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en-ternity · 9 days ago

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Falling in love with your older brother’s best friend certainly wasn’t one of your summer resolutions.

Actually, meeting him wasn’t even part of your plans. But someday, you happened to have no other option than to appear unannounced at his little pottery shop in Seogwipo. A stray kitten in a pet carrier, asking for a place to stay, and you couldn’t help but do.

╰ a summer romance divided into two parts

PAIRING: older brother’s best friend!Jaeyun x fem!reader

WARNINGS (for this part): slow-burnish, mentions of alcohol and drugs, reader gets wasted once and Jaeyun has to take care of her, a lot of art references as he majored in fine arts, and usage of the pet name baby quite a lot

PART ONE｜18.3K｜STORY MASTERLIST

Phone calls from Park Jongseong had never been a good sign for Jake.

Jongseong hated phones, and in special — to make calls. Over the years that they had been friends, the option had only been initiated by him as the last recourse in the midst of the last recourses: the keypad of their old dormitory breaking and locking him in, his car running out of gasoline when the whole country had already gotten into recess for the Chuseok, a forgotten file that supposedly could save Jongseong from failing his last law semester and made Jake run through half of the university campus despite of his doubts about the papers’ importance. And of course, the most unforgettable one: “call me back in five and pretend the dorm is on fire” when a blind date went particularly wrong.

But that was the problem of receiving so few phone calls from his best friend. It didn’t matter if Jake felt his shoulders stiffening as soon as he saw Jongseong’s name shining on his phone screen — he knew he needed to pick up.

It was almost noon when Jongseong called that day, the shop busier in a way that only happened with the beginning of summer — the vacation season never failing to bring an influx of tourists to Jeju and suddenly making everything a little bit more cluttered.

“Here’s the thing,” Jongseong said. It was such a classic Jongseong way to start a conversation. Dramatic, and with a hint of urgency that Jake knew all too well. “I need a favor.”

“Good morning to you too, Jay,” Jake started, immediately receiving a huff at the other end of the line. “I am awesome, thank you for asking. How about you?”

“I am serious,” he said. “Baby is giving me a headache and I need your help.”

“Your sister?” Jake demanded, his voice coming higher than he intended and catching a few customers’ attention.

Jake had never met you — not really. Everything he knew about you had been through these tiny pieces Jongseong gave through conversations. And although Jake was well aware that you had given your older brother a few hard moments as you always reached for him first whenever you needed help, Jake couldn’t imagine how he could be directly involved this time.

He turned around, his eyes focusing on the other side of the tempered glass. The sun was falling brightly on the town, and a myriad of bees hummed at the bushes on the other side of the street, the small insects enjoying the pinky-white blossoms that seemed to be disappearing as the summer kept settling on the island.

Down the street, Mrs. Choi seemed to be enjoying the beginning of the summer as well. She was sitting at a stool by the door of her small bakery as she often was, and keeping a sharp eye on everything that passed, from people to wafts — well, whenever she wasn’t screaming at Euntaek — her troublemaker grandson, and whom people here only cared to call Mrs. Choi’s grandson with a sigh whenever he appeared around.

“She has been trying for this scholarship in the United States ever since she graduated high school, and now that she got it, out of nowhere, she decided to spend the summer in Jeju — alone. I want you to be her emergency contact,” Jongseong explained, catching Jake’s attention once again. “You are still living there, right? In your grandfather’s old house, and taking care of his pottery shop?”

It was a too practical way to describe the fact that Jake had almost run away to it — taking it as an inheritance when no one else wanted it, but he only hummed in agreement.

“But Seogwipo is in the extreme south of the island, depending on the area she-”

“I know. It’s just in any emergency case. It would take several hours for any of us to arrive at the island.”

“Fine,” Jake conceded. “But why — why did she choose Jeju?”

Honestly, there was no reason for you to choose Jeju aside from your desire to leave Korea’s mainland.

You had thought of Japan at first — being not even one hour and a half away by plane, the neighboring country seemed to be the best option. But you didn’t know anything about its language aside from the small vocabulary you acquired by too many hours watching Ghibli animations, and three months there seemed more stressful than having to deal with the whole expectation your family had been putting on your upcoming university life in the United States.

But then, someday you scrolled through a vacation website, and Jeju shone for you.

It took fifteen minutes to convince your parents — an additional five to annoy your brother, but on the first day of summer, you took a flight to the Korean island and established yourself in a nice apartment downtown.

Yet, you had to admit, being alone wasn’t all that fun, especially with a landlord who seemed to prefer spending all his hours checking the security cameras rather than fixing your broken sink and had screamed at you for appearing with a stray kitten in the midst of a summer storm, a black furry thing that didn’t even have fifteen centimeters but seemed to bother him as a lynx would.

The nights were never quiet there and the city hardly slept, so instead of the soothing comfort you expected to find in it, you laid awake in your bed wondering if you had done something wrong.

And then, when the landlord argued that the cat left or you left, you had no second thought before packing your belongings and putting the cat in the pet carrier you had bought just a few hours prior almost as an omen.

You were too embarrassed to call your parents for help not even two weeks into your supposedly independent vacation — too proud to give Jongseong the proof you weren’t ready to be on your own, so you put Sim Jaeyun’s address on the maps app of your phone and took the next bus to the small town where he resided in, watching as the buildings disappeared and the fields of green tea turned boundlessly beneath the summer sun.

It took you exactly one hour and seven minutes to arrive at Seogwipo. With no transfers or changes, the bus stopped just a few streets away from Jaeyun’s address, a pretty road running along the South Sea, and which made it easy to stroll along the sidewalk. Nothing but the sound of your luggage against the pavement, and the waves, softly crashing against the basalt rocks.

The busiest part of Jeju had been left by the downtown, the tidy streets giving way to open roads and suddenly the hustling cities were part of another world — another reality. Even the skies seemed to acquire a new shade of blue here.

There wasn’t much through the path, a convenience store, a library, a tiny bakery where an old lady sat at a stool by its door-

“Do you need help?” she asked. Her accent was strong, pure Jeju dialect and you blinked at her, taking a moment too long to make sense of what she had just said.

You didn’t need help, honestly, your phone’s map seemed to be working just fine, but you felt bad about sounding impolite — especially in a place like Seogwipo seemed to be, so you smiled at her, immediately receiving the gesture back.

“I am searching for my brother’s friend’s house,” you said. “He supposedly lives on this street.”

“Tell me his name. I know everyone here.”

“Jaeyun — Sim Jaeyun.”

“Oh! Jake!” she exclaimed, suddenly clapping her chubby hands and startling you. “Yes, he lives straight ahead. I can ask my grandson to take you there.”

“No, it’s alright,” you broke in. “I don’t think it’s necessary.”

“Don’t worry. It’s not a long walk, but you are with luggage and-” she paused, her eyes falling on the pet carrier hanging on your shoulder. “A cat?”

You looked at it too, catching just the idea of an ear but, before you could answer, she was already leaning inside the bakery, filling her lungs and shouting: “Euntaek!”

Euntaek appeared at the door almost immediately, and if the old lady hadn’t told you he was her grandson it would have been impossible for you to notice their connection by yourself. They were the opposite in every way — where she was short and plump, he was tall, lanky, and with a mess of dark hair that could have been attractive to some other girl out there. But not you, especially because of how he paused then, his mouth curling in a smirk as soon as he caught sight of you.

“This is Euntaek,” she said as he stepped closer. “My grandson. He is always here over the summer, so if you need anything don’t hesitate to come to us and ask.”

“Just Taek,” he mended, leaning to your side. He smelled like musk, and blackberries, a perfume so strong that Jongseong would have advised him to keep to the cold seasons, altogether with a faint scent of tobacco. And you didn’t need to be a genius to guess what was in the box on the front pocket of his t-shirt.

“Stop playing around and take her to Jake’s shop,” the old lady demanded. He straightened himself at her words, looking ahead at the street as if he was suddenly confused, but he didn’t retort — didn’t reply, when he looked back at you he was smirking again as if he was very much satisfied with the situation.

“Give me your luggage,” he said. And you obeyed, partly because you thought it would be good for him to have something to put his attention aside from your presence, and partly because you were starting to feel tired.

Euntaek guided you through the street as the sun kept going down, your shadow stretching out so long that its edges were already blurring with the approaching night.

“Are you staying the whole summer?” he asked.

“No, I-” you paused. Being completely honest, you hadn’t thought of what would happen after speaking with your brother’s best friend. “I don’t know — probably not.”

“Well, it’s a good idea. You should stay in the city areas, nothing really happens on this side of the island.”

“It seems pretty nice to me,” you admitted.

Euntaek lifted a brow at you, his eyes twinkling with what you swore to be amusement. “Where are you from?”

“Seoul.”

“Ah, a girl from the city-city,” he said. “I could hear it from your accent, but I guess it makes sense for you to like this end of the world then.”

You didn’t reply this time, and in the silence that followed you could tell that he was waiting for you to say something, ask something — do anything to keep the conversation going, but honestly, you didn’t know how to do so.

It’s not that you were a quiet person — you weren’t. You had heard enough remarks from your father to know that you could be considered anything but quiet. It had just become rare for you to be alone with anyone who wasn’t in your circle of comfort already, and you hadn’t noticed how out of practice you were until you had come to Jeju.

“Well, we are here,” he announced then.

Just like the rest of the street, Jake’s shop was a single-story construction. White walls and a tempered glass framed by bare woods like most Korean houses had been built during the Joseon dynasty.

“Give me your phone,” Euntaek said.

“My phone?” you asked, looking at the device still unlocked in your hands. His phrase came with no question marks or rapport, and you wondered if he was always like this — throwing demands that should have been questions.

“Yes,” he said. “In case you need something — Jake doesn’t have a car, he is always taking the old Beomseok’s pickup but I-” The ramble kept going on, but as you extended your phone at him, you had already turned back to the shop.

You had once heard Jongseong telling your parents that Jaeyun had moved to Jeju to take care of his departed grandfather’s shop, being the only one who took an interest in the old man’s business. Your brother had even come to help at the beginning of everything, but you never had considered asking him what the shop was about, and now you wished you had so you wouldn’t be so surprised as you caught sight of the tens pottery pieces — from small mugs to bowls and enormous flower pots, all glazed in the modest tones of Jeju, and filling the wooden shelves at the fairest end of the room. Down the middle of the shop, there was a long table, and some pottery wheels, their sheer number indicating he not only did it but also taught.

The shop was fairly empty, save for a couple studying the row of mugs, and Jaeyun — standing with his back to the tempered glass.

Euntaek handed your phone back, and you locked it without even looking at him.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” you said.

“Anything you need just give me a sign.”

“Sure,” you said, already taking the handle of your luggage and stepping away.

A fluttering of crystal and bells clanked against the door as you pushed it, allowing the summer breeze to rush over the place, the earthy and pond-mud smell of clay taking over your senses as Jaeyun turned to you, a polite smile already playing on his lips.

Until now, you had never seen your brother’s best friend — not that you haven’t tried, but his only social media seemed to be Instagram and the absence of posts left you nothing but the group pictures your brother showed you once in a while, blurry things that had been taken on drunk states or taken so distant you couldn’t really tell what he looked like aside from the idea of his sun-kissed skin and his dark hair, always curled and always growing past his ears — boyish as he seemed pretty, you remembered once thinking, but up close with the golden light of the sunset bathing over him, you noticed he was utterly staggering and you became uncomfortably aware of the sun touching your face, turning your cheeks warmer and warmer beneath his gaze.

“Jaeyun?” you tried.

“Jake,” he corrected. “Whenever I hear Jaeyun, I feel like I need to look back to check if my father isn’t here.”

You nodded at him, well aware of his English name — you had already spoken it in conversations with your brother, rolled through the letters of it absently far enough times to be familiar with it, but there was something different about it now that you could put a face on it. The name fitted him, young and beautiful, cheerful and bright. You couldn’t help but hold the shape of his name in your mouth, try it on your tongue with its new taste and he tilted his head to the side, carefully studying you.

“Would you be Jongseong’s little sister?”

“Yes, I-” you exhaled. “I — Would you have a spare room?”

┈

It took Jake fifteen minutes to finish his talk with the couple and turn his full attention back to you, leaning on the cashier top as you told him about the apartment downtown, the summer storm, the kitten — even pulling the animal out of the pet carrier as an appeal, and then, finally, you told him about the landlord demanding you to put it back into the streets and how you simply couldn’t, so you left only with half of the amount your parents spent.

You hadn’t really thought about it, but the words kept coming rushed and messed up, a single stream of phrases being pulled out of you, and you swore to him you were going to find a place somewhere else, you just needed time — and a room for a few nights.

“So let me see if I understood,” Jake said. “You came to Jeju to spend the summer, got a nice place downtown but because of this kitten,” he stopped then, theatrically pointing at the animal in your hands. “You got kicked out without getting your full deposit back and you don’t want to call your parents asking them to help you find a new place nor simply want to go back home?”

“Yes, that’s — that’s exactly what happened,” you said.

You felt childish when the words reached back at you — your whole world becoming so small and silly. So you braced yourself for Jake’s judgment, but he did not. If anything, he tilted his head once again, thumping his fingers unrhythmically against the cashier’s top and you weren’t certain if this was because he was considering your situation or because it was simply quite a lot to take in just a few minutes. But he sighed then, the softest gust of air passing through his lips as a redemption.

“You can’t come here with a stray kitten,” he said. “It’s obvious that I would say yes.”

You must not have truly expected him to agree, because the surprise you felt when you heard his reply stunned you to silence, and in the stillness that followed, you finally noticed how fast your heart was beating against your ears. You had been terrified now that you could think about it.

“For real?” you asked then.

“Of course,” he said. “I will just close the shop and I will show you the house.”

You followed Jake back into the street, not knowing what else to do aside from standing there — watching as he closed the door, playing with the key, and locking it.

Outside, the night was slowly setting in, moonless and warm.

“Is it a girl or a boy?” he asked.

“What?”

“The cat.”

“Oh,” you gasped. “It’s a boy.”

“And have you named him?”

“Not yet. I am not even sure if I can keep him, I am leaving Jeju by the end of summer so I thought of finding a nice home for him here,” you blurted out, focusing on the small furry thing in your hands and when you looked at Jake again, he had already approached you. He was as tall as Jongseong, but differently from your brother he didn’t bottle you in the shadows and made you feel somehow smaller in the immensity of the world. Instead, Jake felt comfortably tall. He smelled like summer afternoons, like orange blossoms and that earthy scent that emanated from the pottery pieces displayed on his shelves. “But I guess it should be correct to at least give him a temporary name, right?”

“Jeonchae,” he said. “I always wanted to have a pet with this name.”

“Jeonchae is it then,” you replied, and Jake smiled again, this time something beyond his polite lightness and you felt your heart aching. He had those types of smiles that took over an entire face. You couldn’t even react as he took the handle of your luggage from your hand, guiding you to a side path, and countering the shop into the back garden — or the front garden. It depended on where you were coming from. His house stood on the other side of it, the design a perfect extension of the shop.

As Jake opened the front door and slipped in, you looked past him and into the hall. At first sight, the inside of Jake’s house was as plain as the outside. The same wooden frames and white walls you suspected he didn’t mind painting after he had inherited it, but as you walked inside, toeing out of your shoes, you noticed that the greatest of the place didn’t lie on the structure itself, but on the things. Nothing in the living room matched — not the green racks or the maroon couch. The shelves on the far wall were cluttered with books stacked between pieces of pottery and crafted figurines. The last afternoon light spilled through an open window, illuminating the room altogether with the yellow lamps and everything was chaotic, bright, and unabashedly joyous.

And you were surprised to notice, you loved it.

“Nothing is exactly new, but-”

“It is lovely,” you said. “Homey.”

Jake looked at you like maybe he didn’t quite believe it — like he quite didn’t expect it, and you coudn’t help but frown a bit.

Your family’s house was minimalist, bare even, everything almost planned to not indicate any of your personalities and you wondered how it would feel to have a place that showed exactly who you were inside.

“Kitchen’s over there,” he continued, pointing at the end of the room as if the open floor plan didn’t make it clear where everything was.

“This is my room,” he said, moving his attention to the first door in a row of three. You barely could get a glimpse of the inside before he continued on, scrolling your luggage through the hardwood floor. “The door on the far end is the bathroom and the laundry, it seems a bit cluttered, but well, it is an old house — and here,”

“Can be your room,” he finished, gesturing for you to go in first. And you did so, finally letting go of Jeonchae and allowing the kitten to hover over the room.

A bed lay in the center only with the mattress. And although the windows had been flung wide open, showing the perfect view of the garden, a faint smell of glaze and paint remained in the room, something you couldn’t tell if it came from the pots of paint organized on the shelves, or the pottery pieces themselves — drying at the window frame.

“It was my grandparents’ room,” Jake clarified. “Now I just use it as-”

“A paint room,” you completed. “Is it ok if I look?”

“Yeah, I mean- yeah,” he whispered, rushing his fingers through his hair.

You crouched in front of the pieces, staying eye level with them. Jake had painted a few with the same earthy tones you had seen at his shop, but others he had drawn on, gorgeous mixes of colors and styles. There were hills in the traditional Korean art style, and flowers in a modern — almost silly way. You could stay there, studying these pieces for hours and catching a different detail every time. But as you turned to say something to Jake, you caught sight of a canvas leaning against the wall, a three-dimensional painting, with mountains coming out of the plain canvas that took your words away. Different from everything else it barely had colors. A mix of black and white and you could feel it, the struggle and the loneliness on the canvas. Your fingers tickled as if you wanted to reach for it — brush your fingers as if to tend the pain, but you forced yourself to remain still.

“My final project from my first university semester,” he said.

“It’s beautiful,” you said. “How have you done it?”

“Lots of baking soda — Jay got quite annoyed by the mess I made in our shared room.”

“My brother is a naturally annoyed person,” you said, immediately coaxing a snort of laughter out of him, the sound so silly, yet vivid that you didn’t notice a smile was rising to your lips in response until it was already there.

“Now you said the truth,” he said.

“Well, I will leave you to settle yourself,” he continued. “The wardrobe is empty, aside from a few bed sheets, I think. You can use anything here, and if the paint and pottery bother you, just put it out, I can sort it anywhere else.”

“It’s alright,” you said. “Honestly, thank you so much.”

“I would ask you what you want for dinner, but my acknowledgment as a cooker is very limited, and there are no take-outs nearby so-”

“Could I help?”

“Don’t worry. Jeonchae is going to help me, aren’t you, buddy?” he asked, slightly leaning himself so he could reach for the kitten, scratching the back of his ears, and immediately receiving a low rumble of approbation.

You were surprised to see that the kitten, in fact, followed Jake out of the room and through the house, rushing through the kitchen not only as if he knew the place, but as if he was already part of it.

┈

You weren’t sure how long you were going to stay at Jake’s house, so you decided to not unpack everything, making settling yourself into his spare room a quick task and by the time you stepped out to the common area, he was just taking the pan out of the six-burner stove and putting it on the table.

You almost laughed when you noticed his very little acknowledgment in the kitchen meant lamen and a bunch of leftover side dishes for the night, the take-out bowls affirming that nothing had been made by him.

There was something endearing about Jake’s clumsy maneuvering around the kitchen, a certain charm in his earnest attempt, but you couldn’t help but worry if his dinners always had been like this — you were a Park at the end of the day, meals not only being important healthy, but as a manner of caring for yourself and others, so you stopped yourself, trying your best to not show your worry when he caught sight of you.

“I hope you didn’t have high expectations,” he said then, his eyes meeting yours. “It’s nothing like your mother’s or your brother’s — but it’ll fill you up.”

“I wouldn’t expect anyone to be like them,” you said. “Only high chefs love the kitchen as much as they do.”

His eyes softened as he gestured for you to join him at the table.

“Well, that’s a relief,” he admitted, passing you one of the bowls. You weren’t surprised to notice it was handmade, irregular, and pottery-crafted. You curled your fingers around the piece, relishing the coldness against your skin.

“Are your dinners always like this?” you asked. Jake looked at you on the other side of the table then, taking in how you hadn’t moved yet, and retrieved the bowl from you, ladling a heaping portion of lamen and placing it in front of you.

“You mean extremely unprepared and unhealthy?” he asked, and you gasped. You didn’t mean to offend him, but because you couldn’t find better words to describe it, you remained silent. “Most of the time, but once in a while Mrs. Choi brings me something, once in a while I simply do not eat, so we can say it’s not an every-night thing.”

There was a pause, a skimpy moment full of awkwardness. But then, Jeonchae leaped at the dining table, immediately stealing a laugh from Jake. He spared a piece of meat to the kitten, quickly making the apology die on your tongue together with the gasp you couldn’t release, and just like that, the spell was broken.

“Jake,” you called. “What if I take care of dinner while I am here?”

“Oh no, she is surely a Park,” he teased, but he nodded at you, barely giving himself the time to think between a second and another, and making you suck your breath back.

“Really?” you asked. “I mean, I’m not like my mother or Jay as well-”

“I wouldn’t expect you to be like them,” he said, and that was it — just your words in his mouth, but you couldn’t help but feel as if the air had suddenly gotten lighter, that heavy pressure on your shoulders disappearing as if it had never been there. It was the very first time you genuinely thought someone who knew your family, didn’t expect you to be like them. “But I would need to take you to the market tomorrow, I doubt there’s something usable in this kitchen.”

┈

You woke up to the street lights spreading through the darkness of your room and a soft series of curses.

At first, you couldn’t remember where you were. The scent of glaze and paint took you with a strange closeness, until you remembered the discussion with the landlord, putting the kitten in a carrier, and taking the bus to Seogwipo to meet Jake — Jake.

You slide out of the bed, padding barefoot to the window and opening it in time to catch your brother��s best friend adjusting a ladder closer to the house’s wall and taking the first step up to it.

“What are you doing?” you asked because Jake wasn’t possibly going up to the roof late at night although everything indicated it was exactly what he was doing.

Jake turned to you as fast as a complicated smile took over his features.

“Sorry, I woke you up,” he said, the certainty that he had been the one to wake you up stealing the question mark of his phrase and so you didn’t reply.

“Are you afraid of heights?” he asked then.

“A bit, yes.”

“Do you trust me?”

┈

There were stars, and there were stars at Seogwipo.

Some nights, back at home, you had lingered on your bedroom’s window, trying to catch at least a spare star above the city lights without much success, but as you sat by Jake’s side at the uneven tiles of his roof, and craned your neck to the vastness of the sky, you couldn’t help but sigh at the view, an appreciation sound that came from your bare heart.

At Jeju there were never enough streetlights to obliterate the stars completely — you could always get a glimpse of them without much search, but at Seogwipo — so far from anything else, the stars created streams of silver against the dark sky.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered.

“Was it what you expected?” Jake asked. “When you decided to come to Jeju.”

“I don’t think I had any expectations. Honestly, I barely considered it before I decided to come to Jeju. It was there and suddenly it seemed like a great option so I took it,” you said. “It’s just — are you the youngest in your family?”

Jake’s eyebrows furrowed at your sudden question, his confusion setting heavy on his features despite the lightness with which he tilted his head, and in the heat of the moment, you continued: “I am not blaming Jay or my family, it’s not like this. But there is something about being the youngest child that no one speaks about,”

“When you are the youngest, you live in the shadows of either their failures or their successes. It wasn’t my dream to go to the United States to study — it was my father’s. He couldn’t do it back at his time, so he tried to make Jay do it for him, but when Jay failed due to his grades, I became the next in line, and I have been living my whole life like this — trying to fulfill everything they want to not be the letdown of my family.”

“When I passed the university interview,” you continued. “got the visa and everything, they started talking about their expectations and it suddenly made me realize that I have never lived a single day for myself, so I think I panicked — I wanted to try something for myself, at least this summer before I go to the United States to live a life I never dreamed about.”

