head to deepen it. One of Jungkook's hands sliding up your back to bring you closer to him. The moment makes you forget everything else, as you slide your tongue into his mouth.

For a moment, you allow yourself to sink into it, into the surprising tenderness of his touch, the quiet intensity of his kiss. You move your hands to cup his face, relishing in how warm you are now. You felt your whole entire body heat up, and small wetness in between your legs. Oh this was not good, you cannot sleep with him this soon.

Oh he probably knew exactly what he was doing though.

He would know exactly where to touch you and exactly how to make you moan and you had very little issues with wanting to let him do that. It would be so worth it, it would be so good. Except it cannot go past this, for your sanity at least. You needed to cut this off somehow, expect you kind of lead the night here. His tongue in your mouth was making it incredibly difficult to be logical. You could feel him probably already getting a semi and you really could not stop thinking about grinding on him.

You needed to stop though. Because this is a great opportunity to drive in that wedge between the two of you. One more way to mess this situation ship up, but not ruin it completely.

As you pull away from him, leaving his lap, you mutter, “Okay… Goodnight.” You force yourself to stand, feigning nonchalance as you gather your things, even though every cell in your body is screaming at you to turn back around. Jungkook is left blinking at you, visibly caught off guard, his hands awkwardly suspended in the air where your hips just were. He clears his throat, collecting himself as he scrambles to follow you.

Clearing his throat. “Hey… um woah… was that not good or whatever?”

You pick up some of your stuff into you arm, “It was it was good. It was great.”

Oh god it was great, he was a really good kisser and your whole body was screaming at you to go back but you fought through.

Jungkook was confused by your answer and shook his head, as he continued to follow you, “Did… did I misread something? Because I was getting a vibe.”

You glance over your shoulder and manage to flash a casual smile. “No, you didn’t misread anything. I just… don’t usually sleep with someone on the second date. Kind of a rule.” You bite your lip, keeping the truth of it hidden.

“Oh.” Jungkook nods, a look of relief mixed with mild confusion crossing his face as he adjusts his shirt. “Right, totally. Cool cool cool. That’s more than okay and Makes sense, makes sense… you should have said something.”

“It’s a bit of a mood killer to say ‘hey, by the way, you’re not getting any,’ don’t you think?” You raise an eyebrow, suppressing a grin.

You gather your things, amused by his honesty, and start toward the door. Jungkook trails behind you, letting out a small puff of air as he stares at the floor. Then, after a beat, he glances up with a sly grin. “So… just out of curiosity, not trying to be weird or anything, but what date number are we talking here? Fourth, fifth…?”

You can’t help but laugh at his question, knowing full well he has no idea you’re just messing with him. “Higher.”

He frowns, looking genuinely curious now. “Sixth?”

“Nope.”

“Seventh?” He leans in closer, eyes narrowed like he’s reading the answer off your face.

“Higher.”

“Okay, when do you usually?”

You cross your arms, “Twelfth.”

Jungkook’s face barely changes, but you can see his jaw tighten just a little as he processes this. “Twelve… dates,” he repeats slowly, nodding as if he’s mentally mapping it out. “I mean, sure. That’s totally reasonable. Not a problem.”

“Really?” you ask, surprised at his lack of pushback.

Yeah.” He shrugs, putting on a confident smile. “Guess I just have to plan ten more killer dates.”

“Uh huh. I’ll believe it when I see them.” Jungkook then opens the front door for you.

“You're going to keep me on my toes aren’t you?” He watches you slowly step out the door with a wide grin on your face. He finds it cute and playful, he could tell you liked the chase.

“Goodnight Jungkook.” You say in a sing song voice, giving him a flirtatious wave as you walk up the hallway to his elevator.

Before you could get too far Jungkook decided to leave with just one last thing. Trotting up the hallway so he could catch you, taking your wrist and stopping you. “One last thing.”

Jungkook places a hand on your cheek and then kisses you. It surprises you but you welcome him, its one of those kisses that is so passionate and it makes your knees want to buckle out from under you in response. He uses just a little bit of tongue to send a shiver through your whole body, his hand warm against your cheek as he continues to kiss you just long enough to make you lose track of the hallway, the elevator, and everything else.

When he finally pulls back, his eyes are twinkling with that trademark cockiness, but there’s something softer underneath, something that makes your heart do an unwelcome little flip. He grins, his hand lingering on your cheek for just a moment longer before letting go. “Goodnight.”

He goes back into his apartment as you retreat to the elevator. As you ride down, you let out a shaky breath, trying to process what just happened, and trying even harder to remind yourself why you’re supposed to be making him miserable. But as your lips still tingle from his kiss, you’re the one who is being thrown off balance now. This was continuing to prove to be difficult.

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Day 6

Jungkook is floating on air as he gets through his next work day. So much so Hoseok has taken notice of Jungkook's change in attitude. Really his whole attitude had been different all week. Not that he was particularly grumpy before or even usually in a bad mood, but he was in a good mood.

It was Friday night, and the familiar hum of the weekend buzzed in the air as Jimin and Taehyung once again convinced Jungkook and Hoseok to come out for a night of fun. Jungkook had been hesitant, his thoughts lingering on you. He’d been so busy lately, and while the dates had been great, there was something about tonight that made him want to see what plans you had before fully committing to the night out. But eventually, he decided he should just go—time with his friends, after all, was good too. Plus, there was that whole bet to think about, and he had a chance to subtly show Jimin and Taehyung how smoothly things were going with you.

When Jungkook and Hoseok arrived at the booth, they were greeted with their usual boisterous energy. Taehyung raised his glass, grinning widely. “Look who it is!” he said, motioning to the empty seats. As they sat down, the drinks flowed easily, and the conversation began to buzz.

However, Jimin and Taehyung had something else on their minds—Jungkook’s unusually good mood. While their conversation about random topics picked up, they were both trying to pinpoint exactly what had changed in him.

“So,” Jimin leaned forward, his voice a bit more teasing than usual, “what’s going on with you tonight? You’ve been, like, way too chill. It’s freaking me out.”

Jungkook paused for a moment, a little taken aback by the sudden observation. “What do you mean?”

Jimin gestured at him with a mock-serious face, “You're usually the one trying to take the night to the next level. Trying to make things more interesting. Tonight, you're just sitting here, all calm, looking like you’re, I don’t know, at peace or something?”

Taehyung chuckled at the thought, leaning in with a grin. “Yeah, what happened to the Jungkook who was out here doing whatever it took to keep things fun and exciting? You usually make sure the whole night has a direction. Right now, you’re, like... engaged in our conversation about cyber-security. That’s... not you.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, trying to play it cool, but he could feel the pressure mounting. He knew his friends had caught on to something, but they didn’t know why he was acting different. “I’m just… having a good day,” he said, his voice light and casual. “Nothing wrong with that, right?”

Hoseok snorted next to him and Jungkook gave him a side eye.

“You definitely would have gotten someone’s number by now but your eyes have been glued on us or on your phone this whole time.” Taehyung added on, which was usually true but Jungkook was glued to his phone. Hoping maybe he would see another text from you, secretly. Casually, in a totally normal way.

“So what gives?” Jimin pokes Jungkook in the arm.

“It’s nothing.” Jungkook shrugged and took a sip of his drink.

Hoseok rolled his eyes, “It’s Y/N. The girl you set him up with for this stupid bet.”

“Oh.” It all clicked into place for the both of them but it was still weird, “She totally see through your act yet?”

Jungkook was caught off guard, the question cutting deeper than he expected. He shifted in his seat, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. “Actually,” he began, his voice softening, “no. We had a really nice date last night. There is nothing to see through, I’ve been completely genuine.”

“Oh, really?” Jimin raised a skeptical eyebrow, a grin tugging at his lips.

Hoseok, who had been mostly observing, finally chimed in with a sigh. “He’s been in such a good mood about it all day, I’ve actually been avoiding him.”

Jungkook shot him a glare, nudging his arm. “So that’s why you were dodging me earlier?”

Hoseok shrugged, chuckling. “Sorry, man, I just couldn’t listen to you go on about Y/N again today.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, glancing back at Jimin and Taehyung. “You guys are acting like it’s such a big deal. It’s just… going well.”

Taehyung raised a skeptical brow, his tone a bit annoyed. “So, you’re hitting it off?”

Jungkook smirked, raising his glass. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

That earned a laugh from Jimin and Taehyung. “Yeah, right.” Jimin scoffed, shaking his head.

“All I’m saying,” Jungkook replied, his smirk widening, “is you two better get your wallets ready. In 24 days, you’re going to owe me big time.”

With a final grin, Jungkook set his glass down and excused himself, heading off to the bathroom. As soon as he was out of earshot, Jimin leaned closer to Hoseok, lowering his voice. “Okay, is it actually going well, or is he just messing with us?”

Hoseok took a sip of his drink, letting the suspense hang in the air for a moment before answering. “All I’ll say is… he sent flowers.”

Jimin’s jaw dropped, and Taehyung’s eyes widened. “Flowers?” They exchanged looks of disbelief, struggling to picture Jungkook—who hadn’t done more than text after a night out for years—sending flowers.

“What kind?” Taehyung asked, still dubious. “If they were just roses, it might’ve been for show.”

Hoseok gave an exasperated look. “Sunflowers. They’re her favorite.”

Jimin blinked in disbelief, his jaw still halfway dropped as he processed Hoseok's words. “Sunflowers?” he repeated, as if the specific flower choice made it even more surreal. “You’re telling me Jungkook not only sent flowers but remembered her favorite kind?”

Hoseok nodded, his expression one of mild amusement. “It’s like he’s on some kind of mission. Didn’t even blink when he mentioned it either—used it as his way to get the second date they had this week.”

Taehyung shook his head, laughing under his breath. “I don’t know who this new Jungkook is, but he’s full of surprises. Sunflowers? That’s not just impressive; that’s borderline romantic.”

“Borderline?” Jimin laughed, still trying to wrap his head around it. “He’s gone full-on romance novel, and for someone he’s been seeing for, what, a week? This has to be the longest he’s been interested in anyone, like, ever.”

Taehyung let out a low whistle, chewing on his lip as he processed the surprising information. “Damn. This is serious.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok said with a small smile, finding some pride in a changed Jungkook. “So he’s not wrong when he says you guys are going to owe him. He’s actually putting in the effort.”

Jimin and Taehyung exchanged a look, stunned but slightly impressed. Watching Jungkook send flowers, remember favorites, and put his best foot forward was new—and honestly? They both knew they might just end up eating their own words. Which made them think, was there a way for them to slow this down, make it come to a halt?

It wasn’t an insane amount of money for either of them to lose, but it was much more entertaining to see Jungkook lose. Was there something they could do to mess this up but in a non asshole way?

If they didn’t, Jungkook was going to win the bet, but it had already become much more than a bet at this point for him.

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hier--soir · 1 year ago

Text

a lover's pinch | seven

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: things get a little messy after returning home. a confrontation sparks the beginning of a new stage in your relationship with joel. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, angst, miscommunication trope, self-doubt, alcohol consumption/hangover, joel is 50 and he texts like it, les mis spoilers???, phantom of the opera spoilers???, jealous!joel, food/eating, hurt/comfort, professor DAD, professor COWBOY, soft emotional smut, unprotected piv sex, cream pie, oral [f!receiving], joel says dadgum cause i think it's so classic him and so cute. word count: 11.1k jesus series masterlist | main masterlist chapter moodboard a/n: merry christmas to all that celebrate. as always, thank you for your patience and kindness. the love for this series is nothing short of mind blowing, and i appreciate you all endlessly. i hope you enjoy this angst and potentially the most flowery + emotional ALP smut yet [if that's even possible]. also rachel i love you i'm sorry. without further ado, the beginning of our descent into The End Times x follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing this is part seven of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three, four, five, six.

Tuesday.

It's nine thirty in the morning and you buy a Coke anyways.

It’s raining heavy outside; fat droplets of water that splatter against the windscreen of your car and dribble down, slipping through the crevice at the top of the bonnet, searching for the engine, for the oil gasket, for somewhere undercover to dry out.

You tuck your legs beneath yourself, sit criss-cross in the driver’s seat, and take small sips of fizzing black sugar. Allow it to moisten your lips, coat your tongue and your teeth in that sickening, viscous way soda always does, before it slips down your throat.

There’s something unearthly about the day, unnerving—it’s Tuesday morning and you’re hungover. A dull ache behind your left eye, a kink in your neck. You check your phone.

Thick, rolling clouds loom across the sky. Occasionally, a flash of lightning, a thrum of thunder. You tear open a packet of peanuts and pluck one out, and then another. Eat until your lips are dry and puckered, and then take another drink. More peanuts then. Salty, sweet, salty, sweet.

It’s all you can stomach as your liver pumps and spasms, still working to cleanse your blood of the night before, spent sprawled on the couch with Trin and Nora.

Wearing sweaters and thick socks, gripping full glasses of wine, and watching Les Misérables. Nora, tears on her cheeks, had sung along with Hugh Jackman—'This innocent who bears my face, who goes to judgement in my place, who am I?’—and you, bleary-eyed and tipsy, had discreetly checked your phone.

You didn’t cry during I Dreamed A Dream but you’re crying for this? Trin rolled her eyes.

He sacrifices his freedom to save that man, Nora whimpered.

You woke up starving and the traffic was slow. At every red light and stop sign your fingers itched against the wheel, desperate to press inside your bag and pull out this little packet. And now, safe in the campus parking lot, you feast. Salty, sweet, salty, sweet. You feel a fleeting moment of pity for people with peanut allergies, and then you check your phone.

Still nothing.

Since you left New York on Monday morning there’s been no sign of life from Joel. No get home safe, no see you on Tuesday; no acknowledgement at all.

You stare dejectedly at the messages you’ve sent him.

First from yesterday afternoon:

Home now. Enjoy your last day in the big apple x

And then from late last night, two bottles of wine deep:

It’s raining and miserable here

Wish I was still in new york

With you

Sitting in your car now, glowering at the blank space where his response should be, you reconcile with the thought that perhaps he wants what happened in New York to stay in New York. Stolen glances and all-too-brief touches in a conference hall, his hand on your wrist at the museum, skin against skin in his hotel room, and in yours—perhaps it was supposed to happen there, not here. The lowering of walls came with a change in location, and maybe that was his intention. But those thoughts don’t ease the sharp twist in your chest when you think of him. Doesn’t take away how much you wish he would give you something – a morsel of communication, even a single word of acknowledgement. For as hard as you try to understand, you can’t forget the look in his eyes when he touched you at the cloisters, the way he breathed your name into your mouth. Sewing the seed of JoelJoelJoel into in the soft folds of your brain, impossible to forget.

You don’t think about his dinner with Rachel. Don’t consider that something may have happened that night, something that changed his mind about you. Something that made him rethink the entire weekend as you slipped into the shower and out the door, leaving him alone in your hotel bed while you headed to the airport.

No. You don’t think about that at all.

When you make it inside, clothes wet and cool from the rain, you shake your hair out like a dog. Let droplets fly across the hall as you make your way into the lecture theatre; a drizzled trail left in your wake.

The room is full when you step inside, but there’s no sign of him yet. You collapse into an empty chair in the front row and wait. The final few students filter in through the door, shaking out umbrellas and wiping their feet. And for another ten minutes you, foolishly, still expect Joel to show up.

It’s only when the door creaks open and an old man walks through, that you let the hopeful feeling rest.

He lays a worn old satchel against the desk and turns to smile at the room.

“Hello,” the stranger smiles, and his jowls quiver as he speaks. “I’m Jerry Dorfman, a Professor from the literature department, and…”

You zone out for a second, eyes darting down to your phone screen. Nothing.

“Oh, and Professor Miller,” Dorfman says, as if he’s just remembered that he shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be standing up there, in his spot. “Is tied up with a family matter. I trust he’ll be back with us later in the week.”

A family matter?

Slick with rain, staring at this stranger stood in Joel’s place, you feel like a kind of newborn. Some fresh lamb, soaked in the blood and amniotic fluids of her mother’s womb, staring through unseeing eyes, hoping to glean some understanding of this moment. This sudden burst of light, this shocking cold after so many weeks of warmth, of sweat and strong hands on your skin, holding you close. But this is Eros; the blacksmith, the limb-loosener, the crusher. A deviation from stoking the flame to the suddenly desperate, grasping loneliness of feeling as though you are standing by a lover’s window, staring helplessly through the glass, and watching them from the outside. Alone.

Dorfman tries and fails to connect his laptop to the projector.

Numb fingers type;

Are you okay? Where are you?

But no response comes.

No, not until later that night, not until you’re tucked beneath the covers of your bed, showered and sleepy, does he finally reach out.

The clock has just ticked past midnight when your phone vibrates.

Hey, I had to stay in the city another day. Just landed at PWM. See you on Thursday.

A hot, jagged feeling swims in your gut as you read the message, and then reread it. Twice, three more times, searching for some hint of familiarity. Some indication that he has been thinking about you as much as you’ve been thinking about him. That the past weekend meant something to him, like it meant to you.

Minutes pass, and when you don’t find what you’re looking for, you fall asleep without responding.

Thursday.

Nora wakes up with a stuffy nose.

This always happens to me, she sniffs. I hate being sick.

The tiles in the kitchen are cold beneath your bare toes and rain smears heavily against the windowpane. You can hear fat blooms of thunder bellowing outside. Nora’s sullen, husky voice paired with the steam rising from your mug are all it takes to convince you to stay home with her.

The two of you spend the day curled on the sofa beneath blankets. You stare at your laptop, a document open on your screen with the title of an essay sitting pretty at the top. The cursor blinks and blinks at you, taunting you, daring you to write something, anything. But Sex and The City is playing on the tv, and Nora is snoring at the other end of the sofa, and you can’t help but watch the minutes tick by on the clock. Listen to Carrie and Miranda argue about Big, and wonder if Joel has even noticed your absence.

Trin gets home from class, and you follow her into the kitchen. Peel and slice oranges and apples and lemons while she tells you about her day. Boil them in sugar with cinnamon and star anise while she complains about an argument she had with her boyfriend. Add red wine and brandy while she tells you that her Dad sent her some money, and she’ll order take out for the three of you.

So together you huddle in the lounge and eat hot Indian food with your hands. Soak pieces of naan in tarka dal and saag paneer and top if off with mulled wine, unphased by the clashing of flavours in your mouths.

And you don’t check your phone, or look at the time, and you don’t complain when Nora asks, with glassy-eyes and spinach in her teeth, if she can put on another musical.

He’s a freak, Trin frowns at the TV.

He loves her, Nora implores, staring doe-eyed at a masked Gerard Butler.

Nor, Trin scoffs, he put a wedding dress on a mannequin that looks just like her. In his fucking lair, no less. That’s freak behaviour.

He has amazing sideburns though, Nora grins. So he gets a pass.

Your phone vibrates as Erik strokes a passed-out Christine’s face, singing help me make the music of the night.

Careful that Nora won’t notice, you pull it from beneath your thigh.

Where were you today?

You stare at the words for a moment and feel your lips curl into an disbelieving sneer.

“Oh, fuck off,” you mutter, and shove your phone into the crevice between the sofa cushions.

Wednesday.

A week goes by with no word from Joel.

No word from you either.

You stay home every day. Write and read and catch up on work and take Benadryl and sip soup and then you wake one morning, relieved to find that Nora’s cold has finally left your system.

So you tug on jeans, a sweater, and share a pot of coffee in the kitchen. Share quiet conversation with Pete in his shitty old Beamer as he gives you a ride to campus, and walk into Rachel’s lecture with zero expectation that today will be the day you finally see Joel again.

“We understand that Antigone is a victim of her father’s sins,” Rachel explains. “In the wake of patricide, of incest, every one of her actions is seen as a direct consequence.”

“Even her fate to be buried alive was sewn by her father’s unwitting actions,” she pauses, eyes searching the faces across the room, gauging reactions. “And, of course, this concept isn’t unique to Greek mythology. We see it plainly in the Bible, in Exodus; the sins of your father are to be laid upon the children… these themes of ancestral curses, of the inevitability of fate – they are integral to understand when looking at our tragic heroines. We saw it with Medea, we see it with Antigone, with Iphigenia, with Electra. Electra herself said, we are bound to acquiesce—”

An interrupting knock sounds against the door. Rachel’s head swivels around, eyebrows knitted in frustration as she calls for whoever it is to come in.

The door creaks open and her expression lifts. A saccharine smile spreads across her face, shoulders loosening.

“Joel,” she says warmly. “What can I do for you?”

A shiver wracks down your spine, toes curling in your sneakers.

The broad mass of him rests in the doorway. His head peeks past the wood, just a glimpse of his curls, his glasses, visible from where you sit. Your heart thunders in your chest, palms going damp at the prospect of this being the moment you finally see him again.

He speaks a few words in her direction, too quiet to catch, and then he’s taking a step into the room. His hand grips the edge of the door, keeping it open, and he casts a glance out towards the audience. Dark brown and searching, those eyes filter through countless faces until they finally land on yours.

And for a second, he doesn’t say a word. Just gazes out at you, eyebrows pulled together in the middle of his forehead, and then—and then he fucking looks back at Rachel. Your stomach goes hollow when you see the smile on her face. She lazes against the corner of her desk, and it feels like minutes go by as the two of you stare at him. And there’s something about waiting, you think, that feels like torture. That slow, painful build-up of pressure as you sit and stare and prepare yourself to discover who he’s here for. You or her.

You’re reminded painfully of a Graham Greene quote. A passage from The End of the Affair – one you’d, perhaps foolishly, found romantic when you read it that first time. Chosen words that had warmed your chest and made you feel light, lighter than air; the way only words could do sometimes.

‘Yes, Henry?’ and then ‘You?’ She had always called me ‘you’. ‘Is that you?’ on the telephone, ‘Can you? Will you? Do you?’ so that I imagined, like a fool, for a few minutes at a time, there was only one ‘you’ in the world and that was me.

Now, as you stare at Joel in the mouth of the doorway and memory of that passage sinks its hooks in, you feel only contempt for Greene.

For you had always read that passage imagining yourself as Sarah. And someone else, some misfortunate Maurice Bendrix, had fallen into your lap, and he was the ‘you’. But not you, never you. And it’s that pride which deceives. That pride which lulls us into false senses of security.

Joel says your name then.

Says, “Can I speak with you?” You, you, you.

