#going to be out of commission from work for almost a week

[numbuh424]

.

[dilfosaur]

well i haven't spilled my guts on tumblr since i was in college but it's the platform that's felt The Most Mine thru the years, so

let's talk!

i've had a huge chip on my shoulder that i wanted off before the year ends. very bad professional experience to follow

so firstly to get ahead of the speculating, i'm not naming names or anything. some of you will puzzle out who i'm talking about, but please don't bother anyone especially not on my behalf. i've worked hard to distance myself from them the past few months. shit happens, especially when you're a dumb bitch (that's me!)

but also this person was someone i considered a close friend and it makes me uneasy to possibly direct backlash at them. "then why post about it" bc i did intermittent work for them for over a year. this is just about that. so hear me out

basically it started off fine. i initially did some commission work for good pay, then was invited to become more involved with their team. unfortunately as i became more involved with their operation it became more disorganized over time. projects started then forgotten, constantly shifting schedules, lapsing communication between roles, confusing financials, and often inconsistent if not late payments. during mid 2023 i was doing colorist work, sometimes on a one day turnaround (all while also preparing drawfee's summer merch launch). the payroll wasn't set up correctly so i wasn't paid for that work for over a year (more on that later), tho to be fair that was largely my own fault at first as i just didnt realize the payments didn't go thru lol

i always consider myself decently capable of separating friendship and coworker-ship; i run a company with 4 wonderful friends, going strong for almost 5 years. that didn't really work out in this case. by early this year our friendship was on the rocks; work issues fed into personal issues and vice versa. so as the rest of this shit plays out, we had just had our first "big fight" which i felt very bad about and added to all the upcoming tension

a huge point of friction was the fact that i really wanted to work with them to make a music video for one of their songs. i've always wanted a chance to make a music video, was confident in a concept i came up with, and even did some concept art for the idea. everyone insisted they loved the concept and that we should do it, but we kept pushing it back for various reasons. it ended up becoming a huge sticking point for my frustrations, which i tried to express productively. TLDR, we eventually got around to discussing it seriously around april.

i planned to ask for $4000 with negotiable add-on for the whole project, which was my Friend Discount price. i was offered a contract for $1000 flat rate, as they insisted that was the only budget they had for it.

don't ask me why i signed it lol. i didn't even counter offer

there was some girlmath to it: i wanted an extra 1k for a student scholarship i provide every spring and well, there it was. but if i had to guess, i saw it as something i just couldn't back down from any more. i caused these folks- my friends- a lot of problems bc i dug my heels in so deep to chase this project, so fuck it we ball

i had about 4 months to solo a 3 minute music video. they wanted it done in august so they could release it before summer ended, bc "it was a summer song". to be fair i was asked if i needed them to pay for anything extra like assistants (which i would have to find and manage) but i was so immediately overwhelmed that i didn't wanna slow down to wait on that process lol. there was very minimal communication other than brief progress check-ins every few weeks. i did everything for that project myself: the original concept, character designs, storyboards, layouts, backgrounds. i even did the editing/compositing for the final cut of the MV. the only favor i did myself was limiting the amount of it that was actually animated to simple loops and motions. hardly my best work but it was work still done

i did it all in between my full time job. i ended up having to take nearly a month away from most of my drawfee duties (with the support of the others) to make the august deadline. i only ever asked for a 3 day extension (notice given about a week in advance, around the same time i was given the final song file lol). i finished the music video at 6am on the final deadline and recorded drawfee the next day on 2 hours of sleep

but it was done, coolies. the team was very happy with the final product. honestly, without getting into it, those were a very emotionally taxing 4 months. on the professional side, i regretted agreeing to the project and especially for the dogshit rate they offered. i felt like a hypocrite- as someone who always wanted to advocate for younger artists demanding their worth in a world that's getting increasingly hostile toward creatives, i failed myself

so when i met with the manager to discuss the release plan, i told them to do whatever worked best for them as i only had one request: i wanted my credit removed from the project

tbh... like... lmao this dramatic bitch right!! but really, i decided that bad practices only breed worse business. friends or not, it was unprofessional of me to accept such a low paying job so i just didn't want my name used in association. everything felt so muddled to me and i was just really tired at this point

the manager was very understanding and then offered that i could be paid more. they said that their team "was surprised" i accepted their low rate and they would be happy to up the amount. this confused me as the initial budget seemed pretty set and at no point between april and august was i offered a better rate. i knew these guys weren't made of money. so, i declined. i didn't want to put anyone out of their means over work that was already done and agreed upon. but more importantly, i was over the whole thing and didn't want to prolong the project with a contract renegotiation. i just insisted my name be removed

they decided to use a pseudonym (which i was fine with) so they could create a story about a character who made the MV (this sounds really convoluted but i don't know how better to put it without getting specific, sorry). that way if people asked about the credit, they could speak comfortably about it without signaling that something went wrong behind the scenes. ok, kind of a silly narrative imo but whatevs. and maybe this is where i finally went truly wrong but. yolo i guess

i gave the name "D. Smithee", D as in dilfosaur and Smithee as in Alan Smithee. look it up for fun film trivia ig! was it passive aggressive of me to reference that in this context? yeah, honestly. but i thought it was kinda funny and really not that deep. if it was a problem, i have other real, non-cheeky pseudonyms i regularly use. the manager accepted it and all i had to do was wait for them to post the video and i could leave the whole experience behind me

a week later i received a message from the manager that my pseudonym had been denied by the rest of the team bc one of them got the reference. fair enough lol. however, they decided that rather than ask for a different name, the were going to make one up for me that they liked and would "fit the [story]", without asking me

and that! is when i finally snapped!

i was so tired of giving them concessions at this point and having a credit made up for me without any input from me felt genuinely violating and unethical. i started to Panic bc of how stressed i was, and asked for my overdue payments (aka the $500 still owed on the MV, and the colorist rate from a year prior that was never paid even tho i reported it in january) to be scheduled ASAP as i was leaving the work discord immediately

i finally told them off for exploiting me throughout the months while i kept trying to just be nice and finish my contact cleanly. in return i was told that it was unfair to say that as i agreed to everything- i accepted their cheap rate and denied further payment so that was all settled, and it was ok to change my credit without my consent bc i "said they could do whatever with the release". i called bullshit, ended the convo as kindly as i could, and cried lol. they agreed to ditch the pseudonym and just give no credit. that night was the last i heard from anyone on that team

and the real kicker?

august came and went. then september, october... and they never released the music video

and i don't know why, because i was never contacted about it. i've been removed from the picture entirely i guess. 4 months and boatloads of stress. just. up in smoke. i don't know what i expected honestly

it's hard to not take everything that happened personally and as done in bad faith. i really do, honestly. i've had plenty of shitty deals in my almost 10 year art career, but it hits different from people you saw as friends. but to the point of "why not keep it private", i have never felt so disrespected as a professional as i did this past year. i can toy with money and credits and other formalities all i want, but my work- my ideas, my labor, my effort- is still so important to me. i felt like the biggest idiot for doing so much work, pouring so much of myself into a piece for someone's use, for what has amounted to nothing

but more importantly i hated myself for undervaluing my work, even if initially i thought this person was a trusted friend. money is not really an issue for me- drawfee is my main job and i am fine and comfortable. it's so important to pay artists appropriately but i often undersell my own work bc i value the collaboration and passion between creatives more than the reward. i think a lot of artists tend to feel the same, and it often makes us easy to take advantage of. it's so difficult to find the balance between passion and making a fair living, and i think there's some shame within ourselves when artists choose to prioritize that passion

i wanted to finally get all this off my chest bc i was ashamed of every choice i made. things like this happen all the time i'm sure and hiding these mistakes only make it easier for it to happen to other people

tldr always value your work and protect your passion from people who just see it as a product. and don't give cheeky pseudonyms i guess lol

(and again pls don't bother anyone involved about this. a lot of chaos has left my life as i moved past all this, and this is me closing a door without opening new ones hopefully lol)

this shit was truly

so ass.

but i'm moving past it now

but on a nicer note. outside of all of this nonsense, i made lots of good memories this year. i'm truly so grateful to the many wonderful people in my life who keep me going even when i fuck up big time!

and thank you to all of you strangers who, despite everything, give me the time of day. especially if you read this whole thing. you're a real one :')

happy new year!

[bunnis-monsters]

Sacrificial Heifer

Bull Hybrids x Cow Hybrid!Reader

Commissioned by: @yuriohoe04

WC: 1k

A/N: Only 2 more slots for my commissions rn! Make sure to get them while you can. Once my comms are closed I won’t be opening them again until all my comms are finished ^^

Warnings: dubcon, breeding, lactation, pregnancy, gangbang

🥛 🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛

It had been a week since the farmer announced that you and your barn mates were ready to be bred for the first time.

At first, the lot of you were excited, some even ovulating and ready to breed. One of your friends had her tail lifted up, and it swayed softly as she sighed.

“Can’t you imagine it, being bred by a handsome bull? Do you think they’d want to settle and become mates?”

You rolled your eyes, swatting her thigh with your tail. “Not likely. Most bulls are just looking for a heifer to breed and toss aside for the next one. You’ll be lucky if they give you more than a few minutes of your time.”

An older cow had warned you many times that bulls liked to play with young heifers’ hearts, and that if you wanted to live a peaceful life on the farm, then you’d just breed and go about your day.

That’s what you told yourself out of fear of getting your heart broken… until the day finally came to breed.

All the other heifers were filling themselves up, brushing out their hair and tidying themselves up. The pheromones wafting through the barn were thick, almost stifling.

This all changed when the bulls walked in. They were big, bulky, and honestly? Terrifying.

They walked in with confidence, eyeing the new heifers with keen, sharp eyes that told you they were more than experienced when it came to breeding.

“Alright, who’s first?”

All the heifers shivered at the authoritative tone of voice. They had never been spoken to in such a way. The farmers they’ve had in the past had always been gentle, giving their bottoms hearty slaps as they herded them into the barn.

These bulls didn’t look like they even knew what the word gentle meant. They knew how to work with an inexperienced heifer, how to breed them into submission and stuff them full of cum.

You looked on with a mix of nervousness and curiosity. The bulls were definitely handsome, and despite their rough way of speaking, the way they tried their best to look a bit smaller told you that maybe they weren’t as bad as you had been told.

Before you could retreat to observe them from the back of the stall, you were shoved out into an open space, landing in the arms of one of the bulls.

“A volunteer. Cute one too.”

You yelped as your ass was groped, the bull squeezing it lightly before inspecting your face. “Little heifer, no need to be nervous. Gonna put a calf in you, alright?”

“Quite small, ain’t she?”

Another bull approached you from behind, lifting up your tail to get a better look at your fat ass. “Perfectly plump too. Got them child bearing hips… mmm…”

The feeling of a cock rubbing against your panties made your body freeze up. They both cooed at you, already able to sense your pheromones spiking. “Someone’s begging to be fucked silly, huh?”

One of the bulls traced circles over your clothed clit, laughing as you blubbered our half hearted pleas for them to let you go. “Hush, heifer. You’re soaking my hand, gotta breed that fat cunt of yours.”

Before long you were being hoisted up, a big fat cock pushing against your pussy. It was huge, and you were sure it would tear your body in two!

“Sure this little thing can take it?” another bull asked, this one playing with your clit as the other two bulls prepped your hole. “Smallest heifer in the herd I’ve seen so far…”

“She’ll take it.”

And with that, he rutted into you, stretching your fat pussy out as he bounced you on his cock. It was painful at first, tears prickling in the corners of your eyes, but your body was built for this. You were made to be bred by bulls, to get pregnant and produce milk and calves.

You felt your pussy gush as he fucked into you, biting into your shoulder. “That’s it, baby. Cream on my cock, lemme hear you cry out for me.”

You were passed around by the bulls, feeling so full and happy. As you were bent over and groped by another bull, you let out the prettiest of moans.

“God, that’s it, that’s a good heifer. Take my load, fuck…”

A bull took one of your nipples into his mouth, suckling as another mounted and bred you thoroughly. Before you were a virgin, and now you were being fucked by so many different cocks that you could barely think.

They rolled you onto your tummy, lifting your ass into the air and eating the cum out of your pussy, wanting to give you a nice and fresh creampie and hoping their’s would be the load to impregnate your fertile womb.

All the other heifer’s watched in awe and jealousy as the bulls kept their attention on you, unable to spare a second glance to the others. You were so cute, a small, chubby little heifer that was perfect for beating calves. How the hell were they supposed to breed anyone else when you were bouncing on their cocks?

By the end of the breeding session, your belly was distended, stuffed full of cum. None of the other heifers were bred because the bulls were way too busy doting on you after they all got a turn.

Now, as your belly began to swell with a calf and your tits got heavy and full, the bulls couldn’t help but cum all over and in you. Your pretty mouth and pussy was always keeping someone’s cock nice and warm.

Drinking milk from your fat and heavy tits was the best part of their day. They had to test your milk to make sure it was high quality… and they also just wanted to suck on your nipples.

After all, you were their perfect little breeding cow. None of the other heifers compared to you, none as sweet and soft and pretty. If anyone had a problem, they could take it up with the bulls.

You sat on your bed, being fed strawberries as your belly was massaged.

Maybe that older cow was wrong, because these bulls adored you with their entire heart… and you were excited to be thoroughly bred again once you gave birth.

You were a cow hybrid after all, and needed to produce lots of milk and calves. Being a breeding cow was your job…

And you were damn good at it.

——————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @buckoothecow @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143

[kazuhaiku]

love story

summary: kinich makes a surprise visit to fontaine and wants to spend the entire day with you, no excuses.

warnings: gender neutral reader, fluff, might be ooc kinich (it's just my interpretation on his personality as of now).

notes: silly little kinich fic as my first post >< reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated :)

“kinich!” you exclaim from the hunters’ guild, a huge smile on your face as you see him walking towards you, a nonchalant look on his face as usual. “hey! i didn’t know you were visiting fontaine. you should have told me!”

“it wouldn’t be a surprise if i tell now would it?” kinich replies, ajaw beside him nodding in agreement. “what are you doing in the hunters’ guild? did you receive a new commission?”

“mhm,” you hum in reply. “lumine and paimon are taking a day off so i’m taking over their commissions for today!” you hand him the list of commissions that are currently available to do and you swear you can see a faint glint of disappointment in his eyes when he sees how many commissions there are to do. “i’m-”

“let me help.” kinich abruptly cuts you off. “you’ll get this finished faster when i’m helping. i’m allowed to help, right?” his eyes flicker over to katheryne who is smiling amusingly. 

“yes of course, if that’s okay with y/n?” katheryne eyes you knowingly. despite katheryne being a robot, she has a clear understanding of the tension between you and kinich (a little too well, if you must say).

you clear your throat. “oh um- yeah of course you can help!” kinich smiles at your answer. he keeps the piece of paper containing the commission details inside his pocket.

“come on, no time to waste. we have lots of things to do today.” kinich exclaims almost excitedly, and you can’t help but wonder what plans he’s got for you today (because why else would he come all the way from natlan to fontaine?).

kinich indeed wasted no time because as soon as there was a fight, he jumped straight into it, killing the enemies almost instantly. before you know it, the commissions are all done hours before your predicted finish time.

kinich wipes the sweat away from his forehead, acting as if he didn’t just do all the commission for you. he turns around and gives you a big smile. “we’re done now, yeah? you’re finished with work?”

“um, yeah…” you stare at kinich as if he just ate a spider.

kinich tilts his head to the side. “what? why are you staring at me like that?”

“no it’s just,” you let out a small laugh, suddenly finding kinich’s actions a bit funny. “aren’t you acting a bit too… desperate?”