When you finished, Jake had been silent for so long that you thought he had zoned out — leaving you to talk to the vastness of the place. But you looked at him then, and he was there — with the same careful stare he had turned on you this afternoon, and making your cheeks grow warmer.

You weren’t a quiet person — as you had reminded yourself with Euntaek earlier on that day. You were just out of the practice of speaking with strangers. You could eventually be your true self. It wasn’t uncommon. What truly surprised you was how fast Jake had made you open up.

It wasn’t like you considered Jake a stranger, he wasn’t, not really. You had co-existed in each other’s worlds for so long that it was almost peculiar to think you had met just a few hours previously. Yet still, it felt way too nice.

“I do have an older brother too,” Jake admitted then. “He has studied medicine in Australia and people love to praise him or say something like it must be hard for Jaeyun to have an older brother like you.”

A breath shuddered out of you with the harshness of his words, and his mouth screwed on something between a smile and a frown, his own history setting heavy on him, and making him pause, his gaze drifting downward.

Jake watched as his fingers moved on his lap as if he was trying to sort his thoughts out, and that was the moment you noticed that whatever he was about to tell you was something he had been keeping for himself for years — just like you — too much like you, actually.

“It’s just like you said, I do not blame my family,” he started. “But because my parents are doctors and my brother always knew he was going to follow their path, I grew up thinking I was the letdown of my family.”

“With my grandfather, otherwise,” Jake continued. “He was an artist — not a very successful one as you can see from the house or by the fact that you probably never heard of him, but he loved it,”

“I used to come here every summer, and whenever I saw him doing pottery — whenever I saw the happiness in him, I knew it was what I wanted to do too, but still, I was afraid I would disappoint my parents so I tried to follow their path and study medicine instead.” Jake had a dull tone, but it was almost like his canvas in your room — you could feel the pain in each syllable. “But then, my grandfather died in my first year.”

You knew Jake’s grandfather had died — had picked the information in the echo of your brother’s conversation with your mother, but you never knew what the man had meant to Jake, and perhaps that was what made your heart keen as if you had just discovered his passing.

“I am so sorry,” you said.

You reached out to Jake, placing your hand gently on top of his. It hadn’t dawned on you how intimate the gesture was until you felt Jake moving beneath your touch, but before you could pull away he had already turned his palm into yours, squeezing you lightly, and reassuringly.

“It’s alright. It has been five years already,” he said. “Somehow I think I’ve gotten to peace with this as much as a person can be — I mean, grief never ends. It just gives breaks. Some moments I laugh while remembering him, and others I catch myself near to tears, but it’s more like a heartache,”

“I wish he were still here sometimes,” Jake concluded. “He always knew how to read me through,”

“On his last phone call, he asked if I was happy — if I was doing what I wanted to,” he said. “And it stuck with me, you know? I wasn’t — so I came to Jeju for his funeral and decided I could go back to Seoul, but not to med school. I got transferred, and well, I think you know the rest of the story. I graduated in Fine Arts like I always wanted, and came here to take care of his things.”

“I won’t lie and tell you it was easy — it wasn’t. When I told my parents what my plans were, my father asked me if I wanted to be poor like my grandpa. But what I am trying to say is that I understand you,” Jake said. “If you want to stay here during the whole summer to give yourself time, I got you — just be sure to live for yourself because there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Make a list of things you have never done and want to do. I don’t know. Just enjoy your time here.”

A breeze picked up in the following silence, the halted air suddenly stirring and shuddering the bushes on the other side of the street. Seogwipo was so silent at this hour of the night that you could hear the soft rustling sound as they moved, all the world halted enough to give enough space for that tiny word to settle in.

Enjoy. You weren’t really sure if you understood what it meant anymore.

Your whole life felt like some task. From your academic life to even the parts that used to be the most fun, like reading over the summer or baking a new recipe on a Friday afternoon. They felt like things you had to be really good at in order to prove you were worth belonging. And looking back at it, it just felt so messed up.

“You sound wiser than my brother,” you whispered. “Maybe I should start talking to you instead.”

“Well, you know where to find me,” he whispered back, leaning toward your side. He was just a bit too close, his scent taking over you all together with the summer breezes. And he might have noticed it too because he drew a bit back, rushing his fingers through his hair as his gaze focused on the skyline once again.

“But it can be a dangerous thing — to get me,” you replied. “I can become really dependent.”

Jake’s eyes lingered as he turned back at you, his lips parting for a heartbeat more, the space between them widening with what he meant to say next, but whatever it had been — was forgotten over the second. And he only swallowed then, licking at his lips.

“Should we go down?” Jake asked. “I have no idea what time it is.”

But he was already slipping through the roof tiles, taking the first step down the ladder before you had even replied.

You carefully followed him, edging your way onto the roof, but the moment you looked down, you felt your heart contracting, shivers scattering through the line of your spine and making you dizzy.

“Jake?” you called, your voice sounding quieter than you intended to.

“Yeah?”

“Remember when I said I was a bit afraid of heights?” you asked, but he didn’t reply, his eyebrows furrowing as he peered at you. “I don’t mind being in a high place, but I can’t know how high it is.”

“You can’t look down?”

“It makes me vertiginous,” you admitted.

“Alright,” Jake said. “Let’s do it like this — can you sit on the edge of the roof and put your feet on the ladder?”

You nodded, heart thumping in your chest as you carefully shifted your weight and did as he said, finding the first step of the ladder with the soles of your shoes. Either the night had turned colder or your senses had turned very accurately due to your nervousness. You felt Jake retreating the few steps he had taken down, and lingering closer to you, his whole body as warm as he sounded when he finally spoke again.

“Give me your hands,” he asked. “You can keep your eyes straight at the horizon or close them, I got you — Just don’t look down.”

You extended your hands to him, and he took them, his fingers curling around yours as he guided you down.

“Isn’t it dangerous for you?” you asked suddenly, but you didn’t dare to open your eyes and check how he was doing it.

“Just a few more steps, Baby,” he said, immediately making both of you halt, your eyes opening as the endearing word whistled through the space between both of you.

It’s not like you thought he meant it to be endearing. Your whole family called you Baby, from your grandparents to your parents and brother — and even their close friends. Probably whenever Jake had heard someone speaking about you the word simply came by, but hearing it in his voice felt different, and flush of warmth crepped up to your cheeks.

“I am sorry,” he hushed.

“It’s alright,” you said. “I guess Jay called me Baby too much around you.”

“Yes,” he said, the confirmation coming as a tight exhale. “It happened so commonly that when he first said your name I had to ask who he was talking about and he managed to feel offended.”

You laughed at it, softly, and his mouth quivered in response.

“Just a few more steps,” he repeated then. And with the help of Jake’s guidance, you managed to make it down from the roof.

Jeonchae was already waiting at the house’s door. And you tried not to feel offended when the kitten once again chose Jake, following him through the living room and only stopping when Jake did too.

“Good night, Baby,” Jake said, reaching for his door’s knob.

You did so too, but didn’t turn it. You didn’t want to be the first one the break the moment. Like that one night during a Christmas break when your mother found you awake when no one else was. She asked if you wanted to drink a cup of warm milk with her, and it had been so nice to have your mother all to yourself — so nice to whisper things neither of you really did when it was day. You wanted to relish it until the end, leaving a single sip in your cup even when it was all cold and unsweetened.

But Jake was slightly shaking his head then, a smile on his lips before he slipped into his room.

You woke up to the soft hustle of dishes echoing, drawers opening and shutting before finally the smell of bread browning and eggs hitting a hot skillet reached you.

Morning light flooded through the opened windows of the bedroom, the brightness of it catching you unguarded and making you blink a few times before you managed to roll through the bed, trying to catch what Jake was doing, but the gap between the door and its frame was small, a bare sliver that all you could see was his head tilted to the stove in concentration and his shoulders moving, the thin material almost giving you the outline of everything — you abruptly stood up, padding barefoot to the kitchen.

“Good morning,” he said, promptly extending you a mug. You wrapped your hands around the steaming cup, inhaling the bittersweet scent of coffee and vanilla.

“So you aren’t very fond of cooking dinner, but like breakfast?” you asked.

“I guess we all have one favorite meal.”

“Well, that makes sense,” you agreed. “But if I prefer baking, what does it make me?”

“A tea-time person, definitely,” he said. “Maybe you should meet Mrs. Choi, she has a bakery down the street-”

“An old lady? Not even one and a half meters? Gray hair and a really fierce accent?”

“I see that you have already met her.”

“She was sitting by her bakery door when I arrived,” you said. “Asked if I needed help, and made her grandson walk me here.”

“She made Euntaek walk you through one hundred and something meters?”

“Very fiercely, actually, but perhaps it was just her accent,” you admitted, stealing a smile from him. It had been so quick — if your heart hadn’t leaped at the sight of it, you would think it had been an imagined moment.

“I thought about going to the market after breakfast,” he said. “Get the things you need, I genuinely only have eggs, three packs of lamen, and bread.”

“Well, you at least have something aside from lamen.”

“Don’t get too proud. Beomseok — a grandpa who lives at the end of the street sells eggs, and the bread is from Mrs. Choi’s bakery-”

“I am surely not proud,” you said, but despite the harsh choice of words, they carried no venom and Jake allowed himself to playfully pout at you. There was something adorable about his expression — almost puppyish, and you had to control yourself to not reach for him, ruffling your fingers through his locks and discovering if they were as soft as they looked.

“Don’t be so mean to me.”

┈

Euntaek had told you — more like warned you about the absence of a car in the midst of Jake’s possessions, always having to ask for the old Beomseok’s pickup. So when Jake told you he was going to wait outside, you had expected to step out to the view of a pickup — although you didn’t know what Beomseok looked like, and much less his pickup. Or Jake simply standing there ready to walk you to the market, but not for a single second, you had expected to see him leaning on a motorcycle with two helmets in his hands. Partly because you haven’t noticed the thing on the night previously, and partly because it shone beneath the summer sun, all black, metallic, and nothing like Jake.

You had this odd conviction that often people matched their vehicles. Jongseong’s black Mercedes was made for him, just like your mother’s champagne Audi was made for her, but where Jake was soft his motorcycle was hazardous. And you weren’t sure if it was conflicting or if you had just encountered a new side of him. But either way — it took the wind out of you.

“No,” you said.

Jake’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you, his hand halting in the middle of the motion of extending you one of the helmets.

“Can’t we go walking or something?” you asked.

“Why?”

“Jay also has a motorcycle license, and Mom made me promise I wouldn’t ride with him.”

“You promised you wouldn’t ride with Jay — I am not Jay,” he said. “C’mon, it’s safe.”

Jake was trying to look unamused, but it was clear by the way the corners of his mouth twisted that he was fighting a smile as he looked down the street, taking in the path you had already walked. He watched the whole path from Mrs. Choi’s tiny bakery to his own shop before he moved ahead, the shops and houses you still didn’t know as if he was looking for something.

Bees hummed over the bushes on the other side of the street.

It was so impossibly summer.

“Let’s do it like this: you are scratching the first thing on the list of things you have never done before,” Jake said, already hurling a leg over the motorcycle. “Beomseok’s pickup isn’t here, so he is probably using it. Next time we go to the market I promise you — I will ask for his pickup if you want me to, but for today it’s our only option.”

“C’mon, Baby. I got you,” he said, tentatively extending you the helmet once again.

And there it was. Baby. The word being familiar and unknown. Soft and overwhelming. It shaped through Jake’s mouth as easily as it had the night previously. And perhaps because of the lack of surprise, perhaps because of the new insight the daylight brought, but you finally got it. Jake didn’t call you with the fondness your parents did, nor with the fierce overprotection Jongseong did. He took your nickname and made it all his. Teasingly as it was overprotective, careful as it was wild. And you felt something moving inside of you.

Wasn’t that the reason why you had come to Jeju?

You stepped forward, taking the helmet and hurling your leg at the motorcycle by the time a breath should be taken.

Jake put on his helmet too, looking over his shoulder. He seemed ready to say something to you, but whatever it had been, slipped and slid as he felt you resting your head at his back, the side of your helmet pressed against his jacket as your arms slipped around his waist, hands finding the shirt beneath his denim and twisting the thin material of it until your knuckles turned white. Jake spread his palms above yours, warm and reassuring — summer always stuck in his skin.

“I got you,” he repeated, a little more breathless. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

And then, there was just the air past your ears, the roar of the motorcycle, and Jake.

┈

Jake’s neighborhood had only one market.

It was a small and unassuming building tucked away on a noncommercial street. The owner even seemed to live on the second floor as a few clothes hung on a line by the terrace, the white pieces fluttering against the blue sky and spreading a scent of flowery softening through the morning breeze.

There was no parking lot, the door opened right on the sidewalk — not that it seemed to be necessary. The establishment was completely empty aside from the cashier, a girl not much younger than you and with such a bored expression that gave you the assurance that she certainly wasn’t spending her summer morning there by choice.

She didn’t even stray her attention from her phone as you both stepped in, the faint din of the latest summer hit coming from her earphones being the only sound mixing with the whir of the freezers.

Jake promptly took the shopping cart from the side of the doors. And there was something so domestic about the whole thing — so intimate on the way he pushed the shopping cart around the aisles, you by his side, elbows brushing, and hands tucking on each other whenever you wanted to stop because it was easier like this. It made your chest ache and suddenly it felt unkind to think of Jake just as your brother’s best friend — all the acknowledgment of him being given by a third part, so you started an ask game. It was simple, this or that questions that weren’t even that deep, but Jake tilted his head to appraise you, taking his time to think about it every time. And when he started to ask them back, you smiled at him, cheeks a bit warmer because it was less than he was just being polite, and more like he wanted to know you too.

You turned to the final aisle, being greeted by a dozen candies and snacks, boxes and packages in an aggressive assembly of colors and almost mockingly being in their majority from America.

“What are you going to study? In the United States?” Jake asked, perhaps noticing it too.

“Law,” you said as if it’s just a fact. Because well, that’s what it was, but the word hung in the air like a weighty secret. And so, Jake blinked at you, momentarily taken aback, before he decided to move his attention to the shelves, his fingers fumbling through the cereal boxes with a concentration too unpretentious to be unpretentious.

“Is there something else you would want to study? Aside from law?” he asked then. It could have been just a simple question, no different from all the others you had been making and answering. But perhaps because of how he asked it, it very much felt as if Jake had already divined all the nuances of your whole being.

If you were to tell the history of your family, law school was so entangled in it that it was impossible not to mention it. Your father’s mother had been a judge, a rare gem as your own grandfather used to say — although you weren’t sure if it was because she managed to get such a high position in a field where women were so rarely seen back in their time, or something else. Your father’s father had a mind of his own, so ingeniously crafted that his university refused to let him go, and made him a professor where eventually, your father came to study and met your mother, the successor of a long line of counselors.

Family gatherings had always brought Legal Language — even when it wasn’t necessary to. The word abrogate was used more than deny and you knew — to follow their path was the only way to truly blend in. Jake had understood it, perhaps all too easily due to his own past, and it made your lips part, surprise stunning you for a moment.

“I never stopped to think about it,” you said, already stepping forward.

You tried to pretend you were not so excited when your eyes caught a familiar cookie on the topmost shelf, extending your hand at it without much success as your fingers have not even skimmed through the package.

“Jake, could you-” you started, but he was already there, easily ending the few steps you had created. One of his hands rested on the shelf at the level of your waist as the other reached for the packages for you, your fingers brushing and tangling.

“How many?” he asked. His voice threaded through your hair, and all of sudden your body became extremely aware of his proximity. Jake was all around you — all inside of you, when you breathed in, everything that came into your lungs was the scent of summer, that odd mix of orange and earth that Jake was.

“Five?”

“What are you going to do with so many cookies?”

“It’s my solace cookies,” you said, your lips barely closing at the end of the sentence because you meant to explain — you meant to tell him that once when you had failed an exam, Jongseong had been the one to come and pick you up after school. Your brother didn’t really know what to do with all your sadness, so he just took you to a convenience store nearby, bought all the types of cookies and ice creams his allowance could afford, and somehow this one became your favorite — the one thing you always found yourself stocking to eat on rough days so perhaps it would sound less childish to Jake. But before you could do so, he was echoing your saying. And you didn’t even need to look at him to know he was smiling. You had heard it, the soft deed turning his voice warmer because he thought it was endearing rather than childish, and you allowed the explanation to die in your tongue unsaid.

“What about the list? Have you thought about it?” he asked after a moment. “What you haven’t done yet, but want to.”

“Not yet,” you admitted. But it struck you later on — when you arrived back at his address, catching the sight of the pottery pieces on his shop’s shelves through the tempered glass.

“Pottery,” you said. Jake stopped abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk, shopping bags still hanging in his hands, but when you glanced over at him, he was beaming. “I never did pottery.”

“This one is easy to scratch,” he said.

┈

“Is it really fine to just not open the shop like this?” you asked. But Jake didn’t reply. Instead, he walked to a drawer you hadn’t noticed the existence of until now, taking out an apron and looping it over his neck.

It was nearing noon and Seogwipo was already alive, locals and tourists strolling through the sun-bathed street on the other side of the tempered glass.

You saw a woman peering inside the shop as her little daughter tugged at her dress skirts, but the door was locked, and a small handmade sign informed that the shop was closed.

“I am the owner,” he said. You looked back at Jake, tongue rolling on a retort. But he had already walked back to you, looping an apron over your neck and making whatever you had thought of saying slip and slide with the weight of thick material on your shoulders. His breath brushed through your cheeks as he leaned on you — warm and sweet smelling, cream and strawberries from the ice cream you had shared while stocking the food as he took the strings of the apron at your back and brought them to your front, clutching them safely.

“It’s not too tight, is it?” he asked.

“No — no, it’s not.”

“Good.”

You sat in front of a pottery wheel, watching as Jake filled a bowl with water and arranged it on a cart, strolling it to your side. Everything there was so carefully designed and considered that you couldn’t help but think about how this shop had been built with love.

“Alright,” he said. “What do you want to do?”

“What would be the easiest?”

“There is no such a thing,” he replied.

“What?”

“As long as you don’t want something that requires a lot of pieces and craving it’s easy.”

“A vase then?” you said. “Very tiny, preferably.”

Jake brought a stool to the other side of the wheel and sat down on it. His knee brushed against yours, a scarcely there thing that you couldn’t even feel his denim jeans against your bare skin, but maybe because your body was still lingering on the ride back, and the way he had reached for the cookies for you, you felt a flush of warmth rushing to your cheeks, that heat that seemed to be becoming a frequent feeling around Jake.

The fact that he had pretty hands didn’t help with anything — you hadn’t noticed it until then, artsy hands made for masterpieces, and you weren’t really sure if it made it harder or easier to watch as he pounded the clay into a ball and plopped onto the wheel, but when he looked at you, your body felt perilously close to coming undone.

“Ready?”

“I am not sure,” you said.

“Do you know what’s fun about pottery?” he asked. “You can mess this up. If you dislike it or change your mind, you just pound it back into a ball and start all over again.”

“Don’t stress too much about it,” he continued. “Just enjoy the process.”

“Alright.”

“I mean it, Baby,” Jake said. “You don’t need to make it perfect, no one is judging you.”

And that was it again — just your words in his mouth, but you suddenly felt as if the weight of the world had been pulled off your shoulders.

No one was judging you. Your parents, your teachers, your brother, and your grandparents. You didn’t need to prove anything for them here.

“Alright,” you repeated.

“Wet your hands, and gently cup the clay.”

“Am I supposed to step on the pedal already?”

“Not yet. Cup it first,” he said. “Thumbs in the middle.”

“Like this?”

“Yeah, now you step on the pedal.” You did as he said, allowing the wheel to move beneath the clay, twirling between your cupped hands, almost ticklish.

“Alright. Now use your left hand to give it a slight pressure. Your right is more for balance, to keep it upright.”

“It’s starting to get confusing,” you said.

“Like this,” Jake said, gently placing his hands above yours before he folded you over, clay immediately seeping between your fingers with the pressure and smearing Jake’s hands, filling the air with that earthy scent you somehow had already grown used to.

“You are pressing my right hand,” you said. “Isn’t it the one for balance?”

“It’s confusing my brain,” he confessed.

“What? Don’t you teach pottery?”

“Yes, but I never put my hands on people’s stuff, I usually just explain.”

“Are you somehow saying I am the worst student you’ve ever had?” you inquired. You weren’t sure if you had intended to be funny, but suddenly, Jake was laughing, the sound rattling you to the core, and you couldn’t help but stop, watching him.

If you thought Jake’s smiles took over his face, when he laughed, it seemed to resonate throughout every line of his body. He tilted his head downward with the vehemence of it, his eyes closing, but not before you noticed how they were shining, glinting specks in his dark eyes.

And God — Jake wasn’t just pretty, but he was the embodiment of summer, warmth, and sunshine always stuck on him, and making him glow. When his shoulders fluttered, it made something within your chest hum, and you forced yourself to blink, redirecting your focus to the clay.

“Maybe we should stay on the same side?” you asked then.

Jake stood up, taking his stool and swiftly settling it behind you. His chest pressed against your back as he positioned his hand above yours once again, and your heartbeat rumbled so loudly that you almost didn’t realize he was speaking again, “left hand to give pressure. Right to keep it upright.”

“Is it the time when I tell you that I hate to feel dirty?” you blurted out.

“You hate it?” Jake asked, letting go of you only to brush his fingers on your cheek, quickly smearing it with clay. You gasped at it, lurching up so fast, you almost tripped over the pottery wheel as you turned to look at him, but he only laughed once again, and instead of protesting, you reached for him too, smearing his jaw.

And that was it, the room was taken by laughter and clay.

The vase was destroyed by the amount of times you both had brushed your hands on it, smearing your palms only to clean it on the other one — if it was the right term, handprints being left on its wake. Jake’s arms were already covered when he finally gave it a break, looking at you and offering the precise moment when the idea struck him. His smile turned a bit wilder, a bit teasing, and before you could truly understand it, he had closed his fist on the vase, sealing the top of it, but handing a good amount of clay.

You reached for his wrist, but as you tried to prevent him from dirtying you even more, you threw both of you out of balance. You hit the floor first and in a heap, the sound of your bodies collapsing on the concrete floor muffling the curse Jake released.

He braced himself above you, his palms spreading just a few centimeters away from your head as he pushed himself up, but he was still too close. When his lips parted, his breath brushed through your cheeks, the same sweet scent from early on, heating your whole body and riddling you in place.

The warm light of the summer sun had found its way through the tempered glass of the shop, pouring around Jake in a beautiful and dazzling alchemy. Your fingers were clammy with clay, sticky with a grayish mix, but he didn’t mind it when you reached for him, palm splaying through his neck, fingers sliding to where his t-shirt hung loosely around his neck, if anything his skin shivered where you touched it. And he released a breath stronger than before, taking you both out of the haze.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked then.

“No,” you whispered.

Jake nodded, very slowly before he stood up, holding his hand and helping you stand.

“I am sorry,” he said. You weren’t sure what he was asking sorry for, the destroyed vase, the clay fight, for falling on you, or for the way your body was flaming up, every piece of skin burning with the bare memory of him against you. “We can start over.”

You blinked at him, taking a second longer to look back at the vase. It had worn shapeless above the wheel, a good part of it lost in the middle of the fight and its top had been destroyed where Jake’s fist had closed on. It surely had no use aside from a very peculiar ornament, but you once had heard about people wanting to retain moments, turning the immaterial memory into something concrete so they could carry it anywhere and that ruined vase was it — it wouldn’t matter how many years passed, or where you were, whenever you looked at this ruined vase, it would remind you of Jeju, of golden suns and breezes that smelled like earth, and oranges blossoms at the end of afternoons — it would remind you of Jake.