And it should feel like relief, to hear your name on his lips again. But you catch the way he spares another glance, soft and sympathetic, in Rachel’s direction, and that sickly hurt isn’t abated.

Her face falls, but she smiles at you. Nods her permission for you to leave the room, and only when you’re halfway across the lecture theatre, bag swung over your shoulder, does she continue speaking to the class.

Palm flat against the door, he holds it open for you, making you press against him as you slip out of the room. It clicks shut behind you and he begins to move down the hall, leaving you to follow behind with no explanation. You assume that he’s going to lead you to his office, or anywhere more private than this, but a metre from the door Joel pauses abruptly, turns, and you slam into his chest with a huff.

“Jesus,” you mutter, stumbling a few steps back.

“Where have you been?” he glowers, brows drawn tight and angry over his eyes.

“What?”

“I’ve been busy,” you grit, glaring back. “Where have you been?”

“Busy?” he scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’ve been busy too. Busy teachin’ the classes that you don’t even show up for.”

“I’ve been sick,” you roll your eyes, unable—or perhaps just unwilling—to stray from nastiness, from spite. “My apologies, Professor.”

“Don’t—” Joel snaps, and flinches as quickly as the word comes out of his mouth, surprised by how harsh it sounds in the air between the two of you. He takes a step closer, voice low now—“Don’t call me that.”

“Fuck, what is your problem?” you huff, eyes widening, exasperated. “I missed two classes, it’s not a big deal.”

“And the silence?” Joel takes a step forward as he says it. Close enough now to see the smudges on the lens of his glasses. Close enough to see the muscle in his jaw twitch. Too close for public; too close for here. “Can’t even text me back, huh? What the hell is goin’ on with you?”

Your body pulls taut at that, hands balling into fists at your sides.

“Oh, you don’t like silence?” you hiss, matching his volume. “You can’t be serious. Joel, I didn’t hear from you for days after New York. Why would I waste my breath when it’s obvious you don’t want to fucking hear from me?”

“It was barely two days,” he shakes his head, shakes off the insinuation, shakes off whatever blame you’re trying to put on him.

“Two days,” you nod, smirking angrily. “Two days after we spent an entire weekend together. Two days after we kissed and fucked and practically went on a date.”

And the word date must elicit something in him. Some minute, man-brain trigger that snaps him to attention and helps him understand the hurt on your face, the tremble in your hands. Because he says your name, voice softening, posture loosening, every bit of his body language screaming out that he wants to step forward and touch you.

And he’s speaking again, voice low, but there’s people coming down the hall, heading your way. Two figures that you can’t make out through the haze of Joel in your immediate vision. So when he reaches out and touches your hand you flinch, jutting your chin over his shoulder. A warning. Don’t do this here.

One of them calls your name and you pause, mouth open. Drag your eyes away from Joel’s features to watch the figures get closer.

“Pete,” you force a smile. “Hey.”

You realise quickly how it must look; your sullen expression, Joel staring down at you with his shoulders hunched. He must understand at the same moment, because he takes a quick step away, folds his hands behind his back.

“Hey,” Pete takes a step closer. He glances warily between you and Joel, confusion colouring his face. “Everything cool?”

Stony faced, Joel looks between the two of you, posture stiffening the longer he stares at Pete. So much larger than him, taller and broader and far more intimidating. But a man with a secret to keep isn’t one to jump quickly at confrontation, so he keeps his mouth shut. Let’s you do the talking.

Ian catches your eye over Pete’s shoulder and offers a sleazy sort of smile. You swallow down a glare and hold Pete’s gaze.

“Everything’s fine,” you lie, taking a step towards them. A step away from Joel. “What’s up, what are you guys doing in this building?”

Pete’s eyebrows pull together, and he cocks his head at you. “Said you needed a ride home today. This morning, remember?”

“This morning,” you repeat, nodding slowly. You raise your hand and pinch the bridge of your nose, thinking quickly, mind a mess. “I, uh… right, look, Pete, I actually forgot I have a meeting with Professor Miller about my final essay this afternoon.”

“Your final…” Pete trails off, frowning. “Isn’t that due in like a month?”

“Yeah,” you say vaguely, and do not look at Joel. “I’ll find a way home later, okay?”

“I mean, sure. I guess,” Pete agrees reluctantly, reaching up to grip the strap of his satchel. “Call me if you need me okay?”

And Joel’s face turns to stone at the insinuation in those words. The idea that Pete could give you anything he couldn’t. That anyone would need to swoop in and save you from him.

The pair of you stand in silence for a moment, eyes trained on Pete and Ian’s retreating backs as they head down the hall. You watch and watch until they turn the corner, disappearing from sight, and only then do you exhale a breath of relief.

You contemplate leaving him there. Turning your back on him and returning to Rachel’s lecture, ignoring his texts and letting this all fade into some painful memory. But when you look at him again—at those big brown eyes that gaze back at you—you know you couldn’t if you tried.

“You look tired,” he frowns, and it’s not angry anymore. A little sad, maybe.

“I am,” you admit, and wonder if your face betrays how much of a role he plays in that exhaustion.

“Are you hungry?”

You stare for a moment, blinking slow, and then say, “Yeah.”

Joel nods, attempts a crooked smile, and says, “Let me take you to get something to eat.”

It’s silent in Joel’s car, aside from the soft patter of rain against his windows and the dull squeak of his windscreen wipers sliding it away. The truck glides through the winding streets of Biddeford, cruising down the main road and into the left lane of a fast-food drive thru. Orders you a burger, fries, nothing for himself, passing the bag into your lap and then continuing to drive.

The bun is soft beneath your fingers. Grease soaks your skin, and you taste beef, taste onions so soft, so sweet. A crimson dot of ketchup spattered onto your pants; a bright shock of mustard on your tongue. A fry here and there. Joel’s hand, outstretched fingers, sneaking across the centre console to steal one. You shift the paper bag on your lap, tilt the opening so it faces him, easier to access, but he doesn’t take another.

He grips the wheel and asks, “Do you want me to take you home?”

You think about Pete waiting for you at the house. Think about if Ian and that filthy smirk on his face and whether or not he’ll be there too. Think about having to flesh out your excuse, your lie, and finally say, “No.”

Joel keeps driving. You eat until your pants feel tight and the greasy brown bag is crumpled in your fist and he’s pulling his truck off the road and into a short driveway.

“Full?”

“Very.”

“Good.”

“Is this your house?”

“This is it.” He drags the keys out of the ignition and knocks the door open. It’s not long, barely a second, before he’s pulling yours open with a rough yank and a soft, “Door always sticks on this side.”

A vague sound spills from the back of your throat, and he guides you up a path towards the small home. Single storey, with a large brown door and windows decorating the outward façade. Your immediate thought is that it’s very Joel, but you stop the idea in its tracks. Remind yourself that maybe it isn’t your place to think things like that.

Inside it’s even more silent, even more tense. The two of you stand in the entry way, toeing off damp shoes. Your eyes flit around his front room, but it’s difficult to focus on anything. Too much to look at, too much you want to know, and you find it easier to just look at him.

“Realised you’d never been here,” Joel murmurs after a while. He shifts awkwardly on his feet, decidedly unsure of what to say as he rests beneath the weight of your stare. “This is the, uh, the livin’ room. Kitchen’s over there.”

When you don’t respond, he clears his throat, ticks his head towards the hallway. “Bathroom is down the hall. Bedroom too.”

You feel your face shift. Deadpan stare turns to surprise, to incredulity, to blatant anger.

“Oh, the bedroom, huh?” you smile, sardonic, cutting. Your throat feels tight. “S’that seriously why you brought me here? Ice me out and then come crawling back when you want something to fuck again?”

“Woah, hey,” his eyebrows shoot up, hands drifting forward like he’s trying to calm a startled animal.

“Don’t,” you hold up a shaking hand, eyes wide and wet suddenly. “Just… don’t touch me right now, okay? What are we doing here, Joel? Seriously.”

He says your name hard and fast, surprised by how quickly it’s all unravelling, spilling from you in a tidal wave.

And spill it does. The words are wet and watery, a tsunami of pent up emotions pouring from your mouth without permission, without forethought.

“I mean, we haven’t seen each other since New York. And I… I thought being there changed things between us. But maybe I was wrong… and then you pull me out of a lecture, bring me here and say my bedroom is down the hall? Am I just… do you just like having someone to fuck whenever you want? Is that it? Someone at your beck and call?”

Joel repeats your name, sharper this name. “Don’t put fuckin’ words in my mouth.” His face pinches in anger, hands dropping.

“When it’s not convenient you try to shake me off, but when it is—at a bar, or out of town—” you list them off on your fingers, eyes growing wider and wider. “Oh, you want me then?”

“That ain’t fuckin’ true and you know it—”

“Do I?” you scoff.

“I came that night when you texted,” he implores, voice raising, all wild-eyed and pleading. “You were drunk, and textin’ and you needed a ride.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that—”

“You didn’t ask me not too either,” he crosses his arms across his chest. “You wanted me to come. Don’t fuckin’ deny that now.”

You open your mouth but he’s too quick, matching your spill with his own now.

“And as if you’re any better?” he bares his teeth now, voice low. “As if you didn’t find out I was your teacher and keep fuckin’ me just for the thrill of it. As if you actually wanted me, and you weren’t just gettin’ off on chasin’ some forbidden fantasy.”

“I…” you gape at him, unafraid to let the hurt show on your face. “Is that really what you think of me?”

“What the fuck am I supposed to think?” he hisses, exhaustion evident in the way he runs a hand through his curls and sags against the door. “You tellin’ me I should believe that you just want me for what I am? A fifty-year-old teacher who spends his time giving fuckin’ speeches to people that are hardly listenin’? Who goes home to an empty bed? That’s what you want?”

And it deflates you, a little. The wounded expression on his face – the devastating truth in those words, splashed across his expression so plainly for you to see. Disbelief.

“Is that such a crime?” you ask quietly. “To want you… and have it be that simple?”

“You shouldn’t,” he shakes his head. Grimaces. “You shouldn’t want me, I’m—I’m no good for you.”

You swallow. Feel tears hot and sharp behind your eyes.

“Then why do you keep letting me?”

“Jesus,” he exhales, and his hand is on the hem of your shirt, pulling you closer, closer, until you’re pressed against his chest, hands coming up to grip his shoulders and steady yourself. “Because I can’t fuckin’ quit you, alright?”

“Because I don’t just want you when it’s convenient,” his lips curl around the word, disgusted by the insinuation. “Because I think about you all the god damn time and if I can only have you some of the time then I guess I’ll take it. Because if you want some fucked up fantasy, then I’ll play my part if it means I get you, I don’t care—”

You cut him off, lips firm and searing against his. He goes still for a moment, mouth parting with a surprised exhale, warm when you press inside with your tongue. And then warmer, salty; tears on his cheeks, on yours.

“That’s not what this is,” you whimper into his mouth, desperate for him to believe it. “It was never about that, it was about you, Joel. I want you.”

He kisses you again, slow. All of the anger and hurt and frustration pools out of the both of you, spilling from your mouths and into the air. His lips mould over yours and his hands are warm on your waist, your back, holding you tight against his chest. When you sniffle, he pulls back, forehead heavy against yours, and sighs.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, eyes closed. “I missed you, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for—"

“Where were you?” you interrupt. “What happened in New York?”

He hesitates for a moment, nervous and calculating as he stares you down.

You wilt a little; dejected all over again. Recoil from him and quietly ask, “Why won’t you let me know you?”

Joel’s hand hovers in the air, as if contemplating reaching for you again, but then it drops and he says, “I was with my daughter.”

You blink.

Daughter.

Daughter?

“She lives there now,” Joel sounds a little breathless, cheeks pink as the words spill from him. “In New York, with her girlfriend. I’d planned to spend an extra day there with her, and then Nina—Nina cut her hand open at the studio and we had to go to the ER, and she had to get stitches and—” He pauses, waiting for you to jump in, to interrupt, to say anything. When you don’t, he takes a breath and continues. “And I wasn’t gonna stay any longer but Ellie was worried, and she needed me. She needed me there, and—and I’m never fuckin’ there, because she never needs me anymore. So I stayed, and I’m sorry I went silent but I was… I was takin’ care of my kid.”

You think it might be the longest—and the fastest—you’ve ever heard him speak outside of a lecture hall.

His eyes drift to something over your shoulder and his entire body seems to sag a little. But it isn’t sad. It’s a resigned, sort of relaxed thing that happens – the corners of his mouth tilt up and he smiles weakly.

You turn, follow his eyeline until you see them.

Pictures, so many pictures, lining the walls of his home. Ones you’d paid no attention to when you first stepped inside, but can now see clearly. Bright eyes and wide toothy grins.

Some of Joel younger, leaner, smiling beside a little girl with curly hair. Some of him as you know him now; scruffy and greying, beside a different girl. This one lanky and pale and grimacing toward the camera as if she were forced into being placed in front of it.

There’s one picture of the girls beside each other, teenagers maybe, sat on either end of a seesaw. The curly-haired girl is on the upper end, grinning madly at the lens, while the other sits with her feet planted firmly on the ground, laughing up at her. Two of them. Two daughters?

“Please say somethin’.”

There’s a picture of Joel and he’s holding a tiny little bundle in his arms, and he looks so young and so fucking afraid. Dark eyes wide and teary as he gazes down at chubby cheeks, his index fingers crooked around the edge of her swaddle. A warm feeling swells in your chest and your body softens the longer you look at it. He’s a father.

Joel says your name and when you turn his face is all twisted up, and he looks the smallest you’ve ever seen him. Almost curled in on himself.

“I should’ve told you,” he nods, brown eyes darting across your face in an attempt to decipher your silence. “I know that, and I—”

“I’m an asshole,” you interrupt softly, and the tears never left but now they feel heavier on your waterline. Begging to spill over again.

“Hey,” he frowns, hand coming up to cup your cheek. His thumb swipes at the soft skin beneath your eye, begging the wetness there to disappear. “Hey, hey, no—”

“I didn’t think…” you trail off, sniffling. A sickly cocktail of embarrassment and guilt and shame swirl in the pit of your stomach and you try to swallow it down, try to send it away, but it’s persistent. “I never stopped to think that something had actually happened, that you had… I feel selfish, Joel, I’m sorr—”

“You’re not,” he hushes, fingers curling into the hair behind your ear. “You didn’t know. I should’ve told you before, and I’m sorry.”

“I thought you were staying away because of me,” you offer a watery smile. “I thought maybe you and…” You can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. Can’t make your lips form the name Rachel.

“No,” he shakes his head, jaw tight, as if reading your mind.

“Is she okay?”

“Ellie?”

“Ellie,” you roll the name around in your mouth. His daughter. “Yeah.”

“She’s okay,” he smiles, nodding. “They’re both fine.”

“And…” You look back at the pictures. Two. “And the other girl?”

“Sarah,” Joel says softly, pointing at wild curls and brown eyes that look just like his. And he must see the questions swirling in your brain because he speaks again. “I was twenty. My, uh, my girlfriend at the time didn’t know what to do. Didn’t wanna be a Mom, but didn’t agree with abortion, and we were so young and… well, I asked her to marry me cause it felt like the right thing to do, but she didn’t…” he shakes his head a little, a faraway look in his eye as he remembers it. “She said no. She never wanted that… so, after Sarah was born, I told her that she didn’t have to.”

“Didn’t have to?” you repeat the words, eyebrows furrowing.

“Didn’t have to stay,” he clarifies. Your lips part, surprised. “So, she didn’t, and we ain’t seen her since Sarah was a few months old.”

“Shit,” you whisper, eyes widening as the information finally starts to sink in.

“And Ellie,” he laughs then, gazing at a picture of auburn locks and shock grey eyes. “Well, that one showed up on my door some time fifteen years later. Been in ‘n’ outta foster care for years, and just started followin’ Sarah home from school one day. We did this little dance for a while; dinners and sleepovers and me slipping money into her backpack so she could buy lunch at school. And then one day she just… begged me not to make her go back to her own house. So I didn’t.”

“Wow, I…” you blink. “You adopted her? Alone?”

“I…” Joel pauses. Wets his lips, frowning as he collects his thoughts. “Alone is… I don’t think that’s the right word for it. You see Ellie was… Sarah and me, we just knew. She was family so fast. It was the only thing that made sense, you know?”

And it does, you suppose. The image isn’t hard to conjure. Joel at the dinner table with two teenagers on either side of him. Arguing over homework, over curfews, over what movie to watch. You can see the fondness in his eyes as he talks about them – the emotion laced through his words; we just knew.

“Tell me what you’re thinkin’,” Joel says, and that line between his eyebrows is back and it’s so deep that you can’t help yourself from reaching up and smoothing it over with your thumb. He catches your hand and holds it against the centre of his chest. Lets you feel the way his heart thuds heavily beneath the skin, a sturdy rhythm against your palm.

“It’s… it’s a lot to take in,” you confess, and his hand tightens over yours. “But I’m glad you told me.”

Brown eyes search yours, gaze heavy. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Okay then.”

You flex your palm against his chest. Dig your fingers into the flesh there a little.

“Can I…” he hesitates, eyes flickering down. “Do you… Can I kiss you?” You, you, you.

Your heart beats fast, and you feel his do the same, and Joel is a father, and two daughters, and I can’t fuckin’ quit you, and you’re breathing into his mouth yes, yes you can kiss me, please kiss me.

It’s warm and it’s gentle and it feels like such a kindness to kiss him now and feel less space between the two of you. Feels like a thousand apologies and explanations slipping off his tongue and you opening your arms to him, saying I understand, saying thank you for telling me.

And when you pull him closer, wrapping an arm around the back of his neck, he meets you in kind, pressing your back against the wall. He shifts his hips between yours and shows you how much he’s missed you, and only when his hand drifts beneath the hem of your shirt do you pause.

He stills, warm breaths drifting across your mouth as he looks into your eyes.

“Talk to me.”

“I’m exhausted,” you admit shyly, twisting a finger through a frizzy lock of hair at the nape of his neck. You tug at it, not meeting his eye, and watch it bounce back into a curl when you let go. He nods and kisses you again, closed lips soft and not asking for anything, never asking for more than you want to give, before he takes your hand and leads you through his house for the first time.

He runs you a bath. Makes you sit on the edge while he lays out a towel and checks the temperature every few minutes. Only when he’s satisfied that the water is perfectly warm does he help peel the clothing from your body. He grips your hand and helps you step into the tub, lowering you down into sudsy water. And when you’re settled, he pulls a stool nearby and sits, keeping you company as you soak.

“S’nice,” you tell him quietly, dragging a foamy sponge across your arms. “Thank you, Joel.”

The weight of before hangs over you a little, pressing down against your shoulders as you watch him. Gauge him. But he doesn’t seem angry or upset anymore. He leans over the lip of the tub. Runs his hands through the water, over the skin of your calf, your knee. Feels the coarse hairs that have grown there over the past fortnight and smiles when they scratch against his palm.

“Said you were sick?”

“Mhm.”

“What kind?”

“Just a cold,” you whisper. He squeezes your knee, palm against your patella, fingers soft in the flesh around it. “M’fine. Past it now.”

In the soapy water, his skin feels like silk against yours.

“Changin’ of the season,” he muses with a nod. “Normally gets me too.”

And you laugh a little at that, because it’s such a fatherly thing to say and you can’t believe how naïve you’d been to not see it before. Can suddenly picture him doing this a thousand times over; resting by the bath while one of his little girls floats in the water, nose all stuffy from the flu.

At the sound of your laughter he smiles, gaze dropping to your mouth, and the skin beside his eyes pinches. Little wrinkles, so soft and so beautiful that you want to reach out and brush your fingers across them.

“You’re so beautiful,” Joel murmurs, and his voice is hushed, so low in the small bathroom.

His fingers skirt against the inside of your thigh and you splay your legs open for him, knees knocking against the sides of the tub. He glances down through the water to where you’re spread open for him to see, shameless, and smiles.

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he repeats.

“So are you, Joel.”

“Psh,” he rolls his eyes, offering a delicate little smile. So shy, so feeble, and so desperate to believe you. A little glimpse of that wary weight, still pressing down on him as well.

“Mean it,” you insist in a whisper. You lift a hand from the water, wet thumb grazing the corner of his mouth. Feel the bristles of his moustache, the hairs on his cheek, prickling against your skin.

“Swoony type,” you say, smiling when recognition flashes in his eyes. Stroke the fresh blush on his cheeks. “Long hair, bedroom eyes, cheeks like wine.”

“Hmm,” he murmurs, turning to press a kiss against your palm. “Can’t get away with plagiarisin’ Carson in this house, baby.”

“She just said it so well.”

“She did,” he agrees. “So did Tartt.”

“Tartt?” your mind wanes, the warm water lulling you into a sleepy sort of daze. You rest heavy against the side of the bath, gazing up at him

“Beauty is terror,” he quotes tenderly, eyes bold and earnest as he holds your stare. “Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it.”

You wrap an arm around his shoulders, water droplets staining his shirt where your fingers grip the material, and pull him forward to kiss you. Joel grips the inside of your leg and kisses you until your skin prunes and wrinkles. And when he notices he laughs with you, gripping your hand to press his lips against fingertips that look like raisins. Worships the soaked skin of your fingers until you pull his face back to yours; jealous of your own hands, fearful that they might come to know his kiss better than your lips.

And when the water goes lukewarm and you don’t know what time it is anymore, he dries you off with a soft towel and offers once more to take you home. But you say no, so he smiles and kisses you again—your lips, your cheeks, your eyelids—and leads you to his bedroom.

He drags a too-big shirt over your head, helps you loop your arms into the sleeves. Dark blue and warm, so warm, against your skin.

The two of you slip beneath the covers on his bed and he drags you against his side; lets you press your cold toes against his shins without so much as a flinch.

Facing each other on your sides, those hands slink beneath the shirt, rough palms cradling your ribs, your back, holding you tight against his chest until your breathing falls in sync. And those hands don’t stray, don’t move down, they just embrace you. A carefully held apology that promises I want this, to hold you, to be with you, too.

It stays like that, nothing more, until your eyelids are heavy, and his breathing has evened out. Stays like that until your hand drops from his back to the band of his boxers, sleepy little fingers plucking at the material, trying to slip underneath.

“You should rest.”

But you whine softly; needy and insistent as your fingers press harder.

“What do you need?” Joel rasps into your neck, helping you shift them down his legs.