“d-desperate?” kinich stutters, a red hue filling his cheeks. “i don’t- i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

you raise your eyebrows. “really? so you did all my commissions in under ten minutes, used every single teleport waypoint instead of exploring the land like you always do, and made me watch you do the commissions instead of letting me help?”

kinich’s cheeks turn darker as you speak, and he immediately covers his face, as if his plan has been busted. “okay, you’re right. i’m… desperate.” he removes his hand from his face, pulling you into a tight hug. “i missed you so much, okay? my work lasted much longer than i had expected, and there was no time for me to write a letter to you.”

you can practically hear the pout in his voice. you gently pat his back, consoling him. “i missed you even more, kinich. how long has it been since we last met?”

“four weeks.” kinich says almost instantly.

you hum. kinich lets go of you, however, one of his hands is still holding one of yours tightly. he doesn’t say anything, and only focuses on caressing your hands, as if you are going to disappear when he lets go.

“kinich,” you call out, and his head whips up. “i’m not going anywhere.”

“i know, i’m sorry,” kinich sighs. “i had so many plans for us today but now i can’t even think of what we should do first.”

“well, considering i- we finish the list of commissions earlier than i had expected… why don’t we start from the top of the list?” you suggest. kinich’s eyes lit up, however, there is a glint of confusion behind it. “of course i know about the list. we’ve been dating for, what, four months now? i know you keep a list whenever we go out.”

kinich makes a sound of surprise and he lowers his head, slowly grabbing the piece of paper from his pocket. he hands it to you silently. “you know me too well, y/n.”

you smile, opening the paper. there aren’t many things on the paper, considering that he listed only five things; explore the court of fontaine, stop by the cafe there and have a nice little coffee date with y/n :), ride the aquabus (seems like fun), visit the opera epiclese, visit the chioriya boutique and gift y/n an outfit!

“wow…” you gasp in awe. “chioriya boutique? how’d you know i like her outfits?”

“remember the letter we last sent out to each other?” kinich asks and you nod. “well, you briefly mentioned her. how you love the outfits she makes and you made a little note on the side saying how you really want an outfit from her but you don’t have enough mora to buy one.”

“that- kinich that letter was probably sent a month ago! how do you still remember that?” you ask, surprised that he remembers the small detail.

kinich only smiles in response. “well, no time to explain. come on, let’s ride the aquabus! i’ve been dying to ride them ever since i got here.”

he pulls you and starts running, almost making you tumble. well, since he’s really excited, you can’t really complain. a happy kinich is a sight to behold.

[3rdgymbros]

━ 𝐑𝐮𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐚𝐬 𝐈𝐭 !

— pairing; vil schoenheit x ramshackle! reader

— summary; vil's dad thinks you're dating

— notes; there will be a part 2 to this. and please donate to my kofi or consider commissioning me if you like my work. and know that i am mentally smooching everyone who reblogs my stuff.

❋ It was supposed to be a casual outing; you’d managed to persuade Vil to accompany you to a new dessert place (with healthy, low-fat options, of course).

❋ You certainly weren’t expecting to have your face splashed across the front of a gossip magazine.

❋ The picture they’ve used is admittedly a nice one. Rather, it would be more accurate to say that Vil looks good. You, on the other hand, resemble a chipmunk, the way that you’re stuffing your mouth full with cake.

❋ But there’s a soft tenderness on Vil’s face as he watches you eat, the bright joy on your face, and he isn’t berating you for your poor manners as he normally would.

❋ The photo is adorable and genuinely sweet, revealing a side of Vil the public doesn’t often get to see. Naturally, fans go wild, and the press wastes no time speculating about your relationship with Vil.

❋ Vil takes it all in his stride when he sees the photos. While he’s used to media attention, he wasn’t expecting a moment like this to be captured with you, of all people. He thinks nothing of it at first and doesn’t mention it to anyone, expecting it to blow over in a week or so.

❋ It isn’t long before Vil’s own father catches wind of the juicy gossip. And Eric Venue studies the pictures with a raised brow. His son seems almost . . . Love-struck in that picture. It isn’t the poised, guarded side Vil normally displays for the media.

❋ And with a knowing smile, Eric decides to call his son, curiosity practically dripping from his voice. “When were you going to tell me about your lovely partner, son?”

❋ Vil had expected his father to offer advice on his recent casting roles, acting techniques, or perhaps a critique of his latest photoshoot . . . Not enquire about his personal life. Vil tenses, knowing exactly what his father is implying. "It’s nothing, Dad. Just a . . . Friend from school. You know how these magazines exaggerate things."

❋ Unfortunately for Vil, Eric doesn’t buy it.

❋ "Oh, come on now," Eric teases, amused. "I know that look. That’s not how you look at someone you’re just friends with."

❋ He’s seen Vil in countless roles, both real and on screen, and he can tell there’s something different about how his son looks at you. Something soft. Something real. Like he loves you.

❋ . . . Even if Vil himself isn’t aware of this yet.

[bluebeary-jay]

Damage done

Pre/No-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: during a fight with Joel, he unknowingly sends you into a panic attack caused by your previous experiences. he deeply regrets it. (based on this wonderful ask!)

Tags: heavy ANGST, hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending (there's also fluff), established relationship, petnames, soft!Joel (he's trying his best fr 🥺). Several years pre outbreak. please read the warnings carefully

Warnings: fighting, talk and mention about previous abusive relationship, panic attack, emotional distress, self-destructive thoughts

Word count: 4K

A/N: i wrote it partially based on experiences with my own panic attacks, but i know everyone's is different. if there's a warning i missed, please let me know. also i want this man to take care of me so much 😢 anyway, stay safe, darlings, and as always: happy reading and i hope you'll enjoy!! 💕 comments and feedback are greatly appreciated 😌

It had been a rough couple of weeks. Things at your work were rocky to say the least, what with your boss firing several people every week and cutting your salary. Joel didn’t have it much better – from what you understood, two clients suddenly canceled their order, and Tommy got himself thrown into jail, again, breaking his longest record to date. On top of that, little Sarah went down with some kind of flu that was raging in schools recently, and for the last two weeks one of you had to be home with her almost all the time.

So it was probably no wonder that the tension and stress became too much at one point, and you both snapped.

It was about the play at Sarah’s school.

“You promised her, Joel! She was talking about it for the entire week.”

“It’s not my fault we have to go out of town on this date,” he answered through clenched teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose and not looking up at you. “I tried to reschedule, but the commissioning party refused. I can’t help it, for fuck’s sake.”

You were glad Sarah wasn’t home right now to listen to your fight. You dropped her off earlier at her friend’s house because she wanted to practice lines for the play they were doing next week. The play that Joel was apparently planning to miss.

You adored Joel – god, you loved him with all that you had – but he could be so stubborn sometimes, it was driving you up the fricking wall.

“It’s your kid, Joel–”

“Yeah, it’s my kid!” he raised his voice, only now lifting his head. His stare was cold and hard, so unlike how he usually looked at you. “Not yours.”

“Are you kidding me?!” you shouted, hurt by his words and the tone he used. “I’ve been taking care of her, loving her– She is like a daughter to me!”

“But still not yours,” he repeated harshly. That was a low blow, especially when he told you so many times that you might not be Sarah’s biological mother, but it’s obvious you love her like she’s your own blood.

“You’re only saying that ‘cause you know I’m right,” you snarled angrily, and Joel huffed a humorless laugh.

“Of course. You always know better, dont’cha?” He stood up, towering over you, but you didn’t back down. If anything, it only made you more mad, as if he was doing this to intimidate you. “I’m sorry I’m such a terrible father in your eyes, but I have to think about earning money. Especially since it’s only a matter of time ‘till that asshole boss of yours will fire you, too.”

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?! You really think so lowly of me to say it won’t be long until I get fired?”

“I don’t– Christ, you’re puttin’ words in my mouth again.”

“Again. Of course.” You spat out and took your sweatshirt from the couch, done with him and this conversation. “I’m going to my home,” you told him dryly. Joel’s nostrils flared and he took a step forward.

“No, you’re not.”

“Fuckin’ watch me,” you muttered under your breath, but loud enough for him to hear.

“We are not finished!!” Joel screamed, his booming voice echoing throughout the house.

It felt like a slap. In one second you froze, all your muscles seized up and a feeling of coldness gripped your heart and throat, sending panic flooding your veins. The sweatshirt you were holding slipped out from your stiff fingers.

Joel has never raised his voice at you like that. Never with such anger and fury. There was a bite to his tone that you couldn’t explain, but which you knew very well – the telltale sign that you went too far, and the other person’s patience was at an end, that now you were going to pay for it.

Your previous boyfriend taught you what it means. It meant bruises and split lips, and screaming when you started crying…

Joel noticed the shift in your behavior right away, and his anger immediately ebbed, replaced by confusion and concern.

“Darlin’?” he murmured the pet name, though it rolled off his tongue heavily and with difficulty.

He was still furious at you and your refusal to understand what he was going through, but it all died down when he saw how wide, how empty your eyes were. Your knees buckled, and you looked like you could fall down at any moment.

Joel didn’t have any idea what was happening with you – but knew that whatever it was, it was his fault.

You, in the meantime, felt like you couldn’t breathe. The man in front of you – you weren’t even sure anymore who that was – took a step forward with his hand lifted, and you quickly backed away, stumbling in the process.

“No! N-no, no, please, I’m sorry–” you started blabbering and sobbing, wrapping one arm around your middle to protect all the main internal organs. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“No, you didn’t…”

“Please… I’m sorry, I swear,” you cried, trembling at this point, but not daring to escape the room. “I’ll be better, just don’t… Please, don’t…”

Joel’s heart broke when he saw you bursting into tears and trying to make yourself as small as possible. All his anger disappeared in a cloud of smoke, replaced by the overpowering need to comfort the girl he loved.

But you seemed so scared when he wanted to come closer… And he didn’t know how to proceed.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he repeated in an even softer tone, his eyebrows scrunching in worry. “Sweetheart… M’not gonna hurt you.”

He took another slow step forward, but that seemed to already be too much, because the trembling intensified and you practically slumped against the wall, one arm around your stomach, and the other squeezing your throat tightly. Joel feared to know the reason why you would do that to yourself.

“Stop, plea– I can’t– I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“No, it’s okay, my baby, it’s alright…”

He fell down to his knees next to you and reached to take you in his arms, but you started shaking your head violently, backing away and squirming out of his reach.

“No, no, please, I’m sorry! Don’t– don’t touch me!!”

A bile rose up in his throat, and he retreated his hands, holding them low in front of him to show he’s not going to do anything.

“It’s alright, babygirl,” he muttered chokingly, feeling completely helpless and lost about what to do. “You… you’re safe.”

You were crying uncontrollably now, though it seemed like you tried to stifle the never-ending sobs and tears flowing out of your eyes, in result making your entire body shake. You flinched – actually flinched – when Joel opened his mouth, and your fingers around your throat tightened their grip.

“No,” Joel said decisively, breaking your wish and grabbing your wrists, moving them away from your neck where red crescents started to form. “Baby, please, don’t.”

“Let go!!” It was hard to distinguish the words from between your cries, but the message your body language was conveying was clear as day. “No, don’t… me…” You sobbed again, quickly weakening despite your efforts. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“Come ‘ere,” Joel whispered in a voice full of pain, carefully shifting closer and wrapping his arms around you, though being careful not to make you feel too crowded or trapped. “Shhh… it’s Joel, darlin’, m’here.”

Surprisingly, you let him hold you – maybe it was just because you didn’t have strength to resist and fight back anymore, Joel thought, but maybe you recognized him. Maybe it was both. But the tears didn’t stop. No matter how gently he stroked your back or whispered reassuring words, you couldn’t seem to stop crying.

Several times in the next couple of minutes you tried to grasp your neck or arm again, but every time he delicately, though firmly, moved them away. You still babbled half-intelligible apologies and pleas, and each time your voice broke or hitched on another fearful word, Joel’s heart was shattering into a million pieces all over again.

“I’m sorry…” you sobbed again, trembling in his arms. “I’m sorry, don’t hurt me, p-please–...”

“My darlin’...” Joel held you closer and more securely in his arms, rocking you back and forth. “Sweetheart, my sweet, sweet girl… I’m never gonna hurt you, I swear.” He planted soft, delicate kisses on your hair. Even though he wanted to hug you tightly, to show you how much he loves and cares about you, he restrained himself and tried to keep his touch as gentle as possible. “I swear, my babygirl, m’sorry, so sorry for screamin’... Didn’t mean to.”

You were still crying, albeit weaker now, in his arms, clinging to him like your life depended on it. Joel could feel your nails digging themselves into the skin of his back, but it was the furthest thing on his mind – hell, he could start bleeding and still it wouldn’t be as important as comforting you at this moment. Better him than you.

“I love you s’much, my babygirl, my life,” Joel continued murmuring into the top of your head, feeling close to crying himself when your tears seemingly couldn’t stop flowing. “M’so sorry. I won’t ever hurt you like that again, I swear…”

His words, though full of love and compassion, rolled off you like water off a duck’s back, and you still couldn’t locate yourself, couldn’t tether your being to this world and make sense of the difference between what you knew should happen, and what was actually happening.

Your whole body was hurting, yes, but it wasn’t the pain of being repeatedly hit. You could barely hear your own cries, but it wasn’t because of vicious and cruel words being thrown at you. You knew it was Joel you were clinging to, and he never hurt you in this way, but… but you also were never so angry at each other. You never fought like this – and experience taught you that crossing that invisible line will carry certain consequences.

You weren’t angry now. You were scared. And confused.

“Joel,” you whimpered between gasps, struggling to breathe through your rapid sobs. “I’m sorry. Please, don’t– don’t go.”

“M’not leavin’ ya, babygirl.” He spoke into your hair, closing his eyes. “M’not goin’ anywhere.”

You were calming down a little now, the sobs wrecking your body and breaking Joel’s heart dying down, though you were still shivering. Joel continued to hold and soothe you the best he could.

And wondered who must’ve hurt his darling so much that you’d react so badly.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered after a while, sniffling into Joel’s chest, but trying not to get snots on his shirt. Joel sighed sadly, but his hold on you just tightened.

“No, babygirl, my darlin’...” He pressed his lips to your hairline, stroking your back with his other hand. “You have nothin’ to be sorry for, I swear. It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” you whimpered pitifully, unable to stop another wave of tears from falling. “I’m sorry I reacted like that. I know… Joel, I know you won’t hurt me. Baby, please.” You took his head in your hands, searching his eyes with fear painted across your face. “I’m so sorry, wasn’t thinking and…”

“Hey. Love, it’s fine.” He placed his own hands on your cheeks, stroking lightly your damp skin with his thumbs. “Don’t say that. M’not angry at you and would never be because of that. It’s… it’s okay.” He petted your hair, trying to relax for your sake, but his chest remained tight. “It’s gonna be okay, I promise.”

You nodded weakly, though you weren’t sure if you believed him. Joel swallowed heavily and nodded after a while, too.

“Okay. I… I’ll run you a bath,” he whispered, but you held his hand tighter and shook your head with tears gathering in your eyes again.

“No, no! Just s-stay with me, please.”

Joel took your face in his hands, but you closed your eyes, feeling too vulnerable and exhausted to even try to maintain eye contact.

“I’m here, baby. C’mon, just hold onto me.”

He waited until your arms were around his neck before slowly standing up and tucking you securely in his arms. You hid your wet face in the crook of Joel’s neck, breathing in his soothing smell and trying to calm your breathing, which you still found difficult.

Neither of you said anything when he took you to the bathroom, sat down on the toilet seat and started to fill the bathtub with water and soothing oils. You just watched him, wiping your nose every once in a while.