“I like it that way,” you told him. Jake furrowed your eyebrows at you, but he didn’t say anything, taking a string from the table, and cutting the vase off the wheel.

“We have to let it dry before doing anything,” he said. “By tomorrow or after we can fire it-”

“Wait, so people do not take their pieces home?” you asked.

“They do,” he said. “I mean, they receive it at home. I fire it and send it to them later.”

“Out of Jeju?” you asked, and Jake hummed at you, half focused on putting the vase on a wooden tray and taking it to the far end of the shop, letting it rest closer to the sink.

“It was my grandpa’s idea,” he said. “What better trip souvenir than something you did yourself? that’s what he used to say.”

“He seemed like a nice grandfather.”

“He was,” Jake told you. “I just wish he knew I am continuing it — that I didn’t let my father sell this shop.”

“He knows,” you whispered. “I am sure he knows.”

Jake paused then, looking back at you as if you had just said what he needed. And you didn’t know how to react — you had never been the person to be relied on. But somehow you found yourself liking it.

“Come here.”

You stepped closer to him again, and he took your hand, using a wet towel to clean the clay from your fingers, your wrists, his hands hovering through your skin, but not quite touching it.

“Jake,” you called. You weren’t sure if you wanted to say something more, it had just slipped through. And in the midst of your silence, he looked at you with the same golden eyes and sun-kissed skin.

“Give me another towel,” you asked, and he quickly obeyed, getting another towel and handing it to you.

As you took the towel with one hand, you reached for his chin with the other, gently tilting his head to the side so you could clean his jaw, and then his neck, taking all the evidence of your touch from his skin.

“I am sorry. I think I pushed clay into your ears.” Jake snorted at you, something you always thought to be weird coming out as endearing from him.

“I like having you here, Baby.”

“I like being here.”

For the next six days in Seogwipo, you barely did anything yet it felt like everything.

Mornings always started with you and Jeonchae sitting on the kitchen counter as Jake hovered over the stove, the greatest variation of bread and eggs you had ever known being prepared. And nights always ended in the opposite way. You prepared dinner as Jake stood within reach, always ready to open cans and cut whatever you asked him.

You had to go to the market more times, but you stopped complaining about the motorcycle at some point — mostly because when you finally met Beomseok and his pickup, the man seemed pretty convinced that you were Jake’s girlfriend or fiancée or whoever could make him say, “you two should marry early. Living your life peacefully is better than anything else”, and you would rather never encounter him again.

Just the memory of it made your cheeks burn.

Jake taught you how to use the credit card machine, and allowed you to take the payments from the customers. You packed orders and watched as he taught people how to do pottery — never touching their projects, “it was just for his worst student,” he whispered when another just graduated high school girl seemed pretty and annoyingly insistent on trying to make him guide her.

By Thursday Jake asked you if you wanted to help him glaze a few pieces, and when you told him you were afraid of messing up, he laughed at you.

“It’s transparent glaze, Baby,” he said. “I don’t know how you could mess this up.” But you liked using the kiln, being the first one to see how Jake’s pieces had turned out after being fired, and organizing it on the shop’s shelves to be purchased.

Mostly, though, you sat on the long table of the shop, Jake, and an endless thread of stories being your company. He couldn’t stay much still, you quickly noticed, always having to be working on something or using gestures throughout his stories. And you couldn’t help but think how Jake glowed there — in the place that carved him into the person he was today and something within you broke to think of a time he almost lost it all.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

It was Friday morning, the usual hustle and bustle of customers coming momentarily on hold due to the end of the week, the events by the downtown being more interesting than wandering through the small towns and Jake had taken the opportunity to work on a piece of clay as he tended to do when the movement was low, but this one seemed different from his typical methods. He wasn’t using the wheel, but molding it with his bare fingers and a few tools.

“Sculpting,” he said, turning the piece for you, and only then did you notice it was a cat. Chubby and furry.

“Oh my God, is it Jeonchae?” you asked. “I want it, charge me. I want it once you finish.”

“It will be one thousand won, but for you, I will do half of it,” he said, his gaze dropping to the clay once again, but you let your linger on the dark fringe of his lashes, the curve of his full upper lip.

It was easier to look at him like this.

“Do you want to try?” Jake asked.

“What?”

“Sculpting.”

“No.”

“C’mon, I got you,” he said, already rolling a stool closer to him and patting it for you to sit.

“Jake, I am going to mess Jeonchae up,” you said.

“I will help you,” he said, convincing enough to make you walk to him, but before you could do anything the fluttering sound of crystal and bells clanking against the shop door resonated as it was pushed, Mrs. Choi and Euntaek loudly announcing their entrance.

“Oh, sorry for interrupting. I brought some freshly baked pastries for you two,” Mrs. Choi said.

Jake stood up, cleaning his hands on his apron as he walked to them and accepted the tray Mrs. Choi was handing. The old lady rambled about how she had accidentally baked an extra tray this morning, and Euntaek took the opportunity to come in your direction — quickly taking Jake’s unattended stool. He barely settled himself in as his fingers reached for you, towing for a stray strand of your hair, and brushing it behind your ear. His touch was like a static shock, a spark of energy where skin met skin, as comfortable as it would have been to be electrocuted.

“You didn’t call,” he said. “Or message.”

Euntaek didn’t sound angry or annoyed. If anything, he sounded bemused. As if he wasn’t used by the fact that he might have been forgotten.

“I am sorry,” you hushed, using your wrists to not only brush any other strands he could come to find but to subtly create a distance within you. He smelled like his cigarettes, burning formaldehyde, and tar — something so different from Jake’s scent that you felt the back of your throat burning.

“I have a busking tomorrow night. It’s at a bar close to Jeju City,” he said. “You should come. I can drive us there. We enjoy the rest of the buskings, and then go to one of my bandmates’ place for an after-party.”

“Do you have a band?” you asked.

“Yeah, rock, but we play anything once in a while depending on the place,” he said. “So what do you think?”

“I-” you started, looking back at where Jake and Mrs. Choi stood. Although the old lady was still talking, Jake’s eyes were on you as if he had been looking at you the whole time and you suddenly forgot what you were going to say, being mercifully saved by Mrs. Choi calling for her grandson.

She stepped out of the shop, gesturing for Euntaek to hurry up because they had left the bakery unattended. He stood up, his smirk unfaltering.

“Text me your reply, or just shout out the door, I will surely hear from down the street,” he said then, winking at you before he followed his grandmother outside.

Jake closed the door behind them, leaving the tray on an empty wheel before he came back to you, sitting on his stool and tilting his head at you.

“What was that?” he asked. “You seem troubled.”

“Euntaek invited me to go to his busking in a bar tomorrow,” you confessed. “He has a band.”

“Oh.”

You didn’t notice how still Jake had become until he rubbed his finger against his thumb, brushing his digits as if feeling the remnant of the clay there a moment later.

“But I don’t know-” you admitted. “What do you think?”

“You don’t wanna to go?” Jake asked, and he was suddenly back at the university dorms, catching the echoes of your conversation with Jongseong through the phone — listening to how you always came up to your brother for advice, and he couldn’t help but wonder if you were looking up at him right now as a brother.

He was abruptly tired, the whole day wearing him out to the core.

“That’s not it. Jay used to have a band in high school, did you know?” you asked. “He had those kind of buskings, but I never went — so I got curious, but Euntaek is a bit-”

“Peculiar?”

“If we are kindly speaking, yes,” you said, and you were not sure why, but it got both of you smiling at each other, foolish and unreasonably, almost as if you had just thrown an old inside joke. And the intimacy of it got you looking away, your face catching the afternoon light coming from the tempered glass and giving you something to blame on how warm your face felt.

But Jake reached for you then, his thumb soflty caressing your cheeks, and you couldn’t deny it — it was all because of him.

“Clay,” he explained, turning the pad so you could see the remains when you looked back at him. “About Euntaek — well, it’s Euntaek, but in any case, you can just call me and I will pick you up. So you should think about it. If it is something that you want to do, you should go.”

And you thought about it.

You thought about it through the rest of the afternoon when a few customers came in. You thought about it when you prepared dinner for the two of you and spared a few pieces of meat to treat Jeonchae. You thought about it as you washed the dishes, appreciating the handmade pieces before you handed it to Jake to dry.

If you were to be honest, go on a busking, go on a date, have a night out in a bar — or whatever variation of Euntaek’s invitation could be named as would never make it into your to-do list for the Summer — not on a first draft. You were the trophy child of the Park’s family, the one your parents proudly whispered: “Oh, Baby never gave us that kind of trouble.” Whenever an acquaintance complained about their children doing anything remotely troublesome.

Jongseong had a band back in his school days, so the idea of watching a busking wasn’t foreign to you. But neither had it been the reprobation of your parents, the way your father lightly clicked his tongue as your mother screamed how he should be taking care of his grades instead.

But in the end, it didn’t really matter that Jongseong had given them that kind of trouble because you didn’t. You were the good one, staying at home and studying every time your brother went out and that was fine for all of you.

But on a better reckoning, how much it had been because of the expectations you felt your parents had in you rather than you not really wanting to try?

Have you never really wanted to accept your brother’s invitations?

You looked at Jake as you passed him the last bowl, and suddenly his words came back to you.

No one was judging you here. You had nothing to prove at Jeju, and maybe that’s what brought in your final decision.

“I will go,” you told him. “It’s just something I have never done. And in the worst cases, I just scratch it and put it on my never doing again list, right?”

“You have a never doing again list?” he asked.

“Yes, I created it intending to put riding a motorcycle, but unfortunately I had no choice on this.”

Jake laughed at you, that one burst of happiness that got him tilting his head downward with the vehemence of it, and something within you hummed. “It isn’t that bad.”

“Oh, it is,” you confirmed. “My hands are all sweaty every time we ride that thing and let me tell you — my hands never get sweaty,”

“But I really enjoy doing the shop’s things.”

Jake tilted his head to the side, his eyes twinkling beneath the yellow lamps. He seemed more like himself than he had during the whole afternoon and oh — oh, how much you liked him like this. “I am glad to know, Baby.”

Sunsets at Seogwipo were perhaps the prettiest thing you had ever seen. When the sun dipped into the sea, the skies aquired a tone so vivid, it felt as if the town itself wanted to hold the light a moment longer than anywhere else in the world. And although Jake had told you that mid-July was supposed to bring the rainy season to the island, Saturday’s sunset was no different. Bold strips of light bathed the living room as you made your way to his bedroom.

Jake’s door was ajar, but he didn’t seem to notice your approach as he continued to work on the canvas in front of him. And for a moment, you remained perfectly still, simply unable to disturb the scene unfolding before you. There was something about him when he was focused — something almost ethereal. Jake could never stay much still, too restless for the world around him — he always had to gesticulate through stories, pinch the hem of his shirts in the middle of the silence or tumble his fingers, but whenever he was working on something, he seemed channeled — the act of doing art, turning into art itself. Beneath the afternoon light, the soft fabric of his well-worn linen shirt clung to the curves of his shoulders, subtly and tenderly shifting with each movement of his brushes. And you could have stayed there watching him forever if it was allowed, but he stopped then, his brows furrowing as he stopped to avail something and you forced yourself to raise your hand and knock.

“Come in,” Jake said.

You pushed the door open, quickly revealing the great mess his room was. Nothing in the house was genuinely big, but Jake managed to make his room even smaller with the amount of canvas and stacks propped against the walls. Everywhere — everywhere, there was something that showed he was an artist. Notebook stuffed with paint on the papers, stray brushes, and tint cans. Jake was sitting on the floor, curved upon his newest project, but he straightened his back against what he supposedly called a bed when you stepped in, the two mattresses sitting in the middle of the room and guarded by Jeonchae. You breathed a little harder, inhaling the smell of the paint he was using, and Jake — just Jake.

“I am about to leave,” you said, but your words came so small, you doubted Jake had heard you in the middle of the ruffle sounds that came when he stood up, stepping near to his desk and taking a piece of cloth to clean his fingers.

“Is he coming to pick you up?” he asked then, still focused on his hands.

Jake had been in a strange mood all day, but you assumed it was just the heat, settling heavily on the day and spreading with the certainty that summer had arrived. Also, there hadn’t been many customers today which made him decide to close the shop when you said you were going to go to the house and get ready, but there was something there, lurking just behind his actions, some private distress that you couldn’t figure out what was.

“Yes, Euntaek will be here in a few,” you said, but Jake only hummed at you.

“Don’t you want to come?” Your question caught his attention, prompting and immediately making him pause.

“I don’t think Euntaek’s invitation extends to me, Baby.”

“But you could.”

“Do you want me to go?” he asked, finally looking at you, and to your surprise, he was smiling. It wasn’t even half of the smiles Jake tended to give you, barely curling the corner of his lips, but it was enough to make you feel your heart rushing, because yes — yes, you wanted him to come. You would feel so much better if he was with you. But something switched within him in the next second, the sudden smile fading once again and you swallowed your reply, taking a step closer to him as you extended a package of your favorite cookies to him.

Jake immediately extended his hand back at you, stopping only when he noticed what you were giving him.

“Are you trying to console me?” he asked.

“You have been in a strange mood the whole day, so yes,” you said, and in the heat of the moment, you turned away, already walking out of his room and into the common area.

You were surprised when you heard him following you across the living room and calling. Not Baby, but your name — your given name bending on his voice and rolling through the space between both of you. It was the first time he had ever said your name, and it caught you off guard. Not only because of the novelty of it but because no one ever said your name as Jake did — so slow and deliberate as if he wanted to taste the sound of each letter rolling through his tongue, and relish on the way he made you gasp

“Wait,” he said. “Just — just call me if you feel uncomfortable with anything, alright?”

“Actually call me even if you don’t — even if you simply want to leave. I can go pick you up — I can ask for Beomseok’s pickup if you don’t want to come back with the motorcycle, just-”

“I will,” you said. “Thank you, Jake.”

He gave a slight nod in your direction, running his fingers through his hair as if to fix it. But his efforts only seemed to further dishevel his hair. Stray strands fell across his forehead, causing you to lift your hand, the tip of your fingers brushing them back into place before you had even thought this through.

His hair was soft beneath your touch, but still somehow different from what you had expected. It was real — much real.

Jake leaned on your touch, coming closer and making his hair fall all over again, but you didn’t mind brushing them again, this time tucking it behind his pinkish ears, and it too — was very much real.

“Do you want me to walk you to his car?” he whispered.

“No, it’s alright,” you whispered back.

Your phone rang then, signaling Euntaek’s arrival, and so, you took a breath, steeling yourself to turn away one last time before making your way through the front garden and the small path between the shop, the stone wall, and into the street, your head stumbling with the deconstruction of everything that had just happened.

Euntaek stood against the rugged frame of a Jeep, the design striking with sharps and almost too aggressive contours as its sleek black exterior glistened under the remains of the afternoon sun. And honestly, every detail — from the gleam of the chrome grille to the meticulously crafted wheel rims, was exactly what you expected from Euntaek’s car to be.

People matched their vehicles, so what was the story behind Jake and his motorcycle?

“Ready to go?” he asked.

You nodded.

┈

The bar was already full by the time you arrived, but you suspected it always was. Saturday night or any other night. It seemed to be one of those establishments downtown that locals relished because their reputation was tarnished by the fact it wasn’t on the tourist pages, or if it was — it wasn’t as a recommendation.

People milled around on the curb, chatting with their strong Jeju accent as they waited for friends.

Euntaek extended his hand in your direction as you walked past them. It took you a few seconds to notice he was offering it to you, and a few more seconds for you to accept it, allowing him to lead you through the entrance and into the bar.

The rest of his band had already arrived, spread through a rounded table together with a few girls in the center of the dimmed-lit place. Euntaek exchanged fist bumps with them, telling you names and statuses you couldn’t truly hear beneath the furor of the place but you pretended that you did.

Jinho — or at least, that was what you understood, smirked when he caught sight of Euntaek holding your hand, and immediately you felt telling him it wasn’t it.

One hour in the car with Euntaek had offered you enough to understand him. He wasn’t interested in you — not even for a bit. And if there was something he found interesting in you it was the fact that you came from outside the island.

He was flirtatious, yes, but it was as if he wanted to prove something — be something.

Euntaek had dreams too big for someone born on the island. He wanted to go to Seoul, not as on the fast trip he had with his parents a few years back or his graduation trip, but to stay there, get casted on a big company and live by his music because that was what he liked to do — just like Jake and his pottery shop. Dreams that didn’t fit the expectations and you couldn’t seriously come to hate on Choi Euntaek after this.

Actually, looking at him there, underneath the flickering lights you got yourself wondering how Jake had been in his early youth years. Had the motorcycle come at that time? A little rebellious act because he needed to prove something to the world? You really wanted to ask him.

You really wanted him here right now.

Euntaek pulled a chair for you, finally letting go of your hand as he reached for the breast pocket of his jacket and took a single cigarette out of its box, lighting it up with no ado despite the closed place.

“It’s bad for your health,” you blurted out, the words somehow slipping out of your mouth, smooth and sharp, if not accented, and quickly causing a laugh to stir from him. Euntaek took the cigarette away from his mouth, considering the small thing between his fingers before he pressed it against the table. The flame extinguished immediately, but the smell remained.

“Just because I am with you tonight, Baby,” he replied, immediately making you stop at the nickname. “I have been meaning to ask, I noticed it’s how your brother calls you-”

“My brother?” You cut him out. Although Jongseong did call you Baby you couldn’t imagine how Euntaek would come to know.

The crowd cheered as a band took the stage, and Euntaek whistled as if you hadn’t said anything, but as the vocalist introduced the band, he turned to you again. “Jake’s your brother, isn’t he?” he asked.

“No,” you said. Maybe it had been the speed at which you denied it, maybe it had been the vexation but you could swear the smirk on his face faltered, dropped by an unsure smile.

“So what are you?” he asked. “I had my doubts considering how you had arrived, but Grandma was pretty convinced that you are siblings.”

“We are-” you started, not sure what the rest of the phrase should be. Jake was still your brother’s best friend and perhaps he would always be, the years only turning their friendship unbreakable, but you had already scratched this sole connection after the market, knowing it was too unkind to keep your relationship through a third part. You had shared every breakfast ever since you arrived in Seogwipo, spent every afternoon together, and then dinner, but the word friend didn’t come as easily as you expected it would.

“We-” you started again, being mercifully saved by the arrival of another girl. Arin. That time you had heard for sure. She knew everyone there, or at least, that was what you thought. When she hugged you, it held the same intimacy she had with everyone around the table — as if she were a long-lost friend from your childhood — like maybe once upon a time, she had held your hand as you played tag with the other children at your parents’ attorney gatherings.

And perhaps that’s why when one of Euntaek’s bandmates said something in his ear, immediately making him stand up and yell for her to take care of you, you didn’t really think anything.

You didn’t really think anything when she told you she was going to grab a drink for both of you. You just watched as she stood up, making her way to the bar at the farthest end of the room, an array of colorful bottles lining the shelves behind the bartender giving her a nod as she approached.

“So you are the Seoul girl?” The girl beside Arin’s vague chair shouted, immediately bringing your attention back to the table. You didn’t think she meant to be ambiguous but her question made you halt, the lack of practice of talking with strangers taking the best of you once again, and it almost surprised you — Jake always made you feel so comfortable that you nearly forgot how awkward you were with strangers. Perhaps you were, perhaps you weren’t the Seoul girl. It was quite difficult to tell as you imagined Seoul had a lot of girls, and a lot of girls who were wandering through Jeju during the Summer meeting them, but you nodded at her nevertheless, receiving a mere cool as a reply. And before you could do anything to save yourself, Arin had already returned with a shot. The small glass filled with an unfamiliar liquid and something white dissolving at the bottom.

“It’s a shot, drink it in one go,” she instructed as she handed it to you. You did as she said. At first it tasted sweet, and with a faint burn of tequila, but then the world began to distort a little at its edges, and by the time you placed the cup back onto the table, everything had already gone softer.

The bar erupted in cheers as another song picked up, but you couldn’t come to raise your head at it.

It’s not like you have never had alcohol in your whole life — you did. Sipping your mother’s martinis before it was even legal. Taking Jongseong’s champagne crystal flutes at parties and pretending it was ginger ale until your legal age came and you could order it yourself from the counter bars. You weren’t a stranger to the taste of alcohol on your tongue. So you couldn’t understand why your senses seemed so slow and the world so blunted around you. Your mind seemed too full, too empty, too askew.

In the middle of the bar, the colorful lights flickered and faded, immediately making you dizzy.

“I think- I think I need to go to the restroom,” you said.

The girl beside Arin glanced up at you, her light expression shifting to immediate concern as she caught sight of you.

“It’s on the second floor! Third door!” she called out, gesturing towards a winding staircase in the corner of the room.

“Thank you,” you managed to say, not sure if she had heard you over the pounding music, but you were already moving, walking towards the staircase and gripping onto the railing until your knuckles had become white. The steps seemed to shift and sway as you approached, the lights casting strange shadows, and making it hard for you to judge their distances.

You tripped as a guy bumped into your shoulders on his way down, his laugh reaching your ears too muffled despite his closeness.

“Someone might have had too much,” he said, but you didn’t. You knew you didn’t.

God, what was this?

For several long minutes, nothing happened as you stood alone in the dimly lit restroom. Your hands trembled against the slick surface of the sink, the coolness contrasting sharply with the heat suddenly radiating from your skin and you tried to calm yourself down, but the chaos outside continued unabated, echoing off the walls and the desperation took you over as you sank down onto the black tiled floor, pulling your knees tightly to your chest.

Then you reached for your phone.

┈

Jake woke up in the middle of the night to find the living room lights still on and his phone ringing.

He had fallen asleep on the couch, Jeonchae nestled in his arms as he waited — although he wouldn’t admit this last part willingly. He fumbled through the cushions, quickly finding the device as an unsaved number shone for him. The ID came from Seoul, and he didn’t need to think much about it to know it was you.

“Baby?” he tried.

“Jake,” you whispered. Your voice came small from the other end of the line, not quite like yourself. And the muted sound of some loud song in the background almost swallowed your following words. “I am scared.”

And it was enough to make him wobble, his heart tumbling inside of him, each wall collapsing individually, and crushing the one before it.

“Baby, send me your location, can you? I will be there in a few, alright?” he asked, and you hummed, hanging up so softly he took a few seconds to notice that you did, but he was already slipping through his front door, running through the street until he reached the small house Beomseok resided in. He jumped the stairs to the old man’s door, slamming it a dozen times, and then a dozen more before he could properly think about it.

“Jaeyun, son,” Beomseok exhaled as he opened the door. “Are you alright?”

“I am sorry,” Jake said. “But I need your pickup. Baby- I mean-”

“Your girlfriend?” the old man asked.

“Yes, my- my girl-” Jake mumbled, and he was thankful that the man didn’t inquire anything more before he reached for his entrance table, taking in the vehicle’s key and extending it to Jake.

“Do you want me to come?”

“No, it’s alright. Thank you.”

┈

This part of the island seemed to live in a completely different reality. As the rest of Jeju fell on a sleeping slumber, here it was still blaring with life. The curb outside the bar had been taken by a consistent line of cars, streetlights reflecting on their hoods and leaving not a single space for Jake.

He stopped in the middle of the street — pretty much sure it was the third infraction of the night, hauling the parking brake, and already throwing the door open.

Jake hadn’t been inside somewhere so noisy ever since his university time, and as he passed the doors, it immediately struck him — the smell of alcohol and damp skin, the smoky air that only could mean cigarettes and things that were illegal in Korea.

He looked around, only once searching for Euntaek, but in the absence of the lanky, and unnervingly annoying guy, he turned to a stranger closer by.