“Need you,” you whisper back into the darkness of his bedroom. “Wanna feel you, I—”

His mouth is soft against yours, plucking those words from your mouth and swallowing them down. He sucks your bottom lip between his, prying your mouth open so he can slip his tongue inside.

His hand in on your knee, pulling your leg up until your thigh rests heavy around his hip and you can feel the hot weight of him against your core, still slick and warm and needy from when his hand rested on the inside of your leg in the bath.

And if you’d ever subscribed to the meaning behind words like sin you suppose that once this might have counted as one. An act worthy of being sent to reside in that second circle of hell, reserved solely for those overcome by lust; left to blow back and forth in the storm of their own desire. Two people who cannot touch, should not touch, who hold their hands out to feel anyways. A touch once spiteful, once desolate and removed, now so forthcoming. A touch that says this is the only way it could have ever been. And there can be nothing sinful about it anymore. No more shame or derision behind heavy eyelids, no more you shouldn’t or I’m no good for you. Here you rest comfortably in the hurricane of that second circle, and you welcome the breeze as a comfort.

Lips against yours, Joel feeds his cock to you in slow, careful passes.

Ensures you feel every ridge, every hard line of his body. And with each gentle press inside he murmurs against your mouth. Incessant, low nonsenses of so fuckin’ beautiful and god I missed you and that’s it, baby, I know, I know. His kiss smooth as an almond, tender as a fig. Ripe and wet and tremulous as his tongue finds a home against yours, over and over.

The comforter on his bed stays pulled high, up to your shoulders, and it traps the warmth of your bodies between you.

He coaxes rough, gasping sounds from you with every shift of his hips.

Long fingers grip the back of your thigh, using his hold there to rock your body into his over and over again, slowly, making sure you feel every second of it. Slick seeps out of you around his length, smearing against the inside of your thighs and his, and he groans at the wet sounds that slip from where the two of you are connected.

Joel says your name, low and gravelly, praising every syllable. He tells you how good it feels, how perfect you are, and every word is like an undressing of the flesh. Like you’re some tender butcher, peeling back layers of his skin to let the air hit hot, red, pulsating matter, flashes of thick, porcelain bone swimming amongst it all. He keeps you close, hardly an inch of your body not touching his, and yet you can see all of him. The whole surface and everything underneath it now too. And when you say his name in return and he moans, begs you to say it again, say my name again, it’s hearts on wings, thin fire racing beneath the skin, eyes unseeing, drumming filling your ears. It’s the cold sweat on his hands that hold you shaking, that feel the way you tremble and grip tighter. It’s wanting to take those bones of his and suck them clean; lick past the gristle and taste the marrow beyond it.

It's everything and it’s nothing and it’s that silly little four-letter word that you can’t bring yourself to say, let alone think, and it doesn’t even matter because he’s here and that’s enough.

His nose rests in the hollow above your collarbone and he inhales, smothering soft kisses to skin and bone there.

He says, “You smell like me,” and when he looks up and presses his forehead against yours, he almost looks wounded by it. He stills, holds himself deep inside and just stares, and his eyes are screaming I can’t fuckin’ quit you, so you lay your thumb over the dimple on his cheek and smile. “S’my clothes, my soap…”

Your body flutters and tightens around him, and your mouths fall open in soft moans, lips slotting together again.

“You like that?” you breathe into the kiss, and he tightens his fist around the back of the shirt, pressing inward until your back is arched, and your stomach is flush against his and he’s groaning yes.

“Want you in my clothes all the fuckin’ time,” he pants, and the tip of his cock presses so deep inside that you’re gasping, mouth hanging wide open. “And when you give ‘em back I’ll wear ‘em and smell like you, and then we’ll be even.”

“Even?” you laugh a little, nipping at his bottom lip. He smiles, eyes glinting in the darkness.

“Yeah, even,” he repeats it and presses forward in a sharp thrust to emphasise his point. You don’t need to hear it again to know exactly what he means.

“Tell me you’re mine,” you whisper, and he grunts, hips shifting a little faster against yours. You feel him pulse inside of you, his stomach tightening against yours.

“M’yours,” Joel murmurs, voice like velvet and honey, so soft as he leans forward to kiss you, licking the words into your mouth. You say it back, spell it out against his teeth, his lips, his jaw. Yours, yours, yours.

He says something else then, lips soft against your chin, and you’re so close; can feel it hot and burning in your gut, almost at tipping point.

“Hmm?”

“Baby,” Joel nips at your jaw, sharpening your senses. “Tell me you’re on the pill or somethin’.”

“I am,” you whimper honestly, and his body seems to sag against yours, hips shifting in sluggish, tired movements.

Something snaps at the base of your spine, and you tremble against him, gripping the back of his neck. Soon enough he’s shuddering into you, arms going tight around your back, trapping you against his chest as his cock pumps inside your core. And it’s warm and wet and sticky and his seed drools out of you, down to your asshole, smearing against the inside of your thighs, his sheets. Your legs wrap around his waist, holding him to you, keeping him there as long as you possibly can. Riding out your highs, and then the trembling, stuttering aftershocks in each other’s arms. He pants into your mouth and all either of you can say is mine or yours, until the words mix together and become a meaningless blur of sound murmured between locked lips.

It could be minutes or an entire hour before you manage to separate from each other. All eager little kisses and whines as his soft cock slips from your hold, thick spend seeping out of you in his absence. And you just want to sleep, want to curl up in his arms and never leave, but you slink off to the bathroom first. Wet your face and drop down on his toilet. Urinate and feel his come drip out of you. And where once, with someone else, you might have cringed at the feeling, you only feel warmth; calm.

In the bright lighting of his bathroom, you can see yourself reflected in the mirror above his sink. Hair a wild mess, cheeks and lips swollen with warmth. This woman in the mirror stares back at you and she has bright eyes. She smiles at you, and you feel your lips peel back, teeth on show just like hers. You stare at her and think god, she looks happy. When you wipe between your thighs and stand, she does too. And with your finger on the light switch, a wet handtowel clutched in your other palm, you give her one last look before turning out the light, feeling lighter than you have in weeks.

Thursday.

Joel sleeps on his stomach. At least, that’s how he ends up overnight.

Face buried deep in a pillow, one leg slung outside of the covers, with a heavy arm out to the side. When you wake, at first, you’re careful not to move. Not to breathe too heavily, not to cough or jostle him awake. He looks so peaceful like this. Heavy breaths puffing from chapped pouty lips, forehead smooth and devoid of the stress and exhaustion that often lines his face. A large hand rests close to you. Despite you drifting a part in the night, the body heat getting too much for you both, his fingers remain outstretched in your direction. The tips just grazing the skin of your stomach as you lie on your side and watch him.

A low murmur escapes from his mouth, face twitching a little, and then he’s relaxing again, humming in his sleep. You smile, and let your eyes wander.

There’s a pile of books on his bedside table, reading glasses dropped haphazardly atop them.

An Idiot’s Guide to Space, one of the weathered spines reads. Interesting.

A framed painting rests above a set of drawers on the side of his room. A vast landscape with a herd of horses galloping across it. Gorgeous hides of orange and brown and black splashed across green grass and blue sky. And on the back of his door… hangs a cowboy hat.

You move slowly, careful not to wake him as you rise and tip toe across the room. Coming to rest directly in front of the closed door, you slip it off the hook and admire it. You don’t even hear his breathing change as he wakes up.

Dark brown with a curved brim; the felt is soft beneath your fingers. The image of Joel wearing it, perhaps often, while living in Texas flits through your mind and you can’t help but smile. And then warm hands are on your hips, arms snaking around your waist to pull you back into a warm chest.

You gasp in quiet surprise, but your smile only broadens when Joel rests his chin on your shoulder, peering down at the hat in your hands.

“Mornin’,” he murmurs, voice gruff and deeper than usual. A pang of arousal swims in your core at the sound of it, but you ignore that, turning in his grasp.

“Good morning, cowboy.”

Joel groans, sleepy eyes drifting closed as he hugs you to his chest, swaying the two of you from side to side.

“Wanted to lie in,” he grumbles. “S’too early for this.”

“For what?” you blink in mock confusion, holding the hat against your chest.

“For you to see that.” He moves quick, tugging it from your grasp.

“Hey—” You gasp, wide eyed and ready to steal it back. But before you can Joel just lifts it onto his head with a heavy sigh. “Oh.”

“Oh?” he repeats, eyes narrowing.

Warmth simmers in your stomach and you smirk, stepping back to give him a quick once over.

“I could get used to this.”

“Jesus,” he rolls his eyes, moving to take it off but you grip his hand, shaking your head fiercely.

“Not so fast,” you coo. “I want the whole experience.”

“And what exactly is the whole experience?”

“You know—” You shimmy your hips a little. Imitate twirling a lasso in the air, wiggling your eyebrows. “Show me some tricks.”

Joel laughs at you, and you can see the desire in him to say no, to refute it, but the longer you stare him down, the more it cracks and fizzles away.

“Go on, cowboy,” you try out your best Texan drawl, falling down to sit on the edge of his bed.

He adjusts his legs, elbows bending as he waves two finger guns in your direction. You suck your lips into your mouth, swallowing down a laugh as he makes a small pchew pchew noise out the side of his mouth.

“Oh,” you smirk. “Is that all you got?”

“I’ll have you know,” Joel huffs, pretending to holster one of his guns. Hip cocked now, still dressed in nothing but his sleep shirt and boxers; he stares you down. “I’m startin’ to think this town ain’t big enough for the both of us.”

And that gets you. A sharp, barking laughs slips from your mouth, and Joel grins in return, the skin beside his eyes creasing as he adjusts the Stetson over his curls.

As your giggles calm, he just shakes his head, still smiling, and murmurs fondly, “Dadgum, you got a good laugh.”

Your face warms beneath his stare, and you just shake your head, bottom lip snagged between your teeth. Moving quick, Joel pinches the brim of the hat and places it onto your head. It’s a little big, and the brim falls down, obscuring your eyesight before he adjusts it for you. Then he takes a step back, hands on hips.

“How do I look?” You bat your eyelashes up at him, smiling shyly.

“I don’t know,” he fakes an air of contemplation, giving you a long look up and down. “Think you might be all hat ‘n’ no cattle.”

“Hey,” you pout. “I’d make a great cowboy; just need a pair of chaps.”

“Well, you can wear the hat and the chaps all you like,” Joel murmurs, gaze heavy. “But you ain’t a cowboy ‘til you prove you can ride like one.”

Your thighs tense and you arch an eyebrow, trying to remain nonchalant.

“Is that right?”

“S’right.”

“Mm,” you hum. You lick your bottom lip and watch the way his gaze darkens, eyes trained on the movement. “Gonna let me show you what I got?”

And so you end up back in bed, straddling Joel while he smirks up at you, long fingers twisting around the hem of your t-shirt. But when you slip a finger inside the hem of his boxers, the movement so reminiscent of last night, he laughs a little and gives you a look that says, really?

You pout, confused. “I thought you wante—”

“Uh uh,” Joel shakes his head. “Not what I meant.”

“Then what?”

“Get up here.” He lifts his chin upward.

Your eyes widen, stomach tensing a little.

Desire warms the inside of your thighs, and you murmur, “You want that?”

“Do I wa—?” he cuts himself off, eyes darkening a shade. “I said, get up here.”

Heart racing, you shimmy up his chest until your knees are planted on the mattress on either side of his shoulders. He smiles, encouraging, and you grip the hem of his shirt, prepared to pull it over your head, but he stops you.

“No,” he exhales, hand quickly gripping yours. “Leave it on for me.” And then he leans in and presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, and you can only nod, holding your breath as you wait for him to reach where you want his mouth the most.

Face tucked in the cradle of your hips, Joel sighs your name. A rough exhalation, nose pressed into your skin. And it feels a little silly at first – your face is warm as you stare down at him, the wide brim of the cowboy hat tilting forward.

But then, breath hot and heavy against you, he mouths at the crease where your hip meets your thigh. Slow, drawn-out kisses that have your legs tensing over him, his hands slip beneath the shirt, tracing light patterns into the skin over your spine, all the way up to your shoulders. He keeps going until you’re shivering, a wet trembling mess in his hands, hips twitching forward with every touch of his mouth to your skin until he finally glides his tongue through your folds.

Your breathing hitches as he pants against you, chest vibrating with low sounds as he licks thick stripes up the entire length of your pussy. Eyes closed, he tastes all of you; tongue slipping over every piece of exposed skin that the position grants him. And with every broad stroke of his tongue, he dips inside your weeping hole and finishes with a gentle flick against your clit. So soft and so slow, building you up over and over until finally you break and begin rocking your hips into his face.

Joel grunts at first, a little surprised maybe, but in a second his hands are dropping to grip your thighs, locking you in place against his face.

At first, he guides you. Helps you find a rhythm that works, that feels good. Flattens his tongue and uses his grip to rock you back and forth over his face, groaning as you roll your clit against him, huffing and panting quiet little pleas. But soon enough your fingers are carding through his hair, holding him tight against you as you grind down into his mouth. Sharpening his tongue, he dips it inside of you and then drags upward, pulling your clit into his mouth and sucking gently.

You gasp, vision going hazy as you try to keep your eyes on him, try to watch, but it’s too good. He knows exactly what you like, and it all moves far too quickly for your liking. You can already feel your hips winding faster and harder against him, breaths falling shorter, everything in your stomach pulling tight and hot.

Joel can tell – he can always fucking tell – and one of his hands drifts over your ass, fingers slipping between your thighs from behind until his middle finger is circling your entrance.

“Fuck,” you inhale sharply, jaw going slack as he prods at your cunt, tongue lapping lazily over your clit all the while. “Please, your fingers, yeah, ohhh—”

A long finger sinks inside and you moan, head falling back.

“You like that?” he murmurs, pulling back to graze his teeth along the inside of your thigh. A second finger presses inside, and he curls them against that soft spot, fucking you slow and steady until you acquiesce, whimpering yesyesyesfucksogood towards the ceiling.

“Good girl,” he hums, slick tongue finding its way back to your clit.

He eats at you so lovingly. So generous as he lathes firm circles around your nerves, only ever pausing to suck you into his mouth again or press wet, open-mouthed kisses against the entirety of your cunt. Nose buried in the short curls over your mound, he doesn’t let up until your moans turn high pitched; strained little whimpers of his name falling from your lips as you press down harder and harder.

“Oh fuck,” you cry, hips rocking back and forth, faster now. He breathes you in, jaw shifting from side to side, matching the intensity of your movements with sharp flicks of his tongue. And when you fall apart, shoulders sagging forward, he moans, taking and taking and taking every last drop of what you have to offer.

And what an image it must be – you, wearing a Stetson, riding Joel Miller’s face. You almost wish you’d filmed it, for posterity’s sake.

He presses a small kiss to one swollen lip of your pussy, and then the other, before his head is falling back into the pillows and he’s smiling up at you.

The lower half of his face shines, lips and facial hair slick with your come, and you can’t help but grin back, a tired snort of laughter slipping from your mouth.

“How’d I do?” You grip the brim of the hat, tipping it down at him.

Joel smirks, hands squeezing your thighs, helping to shift you up and onto the side of the bed so he can sit up.

“I’d say you more than proved yourself,” he hums, leaning in to steal a kiss. You sigh, whining against his warm wet mouth, and reach a hand down to press it against his abdomen. Shifting lower, you trail your fingers over where his cock strains against his boxers, but Joel just tuts, pulling away and slipping off the bed.

“Hey,” you huff, gripping his shirt and trying to pull him back down, but he just shakes his head, laughing, and drags you to your feet.

“Gonna be late,” he tells you, squeezing your hips and pressing a kiss to your temple. “And you needa eat.”

Late. You’d almost forgotten that you had a lecture this morning. Joel’s lecture.

He turns, rifling in the chest of drawers, pulling out clothes, a pair of socks, while you stand behind him and watch, knees still shaking, with a fucking cowboy hat on your head. After a moment he turns, stares, and a rough laugh hits the air. Shaking his head, Joel grips the brim and tosses the hat back up on its hook before pointing towards the ensuite, telling you to shower.

“You coming?” you ask, and he just shakes his head, tugging on socks before padding towards the hallway.

“Cowboys don’t shower, baby,” he flashes a smile over his shoulder at you and winks. “They just dust off.”

When you make your way out of the shower, Joel is in the kitchen. Ironed black trousers and a neat white shirt cover his frame, and from across the room you admire him. That strong back, the pert rounded muscles of his ass. Fuck.

He manages to over scramble the eggs and burn the bacon because he can’t stop looking over his shoulder at where you rest at his dining table. Head resting heavy in your palm, you smile back at him. And when he puts a plate of food in front of you, you don’t have a single complaint.

The two of you eat fast, plucking little pieces of eggshell out as you go, smiling and laughing shyly as your feet tangle beneath the table. He watches you; makes sure you clear your plate before he takes it to the sink, murmuring something about how he won’t make you sit through me talkin’ for hours on an empty stomach. Says he’s pretty sure that counts as torture somewhere, baby.

And when he turns, dirty dishes forgotten in the sink, you’re staring at him, heart on your sleeve, and he must see it in your eyes. You know that it has to be clear as day; that forbidden four-letter word blazing across your forehead in bold letters.

Joel clocks your gaze and moves to hover over where you sit, wordlessly cupping your face in two broad palms and slotting his mouth over yours. And as he licks into your mouth, tasting the remnants of eggs and bacon and every unsaid word, you start to believe that maybe confessing wouldn’t be so bad. That maybe forbidden is a word you’ve prescribed to this feeling all on your own – that he might just be feeling the exact same way.

But he pulls back, presses two more quick pecks to your mouth and tells you to get ready, says he’ll drive the two of you to school, and the moment slips from your grasp.

Back in his car, you feel relieved to replace the memory of yesterday with this one. Windows down, the air is cool and calm against your skin as he drives you through town, sated, dopey smiles across both of your faces.

A Bob Dylan song drifts from the speakers and Joel sings along under his breath.

“We’ll meet again someday on the avenue. Tangled up in blue.” Voice low and breathy, left hand on the wheel, right hand on your thigh. You nod along to the lyrics, your fingers tracing the veins and tendons on the back of his hand all the way until he pulls over.

“Shouldn’t be seen walkin’ in together.”

“Yeah,” you agree, understanding. “Best not.”

The truck idles on the side of the road, somewhere inconspicuous down the street from campus, and you slip out his passenger door. Close it with a thud and peer in at him through the open window, eyes devouring every part of his face as if you won’t be seeing him within the hour, stood up in front of the room giving a lecture.

The truck peels away from the curb, Tangled Up In Blue still whining from those speakers, and Joel sends a quick wink out the window at you, his face a blur as he drives off. And you just smile, chest warm despite the cool Spring air on your face, walking along in the same direction – because you know exactly what that wink means. And you love it.

Our little secret.

a/n refs:

in Dante’s Inferno he said that those overcome with lust were doomed to the second circle of hell, wherein they would be buffeted back and forth by the terrible winds of a violent storm, without rest. slay.

the bacchae tr. by anne carson [read if you have mummy issues, a massive ego, or just like the idea of frolicking in the woods for a while...]

the secret history by donna tartt [read if you like unreliable narrators, strange professors and stranger students, and the nursery rhyme 'the farmer in the dell']

the end of the affair by graham greene [read if you like weird intense guys and angst and infidelity]

eros the bittersweet by anne carson [read if you're cool as fuck]

thank you for reading! x

#finally am i right?#my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut

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lightseoul · 7 days ago

Text

CHAPTER 5 | ALL OUT OF LUCK

w.c. 3.5k

tags. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), some cussing here and there, presence of breadcrumbs if you look close enough, dark and mature themes related to quirk supremacy

a/n. i'm back! thank you for waiting patiently for this chapter. i haven't had the time to sit down and lock in on writing until yesterday, but i hope the wait is worth it! important plot points will be discussed in this chapter, so i hope this one is a fun one for y'all!

links. masterlist, ao3 (coming soon)

Sooner came later than you wished it would.

After that late-night conversation with Bakugou where he implicitly emboldened you to exhibit patience, you really made it a point to double down on the entire charade. You’ve attended as many activities as you could with the pro-hero, made a good impression on your fellow members, and even gone as far as constantly initiating affectionate behavior with Bakugou, to which he’s been getting better at responding.

So much so that he’s bordering dangerous.

There’s been that singular instance where he ushered you to the cafeteria after one of your quirk training sessions—like a gentleman—a big, firm hand planted on the small of your back. It wasn’t a huge gesture, but it was the first coming from him without prompting ever since you had to start acting like a couple. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t catch you off guard, but you played it off well enough, shooting him a grateful smile as you reached your usual table.

He only looked away, solemn.

You shrugged it off, thinking everyone had to start somewhere.

And while little moments like that have helped in taking your mind off of how routinary your days have been, the fact of the matter is: said patience is thinning.

You didn’t have to look far for proof either to know that Bakugou’s experiencing the same thing.

He’s been doing a decent job at regulating his emotions, as well as acting in front of everyone else to play his part, but when the trackers are long gone and cameras are sealed shut, and you’re in the privacy of your shared bedroom, that’s when he puts the mask down.

You could tell he’s been trying to remain kind—or at least, civil—with you, but there’s no denying the increased curtness of his responses, as well as how he’s been extra grumpy when roused in the mornings by either of the twins.

And you can’t blame him—you really can’t.

You yourself were just about to mentally give up and accept that you’re never going to get on with the mission at this rate when it comes on a regular evening.

You shoot up from where you were sprawled lazily across the mattress, alarmed. You glance at Bakugou, who’s already looking at you from the couch, that same caution you know is written all over your face etched on his.

Two weeks of living here, and the impending cardiac arrest that comes with a barrage of unexpected knocks still prove to be a probable cause of death for the both of you.

Wordlessly and without your behest, Bakugou grabs his pillow and blanket before throwing them beside you on the bed. You’re quick to adjust them into place as he slowly walks towards the door, another round of rapping resounding from the entryway.

Probably over the whole hammering thing just as much as you are, Bakugou promptly turns the knob and swings the slab of wood open, revealing a serious Omiru.

She speaks up almost instantly, but not without first glaring you both daggers. “The boss’s office. Now.”

And before she turns on her heel or either of you can ask any questions: “We’re gonna discuss the plan.”

The first thing you notice when you get to Masaki’s office a few minutes later is that for a large organization’s leader, the space is—just like its owner—remarkably…plain.