Still remaining silent, Joel extended his hand and helped you stand up. Then, almost with fearful hesitation, he touched the hem of your shirt, sending you a questioning look. You just nodded, not having strength to undress yourself, and lifted your arms, letting him take your clothes off.

You didn’t let go of his hand even after he guided you to sit in the tub. You couldn’t bear being alone with your thoughts right now, and Joel, being as wonderful of a man as he was, stayed by your side as the warmth from the water seeped through your tired bones.

Another several minutes passed before he finally asked the question that was gnawing at him since the very beginning. You must’ve subconsciously known it was coming, cause it didn’t even surprise you.

“Who was it?” he asked quietly. His hand was still caressing your palm with the gentlest of touches, but his eyes were like ice, full of hidden rage and hatred. “Who did this to you, darlin’?”

You wrapped your arms around yourself, not sure whether to answer or not. Ever since you got to know him, Joel has been nothing but kind and understanding, never pressuring you into doing or saying something you didn’t want… but you had a feeling he wasn’t going to let the matter drop.

And honestly, you were afraid to tell him. To admit how your previous relationship looked and what exactly happened to make you act so strongly about something so small. Because… what if he’ll realize how broken you are, how much effort it’d take to put up with you, and he’ll leave? Even if he was willing to take care of you, it was really unlikely that he’d stay – even if he says that now.

You were doing good until today. You managed to hide the issues you had with yourself and all the pain you carried inside, never letting Joel know that something was wrong with you. But now he… he will…

You didn’t want him to leave. He made your life so much better and you loved him to pieces with all your heart, as weak and broken as it was.

You couldn’t lose him.

“Oh, baby…” Joel’s hands cupped your cheeks so carefully and lovingly that you almost started weeping again. “M’not goin’ anywhere. I love ya so much. You’re never gonna lose me.”

You didn’t realize you said those words out loud, but even so, somehow his affirmations didn’t make you feel any better. You wanted them to comfort you, but if anything, they just made you feel sick.

“I’m afraid you’re gonna leave someday,” you whispered hoarsely, keeping your eyes on the slowly disappearing bubbles. “I know I’m being selfish, but I don’t want you to. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, Joel. I…” Tears spilled from your eyes again and you shook your head. “I know I’m too much. And… and broken. And I know it sounds like I wanna guilt-trip you, but I’m not, I’m just–” You choked on a sob, and wrapped your arms tighter around yourself, hugging your knees to your chest. “I don’t– don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Sweetheart, look at me, please.” Joel’s hands were rough to the touch, but so incredibly gentle when they guided you to meet his eyes, and a big pit formed in your stomach when you saw how they shone. He was on the verge of tears, too. “Don’t say things like that. Nothin’ is wrong with you. Who…” He sighed again. “Who made you believe such things?”

You didn’t answer at first, but Joel kept staring at you, and – finally – you relented.

“My previous boyfriend. The one I didn’t want to talk about. He– Look, I know he was a horrible person.” You let out a short laugh, but without any joy – or emotions altogether – in it. “And I hate him so much, but he… he was right. About some things.”

“He’s not.” Joel didn’t back down, feeling despair growing inside his chest as he saw the girl he adored with his whole heart put herself down like that. “You’re… fuck, you’re perfect, darlin’, and you didn’t deserve to be treated or talked to this way. M’so sorry it happened to you.”

He brushed some of your hair to the back and sighed silently. He seemed so lost and sad, it made you feel even worse.

“What can I do?”

That stopped the train of your thoughts, and you looked up.

“What?”

“What can I do?” he repeated softly. “To prove t’you that I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Your lips parted, and you were unsure what to say. Joel took your hand in his, delicately tracing patterns on the back of it.

“Babygirl, listen to me. You’re the most precious thing t’me. I don’t care what this asshole told you, but… but none of this is true. And it’s not gonna drive me away from you. Nothin’ is gonna make me leave,” he repeated more firmly, never taking his eyes off you. “Because I love you. More than anythin’ else in the world”

Joel sounded so sincere and desperate, tugging at your heartstrings with his gentle, sad eyes and loving words. The water became cool some time ago, but your insides felt like they were on fire – as if the next breath you were about to take would be your last.

“I’m sorry for everything I said.” You took a shaky breath, trying to keep your voice steady. “I don’t think you’re a bad father. I think you’re the best and most amazing dad Sarah could ever ask for. I didn’t want…” You sniffed and your shoulders started to shake again with silent cries. “I didn’t want to hurt you, I’m so sorry, I didn’t–”

The sob that you tried to stop with all your might suddenly escaped you, and Joel’s forehead scrunched in worry. He pulled you closer, leaning over the edge of the bathtub. Neither of you concerned yourself with water dripping off your skin, only feeling relieved from each other’s closeness.

“I know, babygirl. M’not mad.” Joel left a lingering kiss on your tearstained cheek, and then a second one on your forehead. “I’m sorry, too. For how I acted and for–” he sighed heavily into your shoulder, “for shouting at ya.”

“You couldn’t have known,” you mumbled, but he shook his head.

“That’s no excuse. I shouldn’t ‘ave done it in the first place.” He relaxed in your arms, and somehow it made your muscles less tense, too. “I’ll see what I can do about that job. So that I can see Sarah’s play.”

You nodded and let your eyelids drop, giving in to the feeling of calm and security that always came with being with Joel.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” you asked quietly. You still were a little afraid that he’s going to turn you down after what happened, but you really didn’t want to stay alone. “With you?”

“‘Course you can. D’ya want to go now?”

You nodded again. Not bathing seemed like a big waste of water, but you didn’t feel strong enough to actually wash your body. And Joel didn’t pressure you – he just bent over and wrapped his strong arms around you, practically pulling you out of the tub by himself.

His clothes were completely soaked when he put you down and reached for the fluffiest towel you had, wrapping it around you like a little cocoon. He got rid of his wet shirt, kissed your head gently and, without a word, scooped you up into his arms again.

“I can stand,” you offered when he started walking towards the bedroom, forcing you to wrap your hands around his neck for support.

“I want to take care of you.”

“But your back pains…”

“I’m not that old yet, sweetheart,” he answered with a half-smile, slowing down and gazing into your eyes softly. “Let me take care of you.”

You brushed his cheek with your fingertips tenderly, eyes flickering across his face. “But you’re always taking care of everyone, Joel.”

His throat bobbed and he almost immediately looked away. It was clear what he was thinking – that according to himself, he wasn’t doing a good enough job. Because you got hurt. Because he was the one who unintentionally hurt you and sent you into a panic attack.

He was silent when he put you down on the bed with care, turning around to fetch one of his shirts from the closet. During this whole time you didn’t say anything, either. Your mind was still a little closed off from when you tried to separate yourself from the painful memories that started to haunt you, and despite Joel’s efforts, it was still difficult to move past the experience.

But your head snapped up when Joel, after helping you put the shirt on, knelt in front of you, took your hand in his and leaned forward to kiss your knee gently.

“M’sorry,” Joel whispered with pain tinging his deep voice. “I’m sorry for sayin’ all those things about you and Sarah. I know you love her.” He pressed his lips to your knee again, and lifted his head, revealing how misty his own eyes were, which in turn made your heart ache even more. “My sweet girl. I swear I won’t ever hurt you again.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” you answered quietly, but Joel shook his head and took a deep breath.

“What can I do?” he repeated his question from earlier, and this time you knew exactly what you needed him for.

“Can you… can you hold me?”

Without missing a beat, Joel raised from his position and enveloped you in his embrace, making you feel safe and protected like never before. You sighed heavily, breathing in his scent and feeling like just by touching you with such love that only he was capable of, he helped you to lift some invisible load from your shoulders.

Despite the headache from all the crying and your chest still tightening with every shallow breath you took, you felt a little better now. You didn’t feel alone.

You knew you were safe with Joel.

It took some time for you to fall asleep, but even when you did, Joel could not find peace in the silky darkness of the evening.

Before you dozed off, Joel vowed again and again how much you mean to him, how you and Sarah are the best things that ever happened to him, and how he’ll never let anything happen to any of you – and he could clearly see that you believed his every word, and that you weren’t mad at him. You weren’t flinching when he rocked you back and forth, or later when he pressed small kisses to your forehead.

But you still were quiet and your face miserable, and several times Joel tucked you in closer to himself when he felt you shaking and sniffing. There wasn’t anything else he could do but hold you and whisper soothing promises into your hair. Once your eyelids started to drop, he began humming a familiar melody he knew you liked, and you nuzzled your face into his neck, curling up in his embrace.

And you whispered ‘I love you’ before you drifted off to an uneasy sleep in his arms. And before he could even answer, you thanked him for loving you.

When he heard it, he had to keep himself from breaking down with the last bit of his strength.

“You mean everythin’ to me, love. Everythin’,” he murmured after a couple of seconds, not even knowing if you were still awake. The guilt in his chest made it hard to breathe, but he pushed through it, and then he softly kissed your forehead, making a promise to himself.

He will find time to go to Sarah’s play with you. And he’ll make it right.

[cinnaminsvga]

Harana | Jungkook

harana (n.): the act of wooing someone by serenading them

→ summary:

Unwilling to settle down with you after five years of dating, Jeon Jungkook decides to break up to chase after his dreams. In the aftermath, you leave your hometown, desperate to forget your past and relearn what it means to be on your own. Two years later while on your way to work, you pass by a familiar voice singing songs about a girl he had left behind.

{or alternatively: Jungkook still sings the love songs that he wrote for you. He still means them, too.}

→ genre: busker!au, exes to lovers, angst, humor → warnings: jimin is insane and kinda crude (he has some issues going on), jungkook is a pathetic wet bunny but he's trying his best, oc has So Many Problems, so much arguing and yearning, ambiguous ending??? but my god there is hope!! the humanity of it all!! → words: 16.1K → a/n: HOLY SHIT IM BACK (kinda) and happy new year!! yeah ok its march but im relearning how to form coherent sentences so be patient ;w; this is the first installment of my hfoh series that i teased a LONG time ago... i made it a resolution to complete this series by the end of the year before i kms (Keep Myself Safe) so here's to a brand new year :D (oh god @ universe pls be kind)

part of the “heart full of hugot” series

Two days before the incident, your shower nozzle decides to explode.

Okay, you have to admit that statement is a little misleading. Shower nozzles, in all its nonsentience, do not randomly decide to explode no matter how much you try to defend yourself to your landlord. Maybe your grip had been a little too harsh that morning, or maybe hanging 5 pounds of hair products on the handle had been a bit too much for the old sport to handle. Or maybe, just maybe, the universe was warning you about the incident.

Whatever it was, it doesn’t erase the fact that your shower would be out of commission for the next week or so (though your landlord seems adamant about prolonging your suffering as long as possible). Until then, you’re going to have to find some other ways to keep the grease and grime from building on you. Heavens know that you already have a thriving ecosystem living in the back of your couch—you don’t need another one growing under your armpits. 

Lucky for you, you have friends. More importantly, you have friends who have showers. There is one problem though—all your friends live on the other side of the country. 

It’s been two years since you moved to the Big City™️, but you have done little to grow your social network. Call it introversion or depression, either way, you have no more contacts on your phone than you did when you left your hometown. Well, except for one person, if you could even consider him one. Frankly, you didn’t have a choice.

“Welcome to my humble abode, stinky,” Jimin greets you as you enter his house. Your nose is instantly assaulted by the smell of Bath & Body Works® Sweet Pea, reminding you once more why you didn’t consider him a friend. 

“Hey,” you reply gruffly, shucking your ratty shoes near his entrance. Your shoes look incredibly out of place amidst the sea of designer Chelsea boots and a singular pair of thigh-high heels. You take a glance at his living room, already feeling worse about yourself tenfold.

You had met Park Jimin by complete accident, much like how his mother probably felt when she first saw him too. You had never known anyone quite as… interesting as him, to put it lightly. 

When you got your job as a hostess for a luxury bar and restaurant, you figured you wouldn’t make many friends with your coworkers. Everyone was so… pretty, but in the shiny, untouchable sort of way. Almost all of the servers were as gorgeous as the models you’d see in magazines. You hadn’t known that the owners only hired a certain “demographic” of people for their restaurant, and you were equal parts flattered and disgusted that you’d somehow made it (though you suppose your bullshitting skills were all to thank). 

Unsurprisingly, even the bartenders were gorgeous, including one Park Jimin. He did have an aura to him that screamed “I’m a cut above the rest and I know it,” but that could just be the gold chains dripping down his neck. You almost mistook him as one of the patrons who mistakenly made his way behind the bar, and knowing the sort of clientele you’ve had to deal with so far, you wouldn’t have been surprised. It took a couple of weeks before you finally found out who he was (and what his fucking problem was).

Jimin was a part-time bartender with a full-time job as a bitch a self-made entrepreneur. Which is to say, he sold… tasteful photos of himself on the internet. You had nothing against his line of work. In fact, you would go far as to say you didn’t give a shit what he did outside of your shared workspace. But if there’s one thing Jimin is, it’s that he hates being ignored. 

So when you were adamant about not oohing and aahing at everything that makes Park Jimin perfect, he made it his self-appointed mission to befriend you. Or at least that’s what he claims, but given how he treats you lesser than the shit that cakes his cheeks, you have a lot of doubts. Perhaps he’s never made an effort to make a friend, hence his inexperience with being a decent human being. Or perhaps he’s just an asshole, but who is to say? The point is: he’s the only person you knew in this godforsaken city who would likely allow you to use his shower without being awkward about it and that’s that. 

The worst part about being an acquaintance with Park Jimin was that he lived in the richest area of Downtown but he wasn’t old money, that’s for sure. His entire essence screamed overconsumption, and his myriad of little trinkets littered across his apartment confirmed your previous assessment. You wouldn’t be surprised if you opened his freezer and found ten types of ice sorted assorted by color and shape like the extra bitch that he was. 

He made his money through sheer force, and it would have impressed you if he wasn’t, you know. Him.

“Bathroom is over there. I placed a towel and other shower amenities that you can borrow,” he says pointing to a door with a large “FART ZONE: ENTER WITH CAUTION” sign taped to it. You don’t ask.

“Thanks,” you say flatly. You wait patiently for his out-of-pocket comment. 

Like clockwork, Jimin smirks. “Sure thing. I gave you the super heavy-duty stuff. Figured you’d burn a hole through my expensive towels with how stinky you are, with your yeasty cu—”

“Aaaand I’ll be done in a few minutes. Thanks again Jimin,” you interrupt, making your way to the bathroom and slamming the door with as much force as you can muster. You hear something fall as the door shuts, and you vaguely hear Jimin mutter something about his “fart zone” signage. 

You begin to prepare your shower routine, humming lowly as you go about your business. You try to ignore the suffocating scent of ten million diffusers entering your nostrils, wondering for the umpteenth time if Jimin is suffering from long-term olfactory dysfunction. 

“Focus, Y/N. The quicker you shower, the quicker you can get the fuck out of here,” you whisper to yourself. However, in your haste, you knock over Jimin’s towel by accident. When the towel falls, a sheet of sandpaper slips out from underneath it, and you stare bemusedly until it finally hits you.

“YOU ARE SUCH A LITTLE BITCH!” 

From behind the door, you can hear Jimin’s infamous cackle. “Did you find the loofah? I got it just for you, darling!” he shouts back through his laughter, and you just grumble back in response. How on earth no one has strangled him to death, you have no idea.

“Whatever. I’m gonna shower now! Go beat off or whatever the fuck you do in your spare time,” you grouse, stripping as quickly as possible.

When the first droplets of water hit your body, you can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. You had both anticipated and dreaded going to Jimin’s house, but you desperately needed the shower. So you go through your routine, trying to find some semblance of relaxation throughout the process. However, it seems that Jimin was yearning for a little bit of attention as he chose to recline on the other side of the door and chat your ear off. Peace was never an option, it seems.