“Where’s the restroom here?” Jake asked. But the stranger merely stared at him, the alcohol making him take a little bit too long to comprehend anything, and Jake had to control himself to not reach for him, shaking his head in order to bring him back to his senses.

“Oh, it’s the third door on the second floor-”

Jake stepped past him, already rushing through the staircase, and into the corridor — stopping only when he arrived at the restroom door and tried the knob. It was locked.

“Baby?” he shouted. “It’s me, Jake.”

A breath shuddered out of you, almost sounding like Jake’s name, a small call that you weren’t sure if you intended to release as you reached for the lock and turned it, allowing him inside the restroom.

Jake was mad, and you could see it. As he kneeled in front of you, the muscles of his jaw clenched, a small twitch that you had never seen carving into his soft skin. Yet he didn’t allow that anger to take over his tone. When he called your name, it still held that same slowness and deliberate softness he had reserved only for you.

“I am scared,” you whispered. “We can’t go to the hospital, I don’t know what it is, but I am sure it is illegal in Korea and-” you stopped, trying to regroup your intoxicated thoughts. But everything was a distant blur still, your mind just too slow for anything.

“Baby,” Jake called, almost as gently as how he reached for you, his fingers curling around yours, holding your trembling hand and bringing it to his cheek. “It’s alright, I will take care of you.”

“I promise,” he whispered.

“I am sorry,” you said, but Jake just smiled at you, that one broad and reassuring smile.

“It’s fine — let’s go home.”

Jake had said this exact phrase a good amount of times already: as his fingers reached for the keys of his motorcycle at the exit of the market, at the exit of the pet shop you went to buy Jeonchae’s food on Wednesday, as he dropped the shop’s apron after a particularly busy day. But there was something on the way he had said it tonight, so softly and full of protection that home didn’t sound like a synonym for a house — for the place where you both have been sharing through the past week, but somewhere else, somewhere greater, and it ached within you.

You were safe.

You hadn’t really thought of crying — perhaps the anguish of the whole situation stole you from the most common reaction, but the moment Jake kissed the inside of your wrist, it was as if he had broken that thin thread you had kept to prevent yourself from breaking and tears flowed through your eyes as if they would never stop.

Jake didn’t need to ask you to hold him, you did it as soon as he curled his arms around you. One on your back, as the other supported the back of your legs as he lifted you. And all at once, the full weight of your body in his arms disconcerted him — not because it was too much — but exactly because it wasn’t. You had been taking up so much space in his world, that it was hard for him to believe he could simply hold you like this.

When he reached the main floor and the flickering lights pummeled you once again, you pushed your face further into his neck. The scent of clay was gone, replaced by the faint smell of the flowery soap bar he kept in the bathroom and oranges, but it still lingered in with such familiarity in your lungs that you couldn’t help but close your eyes, breathing him in again.

Jake carried you out of the bar and into the warm summer night. The stars hung so low in the sky that you couldn’t really tell if it was too late or too early as he gently placed you in the passenger seat of Beomseok’s pickup and bent down, shouldering his jacket off to drape around your body.

“Baby,” Jake called, but you were already curling yourself on his jacket, closing your eyes to relish the warmth of it. “Babe, please, I need you to look at me — just for a second, alright?” he asked, cupping your face. His fingers spread warmly against your wet cheeks, angling you to him. And when you looked at him, you knew he was seeing exactly what you did in the restroom mirror: your pupils a bit wider, dazed, and it shuddered a breath out of him, concern spreading through all of his features before his jaw tightened once again. “Has anyone tried to touch you?”

“No — it was that girl, Arin,” you said. “I should have known, I saw something on the bottom of the glass, Jake, I—”

“Hey — it’s alright. You couldn’t know,” he said. “You couldn’t know, Baby. Let’s just go back home.”

He closed the door gently before walking around to the driver’s side, every movement meticulous and deliberate, as if afraid the world might shatter around him if he wasn’t careful enough.

The city slid beyond the pickup’s window as Jake drove away, but you didn’t turn your head — didn’t watch how the moon streamed through the fields of green tea, rather you watched as the street lights caught on Jake’s hair, turning the dark strands into copper — the same strands that you had pushed your fingers through this afternoon. Your heart fluttered inside of your chest with the memory, its rapid heartbeats thumping against your ribs and making you look away when Jake glanced at you, averting your gaze to the city outside, and scrambling for something — anything — to say that could distract both of you.

“I should message Euntaek,” you whispered then, already reaching for your phone. “I haven’t told him I left-” but your fingers felt clumsy as you tried to unlock the screen, the device slipping within your trembling hands just as it did in the restroom, but this time, Jake reached for you, taking it as he used his free hand to pull the pickup.

“I will do it,” he said.

You looked at him, lips already parting into the retort you intended to give, but the words slurred as a wave of nausea hit you, the world spinning faster than before, and making your stomach churn violently inside of you.

You fumbled with the door handle, nearly falling out of the car as it swung open, stumbling a few steps away from Beomseok’s pickup and barely making it to the curb before you doubled over, the contents of your stomach emptying onto the pavement.

It would have been the most embarrassing moment of your life if Jake had done anything but reach for your hair as he followed you to the curb, gathering the strands in his hand as he held them back.

“At the very least — the effect of the drug will pass soon,” he said.

Maybe it had been the remains of the alcohol still in your system, maybe it had been the drug still having an effect on you, or maybe it simply had been Jake, and his presence — always making everything easier for you, but you laughed then, so cheerfully — the sound surprised even you.

“I am never again stepping into a bar,” you whispered, closing your eyes. The breeze brushed through your face so nicely, you couldn’t help but raise your head to the sky, parting your lips in contentment.

“Traumatic first time, right?” Jake asked, and you didn’t need to open your eyes to know, he was smiling back at you.

“Yes.”

“I will take you another night,” he resolved. “Let’s forget this first time, pretend it didn’t happen. I will give you a better memory.”

The breeze halted with you, the air suddenly too still and allowing you to notice how you ached at his words, a sharp twinge that started at your chest and spread to your throat, tightening there and almost bringing you to tears once again. Jake had done so much for you — more than you had ever asked for or expected — from allowing you to stay in his modest two-bedroom house with its mismatched furniture to sitting beside you underneath the stars and listening to your deepest fears with unwavering patience, and this. The weight of his kindness pressed against you like a physical force and you couldn’t help but feel ashamed.

Your whole life you had been avoiding being a hardship to the people around you, but here you were.

“I am so sorry,” you said. “I have been giving you a lot of trouble.”

“No, you are not — I mean, I don’t mind, not if it’s you,” he replied.

You opened your eyes, all at once encountering his gaze underneath the street lights, and it was so soft and bright, that one dazzling blaze that made everything inside of you lose and you couldn’t understand how he was able to do this every time — you couldn’t understand how Jake made everything so alright.

“Thank you for coming to get me,” you said.

“I told you I would, Baby,” Jake replied.

┈

You couldn’t reckon when you had fallen asleep. Between sitting back at the passenger seat of Beomseok’s pickup, curling yourself on Jake’s jacket, and the ride, you couldn’t reckon when you had fallen asleep. But by the time you had recovered a bit of your senses, Jake was gently laying you on the bed, a faint light filtering through the curtains of his grandparents’ old bedroom and giving you just enough to see him bending on a knee by your side.

“Jake?”

“Yes, Baby?”

“When did you buy the motorcycle?” you asked.

“What a sudden question.”

“I have been wanting to ask you the whole night.”

“The whole night?” he echoed. You weren’t surprised by his reaction — you had seen it coming. What surprised you was how tightened his voice sounded, how serious. And maybe that had been what made you hum in reply, immediately and all at once not caring about the implications — the subtle sense that you had been thinking about him the whole night.

“Back when I passed the university exam,” he admitted then.

“A little rebellious act?”

“Well, some people run away to islands, some people buy fancy motorcycles with their father’s money to irritate him.” You couldn’t help but laugh at his callout, the small sound escaping despite your exhaustion. And Jake smiled in response, perhaps too proudly as he reached for you, his hand hovering over your face for a brief second, before he took a strand of your hair and brushed it away from your cheeks.

“Jake?”

“Hm?”

“Stay here.” It took him a long time to make sense of your request, and when he did, the surprise kept him from moving for another moment before finally, he nodded at you.

You watched Jake glance around the room, his eyes searching for what the crochet blanket at the foot of your bed seemed to provide as he reached for it, carefully unfolding the fabric and spreading it on the floor. He laid down on it, one arm tucked beneath his head, as the other kept extending in your direction.

Neither of you moved for what felt like an eternity — not even a twitch. But then you reached for his hand, and Jake inhaled sharply, his breath so close to getting lodged inside of his chest that once again, you caught yourself wondering if you had gone too far — your body reacting to Jake before your own mind did, but before you could retreat, his fingers curled around yours and he shifted onto the blanket, maneuvering closer to you.

“Have some sleep,” he whispered. “I will be here.”

You were not sure how long you both stayed like this, but you had fallen asleep before he did — his light and watchful breaths lulling and stealing you from the moment he brought your hand closer to him, pressing it against his lips as his gaze never failed to linger on you.

The world had turned darker with the passing hours, and whatever remained of the light seemed to now race towards you — the rose and gold of the stars and street lights filtering through the curtains, and softly painting your form. It had been years, but Jake finally understood what a professor once had said, beauty was rarely soft or consolatory, it was quite alarming. He could feel his pulse jumping at his neck, the bare image of you stirring and awakening something inside of him.

“Baby?” Jake called. “Is it ok if I fall in love with you? — You do not see me as a brother, do you?”

hello, my loves! ₊˚ ⊹ thank you so much for reading until here! i hope i haven’t tired you guys down yet cause as you can see, jake and his baby have barely started their romance journey and there is a lot more to come (including their first time, and the second, the third — and well… i know many of you are looking forward to the smutty lmao) but anyway! thank you once again for staying with me until here! see you in the next part :)

(♡) special thanks to Remi & Rin for the amazing support on the behind-the-scenes once again. this story would never be reposted if it weren’t for the both of you!

@baifyjakeywifey @rubyunie @littleaprilcherryblossom @ppeachyttae @enhxlvr @dearestdreamies @blooqz @loverbyfate @lilyofthevalley6 @ironrpincess @jvngw0nlvr @teenagecheesecakereview @xylatox @zoe1love @enhanoa @jakeznii @ikeuriki @yuyita-rosier @choiwrld @riqomi @m1kkso @camipendragon @seranghaesvt @simjaeyunlvrclub @nenesz @woncafe @jjongsha @lyks02 @feverenha @enjakey @tatikeu @geniejunn @graythecoffeebean @beomgyus11 @chromenishi @rpwpthv @sgdhsiiwhshajiishe @jakessrealwife @meowmeowjang @jake-teamo @yuniesluv @reikaxslvr @jyjkbby @mymayaship @luks02 @elimelbe @sooohey @yunjardi @blockbusterhee @h4niyahcar @yooonjnng

#en-ternity’s #tpsateotw #sim jaeyun

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opencommunion · 1 year ago

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this call was released anonymously (understandably) but my local Palestinian organizers who I literally trust with my life have endorsed it, and it seems to be gaining momentum in multiple cities, so I encourage you all to get involved:

"A proposal to coordinate a multi-city economic blockade on April 15th in solidarity with Palestine recently received overwhelming commitments to participate around the US and internationally.

The proposal states that in each city, we will identify and blockade major choke points in the economy, focusing on points of production and circulation with the aim of causing the most economic impact, as did the port shutdowns in recent months in Oakland, California and Melbourne, Australia, as just a few examples.

There is a sense in the streets in this recent and unprecedented movement for Palestine that escalation has become necessary: there is a need to shift from symbolic actions to those that cause pain to the economy.

As Yemen is bombed to secure global trade, and billions of dollars are sent to the Zionist war machine, we must recognize that the global economy is complicit in genocide and together we will coordinate to disrupt and blockade economic logistical hubs and the flow of capital."

ETA: since I posted, organizers in St. Louis, Seoul, Brussels, and the Netherlands have signed onto the agreement, so if you saw this before and your city wasn't listed look again. anyone with the capacity to do some outreach, and a few connections to start with, could take the initiative to bring their city or region on board. read the solidarity agreement and check out the resources, and if you know trustworthy people in your area who might be interested in this sort of thing, talk to them about it.

remember that this isn't a series of protests (although some cities are organizing protests in conjunction), it's a commitment to take mass direct action and to maintain a united front in the face of any state repression. many organizers are (and have already been) using an affinity group model to actually coordinate those direct actions. autonomous groups can take action on April 15th whether or not others in their city/region have committed to this agreement. just do your homework (look up know-your-rights info specific to where you live + general direct action safety tips) and take good care of each other Blockades: a short guide to getting in the way Basic blockading Practical Protest Techniques: using your body Blockading: a guide ACT UP civil disobedience guide

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#palestine #action

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cranberrymoons · 2 days ago

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the thing is, eddie treats buck like his husband. he treats him like his partner and expects buck to act like his partner and he usually does!! they usually operate like a unit without acknowledging that the space they’re taking up in each other’s lives is “spouse”. but because they do this without talking about it, sometimes when something enormous happens (800 miles of desert, bobby dying, etc) the cognitive dissonance gets in the way. and so when buck is crashing out about eddie leaving, or when eddie is angry with buck for not being emotionally supportive in the way he needs, what they’re really saying is “you’re supposed to be my husband and you’re not doing that right now and it feels bad”. and by and large the response from the other one is almost always “you’re right, I fucked up, and I’ll do better next time”. and this has bled over into chris’s worldview too. in my opinion. because i don’t think he has ever thought hard enough about it to think of buck as Dad #2 in conscious terms, because to him, he probably does not remember a time before buck entered his life. Buck has basically always been there and so he does expect buck to operate in a dadlike way in his life, and even though buck has not given himself that title in his head, it’s how he treats chris and thinks about their relationship. like i think if chris asked buck for permission to go somewhere or do something, buck would either say yes or no, and that would be final, and no one involved would think this was weird. does that make sense? like if chris asked if he could go to the movies, buck would just be like yeah as long as you finished your homework. he would Not say “idk man ask your dad” or whatever, and if he did chris would think it was weird. and eddie would think it was weird too. because he treats buck like his husband.

#911 #buddie #does this make sense

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darkmatilda · 7 months ago

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𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐚 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you thought that after a certain misunderstanding, your relationship had taken on a purely platonic and friendly form but then the investigation sent you to the freezing wilderness of alaska, where every night you find warmth in his bed.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x fem!bau reader, the same reader as in my story "the bolter" but it's not necessary to read it before! there are no major references, but people who have read it might treat this as a continuation (if they want to). in this story, we still have our wonderful queen elle greenaway, gideon and morgan, and many of my attempts (not always successful) at being funny. mostly smut with A LOT of plot, description of the case, oral (f receiving) and some much actions but described in a subtle way. a little bit of angst, but I wouldn't be myself if I didn't add some. again, GLASSES REID!!

𝐚/𝐧: first fic at the beginning of the month, i really wanted to post it today. i think it's time to start posting christmas-themed works? would you be interested? by the way, i hope december will treat you kind <3

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 11k

“I’m freezing, God, I’m freezing.”

“Me too, look how I’m shaking, I swear, one more hour and my feet will fall off, and then my toes…”

“Guys, for god’s sake!” Morgan finally spoke up, his voice tinged with impatience. The hood of his waterproof, windproof jacket covered almost half of his face, and even so, he was clearly the lightest dressed of all of them. “We’ve landed.” He pulled off a glove to check his watch. “Just under fifteen minutes ago. You still don’t know shit about freezing, so stop complaining like a bunch of old women in a knitting cycle…”

“I’d love to be an old lady in a knitting circle right now,” you sighed, your breath immediately turning to steam. You exchanged a look with Reid, who was freezing just as much as you were, and together, you had been driving Derek crazy with your whining. You all had similar gear, thermal layers, and jackets designed for extreme conditions, but it still wasn’t enough. “Sitting by the fireplace, knitting a sweater. Gossiping with other retirees.”

“Exchanging gingerbread recipes,” Spencer suggested, his tone just as wistful.

“And sharing tips for dealing with worms in our cats’ anuses,” you added.

“I’m done," Derek muttered.

Your work often sent you to various corners of the United States, but it rarely involved Alaska. Well, due to the state’s relatively low population density compared to others, fewer crimes were committed there, especially at the federal level.

However, in recent weeks, strange disappearances had occurred—teenagers and young men. Their bodies were found in remote areas, deep in the forest or in completely uninhabited wilderness, places so isolated that even an experienced survivalist would struggle to find their way out.

The local police, as local police often do in most criminal cases, initially pretended there wasn’t a problem, insisting the victims had died as a result of tragic accidents, simply getting lost during a hike. But when the number of deaths began to rise, and the victims included even high school students—locals who were well aware of the dangers of wandering alone after dark in such perilous areas—the case landed on JJ’s desk.

And so, you found yourselves in the brutally frigid surroundings of Fairbanks, heading toward the inn where you were supposed to drop off your things and immediately dive into the investigation.

"The temperature this week is going to range from 15 to 5 degrees Fahrenheit," Spencer informed you over his shoulder as he opened the car trunk to retrieve the luggage. "Of course, that's during the day. At night, it’ll drop as low as -4 degrees."

Elle shivered as he handed her her bag.

"I was doing just fine without those numbers," she said, nudging you lightly with her shoulder—a touch you barely felt through the thick layers of clothing. "What do you say we make up for this with a New Year’s trip? Mallorca? The Himalayas?"

"I’m dreaming of the Caribbean," Morgan chimed in. "Beaches, sunshine, and cocktails—that’s what I’ll be dreaming of tonight."

"And half-naked sunbathers," you added.

"And half-naked sunbathers," he agreed with a grin.

Elle trudged ahead, sinking into the snow up to her calves. The inn was a sizable wooden building, adorned with balconies and terraces that, given the weather, likely went unused, though they added considerable charm. It was tucked away in a secluded spot, offering privacy and a peaceful atmosphere—ideal for work.

You lingered by the car, waiting for Reid to grab his things, unwilling to leave him behind.

“Do you know much about the northern lights, Rudolph?” you teased, nodding toward his red-tipped nose. “I’ve always dreamed of seeing them.”

“Well, then you’re in luck,” he replied, looking at you with a slight smile. “We’re in one of the best places to see them, during the season with the longest nights. They’ll be visible pretty early, though the most stunning views will probably happen between ten at night and two in the morning. I’ve always wanted to see them in person too.”

"So, what do you think?" you asked, raising your eyebrows. "Midnight, at my door, and we’ll go play aurora hunters?"

You shivered just at the thought. Of course, you were joking—there was no way you'd even stick a single hand out from under the covers at this hour with those freezing nighttime temperatures. You planned to admire the beautiful phenomenon from your room window. Warm, you hoped.

"Alright. Just make sure you bundle up,"

"Sure. Thermal thong and all that."

Your room was on the same floor as Elle's and JJ's, and you were glad to have them just behind the next door. Unpacking took you only a minute, and within that time, you were all together, sitting as a team, going through the case files.

“These boys were so young,” JJ remarked, shaking her head with a hint of dread. “Sixteen, the youngest, twenty-four, the oldest. They were found in such remote locations that if it hadn’t been for the ongoing professional search and the dogs, who knows how long it would have taken before anyone stumbled upon their bodies.”

“Given the heavy snowfall, they might not have been found until the thaw. What do their parents and families say about all of this?” Hotch asked.

“Unanimously, they believe their kids would never have ventured that far on their own. This is where the mystery starts, though, because there were no wounds on their bodies, except for the ones they inflicted on themselves in their attempts to survive in the cold.”

“So, it looks like someone kidnapped them, drove them out to a place you’d never get out of without serious survival skills, and just left them to die?” Derek asked, baffled.

“Seems that way. Yesterday, an eighteen-year-old named David Moore was reported missing. Normally, it probably would have been classified as a delayed return home or maybe a runaway, and the police wouldn’t have even taken the report. But given the current circumstances and the rising panic among the locals, his parents decided not to wait. A wise decision.”

"How many hours has it been since he went missing?" you asked, running your own grim calculations in your head. "Around eight, right? Is it even possible for him to survive the night out there in these conditions?"

"That depends on what he was wearing and the specific location where he was left," Reid explained, thoughtfully cleaning the lenses of his glasses. You realized it had been a while since you’d seen him wearing them—he used to wear them daily, but lately, it was only on occasion. For a moment, you found yourself staring at his face, liking how the dark frames suited it.

"His parents believe he was likely abducted on his way home from tutoring," Elle noted, flipping through the case file. "People around here dress warmly as a habit, but even so, I doubt his everyday clothes would be particularly suited to weather like this. At night. In the middle of the woods."

An uncomfortable silence followed her words, broken only by Hotch clearing his throat.

"Anyway, we need to join the ongoing search efforts. We’ll be more useful out in the field than trying to build a profile with the scraps of information we have. I’m not sure if I need to remind you, but out of habit, I will: be cautious and don’t, under any circumstances, stray from the search group. They know this area."

Before you all moved out to get to work, Reid shot you a fleeting glance. Like a dad, you mouthed silently, and he let out the faintest chuckle. You both enjoyed spotting those unmistakably parental tendencies in your boss, though they were directed at you and the rest of the team.

Hours of searching had, unfortunately, yielded no results—the crushing pressure of time bore down on you all. The knowledge that each passing moment was stripping this boy of his chances for survival felt almost unbearable. If he had somehow managed to survive the first eight hours in the forest, sixteen seemed an increasingly unlikely feat.

And yet, hope lingered. The group, driven by his distraught family, refused to stop, likely continuing to scour the area despite warnings. Meanwhile, you stood in your hotel room, so close to the window that the cold glass brushed against your nose.

Your thoughts were consumed by the case and the fate of the teenager. Just as Reid had said, the sky was illuminated by that breathtaking greenish glow. Watching it felt almost surreal, and you wanted to take in as much of it as your eyes could hold.

If it weren’t for the fact that you had frozen to your very core during the search, you might have stepped outside to see it more clearly.

Just as the thought crossed your mind, there was a knock at your door.

You furrowed your brow, not expecting anyone. When you opened it, you came face to face with none other than Spencer. Well, it was hard to tell it was him at first. He was bundled up so tightly in layers of warm clothes that his body lost its natural shape and resembled more of a puffy ball than a person.

"Hey," he greeted awkwardly, raising his hand hesitantly and scanning your appearance from head to toe. "You're not ready yet. Sorry, I think I came too early. I thought we were meeting at midnight..."

"We were meeting?"

"For the northern lights hunt, you forgot? I checked the Kp index, it's a measure of aurora activity that determines its intensity, and it turns out tonight is really favorable... wait, why are you laughing?"

His furrowed brows and face, barely visible in the dimly lit hallway but clearly confused, only made you laugh harder. Shaking your head in disbelief, you covered your smile with your hand.

"Spencer, I was joking," you said, suddenly feeling guilty that your sarcasm had led him to spend time and effort preparing for a night out. "There’s no way I'm going out in this cold. I’d rather dive headfirst into boiling water, at least that would be warmer."

“Oh,” he let out a short, disappointed sigh. He quickly nodded, as if trying to accept the situation, and forced a more neutral expression. “I—I really thought you were serious. Sorry for... for waking you up, then.”

For a moment, you stood in silence, your hand resting on the doorframe. An odd, unexpected thought sprinted through your mind. It had been such a long time since the two of you had been together like this, late at night, in the same room...

“Well, in that case,” he cleared his throat, snapping you out of your thoughts. “I’m sorry again. Let’s just pretend this didn’t happen, okay? Forget I came here and embarrassed myself. That’s all. Sorry. I should probably go if I want to avoid being completely sleep-deprived tomorrow...”