Similar to your small bedroom, the walls are colored off-white, the floor is dark hardwood, and there are very minimal decorations. Aside from the picture frames of what seems to be a family of four littered on his modestly sized desk, the room is pretty bare in terms of embellishments.

You don’t get to take a closer look at the photographs, though, because the second thing then catches your attention: how, rather than plastered leisurely on the sofa and conversing with each other, the three heads actually seem busy.

While, in fact, seated on the couch, Sayaka and Kouki are far from being relaxed. They’re sitting on the edge of their seats, hunched over what seems to be a…chart? You don’t get to peer at that, either, because their bodies are blocking the view.

So, instead, you let your gaze drift over to the main man himself, who is behind his workspace and has his back turned against you, fiddling with what you think is a push pin as he stares at the large corkboard in front of him.

“Bakugou and his girlfriend, sir,” Omiru announces before you. “Just as you requested.”

At the sound of her low voice, Masaki turns around, a pleasant expression on his face. “Welcome, you two. Please, go and grab a seat.”

You quickly scan the room for said seat, but there aren’t any more vacancies aside from the set of furniture the cyborg and the old man are occupying. So, albeit begrudgingly, you quietly follow Bakugou as he takes a few steps and sits down across the two, with you plopping yourself beside him.

The man next to you clears his throat.

“Is there any reason why we’re being summoned at,” Bakugou pauses, checking his watch, “9:27 PM?”

Playing it cool and not at all eager, huh?

You can do that as well.

Feigning ignorance, you look at Masaki as he rounds his desk and situates himself on the single sofa perpendicular to the four of you.

“Apologies for that,” the man starts diffidently. “I’ve been…busy with things at home, and now’s the only time I have to discuss this with you for the next few days.”

“Are you finally telling me what my role is?” asks Bakugou, manspreading as he brings an arm on top of the backrest behind you. “Because if you are, then fucking finally.”

“Yes,” answers the plain-looking man, “We’ll get to that. But before that, I’ll have to preface this meeting by making sure we’re all on the same page.”

“As you all know, our vision here in The Quirk Coalition is for a future where quirks are cultivated to their greatest potential and are regarded with the highest primacy in society. That means those who can wield their strong powers will take their rightful place in the community and reap the benefits of their gifts,” Masaki pauses, before looking at you and Bakugou. “Do you see where I’m going with this?”

You nod, pushing against the dread that’s creeping up your spine. You feel Bakugou stir beside you.

He continues.

“For the gifted to fully enjoy what they deserve, we’re going to have to remodel society to serve those with formidable quirks. After all, it’s them who serve as the pillars of our nation that’s constantly under the threat of malicious villains.”

Villains like you, you think to yourself. You bite your tongue.

Masaki then leans forward, a sinister look dawning on his features.

“That then, my dearest members, leaves no space for those who are weak and quirkless. As such, we’ve taken upon the difficult but noble duty to eliminate those who are such. This is necessary, so as to be able to rebuild a world that’s suited to the beauty that are quirks.”

Silence.

“…All this yappin’ yet I still don’t know what kinda action I’ll get?” spews Bakugou.

You mentally facepalm.

“Right,” retorts Masaki, “I appreciate the enthusiasm, Dynamight. You’ll be glad to know that you play an important role in the whole scheme of things.”

“We’ll essentially be using those bombs of yours, boy,” Kouki chimes in, catching the rest of your attention. “There was no way for us to procure munitions without alerting the government, so we’re going to have to use the ones you produce with your quirk.”

“That’s it?” Bakugou spits out, performing for his life. “You’re just gonna make me into a factory? Don’t I get to blow things up myself?”

“You can’t without exposing yourself,” comes Masaki’s level-headed reply. “That’s what our volunteering members are for. They’ll be carrying your bombs with you and infiltrate the venues.”

“Volunteers?” you can’t help but ask, voice small. You feel Bakugou’s eyes boring at the side of your face. “Are you saying they’re…?”

“Going to die in the line of duty, unfortunately, yes.”

“But aren’t they going to be detected?” you push, tamping down the panic that’s blooming in your gut. “Most places here in Japan have radars that can easily spot a grenade.”

Masaki smiles at you.

You feel goosebumps rise in its wake.

“I appreciate your concern, sweetheart, but we’ve made sure our targets are free of such devices.”

You let the confusion show on your features.

How can that be?

This has to be a joke, or this man has to be bluffing.

But why would he, if he needed the two of you—or at least, Bakugou—to execute his plan?

His choice of victims ought to be sheltered in secured skyscrapers or guard-riddled complexes, neither of which would tolerate the presence of explosives.

Unless…

You chance a glance past Masaki’s shoulder and onto the corkboard he was just studying a moment ago.

And when you do, you barely manage to fight back a terrified gasp as your eyes land on the rows of photographs that are pinned onto the panel.

Because staring right back at you are tens of faces of children.

“…Y/N?”

You snap to attention, turning to regard the concerned faces looking at you. “Huh?”

“You okay, babe?” comes Bakugou’s gruff voice, and you barely register the hand that slithers through the space between you to encase yours in a gentle hold.

You shift to meet the pro-hero in the eye. You find yourself glad you’re sitting down, because the sheer intensity of his gaze is enough to knock you off your feet.

“You zoned out there for a second,” he explains, shooting you a boyish smile, although it comes out slightly stilted.

“Yeah, no, I’m alright,” you try to laugh, “Sorry, I guess I’m just sleepy.”

“Are you sure she needs to be part of this conversation?” asks Kouki, who’s looking a bit too unsettled for your taste. “Masaki, I think you can send her back to their room if she needs to rest.”

“No,” you quickly interject, “I’m fine! I want to be here.”

You flash them the most sincere grin you can muster. “I want to help.”

“She’s the real deal,” Bakugou adds, to your relief. “Her quirk can make a huge difference in how successful your whole operation will be.”

On that note, and just like last time, you prepare yourself to utilize your quirk when none of them say anything for a beat. You maintain your carefree countenance as you wait for your go signal, but it never comes.

What comes, instead, is a decisive nod from Masaki.

“Very well, she can stay. But no more tangents, please. We need to get this ironed out.”

You nod eagerly. The man deems it enough for him to go on.

“Now that we’ve established Bakugou’s role in this entire enterprise, it’s high time we go through the actual plans.”

He gestures to the blueprint-sized chart on the coffee table in front of you. “As you can see here, we have ten circles. Each circle represents a target elementary school. One volunteer—”

Suicide bomber, you note in your head.

“—will be assigned to each school, armed with an ample number of bombs courtesy of Dynamight. Groups of at least six members of the organization will also be appointed per target to assist the volunteers and capture escapees if necessary. They’ll be teleported to their respective venues via their portkeys.”

Before you can even think of asking what the hell a portkey is, Kouki beats you to it.

“They’re devices,” he declares haughtily. “Magnetic devices, to be more precise.”

He holds out his thin wrists, which you now notice are adorned with silver bands made up of thin, rectangular pieces that stick to his wrinkly skin.

“Each member has a piece themselves, which pairs with the ones I have here,” he wiggles his hand for emphasis. “This is how we do mass teleportation.”

“Thank you, Kouki-san,” Masaki interrupts, before pointing again at the chart. “Now that we have that cleared up, I’d like to invite you to look at this portion.”

“While the rest of the members execute the plan at the ten locations, Kouki, Sayaka, and Bakugou will be in the headquarters overlooking the entire thing, while Y/N and I will be in the Prime Minister’s Office executing the final blow.”

A wave of terror instantly hits you just as Bakugou bristles in his seat.

“The fuck are you on, separating us?”

Despite the nausea pooling in your stomach, you still manage to register the contortion of Masaki’s features into a frown.

“You gave me the idea, Bakugou. You said your girlfriend here boosts one’s success rate, and I need all the help I can get to make sure I wipe out the entire office and elect a new set of like-minded officers.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” comes Bakugou’s hostile response. “She could get hurt, and I need to be there to protect her.”

If you weren’t in a literal life-or-death situation, you would’ve snorted at that.

But alas, you are, and the last thing you feel like doing right now is laughing.

So instead, you squeeze the hand that’s been holding yours since what has felt like forever ago, shrinking in yourself ever so slightly to seem afraid and to further sell the act.

You avert your gaze downwards, too, to make them feel like the alpha in the situation, but not before you catch a glimpse of Masaki sighing.

You hear it, too.

“What do you suggest we do then, huh, Dynamight?”

“You can station me where you and Y/N will be.” He eyes the robotic woman and the old geezer, “These two are more than capable of manning the HQ, anyway. Besides, I’m more useful out in the field.”

“But the risk of you getting caught—”

“I’m well-fucking-trained in stealth missions, if you really have to know,” Bakugou cuts him off. “Just let me know how I can contribute to your particular objective and I’ll do it. Without getting caught.”

He says it so confidently that even you’re convinced. But you don’t get to bask in his unfounded (up for debate, really) confidence, because he squeezes your hand this time before tightening his hold and turning to look straight at you.

You stare into each other’s eyes for what feels like an eternity before he delivers the finishing blow.

“…I just need to make sure she’s safe.”

A chuckle yanks you out of your daze, and you whip to see Masaki smiling at the two of you.

“Since when did the Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight become such a loverboy?”

“None of your goddamn business,” comes the pro-hero’s snappy reply, which grants him another bark of laughter.

“I suppose not,” Masaki quips, and you find yourself wondering how this man can manage to joke around like this when he’s got arrays and arrays of photos of children he’s planning to murder behind him.

Despite the sheer absurdity of the situation and the undeniable thumping of your heart, you’re eventually able to school your face into a neutral expression and listen in to the rest of the meeting.

After adjusting Bakugou’s placement from headquarters to the Prime Minister’s Office alongside you and Masaki, the latter proceeded to discuss further arrangements for the two of you. Apparently, there will be three people assigned to each of you to monitor your movements during D-Day. Neither you nor Bakugou protested against it, aware that you’re already walking on thin ice after negotiating that you be together during the day of the attack.

Once he got that part done and over with, the leader went through a few more details about the bombings before adjourning the session altogether with a conclusive pat on the knees like he did during your first meeting.

And just like that, you’re sent back to your room.

Words aren’t exchanged between you and Bakugou as he retrieves his pillow and blanket from your space, carefully laying them out on the couch.

You don’t have to ask him if he’s feeling the same heaviness you’re carrying, the load evident in how he seems to be physically weighed down with the way he moves.

It’s not even just about the news of tens of children being the targets. It’s also the pressure to succeed in this mission with this new knowledge, even more so the looming reality that you’re currently leaning way closer toward failing it.

And you don’t know what takes over you—it may be that burden, or the palpable fear, or the very fact that you’ve been sharing more and more touches over the past two weeks—but you do it.

You stand up from where you’re seated on the edge of the bed and pull him by his wrist—the Bakugou who was just about to lie down on his makeshift bed—and into an embrace.

Bakugou instantly stiffens in your grasp, but he doesn’t say anything nor try to wriggle himself out. Stubborn and admittedly craving for a comforting hug yourself, you don’t let go of your hold around his torso, shifting to pat his back all the while.

“We can do this,” you whisper a few moments later, forehead against his firm chest.

And, as if your words are magic, you sense his body relax before you feel him wrap his arms around you.

You fight back the urge to bury the rest of your face into his chest and cry when he does so.

“‘Course we can, dumbass,” comes his uncharacteristically soft answer. “We don’t have a choice.”

Keeping your head high the following morning proved to be more difficult than you initially thought, let alone getting your ass out of the comfortable bed where you decided you could die then and there.

Bakugou himself didn’t look too excited when he got woken by the female twin at 8 AM sharp, that prominent frown deeply embedded in his mouth as he tossed his things onto the mattress just like clockwork.

And really, you were this close to asking him if he wanted to join you on your deathbed when your last bit of common sense reared its ugly head and metaphorically detroit-slapped you in the face.

Not now, bitch.

You had lives to save.

And so with that onerous knowledge, you hauled yourself out of bed, got ready in record time, and trudged beside Bakugou down to the mess hall.

You try to suppress the disappointment that lurches to your throat when you spot a small group of 20-somethings eating at the far end of your favorite table. You were looking forward to some peace and quiet, at least this morning after the debacle from last night, but apparently, that’s not happening.

You know better than to move to another spot, though, knowing all too well that such an action will make you seem snobbish and ruin the amiable reputation you’ve been trying to build for yourself. And so with a heavy heart, you head there with your full tray in tow and seat yourself beside Bakugou, just like how you’ve always had since Day 1.

And the moment you do, that’s when you hear it.

“…Have you heard?” surfaces an enticing voice that must belong to one of the women you clocked before sitting down. “Word’s spreading outside about the attack.”

“Seriously?” comes a man’s voice this time. “What about it?”

“Not much, just that there’s an impending one. But get this,” she pauses, and drops her volume enough that you have to strain to hear the next part.

“There…rumors…#2…involved.”

Your body moves before your brain can catch up—you whip to look at Bakugou beside you, whose eyes are already wide as saucers when you meet his gaze. Without a word, the both of you quickly move to demolish the food in front of you, and within a matter of minutes, you’re up and clearing your dishes by the kitchen area, before stomping toward the leader’s office.

Bakugou doesn’t even bother to knock on the door, opting to unceremoniously barge into the room instead.

“What the—”

“We’ve overheard that rumors are circulating about the attack and my involvement,” Bakugou announces.

Masaki, who’s looking stunned from where he’s seated on his office chair, tosses you a perplexed look. “What?”

“Let us out for one day,” Bakugou swings out of nowhere you’d almost get whiplash if you didn’t stop yourself from gawking at him at the last minute.

The man frowns. “I’m afraid I don’t follow, Bakugou.”

“Let the two of us be seen out for a day,” Bakugou expounds, although not by much.

Though, that seems to be enough for you, because only then do you get it.

Dating scandals have always been the rumor mill’s favorite, after all.

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @sugurusmoon @napbatata @k0z3me @h0ngh0ngh0ng @honeyoru @yoongiwithglasses @hellokitty-doll @lilsebnem @tetsuukuroo @crangrapel0ver | @junehasnotbeenfound @sugalarity @haechansbbg @sikuthealien @reiniella3 @ita606 @xoxoblueyy @mutsu422 @eyesforbkg @kalulakunundrum @venus-xxoo @lemuhr @pinkpantheris @ashers-playpen @bakugouswh0r3 @certaindreampost @3ve88 @tsumuus @4acoffee @anonymity-222 @lousypotatoes @homeless-clown @sk8wh33l @jungkookslittlecarrothoe @jax-the-oregonian @shosuki @reisore @babylambdietcoke @sleepyyhabii @adherethecomingofage @hakvyxo | @matchat3a @harryzcherry @h0nestly-though @cc1306 @gold24fish @bakukags @zennypiee @wannabewolf @kameko-ko @lovra974 @arc6021 @kooromin @surprisemodafakas @ilovedenk-i @st4ntwic3 @j1tterbugaboo @call-memissbrightside @arael-asuka @bakugosgothhoe @biancatomlinson @reads-stuff-quietly | @js-favnanadoongi @stxrrielle @panikk-attackkk @lotusstarr @ordola @simpforeveryone @typsichryle @arsonfrogger | @vitoshi @floverisland @confusedmomfriend @poemzcheng @cheezemanz @cax-per | @rorel1a @astolary @trashyforashy @sunaraii @reisore

#i kid you not i got butterflies in my stomach while writing this chapter #@ the sweet moments ofc not the dark ass shit!!!#i hope y'all are liking the series so far!!!#bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou imagines #mha imagines #bnha imagines #mha scenarios #bnha scenarios #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou imagine #bakugou fluff #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n

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laughing-with-god · 1 year ago

Text

These Things Take Time (Yandere! Supernatural! Taehyung x Reader)

Synopsis: There's something wrong with your boyfriend Taehyung. At least, you think it's him.

16.5k

Trigger warnings: yandere behavior, psychological gaslighting, violence, gore, some heavy making out, strong language, AFAB reader (she/her) I'm sure I'm missing some but you know me and what I write lol

Authors note: just a real quick thank you to @bigbuffjoonie and @mustardpop for having beta read and brainstormed with me literally a year ago about this fic that I never published until now.

-----

He passionately thrusted her against the wall, mouthing at her neck while muttering disgusting things that he was going to do to her.

It was foul…

It was taboo…

It was…..

Your fingers paused and hovered over the keyboard, the constant clicking of your writing coming to a sudden halt.

Your eyes scanned the last few lines, lips instinctively mouthing the words and checking the overall flow of the plot.

Your two main characters were about to fuck each other’s brains out after a long ‘will they or won’t they’ that spanned well over a dozen chapters.

There should be a feeling of torture, a feeling of relief, a feeling of frenzied lust that just couldn’t contain itself anymore and combusted within the contents of these pages.

That is what you desperately wanted your loyal readers to experience when they get to this scene.

Yet when reading the long-awaited buildup, you felt nothing.

You cared for every character you created like a mother does their child, them getting their happy endings was just as important to you as it was to them. So why did you feel so numb and dissociated from everything you’ve been typing the past hour?

You released a disillusioned sigh and leaned back into your chair. Your eyes stung from staring at a screen for so long and your limbs ached to be stretched with hours of immobility.

Writer’s block was a bitch.

Unlike other skills, writing was one of the few expertise that working harder at it won’t guarantee a better outcome. You could type away until your fingers were bruised and bloody, but it doesn’t mean anything you wrote would be worth shit. Writing was a talent and it came and went as it pleased. And right now it was gone.

Which left you very depressed and your editor very pissed.

You gave up the fight and reluctantly closed your laptop. Then stood to your full height, to give your back a much-needed stretch.

‘I tried today. And that’s okay. I’ll try again tomorrow.’ You thought to yourself, half heartedly taking your therapist’s advice to acknowledge your efforts and not just the outcomes.

When in a creative slump, it has been said that reading other works can be a source of inspiration. Can’t be a good writer yourself, then go out and read a good writer. With this thought in mind, you slowly exited your office and descended down the stairs.

Last week your mom sent you a book she recommended, and you’ve been so busy trying to finish your own novel that you just tossed it somewhere and haven’t touched or looked for it since. Though, you were almost certain you caught sight of it on the coffee table yesterday.

When you stepped into the living room, you spotted a familiar figure standing by the large bay window.

The sight tugged a small fond smile onto your face.

Taehyung was your boyfriend of six months.

He was strikingly attractive, tall, kind and clearly didn’t know his own worth because not only was he dating you, but he also agreed to move into this secluded farmhouse while you tried to finish your book. He assured that he could use this time and space to focus on his paintings as well, but you knew deep down he just didn’t want to leave you alone out in the middle of nowhere.

Right now only his profile was facing you, his alluring feline eyes staring at the raining scene outside, dark brows furrowed in heavy thought. He looked to be biting on his lower lip, a habit you’ve never seen before, but you supposed you two have only been dating for a few months so there was probably a whole world of little quirks you didn’t know of yet.

The scene was a bit intense, as you weren’t used to your usually cheerful boyfriend looking so ponderous. Yet you shrugged it off and just assumed he was most likely brainstorming his next painting. Taehyung was your first artist boyfriend and your friends did warn you that they could be a bit dramatic.

You quickly surveyed the room and indeed located the book on the coffee table. While reaching for it you called out, “Hey love?”

Taehyung snapped his neck at a speed too fast for your liking, instantly facing you with eyes wide and blown out in what you could only assume was shock.

You giggled, thinking he was too absorbed in his own world that he probably just now noticed your presence.

“I know I said I wanted pasta for dinner but how about we order some chinese instead?” You asked. Taehyung didn’t say anything, eyes still wide in unknown revelation, entirely unmoving. You continued, “This weather makes me not want to do anything, and I know you complain about the delivery time but we could just reheat the food if it gets here cold.”

It seemed like forever but Taehyung eventually nodded.

He then turned to face the window again.

You inwardly sighed and guessed he wasn’t thrilled with the idea of chinese. He always complained that you didn’t take care of yourself and how you needed home cooked meals rather than greasy takeout. But when creatively burnt out like this, you tended to just reach for the doordash because the act of cooking seemed entirely too much for you.

Hoping to butter him up, you tipped toed from behind and wrapped your arms around him. You nuzzled your face into his back and took a deep breath, enjoying the familiar scent of his outrageously expensive cologne. His body seemed to melt into your hold, tense posture suddenly limp and calm.

You reached up and pecked his cheek, grinning when you caught sight of his lips twitching upwards. Harmless manipulation complete, you trudged out the room with a lukewarm “Thanks honey!”

You skipped up the stairs and made a left into a hallway, quickly getting into the bedroom and preparing to plop into the heavenly crumpled mess of sheets and blankets, when an unexpected sound caused you to still.

The front door was opening.

Afraid of a possible home invasion, you rushed out to see what was happening.

The door was wide open and emerging into the home…was Taehyung.

His hair and jacket was drenched from the rain, four or so heaping grocery bags in his hold as he looked up the stairs at you with a tired smile.

“Hey baby, can you give me a hand with some of this? I got some sauce for the pasta and picked up some other stuff we were running low on.”

Time stood still.

Your jaw dropped in bewilderment.

Your mind struggling to process this odd collapse of reality.

The nearest grocery store was, at its quickest, still a twenty-minute drive into town.

There was just no way Taehyung was able to leave and get back in the same time it took for you to get up the stairs and into your room.

No one can be in two places at once.

What the fuck was going on?

You just saw him. You just talked to him. You just smelled him. You just touched him.

Taehyung’s gaze worriedly ran up and down your face, correctly detecting that something was dreadfully wrong. He kicked the door closed behind him and rather ungracefully dropped the bags, hastily stepping over some of the falling items to race up the steps and take you in his hold.

“Y/n? Baby what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost! Did something happen while I was gone?” He fretted.

“I-w-what-you-j-just-living room…” You stammered, not even being able to bring yourself to voice what was happening.

“What? What about the living room? You’re not making any sense.”

You gulped, looking up at him with fear. “T-Tae, I could’ve sworn I just saw you in the living room. I talked to you.”

Your boyfriend’s face dropped.

“Y/n, get in the bedroom and lock the door behind you.”

You irritably huffed while blinking away oncoming tears, realizing Taehyung didn’t quite understand what you were saying. “No! Not like an intruder! It was you.”

“I’m right here Y/n. I just got back from the market. I haven’t been home in the past hour. There’s no way you just saw me in this house.” He slowly explained, as if you were having some mental breakdown and needed to be talked off the ledge.