“Hey, Y/N! So why haven’t I seen you at work recently?” Jimin hollers from his living room. Despite the wall separating you, his voice manages to retain its volume.

You squirt a large glob of Jimin’s (expensive) conditioner onto your hands. “What do you mean? I go to work every day. You were the one who hasn’t been clocking in.”

You can hear Jimin scoff. “Um, correction! I went to work last Friday, which so happened to be your day off. If I didn’t know any better, I would have assumed you were avoiding me.”

And right you are, you think. But instead, you say, “Yeah, what a coincidence. I’ll be back to my regular schedule on Monday, though.”

“So that means you didn’t see the Justin Bieber wannabe stationed outside the restaurant then?” Jimin asks, voice miffed. “The guy suddenly sat down by the entrance window and a whole damn crowd started to appear! The absolute nerve of these people—don’t they know Park Jimin was just past the doors?” 

This provokes Jimin to go on his long epic soliloquy, which you’ve learned to drown out over the past two years. He could go on hour-long tirades if he wanted, and any interruption from you would just bounce off his nonfunctioning ears. And so, you allow his voice to fall to the back of your mind, similar to white noise if it wasn’t so grating.

However, this was likely your greatest mistake. If you hadn’t been so exhausted, or if Park Jimin hadn’t been so damn annoying all the time, or if the stars had aligned just right… Maybe you would have been forewarned about the incident. It’s as if the universe was screaming at you to pay attention, but alas… You were standing on the proverbial highway, unbeknownst to the incoming traffic because you had your metaphorical AirPods on.

So there you are, completely showered but none the wiser to your impending doom, naively looking to the future with unsuspecting eyes. Even if you had known of what was to come, would avoiding it even be possible? In hindsight, you suppose not, but you still kick yourself for being so blind. If only you’d steeled your heart, then maybe you wouldn’t have felt like vomiting in front of a crowd of innocent bystanders the very next day.

xxx

Monday comes and your shower still isn’t fixed. Jimin makes the benevolent gesture of allowing you to use his shower in the meantime, though you’ll only partake in his offer as minimally as possible. He does mention that he’ll need at least an hour’s notice, warning you about “accidental voyeurism.” You shudder to think of what sort of horror you might find if you did visit him without warning, and you pray for the continued well-being of your retinas.

On your way to work, you’re too busy watching cute videos of animals to notice the unusual flock of people idling close to your workplace. When you get closer, however, the growing commotion is enough to rip your gaze away from your phone, and the sight of the large crowd makes you stop in your tracks. 

It is 4 pm and the usual line of waiting patrons should not start piling up for another three hours, so this confuses you more than anything. You shuffle closer, squinting at the crowd until you notice that they aren’t lined up at all; instead, they have congregated into a large circle, but you are too far to see what they are surrounding. 

An accident? You worry, wondering if something terrible happened. You tiptoe above the heads of people, subtly moving forward to take a better look. Curse you and your curiosity. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself to see something grotesque or astonishing, but instead…

It’s worse.

Inching closer, you can begin to hear a soft thrumming of a guitar and a gentle singing voice that causes alarm bells to ring in your ears. The warm melody digs up old memories of a time long past: of ballads sung outside your childhood bedroom window, of promises whispered under Spiderman sheets, of tender caresses tucking stray hairs behind your ears… They flood your senses, but all you can feel is dread.

It can’t be who you think it is. You accidentally elbow a guy on your way to get closer, unsteadying his grip on his phone. 

“Hey, watch it! I’m filming a totally not-staged TikTok over here!” He yells, but you can hardly pay attention to him when you feel unnaturally drawn to come closer, still. 

You’re nearly at the front, with just a couple of teenagers standing between you and the (not-so) mysterious street performer. But the distance is enough, and your breath catches. You can see him—

Black hair partially hidden under a bucket hat. Boots bigger than Pangaea and a pair of eyes equally as large. Dark ink snaking down his arms, peeking out from under oversized sleeves. Piercings that could rival Park Jimin on a good day. He isn’t facing you, but you can still see his big doe eyes, gentle sloping nose, and pretty lips stretched into a handsome smile.

Your heart is thundering in your chest. This can’t be happening, you panic. After two whole years of rebuilding and reshaping yourself, relearning how to be yourself and not… not just his girlfriend.

Jeon Jungkook stands before you, busking in front of your workplace of all locations. The universe could not have been any crueler to you.

You—you had been known as nothing more than Jeon Jungkook’s high school sweetheart. Buried memories of snide comments from jealous teen girls fill your mind, reminding you of the time when you were coined a simple side piece to the main attraction. Decor, as they would call you. Nothing more than a girl who happened to snag Jungkook before people realized he was going to turn… hot. A hot guy who could sing. An inevitable chic magnet, as they would call him. 

And now, years later after much therapy and soul searching, your worst nightmare is standing in front of you in the flesh. This is what you will eventually dub the incident. 

At that moment, however, there is little to no time to dwell on naming this ongoing core memory. All you can feel is the adrenaline pumping through your veins, as well as the nausea rising up your throat. You stumble backward, blatantly shoving onlookers away as you struggle to find some air to breathe. In hindsight, you probably should have backed away as subtly as possible, but you hope that your dyed hair might be different enough that Jungkook wouldn’t know it was you if he had glanced your way. 

Even when you stagger towards your work establishment, the walls cannot perfectly muffle his soothing singing. You can’t make out the lyrics to his song too well, but his unmistakable voice is hard to ignore. Working as a hostess, your station is also coincidentally as close to the door as possible for maximum torture. 

This can’t get any worse, you think as your mind races with conflicting emotions. You thought you had moved on, thought you were past the pain and the memories, but seeing Jungkook again, unexpectedly, stirs up a storm of feelings you thought were buried deep. Anger, hurt, betrayal—all rush to the surface, threatening to overwhelm you.

But there is no time to unpack all that baggage right now. Time will continue to march on, and your job is still on the line. How can you have the time to have a mental breakdown when you were still living paycheck to paycheck?

But even as you try to push Jungkook out of your mind, his voice echoes in your ears, his image burned into your memory. It's as if the universe is laughing at your misery, reminding you that despite all your supposed growth, you are still just you. 

Painfully and pathetically you.

As you struggle to pull yourself together, a familiarly loud voice rings outside the edge of your consciousness. “Hey, Y/N! Fancy seeing you here…” Jimin greets you, his usual jovial demeanor halting midway when he sees your panicked expression. He clears his throat, perplexed. “Umm… Are you alright there, girl? You’re looking a little pale.”

You do not even have the mental capacity to wonder why Park Jimin was miraculously early to his shift, nor why he seems genuinely worried for you. Rather, all you can do is wave him off and use what little time you have before the restaurant opens to steel yourself for hours of melodious torture. 

“I’m fine, Park. You should get to work,” you grit out, wiping your sweaty palms on your uniform. Normally, Jimin would have teased you about the obvious wrinkles on your skirt. 

“You’re not the boss of me,” Jimin huffs, always the contrarian. He thinks better of it, however, and softens his tone. “Are you feeling sick or something? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

You freeze, perhaps giving yourself away a little. “I’m fine,” you repeat. 

“You know, if you refuse to elaborate, I’m going to have to retract your shower privileges,” Jimin taunts with a smirk. 

You feel a migraine growing by your temple, making you wince. God, why must men be the source of all your problems?

“I’m just… a little annoyed by the busker outside the restaurant,” you eventually admit, trying to be vague. Unfortunately for you, Jimin hates beating around the bush and would never take your crap if he knows something is up.

Unable to withstand the weight of his unimpressed stare, you clarify, “He was someone I used to know, that’s all.” You aren’t going to be any more specific than that, though you imagine Jimin gets the picture. You zip your lips, hoping to whoever is causing you pain that Jimin would somehow let the matter drop and leave you to your misery.

You brace yourself for his onslaught of questioning to come, and… it doesn’t happen. Instead, when you glance at Jimin, he is mysteriously stone faced. You wait for him to speak for what feels like a few minutes, but he doesn’t show any signs of wanting to tease or ridicule you. He simply watches you with a pensive expression. You can barely stop yourself from staring back at him, slack-jawed at his silence. 

Of course, you aren’t just going to question your luck, or what little you have at least. So, you stay silent back and fidget uncomfortably.

Finally, Jimin seems to snap out of his strange reverie. He fixes you with a bizarrely sympathetic grin, patting you affectionately on the back. “I see… Well, if you ever need a drink tonight, head over to the bar for a little sip. I got you covered,” is all he says in response before sashaying away. 

That was so fucking weird. You want to chase after him, perhaps beat the truth out of him. Jimin is nothing but a scheming dick, and you aren’t about to let him roam free with such sensitive information about yourself. Just as you’re about to stomp his ass (perhaps to relieve some of the building tension from your weary soul), your manager pops his head from his office door. 

“Y/N! Make sure you’re logged into the booking system. There’s going to be a party of 20 coming in about an hour,” he reminds you, shooting you an apologetic look. You nod back with a sigh, swiping the booking tablet from the hostess desk and scrolling through the logs. Sure enough, it is going to be a busy night despite being a Monday evening. Perhaps a little busier than usual, in fact.

Whatever. You will use whatever distraction you can get, and perhaps the approaching noise from the restaurant patrons will be enough to drown out the sound of his voice. 

You aren’t religious by any means, but you pray to whatever higher power exists that Jeon Jungkook doesn’t somehow decide to enter the restaurant. Stay outside, you plead. Outside the restaurant and your life, if possible.

Throughout the evening, you do your best to push aside the memories that threaten to resurface. You greet customers with a smile, lead them to their tables, and ensure their dining experience is pleasant despite the anxiety poisoning your insides. It's a routine you've perfected over time, a shield against the chaos of your emotions.

As the night wears on, you can feel Jimin's eyes on you from across the restaurant. You sneak glances back at him, and you blanch at his pitying gaze. If the restaurant had been slightly less crowded, you would have flipped him off. 

He’s probably enjoying my suffering, you think darkly. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction, you straighten up and do your best to appear more unaffected. Just as you do so, you can hear Jungkook perfectly hitting a soulful high note. 

“I’m so sorry for thinking I was strong,” you whisper to the universe. “Forgive me for my insolence.” You clench your fist in anguish, ignoring the confused looks from the customers in front of you. 

By the time your shift comes to a close, you are completely and utterly drained. You feel like a snail that has been continuously salted over the past eight hours, and you cannot help but cheer in relief when the clock finally strikes two in the morning. You have to wait for the last few diners to make their leave, but otherwise you are ready to let your bed swallow you whole. 

You stand by your hostess desk, leaning your head against it with a defeated sigh. Jungkook’s voice had died down only a few minutes ago, and you hope that by this point he has mercifully left the premises. You want to take a peek to make sure, but just as you’re about to make your way to the door, you feel a hand on your shoulder stop you in your tracks.

“‘Sup, bitch.” Jimin still has that weird, pitying gaze pointed at you, though his words don’t match it. “Are you okay to go home alone tonight? I can bring your dumb ass home if you want.”

You shove his hand away, ready to bite his head off when you think better of it. If Jimin drives you home, then that lowers the chances of seeing Jungkook down to pretty much zero. 

“You know what? Thanks,” you grouse. Jimin smiles at you winningly, and the image of it brings a shiver down your spine. You hit him, creeped out. “Hey. Stop that, will you? You’re being really weird?”

Jimin scoffs, crossing his arms. “Me? Weird? At least I don’t look like a damn firework ready to explode just because my cringelord ex-boyfriend is singing sappy love songs outside—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you seethe, stomping on his foot. He yelps in pain and slaps your shoulder in retaliation. 

“Ouch! Watch your ogre feet! My shoes are worth twice your monthly rent I’ll have you know,” he bristles. He breathes deeply, likely finding his inner calm (which you doubt exists). “But because I’m so nice, I’ll ignore your earlier transgression and blame it on your underdeveloped amygdala.”

You don’t know what’s more surprising: the fact that Jimin knew what an amygdala was or that he was forgiving you in the first place. “Whatever. Let’s finish closing up and then head out. I’m exhausted.”

You make quick work of your task and when you’re ready to head out, Jimin is already waiting by the backdoor. He’s twirling his car keys with a finger and gestures for you to follow him. As you make your way to his car in the back parking lot, you catch sight of a lone figure standing next to a beat-up pickup truck. He’s leaning against it, his hands busy tuning a battered guitar.

Your breath hitches, and you immediately feel nauseous. Of course the incident has yet to end. The night is young, after all.

Jimin accidentally slams the backdoor closed, and the noise wrenches Jungkook’s attention away from his ministrations. Immediately, his eyes lock with Jimin before finally turning to you. 

Your heart skips a beat as he gazes at you, your mind racing with a hurricane of emotions. You hadn’t expected to see him again so soon, especially not after the tumultuous encounter earlier in the day. What did you say earlier? That “the chances of seeing Jungkook was down to pretty much zero”? 

The chances of seeing Jungkook is low, but never zero, your mind unhelpfully supplies.

There is a long period of awkward silence. Jungkook has his mouth slightly agape, his hand subconsciously lowering his guitar to rest against his truck. To your left, Jimin’s breathing quickens slightly. You, on the other hand, are trying your best not to projectile vomit in this damned parking lot. 

Jungkook is the one who decides to break the delicate silence. “Is that you…?” he calls out hesitantly. 

Don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my—

“Y/N,” Jimin interjects. His gaze is steel cold, uncharacteristic of the carefree boy. He slings an arm around your shoulders, gently nudging you towards his car. With your view still fixed on Jungkook, you miss the way Jimin shoots the other boy with a playful smirk. “C’mon, babe. Let’s go home.”

His words startle both you and Jungkook. “Wha—? Jimin?” you splutter, flushing at his flirtatious undertone. You want to curse him out for his strange behavior, but all the shock has left you mute. 

Jimin all but shoves you into the passenger seat. But just as he’s about to slam the car door, you hear Jungkook call out your name. It’s fleeting and quiet, but you heard him crystal clear.

It breaks your spirit to hear him say your name. For a moment, you feel as though you are floating.

When was the last time he called your name? And so softly, too? If you could replay that moment over and over, would you be able to catch some signs of tenderness in his voice? When you close your eyes later that night, would your dreams show you that he had been gazing at you with yearning? Was any of it true?

As Jimin starts the car and pulls away from the curb, you steal one last glance out the window, only to find Jungkook staring at you with an arm outstretched. You continue to watch him until his figure disappears into the night. 

You are quietly immersed in your own thoughts, the whirlwind of emotions intensifying your persistent migraine. Unaccustomed to silence, Jimin decides to give his unsolicited two cents, as per usual.

“Geez. Didn’t know you were into the whole starving artist type. If I’d known, then maybe I’d stop trying to brag about my fortune to you,” Jimin scoffs. “If loser buskers like him impress you, then maybe I should—”

“Would you shut the fuck up for once in your fucking life!” You explode, whirling to face him with a glare. Jimin has the audacity to flinch, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the road. 

“What the fuck? Why the hell are you mad at me?” 

“What the hell was that back there? ‘C’mon babe.’” You mimic his voice with a sneer. “Why on earth would you do that? Now he thinks that we…”

“Why do you care what he thinks? He’s your ex, remember?” Jimin cuts you off, but you can’t even refute him. He continues, “Figured as much. And judging by how spooked you’ve looked all day, I have to assume that he was an asshole, right? Why else would you accept my offer for a ride home if you really wanted to avoid seeing him?”

You shrink under his accurate assumptions. Damn, were you really that easy to read? “I… I mean, yeah but…” You clear your throat, still feeling wronged by him. “You didn’t have to act like a weird prick in front of him!”