“Go where?” you interrupted, suddenly standing straighter, alarmed.

“Aurora hunting.”

“By yourself? Spencer, have you lost your mind?”

He opened and closed his mouth, caught off guard by your outburst.

“Well, I don’t know when I’ll ever get another chance like this, being in the Arctic Circle...”

“It’s pitch dark and freezing cold. You don’t know the area—”

“...I’ve had a chance to look around, and I’m not going far. There’s a small hill just behind the inn—”

“...And there’s a freaking serial killer on the loose around here, did you forget?”

“Well, I have a gun.”

“Well, I’m not letting you go,” you cut him off firmly, crossing your arms over your chest. Spencer tilted his head, clearly ready to argue further, but before he could speak, you added, “Give me five minutes.”

“What?”

“Five minutes to get dressed. I’m coming with you.”

At first, you could have sworn a faint smile flickered across his lips. But then, just as quickly, he shook his head vehemently.

“No, really, you don’t have to. Not just because of me. I’ll be fine…”

"Five minutes," you repeated once more, slightly flustered and trying not to dwell on the fact that the moment you stepped outside, you’d likely regret this decision. “Wait here. Or come inside—I don’t want to shut the door in your face.” As you spoke, you opened the door wider, inviting him in.

Without wasting another second, you headed straight for your suitcase. Okay, how many layers does one need for a night outside in Alaska?

“I actually bought a set of thermal underwear specifically for this case,” you said, pulling out the essentials from your bag. Most of what you’d worn during the day would work fine, but you debated adding an extra sweater and another pair of socks. “And, oh my God, I hate it. I’d rather wear lace thongs 24/7 than spend more than eight hours in this bugger.”

You glanced subtly over your shoulder, curious to see his reaction and waiting for his reply. It wasn’t like you wanted to embarrass him, but you absolutely adored how, in response to even your most suggestive remarks, he could always respond with complete seriousness—like he was dissecting some profound issue. Judging by the furrow of his brow, this time would be no different.

“Really? You know, thermal underwear is generally associated with comfort. The fabric is typically elastic, soft, and breathable. High-quality models are even seamless, so they don’t cause any chafing. Maybe you bought a poorly fitted one?”

“Maybe. I don’t know, I have no expertise in this area. It digs in so much, though, and I have to keep myself from adjusting it. Can you imagine me sticking my hand in my pants right in front of the missing boy’s family?”

He hesitated before responding.

“Not really. But I can picture Hotch’s face.”

“And I can picture a termination notice on my desk the next day,” you quipped.

You grabbed all the clothes you had gathered and disappeared into the bathroom to layer them on. It wasn’t a quick job—by the end, you felt like your movements were completely restricted by the weight of it all—but at least you were prepared. When the first merciless blast of Alaskan air brushed against the tiny exposed part of your face, it didn’t immediately make you want to run back inside screaming.

Instead, you sighed in awe.

"I know I’ve invoked God's name a hundred times already, but God, this is beautiful," you said, feeling your own words too inadequate to describe the miracle above your heads. The streaks of light stretching across the sky, an intense green with a certain transparency, a glassy quality, the stars peeking through it all.

Spencer turned to you over his shoulder. He was only a couple of steps ahead, but he kept doing it as if afraid that in a moment of not seeing you, you'd fall into the snow and disappear forever.

“Wait until we get to the spot,” he said, his smile clearly excited. In his dark eyes, the light seemed to reflect and stay there, even when he blinked, as though he had already absorbed it all deep inside. “It’s only ten minutes away, but it makes a difference.”

"I hope you're not one of those people who says, 'Oh, it's just around the corner, we don't need a cab!' and then leads you to walk halfway across the city" you scoffed. You tried to keep your gaze fixed on his back, his lantern swinging in his hand. Alaska, the vast empty terrain, the thick layers of snow, seemed to hide some sort of mystery beneath them, and it filled you with a fair amount of fear. "Will you shield me with your chest if a bear jumps out at us?"

"Actually, yes, I would," he replied. "But not because of heroism, it's more because I have bear spray in my pocket, and by that very fact, it's probably my duty."

"Okay, let’s make a deal: you protect us from a potential bear attack, and I’ll take care of Bigfoot. By the way, that legend never really scared me. A monkey with gigantic feet just sounds too ridiculous to me. Remember that episode of History's Mysteries that we watched at your place?"

You both shared a love for a certain TV show about conspiracy theories and famous mysteries from around the world.

"Of course. You know part of it was filmed right here in Fairbanks? Bigfoot never really fascinated me either, but I liked that at the end of the episode they also mentioned other Alaskan legends. Like The Kushtaka, for example."

"I don't remember that. But I'm not sure I want you to tell me," you confessed, taking a breath, the cold biting into your lungs. Despite the layers of clothing, it was getting colder and colder, but at least you'd finally reached the spot Spencer had chosen. He was right; the vast plain on the small hill was perfect for watching the aurora. You had the feeling that the sky was only an inch above your head, and a childlike urge to reach up and touch it. "Alright, you've got me too intrigued. Go ahead."

You noticed that, unlike you, Spencer wasn't tilting his head back to gaze at the sky. He was looking at you.

"The Kushtaka is a creature from the folklore of the surrounding tribes. It is most often described as a hybrid of a human and an otter..."

You couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

"Otters, seriously? Is that supposed to chill me to the bone?"

Spencer raised an eyebrow in a somewhat sarcastic manner.

"Okay, let me tell you the story differently," he proposed in a similar tone, swallowing as if to prepare himself for the tension-building drop in his voice. "Just like now, we're heading out to see the northern lights. Just the two of us, surrounded by nothing but darkness. The sky is overcast that day, and there’s hardly any light to see." At that moment, he switched off the flashlight he was holding, and his previously well-lit face faded into obscurity. You crossed your arms over your chest, silently promising yourself you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being scared.

“In this story, do my thermal undies also ride up so uncomfortably?”

“Your underwear isn’t a significant part of this tale. Anyway… crap, where was I?”

“The thought of my underwear distracted you?”

You heard him sigh, almost in exasperation, and a sly smile spread across your face.

“Let me continue. No more comments about underwear.”

“My underwear or in general?”

“SO WE’RE HEADING TO SEE THE NORTHERN LIGHTS. It’s dark, it’s creepy, and you’ve got chills running down your spine. Then suddenly, you realize you’ve lost me.”

“Phew,” you exhaled with theatrical relief. “Finally got rid of that creep who kept obsessing over my underwear.”

"You know what, I’m done. I’m done. I won’t tell you the story about the human-otter hybrid."

“I’m devastated by this fact!” you assured him in the same overly dramatic tone. Taking it a step further, you jumped toward him, desperately grabbing the fabric of his jacket. “Dr. Reid, please, I beg you, tell me about the human-otter hybrid. I need this. I’ll sell my soul and body, just please…”

Spencer threw his head back, laughing, and as you tried to calm yourself down, you leaned against him. Taken by surprise, he lost his balance, sending both of you toppling into the snow.

“Damn, we’re going to be wet!” he groaned, trying to get up from the deep snowdrift you both had fallen into. It wasn’t the easiest task with all the layers of clothing and a girl who was dying of laughter on top of him.

“I think that’s enough of our aurora watching,” you said once you both finally managed to get back on your feet. Despite the ski pants and very, very warm clothes, you were starting to feel frozen. “And enough of your legends. It’s late, and we should head back.”

“You didn’t let me finish,” he complained, sounding like a little puppy that had been scolded for peeing on the carpet.

“You can tell me on the way,” you replied. “Come on.”

You sent one last glance toward the sky before moving forward, your mind focused entirely on the vision of a hot, soothing bath and a blanket with an extra layer for warmth. For the rest of the walk, Spencer didn’t try to use his low voice or mysterious narrative tone. He finished the story in his usual manner, sounding more like a fascinated lecturer. You couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed—he had sounded really sexy earlier, you had to admit.

When you both got back to the guesthouse, you glanced at the stairs leading up to your room and shook your head in refusal.

“If I don’t get under at least five blankets right this second, I’m going to die, so sorry my dear, but I’m coming to you and I won’t leave until I’m warm, or I’ll never leave at all,” you said quickly and firmly.

Spencer raised an eyebrow but replied just as energetically.

“I don’t think I have five blankets in my room.”

“Three will be fine.”

And that's exactly how it went. First, you took off your jackets, and then, in your typical everyday clothes, you quickly jumped into bed, covered with the duvet up to your neck, waiting for the pleasant warmth to spread across your bodies.

“Was seeing the aurora worth all that suffering?' you asked, turning onto your side in bed so you could face him.

'Well, it wouldn't have been suffering if someone hadn't shoved both of us into the snow...'

He said this while lying on his back, but shortly after these words, he followed your lead and also turned onto his side. Your breath became shallower. It had been almost a year since you last had him this close, almost a year since you slept together, and then decided to let the situation fade into oblivion.

Honestly, you almost succeeded. After all, that incident was like every other encounter you had with guys. Spontaneous, one-time, followed by bolting. But you didn’t see those other guys afterward. Every day at work, forced to watch him wipe his glasses, his damn glasses, with the same fingers he…

“Are you thinking about something specific?” he suddenly asked, his voice eerily similar to the one he used to tell you the story on the hill, a voice you found so sexy.

That was the kind of man Spencer Reid was. Always wanting to know what was going on inside your head.

You sighed, probably too loudly.

"You don't want to know what I'm thinking right now,"

You felt a little pathetic, realizing that your whole excuse about not being able to go to your room was just a pretext to end up in his bed. Once again. This whole trip to Alaska must have really messed with your head. Or maybe it cleared the fog in your mind and left a single thought, naked and defenseless. You wanted him.

"I know how pathetic that sounds, but I always want to know what you're thinking," he replied after a moment, swallowing audibly. You heard it clearly, you were so close. So close...

You had to make a quick decision: whether to continue and face the consequences the next day, or, perhaps worse, to be rejected? It was possible that he had learned from your last time together, and didn’t want to get involved with you that way.

"I can show you what I'm thinking," you finally proposed, not blinking for a long moment, just carefully studying the features of his face, any signs of uncertainty or tension.

Because there was that one small seed of probability that he wanted you too.

His lips parted, but were immediately covered by your kiss.

Slow and curious. How did he taste after all this time?

Maybe it was a thought whispered by the moment, but you had the feeling that even better.

You didn’t play the role of a taster for too long. Soon, still not pulling his lips away from yours, you lifted yourself into a sitting position, propping yourself up with your elbow on the bed, pressing closer to him with every passing moment, more intensely and hungrily.

Something seemed to haunt you, preventing you from moving any further. Something in his posture—lying on his back, surrendered to your control, yet somehow absent.

You pulled away from his lips, your gazes meeting. There was a certain weakness and sadness in his eyes.

"Is something wrong?" you managed to ask, your voice strangely trembling.

Spencer suddenly sat up, straightening himself, though there was still a slight bend in his shoulders. His movement forced you to pull away from his chest.

"I can't do this," he confessed quietly, taking a deep breath. "I can't sleep with you." In a way, it hurt more than if he had simply refused to let you kiss him. Your forehead furrowed in disappointment and... shock?

"Why?" you asked directly, foregoing any excuses about not aiming for that. Because you had been.

He let out a laugh, filled with pity.

"Because after this, I won’t be able to stop thinking about you. And you, after tonight, won’t want me anymore."

You were breathing heavily, completely unsure of what to say. His words were painfully eye-opening, first and foremost. And secondly... true. Because did you plan, like a normal person, to wake up next to him, greet him, date him? That wasn’t how you operated. In your plans, there was always just one option—escape. Exactly like that time.

You slowly began to slide off the bed, his hand moved to reach for yours, and you hoped he would take it, but at the last moment, he hesitated. He hesitated.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," you reassured him, yet you didn’t look at him the whole time. You sounded stiff, almost reproachful, even though you were the one who should be reproached. You were the problem.

You looked around the floor, used to picking up your clothes from it, but this time there was nothing. Except for the jacket hung up and the ski pants you’d pulled on over your regular ones to avoid freezing in the cold night. Leaving without a word seemed excessive.

Your back rested against the door as you turned to look at him. Your quick-thinking mind raced, searching for something to say to at least salvage some dignity in this situation…

“Let’s pretend this didn’t happen,” you finally suggested.

Spencer was still sitting on the edge of the bed, as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to get up or stay there. Eventually, it seemed like he stayed, though you weren’t sure, having already turned toward the door, your hand pressing on the doorknob.

“T-think that’s the best solution,” he admitted, just as one of your feet stepped into the hallway.

Then, you heard someone whistling.

You immediately stepped back into his room, keeping your face turned toward the door.

“Damn, it’s Morgan,” you said, recognizing the person in the hallway by the sound alone. “We better not let him see me leave, or he’ll never leave us alone…”

You expected that when you turned around, you’d find him still sitting on the bed. After all, you hadn’t heard him get up, hadn’t heard him approach. You certainly didn’t expect that, when you turned, his lips would almost immediately attack yours.

It was so unexpected, so sudden, that the back of your head slammed against the door.

“Fuck, sorry…”

But you didn’t think for a second about the pain, nor did you focus on why Spencer had suddenly changed his mind. Your attention was solely on the two of you, two desperate pairs of lips pressing together and pulling apart, never staying away for long.

He pulled you toward him, wrapping his arms around your waist. Unlike the last time, it was your back that hit the mattress first. The cool surface, the heated bodies, and the weight of the layers of clothing between you both.

"You've changed," you noticed.

A different dynamic. The pace was set by him—just moments ago, you were standing by the door, and now, half of your clothes were gone, while the soft skin of your neck was buried under a cascade of messy, impatient kisses.

"Do you like it?" he asked, his face hovering above yours, one hand resting on the bed next to it.

"I haven't gotten enough to say for sure," you replied, teasingly. "But I get the feeling you're more confident now. A lot of practice since last time?"

He shrugged.

"I don't think it's about practice," he said, his hand sliding down your side until it stopped at the waistband of your pants, lingering there but not moving any lower. You reached for his hand, brushing against it before trailing your fingers along its length up to his forearm, feeling one of his veins beneath your fingertips. "I guess... I was just scared you'd leave, and I had to stop you somehow. That’s why I rushed," he admitted.

His gaze lingered mostly on your face, but it wandered across your body, his frustration clear as he eyed the layers of clothing still in his way. Something about his desperation and impatience stirred something playful in you, and you couldn’t resist teasing him.

Propping yourself up on one elbow, you tilted your chin to look at him.

“If I tried to leave right now, how would you stop me?”

The corner of his mouth twitched at your question, but he decided to play along, nodding thoughtfully.

“I think I’ve got a few ideas.”

“Care to show me?” you asked, your voice dripping with challenge.

For a moment, he didn’t move at all, just kept staring at you, until he allowed himself that first, utterly shameless drop of his gaze and a soft sigh. His lips began their journey, starting at their usual, safe spot on your neck, trailing toward your shoulder, and crossing over your collarbone with deliberate intent. You were still half-sitting, struggling to steady your breathing so your chest wouldn’t rise and fall too much or too quickly, trying not to disrupt him. The first hint of uncertainty appeared between your breasts when his kisses momentarily softened, carefully exploring unfamiliar territory and testing your sensitivity.

You struggled more and more to keep yourself from collapsing fully onto the mattress. But when his cool tongue met your skin, pressing against it so firmly that his forehead brushed against your stomach, relentlessly moving lower, you couldn’t hold out any longer.

He was between your knees, bent in anticipation. He reached them, sliding his hands down your thighs and coaxing them to relax. He fumbled a bit while unbuttoning your pants, and had trouble sliding them down while you were lying there. You lifted your hips to help, even tried to do it yourself, but he stopped your hands, placing them above your head.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he said softly, finally freeing your legs from both pant legs. His hands wrapped around your ankles, his thumb tracing gentle circles around one of them, which somehow completely seized your attention, and you focused solely on that subtle motion. For a moment, you closed your eyes, and when you opened them again, you noticed that his chin was just above your panty line. "Actually, it will be much more pleasant for you if you just focus on feeling and nothing else. I was supposed to show you my ideas, remember?"

“As someone who apologized for being in too much of a hurry, you sure have an unexpectedly large amount of patience now,” you remarked with reproach, lifting your head again. Maybe keeping it down allowed for more comfort and relief for your neck, but on the other hand, the sight of his face immersed between your thighs was simply priceless.

If the sight itself was priceless, how do you describe that feeling?

With every move of his tongue, your hips swayed, adjusted to the rhythm. Often tense, trying to find some outlet, especially when sighs escaped his lips and his cool breath penetrated through you.

"Think I'm gonna cume embarrassingly quickly," you confessed, unsure whether he even understood anything from your sentence, which was at least interwoven with two moans. Three.

When it happened, you uncontrollably squeezed his head with your knees, a similar groan also came from his mouth.

Spender didn’t stay in that position for long. When you opened your tightly shut eyelids, his face was right above yours, stretched in such satisfaction, as if he was the one receiving pleasure.

"Was it too quick for you?" he asked, still absorbing you with the same gaze, which seemed to pulse with desire. "If you want, we can try again, you’ll surely improve..."

"My God, when did you become so cocky?"

He chuckled, but instead of answering, he once again pressed himself against your body and skin, closing his eyes in devotion and lingering on each spot for as long as it took, as if he could never be satisfied, no matter how much he took in.

Your hands, instead of tormenting the innocent fabric of the blanket, moved to his back, tightly embracing his neck and basically everything they could latch onto. All of his earlier composure seemed to evaporate; you didn’t even have to ask twice to make him slide in. It actually sounded more like an order than a request, a bit desperate, it's true, but still an order.

"How is it even possible that it feels even better than the last time?” His words, his lips, ticked your neck as he moaned out this question. "Just... I feel like I won’t have enough of you tonight."

"The night is long," you said, almost into the air, not really paying attention to the meaning behind it. "Tomorrow night too."

Spencer stopped, completely. His eyes desperately searched for yours, and when he finally found them, they widened in disbelief.

"Tomorrow night too?" he repeated. "But I thought... I thought you didn't want anything more than a one-night fling…”

"It's already our second," you reminded him. "And I'll be completely honest with you, I don’t want to walk around all day tomorrow sexually frustrated just at the sight of you. Let's make a deal, okay?"

"A deal?"

"Yeah. I'll tell you about it in a moment, but right now...Oh God, I think I’m gonna…”

You both got dressed right after, but not because either of you intended to leave. The temperature inside simply didn’t allow for sleeping naked, no matter how warm you were after sex.

"So?" he asked, handing you the piece of paper you had sent him to the bathroom for. Then he sat on the bed, facing you. "What did you mean by this deal?"

"Well, after thinking about it, I'm not sure if it's a good idea after all..."

"I want to know, even if just out of curiosity."

"You want to know everything, Spence. But fine. I thought maybe... while we're in Alaska, we could just, you know, allow ourselves to do whatever we want. In more direct terms, fuck each other as much as we want.”

It sounded a bit...crazy? Spencer kept his gaze suspended in the air for a moment before turning it back to you, questioning.

"But only as long as we're in Alaska?"

"Exactly. Since there's only one floor between us, why not take advantage of it?" you tried to joke, lightening the mood.

It didn’t seem to have much effect on him.

"But what happens next? When we get back?"

"Do we really have to think about that?" you wondered, moving closer to him, to the body that just moments ago made you feel so good. "We'll get used to being apart, just like before."

"Okay," he sucked in a breath, clearly torn over the proposal. "I mean, no, I didn’t mean okay... because it doesn’t seem like a great idea, but on the other hand... on the other hand, I really, really want you, even if it only means for this short time."

You smiled, though deep down, somewhere very deep, there was something somber in that gesture.

Ignoring that, you kissed him to seal the deal. And not just that.

"That was for good night and goodbye."

"Goodbye? You're leaving?" A clear look of disappointment crossed his face, but he quickly shook his head, trying to get rid of it. "Good night, then."

"It's not that I don't want to stay. It's just that it would be better to be well-rested for work, and I don't think we'd sleep properly if I decided to spend the night here. “

You saw him open his mouth, ready to protest, but you had already gotten up from the bed and started gathering your remaining things.

"Wait," he called as you were about to leave. "You said... you said something that's been bothering me, you know? I can even quote it, so listen up. You said that you don't want to walk around all day tomorrow sexually frustrated just at the sight of me."

You couldn't help but let out a burst of laughter.

"And that bothers you?"

"I don’t understand what you meant by that. What in my behavior makes you feel that way?"

"A lot of things."

"Like what?"

"I'll tell you someday. Maybe it's better if you're not aware of it."

"Hey, now I won’t be able to sleep!"

"Anyway, good night, sweet boy."

Almost the first thing in the morning, you found yourselves at the local police station, full of disappointment and anxiety. You had to inform the parents of the missing boy found in the forest that he had been located. But unfortunately, it was not good news.

The first hours of the day passed in constant analysis and discussion, until finally, around noon, you gathered in front of the town's police officers, ready to deliver the profile. You didn’t have much time for any reflection on the previous night, or even for a conversation with Spencer. A sober one this time, when you weren’t intoxicated by desire and each other.

You stood in the corner of the room, listening to Hotch and Gideon.

"The UNSUB is a white male, likely with military experience or, at the very least, extensive survival skills, estimated to be around 50-60 years old. He abducts teenagers, boys, and young men who look younger than their actual age, which suggests he doesn’t know his victims very well."

"If he observes them, it’s for a short period. He doesn’t have time to get to know them but understands their routine and daily schedule well enough to know when to strike."

"He doesn’t drug his victims, which means he is physically capable of abducting them without assistance. This ties into the type of victims he selects. All these boys were more the intellectual type than athletes. When abducted, they were coming from school, tutoring sessions, or the library. David Moore, for instance, was tall but lanky. His family described him as gentle, with a big heart and a passion for learning."

"The UNSUB abandons them in remote forest locations. Forcing them to fight for survival gives him a sense of control and serves as a way to prove his belief that modern society and boys today are incapable of handling adversity. He openly despises them, viewing them as weak and effeminate. His mindset reflects a toxic approach to gender roles and what he considers the traditional male archetype."

“White men aged 50-60 with survival skills make up about half the population here,” a policeman noted. “Take me, for example…”

Hotch began providing more detailed information, while Gideon stepped out of the center of the room, and the atmosphere became more relaxed.

You approached Reid, who was sitting in a chair, and ruffled his hair with your hand.

“Watch your back, genius-boy,” you warned, standing behind him. From his seat, he tilted his head all the way back to look up at you. A smile instantly appeared on his face.

“You might just be next. And we wouldn’t want that.”

“So, you think I’m effeminate?”

"I know very well that you're not. But you do have that intellectual spark in your eyes. And, you know, those glasses don’t help."

Ever since you’d been in Alaska, he’d worn them less often because, as he’d told you while chatting in bed, they kept fogging up. But now, they were perched on his nose, making him look... delectable. Simply delectable.

The rest of your team approached, Elle's gaze lingering on your hand resting on the back of Reid's chair. As usual, she had to notice everything.

"I need to send you all to a few places to check out some individuals the police have identified as matching the profile," Hotch announced. "Y/N and Elle, I’d like you to speak again with the bus driver who drove David Moore just before he was abducted. Once he understands the profile, he might be able to recall more details."

You lingered in the room, wanting to exchange a word with Spencer. In complete privacy... He was slowly wiping his glasses, as if hoping for the same. Watching the movements of his hands, you shook your head.

"This is it—what you asked me about yesterday. What makes me sexually frustrated. Our agreement still stands, right?" you asked, running your hand along his shoulder, just to touch him. Even though the many layers of clothing made it almost impossible to really feel him.

He looked at the glasses he was cleaning, then at you, disbelief written all over his face.

"That's what you meant? Cleaning glasses?"