Your temper rose. “No shit Kim Taehyung! That’s why I’m scared! Do you have a twin brother or something? Or did you come into the living room before going back to the car to get the groceries?”

Taehyung backed away from you, clearly put off by your outburst. “No? First off, you know I’m an only child. Secondly, why would I come in and let you talk to me before going back out in the pouring rain, bring in groceries and then pretend I have no idea what you’re talking about when you said you saw me in the house just now?”

You glared up at him, now feeling foolish for even being scared in the first place of something that most definitely had a logical explanation.

Your boyfriend always had a more playful side than you and this was most likely the first trick he was trying to play in your very young relationship.

“I told you I don’t like pranks, Taehyung. You can pull them on your friends all you want but you promised to never pull one on me.”

He threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. “I’m not pranking you! It probably was an intruder who looked kinda like me and instead of letting me go and investigate, you're arguing with me?”

“It wasn’t an intruder! He didn’t take anything!”

Taehyung laughed incredulously, “Great, you're defending some robber over your own boyfriend now? I almost feel jealous.”

“There’s nothing to be jealous over because the guy was you!” You exploded.

“Which isn’t possible!”

“Go look then!” You relented.

Taehyung didn’t need to be told twice. He swiftly ran down the stairs and went through the entire house, searching for an unseen man who managed to trick his girlfriend into thinking he was him.

He found no such person.

It was only while you both wordlessly unpacked the groceries while licking the wounds of your little spat did Taehyung make a point that chilled you to the bone.

“Y/n, when you saw me…how did I look?”

You raised a brow at him. “I don’t know? You looked just fine.”

“Okay…and your working theory is I parked outside and came in, talked to you, then went back out, just to enter through the front again like nothing happened?”

You meekly shrugged, “Yeah I guess that would be a good trick.”

Your clever boyfriend pointed at the window, where it was still raining heavily. “I would've been soaked then, Y/n.”

That was the first incident.

— Dinner that night was a tense affair.

At least until Taehyung solemnly apologized for being so bad at hiding his true identity.

He then fessed up to being the Korean version of The Flash.

Against yourself, you bursted out laughing.

Maybe it was all the anxiety of the day that made you loopy, or your desperate need to just return to normal but you apologized for snapping and blamed your overactive writer's imagination for everything.

Taehyung said it was okay and that you actually looked hot when angry, you knew for a fact you didn’t but took the compliment nonetheless and suggested an early night in.

And just like that your first couple fight was over.

Yet that night when you were in the arms of your slumbering boyfriend, with his peaceful snores rumbling in your ear, all you could think about was the other Taehyung.

You regretfully lied to your boyfriend.

You knew for a fact that it wasn’t your imagination.

You were never the type of writer who got so immersed in your work that you began imagining things and confusing them for reality. If anything, you were too grounded in reality. In addition to this, you highly doubted that multiple weeks of writer’s block would even allow for such a vivid mirage to occur.

And the most damning evidence of all, if it was your imagination…why would your mind conjure up the exact replica of your boyfriend? The very man you live with and see everyday for hours on end? Wouldn’t it be a character from your book? Or at least someone you haven’t seen in a while?

It all didn’t make sense, but you didn’t have enough information to say what it was, you just knew what it wasn’t.

You rolled over and buried your face into Taehyung’s chest, practically praying for the mystery to soon be over and solve itself quickly.

It was most likely the overthinking and looming dark corners of the bedroom, but you began to feel like someone was watching you through the small gap in your ajar bedroom door.

– A few days passed and you have almost forgotten about the incident.

I mean, maybe not entirely but you were at least willing to chalk it up to a freak incident.

Scrolling through some discussion boards online showed that your story was actually pretty tame to what other unexplainable experiences some people have had. At least the other Taehyung didn’t try to scare or hurt you. It just seemed like he was doing his own thing really, like he was lost in his own world staring out that window. Thus you concluded that you weren’t in danger, and it therefore wasn’t worth freaking out about.

Mainly because your editor was on your ass and there was nothing productive about thinking of him when you were already so late on a deadline.

Naturally, you attempted to throw yourself into your writing, which was proving to be as fruitless as ever. Yet you knew giving your editor anything was better than nothing, leading you to sending half-assed drafts to him and enduring long calls about how your writing was okay, but not great.

You and Taehyung have been off too.

There was no more fighting or even words exchanged about the fiasco. However there still was an uneasiness between you two. You doubted that Taehyung believed your imagination excuse, but you also knew that he didn’t trust your original recollection of events either. Your boyfriend sort of walked on eggshells around you, almost as if you’d somehow think he was the imposter whenever he’d step into the room. You would be lying if you said you weren’t a little offended by it.

Luckily, Taehyung was currently immersed with his art, rarely leaving his little workspace. You wished you could say the same but you felt like you were simply writing in circles without actually getting anywhere. It was hard to not be jealous, but at least you were given some space away from him after a rather unresolved fight.

Meanwhile, you were planning to take a day or two off of writing, to just let your mind wander and relax so that maybe the next time you sat behind a laptop you could actually produce something worthwhile.

Of course it would just so happen that it would fall on the very day you get sick.

Waking up that morning you felt feverish and lightheaded, telling yourself that you could just use fifteen more minutes of sleep and you’d probably feel better.

You woke up five hours later; feeling even more feverish, lightheaded, and now nauseous.

You trudged downstairs to the kitchen and popped back some painkillers with a glass of water, already fantasizing about getting back into your warm and comfy bed once again.

Except what could make your bed even warmer and comfier? Taehyung.

Your boyfriend was always the more affectionate one between you two, you often practically had to push him away when you were trying to get work done. But now that you were willingly going to ask for his affection, there was no way he’d let you go uncuddled.

Any awkwardness in the relationship was long forgotten as you stomped towards his workspace, a demand to be held heavy on your tongue. You were too sick and exhausted to try to navigate relationship politics, but the whole point of a boyfriend was that he was supposed to provide attention on demand, right?

You reached his door and feebly knocked, trying to be polite to his artistic process and not just barge in.

You heard some shuffling on the other side and soon enough your boyfriend was in front of you. Taehyung hadn’t shaved his face in days, a faint goatee gracing his already intimidatingly handsome face. His black hair was messy and fluffy, a gold chain gracing his neck and drawing attention to his lack of shirt and gray sweatpants.

He grinned at you, “What’s up baby?”

You pouted up at him, momentarily not even ashamed to resort to such cheap tricks, “I feel sick and want to be cuddled back to sleep.”

“Aww poor thing.” He crooned while leaning against the doorframe. “Why don’t you head back up to bed and I’ll be up as soon as I can? I just finished a sketch and really need to focus on the next few steps before I can quit for the day.”

You huffed, kind of annoyed that he wouldn’t even take a break to hold you.

He rolled his eyes at your reaction, “Don’t look at me like that, honey. When the muse strikes, I gotta paint. Otherwise I don’t know when I’ll get the next chance for inspiration. You understand, right?”

“Yeah, I’m just really crabby and being held sounded really good.”

Taehyung chucked, muttering to himself a “cute” before leaning forward and pecking your lips. “I promise I’ll try to be quick. Go drink some water and wait for me. I’ll bring you some soup when I’m done.”

You just nodded and left him to his work. Instead of the bedroom, your feet somehow led you to the living room.

Maybe you should watch some tv while Taehyung worked? You already slept a lot today and if Taehyung was gonna be in bed with you later, perhaps it was a good idea to stay up for a little bit. Besides, you’ve been avoiding this part of the house ever since the incident and you needed to get comfortable in your own living room eventually.

Such a reminder of that rainy day caused you to cast a wary glance at the bay window, oddly feeling both relief and annoyance that nothing was there.

You plunked down onto the couch and wrapped a throw blanket around you, searching your usual streaming services for some comfort show to watch.

It was halfway through an episode of some show you’ve already watched countless times, when you heard footsteps approaching.

You looked up and saw your boyfriend, looking as cute and messy as before. Except now he held a sheepish smile on his face as he held up a steaming mug of something.

“What’s that?”

He took a seat next to you and gently handed the drink over. “Hot chocolate. I know protocol is tea whenever someone is sick, but I know how much you hate the taste.”

You fondly smiled and took the mug, flustered that he remembered such a minor detail about you. “Thank you love but you didn’t have to. You should be focusing on your work. Don’t let me distract you!”

Taehyung shook his head and threw an arm around you, holding you tight against him. He craned his neck and looked down to you, almost meeting you nose-to nose to connect his gaze with yours. Suddenly a serious expression replaced his formerly sheepish one.

“Actually, I wanted to talk.” He said, taking a deep breath before continuing, “I-I wanted to say sorry.”

“For what?”

He licked his lips, “I know we’ve been kinda out-of-sync ever since you said you saw someone and I didn’t believe you. But, it just didn’t make sense. Like, how is that possible? Whatever the case though, I shouldn’t have made you feel like you were going crazy or something.”

You raised an eyebrow, “So you believe me then?”

“Yes. I know you wouldn’t lie. I don’t know what happened but…I know you know what you saw.”

A warm feeling spread across your chest, temporarily putting your sickness on the back burner. In truth, you weren't sure if the situation even called for an apology but you felt so pampered that your boyfriend cared enough to. “I-I’m sorry too, Tae. I shouldn’t have assumed you were being mean and pranking me. Snapping at you wasn’t cool.”

Taehyung just shrugged. “Nah, I probably would’ve done the same thing.”

You secretly agreed that you were in the right but still, if he was being a big enough person to say sorry so should you. You turned your attention back to the drink in your hands, taking a sip.

You nearly moaned in pleasure when the flavor graced your taste buds.

“What did you put in this?”

“Oh just some cinnamon and-”

“Ginger.” You interrupted, knowing without a doubt that it was the other spice.

“Yup. Why? Is something wrong?” He asked, probably worried you didn’t like it.

“No! It’s perfect.” You said before gulping down more of the nostalgic hot chocolate. “When I was a kid, I had a babysitter who would make her hot chocolate with cinnamon and ginger. Mrs Fritz was her name, a really kind old lady from down the street. I was her favorite so she made hot chocolate for me all the time and watched me for free whenever my parents went out.”

Taehyung hummed, a small smile on his face as you fondly recalled one of the biggest figures of your childhood. “She must’ve had great taste.”

“Mrs. Fritz had impeccable taste.” You good-naturedly corrected with a giggle. “I miss her. When other kids wouldn’t play with me she would stay inside with me and color or read me these cool stories.”

“I would’ve played with you.” Taehyung grumbled, in all likelihood noting how you grimaced at the memory of not being all too popular as a kid.

“Haha, you definitely wouldn’t have! I was such a dork and actually hated playing outside. Kid me much rather be at home watching some old movies or something. Not to mention I was quite an ugly little girl.” You laughed.

Tae gasped dramatically, “That’s not true! You were adorable!”

“You saw like one picture of me at eight! And my mom did me all up for that picture! Trust me, I didn’t look that good at all.”

Taehyung looked like he wanted to argue further, but realizing you were right he just dropped it with an unconvincing, “Whatever you say.”

“But anyway babe, you really can go back to painting. I don’t want to keep you. If I had any inspiration right now, you wouldn’t be able to tear me away from my laptop.”

His arm tugged you even closer. “Nope, I’m alright where I’m at right now. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I left my sick girlfriend all alone?”

You blushed, logically aware that you could handle yourself but emotionally over the moon that this beautiful man didn’t want you to. Selfishly, you wanted to take advantage of his presence even if it came at the expense of his art progress. So you placed the mostly empty mug on the coffee table, fishing out your phone from your sweatpant pocket and setting it there too.

You then curled up into his side, suddenly feeling so drowsy.

Taehyung held you closer, even playing with your hair as you lost the battle with your increasingly heavy eyelids.

You felt him press his lips against your forehead in a drawn out peck, as his nose ticked the crown of your head. He inhaled deeply, his everlasting love for your shampoo revealing itself once more.

“You okay?” His baritone voice whispered.

“Yeah. I just took some medicine that’s probably making me all sleepy.” You mumbled back.

You didn’t hear anything else, just felt as he rested his head on top of yours, presumably also closing his eyes to rest.

Slowly but surely feeling the mechanisms of your brain shut down, the darkness steadily taking over as the sound of the tv became more and more distant.

A notification from your phone caused you to open a single eye, quickly scanning the screen on the coffee table.

Taebear: Hey almost done over here! Do you mind turning down the TV a bit tho? Kinda distracting :(

Before you can even gasp, the medicine-induced darkness consumed you completely, effectively and brutally knocking you out.

That was the second incident.

–

“So like I was saying, I dumped his ass because what the fuck do you mean you ‘don’t know what we are’? I met his damn parents, Y/n!”

The voice blarred over the phone speaker, as you hummed rather noncommittally. “What a jerk. You can do a whole lot better, Lisa.”

You were in the laundry room, slowly taking clothes out of the dryer and folding them as you spoke on the phone with one of your closest friends. About once a week you two would have a call and catch each other up with your lives. Although, Lisa led a much more interesting life than you and usually had a crazy story to share every week, while you just reacted to it. It was kinda like a one listener podcast, but you didn’t mind as you were always very entertained with her.

“Thank you! I don’t know where I keep finding these guys. You really got lucky with Taehyung, all the other men our age are such assholes.” She groaned.

You wanted to laugh, but at the mention of your boyfriend’s name you froze.

Not catching your silence, Lisa continued, “Anyway, how are you and Taehyung doing? What’s it like to live together only six months into a relationship?”

“Actually…we had our first fight.” You told her. “Maybe. I don’t know. It may not even be considered a fight so much as a disagreement but I’ve been feeling a little awkward.”

“Oooh, what happened?” She didn’t even try to mask her excitement.

“It…I…Something happened and he didnt…I don’t know, Lisa. I’m going to sound crazy but I feel like I’m experiencing a glitch in the matrix or some shit.”

She pushed, “Try me. Remember when I used to be a flat earther? I’ll believe anything.”

Lisa made a good point, she was always down for conspiracies and even proclaimed herself a supernatural expert. So you relented, “Okay. Look, I don’t want you to laugh at me or anything because I’m being completely honest. I’m telling you this because I desperately need theories.”

“I promise I’ll give you a theory! Just get to it!” She barked over the phone, anxiously awaiting your story.

“Um, so earlier this week I went downstairs and saw Taehyung. I talked to him about ordering out instead of cooking, hugged him then went up the stairs. Then not even a second later Taehyung came home with groceries, telling me he wasn’t in the house at all when I said I saw him.” You paused, waiting for her to interject.

“Huh…” She trailed off, stumped herself with what that could mean.

“And yesterday, I went to Tae’s workspace to try to cuddle but he said he needed a bit more time with his painting and then he’d meet me upstairs. I went to the couch to wait and he suddenly came in and apologized for not believing me earlier. We cuddled and talked then…I got a text from Taehyung asking me to turn the tv down because it was distracting him.”

You took a deep breath to calm your rising nerves, not liking how you were managing to scare yourself all over again. “Lisa, how was I in Taehyung's arms when Taehyung wasn’t even in the room with me?”

“How did this other Taehyung act? Was he any different than your actual boyfriend?”

“I mean, the first time he didn’t say a word and I left the room quickly. The second time he was so sweet and…I don’t know. Maybe even nicer than my actual boyfriend but not like suspiciously so.”

“And there’s no difference between him and Taehyung? Same height, voice, birthmarks, everything?”

“Yes.”

A brief silence as she no doubt was working with a theory. “And you’ve never had experiences like this before you moved into that farmhouse?”

“None.”

“Ah-ha! It’s probably a ghost then!” She assured triumphantly.

You, however, weren’t so sure she solved the case. “A ghost that looks exactly like my boyfriend?”

“Well, crazier things have happened. You know, scientists say that each person has around six doppelgangers out there somewhere. What if this ghost was your boyfriend's doppelganger?”

“Still, why would he act like he was my boyfriend? Like, this ghost must have a different name and background than my Taehyung so why does he go along with it whenever I call him Taehyung and treat him like a boyfriend?” You questioned.

“The afterlife can get pretty dull. The ghost is probably just bored and noticed that Taehyung looks alot like him, so he’s using that to his advantage to mess around.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.” You grumbled, pissed at the prospect of you being a little plaything to a bored spirit.

“I know babe but ghosts are mostly harmless. If it really starts to bother you, maybe get a medium to move him along or whatever.” Lisa advised.

“Yeah, maybe.” – Mom: Look what I found!

The text came with a video attached, and you clicked it without thinking much.

A chubby little girl of about three to five years of age was badly hiding in a school cubby. Her mini feet sticking out and wiggling as the rest of her body was covered by a hung up winter coat. The cameraman sighed dramatically from behind the scenes, asking loudly, “Oh where could Y/n possibly be?!”

The girl giggled and a new figure slowly snuck into frame, approaching the cubby with a large grin.

The preschool teacher suddenly reached into the cubby and snatched the girl up, holding her up in the air as if the toddler was a prize of some sort. “Gotcha!”

The mini version of you laughed in her hold, kicking the air in glee. “Miss Addison you found me! You’ll find me anywhere, right?”

The young teacher nodded as she placed you on your feet. “Of course! I have a really good Y/n sense! I’ll find you anywhere.”

“Even the moon?” Innocent you asked, most likely just having learned about the star.

“Yes, I’ll find you on the moon if I have to!” Miss Addison chuckled.

The video ended and you went to type your mom a half-hearted reply, mostly inquiring how she still even had that clip after all these years.

While doing so, you caught yourself wishing that you could show this to Taehyung and prove that you were indeed not the best company as a child, your teacher had to play hide-and-seek with you because no one else would.

Yet, it wasn’t Taehyung you had that particular conversation with. Rather other Taehyung.

Or as you and Lisa had nicknamed; ghost Taehyung.

You failed to tell your boyfriend about the second incident. He woke you up an hour or so later with his promised bowl of soup, softly scolding you for never turning down the tv.

Deep inside you were sure that he was already convinced you were crazy from the first time his replica showed up. You didn’t seek to push that theory even further. Mostly because you didn’t want him to admit you to a psych ward, but also because of another glaring reason. The first time you were sure that Taehyung himself was messing with you somehow, which prompted you to accuse him, but this time around you knew for a fact he was innocent.

Instinctively, you didn’t feel threatened by the doppelganger spirit. If anything you sorta wished he’d pop up again with a ginger-cinnamon hot chocolate. It was kinda weird that he was acting like your boyfriend when he wasn’t, but he didn’t try to be too intimate with you or anything. The lease on the farmhouse was only twelve months so you could put up with a friendly ghost for a while if need be.

The only creepy thing was that you weren’t sure how you were going to tell if you were talking to the real Taehyung or not. Thankfully, the sick day incident seemed to be the last one, the last few days being almost eerily mundane.

The door to your bedroom suddenly slammed open, revealing your beaming boyfriend.

He held up a champagne bottle with one hand and two glasses in the other. “Guess what just happened!”

You sat up in bed and placed your phone on the nightstand as he giddily approached you. “What? Are we celebrating something?”

“Only the Bauhaus Gallery agreeing to schedule a showing for my latest collection!”

You jumped up in surprise, instantly wrapping your arms around him and plastering his face with kisses. “Oh my god! Tae! That’s amazing! I’m so proud of you! When is it?!”

“Next Friday at eight.” He chuckled through your kisses, fully basking in your attention.

The Bauhaus gallery was an uppity German gallery in town that apparently served as a who's who in the world of painting. Personally, you didn’t get what the big deal was, but Taehyung made it one of his career goals to have a show there. He always said that his career would really take off if he could showcase his work at such a place.

You pulled back and began thinking out loud as Taehyung worked on the bottle, “Wow, okay! I need to get a dress. And we should invite some friends to support you. Oh! Namjoon and his wife would probably try to buy a painting so we should see if they’re free-”

Taehyung cut you off with the resounding pop of the bottle, “Yeah yeah, we can plan that all out later. Right now I just wanna celebrate with my pretty girlfriend please.”

You quieted down and held the glasses as he poured. He then placed the bottle aside, took a glass and held it up for you to clink. You did so while your boyfriend declared, “To my collection and girlfriend; both beautiful and priceless!”

“You better announce that again at the afterparty!” You laughed, covering your blush.

You both finished the drinks rather quickly, him with a refreshing “ahh” and you with a cringe. Champagne really was overrated in your opinion, having no idea why it was the token celebratory drink. The glasses were then shoved somewhere aside, courtesy of Tae.

You laid back down in the bed, Taehyung unhurriedly following suit and even climbing on top of you at a leisurely pace.

Taehyung’s face was now inches away from yours, his every breath tickling your skin. His previous mood of joy shifted into something more…sultry. Cat eyes darkened, fully taking you in with a steadily growing smirk. The artist licked this bottom lip in a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it speed, before quirking one brow up in faux inquiry. His voice was low and husky, purring into your ears, “You know, it’s been a while since we’ve fucked.”

You snorted, “Gee, that’s hard to believe when you put me in the mood like that.”

“You like a man who's upfront.” He shrugged, not wasting a second more as he leaned down to slowly melt his lips against yours.

The intimate sensation felt almost foreign, the last few days having only been filled with obligatory pecks due to you two being so caught up in your work. You almost forgot how talented he was at making you feel special.

You kissed back just as slowly, feeling the intensity of his lips and taking the time to reacquaint yourself with them. It was gentle, deep, and meaningful. He kissed you gingerly, carefully, but that’s not what you wanted. Not after all this time. Pent-up sexual frustration caused you to knot your fists in his shirt, pulling him harder against you.

Taehyung groaned softly, low in his throat while encircling you in his arms to gather you against him. You two rolled over in the bed, tangled in the sheets, still locked at the lips.

His tongue slips into your mouth, tender but demanding. You swirl your tongue against his, moaning into his mouth as his hands snuck up to twist in your hair and grip you impossibly closer. Taehyung’s slight stubble prickles you, but somehow the extra sensation just excites you even more. Your boyfriend's lips pull back and meet their ultimate home at your neck, him now mouthing fervently at the sensitive nerves there as you gasped for air.

As you felt hotter and hotter, Taehyung answered your unsaid prayer and positioned his thigh between your legs, obscenely brushing against the place you needed him most. Knowing you like the back of his hand, he purposefully tensed his thigh as you not-so-subtly grinded against it, all the while he sucked and nibbled at the spot just below your ear.

A tug at your clothes.

Softly biting your earlobe, he whispered, “Be a good girl for me and take this shit off.”