Without warning, the floodgates burst forth. You begin to ramble, the thoughts that have been weighing you down pouring out of you in waves. “Jungkook was my ex, yeah. But he wasn’t an asshole. On the contrary, he was really sweet. The nicest guy in my school, at least. Wouldn’t hurt a fly, that sort of person. I dated him all throughout high school and he was a great partner.”

Jimin hums skeptically. “Then why the messy break-up?”

“It wasn’t messy!” You retort defensively. 

“Could’ve fooled me!” Jimin snorts. “I also frequently act like a trembling kitten when I see my exes,” he says sarcastically. 

You ignore him. “The reason we broke it off was because he wanted to pursue his dreams to become a singer after high school and I wanted to do other things. It was a mutual break-up! Honestly, I’m glad that we did. Too many girls wanted him and all the unwanted attention was getting on my nerves. I was glad to find a reason to end it all,” you explain, hoping you didn’t sound as shaky as you felt. What you said was mostly true, though you left out the important bits to yourself. Mostly to save some of your dignity intact. (Truthfully, you just didn’t want to admit things you weren’t ready to face.)

“Then if you’re so glad, why do you look like you wanted to shit yourself? It ain’t adding up,” Jimin fires back.

“It’s just—” you stammer, trying to find a reason why you were so bent out of shape after seeing him. “I-I was caught off guard, I guess. I knew he was pursuing his dreams to sing and all, so I expected him to leave the country. I wasn’t expecting to see him outside where I work, of all places,” you mutter lamely. You have your head bowed, biting your lips from the nerves. Again, you weren’t totally lying. 

Jimin is silent for a moment, contemplating your admission. When he looks so calm like this, it’s hard to get a read on what he’s thinking. As Jimin speeds down the highway, the street lights illuminate his face in a strange way, and for once, he looks like a stranger. His steely expression makes you nervous, for some reason. 

Eventually, he asks you a question you would never have expected. “And he just let you go?”

You pause. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Jimin huffs, irritated. “He just up and left without a fight? If I were him, I would have…” he trails off, his jaw clenching. 

You don’t know where this Jimin came from. Under the moonlight, Jimin looks livid, but that can’t be right. Jimin, mad for you? Sure, you’ve seen his anger directed towards you, but this? Everything’s gotten so complicated, and you are just about ready to succumb to sleep and hope to wake from this nightmare.

The rest of the drive to your house is silent, save for the sounds coming from passing cars. Jimin pulls up to your apartment complex, his mysterious anger finally subsiding. 

Just as you’re about to reach for the car door handle, Jimin places a hand on your shoulder. “Listen, Y/N. I’ll talk to management tomorrow morning. I know the manager well enough that I can probably convince him to do something about that ex of yours. He’s busking on private property, so it should be easy to get rid of him,” Jimin says, tone serious. He swallows, and for a moment you think he looks a little nervous. “If that’s what you want, I guess.”

His kindness scares you. You want to tease him, ask him where Mr. Bitchy and his $2000 Chelsea boots had gone. Anything to make this air of severe sincerity to abate. This new Jimin feels suffocating. But instead, you nod your head stiffly. 

Jimin makes a pained expression for a moment, but it’s quickly replaced by his usual playful smirk. He slaps you upside the head, laughing heartily at your stunned face. 

“Get some rest, babe. I’ll see you tomorrow evening,” he chuckles, reaching over to open the door for you. You scramble out into the cold city air, taking one last look back at him through his window.

He rolls it down, leaning forward to flash a toothy grin at you. “Hey, stop with all the angst, pookie. Wouldn’t want my favorite toy to get sick from overthinking. Who else would I bother at work if not you?”

You snort, both endeared and irritated in equal measure. He’s right. Everything was going back to normal tomorrow, you’re sure of it. You flip him off with a cheeky grin before making your way to your apartment.

Everything is going to be okay. Jimin says he’ll do something about it, and for whatever reason, you feel like you can trust him on this. Surely good fortune was soon to be upon you. 

xxx

Jimin had texted you while you were still sleeping:

Spoke to Manager Jeong about your little problem. He said he’ll deal with him.

You breathe a sigh of relief, your body feeling significantly lighter. Your sleep last night had been tumultuous and restless. You feel more tired than you did when you went to bed, but all your weariness fades once you read Jimin’s text. 

Once you make it to work, you find that management has gotten rid of Jungkook somehow. Added with the fact that your landlord has promised to look into repairing your shower (no guarantees, but you want to stay optimistic), today has been significantly better compared to yesterday. You even catch yourself humming as you set up your workstation, a small smile gracing your lips.

Jimin has a later shift this evening, and you find that you are somewhat disappointed for once. Your overwhelming gratitude is surely the only reason, otherwise you would never admit to wanting to see him at any given time. 

You are in the midst of texting Jimin about all the good news when your manager passes by your desk. You are quick to pocket your phone away from his prying eyes, ready to defend that you aren’t slacking off… but his demeanor does not reveal any ire. In fact, he looks rather pleased for once.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jeong. What’s up?” you ask, suspicious. You instinctively fold your hands behind your back; it is a subconscious effort on your part to keep your distance from him. Something about your manager always gives you a bad feeling when he looks a little too happy. 

He grins widely. “Everything is going splendidly, Ms. Y/N. In fact, I think today might just be our lucky day!”

Never during your time working here has his and your luck ever coincided. “Our lucky day?” you echo.

“Why, yes! I spoke with your lovely friend and coworker Jimin this morning,” he starts, and immediately your alarm bells ring. You don’t even bother correcting him about the ‘friend’ part like you normally would. He continues, “He gave me a brilliant idea about the busker who had been performing in front of the restaurant the past two days.”

You nod slowly, not quite understanding. “Yes… The busker has been quite… the spectacle,” you say carefully. Somehow, you know calling Jungkook a ‘nuisance’ would have been the wrong choice in this instance.

Manager Jeong beams. “Exactly! You must have noticed the amount of people we served yesterday despite being a Monday. Additionally, almost all of those new customers requested outdoor seating no less!”

You feel the world tilt on its axis. What is he on abou—?

“What are you talking about?” you exhale.

“Don’t you think it would be even better for business if we got that busker to perform inside the restaurant? Why, it’s a brilliant idea and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it first! Our live band has always been missing something special, and perhaps a vocal accompaniment is the exact answer to our problem! Think about it, the atmosphere would be…”

Manager Jeong continues to prattle animatedly about his plans to your unhearing ears. There must be static or cotton plugging your head because you cannot possibly understand anything he is saying. Jungkook? Inside? Performing at your restaurant? But Jimin said he had spoken to the manager about getting Jungkook away from you! None of this makes sense. 

“That makes no sense,” you verbalize, unknowingly cutting Manager Jeong from his monologue. He halts in surprise, as if now just realizing you were standing there (much less capable of interrupting or disagreeing with him). When he snaps out of it, you sense that familiarly sinister aura emerging from him in waves. You belatedly realize he must have mistaken your outburst as antagonistic.

“Well, Ms. Y/N. Whether it makes sense or not, we have hired Mr. Jeon to perform live at the bar stage for the next four weeknights. If, for some unknowable reason, I am incorrect,” he pauses to emphasize his words, “then his services will be promptly terminated. However, judging by his popularity from simply standing out in the cold and singing silly love songs, I am sure that worry is unwarranted.”

Behind you, the telltale sound of the main door swinging open catches you even more off guard. You do not even have the chance to turn to face the newcomer, only managing to register the gust of cold wind that accompanies their entry.

And so, you hear him before you see him. 

“Hello?” Jeon Jungkook greets quietly.

Even without turning, you can imagine how he looks, how he stands, how he feels, how he tastes—

Manager Jeong claps his hands gleefully. “Splendid timing! Speak of the devil…” The older man nearly skips towards Jungkook like a youthful school girl, accompanied by his uncharacteristic squeals of excitement. 

You can feel his gaze on you, almost tangibly. With nothing but your shreds of dignity left intact, you force yourself to face him. 

He’s still so tall, is all your mind can helpfully supply as you stand feet away from your high school sweetheart for the first time in two years. He’s still wearing the same bucket hat from the night before, semi-shielding him from view. Despite that, you catch a small flash of white graze his bottom lip as he chews the soft flesh nervously.

“Hi, Y/N.” He addresses you directly, completely overlooking your manager without a single glance. Despite his hat, he still has his eyes lasered on you, as if not quite believing you were there. You hate how his attention makes you shiver all the same. 

Even though he ignored your manager (which would have been a major dispute had you done the same), Jungkook still receives a friendly handshake in return. “Mr. Jeon! I’m surprised you know Ms. Y/N, though I’m sure you must have spoken with her when she was escorting guests to the outdoor seating the other day.”

You had actually gotten your co-hostess to seat all the outdoor seatings yesterday, but you weren’t going to mention that.

Manager Jeong claps him on the back, inadvertently causing Jungkook to stumble forward closer to you. He looks up at you then, eyes bugging out of their sockets like a rabbit caught in a bear trap. You stagger backwards in turn, barely concealing the anxiety on your face. Oh fucking hell.

Your manager is none the wiser, of course. “Well, this makes my job much easier! Since you’re both acquainted, I’ll let Y/N show you the ropes. The band doesn’t start their set until later in the evening, but you’re free to take a look at the stage and other parts of our facility in the meantime,” he says, chuffed. Meanwhile, Jungkook looks like he’s been shot by a freeze ray. 

Then, your manager points a sharper gaze at you. “Ms. Y/N, treat our super star well. I know you won’t disappoint me.”

Fucking superstar… You can only nod in defeat. “Y-Yes, sir…” you whisper, clenching your uniform with your fists. It is the only way to keep them from shaking like a leaf. You watch as his figure disappears behind his office door, leaving you to fend for yourself. Powerless, you train your gaze to the floor, unwilling to meet Jungkook’s eyes. 

But the nerves are taking control of your body, screaming at you to eject, eject, eject!

“Sorry, I have to go to the toilet,” you splutter quickly, almost tripping over yourself on the way to the restroom. You dimly wonder if Jungkook is going to think you’re leaving to throw up, but you can’t find any self-respect left to care. All you need is air and space to breathe—preferably away from him. 

You slam open the stall, hardly checking to see if anyone else is around before locking the door shut. You sit on the toilet, plant your face between your knees, and scream. 

Should you go home and use sickness as an excuse? But even if you did, you still had shifts every weeknight. You would have to see him eventually. You can pray all you want that Jungkook will be fired by the end of the week, but even your delusional mind can never fathom the idea that anyone would willingly want to send Jeon Jungkook away. Plus, you remember that the regular band that plays at the restaurant has been wanting to get a singer to accompany them for ages, and you know just how damn affable he can be. They are going to love him, and you hate him for that.

It is clear to you that there is no other option:

You pull out your phone to quickly open up Indeed on your browser, frantically hunting for any openings that might fit your measly qualifications. However, you have to pause in your search to deliberate. Wouldn’t it be better to move out of the country? You had been so naive to think that moving cities was enough distance between you and Jungkook—going across the ocean is the obvious answer. Should you start up your Duolingo lessons again and hope that you can somehow survive in a different continent with only a few dollars to your name? 

You shut your phone in despair. Whether or not your plans of escape are feasible or not, in the short term, you are stuck with having to suck it up and just learn to ignore your ex-boyfriend’s presence. Surely you can force out a fake smile or two, especially with how much practice you’ve gotten after working with unbearably entitled customers. 

Taking a step outside of the restroom stall, you head to the sink to splash some cold on your face. You stare at the mirror, confronted by a girl who looks two seconds away from having a Netflix Original-esque meltdown. You rake your fingers through your hair, doing your best to look like you aren’t about to rush into incoming traffic. To no one's surprise, it doesn't work.

“Okay, I got this. Just pretend like he’s just some guy, because at the end of the day, he is just some guy,” you mutter to your reflection. She looks back at you unconvinced. “He may have broken my heart into little bite size pieces, but who cares! HE’S JUST A GUY!” You repeat the phrase over and over again like a lunatic, in a desperate attempt to cognitively alter your brain chemistry.

At that moment, one of the other stalls in the restroom creaks open, and a girl you recognize who works as one of the dishwashers walks out. You both have a silent eye conversation as she quietly studies your crazed expression and crumpled work uniform. 

Eventually, she awkwardly clears her throat, pointing to the only sink in the restroom. “Uh, sorry to hear about your, uh, guy problem. Could I use the sink please?” 

You hastily back away, allowing her to take your spot. You don’t even have the energy to apologize for your spectacle, just bowing sheepishly to her before making your way back to the main hall. If she rats you out to the rest of your coworkers, then that gives you another reason to move out of the country. Maybe you should consider a name change while you’re at it.

When you exit the restroom, you half expect Jungkook to be waiting for you by the door, but find that he isn’t anywhere nearby. He isn’t by your hostess station either, and you thank your lucky stars for once. Even if your manager had asked you to show him around, you’re sure that Jungkook can find his way around just fine. Plus, the stage is at the corner of the restaurant and is sufficiently far enough that you wouldn’t have to make eye contact with him if you were careful. 

You don’t know which greater entity has been messing with your sanity these past few days, but you hope that they can show you mercy just once—a brief reprieve, if anything. 

You clasp your hands in prayer. I’ll eat more vegetables, I’ll remember to floss, I’ll call my parents from time to time… Just please let me survive tonight. 

“Remember, Y/N… He’s just some guy,” you reiterate through gritted teeth. If a passing coworker happens to overhear your demented chanting, then you pay them no mind.

You walk towards the entrance, flipping the sign to open. You feel like a video game character when you glance at the clock, which signals the start of your shift. You can imagine the red bold text hovering above your head: 8 more hours until freedom. 

This is just like playing Five Nights at Freddy’s, except you’ve only watched the movie and you suspect your life is probably worse than whatever Josh Hutcherson had to survive through. 

You take a couple heaving breaths to brace yourself for what will be the longest eight hours of your life. You’ll show Jungkook just how well-adjusted and mature you’ve become. You are a professional, and not even a boy with angelic vocals will make you crumble. After all, what’s the worst he can do? 

xxx

He could, in fact, do a lot worse than you thought. 

“I have many regrets being born at all,” you mutter bleakly, three hours into your shift. 

Jungkook had started singing only an hour ago, so you had been filled with false confidence at first when the restaurant was filled with nothing but ambient chatter and soothing jazz music. You felt more and more confident as the minutes ticked by and your anxiety slowly melted away. You even forgot that he was somewhere in the back, likely warming up or whatever it is that singers did before a performance. 

However, your brief moment of courage shatters almost immediately when Jungkook finally takes the stage. 

At first, you did your best to tune out his voice, but it’s especially hard when whoever was in charge of the sound system decided to crank his volume to an excruciating level. You wanted desperately to grab some napkins and shove them in your ears, but you suspected that your customers (and manager) would be unappreciative of that gesture. And so there you lay, forced to wallow in Jungkook’s melodious singing like a criminal strapped to an electric chair.

But how much more pleasant an electric chair would be! Why on earth was Jungkook so adamant to sing sad love songs the entire time? Why couldn’t he be like his other singing contemporaries, who loved to write songs about getting bitches and making money? At the very least, even if he wasn’t quite a platinum selling artist just yet, surely he was constantly sharing beds with anyone he pleases? Couldn’t he sing about that?!

(In the back of your mind, you wonder if it would be less painful to learn that Jungkook has slept with multiple people… Because then, it would mean that he had moved on while you stood alone on your island, stranded and yearning.)

You didn’t want to think too deeply about his lyrics. However, you're only human. So when your mind barrier failed and you caught snippets of his singing, you noticed a pattern. There was always a girl in his songs. She was omnipresent, and Jungkook was always pleading for her. Begging and aching and wanting. But most all… he was always repenting. In every song, he always whispered a pious apology. 