"Don't judge me. It's about the motion. Or maybe the glasses themselves, I don't know. Maybe I’m a fetishist. Anyway, are you going to answer my question?"

Still seated in the chair, he had to tilt his head back to look at you, which reminded you—just a little, okay, a lot—of another situation where he was down below.

"What about you?" he countered. "You haven’t changed your mind?"

"Absolutely not."

"In that case, yes. It still stands."

“Oh, I don’t know what I’d do if you’d answered differently. See you tonight, then,” you promised, glancing around the room to make sure none of your team members were still there. Just a few local officers... who weren’t paying much attention to you. Even if they were, it wasn’t their business.

You leaned in quickly to kiss him. He closed his eyes, as if hoping for more.

“Not now, and not here. I need to go find Elle. Hotch gave us an assignment. Have a good one.”

You walked away, feeling his gaze on your back.

You found your friend in the car, one of those suited for tough terrain, with high tires. She was sitting behind the wheel, tapping her nails on it.

"So, what was the address of that driver?" you asked, fastening your seatbelt.

"Forgive my bluntness, darling, but I’ll die if I don’t know. What was that all about?"

"What do you mean, ‘What was that all about’?"

"Oh, come on, you know exactly what I mean. Messing with his hair, the chair, the looks. Are you two sleeping together again?"

You technically had no reason to hide anything from her, after all, you trusted her completely and had never hesitated to talk about your sex life. But this time... you kind of liked the idea of keeping whatever happened between you and Spencer just between the two of you.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. We're just acting like we usually do," you said.

"Yeah?" She raised an eyebrow, slowly pulling away from the police station, her gaze shifting between the road and you. "Then what were those sounds last night from his room?"

"Oh shit, did we make noise?"

She smiled triumphantly.

"I don't know, you tell me. I'm just teasing you. I'm on a completely different floor. But I'll take that as an admission of guilt."

"Manipulative bitch!"

"I'll take that as a compliment. So?"

You rolled your eyes with a heavy sigh, but eventually, you confirmed her suspicion with a nod.

"I thought you didn't sleep with the same guy twice."

"The air in Alaska really does something strange to me."

"Sure. The air," she scoffed, and you furrowed your brows in slight confusion, looking at her, waiting for her to elaborate. The car glided along one of those completely empty, snow-covered roads where there was nothing to focus on. "You know, I wonder why you just don't admit that you like him?"

"I don't hide the fact that I like him."

"Then why not give it a try?"

"Try what, Elle?"

She glanced at you sideways, her lips tightening at your obviously irritated tone. She didn't mean to upset you, of course, but that's how you felt. She sighed, as if thinking about how to approach the subject.

"You've learned to live with it," she finally began, slowly and cautiously weighing her words. "With that fear. Of intimacy and commitment."

"It's just a preference."

"No, it's not a preference. It's fear. You're afraid that if you get emotionally close to someone, you'll be abandoned, and you don't want to risk another painful loss. You want to have full control over the relationship and disappear when you feel like it's fading. Usually in the morning. It's a common mechanism, and it's not just about you. And no mechanism can be broken without making an attempt."

"Elle, stop. You're profiling me, and you know how much I hate that."

And actually, you hated being confronted with the truth about yourself and being internally forced to draw conclusions about yourself.

It was easy, living without reflecting on oneself. Especially when those reflections were painful. You could hurt yourself, unsuccessfully trying to confront them, or flow along with their current, completely subordinated to them and deaf to the words of others, who said you were only hurting yourself in the bigger picture.

Elle dropped the subject, as you had arrived at the house of the man you were supposed to interview. She didn’t bring it up again afterward. The hours at work passed, and you only waited for that specific moment when you'd cross the threshold of that room again.

The previous night danced vividly in your mind, never slowing down or taking a break for a moment. As soon as he opened the door, you threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck, kissing his face, and unbuckling his belt.

Spencer took a sharp breath, shocked and amused, as soon as you touched him.

"It would be incredibly awkward if someone were at my place right now," he chuckled into your mouth, half of his sentence drowned out by your kiss.

You pulled your face away just slightly, raising your eyebrows. It was only then that you noticed he was wearing glasses. Oh, he was so completely unaware of what you were about to do to him...

"How many people do you bring to yourself every night?" you asked.

"In that regard, only you. Besides, this is only the second time, so I wouldn’t call it every night... but I could always be here with someone, talking..."

"Keeping each other warm," you added.

Your hands slid under the fabric of his clothes, brushing the lower part of his stomach.

He noticeably tensed under your fingers, swallowing slowly, impatient and pleading.

"Engaging in a worldview discussion and exchanging conclusions," he finished, a smile playing on his lips.

"Uh-huh. Exactly like we are now. Honestly, does that turn you on? Do you want me to share my political views while you’re eating me out?”

"This is probably the only scenario in which you could make me not feel pleasure because of it."

His hands hesitated, roaming uncertainly across your body, unsure of where to start. They brushed over so many spots, moving from one to the next, chaotic and desperate.

You didn’t know where to focus – on the lips in the hollow of your neck, on the hand on your hips, or the other, slipping lower and lower?

Or perhaps on that sound, right by your ear, sweet, pleading whimper?

Moan left your body just for that reason and you already knew how you wanted the rest of the night to unfold.

You gently pushed him back, and with quickened breath, you dropped to one knee, then the other.

"After yesterday, I couldn't stop thinking about you," you confessed, making sure your lips were close enough to his body as you spoke. You heard him inhale sharply, whispering something under his breath. "I couldn't focus on work at all. So today, I want to take care of you, completely."

You thought he would be satisfied with the offer; well, it was hard to deny that he was. Still, for some reason, he started shaking his head.

"N-no, that's not... I want to do it. Take care of you, I mean."

You couldn’t stop smiling, but at the same time, you weren’t about to back down, which should probably be enough to describe the dynamics of the following hours.

At times, it was brutally slow, while at other moments, it was hurried and impressive. Sometimes, you interrupted each other constantly, unable to stop talking, and at other times, the only sound filling the room was your two breaths, the only constant, restless, and laced with moans and cries.

"You’re not leaving me tonight, right?" he asked, drawing closer to your body and holding you almost pleadingly. You laughed against his skin, shaking your head in denial.

"At some point, I will have to. For about fifteen minutes, before everyone wakes up."

"You’ll say you just came by for something. To ask a question or something," he tried to convince you.

"Oh, at this early hour, looking like I’ve just done a two-hour workout? Derek would eat us alive. His eyebrow would never drop again. If I ever end up in hell, it will be with him there, looking at me like that." You tried to mimic his expression, tensing your jaw as you did.

"Stop, I feel harassed."

"You see? And if he found out about us, this is how the next... God, I can’t even predict when he’d get tired of it. Maybe in a year. Do you want to suffer for another whole year just to be with me for an extra fifteen minutes?"

"I’d be able to survive that," he declared quietly, placing his hand under your head and playing with your hair with one of his fingers. "But if you don’t want it, I’m not going to waste time and try to convince you."

"Sure," you scoffed playfully. "So many things could be done in that time."

"Like what?" he asked, clearly intrigued. "Try to sleep. What were you hoping for?"

"Nothing, nothing. But you used a plural in that sentence and then only gave one thing. So, I’m waiting for the rest."

"That’s an overinterpretation."

"More like a simple analysis of sentence structure."

"Maybe sometimes it's better to analyze a little less. Spencer."

"I don’t think I’m capable of that," he admitted, his tone a little more serious. You furrowed your brow, looking at his pale face in the weak light, showing signs of the night’s exhaustion. "That’s just how my brain works. It doesn’t give me much time to rest."

You often wondered what the world looked like from his perspective. How, in many ways, his genius was both a revelation and a curse. But you’d never heard him complain about it—until now. In fact, it wasn’t even a complaint, just a statement of fact, somewhat melancholy.

You kissed the top of his head, hoping it would have a soothing effect.

And indeed, it worked. He moved even closer to you, rested his head, and after a moment, almost at the same time, your eyelids fell.

The morning passed slowly and longingly, even though you were still so close to each other. However, there was the awareness that with the arrival of the day, you would have to wait many, many hours before you saw each other again. In a similar way, you meant. After all, at work, you constantly spent time together, which only made everything more difficult. It would have been much easier to push him out of your head and focus, if it weren’t for that.

Meanwhile, Spencer, perhaps trying to gently play on your nerves, cleaned his glasses much more often than necessary. But there was also the possibility that he was doing it the same amount as usual, and you were just imagining it.

"Are you doing that again?" Morgan nodded in his direction as a greeting when you were sitting in the guesthouse room that served as your team's meeting place. There was a long table in there, similar to the one in your office, but much narrower. Sitting across from Reid, you could easily touch his hand. If you wanted to. "Is this some new nervous tic of yours? Polishing them?"

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," Spencer furrowed his brow in mock surprise, stopping the corner of his mouth from twitching. You kicked him under the table, and he couldn’t suppress a gasp.

To hide your amusement, you covered your face with your hand, but Morgan immediately picked up on it.

"Is this some new inside joke of yours?"

"He’s literally just polishing his glasses, leave him alone," you said.

Morgan’s eyebrows raised in the same way you had imitated him the night before. Neither of you could hold it in and burst into laughter.

"What’s going on?" JJ asked, walking into the room.

"Something very strange is going on," Derek announced mysteriously, staring at you both intently. His hands were resting on his hips, and his head tilted in thought. "Something very strange..."

Then Hotch arrived, even more serious than usual, which immediately dispelled the good mood. The rest of the team also arrived—Elle and Gideon—and everyone took their seats at the table.

"In the past few hours, there hasn’t been any concerning missing person reports," Hotch informed you. "On one hand, that’s good; on the other, it means the unsub will strike again soon. And we can’t let that happen."

"And you even have a plan," Gideon stated, with some sort of understanding in his eyes.

Hotch looked at you all with hesitation before nodding in confirmation.

"That's right, I have. I've concluded that we have no choice but to set a trap."

At those words, his gaze rested on Spencer, which was enough for you to figure it all out even before the main subject did.

"With all due respect, Hotch, have you lost your mind?!"

And how exactly do you envision this?" Elle asked, not as shaken as you but clearly concerned. "Sure, he fits the profile of his victims, but how is he supposed to set himself up? Walk around town and hope to get kidnapped?"

"At least two of the victims were abducted on the same stretch of road, after getting off the bus at the same isolated bus stop while walking home alone. It’s an exceptionally safe location for him," your boss explained.

"Honestly, I’m not convinced," Derek interjected, staring ahead with a furrowed brow. "I just don’t think he’d use the exact same spot again. Word has probably spread around the area that the FBI is on the case. He might be more cautious and change his methods."

"But he might just as well try again," JJ said quietly. You looked at her with clear surprise, as you had expected that, with her characteristic care for the team, she would be against the idea. "Right now, it’s the only thing we can do to try to prevent another abduction."

You drew a breath, understanding her arguments but remaining entirely opposed. Your gaze finally fell on Spencer, for the first time since the idea had even been brought up. He was sitting very upright, his brow furrowed, and he slowly began nodding.

"JJ’s right, it’s the only thing we can do," he said. He wasn’t looking at Hotch, nor even at the team as a whole—he was looking at you, directly and only at you. A calming, slightly nervous smile crossed his face, making you scoff. "Nothing’s going to happen to me. You’ll all be around, on the bus, near the stop."

With his words, the decision was made, and all you could do was shake your head in disbelief.

"I want to be on the same bus," you declared desperately, crossing your arms over your chest. You simply couldn’t reconcile with the fact that Spencer was willingly putting himself in harm's way—especially when the unsub's desire was to hurt people like him. "I’ll pose as a civilian. A random young woman. I shouldn’t seem like a threat, and someone from our team has to be inside."

"You’re right," Hotch replied, looking at you with sharp attention. "But it will be Elle."

You and your friend exchanged a confused look, startled by the firmness in his voice.

"I don’t think it makes much of a difference," she tried to intervene, which made you feel grateful.

Although, it didn’t change anything…

"I’m not obligated to explain myself to you about this decision, especially in front of the entire team. This is an order," Hotch announced with almost brutal professionalism. "The only thing I can say is that we need someone who won’t break character until the very end. Someone who won’t let emotions cloud their judgment."

"Are you sure you’re up for this?" Gideon asked, directing the question at Spencer. His tone was understanding, prepared to accept any refusal without judgment.

This time, he didn’t look at you. As Spencer nodded in confirmation, he actually avoided your gaze.

"Then we have the whole day to prepare for the sting. Let’s hope this leads to catching the unsub," Hotch concluded the meeting, signaling that you could leave the table.

You were torn between staying and screaming at your boss or leaving the room after Reid. Well, the second option wouldn’t get you fired. And, honestly, it seemed like the better choice. It turned out he wanted to talk to you too, as he was clearly waiting for you in the narrow hallway of the inn, where animal antlers hung on the walls and an informational board about moose was displayed.

"Are you angry because I want to do this?" he asked, the narrow walls around you making you stand quite close. Well, not as close as you could be, but close enough to add gravity to the conversation and allow you to study his face carefully.

Especially his determination. The determination for this job, for solving the case, and for preventing others from suffering the same tragic fate at the hands of this killer. Finally, you understood that your reaction was a bit irrational. Because if the victims were young women with your looks... you’d agree to it without hesitation. Some hypocrisy, huh?

"No. I'm just terrified that you're going to do this," you confessed, your honesty and concern making his face twitch in surprise. You snorted, trying to ease the tension. "I’m angry at Hotch for calling me emotionally unstable in front of all of you."

Spencer smiled gently, though there was stress hiding behind it. He may have been determined to go through with it, but that didn’t change the fact that there was fear accompanying him. He tried not to show it, but anyone in his position would feel it.

"Well, in his defense, he phrased it a bit more subtly."

You let out a soft laugh, stretching your arm out to gently touch his forearm. As your hand slid up, you leaned in a little, the simple gesture helping you feel more grounded and at ease.

His gaze followed your movements with a gentle satisfaction. You didn’t pull him closer, you were simply stroking his arm in that easy, caring way that calmed both of you.

"You’ve never done this before, have you?" you asked quietly. "You’ve never put yourself in this position like this."

He shook his head in denial.

"I’m really... really worried that I’ll do something wrong and we won’t be able to catch him because of me."

"You should worry about yourself, Spencer. Not about that. I’m sure you’ll play your part better than anyone could. "But I really regret that I won’t be able to be right next to you, in case something goes wrong."

His lips parted and closed in a kind of... amusement?

"I was going to say that maybe Hotch could be convinced, but then I realized, no, he won’t be. No matter what you say. And besides, having you there wouldn’t let me focus fully."

"I’m aware of that," you joked, tossing your hair dramatically. "After all, I look stunning."

"I was more referring to the fact that I’d be focused only on making sure nothing happens to you, but yeah. That’s one of the reasons too."

You fell silent, oddly moved by that confession. It was so simple, driven by care, affectionate. And it definitely made your head spin in the context of your relationship. You shook your head, pulling yourself away from those thoughts. As long as you were in Alaska, you could afford anything. After that, who knows.

You swallowed and put on a playful expression, it came with some effort, but you managed.

"Okay, genius-boy. Let me prepare you. You need to know how to behave."

"I thought I was just supposed to be myself," he noted, letting you pull him by the wrist.

"Well, mostly, yes. But it's still better to rehearse, get you into character. Don't you have any random fun facts to share?"

"I always have some fun facts to share. An endless amount."

"We'll see."

For the rest of the day, up until the inevitable moment of setting the trap for the unsub, you listened carefully to everything he had to say. His constant chatter allowed him to occupy his mind, pushing the stress aside to the point that, when it was time for him to head to the designated location, he seemed almost surprised that the hour had come. Only then did certain shadows begin to cross his face.

You paced restlessly around the inn as the whole team prepared. Your task was to take a position with Gideon at a certain distance from the bus stop, to cut off the unsub's escape route if necessary. The bus driver had agreed to cooperate, and JJ was giving him instructions, asking him to act as naturally as possible. There were to be no civilians on board, only Elle and a few inconspicuous local police officers. Hotch and JJ planned to follow the bus from a distance by car. Morgan was to lay low at the bus stop, also posing as a civilian.

You moved closer to Spencer, breathing heavily, his presence alone calming you down.

“You’ll be fine,” you reassured him just before you were about to leave. Morgan gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder, and everyone was still gathered around you. You gently hugged him, just as any other friend would, just like Elle and JJ had moments before.

He, on the other hand, wasn’t concerned with appearances. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and rested his chin on top of your head in a strong, lingering embrace.

“Y/N, you and Gideon need to go now," Hotch interrupted.

As you were walking away, you noticed out of the corner of your eye that he also gave Reid a brief squeeze on the shoulder.

It was a truly tense moment. You found yourself in a position where you had no visibility on what was happening inside the bus, nor could you gauge the gravity of the situation. All you could hear through the earpiece was Elle's whispered signal informing you that the suspect, fitting the profile, had just entered the vehicle.

And even though you didn’t have high hopes for the plan, everything unfolded exactly as it was meant to. Spencer exited the bus, and the unsub followed him. The suspect seemed intent on tracking him down that desolate, shadowy road, planning to attack and abduct him. But at the last moment, Reid turned, and before the man could react, he was surrounded by the police.

On your last night in Alaska, you found yourself on top, with his head resting against the headboard of the bed, his hands placed on your hips, and in a position where you could look at each other and talk.

"You really did great today," you praised, leaning in to gently kiss his collarbone.

He didn't seem flattered by your words, no smile on his lips, just that sad, aching expression that caused you pain. Wanting to shake off the feeling, you quickened your movements, hoping it would work, but then he tightened his embrace, making you slow down once again.

"I want... I want to enjoy you," he said with a slightly embarrassed tone, his fingers tracing restless, tender circles on your bare skin. "Since this is our last time together."

For a moment, he gazed at your face, as if hoping you would say something. But he couldn't find any trace in your expression that would suggest you had changed your mind. The small, naive spark in his eyes faded. Elle's words about breaking the cycle echoed in your mind, but not in your heart. You couldn't turn them into reality; you simply couldn't. The agreement remained the agreement.

Once you returned, everything would go back to how it was before.

another author's note: I plan to create a tag list and I want to know who among you would like to be on it. please, let me know in the comments.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spence reid #spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut #criminal mind #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

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foone · 2 years ago

Text

why are printers so hated? it's simple:

computers are good at computering. they are not good at the real world.

the biggest problems in computers, the ones that have had to change the most over the time they've existed, are the parts that deal with the real world. The keyboard, the mouse, the screen. every computer needs these, but they involve interacting with the real world. that's a problem. that's why they get replaced so much.

now, printers: printers have some of the most complex real-world interaction. they need to deposit ink on paper in 2 dimensions, and that results in at least three ways it can go on right from the start. (this is why 3D printers are just 2D printers that can go wrong in another whole dimension)

scanners fall into many of the same problems printers have, but fewer people have scanners, and they're not as cost-optimized. But they are nearly as annoying.

This is also why you can make a printer better by cutting down on the number of moving elements: laser printers are better than inkjets, because they only need to move in one dimension, and their ink is a powder, not a liquid. and the best-behaved printers of all are thermal printers: no ink and the head doesn't move. That's why every receipt printer is a thermal printer, because they need that shit to work all the time so they can sell shit. And thermal is the most reliable way to do that.

But yeah, cost-optimization is also a big part of why printers are such finicky unreliable bastards: you don't want to pay much for them. Who is excited for all the printing they're gonna be doing? basically nobody. But people get forced to have a printer because they gotta print something, for school or work or the government or whatever. So they want the cheapest thing that'll work. They're not shopping on features and functionality and design, they want something that costs barely anything, and can fucking PRINT. anything else is an optional bonus.

And here's the thing: there's a fundamental limit of how much you can optimize an inkjet printer, and we got near to it in like the late 90s. Every printer since then has just been a tad smaller, a tad faster, and added some gimmicks like printing from WIFI or bluetooth instead of needing to plug in a cable.

And that's the worst place to be in, for a computer component. The "I don't care how fancy it is, just give me one that works" zone. This is why you can buy a keyboard for 20$ and a mouse for 10$ and they both work plenty fine for 90% of users. They're objectively shit compared to the ones in the 60-150$ range, but do they work? yep. So that's what people get.

Printers fell into that zone long, long ago, when people stopped getting excited about "desktop publishing". So with printers shoved into the "make them as cheap as possible" zone, they have gotten exponentially shittier. Can you cut costs by 5$ a printer by making them jam more often? good. make them only last a couple years to save a buck or two per unit? absolutely. Can you make the printer cost 10$ less and make that back on the proprietary ink cartridges? oh, they've been doing that since Billy Clinton was in office.

It's the same place floppy disks were in in about 2000. CD-burners were not yet cheap enough, USB flash drives didn't exist yet (but were coming), modems weren't fast enough yet to copy stuff over the internet, superfloppies hadn't taken over like some hoped, and memory cards were too expensive and not everyone had a drive for them. So we still needed floppy disks, but at the same time this was a technology that hadn't changed in nearly 20 years. So people were tired of paying out the nose for them... the only solution? cut corners. I have floppy disks from 1984 that read perfectly, but a shrinkwrapped box of disks from 1999 will have over half the disks failed. They cut corners on the material quality, the QA process, the cleaning cloth inside the disk, everything they could. And the disks were shit as a result.

So, printers are in that particular note of the death-spiral where they've reached the point of "no one likes or cares about this technology, but it's still required so it's gone to shit". That's why they are so annoying, so unreliable, so fucking crap.

So, here's the good news:

You can still buy a better printer, and it will work far better. Laser printers still exist, and LED printers work the same way but even cheaper. They're still more expensive than inkjets (especially if you need color), but if you have to print stuff, they're a godsend. Way more reliable.

This is not a stable equilibrium. Printers cannot limp along in this terrible state forever. You know why I brought up floppy disk there? (besides the fact I'm a giant floppy disk nerd) because floppy disks GOT REPLACED. Have you used one this decade? CD-Rs and USB drives and internet sharing came along and ate the lunch of floppy disks, so much so that it's been over a decade since any more have been made. The same will happen to (inkjet) printers, eventually. This kind of clearly-broken situation cannot hold. It'll push people to go paperless, for companies to build cheaper alternatives to take over from the inkjets, or someone will come up with a new, more reliable printer based on some new technology that's now cheap enough to use in printers. Yeah, it sucks right now, but it can't last.

So, in conclusion: Printers suck, but this is both an innate problem caused by them having to deal with so much fucking Real World, and a local minimum of reliability that we're currently stuck in. Eventually we'll get out of this valley on the graph and printers will bother people a lot less.

Random fun facts about printing of the past and their local minimums:

in the hot metal type era, not only would the whole printing process expose you to lead, the most common method of printing text was the linotype, which could go wrong in a very fun way: if the next for a line wasn't properly justified (filling out the whole row), it could "squirt", and lead would escape through gaps in the type matrix. This would result in molten lead squirting out of the machine, possibly onto the operator. Anecdotally, linotype operators would sometimes recognize each other on the street because of the telltale spots on their forearms where they had white splotches where no hair grew, because they got bad lead burns. This type of printing remained in use until the 80s.

Another fun type of now-retired printers are drum printers, a type of line printer. These work something like a typewriter or dot-matrix printer, except the elements extend across the entire width of the paper. So instead of printing a character at time by smacking it into the paper, the whole line got smacked nearly at once. The problem is that if the paper jammed and the printer continued to try to print, that line of the paper would be repeatedly struck at high speed, creating a lot of heat. This worry created the now-infamous Linux error: "lp0 on fire". This was displayed when the error signals from a parallel printer didn't make sense... and it was a real worry. A high speed printer could definitely set the paper on fire, though this was rare.

So... one thing to be grateful about current shitty inkjet printers: they are very unlikely to burn anything, especially you.