Just when you were about to oblige, an unexpected sound cut through all the haze and caused you both to freeze.

It sounded like a…bang?

From somewhere deep within the house.

It was so loud and shrill, it effortlessly echoed off the walls of your humble bedroom. If you had to describe it, it was as if someone had just thrown a bowling ball with all their might.

Undoubtedly snapping into protector mode, Taehyung immediately jumped off of you and reached under the bed to retrieve a metal baseball bat.

“Stay here.” He ordered, already marching out the door before you could even protest.

You fearfully obeyed, reaching for your phone in case 911 had to be called.

Your once warm and flushed body was now icy with panic. Sitting upright in the bed, you strained your ears for any idea of what was occurring downstairs.

But alas, the house remained freakily silent. Almost as if that brutal sound was in your head and nothing more.

This did nothing to help your anxiety, a cold sweat quickly forming.

Minutes passed, you waited with bated breath for something. Anything.

But nothing ever came.

Your worry grew tenfold.

The longer Taehyung was away, the more you felt weighed down with dread, heart nearly in your throat.

‘What was happening downstairs? Was Taehyung okay? Did he find something? If there was a struggle, surely you would’ve heard it by now, right?’

Then ultimately, as the seconds ticked on, ‘Was your boyfriend going to come back?’

At the ten-minute mark, you made your decision.

Now concerned for your boyfriend’s safety, you sprung out of bed and ran out of the room. Your body purposefully moving too fast for your mind to catch up and halt your movements in the name of self-preservation.

“Taehyung?!” You desperately called out as you practically plummeted down the stairs.

“In here!” A croaky voice answered, sounding like your boyfriend but oddly…defeated?

You correctly traced the voice to his workroom, stepping into the space and seeing a scene that swiftly broke your heart, effectively replacing all your fright with woe.

Taehyung was on his knees in front of an easel, head bowed down.

The easel held a half-done canvas.

It was a sketch of two people, a man and a woman that closely resembled you and Taehyung.

It was partly painted, the scene depicting a warm sunny day at the park that looked alot like where Taehyung had taken you for a picnic and officially asked you to be his girlfriend. You were in Taehyung’s arms, kissing his cheek as he smiled his signature box-smile. You could recall that precise moment easily, you had just said yes to being his and sheepishly pecked his cheek, embarrassed by the old man on the bench a few feet away that eyed you two like a hawk.

It was a wonderful piece of unfinished art, not only due to the sentimental value but also the artistry and time that clearly went into it.

If only there weren't angry red sloshes of paint that cut through it, ruining the picture and turning it into something that looked like a horrible bloody mess of goo and not the romantic day it was.

“I-I was going to gift this to you….on our seventh month.” Taehyung’s voice was watery.

You didn’t even know what to say.

All of his hard work and thought was simply…gone. Erased. Ruined.

It would’ve been the equivalent of someone breaking into your laptop and deleting your entire novel’s draft. What would you even do? If roles were reversed, would there even be a way for Taehyung to console you? To make matters worse, it was his gift of love to you. He didn’t make that painting for himself, a buyer, or a collection…he made it for you.

Your empathy made you almost cry for him, but you knew that would be the last thing he’d want to see right now. His guilt would only grow.

You walked further into the room and got on your knees beside him.

Wrapping your arms around him, you cradled his head in the nook between your head and shoulder while rocking the two of you. “Tae baby, I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t say anything for a while, although you felt wet teardrops on your skin.

“Who would do this? It doesn’t make sense why someone would break in, take nothing and just destroy my gift?”

You didn’t know either, but you wanted to make him feel better. “Listen, I think it was the perfect gift. It’s really the thought that counts and I’m just happy that you even thought to make me something like that. Especially in the middle of working on your own collection, it must’ve been hard.”

Taehyung pulled back, regarding you with a tearful but hopeful gaze. “Really?”

“Of course! I was literally going to just get you a watch or something. That gift kinda would have made me look bad.” You attempted to joke.

He shakily smiled, even chuckling a bit before pulling back entirely and standing to his full height. Tae then held a hand out for you, pulling you up as well.

Not wanting to be in the room anymore with that awful mess, you gradually pushed him towards the door, eventually up the stairs and into your bedroom.

You both sat on the bed, him with his head in his hands and you awkwardly suggesting yet another early night in.

But instead of agreeing and attempting to join you under the covers, Taehyung continued to sit almost painfully still at the edge of your bed.

Then, he spoke.

“Y/n, you were lying when you said that guy was probably just a figment of your imagination.”

It wasn’t a question.

He knew.

He believed you now.

–

It was now the official opinion of the house that a ghost was indeed roaming around somewhere.

You wanted to pat yourself on the back because truly, your taste in men was superior.

Taehyung wasn’t one of those horror movie boyfriends that was convinced every unexplainable occurrence must’ve had a logical explanation. It only took that one experience for the artist to admit that something weird was going on, and although he never saw the ghost himself, Taehyung believed you when you said it looked exactly like him.

You were happy that you two were on the same page…well, mostly.

Taehyung reasoned that the lookalike ghost must’ve been the one to ruin his painting.

You don’t know why, but somewhere deep within, that accusation just didn’t feel right. Without thinking much, you had told your boyfriend that destroying his gift didn’t seem like something ghost Tae would do.

Obviously Taehyung was bewildered at your sudden defense of the spirit’s character and demanded to know how you could be so sure that it wasn’t him.

Feeling that your hand was forced, you fessed up to the second incident in which you ran into the other Taehyung. You explained that he was sweet, brought you hot chocolate and even held you as you fell asleep. It was only after the real Taehyung texted you that you realized it wasn’t your boyfriend, but by then it was too late.

Your boyfriend was understandably furious.

For one, you never told him that you were cuddled and taken care of by another man, dead or otherwise. And secondly, this spirit seemed to be taking too much of a liking to you. The artist was a weird mixture of jealous and protective, following you around the house and barely leaving you alone in fear that his replica would show up and snatch you away.

You thought he was overreacting, but Taehyung's determination to get rid of the ghost only grew as the days passed.

One day you took a break from writing and went downstairs to refresh your coffee, when you paused at the sight of your boyfriend waving an odd burning stick around the living room in a fashion that somehow made sense to him.

“Sage cleanses the home of negative energy and basically tells unwanted spirits to fuck off.” He told you as if you were the idiot and not him- wildly thrashing his arm around in a puff of smoke and demanding that his evil ghost twin left the premises immediately.

You shrugged, “Just don’t set off the smoke detector, please.”

The next day, Taehyung informed you over dinner that he called a security camera company and had ordered a set to be installed in your home.

“Don’t you think that’s kinda a big fucking thing to not run by me?”

“I’m sorry baby, but I knew you wouldn’t have agreed.” He apologized without seeming even the tiniest bit apologetic.

“If you knew I wouldn’t have wanted it then why do it anyway?!”

“Because as the man of the house it’s my job to protect us and I would like to witness everything that’s going on. Next time he comes out and tries to touch you, I will be able to see it from my phone and confront him.” He then reached for his water and took a self righteous sip before muttering under his breath, “That is if the sage didn’t kick him out already.”

“Man of the house?!” You echoed incredulously. “You call twirling around with some burning twigs and yelling at a harmless ghost being the man of the house?”

“He’s not harmless! Why are you so convinced that it’s just a casper that we’re dealing with?!”

You opened your mouth to retort, but snapped it shut when you realized you didn’t really have any reason to believe he wasn’t dangerous. So you just focused on the main glaring issue, “Nevermind that. I just don’t like how you made a big decision without telling me. Are we not equal in this relationship? It wasn’t even worth consulting me about?”

Taehyung didn’t say anything.

It would seem that he understood your point, but was stubbornly holding onto his just a tad more.

Appetite ruined, you stormed away in a display of vexation.

Not wanting to go to sleep beside him either, you stayed all night in your office and tried to just focus on editing the latest version of your draft.

Somewhere along the way, you managed to fall asleep on the keyboard.

You blearily awoke hours later to the sound of the door firmly shutting.

Groggily you sat up and twisted to see if anyone else was in the room with you, all the while rubbing off the key imprints on your cheek and leftover drool.

No one was there.

When you turned your attention back to the desk, you softly gasped in surprise.

A plate of grilled cheese sat there, still hot.

Alongside it was a steaming mug of hot chocolate.

One sip and you instantly recognized the ginger-cinnamon.

It wasn’t your boyfriend who left this.

The sage didn’t work.

–

Ralph was a man of about fifty years of age.

Tall, lumbering, calloused and not necessarily easy on the eyes, he shifted awkwardly at the entrance of your delicate farmhouse as Taehyung listed off the places in the home that he’d like covered.

Ralph was to set up the cameras while you and your boyfriend went out for a quick errand.

The gallery showing was tomorrow, and so was the little afterparty that you had arranged to take place. You did so without really realizing all that you would need for hosting. The guest list was an intimate circle of seven, but given you and Taehyung were running out of groceries for even just the two of you, you figured a trip to the market was needed to properly prepare.

You rolled your eyes and waited for your boyfriend to finish his little pep talk, sighing in relief when Ralph was finally free to disappear into the living room with his bag of tools.

“Ready?” You asked Taehyung, not really waiting for an answer as you stomped past him and out the door.

He followed you wordlessly to the car.

The ride into town was stiff and awkward, neither one of you saying anything and music not even playing in the background as Taehyung drove.

You both were still angry at each other.

Well, more like you were angry at him and he was correctly trying to not poke the bear by instigating useless chatter.

The cameras were overkill in your opinion and a giant waste of money. You both were artists, which means a severe lack of steady income. You needed to be smart with what you threw cash at because no one knew if your next book or his next painting would even sell. Nothing was ever guaranteed.

You felt for him that his gift was wrecked, but you weren’t lying when you said that the thought was all that really mattered to you. You genuinely didn’t care either way, it would’ve been nice to have the painting, but it was just as nice to know that he was painting one for you.

If you were a betting woman, you would bet that this was more about Taehyung’s unfounded jealousy than anything else. Usually you would find harmless jealousy kind of attractive, but not when it went into installing cameras into your home at the “low” price of a couple hundred dollars.

You thought of this in a quiet rage as Taehyung pulled into the grocery store.

He parked, you both got out and walked inside before grabbing a cart.

“Let’s split up.” You said, your tone leaving no room for argument.

“Fine. What do you want me to get?”

“Get the drinks. They’re mainly your friends so you’d know what they’d like more than me. I’ll get some stuff for a charcuterie board.” You ordered, just wanting to get back home as soon as possible

He nodded and swiftly went over to the alcohol section as you made way into the food aisles.

You were looking at the different types of crackers and wondering what the fuck the difference was when a sudden call of your name took your attention.

“Y/n?”

The voice was light and airy, tone warm and nostalgic to the ears.

No way.

It can’t be…

You swirled around to face the owner, nearly choking on your spit when you realized your suspicions were correct.

Park Jimin was as gorgeous as ever. The cherub face was just as you recalled, somehow both ruggedly handsome and softly docile. His eyes crinkled behind a pearly smile, a small hand coming up to swiftly brush through his dyed blonde hair as he approached you.

“I thought that was you.” He chuckled. “How have you been? It’s been so long.”

You managed a wry smile.

Jimin was once your college boyfriend of one year, five months, and eight days.

But hey, who was counting?

“I’m doing okay.” You choked out, not liking how he quickly frowned at your strained tone. If there was one man you could never lie to, it was Jimin. “How about yourself? Did you open up that studio you always wanted?”

The truth was you knew he did. Before meeting and dating Taehyung, you were guilty of occasionally checking his social media. It simply couldn’t be helped. Jimin was the longest relationship you ever had. The first man you ever really loved. And your first ever heartbreak.

“Um, yeah I did! I heard you published your first book last year. I bought a few copies myself…” he trailed off sheepishly, suddenly avoiding eye contact. “It uh, was really well written. Are you um, working on anything now?”

You bit your lip, not sure how you felt about the man you were once wildly in love with reading your novel after years of not talking. Much less buying more than one copy to support you. “Y-Yes I’m writing my second book.”

He nodded, a proud expression on his face as he pursed his lips in thought.

“I’m sorry this is…weird.” He finally huffed. “I really didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

You sighed with some relief, thankful he felt the same way. “Same. After you said you wanted to date other people I really didn’t expect to say another word to you like, ever.”

Jimin laughed, “Haha, what? Your memory continues to suck, Y/n. If anything it was you who ghosted-”

“Y/n.”

A much deeper voice cut through the air, bringing all the attention to a new figure descending upon the scene.

Taehyung strode up from behind you, placing an arm around you and regarding the other man with a brooding look of regard.

“Whose this?” Your boyfriend asked, purposefully deepening his already deep voice.

You inwardly rolled your eyes, noting how the artist was practically puffing his chest and glowering at the much shorter man.

“Taehyung, this is my old friend Jimin. Jimin, this is my boyfriend Taehyung.”

The two stiffly nodded at each other, you dodging the questioning look Jimin secretly shot at you for being described as ‘an old friend’.

A pregnant pause hung in the air.

“So…how long have you two been together?”

Before either you or your boyfriend could answer, a pretty lady suddenly skipped into the aisle and grasped onto Jimin’s arm.

“Babe, I can’t find the oat milk! I thought you said- Oh hello!” She just now noticed you and Taehyung, smiling politely and not-so-subtly nudging at Jimin to introduce her.

“Oh, um, this is Molly.”

“His girlfriend! And you two are?”

“I’m Y/n and this is my boyfriend Taehyung.” You introduced. “Jimin and I went to school together.”

“Really? I never get to meet any of Jimin’s old friends! We should have a double date or something!” Molly was an over the top girl, your ears almost ringing at the volume she exuded. But she seemed nice, so you smiled warmly at her and vaguely agreed.

Another brief, awkward and only slightly painful silence.

“Actually…” You trailed off in thought, an idea forming in your head but you didn’t know if it was a good one. Yet it was too late. Before you could even backtrack, all three sets of eyes were on you, eagerly waiting for you to finish the thought. “…what are you two doing tomorrow night?”

“Was just gonna drag Jiminnie to see this new movie! We can totally blow it off though!”

“Well, my boyfriend is a really talented artist and he has a showing tomorrow night. We’d love it if you two could make it.”

You felt Taehyung stiffen beside you, but you paid it no mind.

From what you understood about showings the more people, the more eyes, the better. It was harmless, wasn’t it? Jimin bought multiple copies of your book, and you’d invite him to a gallery showing to please his over hyper girlfriend.

Even, right?

Molly beamed, asking for your number to exchange the details.

You did so, pretending not to notice how both Jimin and Taehyung bore their stares into you.

When finished, you waved goodbye to the couple as they made their way to the dairy section. You and Taehyung then continued your own shopping in a rushed manner- your boyfriend grumbling about having to get back in time for the cameras.

The ride home was a bit more talkative, with Taehyung asking how you knew of Jimin and what made you two friends. You answered the questions rather honestly, just leaving out the parts about how your friendship blossomed into something more.

You weren’t exactly trying to be deceitful. It was just that he was under a lot of stress and paranoia the last few days, you didn’t want to push his poor nerves any further. If he was willing to set up a bunch of cameras to keep some ghost away from you, you didn’t want to push your luck by mentioning that Jimin was your ex boyfriend and longest relationship.

Besides, it wasn’t like Jimin was any kind of threat. You would never entertain the idea of going back to the guy who dumped you. He also now had Molly, so clearly you both moved on.

Taehyung pulled the car into the driveway, asking if you could handle the few bags as he went in to talk to Ralph and sort out the last few steps of installation. You agreed, watching him jog into the home as you gathered all the groceries and took your time to get inside.

You beelined straight to the kitchen with the newly bought food, raising your brows when you saw Taehyung staring at something intently on the counter.

“What is it?”

Taehyung didn’t answer.

You walked up behind him and stood on your tippy toes to spot over his shoulder what he was looking at.

It was a note, in messy and hurried handwriting.

“Sorry but the cameras could not have been installed. It won’t work here. -Ralph.”

–

If there was any man on top of the world tonight- his name was Kim Taehyung.

The Bauhaus gallery was swarmed with countless people, all clamoring to gaze upon the latest Kim collection and ponder the intricate meanings behind each piece. They wore luxury clothes and drank fancy wine that you couldn’t even pronounce, their tax bracket clearly a couple pegs above yours. There was of course some idle chatter, almost every corner of the building being filled with some pretentious snob rambling about the brush strokes, artistic style and commentary your boyfriend was allegedly trying to make with his art.

Such a crowd was not something you were accustomed to.

Thus you clung to Lisa, both idly sipping at wine and watching your boyfriend from afar as he charmingly answered questions.

“You know, he’s going to make thousands of dollars tonight.” Lisa thought out loud. “These rich types will outbid each other like crazy.”

You shrugged nonchalantly. You were happy for him, and knew he deserved it but you would be lying if you said he wasn’t in the doghouse.

“Still mad huh?” Lisa correctly assumed, reading your expression. “What happened after the camera dude disappeared?”

“Taehyung was really upset and called the company to demand his money back. They refunded him entirely, apologized and even sent someone to get the company van. I guess the Ralph dude was an alcoholic and everyone just kinda accepts that he skipped town.” You explained. “I tried to calm him down but he sorta snapped at me about how I never even wanted the cameras so I was probably just loving it all.”

Lisa lowly whistled, “Damn. Well, he probably snapped about the cameras but I promise you it wasn’t just about that.”

“What do you mean?”

“You invited your ex to his showing.” Lisa lectured, as if you were a child who didn’t even understand what you did wrong.

You stuttered, “B-But he doesn’t know Jimin is an ex! I told him he was just an old friend.”

She rolled her eyes, “Y/n of course he would see right through that. There's always going to be chemistry between Jimin and you, he probably picked up on it and is aware you’re not telling the complete truth about what you two were.”

“He’s just overly jealous. He wants to fight our ghost too. At this point, every man is a threat to him.”

At the mention of your ghost, Lisa’s eyes practically sparkled. “Oh I can’t wait to go back to your place! I want to feel the haunted energy for myself.”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes, “It’s just like any other home, Lisa.”

“That’s because you don’t have a psychic sense to save your life, Y/n.”

You didn’t know whether or not to be offended by that, so you decided to distract yourself by scanning the room for your boyfriend’s invited friends.

Kim Namjoon was an old boss of Taehyung that remained good friends with the artist even after he dumped his job to take up painting full time. Currently, he and his wife Jennifer were talking rather seriously to a thin-lipped curator, most likely about purchasing one of the artworks displayed.

Right across from where you and Lisa stood, Taehyung was conversing with his former coworkers; Jin and Hoseok. They appeared to be laughing about something, their lightheartedness standing out in the overly serious room of people.

If you craned your neck a little to the left, you could spot Yoongi and Jungkook hiding in a corner away from everyone else, almost perfectly mimicking you and your close friend. They both nursed their drinks quietly, occasionally sharing words but mainly just waiting out this event.

You always kind of thought that Lisa and Jungkook would make a good pairing if properly introduced and pushed. So you turned to your friend and was just about to suggest you guys walk over, when she made a face at something behind you.

“Uh oh, here comes the ex.” She mumbled.

You turned around to indeed see Jimin and Molly approaching.

Jimin wore a suit, dress shirt unbuttoned at the top to reveal some of his sun kissed chest. His blonde hair was properly done this time, brushed to the side and back to fully expose his forehead. He raised a hand and waved, rings catching the light and nearly blinding you in the process.

Beside him, Molly looked as pretty as ever in a blue sweetheart dress that complimented her figure. Yet, she looked rather irritated. She attempted to give you a smile in greeting, but it looked more like a grimace.

Jimin spoke first, “Hey, I’m so sorry we’re late. I’m hoping we didn’t miss too much?”

You wanted to be annoyed but without meaning to, a giggle escaped you.

“Things really don’t change.” You told Jimin, a knowing look simmering in your eyes. While dating, you guys were often the couple that showed up late to any event. Most people assumed that it was your doing because you were the girl, when in all actuality it was Jimin.

Jimin shamelessly grinned, “I’ve gotten better, I swear.”

You didn’t believe it for a second and he knew it.

You both shared a laugh, staring at each other fondly like old friends reliving the old times.

It was hard to believe that you were joking with the man you once thought you’d never get over or forgive. Countless nights were spent eating your feelings, hysterically crying and obsessing over all the videos or pictures you couldn’t bring yourself to delete.

But there are some people in life that as soon as they come back, it’s like they never left.

And it was almost as if Jimin never left.

You two continued to gaze into each other, lost in your own comfortable bubble when a sudden throat clearing broke the haze.

“Um, actually the showing is almost over.” Lisa informed, her and Molly visibly looking left out of the nostalgia.

Your ex had the decency to look guilty. “Oh no! I’m so sorry! Maybe we can all just get drinks? There’s a nice bar two blocks down. I can buy a round for everyone?”

“That’s sweet but we have a little after party planned back at my place. I live kind of out of town though, so it’s okay if you can’t make it.”

“No! We can make it! What's the address?” Jimin seemed eager.

You told him, him pulling out his phone to save it into his gps system.

Molly was silent all this time, which was kind of worrying as your first meeting with her led you to believe she was the bubbly type. Now that you mentioned it, it looked like she was avoiding looking at either you or her boyfriend, focusing on a spot on the wall somewhere behind you.

You opened your mouth to maybe ask if she was alright, but quickly shut it when you realized that could be overstepping some boundary.

Fortunately, Lisa seemed to have enough of this entire interaction and grabbed your arm while saying, “Me and Y/n were just going to go to the restroom! Please take a good look around and enjoy her boyfriend’s work! See you guys at the after party!”

Your friend then swiftly dragged you away, barely leaving you enough time to smile apologetically at the couple.

When you both entered the restroom, Lisa simply marched up to the sink and began fixing invisible smudges in her makeup as you shifted awkwardly beside her.

“So…” She started, looking you up and down in the mirror. “Please tell me you know Jimin is still in love with you.”

“W-What?! No way!” You spluttered.

“Y/n it’s so obvious. I actually felt bad for his girlfriend. He couldn’t take his eyes off you.” She rolled her eyes, almost disappointed in your lack of awareness.

“It’s just been forever. It’s hard to not hyperfocus on eachother, we’ve both changed so much. Also, why would the guy who dumped me out of nowhere still be in love with me?”

She released a deep sigh, “He knows he made the shittiest mistake of his life and is now regretting it when seeing you and your talented boyfriend doing so well.”