You feared what would happen if you turned around in those moments of weakness. You were terrified of admitting something, of letting words spill that had been trapped in your throat for the better part of two years. 

Lucky for you, salvation comes in the form of one Park Jimin. Though, can you even count him as your savior when he had also inadvertently caused your demise?

Jimin doesn’t even have a shift today, so you’re more than surprised when his bright blonde head stumbles through the restaurant doors. His expensive coat is askew and his signature designer shades are nowhere to be found. He is panic incarnate—an expression you have never seen on his face before.

“Holy fuck,” he greets, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. His profanity startles the elderly couple waiting to be seated, their glares menacingly sharp. To his credit, Jimin doesn’t even seem phased.

In lieu of an answer, you gesture vaguely behind you. You can imagine how dejected you must look. “Holy fuck indeed,” you sigh.

It takes a moment for Jimin to regain his bearings. He straightens up and pats down his coat, but his hair is still tousled by the wind. If not for the fact that he has a car, you might have thought he had run all the way here. 

“I am so sorry. I didn’t know this was going to happen,” he starts, genuinely remorseful. “I texted Manager Jeong this morning and he said he’d get your ex to leave, but I didn’t think he’d offer the damn bastard a job!”

“Mind your language, Park. I’m still at work,” you scold. You try your best to ignore the scrutinizing gaze of the elderly couple. You lower your voice. “And don’t apologize. I know you’re an asshole, but I doubt you’d actually prey on my downfall like this. I know you’re not into public humiliation.”

Jimin brightens slightly at your joke, but he still looks like a guilty puppy who'd been caught shitting on the carpet. “Yeah, well. I happen to enjoy tormenting you and I won’t let some upstart Charlie Puth wannabe ruin your life. That’s my job.”

You smile wryly at him. “Well, that’s too bad. Jungkook’s been singing for a few hours now and I’m pretty sure Manager Jeong is going to keep him long-term. He might have broken my heart, but damn does he have vocals. I'm sure you'll have plenty competition when it comes to 'who can make Y/N's life feel like hell.'”

Jimin doesn't smile back, but instead studies your face for a moment. Then:

“Do you think if I offer to suck Manager Jeong off, he’ll fire him?”

“What the fuck?” You nearly yell out in surprise, your jaw dropping to the floor. Judging by his serious scowl, you know he's actually considering it. By now, the elderly couple waiting to be seated have left the premises.

Jimin continues, unperturbed. “I know he secretly wants me, based on how his wife seems to have a personal vendetta against me. He definitely wants a taste of my bus—.”

“Stop, I get it!” You wave your hands to make him shut up, heat rising up your cheeks. “Never say that string of words to me ever again. You have just inflicted ten years of suffering onto my poor brain.”

“Hey, I’m just offering solutions here!” Jimin pouts. 

You stare at him, unimpressed. “Save it. You tried solving my problems already, so let’s just accept the fact that there’s nothing else for me to do but to suck it up. It’s time for me to put on my big girl pants for a change.”

“I mean, I could do all the sucking instead, but you’re being a little bitch about it,” Jimin mumbles. He’s lucky you didn’t hear him this time, lest you give him something to really whine about.

“Anyway, I guess this is my life now. Nothing to do except hope that he never tries to interact with me or I can find another job,” you shrug. 

Over your shoulder, Jimin fixes Jungkook with an icy glare that is cold enough to give you the shivers. For the first time that entire night, you hazard a glance back at the stage, finding that Jungkook is already looking back at you.

You whip your head back forward, perspiration forming down your back. For fuck’s sake, this guy.

“Well, let me know if he tries anything. I’ll beat that little freak into the floor if he tries so much as breathing the same air as you.” Jimin huffs, puffing up his chest with false bravado. You can’t help but laugh at his empty threat, knowing that Jungkook could probably bench press Jimin without breaking a sweat. Jimin's muscles are only for aesthetics, after all.

“Don’t worry, he hasn’t actually spoken to me actually. He can keep singing his sad little love songs, I really don’t mind,” you say, like a liar. Jimin snorts, wholly unconvinced.

“Well, if you need me, I’m heading to the bar to grab a drink so I can stare at your ex uncomfortably until he leaves. See you!” Jimin bids you farewell with a cheery grin as he skips a little too happily inside the restaurant.

Why'd you have to befriend the largest lunatic in the city? You massage your forehead with a groan, willing away your growing headache. 

The rest of the night trickles away like molasses. Jungkook continues to sing his heart out, save for an hour intermission where he presumably takes a short break. In his absence, you hear Jimin guffaw loudly, his laughter too sharp to be considered happy. You faintly hear Jungkook shy stutters in response, and you momentarily consider running in to interrupt.

Why? Did you want to save Jungkook from Jimin’s unnecessary harassment? It’s not like Jimin is doing it out nowhere, he was just trying to be… a good friend?

You pause to ponder. As much as you hate to admit it, you know why you want to help Jungkook. But Jimin on the other hand? Why did he want to help you? Questions begin flowing through your head like a whirlwind, and your nausea increases. God, when was your next therapy appointment again?

You save those questions for another day. As you look at your watch, there are only thirty minutes left until two in the morning. You tap your foot impatiently, smiling curtly at departing customers as the restaurant slowly emptied. As they left, you overhear some of your regulars giggling amongst themselves, whispering about the cute new singer and his charming demeanor. 

The last nail on your coffin has been hammered. Yeah, Jungkook isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. 

With the restaurant closing soon, it sounds like Jungkook is ready to end his set as well. 

Throughout the night, Jungkook rarely made a point to speak. The only time he didn’t sing was when he quietly introduced the title of his next song and the band swiftly began the first opening notes. For his last song, however, Jungkook decided to give a little more backstory for his final song. 

“Hello, everyone. Thank you so much for listening to me for the night,” Jungkook says with a soft voice, his tone awfully shy despite his powerful belting throughout the evening. The few customers left give him a warm round of applause, and you hear the familiar sound of his timid giggles spill from the restaurant speakers. 

“This will be my final song for the night. Most of the songs I sang today were covers, but this one is an original. I…” He hesitates for a moment, and something pulls you to turn despite the alarm bells ringing in your ears. You face him, and just like earlier in the evening, he is already looking back at you.

This time, you don’t look away; he does. His eyes flit to the ceiling, and he licks his lips from nerves. “I… I wrote this song a long while ago. I’ve never sang it in public before and I never thought it would ever see the light of day. Until, well…”

He stops again. This time, he gestures to the guitarist in the band, silently asking to borrow it. With a guitar in hand, he smiles a little more confidently at the small crowd of people. He begins strumming the first few notes, and your heart stops. “I hope everyone had a pleasant evening. Get home safe and have a great rest of your week. My name is Jungkook, and this last song is called…”

Before he can sing the first line of his song, you make a break for it.

You slam the restaurant doors open, and the stinging cold air immediately pierces their fangs into your skin. Your coat is still inside, but you can’t bring yourself to reenter. You take a long breath, the chill barely registering in your mind with how loudly your heart is pounding in your ears.

Hearing the opening to that song was enough to bring you back in time, three years ago:

You are in his childhood bedroom, his walls littered with concert posters and his floor a mess with unfolded laundry and guitar picks. The afternoon sun is streaming through his windows, bathing him in gold. You have an exam the next day and he has cram school to go to, but you’ve both chucked your books somewhere on his desk, left forgotten. 

He has his eyes closed, concentrated. You’re both on his small twin bed, squished together side by side and thighs touching. You have your head on his shoulder and he has his hands on his guitar. He strums a few chords experimentally and sings a melody that only the two of you know.

(Not anymore.)

“Are you writing a new song?” you ask, voice a little scratchy. Neither of you had spoken for the past few hours, just basking in the setting sun and Jungkook’s indistinct strumming. But now, his chords sound more sure, more certain of something.

“Yeah, I just thought of it,” he hums. He opens his eyes a smidge, a smitten smile on his lips. You mirror him. 

“What’s it about this time?”

His brows furrow. “I’ve been trying to write about other stuff, you know? Namjoon-hyung tells me it’s important that songs have meaning and impact.” He pauses in his strumming, looking a little conflicted. “And I get what he means. Art is all about saying something, but… I can’t help that there’s only one thing I ever want to talk about. Is that so wrong?”

You chuckle, understanding what he means. You nudge your head against his cheek, grinning from ear to ear. The fluttering in your chest has become routine to you at this point, but he somehow always knows how to increase it tenfold. “God, you’re such a sweet talker. Really, Koo. There’s no need to serenade with love songs—I’m already yours.”

He looks back at you, brimming with tender affection. “I know,” he responds. Then, he takes a pen from his bedside table, and begins writing.

During those years of dating him, you always thought that If he was a waterfall, then you were a teaspoon. You desperately tried to be enough for him, but you’re barely able to fathom the depth of his devotion. Everything about him was excessive, and you could seldom understand how he managed to contain himself. He was born to share himself, to tear bits of his soul so that the world may understand him, love him. His songs were a testament that he was trying to do that, and you always felt so lucky to be able to receive him, wholly and fully.

How cruel was it that Jungkook uses that same song to rip open the barely healed scab on your heart, leaving you bare and stinging and raw all over again.

You have no idea how long you've stood there in the cold. It must have been barely a few minutes when Jimin finds his way to you. He wordlessly shrugs his coat off and places it on your shoulders, but you make no move to acknowledge him. 

You hope your silence is enough for Jimin to infer that you are not in a conversational mood, but he’s nothing if not impatient. He forcibly pulls you to face him, his hands warm even through your clothing.

“Hey, you good? Did something happen?” He asks with barely concealed irritation, but it’s not directed at you. Still, you flinch at his scathing tone, shrinking in on yourself. In your daze, you vaguely notice his resemblance to an angry baby chick. 

“It’s nothing. Go back inside, I’ll be right there,” you mumble lamely, weakly pushing him back towards the restaurant. Jimin does not budge, instead leveling you with a hard stare. This time, you’re sure his irritation is for you.

“You idiot, you literally ran out like someone was out to get you. Of course it’s not nothing,” he grouses. 

You sigh tiredly, shaking your head at him. “We can talk later. It’s almost closing time and I just want to go home and sleep.”

Before Jimin can argue further, the door to the restaurant opens once more, but it isn’t a leaving customer. 

“What the fuck? What are you doing out here?” Jimin all but shouts at Jungkook. He holds up an accusatory finger at him and uses his other hand to nudge you behind him as if to shield you. 

Jungkook winces, instinctively stepping back. Despite being a few inches taller than Jimin, Jungkook’s timidness makes him look smaller. “I… I was just worried about her—”

“Don’t you have a song to finish in there? Talk about professional,” Jimin spits out. Jimin maneuvers you so that Jungkook can’t see you, but you manage to catch sight of how his gaze follows you unfailingly.

“I finished up my set. It’s closing time.” Jungkook responds coolly. He’s still a little quiet, but you can sense some of his natural composure rising to the surface. When he needs to be, Jungkook has been known to stand his ground—usually when it comes to matters involving you.

At this time of the night and after hours of mental torture, the last thing you need is to watch your two worst nightmares duke it out in front of your work establishment. You are beyond exhausted, and you hardly have the fortitude to withstand another minute of their voices ringing in your ears. 

Your eyes well up with tears of frustration, causing the two boys to freeze up in panic. You don’t give them the chance to fuss over you; instead, you haphazardly wipe your cheeks before roughly pushing them back towards the restaurant. 

“Get back to work, you idiots.” Your voice sounds warbled even to your own ears, but you push past your overwhelming emotions in favor of getting back inside to close up. Hell, you might even call in sick tomorrow, just so you can cry pathetically into your bowl of cereal in solitude.

“I’m not even on the clock today!” Jimin complains faintly, but you only push him harder. 

When you all reenter, you walk back to your desk and pointedly ignore the two of them until they awkwardly float away from your orbit. Despite the distance they give you, their gazes are still fixed plainly on you and they feel like knives digging into your back. 

Eventually, all the final customers of the day take their leave, and your remaining coworkers start dimming the lights and bidding their goodbyes. From the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook bowing respectfully to the band, who were giving him friendly pats on the back for a job well done. Jimin walks toward you, his car keys dangling from his left pinky. 

“No thanks. I’ll take the bus home today,” you declare before he can offer a ride. Jimin opens his mouth like a goldfish, flapping his lips dumbly as he stares at you in shock. You have no idea why he’s so surprised, given how you’ve been making it obvious that you need some space.

He looks like he wants to argue again, but thinks better of it. A singular moment of restraint from Park Jimin, which is an act you once thought impossible. Maybe he does care about you more than you thought. 

He stiffly nods at you, shoving his hands and keys into his pockets. He still has a frown on his face when he tells you to text him when you get home. You flip him off with a shaky smirk in response, a feeble attempt to bring some levity back to your now tense relationship. It works a little, and Jimin brightens up significantly. How simple-minded of him.

With a flippant wave, you leave work and head towards your bus stop. At this hour of the night, the streets are mostly dim, save for some street lamps and bars that stay open longer than your restaurant. There are always some people milling about, enough that you never feel too on edge about how late it is. Still, your bus stop is often empty, leaving you to mull over your thoughts in peace.

You are in the midst of jamming your earbuds into your ear when a presence makes itself known beside you.

Is it possible to go through the five stages of grief in under a second? You suppose not, but it’s hard to tell what sort of emotions swim through you when you come face to face with Jeon Jungkook again.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you mutter under your breath. You pause the song playing on your phone to glare at him with as much venom as you can muster. 

Jungkook holds up his hands in surrender, doe eyes wide like prey. “I-I’m heading home too! I’m not following you, I swear!”

You groan internally. Figures that you and Jungkook take the same bus home. But hold on— “Don’t you have a car? I remember you were parked near the restaurant the other night,” you note, squinting at him.

Jungkook looks sheepish as he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. That car was my hyung’s. He lets me borrow it sometimes, but he needed it tonight.”

“Sure…” You level him with a skeptical frown. You remember his hyung, but don’t recall him ever owning a car. You aren’t even sure that his Namjoon-hyung is allowed by the country to drive a car, much less own one. 

He could be lying, but you don’t want to give him an excuse to continue any conversation. So, you busy yourself with your phone and keep your head bowed away from him.

When the bus arrives, Jungkook makes it a point to sit a few rows behind you. Thankfully, he has a better understanding of social cues than a certain Park that you know. He leaves you alone, but your entire body still feels like a rope pulled taut. You have to convince yourself not to look behind you, your morbid curiosity scratching your insides raw.

You are in the home stretch now, and it’ll only be a few more minutes before you get to your stop and make your way to your safe haven. Hell resumes the next day and the next, but at the very least you’ll have your home to yourself. No one could take that away from you.

Again, this is where you learn that tempting fate is never a good idea.

When you exit the bus at your stop, you can hear his footsteps following you. It’s hard not to notice, especially when his large and distracting boots make such a distinct racket that makes him so Jungkook. 

You hasten your pace towards your apartment complex, your shoulders hunched and hands shoved into your coat pockets in an attempt to hinder the bile rising from your stomach. He had promised that he wasn’t following you, but that proclamation seems to be standing on feeble legs with how long he’s been on your tail now.

Your street is filled with rows of low-rise apartment buildings, so you hope that if anything happens, you can yell as loud as you can and alert some compassionate neighbor to come to your aid. (Not that you think he would ever physically harm you, but… You can’t say the same about your mental state.)

Your home is just two buildings away from where you are, but Jungkook still seems determined to follow you to the end. You all but skip the remaining feet to your apartment entrance, your breath coming out in puffs as you finally muster up the courage to face your supposed stalker and give him a piece of your mind. 