(because before they could do that they'd have to work, at least a little, first, and that's very unlikely)

#printers #my writing

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heavenlybodies333 · 2 months ago

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Fake ID -A.H

dad!Aaron Hotchner x daughter!reader

3:07 A.M. – Alexandria Police Station

The metal bench is cold. Your heels are dangling from one finger. You’re tired. Hungover. And not nearly embarrassed enough.

The cop on duty gives you a side-eye as he hangs up the desk phone. “He’s on his way.”

You groan. “Did he sound mad?”

The cop snorts. “It’s Agent Hotchner. I don’t think he knows how to sound anything else.”

The next ten minutes are pure dread. You play with your bracelet, then your chipped nail polish, then the cuffs of your too-short skirt. You don’t have to wonder what’s about to happen. You know. It’ll be quiet. Controlled. Worse than yelling.

The door opens. You don’t even look. You feel him enter the room like a cold front. His footsteps are precise. The officer at the desk stood to greet him. “SSA Hotchner. Sorry to pull you out of work, sir, but—”

“She used a fake ID,” Hotch said, voice flat, interrupting. “To get into a club she has no business being in. And got arrested.” He signs the paperwork angrily and says, “Let’s go.”

You spend the entire drive in silence until you reach the Quantico parking garage. You blink. “You’re bringing me here?”

Hotch gets out of the car without answering.

“Dad—Dad, I can’t go in there. I’m not even wearing real pants.”

“You’re on academic suspension for a week. Congratulations. That means you’re my problem now.”

You jog to catch up with his long stride.“What kind of punishment is dragging me into federal ground?”

“The kind that makes sure you don’t sneak off to another bar while I’m working.”

You scowl. “Don’t you trust me?” He shoots you a look. “Okay. Bad question.”

5:45 A.M. - BAU Quantico

You trail behind your dad like a very grumpy shadow, wearing your dad’s oversized FBI windbreaker over your crop top. The team stares. “Heyyyyy,” Garcia teases, spinning in her chair. “Look who’s back from lockup!” Morgan grins wide. “Word travels fast.”

You drop into the nearest chair with a dramatic sigh. “It wasn’t jail-jail. It was holding. There weren’t even handcuffs. Technically.”

“Suspended for two weeks,” Hotch announced dryly. “Using a fake ID. Trying to get into a bar that got raided mid-shift.”

“Oh, don’t forget the part where I was polite to the officers,” you added, voice sunny.

“You told the sergeant to ‘suck your trust fund.’”

“Which I think is witty under pressure.”

Your dad gave you the full Unit Chief glare. “Technically I wasn’t caught,” you mutter. “They searched me.”

“Because you were in jail,” he reminds you.

When they break for coffee after their briefing, you try to sneak out toward the elevator. Your dad’s voice cuts through the bullpen. “Where are you going?”

You turn, shrug. “I don’t know. I figured maybe I’d... leave?”

“You’re not going anywhere,” he says, walking over. “You’re serving your suspension under supervision. Which means for the next week, you’re working with me.”

You scoff. “What, like a federal punishment? I have to file crime scene photos?”

“I have a backlog of cold cases that need sorting,” he says, folding his arms. “Garcia set up a station for you.”

Morgan walks by, hands in his pockets. “Hey, kid—next time you need a fake, I know a guy.”

You flip him off. “Bite me, Morgan.”

He laughs. “She’s definitely your kid, Hotch.”

You’re sitting sideways in Spencer’s chair, eating a granola bar and using his desk lamp as a phone stand. He walks in and just blinks at the sight of you. “I thought you were with Emily?”

You shrug. “He said he had to go do something that didn’t involve babysitting and then left me here with zero supervision. I could be hacking into the Pentagon right now.”

Spencer laughs and sits beside you. “So, um,” he starts, “you okay?”

You sigh. “I got arrested for using a fake ID to get into a bar, I’m suspended from college, and now I’m playing FBI secretary while my dad pretends I’m not falling apart in front of his coworkers. Peachy.”

Spencer offers a small, empathetic smile. “Want me to explain how magnetic strips work and how bouncers detect counterfeit scans?”

You snort. “God, you’re weird.”

“I’m trying to help.”

You glance through the glass. Your dad’s standing in his office, arms folded, pretending to focus on paperwork but clearly watching you.

“Did he yell at you?” Reid asks gently.

“No,” you say. “He doesn’t yell. He just gets… quiet. Cold. I’d honestly rather be screamed at.”

Reid nods, like he understands too well. “He’s not good at showing it. But he does care.”

“Yeah,” you mumble. “Sure doesn’t feel like it.”

At the end of the day, your dad walks over while you’re still elbow-deep in file folders.

He stands there for a second. Clears his throat.

“I shouldn’t have embarrassed you.”

You blink. “Wait—did you just admit you were wrong?”

“I’m not happy about this,” he says quietly. “But I’m not angry because you got arrested. I’m angry because I didn’t know. I didn’t know you were struggling. Or that you’d do something that reckless.”

You swallow hard. “I wasn’t trying to be reckless. I just wanted to forget everything for a night. My grades, the pressure, your silence. All of it.”

He sighs. Rubs the bridge of his nose. “I’m not good at this.”

“No shit.”

That gets the smallest twitch of a smile. Almost.

“I’ll try harder,” he says. “If you will.”

You nod slowly. “Deal.”

“Starting with cleaning up the rest of this case backlog.”

You groan. “That’s child labor.”

“You’re twenty.”

“Still counts.”

a/n: this fic is brought to you by: unresolved daddy issues

⋆•★⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆★•⋆

#aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #hotch x you #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds imagine #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch imagine #hotch x y/n

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tjwritesfanfics · 9 months ago

Text

I’m not jealous (Aaron Hotchner)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Summary: Aaron was going to show you how not jealous he is.

Rating: Mature 18+ only

Warnings: Jealous Aaron (though he is adamant he isn't), Reader taking advantage of a sweet guy, manhandling, Dom!Aaron, condescending, being called good girl (which made me MELT), Aaron spanks her once, fingering, overstimulation, Aaron is a sweet aftercare guy

Words: 2.9k

Main Masterlist | Criminal Minds Masterlist

Jealousy can be very ugly.

It can also be very hot. And on Aaron Hotchner it was sexy as hell. The way his jaw clenched, his eyes darken, and the air around him just got thick with tension you knew about, but the line was never crossed.

You had feelings for Aaron, everyone in the BAU knew it, he knew it, and he still had yet to decide what, and if, he felt for you.

You always tried to push him, loving the way he seemed so close to losing it only to watch him attempt to reel himself in. Once you had danced with a guy at the bar after a long case and your eyes never left Aaron. No matter how many times the guy dipped his head to kiss (more like slobbered with how drunk he was) your neck, you continued to stare at him, surprised that the glass he was holding didn’t break with the force of his grip, his knuckles already white.

And when you decided you were done with your dance partner, you attempted to leave only to have him get aggressive. You knew you could fit him off if need be, but it was much more satisfying when Aaron strode over and introduced him to that amazing right hook of his.

It was even better when he took you roughly by the waist and led you out of the bar.

In his car, you tried to push a little more, wanting him to finally admit something to you.

“God,” You sigh and brush your hand down his arm, admiring the way they flex under your touch, “You are so hot when you are jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“There is no need to deny the chemistry between us, Aaron. We aren’t on the clock so you aren’t my Unit Chief, and I am not your underling, though I would so love to be under you.” You purr, warmth flooding your as his tongue darts out to wet his lower lip, your eyes following the motion longingly.

It would be easier if he would just give in to what was going on between the two of you.

But sadly, that was where the night ended for you.

Aaron took you back to your apartment, walked you up (like the gentleman he was), and left you there all alone.

Over the next few months you tried again and again to prove there was something between you, not only physically, but emotionally as well.

Pulling him out of his office for lunch or bringing it to him, just to make sure he would eat. Putting sticky notes on his monitor or his desk with little encouragements and reminders since you knew he could get too far into his own head and needed some help out.

And it wasn’t like he didn’t do things for you.

Bringing you coffee, made just to your liking, at the beginning of the shift or when you run low on your own coffee. He always seemed to know when you needed your fix. He also would save you a seat on the plane, the one next to the window because he knows you like to look out at the clouds during long flights.

“When we land, Y/n, Reid and I will go to the police station to set up. Morgan, you and Emily check out the crime scene.”

Aaron dished out the rest of the orders as the plane started to descend. Honestly after he told you where you were going to be, which of course was with him because he always seemed to think he needed to keep an eye on you, something you couldn’t decide if was out of how similar your skill sets are or because he has a constant need to be near you, you stopped listening.

You were certain that it was both. You knew Aaron wouldn’t sacrifice the case or the people involved just for a romantic feeling towards you.

Once you landed and got to the police station, everything seemed to flash by in a whirlwind.

You barely had any time to focus on anything other than catching the asshole that was killing women.

“You seem to be running into the ground, Agent.”

Officer Danny Grant was such a little cutie and seemed to immediately take a liking to you.

“I’ll rest when we catch this guy.” You reach for your cup of awful cop coffee, even though it was the only thing keeping you going at the moment, but frowned when you found the cup empty.

Cursing, you turn away from the board to get more.

“Here.” Grant offered you another cup, his face a little flushed and a smile on his lips. “I noticed you were low. I don’t know how you take it so I just made it black. If you need any creamer or sugar I can get it for you.”

“Thanks, Grant.” You smiled and took the cup. The warmth of it not only warming your hands, but your heart a little as well. Usually Aaron would bring you coffee, but this case seemed to take a toll on him, which you remind yourself you would have to check on him later. Now that someone else noticed and cared enough to bring you something so small, yet so vital, was sweet.

You take a sip of the black coffee, wishing it was sweeter, but the jolt of bitterness was the wake up you needed.

“I usually like it sweet, but black is fine. It’s just what I need.”

Grant continued to stick to your side, helping with the case whenever he could and bringing you more coffee (this time with a side of sugar). He was actually very helpful and you enjoyed the company of him, conversation and ideas bouncing easily.

Aaron on the other hand didn’t like the attention you were getting from the young, wide eyed officer.

He couldn’t stand the fact that he was distracting you from the case at hand (even though he wasn’t actually), the way you laughed when he said something you deemed funny, but it wasn’t, and the thing he hated the most was the smile you beamed at him when he brought you more coffee.

The smile you usually only gave him. Why were you giving it to this guy? Even when the group went out and you flirted with other men, knowing that it would get a rise out of him (though he would never admit it out loud) you never gave them that kind smile, the one that made your nose scrunch up so adorably.

It would be so easy for Aaron to go over there. He can imagine himself pulling you away from Grant. It wasn’t like he didn’t know how you felt pressed against his own body. The amount of nights he had to pull himself away from you, unable to cross that line, the line between boss and subordinate. A line that he’s tiptoed since the first time he saw you.

If only it was that simple to give into you.

A few hours later, you could feel your steam running out and your eyes drooping, no matter how much coffee you drank.

“There hasn’t been any new information.” Aaron’s voice woke you just before your head hit the conference table for the second time that night, “Let’s call it a night and look at this in the morning with fresh eyes.”

“No no,” you whine, failing to lift your eyelids, “I can keep going.”

“Agent Hotchner is right. Come on, let's get you to the hotel.”

Just as Grant reached for you, Aaron was quick to his feet, striding over to you with only a few steps and grabbing your shoulder before Grant could. “I have her.” Aaron lifted you up, one hand resting under both of your legs and the other on your back, smirking at Grant as you wrap your arms around his neck and snuggle into him.

The look of shock on the officer’s face was sickeningly satisfying.

Never would Aaron be this bold, especially in front of others, but he couldn’t help himself. He couldn't just let this man touch you. Not after spending all day watching his poor attempts at flirting.

You could, and probably would, be upset with him tomorrow.

Aaron lifted his chin, daring others to say anything as he made his way through the precinct with you tucked in his arms. Once you were outside, you push your face into his neck subconsciously, inhaling his scent and sending a shiver through him, thankful that at least some part of you waited until you were out of sight to get clingy with him.

“You are,” You yawn, lips brushing against his skin,”so hot when you are jealous.”

“I am not jealous.”

All you did was hum in response as you drift off to sleep in his arms.

For the rest of the case you stuck to Grant every chance you got, barely paying Aaron any attention.

He knew you were doing it on purpose. You knew he knew that you knew you were doing it on purpose.

Thankfully the team was able to wrap up the case and it was only one night left before you left.

No more case. No more reason to stay in California. No more Grant.

Aaron wonders if he should be as happy as he was as he pressed the button for your floor on the elevator. He doesn’t have much time to think about it when a minute later the elevator door opens and he sees Grant standing at your door, leaning against the open door with you.

“So now that the case is over, do you want to get dinner before you leave? I’m sure hotel food isn’t as good as a good burger at this little dive I know down the street.”

You giggle at his forwardness. While you do love and want Aaron, turning down a free meal from a cute man before you never see him again couldn’t hurt, right?

“You know a little dive? Is it a ‘California delicacy?’”

Grant leaned in, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Oh absolutely.”

Rage and jealousy flows through Aaron, his jaw and fists clenched. His legs carried him towards you before his brain could catch up.

No more games.

In a flash, Aaron grabbed Grant by the collar of his shirt, yanking him back and away from you.

“A Aaron?!” You squeak as the man pushes you into your hotel room, closing and locking the door behind you.

His hands grab your wrists, tugging and trapping them above your head, the air leaving you completely as his lips crash against yours.

The months and months of tension finally exploded within you, arching your hips to meet him, gasping when he grips your wrists tighter in warning.

“You really can’t resist flirting can you?” Aaron’s voice may have been calm, almost bored, but his eyes betrayed the fire, the anger he held. “You just love to rile me up.”

“I thought,” you moan when he moves to kiss your neck, “you weren’t jealous.”

His laugh is condescending, one of his hands snaking down to your side while the other held tight. This was the Aaron Hotchner you wanted, the one you knew he could be if you just pushed right, but now that he was here you didn’t quite know how to handle him.

Not that you would let him know. Not as your body shivers when he rests his hand on your waist, nails digging through the material of your jeans.

“You and I both know I am not. Why be jealous when your body is so truthful with me? It tells me everything,” His smirk widens as he cupped your cunt and you whine, subconsciously grinding against his hand, seeking the dull pleasure you could get through the two layers of fabric separating you, “I need to know. It is an open book for me.”

You want to cry when Aaron withdraws from you, only proving his point further. God you want him. More than absolutely anything.

“Now be a good girl and get on the bed. I want you naked and on all fours by the time I get out of the bathroom.”

“T The bathr…” Your words die on your lips when Aaron gives you a pointed stare, one that has you clenching around nothing, before he walks away from you and into the bathroom, leaving the door slightly ajar, almost as if daring you to disobey him.

As much as you wanted to, just to see what he would do to you, you decided that would be for a different time. Quickly shedding your top and jeans, you obey like the good girl you want to be for him.

You wait for what feels like an eternity, but was probably only five minutes before you could hear Aaron’s footsteps coming out of the bathroom. Instinct has you turning your head to look at him, “Don’t you fucking move.” but his harsh voice has you snapping it back and a shiver running down your spine.

Or was that his fingers that danced along your back? Honestly you didn’t know, but you didn;t have time to ponder it before he splayed his open palm across one of your ass cheeks, drawing back and coming down with a swift smack.

You moan, the sudden motion causing you to fall forward, your arms giving out.

“Just a little taste of what happens when you play with me.” Aaron rubbed the spot where you were sure was going to be slightly red from the force. “But I won’t give you more since you seemed to follow my orders like such a good girl.”

A whine escapes you at his words. You wanted to hear them over and over. To be praised by him over and over. His fingers ghost from your ass straight to your center, pressing and feeling, but never fully sinking into you.

“Oh fuck,” You squirm under his carful attention, “Please. Please Aaron!”

“Please what? How will I know what you want without words?”

You cry as the tip of his finger comes dangerously close to your clit only for him to pull it away just as quickly. You knew what he was doing. He was teasing you just like you had teased him, almost like a form of sick payback, and though he did have the upper hand, you felt like you had already won.

You had him in bed.

“Please touch me, Aaron. I need your hands on me, in me, anything.”

“There we go.”

The reward for your confession was sweet. His fingers circled your clit, applying the right amount of pressure that had you moaning loudly. Aaron continued to work you, leaving your brain in a haze of pleasure which only intensified when he finally moved to sink one finger into your core.

“Fuck..” Aaron curses, his finger setting a steady pace, thrusting in and out of you, admiring the embarrassingly wet noises your cunt makes. “You are so wet.”

You moan when he slides a second finger in, then a third, the stretch burning oh so deliciously.

He’s got you at his mercy, hips rocking back to meet his thrusts, drool pooling on the hotel sheets below you. “Aaron!” You cry, the coil in your gut pushing and pushing you closer to the edge, threatening to break and toss you into a sweet release.

“Let go.”

With his permission, and his fingers brushing that sweet spot that made you see stars, you do.

You scream as your orgasm crashes into you. If the outside could hear you, you didn’t care. All that mattered was Aaron, his name the only thing occupying your mind and the only thing spilling out of your mouth as if it was the only name you knew.

And right now it was.

Aaron continued to thrust his fingers into you, helping you through your orgasm until you tried to pull away from him, but his other hand gripped your waist, pulling you back and onto his fingers.

“Aaron!” You squirmed. It was too much, but you didn’t want him to stop as his fingers expertly stroked and thrust, bringing you to a second orgasm in record time. Tears prick your eyes, your body shaking, feeling weightless and not here.

You didn’t even notice when Aaron carefully turned you on your back, brushing your hair back from your face and kissing your forehead. He treated you like procaline, peppering kisses all over your face until you came back to him. “There’s my girl.”

His girl. The thought had you smiling like a lovesick fool, which was appropriate because you were. No longer were the steel eyes and lustful gaze, but soft brown eyes filled with an adoration you weren’t used to seeing. You swallow and reach for him. Aaron wrapped you in his arms and held you close.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

Now what? Was he going to continue? Fuck you? Or, and something you hoped he wouldn’t do, leave you.

Aaron, the ever brilliant profiler he was, could see the war going on in your head before you could speak. He leaned down to kiss you, hand gently rubbing shapes on your upper thigh.

“Don’t worry. I will be right here for more when you wake.”

You feel a little guilty about not returning the favor, but Aaron quickly shuts that down. He grabs the hotel comfort and pulls it up, covering the two of you, tucking you into his chest. Your eyes feel heavy from the force of cumming twice (and Aaron’s skilled fingers) that you couldn’t seem to argue, eyes closing as sleep takes over.

You definitely would make him feel good when you wake up.

(Banners by cafekitsune)

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner smut #criminal minds smut

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mona-risms · 22 days ago

Note

Rumi x Reader where Reader is a cursed deity that helps the hunters generations (through financially or become a manager once etc.) and finally meets Rumi after the defeat of the demon king. and Mira and Zoey are chaotic match makers

◆ MAIN COURSE: Rumi x cursed diety!gn!Reader

◆ TYPE: SFW, romantic

◆ ALLERGEN WARNINGS: N/A

◆ NOTES: I LOVE RUMI SO BAD but also it's half 2 rn why did I stay awake to finish this bro........never letting anyone tell me I give up halfway in anything

Man. You musta done something to get cursed to be a manager for eternity 😭 joke but not actually joke. I can't replace Bobby man.......therefore INTRODUCING 🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁 the A&R Manager role!!!!! This'll be one of the Only times my music diploma will Ever come in handy

For reference before getting into it (bare w me please let me ramble even though this'll never be mentioned about again), an A&R Manager kinda oversees a LOT of things. While a unit/artist manager like Bobby is mostly responsible for one/a few units at a time, an A&R manager's responsible for a HUGE range of things like scouting/signing/developing new talent, being a liaison for the artist and the label, overseeing the recording process, to even being aware of different trends and demographics so that they keep the popularity up with the label and its artists

Much as it is a role for them to be personally involved in basically everything, the fact that there's a lot to do most definitely makes it hard to really do so, which will explain why they wouldn't have really met each other this entire time until the defeat of the Gwi-Ma. Bc honestly let's be real there's no way HUNTR/X is the only unit in their label, just the most famous one........and the one trained to handle demon slaying lol

ANYWAY ONTO THE ACTUAL. THING

When Celine first came up to you about what the next generation of Hunters should be, you weren't necessarily surprised about her proposal that fully leaned into the flashfire that was K-Pop in the modern age. Once upon a time, it would've been more traditional forms of musical entertainment, but there's a reason why you were tasked to oversee 'trends' and such for the next generation to create the Golden Honmoon with.. and take on the world by storm, you supposed.

So seeing them for the first time?

..Yeah, this was definitely going to match up with the algorithm.

"Girls," you hear Celine introduce you as you bowed respectfully, "meet the A&R manager for DH Entertainment, several years your senior."

(An understatement, of course.)

Either way, you follow it up with a simple introduction at the same time as the trio bowed in reciprocation, "[L/N] [Y/N], a pleasure to meet the three of you. Former trainees now, yes?"

The one who piped up first was not only the shortest one, but was most likely the loudest one out of the three, "Yes!! We've been working so hard for this, so it feels like such a dream--"

"Right," you cut her off, though not unkindly, "though do remember that you're not just debuting as idols—you're debuting as Hunters, first and foremost. ..Though I doubt you three can debut without any names..?"

"Oh, oh!" The loud one piped up again with an endearingly playful energy, "So I'm Zoey, and the grumpy-looking one's Mira--"

"Really, Zoey--"

"Shh, it's okay, this is just, like, first-hand practice for when we have to MC on stage and--"

You couldn't help the chuckle that left your lips. "Thank you, Zoey. I.. assume you're the leader, then?"

"If I may," Celine interjects, a slight humorous look on her face from watching the entire exchange, "you assume incorrectly."

"Really? Then who..?"

You see Mira nudge her head to the same person that Zoe ends up glomping from behind, "This one! Her name's--"

"Rumi."

The purple-haired woman spoke—or rather, breathed out—her own name, though she doesn't seem all there, if her expression was any indication. Her brown eyes were wide, as if she was witnessing, beholding, some sort of majesty (which, really, wasn't that much far off, though it's not as if it mattered anymore after so long). She stood stock still, as if suddenly unsure of how to act.

And it seems like the other unit members noticed too.

"..Rumi? You okay?" Mira nudged Rumi's side, "you're acting weird all of a sudden—what happened to your freakish proactivity?"

That seemed to snap Rumi out of whatever reverie she was in, scrambling to form a response, "OH! Shoot, uh, sorry! For staring, I mean, I just--

"Hmm? What's this?"

"Shut up, Zoey, let them talk."

"Don't worry about it," you waved it off with a kind smile and ignored the other two and their whispering. "So you're the unlucky leader?"

Rumi lets out a small snort of laughter before nodding, forgetting her initial awkwardness, "Yeah. Though I'd feel bad if I left them to anyone else."

"Hey!"

"Ha. Good luck with that—I've only had the pleasure of exposure for a few minutes, yet I can already tell they'll be a handful. And so will you."

"Wha-- what's that supposed to mean?"

You simply give her a smile as you stepped back, hands raised in a surrendering position, "It means I can tell that the three of you are going to give me a very hard time, just like the other generations before you."

Now it was Celine's turn to sound offended, though in no part did it seem genuine, "May I remind you who was on field again?"

"Was, dear." It was probably a hypocritical push-back, considering how you haven't been on field at all since being cursed, but alas, life wasn't fair.

So you quickly follow it up by patting away imaginary lint off your clothes before taking out your phone, "Now, as much as I'd like to carry this on, I've got enough work to break a mortal's back." And you pat Rumi's shoulder, which her cheeks tint the slightest pink in response, "Good luck, HUNTR/X. I'll be seeing you around."