You chuckled at the thought of someone looking at your relationship and being jealous.

“Listen, just remember tonight is Taehyung’s night and fighting or not, he’s still a wonderful boyfriend overall. And Jimin is your ex who broke your heart. Inviting him to your place after this might’ve been too much. I suggest you keep your distance.”

“Lisa, thanks for the advice but I honestly was just being friendly. He seemed sorry that he missed most of the showing. Besides, I’m going to be too busy hosting to have a deep heart to heart with him or anything.” You explained, a little offended that she thought you were going to play part in some dramatic reconciliation.

A sudden announcement echoed outside the restroom doors, your ears straining to hear a gallery worker asking everyone to gather on the main floor for the artist’s speech and thus the final part of the night.

Saying nothing more, Lisa and you made your exit to join the audience.

– The clock was nearing midnight.

Your usually quiet farmhouse of a home was not at all quiet.

Your boyfriend's friends were merrily talking and drinking, once in a while their masculine laughs would sync up and reverberate through the halls. They all conversed and lounged in the living room, the largest part of the house that could fit all of them comfortably. Yet, you and Lisa stayed in the kitchen, making the drinks and finger foods, as you indulged in harmless girl talk.

“The one with tattoos is so hot, Y/n. Please tell me he’s single!”

“Jungkook? I’m pretty sure he is. Taehyung told me that Namjoon is the only other one in the friend group that’s in a relationship.”

“Okay, so far so good.” She paused to pop a stuffed mushroom in her mouth, humming in thought. “What’s his type though? Like, would I have to make the first move? Does he like a straightforward girl? Because he hasn’t so much as looked at me tonight.”

“I’ve only met Taehyung’s friends once before so I don’t know their types or anything. I do think Jungkook looks a lot manlier than he actually is. He’s very kind but shy so you’ll have to talk to him first.” You explained while opening another bottle of wine for the two of you.

Lisa frowned at the thought, not used to being the one that had to chase.

You poured two glasses, handing her one with a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, I can introduce you two. It’s kind of a good thing he’s avoiding you like the plague, Tae once said he only acts like that with pretty girls.”

Your friend lit up like the fourth of july.

“Hey babe!” A familiar deep voice called out.

You looked around to see your boyfriend stepping into the kitchen, a buzzed smile on his face and a slightly glazed film over his eyes.

Moments like these made you realize how much of a lightweight your boyfriend was. It only took one or two drinks for him to get tipsy. But it was still his night and he was already home amongst loved ones, so all you could do is smile endearingly at his slightly intoxicated self.

“Yes, handsome?”

His boxy grin grew, “The boys want more beer.”

“Already?! I put out a twelve pack! People need to be able to drive home, ya know!”

He laughed, “Baby, my friends can drink a gallon each and still be able to drive home with their eyes closed if need be.”

“Well I don’t have any more beer up here. Just wine. There might be some more in the basement, though.”

He nodded in thanks, turning his back to presumably go to the basement and retrieve the drinks.

Lisa waited for him to get fully out of earshot before leaning over and dramatically whispering, “How is Jimin and that Molly girl doing?”

You shrugged, “Last time I was in there, Hoseok was making conversation with Jimin and Molly was all over Yoongi.”

“Damn, trouble in paradise?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t seem too bothered and she seemed a little drunk. She might just get overly friendly when she drinks.”

“And you’re still convinced that he’s over you?”

You rolled your eyes but ultimately stayed silent, aware that the couple was acting sorta strange but also not so sure that you were the cause. You took your wine in one hand and a plate of appetizers in the other, motioning for Lisa to grab the rest and follow you.

When you both entered the living room, you were thrilled to spot Jungkook sitting alone on one of the loveseats. You quickly set the food down and pulled Lisa along with you, approaching him with a friendly smile meant to put him at ease. Considering the way his eyes widened at the sight of your friend, you didn’t know how successful you were.

“Hey Jungkook, it’s been a while!” You greeted.

“Y-Yeah it has been. How’s your erm, book going?”

“It’s doing okay, thanks for asking. Have you met my friend, Lisa?”

He briefly scanned your friend, nervously gulping before saying quietly, “…No I haven't.”

“Oh well, Lisa was just saying how much she liked your tattoos.” You nudged her, prompting her to say something.

She just nodded in agreement, suddenly meek.

He blushed, “Thank you.”

“Actually, Lisa, weren't you saying that you were thinking of getting a tattoo?” You pretended to think out loud, as if you weren’t outright playing them. You didn’t wait for her to answer the rhetorical question, “Jungkook, don’t you do tattoos now?”

Now on a topic of interest he was for sure confident in, Jungkook practically jumped in his seat, “Yeah! I do! I’ve only tatted myself and some friends but I hope to work on more people.”

You watched with a smirk as Lisa moved to sit next to Jungkook, her now explaining what she’d like done and Jungkook asking questions about placement, size and color.

You felt sure enough in them to leave them alone, now inhabiting your little corner as you finished your wine while taking in the scene.

Yoongi and Molly stood by the window, and were obviously the most inebriated. He was the type to ramble pointlessly when tipsy, and she giggled at every little thing he said, playfully shoving his shoulder once in a while. You knew for a fact that Yoongi was too deep in his own self-epiphanes to notice her bad flirting, either that or he was just trying to talk to anyone who was willing to listen.

Namjoon and Jennifer were sitting on the couch and talking to Jin, laughing at whatever odd impression he was attempting. Beside them on the loveseat, Hoseok was politely nodding along to small talk from Jimin. Being one of the friendliest and most calming of the group, it made sense that Hoseok was the one trying to make your ex boyfriend feel included.

Content to just watch your guests for a while, you stood by your lonesome and slowly sipped at the remnants of your wine.

Playing host wasn’t exactly your forte, so you were enjoying the little lull while it lasted. Unlike your boyfriend, your social battery tended to max out at the two-hour mark when in group settings.

And as much as you loved the people in your home (with maybe the exception of your ex and his girlfriend), you couldn’t wait for them to get out so you could take a long, hot shower and head to bed.

The stress of the last few days was really tiring you, and you just knew that as soon as the excitement of the showing and sold paintings wore off, Taehyung was going to continue his spat with you about the cameras.

When you and Jimin dated, you two were always on the same page. Fights very rarely happened. And Jimin was such a people pleaser that if literally anything slightly upset you, he would practically fall over himself to make you smile again.

Taehyung was the first boyfriend to genuinely pick a fight with you, being more stubborn than you about matters you didn’t necessarily want to back down from either. Your relationship conflict resolution skills were being tested, and you just didn’t have the patience or experience to keep fighting much longer. You would call a truce or some type of compromise, if it weren’t for the fact that there was no way to really keep both of you happy.

A few minutes passed as you pondered this to yourself.

Seemingly materializing out of nowhere, a mysterious arm wrapped around your waist.

The suddenness of it all caused you to jump and release a very unflattering squeak.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

A deep chuckle rumbled beside you, Taehyung smirking lazily before diving face first into your neck and nuzzling it in some sort of drunken stupor.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that!” You groaned, trying to forcefully shove his face away from you. “Where’s the beer you went to fetch?”

Your boyfriend expertly dodged your shove and dove back into your neck, mumbling against the skin something about not being able to find more drinks.

The vibration of his lips on such a sensitive spot made you want to squirm, but his halfhearted mumbles took your attention a bit more.

“No beer? I could’ve sworn-”

“Hey Y/n!” Someone interrupted with a call across the room. You looked up to see Lisa trudging over with a determined look on her face and a fogged up look in her eyes, perhaps a bit more tipsy than you remember leaving her. “Aren’t you going to show me where exactly you saw the ghost?”

Your dear friend most likely thought she was being discreet and having a normal conversation at a perfectly appropriate tone. But no, she was actually speaking way above a conversational volume, causing everyone else in the room to halt their conversations and turn to look at you.

“Ghost?” Jin laughed.

“You saw something in this room?” Hoseok inquired with a trembling voice, most likely regretting having come over. Beside him, Jimin quietly shook his head to himself.

“No way, Y/n doesn’t believe in stuff like that.” Your ex confidently informed the group.

At the sound of your past lover’s voice, you felt Taehyung stiffen beside you. The artist untangled himself from you, standing to his full height and facing the guest with an unknown expression.

“We had a little bit of a ghost problem, but it’s taken care of now.” He paused, and you could nearly hear his smirk when he went on to declare, “I got rid of it.”

Yoongi laughed boisterously, having to hold himself up with the wall to prevent falling over. “I’m sorry, but the image of little Tae boxing a little sheet with two holes for eyes is really sending me.”

Half your guests laughed at the thought. The other more believing half still stared at you inquisitively.

An awkward silence.

“Ghosts are real.” Jennifer started, effortlessly drawing all eyes to her. “I used to live in a haunted house when I was a kid.”

She put her drink down and folded her hands across her lap, suddenly immersed in thought and careful about what she was about to share.

“In my childhood home, there was a garden in the backyard. Almost everyday, at sunset, I’d look out the window and see this lady circling the flowers and humming to herself. After ten minutes or so, she would disappear into thin air. I told my parents but they never believed me.”

She paused, either for dramatic effect or to recollect.

“Until one day, my mom saw her too. And when she went out to confront what she thought was an intruder, the lady disappeared before her eyes. My mom then did some digging about the history of the house and it turns out, the previous owner was outside gardening when she had a heart attack and died.”

A pregnant pause hung in the air as everyone silently digested the anecdote.

“That’s fucking terrifying, please tell me your parents moved houses after that.” Hoseok broke the silence first, pleading with watery eyes.

Namjoon’s wife laughed, reaching for her drink once more. “How is it scary? The lady was just checking on her garden in the afterlife. However, I then grew up really interested in supernatural stuff.” She turned to you. “There’s some tell-tale signs that a home has a spirit attached to it. Cold spots, shadow figures, whispers, scary dreams and the biggest of all: always feeling like you're being watched, even if there’s no one else in the room.”

You quietly thought to yourself. Were there any cold spots in the home? No. Any shadow figures? Nope. Whispers and nightmares? Nada.

But…the last one, being watched when no one is there.

If you really focused on your intuition, you faintly felt that even now amongst all these people, you were being watched by something unknown.

Goosebumps raised on the surface of your arms.

Chills ran down your spine and you shivered, the reaction causing Taehyung to grasp you tighter against him in what was supposed to be comfort.

You felt even more cold.

“We haven’t had any of that. Really guys, it’s taken care of.” Your boyfriend told the room, effectively shutting down the paranormal subject.

You assumed Taehyung felt a bit defensive of his ghost expelling skills, either that or he genuinely wanted another topic of discussion.

You then felt a little bad, it was still his night after all and here you were unintentionally ruining it with your little ghost stories. The focus of the room should be on him and his achievements, not everyone's supernatural beliefs and stories.

“Taehyung is right, it’s all resolved. But I’d like to ask all of you to fill up your glasses one last time, and raise them with me, ” While they did that you quickly scanned the room, “Um, except maybe you, Yoongi. Feel free to sit this one out, bud.” You laughed as the drunk man just grumbled at you, defiantly snatching another beer and holding it high while swaying on his feet.

Hopefully he wasn’t the one driving home.

You cleared your throat, “I'd like to propose a toast to our own Taehyung. Everyone in this room knows it was only a matter of time before your artistic genius was recognized by the world, but that doesn’t make us any less proud than we are of you tonight. To the first of many showings! To Taehyung!”

“To Taehyung!” the room loudly parroted back, everyone thrusting their drinks of choice in the air before knocking them back.

The artist beside you laughed and shook his head, “Really, guys it’s no big deal. Just a few paintings that I’m lucky even got sold. But thanks so much for making it. Most of you-” he snapped a side eye where Jimin sat, “have supported me so much, I’m just happy to have such a great group of friends.”

Said friends all smiled and nodded, although a few caught on to Taehyung’s subliminal dig and warily looked over at your ex.

Jimin pursed a tight smile, clearly trying to be nice and not make it obvious that he was the outsider at the party. You caught his eye and shot him a sorry look, but he shook his head in what was clearly meant to say “don’t worry about it.”

Your boyfriend continued, “However! ‘Friends’ don’t really beat ‘love of my life’. So without getting into all the lewd details of how I plan to spend my night celebrating, I’m going to need you all to start clearing out,” Taehyung smirked. “Y/n is a screamer.”

“Ew!” Lisa shouted, beside her Jungkook was suddenly unable to make eye contact with you.

The older men in the room just cackled. You slapped the artist's chest while trying to hide your blood red face.

Taehyung ducked and mouthed at your ear to whisper, “Sorry baby, but you know it’s true. And don’t act like you don’t want them out sooner rather than later.”

You wanted to be mad, but understood he was tipsy and riding on the high of his showing. So instead you played along and harshly whispered to him, “I doubt you can make me scream tonight. It’s not right to be misleading to your friends.”

He tiled your head to make you face him.

Taehyungs’ left brow twitched in vexation, his lips pulling back in a little growl. He looked around to make sure the guests were distracted with finishing their drinks or saying their goodbyes to each other. When he confirmed no eyes were on you two, he secretly placed his hand at the back of your head, running his long fingers through your hair and stopping right at the ends, to quickly form a fist and pull.

It was just one short tug, but the power of it made you gasp.

You would be lying if you said it didn’t make you a little wet too.

You had no idea where this came from. He never pulled your hair. Your boyfriend wasn’t rough and was one of those really progressive artists types that viewed any kind of manhandling in the bedroom as sort of sexist. But when you peered up at him, with the doe eyes he said he loved so much, and saw the clouded nature of his gaze, you just knew that inebriated Tae was very different from sober Tae.

Black and white, really.

‘I’m in for quite the night’ you thought to yourself while biting your lip, inwardly smug at how Taehyung transparently honed in on the action.

“Um, hey I think I’ll take my leave first.” You looked up to see Jimin awkwardly shifting in front of you two, a blacked out Molly in his hold.

“Oh god! Is she okay?” You exclaimed, noting the poor girl looked dead.

The dancer chuckled, “Yeah, she just gets really hyper when she's drunk then passes out after a bit. Ironically, sleep is all she needs I guess since she always wakes up good as new. No hangover.”

“Here let me show you out. I can help put her in the car.” You offered, already detangling yourself from Taehyung. He made a small sound of protest and made move to hold you tighter.

You placed a hand on his shoulder and consoled him with a smile, “You wanted people to leave, so we should help everyone get home safe. Can you check on Yoongi and maybe see if Namjoon and Jennifer can take him home?”

He looked conflicted, carefully sizing Jimin up through his peripheral. You wanted to roll your eyes. Although tipsy Taehyung was apparently a sexy beast, he was also an immature toddler who needed to be tricked.

You got on your tippy toes to whisper in his ear, “The quicker we get people out, the quicker you get me all to yourself.”

That seemed to convince him as he reluctantly stomped away in the direction of the couple, shooting one more guarded look at the dancer.

With that you led Jimin to the front door, even helping him put Molly’s heels back on before stepping out into the driveway and walking him to his car.

Silently, he opened the car and laid her in the backseat, tucking her in with his jacket. Then he shut the door, but instead of walking around to the driver spot, he turned to you and sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.

“So….”

“Look, I’m sorry about Taehyung. I didn’t even tell him you were an ex but he’s just been really possessive and weird lately. It’s not just you.” You informed him, hoping to make him feel better.

Jimin just waved it off with a chuckle, “No, I get it. You’re really gorgeous, kind and talented. I also struggled with jealousy when we were together. Can’t really blame him.”

You hoped your blush wasn’t too prominent as you said, “Yeah, but you were always nice to people regardless of feeling possessive. He was just rude. Again, I’m sorry.”

“Well, you can’t really date someone breathtaking if you’re going to be an insecure prick about it.”

You gaped like a fish at the implication you were still breathtaking in Jimin’s eyes. Words were suddenly hard to come by.

It was silent for a moment, the tension between you two as thick as it can possibly get for two past lovers.

“Y/n…why didn’t you tell him we dated?”

“L-Like I said, he’s already been acting jealous and I didn’t want him to focus on that when it was his night. Besides, It’s not like-”

“I broke up with Molly.”

“…What?”

“It happened on the way to your after party, she was upset that I still held a candle for you. And yeah, I couldn’t drag her along when I never felt half of what I felt for you, for her. I just said it without thinking, terrible timing of course. But that’s pretty on brand for me, I suppose.” He attempted a joke.

You smiled politely, although you had no idea how you should feel.

He continued, “I just thought I should say sorry because the reason she was such a drunk and sloppy mess in your home was because I carelessly dumped her on the way there.”

“It’s um, okay Jimin. She wasn’t the only drunken mess tonight. I hope you two manage to stay friends.” You said, then after a beat added, “And that you find what you’re looking for.”

“Listen, I know you're with Taehyung and happy but, I think there was some kind of misunderstanding about our breakup. I’m not trying to be a homewrecker or anything, but can we get a coffee sometime and just…talk?”

You smiled, finding no harm in the offer. “Sure-”

“No.”

You gasped and whipped around to see Taehyung standing behind you, arms crossed and hell in his eyes as he glowered down at Jimin.

How did he get there without being spotted or heard?

It's like he fabricated out of nowhere.

“I suggest you get in your car, leave and never speak to her again.”

Your ex held his hands up in surrender, “Look man, I wasn’t trying anything-”

“What kind of guy goes to their ex when she’s clearly in a happy and healthy relationship, and tries to drudge up the past in the name of closure? Fuck your closure. You lost her, and now I have her. And trust me, she has better things to do than getting coffee with the guy who broke her heart.”

“Please, Taehyung-”

You were cut off.

His voice was the lowest you’ve ever heard it, eyes pitch black and face blank as he calmly finished, “It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic. And if I see you again I’m going to break your kneecaps and skin you alive, you little spineless boy. Run along now. While you still can.”

The threats were so visceral and promising, coupled with a man who looked downright murderous yet somehow calm. As if he had done it before and doing it again would be more so an inconvenience than a whole life-ending ordeal.

In this moment, you didn’t know your own boyfriend and you were terrified with this new persona.

No one moved or spoke, in fear one step or word would make Taehyung good on his promise.

You and Jimin were paralyzed, like two helpless deer in the presence of a blood thirsty wolf, the only hope was to stay still and go unnoticed. You met your ex’s eyes and while he did look afraid, he was focused only on you and your proximity to Taehyung.

Jimin was fearful. Not for himself, but for you.

And while you wanted your ex to run away, you were also scared to be left alone with someone so different from your usual Taehyung.

How could a few drinks and some jealousy cause such a behavior?

“Hey what’s going on here?”

Namjoon and Jennifer were babysitting a toddling Yoongi, the couple was also making way to their vehicle when they spotted the scene. The so-called ‘leader’ of the gang was quick to pick up on Taehyung’s aggressive stance, probably prompting him to get involved.

You felt your body lighten in relief.

Namjoon was always good at calming people down and taking control of situations.

Like a switch was turned on, your boyfriend grinned at the oncomers and nodded over at the dancer. Seemingly happy as a clam he chirped, “Nothing, hyung! Jimin here was just leaving. His poor girlfriend had too much, I think.”

Namjoon didn’t quite believe that, you and Jimin still looked rigid with alarm after all. Nonetheless, he played along for everyone’s sake. “Really? Maybe you should leave now then Jimin, get her in bed as soon as possible. It was nice meeting you.”

Jimin took the hint with grace and wordlessly ducked into his car, not acknowledging anyone else as he mouthed to you “call me”.

He started up the car, then slowly backed out of the driveway, and eventually down the road.

“Dude, are you sure you’re okay? It looked like you wanted to kill him.” Namjoon asked the artist.

Before hearing whatever bullshit was going to spew out of his mouth next, you promptly whipped around and stormed back into the house, making sure to purposefully shoulder-check your boyfriend as hard as you could in the process.

What the fuck was wrong with the bastard?!

Talking as though he was some offender or even a murder, just because your ex wanted to catch up?

You were so dreadfully embarrassed! Jimin must’ve thought you lost your mind after him and went off to date some real weirdos.

If you weren’t already on a lease with the man, this probably would’ve been the part where you blocked him and made it your personal mission to never see him again.

Instead, you busied yourself in the kitchen and washed most of the dirty dishes your guests left behind. You hoped Taehyung was wise enough to leave you alone, if the jerk knew what was good for him.

About 15 minutes had passed, and the kitchen was nearly as spotless as it was before the party had started, thanks to your furious cleaning and scrubbing. The house was now silent, and you were just debating putting all your spices in alphabetical order when you heard a shuffle behind you.

You snapped around and instantly scoffed at the sight.

Taehyung was leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pockets and fixing a sheepish look at you.

“So…that got a little out of hand.”

You barked a disbelieving laugh. “More like you got out of hand, Taehyung. Threatening people like you’re some felon! Wouldn't be a surprise if there’s a rumor spreading about me dating a serial killer now."

“Y/n, I’m sorry. But please let me make it up to you.”

“Make it up to me? Your actions cannot be undone Taehyung! I cooked and cleaned after your friends and tried to make this night special for you. I just wanted you to have a nice night and be nice, and you flip out over a platonic coffee date? Who do you think I am? A slut who will open her legs to any ex who talks to me?!”

“W-what? No- Of course not! Please don’t think-”

“What the hell am I supposed to think, asshole?! Even if Jimin still had feelings for me, it would take me reciprocating them for anything to happen! You clearly don’t trust me, and if that’s the case, then what are we doing here? Should we just become roommates or something?”

A painful struck his face, watery eyes met yours when he choked out, “Do you even hear yourself? Why would I try to fight your ex if I truly didn’t love you? You’re mine, and I love you so much it’s just…I can act a little crazy sometimes.”

You sighed, turning your back on him to lean on the sink in exhaustion.

“I thought you were different from other guys, Tae. That caveman shit is extremely degrading to not only you, but especially me.”

“I’m sorry…it’s just a primal part of me that I can’t turn off. Give me a chance to make it up to you.”

You shot a look over your shoulder at him, still pissed.

He shot his hands up in the air, as if in defense. “You can still be mad at me all you want.”

“You’re sleeping on the couch for a week.”

“Done.”

“And….And you’re forgetting all about those stupid cameras.”

He quirked a grin, unknown mirth dancing in his eyes. “Sure.”

“At the end of the week, you will personally apologize to Jimin via a phone call or letter.”

His smile dropped, your glare sharpened, “Umm..fine okay. It won’t be sincere though.”

You rolled your eyes, “Doesn’t have to be, it’s the right thing to do so you’ll do it.”