“If this is some convoluted way for you to find out where I live, then you aren’t being very subtle about it,” you say, your chin held up high despite the growing urge to vomit pathetically in front of your ex-boyfriend. You have your hand rested on the doorknob, just a moment’s notice away from bolting into your house if the need for a quick getaway arises.

To your surprise, Jungkook wasn’t following you as closely as you expected. He had stopped trailing you about two buildings down, his own hand poised on the door with a look of genuine shock.

You both stand there, staring at each other as mutual understanding dawns on the two of you. 

Everyday, the universe learns of more creative ways to be cruel.

“Oh…” Jungkook’s voice falters. He looks simultaneously frightened and amazed, as if he too finds this entire situation unbelievably harsh. He swallows thickly, looking at you and back to his door in quick succession. “Well… This is a strange coincidence,” he murmurs. 

You want to believe that this was his entire fault, that Jungkook had somehow managed to track you down to haunt you for the rest of your days. You want to believe that he’s a crazed stalker who is willing to find where you work and live so that every hour of your wretched life is filled with nothing but reminders of what-could-have-beens. You just want someone to blame instead of just the cosmos—you want someone tangible to hate so that your suffering can be given some sort of identity. You want to give your mourning and hurt a name so that you can learn how to heal.

You want to believe all of that, but it’s hard to do so when Jungkook looks so incredibly uncomfortable, as if he’d rather melt into the shadows and never be seen again. 

In all your memories, you have never seen Jungkook look so small.

You heave a big sigh, your fingers grasping the door knob so tightly that you half-expect it to be dented from the force. You linger for a moment, your mouth opening but nothing spills out. 

What is there to say? What do you say to an ex-boyfriend that you haven’t seen in two years, who is suddenly so deeply entwined in your life once more? Do you tell him goodnight? Tell him to stay away? Tell him to come home with you?

Jungkook looks equally as conflicted. His lips are pursed tight with words left unsaid. You aren’t sure whether you want to punch the confession out of his mouth or seal them up forever. It feels like eons before he finally breaks the silence with a mirthless laugh.

“I… I just wanted to say—back at the restaurant. When I sang that last song,” Jungkook begins, and his voice feels loud because of how empty the streets are. For a moment, you are reminded of a cathedral you once visited during a vacation, how sacred silence can be. The world holds its breath, waiting for him to speak.

“I meant it all. Every word. Every lyric. I never stopped…”

He trails off, shrugging his shoulders. He stares at you helplessly, but you don’t know what to say. You don’t want to listen any more, but your feet are planted to the ground. You’re frozen like a deer in headlights, forced to brace against him as he crashes into you. 

He continues, “And when we broke up back then… I never wanted that to happen. You broke it off before we could even try something—and I hated how I didn’t fight for you harder. I let you misunderstand me because I was afraid you wouldn’t want to stick around if I didn’t succeed. I convinced myself that I was holding you down, but I never gave you—us—a chance. I never stopped regretting it since.”

“Me? Break up with you?” You echo incredulously. That statement is enough to break you from your trance, the telltale signs of indignation rising up your chest. “How dare you suggest—Me? You were the one who broke up with me, asshole! You were the one who broke my heart and decided to up and leave to god knows where! Only to miraculously respawn right next to me, groveling at my feet with sad love songs as if that’s enough for me to forgive and forget? Fucking entitled bastard,” you seethe.

Somehow, Jungkook manages to shrink more, like a bunny with his tail tucked between his legs. “Yes, you’re right that I broke your heart but… When I told you I was moving away to try and become a singer, it was always with the intention of staying together. I know it would have been difficult, but I wanted you to be with me through thick and thin. But when you misunderstood and took it as a break up, I let you go because, well… I was scared that it would happen eventually. Who wants to date a broke busking fool anyway?”

He laughs, but it sounds watery. He sniffles, and you hope it's only because of the cold. “I tried looking for you, but you blocked me everywhere and no one from back home seemed to know where you went. So I just accepted that we’d never see each other again… Until a few days ago, that is.”

A misunderstanding? Is that what everything boils down to? Years of trying to build yourself back up again, relearning what it means to be happy—all the fallen domino pieces in your life trailing back to a single moment in time? All because Jungkook was scared that you didn't love him enough?

You’ve never felt angrier in your life. You fear what you might say if you continue to stand outside there, face to face with the singular person strong enough to whittle you down to the bone. Jeon Jungkook is all soft smiles and sweet songs, but how come he’s always able to knock you off your axis? Few people on this earth can stitch you up and break you down in equal measure, but somehow, Jungkook manages to do all that and more.

Then, comes the guilt. Had it been all your fault? That you hadn't returned his love in equal measure? Had you secretly given up on the hope of being on his level? Always looking down on yourself: unable to move past your insecurities. Were you terrified of being his side piece, his girlfriend, forever?

Who are you, even? And where do you stand?

(Beside him, is what you want to answer. You don't know if that's the right choice.)

You can’t bear to look at him, least of all answer him. Without another word, you shove your house key into the door before slamming it shut despite the late hour. If you awaken any neighbors, you’ll apologize later. For now, all you require is sleep and hope that this has been all a terrible nightmare.

xxx

Reality is a bitter pill to swallow.

Jeon Jungkook continues to sing at the restaurant, and after only two days of repeat stellar performances, your manager decides to promote him as the official vocalist for the band. It hurts to admit that you're not the least bit surprised; you might have a hard time looking at him, but you can never deny his talent. 

His song list has added a larger variety of genres ever since his first performance. That is to say, he isn’t always singing about lost loves and tragic couples every night. Perhaps it is due to some requests from customers or his other bandmates, but it doesn’t stop him from sprinkling one or two love songs into the mix. 

He doesn’t sing any original songs ever again. That, at least, is a small mercy. He doesn’t make any moves to speak with you either, despite the daily awkward trips back home after the end of your shifts. Whether that’s because he’s given up on you (again), or he’s waiting for you to make the first move, you don’t know. Frankly, you don’t think you have the energy (nor courage) to do anything about it.

It’s a few weeks after Jungkook’s first performance at the restaurant, and closing time is approaching. You appreciate Friday nights the most because it means you’ll have two consecutive days to relax and avoid your problems. It’s also the busiest night of the week, when white-collar workers decide to drink and eat for as long as the night allows them. Busier nights mean more distractions, and you’re willing to deal with twenty Karens over one Jungkook.

During nights like these, your manager occasionally asks you to fulfill some waitress duties when there aren’t enough hands on deck. Normally you’d hate it, but earning the extra tips is enough to keep your grumbling to a minimum To this day, your landlord has yet to do anything about your broken shower, and you’ve finally conceded to the fact that you’ll have to be the one to do something about it. 

As you inform the customers in your area that the last call for orders is approaching, you sneak a glance at the bar to see Jimin dutifully performing his job. That is to say, he’s flirting up a storm, getting women and men alike to blush from head to toe as he serves their drinks with a salacious smirk.

What a swindler, you think to yourself, snorting when he makes eye contact with you. He gives you a cheeky salute, mouthing something as he gestures to the back door.

Despite the semi-fight the two of you had all those weeks ago, Jimin was never one to argue about the same topic two days in a row. When you saw him the next day after your confrontation with Jungkook, Jimin was back to all smiles. You still catch him sending death glares towards Jungkook on most nights, but he doesn’t bring up the matter with you anymore. For that reason, you’ve gratefully settled back into your weird, banterful friendship with him. Even if there’s still a lingering tension between the two of you that you refuse to acknowledge.

You nod thankfully back at him, excited to go to his house and take a much needed shower. At this point, going to his house has become second nature to you, and it gives you an excuse to not see Jungkook at your regular bus stop every day. You have half a mind to never fix your shower for that reason, but of course there is still the problem of having to deal with Jimin every time you need to bathe. You hardly consider yourself an impatient person, but Jimin likes to toe the line far more often than necessary.

You’re down to your last two tables before you can close up shop when your manager suddenly barrels right into your path. You nearly drop your tray of dirty dishes to the floor, holding in a loud yelp as your suspiciously stern-faced manager halts you in place.

“Ms. Y/N, may I have a word with you for a moment? It’s regarding your paycheck for the month,” he barks, lips downturned. He appears disgruntled about something, and it sends a worried shiver down your spine. And here you thought Fridays are meant to be fun. He doesn’t wait for you to reply before he stalks back to his office, an unspoken command for you to follow. 

You unload your dishes in the kitchen before making your way to his office. The small, dark room is cramped with overflowing file folders and coupons from multiple take-out places. You accidentally step on a stack of papers, and upon further inspection, seem to be a pile of applications for new hires. You distinctly remember complaining to him months prior about being understaffed and him replying that no inquiries were coming in.

As you approach, your manager shuffles through your coworkers pay stubs, and you notice yours and Jungkook’s on top of the piles. 

Manager Jeong clears his throat. “Well, Y/N. It seems to be your lucky day. As you know, we split the tips based on your hours and what sort of duties you fulfill. With the new hire we have as our in-house singer, we’ve had to split it one way more to accommodate his arrival. However, he has recently requested to me that his portion be reallocated… to you, Ms. Y/N.”

Your jaw drops immediately. “I-I don’t understand, Manager Jeong,” you sputter. 

Manager Jeong snorts, bemused by your reaction. “Don’t understand? Well, I suppose you’ll have to ask Mr. Jeon if you want his reasoning. Regardless, since we normally deposit your salary straight to your bank account, would it be alright if I hand you his tips in cash for now? He only informed me about his request an hour ago, and the accountant has already clocked out for the week.”

All you can do is nod dumbly back at him. With a huff, your manager presses a white envelope into your hands before promptly ushering you out of his office. “Well, that's settled. Out you go! Have a good weekend, Ms. Y/N. Don’t forget to lock the register before you leave!” He calls out before slamming his door in your face.

It takes you a moment to reanimate back to life. You stare at the white envelope for a long while, unable to fathom the scribbled out name of Jeon Jungkook replaced with your own name. Then, you crumple it into your fist before stomping over to where Jungkook and the rest of the band are in the middle of packing it up for the night.

Jungkook looks up from his guitar case when he senses you fast approaching. For a fleeting second, a smile graces his handsome face before it’s smacked away by your crumpled envelope. 

“Keep your fucking cash, Jungkook. What the hell is your problem?” You fume, cheeks heating from agitation. Jungkook splutters for a moment, prying the envelope away from his face and looking at it in bewilderment. When he sees it clearly, recognition dawns on his face, followed by guilt.

“It’s just… my way of saying sorry, I guess.” He answers you meekly, neck flushing red in embarrassment. Behind him, the rest of the band grow silent at the scene before them, and you debate on telling them to mind their own business when they quicken their pace to leave.

“Well, keep your apology to yourself. There’s nothing to apologize for,” you correct him with a frown. To offer an apology is to offer accountability. You aren’t sure if you’re ready to hear him say that. 

“No, it’s a sorry for… using you, I suppose.”

“Using me?” You repeat, dumbfounded. “For what?”

Jungkook smiles wryly back at you. “For inspiration?” he clarifies. For being the reason I can sing? He leaves that part unsaid, but you can almost imagine him saying it. 

You feel heat rising to your cheeks again, but this time you aren’t quite sure if it’s from embarrassment, anger… or something else.

Unable to conjure up a response to his simple confession, you stomp away from him with a pounding heart and shaking hands. You continue the rest of your closing shift routine instinctually, your body moving on autopilot as Jungkook’s words continue to ring inside your head. When all is said and done, Jimin makes his way to your station with a questioning stare, but you wave him off in favor of stomping ahead of him to the parking lot.

In his car, Jimin rattles off about his latest exploits and purchases, his grating voice a comfort for once. You hum noncommittally during his stories when appropriate, but you suppose your usual indifference feels different, even to Jimin's untrained ears. 

At his house, you drift to his bathroom immediately. You already have a shirt button undone by the time you get a handle on the door when Jimin’s hand stops you in place. You can feel his warmth emanating against your back as he slowly pulls the bathroom door close. With a tired sigh, you reluctantly turn to face him and find him standing closer than you expected.

He has an arm resting above your head, effectively caging you. You feel your shoulders sag. Damn, here comes another confrontation. Why can’t everyone just leave you alone?!

“Talk to me,” he says. No, he demands.

You push him away weakly, but he hardly budges. “Nothing to talk about,” you lie. Had you no filter, you’d be word vomiting all over the place ages ago.

Jimin groans, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Enough with the emotional constipation. I’m here to listen, alright? No teasing or anything, I’m all ears and maybe a shoulder to cry on. Just don’t stain my Chanel top too bad,” he jokes.

You puff out a short breath—a sorry excuse for a laugh. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want to talk about it, and that’s that.”

“It’ll make you feel a lot better, though,” he offers.

You scoff. “What makes you think that? What if I just want to ignore all my problems forever and never grow from it? Is that so bad?”

Jimin pushes himself away from you, raising his hands in mock defeat. “You’re so fucking annoying. Can you stop running away from your problems and talk to me? Hell, talk to Jungkook for all I care! Just stop being a doormat and speak your mind for once in your damn life!”

“What are you, my therapist?” You brush past him, shower all but forgotten. You begin toeing your shoes back on, ready to head home tired and smelly. At the very least, you won’t have to deal with this stupid annoying asshole any longer. 

Jimin strides back towards you, but for once he doesn’t do anything to forcibly stop you. Jimin has always been gruff with you, not afraid to push and pull you in any which direction. It’s part of the reason why you can’t take him seriously, even though you’ve recently realized why he was always being such a prick towards you—

“Yeah, I’m not your therapist. But for better or for worse, I’m your friend and I—I fucking care about you, alright? And it sucks seeing that good-for-nothing stick his nose in your business and act like he can do anything without any repercussions.”

Is Jimin being for real right now? “With how often you look at yourself in the mirror, you’d think you’d be better at introspection,” is all you say to that. You shove your feet into your shoes, not caring that you’ve probably put them on wrong. Maybe it’s because it’s Friday and the fatigue from the week has finally settled deep in your bones, but you can’t help but leave one last scathing remark to drive the final nail in the coffin.

“You know, if you were a little nicer to me, maybe I would talk to you. Hell, maybe I’d like you back. But no, just keep being your domineering, asshole self and I’ll keep being the same fucking doormat bitch you know and love,” you spit, turning towards the door and away from his face. You’re not even curious to see how he reacts. “I don’t need protection, alright? When I tell you to stay out of my business, you stay out of it. So don’t try and pretend to be my knight in shining armor.”

There’s an ocean of silence, enough to hear a pin drop. The urge to apologize surges to the surface, but you stamp it down. He’s petty all the time, so now it’s your turn.

Okay, maybe that’s a little too mean on your part, but you’re exhausted. Perhaps it is true when they say you should never act on your anger when it’s past midnight. But can anyone blame you? You’re only a girl, and girls need to snap too. 

When he responds, his voice sounds weak. Park Jimin, weak? It's almost unthinkable. "Why don't you trust me?"

Isn't it obvious? you want to say. But some mercy remains within you. You'll pick up the pieces another time. Instead, you rasp out, “Good night, Park. I’ll see you on Monday.”

The walk of shame back to your house is long and arduous. Your phone dings thrice, likely signaling texts from Jimin, but you turn it off without checking for sure. For once, the weight on your shoulders is slightly lighter. You huff out a dry laugh, realizing belatedly that maybe Jimin is right—maybe speaking your mind has its benefits.

There’s a small park in your neighborhood that you always pass by. You don’t remember the last time you spared it a second glance, but this time you notice a lone figure swinging back and forth, arching dangerously higher than what you would consider safe. From a distance, all you can make out are the person’s comically bright boots, and you have a sinking suspicion you know who it is without seeing their face.

Cosmos, or whoever it is that controls my life, why must you braid our strings of fate so tightly? You ask, but as always, it refuses to reply.