And you let your hand slide down and drop to your side as you walked off, though you can't help but catch snippets of remaining conversation:

"You've got the hots for the manager. No way."

"I do not!"

"You froze, Rumi. I have never seen you freeze in front of someone new before."

"Cut it out!"

Idk I felt like I had to write out their FIRST introduction, bc honestly I can't see them NOT meeting you if you're in a high-up role, considering their importance

This DOES set things up though, bc they know they exist. But let's be honest it's probably VERY rarely that you two would ever happen upon each other, and even then it's probably in passing, for a few seconds type shit

You might be cursed to roam the Earth instead of actually be the deity of whatever it is you were supposed to hold domain over, but again. You're STILL a deity. So maybe after sensing that something is ABSOLUTELY WRONG, you manage to find where everyone's gathered, where the Saja Boys were performing, where Gwi-Ma had waited to devour all these souls before Rumi showed up, her half-demon heritage VERY out in the open now. Perhaps you even help them fend the demons off, either by boosting the power these souls had or outright using whatever power you had

I think after Gwi-Ma's banished, ever since you've been cursed, you've been in charge of cleanup. Erasing enough memories and proof to make the entire event seem like a Mandela Effect (you loathe how technology advances every minute bc there's THAT fucking issue too), structure reparation, everything. And THIS would be when you and HUNTR/X start interacting more

You'd probably most likely already know about Rumi's half-demon thing; you kinda had to be told by Celine ages ago for the sake of any possible damage control if, say, someome who shouldn't be able to see the markings see it. So when she asks you why you don't look shocked at all, it's because you're not. You've known what she is the entire time, and you don't really gaf. You're a cursed deity, why tf would you?

After the adrenaline wears off, she'd be back to oscillating between being SLIGHTLY awkward—because Jesus CHRIST she thought you were absolutely gorgeous then and she STILL thinks you're gorgeous now—and genuinely enjoying your presence, especially now that she doesn't really have to hide anymore (no thanks to Celine lmfao). Plus I think her newfound freedom opens up the actual excitement of learning about another supernatural entity that ISN'T a demon

Naturally, Zoey and Mira add 2+2 together and decide to meddle. Because honestly beyond the two of them, they know for a FACT that Rumi deserves happiness and acceptance from someone she genuinely likes. And considering you're there.......looking at her with those eyes............likeeeeee 😜😜😜😜 it's just basic girl math!!!!!

So it starts with them pushing Rumi towards you EVERY chance they get. You need to find new talent? Let Rumi help!!! You're going through recording? Oh suddenly the both of them have a cold oh noooooo Rumi will have to go on her own to record her own parts!! You're filling in paperwork? Oh em gee I wonder why we walked all the way here oh I think we left the oven on okay byeeee

It gets less subtle for them lol. They start asking Rumi how she feeeeeeels in so many different ways ("So is age and experience a thing for you?" "Wh--" "Just asking~! Jinu was like a few hundred, and [Y/N]'s been watching over several Hunter generations, so-- mmf!" "Eat your fries or so help me--"), and they even blatantly go up to ask you about preferences and stuff, even going so far as to just flat-out describe Rumi herself ("Purple hair and glowing demon marks; a turn-on or a turn-off?" "..Why?" "Just answer the question.")

Does it get you all closer? Yes. Does it also get you and Rumi closer? Yes, actually, but not just because of their wingmanning—both of you bond over the sheer exasperation at the VERY obvious attempts of playing matchmaker

The two of you probably eventually give in when you get individual messages from the other person about asking to meet at some secluded spot where you can see the stars really clearly without obstruction. How do you two give in, you ask? By just honestly going for it when the two of you realise that no, neither of you texted each other about meeting here and yes, this was absolutely planned by Zoey and Mira. You sit there on the picnic blanket that was mysteriously set up and kitted out with a vintage lantern from a some local goth shop and a basket of food, and the two of you talk personally: about your days; about how Rumi was handling being a demon out in the 'open' (aka humans can't really see it but supernaturals and Hunters can); about how and why you're cursed; about anything and everything

I don't think the two of you would kiss here, not on the lips anyway maybe the cheek ir the knuckle at MOST but otherwise nah. But it's the opening of something more, and when the two of you just lean on each other as you watch the stars, you can just hear a very faint shriek that sounds SUSPICIOUSLY like Zoey. But rn that's not your concern go back to your date 🙏

#mona's main course...#rumi x reader #kdh rumi x reader #kpop demon hunters x reader #kpop demon hunters imagines #kdh x reader #kdh imagines #huntrix x reader #huntrix imagines #huntr/x x reader #huntr/x imagines

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pitlanepeach · 3 months ago

Text

Radio Silence | Chapter Thirteen

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, basically no plot just fluff, minor autistic meltdown, they say the words!!!!!

Notes — This is just a little filler chapter to close out the 2020 season. Lots of fluff with some time skips too. The 2021 season will commence in the next chapter!

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

2020

The three months after Spa passed in a blur of hard work.

Amelia didn’t think she’d ever get used to the rhythm of a Formula One season; the relentless forward momentum of it all. There were no breaks, not really. Just quiet moments between sessions, late nights in hotel rooms with Lando wrapped around her, and long-haul flights where she could finally catch her breath and run strategy models in her head for fun instead of for work.

Max’s car was improving week after week. The upgrades came thick and fast now that Amelia had full focus on him, refinements to aero flow, marginal gains in brake cooling, a few drastic shifts to weight distribution that she'd pressured the Red Bull engineering team to follow through with despite their hesitation.

Adrian had taken to calling her kid when she got too excited about a breakthrough, but it was always muttered with fondness.

And Max — Max was still Max.

He grumbled when she got picky with her data visualisation, called her irritant klein zusje when she insisted he sit through every single briefing, but followed her instruction anyway. Trusted her, even when she made calls that felt too risky. Especially then. He didn’t say thank you often, but when he did, it was quiet and sincere. She liked that about him.

And Lando.

She met his family in the weeks after Monza. He brought her to Glastonbury in the middle of a quiet break between races, beaming like he couldn’t wait another second to show her off. His mum was warm and lovely, welcoming Amelia with a hug and homemade cake. His siblings were all so unique, each of them brilliant in their own way, and eager to share their niche passions with her — from horse riding to finance to a surprising obsession with niche European cheeses. She adored them immediately.

It was easy to see where Lando got his unapologetic passion for racing from.

His dad, Adam, took longer to come around. He’d been blindsided by the announcement of their relationship, having found out with the rest of the world during the race coverage. Lando hadn’t told him — hadn’t wanted to risk the disapproval again. And Adam, used to being involved in every step of his son’s life, hadn’t taken kindly to being shut out.

But he came around. Slowly. Quietly. One afternoon in the garden, while Lando was inside, Adam turned to her and said, “I didn’t get it. At first. I was worried about what being with you would mean for his career. But he’s happier than I’ve ever seen him. So I owe you an apology.”

Amelia, startled, could only nod.

She didn’t say it aloud — not yet, wasn’t ready to admit it even just to herself — but she was already more than halfway in love with Lando Norris.

—

Lando DNF’d in Eifel.

“They said it was a power unit failure,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “I could feel it going. Every lap, it got worse.”

Amelia nodded, watching him closely. “You did everything right. Everything Will told you to do.”

“That’s the worst part,” he said, eyes lifting to meet hers, tired and frustrated and still raw. “I didn’t mess up. I didn’t make a mistake. I just… there was nothing I could do.”

Amelia reached into her pocket, pulled out the soft, flexible tangle of her stim toy — one of the ones Lando had started calling squiggly guys — and handed it to him.

He took it without question, curling it absently around his fingers. “Thanks, baby.”

She leaned in a little closer now, shoulder brushing his. “You’re allowed to be upset,” she told him. “They have given you a car that is able to score points, but is dramatically unreliable. I would be upset too.”

He glanced sideways at her, a small, slightly twisted smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. “You always say the perfect thing.”

“No, I don’t,” she said, nudging his knee with hers. “You know I don’t. I’m not good at comfort. I just tell you the truth.”

Lando twisted the stim in one hand, then reached for hers with the other, tangling their fingers together. “Still think I’m impressive, even when I don’t make it to the chequered flag?”

She blinked at him, pure honesty shining in her eyes. “You’re my favourite driver on the grid.”

It was true. Max was a close second. Lewis next.

She’d have to work on her rankings in 2021, when Fernando rejoined, but until then, she had it solidly figured out.

Lando let out a soft laugh, eyes closing as he leaned his head against her shoulder. “God, I’d be a fucking mess without you, baby.”

Amelia smiled, heart thudding steadily behind her ribs. “I know.”

—

In those three months, Quadrant grew.

It grew fast.

What had started as a fun, half-serious side project between Lando snowballed into something far bigger than anyone could have anticipated. It wasn’t just the occasional livestream anymore. It was a full-blown content collective. A brand. A business. Merch lines. Sponsorships. Contracts. Streaming schedules. Production meetings. More cameras, more followers, more of everything.

Lando was the founder of a company. Not just the face of a project, but the brain behind it too; the one calling the shots, making the pitches, signing off on designs. Sometimes he’d ask for Amelia’s opinion on things; colour-ways, logo placements, YouTube video titles. She’d answer, often unsurely, and he’d just beam at her like she’d solved world hunger, not told him to remove an unnecessary apostrophe from a word.

It made her feel involved. Not responsible for any of it, but close to it; close to him.

That’s how she met Max Fewtrell, too. Not over a screen, like she might’ve assumed, but in person. A warm blur of a memory from a weekend after the Nürburgring. He’d walked up with a grin, greeted Lando like a brother, and then turned to her with an easy, “You must be Amelia, then.” His tone had been teasing, but not unkind. He didn’t make her feel weird for being quiet or for sticking close to Lando’s side at first. Just accepted it, like that was normal. And eventually, it felt like it was.

She appreciated that.

And she appreciated what Quadrant gave Lando; a space to be silly, expressive, fully himself.

He was clever, of course. Wickedly sharp when he wanted to be. But more than that, he had this charm; this ease that pulled people in. They listened when he talked. They laughed when he made a joke. He had a way of making even the most chaotic moment feel like fun.

He was a natural leader. The members of Quadrant, new and bright-eyed, gravitated around him like he was a planet and they were caught in his orbit, a solar system he never asked for but carried with him anyway.

Sometimes, when he dragged her into the frame during a stream, pulled her gently onto his lap, or handed her his headset so she could talk to Max and the others while he went to grab snacks, she let herself wonder what life would be like if she was more like them. Loud. Unapologetic. Effortlessly funny and open and always ready with something to say.

But then Lando would come back, settle behind her like it was the most natural thing in the world, arms looping around her waist as if to anchor her. The chat would light up with heart emojis and sweet messages, calling them perfect. Yin and yang. A balance. A calm and a chaos that just made sense.

And everything felt right.

—

By November, Amelia knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Max’s 2021 chassis would be championship-worthy.

Not just competitive. Not just "in the mix."

Capable of winning it all.

It was in the data. It was in the simulations. It was in the late-night sessions with Adrian where they fine-tuned wind profiles until dawn crept over Milton Keynes. It was in the way Max trusted her notes, asked her opinion, built his feedback loops around her suggestions.

It was in the silence after a long run on the dyno, where every number lined up just the way she’d imagined they would.

Every week, a new idea implemented.

Every week, something smarter, sleeker, faster.

Red Bull had built fast cars before; but this one felt different. This one was deliberate.

Dangerous.

She hadn’t just contributed to it. She’d helped shape it. Every inch of it.

Her fingerprints were baked into the car’s DNA, and when Max drove it next year, it would be hers, too. In every corner he took flat, in every overtake, in every tenth shaved off in qualifying.

Mercedes would still be strong. She knew that.

But Max would take them toe to toe.

And Amelia would be right there at his side. Building, watching, calculating.

2021 wasn’t just Max’s shot at greatness.

It was hers too.

—

The season ended on a high. Abu Dhabi, a stunning victory for Max. A sign of what was to come.

It was the perfect way to close out her time at Red Bull. One final ‘You’re welcome,’ to rub in Christian Horner’s face.

They celebrated in Monaco, Lando surrounded by his friends and fellow drivers, with Amelia right there beside him. It was relaxed. Unfussy. And for once, she let herself unwind. She hadn’t expected to have as much fun as she did. She thought she’d just be there as Lando’s plus one, a quiet observer in the midst of his chaos. But with him there, the night had felt easy. He made her laugh. He made her feel at home in a crowd she usually would have kept her distance from. She didn’t even mind the noise or the flashing lights of the club, because he was there, and with him, everything felt just safe.

Lando was everywhere; dancing, laughing, talking to everyone, but he always circled back to her, like she was the centre of his world. Every time he found her across the room, usually huddled beside Max, his face lit up with a smile that made her feel warm all over. He pulled her into the dance floor, whispered things in her ear that made her blush, and made sure she had everything she needed. Even when the music was loud and everyone was buzzing, Lando had a way of making her feel like she was the only person in the room.

—

They were curled together on a sun lounger, tucked under a thin blanket that Lando insisted they didn’t need, even though his nose was a bit pink from the breeze. The Mediterranean shimmered around them in lazy shades of blue, calm and glittering beneath the winter sun. Amelia could hear the faint clatter of someone, probably Fernando’s kitchen staff, moving around below deck, fixing up some strange version of a Christmas dinner.

For now, though, it was just them. Just warmth, quiet, and the steady beat of Lando’s heart against her ear.

His arm tightened around her waist, his chin resting in the crook of her shoulder. “My rookie year’s over,” he said quietly, the words slipping out like they’d been sitting on his tongue for a while. “Feels weird.”

Amelia shifted a little, not quite turning to look at him, but enough that he knew she was listening. “Mm.”

“No more Carlos, either,” he added, like he still couldn’t quite believe it. “Zak said Ricciardo will be good, though. Great for the team.”

She hummed again. “I'm sure he will. Max still talks about him a lot.”

Lando huffed a small laugh, but there was an edge of unease to it. “That’s what people say. I just… I dunno.” Amelia waited. He always got there in the end, just took a bit of a winding road to get to the truth. “It’s stupid,” he admitted, eventually. “I know it is. But what if he’s better than me? What if everyone just… forgets me? He’s Daniel Ricciardo. People love him.”

“Lando,” she said, voice flat, like she couldn’t believe he was even entertaining the thought. “You can’t be forgotten. You’re too loud.”

He let out a weak laugh against her shoulder, his day-old facial hair tickling her skin. “You know what I mean, baby.”

“Yeah. I do,” she agreed. “I still think you’re being ridiculous.”

He was quiet for a second. “So you don’t think he’ll overshadow me?”

Amelia tilted her head up, just enough to meet his gaze. “No. He’s very charming, but he won’t overshadow you. McLaren is your team, Lando.”

That made him smile, just a little. “It might become Daniel’s team too.”

She shrugged. “Maybe. He seems fun. Annoyingly extroverted.”

Lando chuckled, the sound soft and fond. “That’s… yeah, that’s pretty accurate.” He was quiet again, but this time the silence didn’t feel heavy. Just thoughtful. His fingers found hers under the blanket, laced them together without saying anything.

“I’ll still be in the paddock. With Max. No more Red Bull team kit for me, so I’ll be able to wear my dresses and skirts and you’ll be able to pick me out of any crowd.” She mentioned.

“Thank God,” Lando murmured, tugging her closer and pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head.

She let herself rest against him, her head tucked into the curve of his chest, the rhythm of the sea matching the quiet beat of her thoughts.

Eventually, from below deck, Fernando’s voice called out, “Lunch is served!”

“Race to the stairs?” Lando whispered in her ear.

“I will push you over deck.” She said back.

He grinned. “Dare you.”

Amelia rolled her eyes, sat up, and tugged the blanket off both of them. “Come on, annoying,” she said. “I’m hungry. And I’ve never eaten Christmas dinner on a yacht before.”

Lando grinned and followed her, still barefoot, still completely in awe that this was his life now.

They had decided, sometime in early December, to spend their first Christmas together with Fernando in the Med. No need to pick between their families, no guilt over disappointing one side or the other. It had been a relief, honestly, to have an excuse not to navigate the pressure that came with the holidays; especially given how busy they both had been in the lead-up to the festive season.

Fernando’s yacht was the perfect escape. It was quiet in a way that made it feel like the world had been paused just for them. The gentle hum of the waves lapping against the boat, the soft clinking of glasses, and the warmth of the inside filled with Christmas lights and laughter. It was everything Amelia never knew she needed.

It wasn’t a grand Christmas, with piles of presents and extravagant dinners. It wasn’t anything they’d been accustomed to before, but that was exactly what made it so special. It was simple. Calm. The four of them together, enjoying a slow morning with gingerbread cookies, chatting about nothing in particular while Lando made his usual attempts at mastering the piano that Fernando kept telling him to stop touching. And Melissa was her usual gentle self, all smiles and easy to understand jokes.

They had a small, carefully set table for lunch. Lando kept teasing Fernando about being the most patient host ever, especially when he’d made them take turns decorating the tree, then reorganising it in a much more “tasteful” way after they'd gotten distracted by the snack table.

Later in the evening, after the meal and after a few glasses of wine, they all settled on the deck. The boat was docked now, and the evening sky was a wash of deep blues and purples, the first stars starting to twinkle. There was a low hum of festive music in the background, something quiet, something that felt fitting for a holiday that wasn’t about extravagance, but about peace.

Amelia leaned against Lando, his arm draped around her shoulder as he fiddled with his phone, texting back every member of his family who’d reached out throughout the day. She was content, happier than she had been in a long while. She kissed him without thinking and flushed a pretty red when Fernando voiced his unhappiness with a grunt that made Melissa laugh.

Lando grinned at her. She grinned right back.

It was their first Christmas as them, but it wouldn’t be the last.

—

It was the middle of January. The weather outside Lando’s flat in Woking was dreary and they’d spent the morning lounging around; Lando on his couch, flipping through old racing documentaries on Youtube, and Amelia at the kitchen counter, working on her iPad. She had a pile of notes scattered around her, data from the off-season simulations she was reviewing for Max’s upcoming season. The iPad was essential; everything she needed was on there, from the technical reports to the strategies she was working out in her head.

Lando glanced over occasionally, catching little glimpses of her sharp focus, the way her brow furrowed when she was deep in thought. He loved watching her work.

But then, without warning, the screen on her iPad flickered. Just once, and then the screen went black.

Amelia’s fingers froze mid-scroll, and Lando didn’t even have to look up to see the tension building in her posture.

“Amelia?” he asked, his voice a little more alert now, noticing the change in her.

She didn’t answer at first, just sat there, staring at the frozen screen, then tapping at the screen with increasing urgency. “Come on. Come on,” she muttered under her breath.

Lando watched for a second longer before standing up and making his way over to her. “Hey. What’s going on?”

Her breath hitched, and Lando’s stomach dropped. He knew the signs of a panic attack when he saw them; he’d witnessed them before, knew how things could escalate quickly. She was already starting to breathe faster, her shoulders hunching up like she was bracing for impact.

“It’s… it’s not working!” Amelia’s voice cracked, and she slammed her hands down onto the table, the iPad still refusing to respond. “It’s all on there, Lando. It’s all on there.”

“Hey, hey,” Lando said, trying to keep his voice steady as he crouched beside her, his hand hovering awkwardly in the air. “Baby, it’s okay, we can fix this.”

“No!” she snapped, and he flinched. Her eyes were wide now, glassy. “I—I can’t… everything’s on there! The reports, the numbers, everything I need to do and now—” She broke off, her voice shaking with frustration.

And fuck; Lando was lost. He had no idea what to do. He could hear her breath quickening, her frustration bubbling over, and he felt that same tight knot in his chest. He hated seeing her like this. Hated it even more because he didn’t know how to fix it.

“Amelia, baby, hey,” he said, trying to get her attention. She wasn’t looking at him, her eyes locked onto the unresponsive iPad. He took a deep breath, then, in one sudden motion, he’d pulled her off of the stool and into his arms. “Amelia,” he said again, his voice a little more insistent, a little firmer now.

She tensed against him, her whole body stiff and rigid, but he held her tighter, wrapping his arms around her, squeezing with as much strength as he could before he was risking bruising her delicate skin. “We’ll figure it out, alright? We’ll fix it, I promise. You had everything saved to your iCloud, right? It’ll all still be there.”

Amelia let out a shaky breath, but she didn’t pull away. She let herself lean her entire weight on him, her head resting against his chest, still breathing in short, shallow bursts. Lando’s arms were wrapped around her so tight it almost felt like he was afraid she would slip away from him if he didn’t hold on.

“I’m not good at this,” Lando murmured, his voice tight with the weight of his uncertainty. He could feel her shaking in his arms, her body rigid with the aftershocks of the almost-meltdown. “I don’t know what to do when you’re upset. I’m, uh... kind of panicking a bit.”

She let out a little laugh, but it was thin, frail. Still, it was a laugh, and that meant something. The way her shoulders loosened, just a fraction, made him feel like maybe he wasn’t failing her after all.

“Sorry, sorry,” she muttered, her voice muffled against his chest. “I just… I need my iPad.” There was a shaky inhale before she added, quieter, “I didn’t realise it would be this bad.”

Lando felt his heart break a little at the vulnerability in her voice. He had seen Amelia lose her composure before, but this—this was different. “I know,” he said gently, brushing a hand over her hair. “It’s important. Don’t be sorry for being upset.”

She nodded, her breath still coming in uneven waves as she took in a deep, steadying breath, pulling away slightly to look up at him. Her eyes were still wide, but the raw panic that had been there just moments ago seemed to be fading, replaced with something softer. Maybe exhaustion, maybe the quiet relief that came from feeling safe.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her words quiet but full of something deep. Gratitude, yes, but also something else. Lando could see it in the way she lingered on him, the way her gaze held his for a fraction longer than usual.

Lando’s chest tightened, a strange sense of relief flooding through him as he reached out, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of her hand. He wanted to say something—anything—but the words just wouldn’t come. The air between them felt thick with things left unspoken, and for the first time, Lando found himself unsure. Was she ready for this?

He didn’t have long to wonder. She pulled back just enough to look up at him properly, a small, tentative laugh escaping her.

“I— I didn’t realise I was so attached to it until now.” She whispered. “I’m sorry I freaked out.”

“Don’t apologise,” Lando said, shaking his head. “I’m glad I was here to take care of you, and, uh, managed to not make it worse.”

“Lucky me,” she muttered, the words playful but laced with a softness. She settled back into his arms, fisting her hands in his t-shirt.

“We’ll go get you a new one, yeah?” he said, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. His fingers ran through her hair, his touch gentle as he let her relax against him. “A better one. Newest one they have. I’ll even give you some Quadrant stickers to put on your new case. Maybe that’ll make it worth it.”

Amelia let out a small, quiet laugh, her body warm against his. The tension in her shoulders had melted away.

“I think I love you,” she whispered softly, her words barely above a breath.

Lando froze, a lump in his throat as her words settled between them. For a moment, he was speechless. His heart pounded, and he pulled her closer, if that was even possible.

“Holly shit,” he breathed out, his voice shaky with emotion. His hands cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing over her cheek as he searched her eyes, looking for the truth in them. “Yeah, I love you too, baby. I’m so glad you said it.”

Amelia’s eyes softened, and she pressed her forehead to his, the warmth of their bodies and the shared closeness almost too much to bear.

Lando let out a shaky laugh, a soft exhale of relief. “I’ve been wanting to say it for a while now,” he admitted quietly. “I just… I didn’t want to mess this up. Pressure you.”

“You didn’t,” she whispered, the words as steady as the way her hands gently cradled his. “You haven’t.”

“I love you.” He said again.

She leaned up, brushed their noses together and smiled. “I love you too.”

NEXT CHAPTER

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