“…anything else?”

“Not for now. I’m going to bed soon so if there’s anything you need from the room, get it now.”

He wordlessly turned around, and you then faintly heard him going up the stairs.

Biting your lip in deep thought, you proceed to wipe off the last of the counters.

Could you forgive him? When he was willing to do all that to appease you?

If you were being honest with yourself, you could feel the irritation already start to melt away a bit. You hadn’t expected such a 180 in his stance, he went from threatening Jimin with murder to begrudgingly agreeing to apologize within only a matter of half an hour or so. You thought you would have to at least give him the silent treatment for a bit before you could even bargain a “sorry” for your ex. Taehyung was usually much more stubborn…

Nonetheless though, you were still upset and embarrassed about the scene.

You hated when men got violent around you, it made you feel so unsafe and small. You thought Taehyung was different, him even poking fun at the meatheads who would pull stuff like that at the local bars you would frequent while dating. So what changed?

Footsteps slowly descended back down the stairs, telling you that Taehyung had returned from your bedroom and it was safe to go up.

You left the kitchen, turned off the lights and passed through the hallway. Briefly you stopped, just short of the stairs, to see your boyfriend grumbling to himself while arranging some blankets on the couch.

A sudden and chilling thought ripped from your lips before you could even quietly ponder it.

“Taehyung…how did you know Jimin was my ex?”

He stopped in his tracks, slowly turning to face you with a blank look.

“Uh, Lisa might have slipped up and told me.”

You relaxed, unknowingly releasing a breath you had been holding. “Hmm, okay. We’ll talk tomorrow then. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight baby.”

“Oh! Let me get some water first, can you check that the doors were locked?” You asked while skipping back towards the kitchen. You hated waking up with a dry mouth and always kept a glass of water on your nightstand, restless bathroom trips be damned.

You didn’t hear any response to your request, but you paid it no mind, assuming Tae probably already double, if not triple, checked the locks being the worrywart that he was.

Right next to the kitchen entrance was the basement door, and it was shut.

Yet, something stopped you in your tracks.

The light under the basement door…it was on?

“Well I don’t have any more beer up here. Just wine. There might be some more in the basement, though.”

It couldn’t be….could it?

Your intuition was hollering at you from within.

A force greater than you pulled you to the door handle.

Against yourself, you opened the door to the basement…

And choked back a horrified scream.

At the bottom of the stairs lay Taehyung.

Unconscious, pale and bleeding horrifically from some head wound that was forming an inky pool under his crumpled form.

It wasn’t your Taehyung that returned upstairs.

So...this has been sitting in my drafts for over a year lol. I do have a dramatic ending in mind and some final scenes but yea, I don't think I could finish this unless people actually wanted it so let me know if this is a plot you kinda liked? I never tried flat-out supernatural horror like this. Anyway, happy October guys! Love you all. Luna :)

#yandere bts #yandere taehyung #bts taehyung #kim taehyung #taehyung x reader #bts fic #bts x reader #yandere au #bts #bangtan boys #male yandere #taehyung fanfic #yandere taehyung x reader #kpop fanfic #taehyung fluff #yandere imagines #yandere fanfiction

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azzifuddslover · 22 days ago

Text

༯ OFF THE COURT — CHAPTER SIX 𝜗𝜚

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

themes: angst, pining, possession, jealousy

tw: swearing, light injury

word count: 3.8k

a/n: i liked writing this one but it’s kinda all over the place lol. azzi is really in her oblivious era 🙄 and please ignore how everything in this chapter has already happened.. anyway please please lemme know how y’all like it! enjoyyy

azzi strolls into her and caroline’s shared dorm, still out of it from everything that went down in paige’s room just hours prior.

caroline rests on her bed, curled up in a ball with a book in her hands. her eyes snap to azzi as she makes her entrance, prepared and willing to apologize profusely.

azzi lets out a quiet sigh, not quite ready to talk with caroline just yet. instead, she goes into their small kitchen, opens the fridge and grabs an unopened water, taking a few sips. she also spots leftover chocolate chip muffins that her and caroline had baked recently, and snatches one of those to snack on as well.

azzi makes her way into their bedroom eventually, finally deciding to talk to her best friend. she hates fighting with her— can’t stand it, actually.

“hey,” azzi waves at carol, taking a bite of the muffin.

“azzi, i’m so sorry,” caroline apologizes, shutting her book to give her undivided attention to her friend. “i promise i was going to tell you eventually, i just figured i’d let you and paige work things out before getting involved. you have to know that.”

azzi’s lips tug into a small smile, “i understand, babe. it’s already forgotten.”

she wasn’t lying, either. it was forgotten— something, someone took her mind straight off it.

caroline lets out a breath of relief, touching her hand to her heart. “oh, that’s good. i truly am sorry.”

azzi just laughs at the brunette’s reaction while continuing to snack on her muffin.

“so, how’s the book? i’ve been dying to read that one,” azzi asks, changing the subject.

“it’s so good, you’ll love—“ caroline cuts herself off, “azzi fudd, look at me right now.”

azzi’s head snaps to caroline, “what?” she questions, genuinely confused.

caroline gasps, covering at mouth with both hands, “oh my god! i can’t believe this!” she stands up, approaching the curly headed girl, “who am i kidding, i totally can believe this.”

“what are you talking about?”

“look in the fucking mirror, az!” caroline exclaims.

azzi’s eyes widen as it clicks in her brain. she rushes into the bathroom and instantly covers her mouth in shock. fucking paige.

a trail of hickeys are scattered along her neck, all down her collarbone. heat reaches her cheeks as she shakes her head in disbelief.

“oh jesus,” azzi murmurs.

caroline appears behind her, looking directly in the mirror, making eye contact with her friend. a loud laugh leaves her lips, unable to hold it together.

azzi turns around, finding it extremely unfunny. she gives carol a shove, “it’s not fucking funny, asshole!”

caroline plants a hand over her mouth in hopes to control her chuckle, “i’m sorry, babe. but seriously? we were just talking about this yesterday and it happened overnight?”

azzi opens her mouth to explain herself, but closes it when she can’t find the words.

“tell me everything that happened,” caroline smiles, excitement buzzing off her.

azzi and carol leave the bathroom, entering their shared bedroom and sitting on the two beds, facing one another.

“where do i even start,” azzi quietly asks herself, before beginning to go over everything that went down between paige and her from the night before.

“no, az, you said to forget about it? why would you do that?” caroline questions after azzi wraps up the explanation of her trail of hickeys.

azzi shakes her head as regret sets in. “i panicked, okay? i didn’t wanna screw things up.”

“but what’s wrong with changing how things are between you two? you clearly like one another, so what’s the big deal?”

azzi looks at her friend, “that’s the thing, carol. she doesn’t like me. i mean, maybe a little, but not like that. she never wanted to kiss me to begin with— i was the one to initiate it.”

caroline smirks while shaking her head at azzi’s comment, “babe, i love you and all, but you’re being dumb.”

azzi scrunches her eyebrows at her friend, “what? why?”

“paige loves you, idiot! i know it, everyone knows it; she knows it, even if she doesn’t wanna admit it,” carol begins, “she always makes little glances at you during practices, she practically glows when someone mentions you around her. and on top of all of that, she always finds a way to be near you whenever you’re around!”

azzi gapes at caroline’s reasoning, shock crashing onto her features. unsure how to respond, she stays silent, letting a comfortable silence settle between the two freshmen.

“you’re wrong, carol,” azzi finally responds, shaking her head. she has to be wrong.

“like hell i am!” caroline shouts. “and do you really think she’d fuck you without any feelings involved?”

azzi’s lips curl into a line, “i’ve heard she’s done it before.”

“azzi, everyone has casual hookups. i’m not talking about that. it’s different with you.”

“you don’t know that,” azzi responds.

“we’ll see in practice tomorrow,” caroline says to her friend.

“we sure will,” azzi folds her arms over her chest in challenge.

the following day, azzi immediately forces all the paige’s thoughts away, at least for a little while so she can focus on doing better in practice.

she rolls out of bed, rubbing her eyes and letting out a soft yawn. she washes her face, follows her short and simple skincare routine before applying concealer to the marks paige left behind on her neck, trying her best to hide them. even after three layers, they’re still slightly noticeable.

she throws on practice clothes before heading out the door with caroline by her side.

“did you make sure to cover your little love bites?” carol snickers from beside azzi.

azzi rolls her eyes, “yes, caroline. not like it’s gonna last, though.”

caroline nods in agreement. once azzi starts to sweat, the concealer will definitely wear off, leaving azzi’s neck exposed.

a flash of panic runs through azzi, “you don’t think paige told anyone, right?”

carol slugs her arm around the freshmen’s shoulders, tugging her close. “nah, not yet, at least. it’ll be fine, az.”

“i hope you’re right.”

azzi’s performance is definitely an improvement from yesterday; her shots falls in almost everytime, she completes simple layups with a grin on her face.

paige notices this, and decides to approach the younger girl, despite her brain screaming not to.

“i see you’re doing better,” paige notes, a tiny smirk on her lips as she stares at azzi.

azzi locks eyes with paige and takes a small step backwards. she figured paige would keep her distance, considering what she told her yesterday, but apparently, paige has other plans.

“yeah, guess so,” azzi mutters, taking her attention off paige and back onto shooting.

paige continues to stare at her, awkwardly standing with a basketball in her hands.

“do you need something?” azzi asks, arching a brow.

“uh,” paige begins but her words soon trail off as she catches sight of the faint marks on azzi’s neck, scattered along her neck and collarbone area.

azzi glances at paige, confusion setting in at paige’s wandering eyes. “what?”

paige blinks, her lips pressing into a thin line as she clears her throat. “um, guess i got a little carried away earlier,” she mutters as she shallows dryly. “didn’t realize i left marks.”

azzi’s cheeks flush, unconsciously grabbing her neck. “yeah, you did.”

“sorry about that,” paige attempts a small smile at azzi, who doesn’t return it. instead, she stares at paige with an unreadable expression on her face.

“it’s fine,” azzi whispers, going back to shooting, subtly hinting for paige to leave.

paige takes the hint and soon backs away from the curly haired brunette, going back to her own dibbling drills she was previously doing with jana and aubrey. she can’t help but feel embarrassed that azzi can shut what happened between them down. it clearly wasn’t that easily for paige.

paige feels for azzi, whether she was ready to admit it or not. that night they shared together meant something to her— meant everything to her. how was she supposed to forget it happened when every time she saw azzi, it all came rushing back?

days went by with azzi and paige keeping their distance from each other. the two barely interacted during practices, barely even glanced in the others direction.

regardless of their little contact, paige still yearned for azzi. she physically couldn’t get their shared night out of her head; the feel of azzi’s lips on hers, her tongue against hers, her taste. she’d be lying if she said there wasn’t late nights where her fingers didn’t end up in her pants at the memory of azzi. there most definitely was.

but today was game day, so the blonde tried her best to focus her attention on basketball, and not the brunette that wouldn’t even glance her way anymore.

the uconn women’s basketball team, along with iowa state, the opponent, took their time getting warmed up and stretched. by the time both teams were ready to start, paige was relaxed and confident in her game.

the girls are playing well— paige has 15 points and azzi equips 17 before halftime arrives.

30 seconds until the halftime buzzer goes off. the whistle blew sharply, cutting through the noise of the crowd. paige has her hands on the ball, scanning her surroundings for any open teammates. azzi is planted in the corner, setting up for a 3 shot she could easily make. out of the corner of her eye, azzi spots a player from iowa state approaching her, in attempts to guard the freshmen. paige throws the ball to azzi after noticing she’s open. azzi scans the court, waiting for the perfect moment to take the shot. she dribbles once, then twice, pivoting to create space between the defender and herself. the player belonging to iowa state closes in, aggressive and quick. azzi shifts to her right, trying to get the open shot, but as she plants her foot to push off, the defender lungs at her— her elbow unintentionally catching azzi in the ribs.

azzi lets out a sharp gasp when she stumbles backwards. her ankle twists slightly as she tries to catch herself, but ultimately loses her balance and crashes hard to the floor. the air leaves her lungs in a painful rush.

“azzi!” paige’s voice breaks through the noise of the game, full of concern and worry. one minute she was on the other side of the court, and in an instant, she was sprinting towards where azzi’s lays. she reaches azzi, who attempts to sit up, hand clutching her ribs, wincing in pain.

“hey, hey, you okay?” paige kneels beside her, placing both hands on azzi’s face, eyes wide and mouth ajar. there was a noticeable anger in her tone, and before azzi knew it, paige turns her head at the iowa state defender, who was standing there, oblivious. “what the hell was that?”

the defender, a bit stunned at paige’s outburst, takes a gentle, cautious step back. “i didn’t mean to—“

“i don’t care if you meant to or not!” paige snaps, her eyes narrow.

the ref was already approaching the commotion, but paige ignores him, attention fixed on azzi. she reaches out to once again cup the younger girls face in her hands. “azzi, look at me. are you okay? can you breathe?”

azzi, still dazed at her fall, pulls her eyes to paige’s. her body almost instantly relaxes with paige’s hands on her face and eyes fixated solely on azzi. “i think i twisted my ankle a bit. and my ribs hurt.. but i’m okay.”

paige takes a deep breath, visibly trying to calm herself. she removes her hands off azzi’s figure, placing them restlessly at her sides.

suddenly, aubrey, nika as well as coach auriemma appear behind paige— coach looking pissed.

“oh my god, azzi, are you okay?” nika questions, concerned for her teammate.

“i’m all good, nik,” azzi replies, attempting a small smile for reassurance.

“paige,” coach auriemma says, eyes flaming with anger.

paige flicks her eyes at coach as nerves set in for the sophomore. oh well, she thought. defending azzi was more important than a lecture she’ll receive later on.

azzi tries to get up on her own, struggles a little before the blonde offers both hands out to azzi. paige helps azzi to her feet, still clutching her ribs in pain. paige lets go of azzi’s hands, only to move one arm loosely around her waist and position herself at the brunettes side.

the two girls head into the locker room, paige’s arm never moves from azzi’s frame. for support, she repeats to herself. the other players follow as well, all concerned for the freshmen. azzi is a big part of their teams success— she had to be okay.

azzi lowers herself onto the bench once they make it to the locker room for halftime, carefully and cautiously. paige continues to linger close to her.

before paige could get a word out, coach auriemma shouts her name, calling the sophomore over. paige groans as azzi quietly chuckles, already expecting a long lecture.

the game eventually ended, uconn winning by a landslide. azzi, for the last two quarters, rested on the bench, not wanting to risk getting further injured.

azzi is sprawled out in her bed, caroline sitting in hers with her nose in her current read, when a text from the team group chat comes through.

azzi reaches for her phone— wanna go to ted’s at 8? nika’s text read.

azzi mentally groans, not wanting to leave her room, much less leave her bed. she lets out a soft sigh, knowing caroline will drag her there regardless of her answer.

me and azzi are in! caroline quickly sends, not even bothering to ask azzi prior. typical, azzi thinks to herself.

each teammate, besides ashlynn, who was crammed with studying and said she couldn’t make it, agrees to ted’s.

caroline practically throws her book down, rushing to get up and get herself ready for the night at the bar. azzi closes her eyes in defeat, pulling her blanket over her face to capture her annoyance.

carol yanks the blanket out of azzi’s grip, not having it with azzi’s stubborn pleas. “get up,” she says firmly at her friend.

azzi rolls her eyes, groaning again for good measure. she takes her time getting up from the bed, not wanting to push her ankle. it remains sore, but she’s able to walk decent. her ribs, however, have a large bruise from the iowa state player’s elbow.

azzi and caroline get dressed with music playing in the background from carol’s phone. azzi picks out a pink tank top, long enough to cover her noticeable bruise, and a pair of jean shirts: her go-to going out outfit.

around 7:50 pm, the two roommates make their way to the bar, azzi still buzzing with frustration from being forced out of her comfortable state. all she wanted was a chill night in, or maybe binge watch her favorite tv series again.

the door creaks as it swings open, the sound of loud chants makes azzi take a cautious step back. ted’s, as usual, is packed with uconn students. there was a faint clink of glass on glass cutting through the air, mingling with the deeper thud of bottles being slammed onto the counter. somewhere in the background, a jukebox crackles, its song barely audible over the noise of the overlapping voices.

azzi’s eyes wander, trying to find any of her teammates she planned to meet up with, coming up with none. her and caroline stood close, not wanting to lose one another in the buzzing crowd.

they sat themselves in open seats along the bar, after what felt like ages searching for. behind the bar, a male bartender’s rag swishes against a dirty glass as he glances at the two girls. laughter erupts at one end of the room, loud and brash, before it falters into a sputtering cough.

“what can i get you ladies?” the bartenders smiles kindly at them.

“i’ll just take a margarita,” azzi returns the smile.

“me too,” carol agrees, making it easier for the bartender, since he’s clearly overwhelmed with the crowd.

“coming right up,” the man throws his rag over his shoulder as he reaches for a clean glass.

out of the corner of azzi’s eye, she catches a glimpse of nika, with paige and kk right on her heels.

the three didn’t notice the two freshmen quite yet, however. they sat themselves at a nearby table, navigating their way through the packed bar, before going up and ordering their own drinks of choice.

paige’s eyes lock on azzi’s once she reaches the bar, their distance closing in. a smirk lingers on her lips, yet azzi looks away, embarrassed and confused from their interaction earlier that day.

the two don’t speak. paige is deeply engrossed in a conversation with kk, waiting for her drink to be made, and rushes back to their table without a glance back at the younger girl. not that azzi cares, that is.

azzi grips her drink, taking sips, wanting to savor it for the moment.

“i’m going to the bathroom,” carol says with urgency, getting up out of her chair. azzi responds with a simple nod in acknowledgment.

minutes pass; azzi stays firmly planted in her seat, glancing at paige ever so often, before focusing on her phone.

azzi’s gaze flickers around the room, idle but alert, until a woman around her age suddenly slides into the now empty seat caroline was sitting in previously.

“i couldn’t help but notice you from across the room,” the woman smiles at the brunette, “i’m talia.”

“azzi, and thanks, i guess,” azzi stumbles over her words, nervous at the attention she typically never gets.

azzi’s smile is polite, but her eyes flash with hesitation. she didn’t come here to flirt— especially with a complete stranger.

“what are you drinking? i’ll buy you another,” talia says, determination laced in her tone.

azzi is hesitant, “you really don’t have to.”

“i insist.”

azzi smirks at her, before agreeing, “alright then. a margarita, thanks.”

talia, a pretty blonde with loose curls, just like azzi’s, resting on her shoulders. her eyes were olive green, eyelashes long in length, perky breasts sitting nicely in her tank top. azzi definitely didn’t hate looking at her.

an unnecessarily loud chuckle interrupts the two girl’s conversation. azzi turns her head, eyes immediately landing on paige who stands at her table, clutching her glass tightly. she’s staring—she focuses on the woman in front of her, choosing to ignore the fuming blonde. they discuss their interests, azzi mentions she plays basketball for uconn, and what not.

paige’s gaze lingers on azzi longer than intended: an unreadable expression on her face. the sophomore gives them a couple minutes as she silently watches, hoping and praying the woman will leave her azzi alone.

but when she sees azzi outburst with loud laughter is when she loses it. she slams her glass down, hard enough to rattle the wooden table, and struts over there, anger buzzing off her skin.

azzi immediately sees the blonde coming her way, but chooses to ignore her until she reaches her and talia’s spots at the bar.

paige doesn’t bother looking in talia’s direction- she focuses solely on azzi, and azzi only. her hand impulsively moves to grip azzi’s arm, firm but gentle enough so it won’t hurt her.

“i need to talk to you,” paige says darkly, “now, azzi.”

azzi scrunches her eyebrows, shock running through her veins at paige’s urgency.

“i’ll be right back,” azzi points to talia, offering a small smile as paige pulls her away. paige’s hand lingers on her back, holding her close as they walk towards the exit door for a more quiet, private area to talk.

“no, you won’t,” paige whispers against azzi’s curls.

the haunting tension hangs in the air as azzi follows paige outside, the frigid wind hitting her bare arms. the night is quiet, only the sound of the their footsteps fills the space as they head to the parking lot. neither paige nor azzi says anything at first, the energy between them is thick.

“where are we going?” azzi questions suddenly, annoyance laced in her tone.

“to your room, or mine, it doesn’t matter. somewhere we can talk without the freezing fucking weather.”

azzi remains behind the blonde the whole walk back to campus, letting out multiple angry huffs to capture how unpleased she is with paige.

“are you going to tell me why the hell you did that?” azzi says as soon as they enter azzi’s dorm, arms crossing over her chest as she tilts her head.

paige’s jaw clenches, her eyes fixed straight ahead.

“you really don’t get it, don’t you?” the blonde’s voice is tight, barely under control, as she turns to look at azzi.

azzi raises an eyebrow, “get what?”

paige’s eyes flash, a mix of frustration and anger edging in her tone. “you were all over her, azzi. you didn’t even care that i was right there.”

azzi’s shoulders tense, a frown pulling at the corners of her lips. “what are you talking about? it was just a conversation, paige.”

the sophomore scoffs, taking a small step towards the girl. “you were practically flirting with her! laughing, leaning in, making it obvious you were interested.”

“you’re being ridiculous! it wasn’t flirting, and if anything, she was the one flirting with me! and why the fuck would you care?” azzi shouts, throwing her arms up.

“god, azzi!” paige shouts back, mouth ajar at azzi’s complete obliviousness.

azzi lets out a small, defeated sigh as she sits down on her bed. paige lowers herself onto caroline’s made one, eyes focusing on the floor.

what feels like minutes pass without either one of them talking. it wasn’t until paige looks up at the brunette, anger washing away into sadness.

“i was jealous,” paige quietly admits, locking eyes with azzi.

“why?” azzi whispers back, her heart racing.

paige closes her eyes for a moment before getting up from her sitting position on carol’s bed, walking closer and closer to the door. she turns to azzi, only able to offer a few quick, quiet words— “you know why.” paige walks out without giving azzi a chance to respond.

azzi swears her heart skips a beat at paige’s choice of words, yet is unable to process how or why paige left so quickly.

minutes later, azzi is curled up into a ball underneath layers of blankets, head still whirling from her and paige’s conversation.

throughout the night, azzi couldn’t sleep. her mind was on repeat of paige’s words, uncontrollably playing in her head.

you know why.

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