Against your better judgment, your feet bring you closer towards him. He has his back towards you, his feet pumping him higher and higher and you half expect him to swing in a perfect arc like a gymnast on parallel bars. You have to keep your distance a bit, lest you get the wind knocked out of you by his signature stompers. 

You clear your throat, and the boy stops mid-swing and nearly catapults himself into the spongey, playground floor. Hunched over and wheezing, Jungkook directs his shocked eyes at you with a comical stare. 

You raise a hand in greeting. A peace offering, maybe. “Hello—”

“I swear I’m not stalking you!” Jungkook interrupts as he scrambles to his feet. He bows deeply in remorse, the action so endearingly him. “S-sorry, I’ll make my way home now…”

“I don’t own the park, Jungkook. I was just saying hello…” You snort, wringing your hands uncomfortably. You grind your shoes into the ground, the sound of crunching leaves breaking the still air. “A-and… to say sorry, for earlier.”

“Sorry?” Jungkook repeats, confused. When he realizes what you mean, he waves his hands frantically. “No, no! Don’t be sorry! It was my fault for being so inconsiderate. I understand how you might misconstrue my actions, and I made things more awkward. I’ll consider your feelings more in the future…”

In the future… You cough, unwilling to meet his bright and honest gaze. If you stare too long, you fear you might go blind. 

“I come here to the park often, when I feel too cramped inside my apartment,” Jungkook explains, frantic energy radiating off him in waves. He’s gesticulating too much, a clear sign that he’s trying to hide his nerves. You remember how he would do the same thing in high school, whenever he had to present his projects in front of the class. 

You hold a hand up, a weak attempt to get him to calm down. “I’m not here to interrogate you. I just wanted to…” What is it that you wanted to do?

The two of you just stand awkwardly like that, similar to a few weeks ago when you discovered you were neighbors. You’re grasping at straws in your head, both conflicted for wanting to tell him something and running away. Even if you were to talk to him, what would you say? There’s a reason you told Jimin you didn’t want to talk—frankly, it’s mostly because you have no idea what to say or feel. 

But you do know, the universe responds. 

I ask you questions all the time, and this is how you respond? 

Either that, or you’re going insane, the universe remarks.

Jungkook pulls out his phone, his fingers fumbling as he unlocks it. He takes a furtive step towards you, but thinks better of it. There’s a few feet of distance between you, but it feels like worlds apart. Close and yet so far. You recall how you’d easily pull him towards you in the past, how being together felt as natural as breathing. 

“I know you absolutely hated it the last time I played my original song at the restaurant, so I refrained from performing any ever since that night. But that didn’t stop me from writing them. I was fine with keeping them locked in a vault forever, but…” He hesitates, searching you for any signs of discomfort. When he sees the carefully blank look on your face, he continues with trepidation. 

“Can I try a song for you? You don’t have to say yes, and you’re free to tell me to fuck off and I’ll never even look at you ever again. Just…” He flails one last time, a choked sob making its escape from his throat. 

Are you hopeless for wanting to say yes? Or were you reverting back to your old self who relied on him and believed in him so heavily? If you wanted him out of your life for good, you would have quit your job at the first sight of him. Maybe you were masochistic. Or maybe were you hopeful for a new start, a chance to rekindle a relationship that you’ve secretly always wanted to repair.

You have so much life ahead of you. Many more mistakes will be made and maybe they’ll haunt you when you’re older. But would it really be such a terrible gamble to take one more chance? 

You nod, and seal your fate.

He presses play, and the soft strumming of a guitar fills the empty playground air. 

Not for the first time, you wonder how it can be so easy for Jungkook to be so… honest. He spills his heart in every song that he writes, and you know he’s never been a great liar. He can’t help it, being genuine is in his DNA. This crashing waterfall, this boy with overflowing emotions—he sings what he thinks but feels terrified because of it. You might not understand his honesty, but you know that fear. You know it all too well.

He beholds himself to you—raw and unfiltered. A little battered and bruised, but still Jungkook. Behind everything, still the boy you’ve been yearning for.

Maybe this song is what will give you enough confidence to admit everything to him, too. As you stand there, listening to his mellow voice sing confessions to no one but you and the stars, you think you grow a little more courageous that day.

Maybe you won’t be able to tell him tonight. Maybe not tomorrow, nor next week either. But as you gaze back at his hopeful eyes, you know deep in your heart that you’ll find the words you’ve been looking for.

“I’ll keep waiting for you, if you let me.” Jungkook’s voice floats gently to you, and settles in your open palms. This time, you don’t let go

xxx

Months later, Jungkook stops working at the restaurant when an offer from a major record company arrives in his mail. Apparently, a big shot from the local radio station had pitched him to an employee at that company and they were all pleasantly surprised to find a hidden gem at a random bar and restaurant.  

In your apartment, you stare outside your window and to where his home is—well, where it was. You wonder if he finished packing his things, ready to make the big move tomorrow. You stand up with a stretch, sparing a glance at your still broken shower. It would be nice to have one more shower at his place… And after that? Maybe you should start looking for a nicer apartment; somewhere far away might be nice.

Your phone rings, and you see his contact photo light up your screen. With a smile, you answer.

“Come over, if you want. I won’t make you,” Jungkook assures you. 

You laugh lightly, already halfway out the door. 

[kazzattack]

↳ 18+ content, light dom/sub dynamic & daddy kink ༉‧₊˚✧

“shhh, baby. been so good for me- fuck,” jason todd groans from beneath you, effortlessly fucking you onto his cock with a firm grip on your hips. “jus’ keep taking’ it, pretty.”

so, you do. not like you have much of a choice anyway. he’d finally fit all the way inside, watching as your pussy swallows his length before he damn near pulls you off of him, letting your fluids leak around the tip and then pounding you back down with an almost needy moan deep from his throat. he’d started slow, like he promised; letting you go at your own pace and gently pinching the fat of your hips while he rocks you back and forth. after you clench around his cock, though, moaning blissfully into his ear and leaving a sticky mess along his pelvis? jason needed more, needed you practically choking his dick and whimpering against his skin while he pounds into you from the mattress.

you whine as you buckle into the crook of his neck, letting him control your hips and thrust up into you. one hand curls into his hair and the other tightens around a pillow, trying to ground yourself as best as you can. you’d thought you could take it, confidently fought for your case. like the gentleman he was, he took his time, spent what felt like a lifetime holding you on his thigh. thick fingers curled knuckles deep in your cunt, moving your hips in tandem with his fingers. you thought he hit that spot before, but right now he’s hitting spots you weren’t even aware of.

jason todd so easily puts you on cloud nine, so easily fucks your brains out that half the time you barely even know what he’s saying. hell, he’s put you out of commission for the next day or so and he hasn’t even came yet. later than you should have you realize he could do this for hours, and he will.

“you hear me, doll?”

nope.

“mhm, mhm- oh fuck, jay…”

if you weren’t lying, or getting fucked into next week, you’d defend yourself. as of right now, you don’t even bother trying to keep up your lie. how could you get caught up in something so trivial when the love of your life is balls deep, rearranging your insides and marking you up like the prized possession you are?

“don’t lie to me, sweet girl,” he warns, “tell me what you’re thinkin’ about.” lord, he’s seemingly tasked you with the impossible. he tries to help out a little, and a large hand wraps around your throat and guides your head in front of his face. he’s giving you a look, like he wants you to talk, tell him how you’re feeling, how good he’s fucking you. you want to, really, but it’s too much right now.

my poor girl, he coos, you can do it, c’mon. tell daddy how good this dick feels. he sees your eyes return to their hazy state and your half-assed attempt to answer him has clearly been forgotten. you’re whimpering and crying into his ear and he picks up the pace out of pure instinct. he’s close, so fucking close, so he holds your hips and stops. he fucking stops.

“…jay,” you mutter with an almost timid tone, like you weren’t moaning like a bitch in heat, surely loud enough for people to hear you from blocks away. almost makes him wanna say don’t piss me off. he’s nice to his girl, though. he gets it. “jason- don’t make me, please?” he thinks it’s so cute, how you think you can talk him into blowing his load. especially because it almost works.

“‘m not gonna make you,” jason groans, “you’re a good girl, right? my good girl. so i’m not gonna make you do shit.” he leaves it at that and you know what he wants, weakly grinding your hips onto his dick at a much slower pace than before. oh, he’s getting all your words now. your little pouts about how it’s not enough and the debauched moan that slips out when he bucks his hips. he’s in heaven right now because he gets all of it.

[slttygeto]

WHISPERED PROMISES—S. SHINICHIRO

જ⁀➴ synopsis: you meet shinichiro one day when he’s working in his shop. you’re sweet, nice and there’s an obvious tension between you two. you feel like a teenager with the way he’s making you nervous, but you accept to go on a date with him. things only get better from there.

જ⁀➴ content warning: so much fluff i almost cried, fem!reader, you and shin have the biggest crush on each other, he’s so sweet and respectful, eventual smut, mentions of a breeding kink, protected sex, fingering, oral (fem! receiving), pussy whipped shinichiro, dirty talk, lots of kisses, shin has a big dick<3 

જ⁀➴word count: 7,9k (lord have mercy)

જ⁀➴note: a great thank you to @mztoman  for commissioning me again!! I got so carried with this fic, the plot was just so good!! 

COMMISSIONS ARE STILL OPEN: 1 SLOT LEFT.

COMMENTS AND REBLOGS ARE MUCH APPRECIATED!

Working on weekends was Shinichiro’s least favorite thing about his job. He tried his best to make it a good experience, he really did, but he was tired from a long week of working eight hours a day (and sometimes more when there was an emergency). And so, small things got on his nerves.

His lunchbox wouldn’t open, he forgot to pack chopsticks with him, he forgot to put water in his mini-fridge, the air conditioner was barely working—good lord, he was getting so annoyed.

Ring!

Oh great, a customer visiting when he was at his wits ends. Shinichiro stands up from his crouching position next to the bike he was working on. He grabs the rug that was attached to his pants and wipes his hands. He was expecting the usual type of customers; rude, stubborn, the know-it-all who tried to explain to him his own job and how it’s done. All in all, unlikeable.

Though, he is pleasantly surprised when he finds a girl standing at the door, looking around his shop with heart eyes. You looked so lost in your thoughts, your hands gripping your hand bag so tightly (from nervousness? Shinichiro wasn’t sure). Your stance was polite, and you looked in awe at his work. Maybe working today wasn’t such a bad idea if his first customer of the day is someone like you.

He brushes off the thoughts, telling himself that you looked young—no, way too young for someone like him. Plus, he wasn’t exactly the luckiest with girls. He’s had his fair share of hookups, tried to be in relationships, but things just never worked out for him.

He rolls his shoulders as he approaches you, greeting you with a wave. He was tall, had a smile that had you feeling a little dizzy—good god, this man was attractive. Whether it be the way he carried himself, or how he wiped the dirt off his hands, you could tell that he was hardworking and truly loved his job.

“Hi, welcome to our shop.” He really hoped that his voice wouldn’t crack and embarrass him. Technically, it was his shop and he was proud of it. It wasn’t exactly the fanciest out there, but it was his pride and joy. The display of the many bikes that he owned always caught people’s attention outside and left him grinning from ear to ear.

“Hello, thank you, I didn’t think anyone was here,” you were nervous, he could tell by watching you relax and clench your hands more than once.

“Well, someone has to be here,” he jokes and for a second, he can tell you were glad that he did. His playful remark somehow made you relax, and you let out a slightly less nervous giggle (which sounded so fucking adorable).

“You’re right, my bad.” You start looking around the shop again, and the man thinks it’s time to try to get to know you a little better. How can he do that without appearing to be invading your personal space? Should he immediately ask for your name? No, that’s too bold. Maybe…Maybe taking the professional approach will work.

“Can I see your driver’s license?” Very subtle.

You don’t hesitate as you pull it out and hand it to the tall man, and you watch as his eyes scan it for a good five seconds before humming in approval.

You were indeed younger, but only four years younger than him, really fucking attractive. He thought that there is no way you were single, but then again there was no ring on your finger—should he just ask you if you were in a relationship? Nu-uh, too soon.

“Alright, and how can I help you?”

“I am here to fix my friend’s bike for her birthday,”

“Oh you have a biker friend? So you know a little about them?”

“Only the basics, I’m more of an avid fan of the races rather than a participator.” You let out a chuckle, rubbing the back of your neck. You weren’t lying, you did enjoy watching more than riding them. But only because you tried before and failed miserably, and you weren’t going to include such embarrassing detail to a handsome stranger.

“Okay, what does she need help with exactly?”

You go into detail of what had happened, and how your friend had stopped riding her motorcycle just because she was too busy saving up money for something else. And with her birthday coming up, you thought you could sneakily get a family member of hers to bring the bike to this particular shop and get it fixed right on time. Shinichiro agrees to help you, and you both settle on the price rather quickly. Now you no longer had a reason to be in the shop, but you didn’t exactly want to leave either.

“You’re not busy?”

“Not at all,” you look at the display of the many fancy motorcycles he owned, letting out a “wow” at how shiny and pretty they looked. He took good care of them.

“My name is Shinichiro, by the way.” He takes his hand out to shake yours and you accept it immediately. You try not to blush at how rough his hand felt, evidence of true hard work. Could he get any more attractive?

“Nice to meet you, Shinichiro,” you grin at the man, and feel him squeeze your hand tightly before relaxing. He seemed like he wanted to say something, but hesitated and thought ‘nevermind’. But the longer you stayed in his shop, the more obvious it was to the man that if you left the shop without his number, he would be the one to call himself a loser. No need for Benkei and Wakasa to do that for him.

“So, uh…” His lips part, his hand comes to the back of his neck and your heart picks up its pace. You could see that the tips of his ears were turning red, and his hand hadn’t let go of yours. “This is a little unprofessional of me…” He mumbles to himself. He sighs and you chuckle and at the dilemma he seems to be in, but that sound alone seems to encourage him to speak more. He wants to hear you laugh again, you seemed very comfortable with what was happening.

“Would you like to go out sometime? I’d like to know you better, you seem like a really nice girl and—“

“Absolutely.” You don’t let him go on with his little ramble, only flash him a nervous grin. The apples of your cheeks were as red as his, and it truly felt like two teenagers confessing to one another. You loved a man that made you feel like this.

“Oh?” He grins back, and his hand slides down from his nape to the back pocket of his jeans. “Great, when are you available?”

“Tomorrow, my place.” Shinichiro almost chokes on his saliva at your words. Your place? It was too early for that, not that he minded—but he wanted to be a gentleman, wait at least a few dates before even trying to get in bed with you—

Sensing that he was malfunctioning, your other hand slides on top of the hand that was holding yours and you squeeze it in reassurance.

“You don’t have to if you’re not comfortable. I just thought going to a restaurant would be a waste of money—and personally, I love cooking. We can just watch a movie and hang out?” You felt like such a breath of fresh air. Somehow, feeling your skin against his made him immediately relax.

It’s not the idea of coming to your place that scared him, he just always thought you only do that after a while of dating. But here you were, suggesting that an indoor date would be better and cheaper than at a restaurant. Plus, he felt like he could get to know you better if you’re sitting on the couch together alone rather than in a place filled with people.

“I love the idea. So, tomorrow?”

“8PM, how does that sound?”

“Perfect.”

--

After exchanging phone numbers, you and Shinichiro practically texted almost all night. You talked about everything and nothing, almost forgetting to send him your location. Turns out, you didn’t really live that far away from his own place, nearly less than a five minute walk.

He was really nervous. He didn’t tell anyone about the date, made up some bullshit of a lie that he was going out for a few hours and his friends were already eyeing him weird. He simply wanted to take his time with you. Your chemistry seemed promising even though you’ve known each other for less than a day.

He didn’t want to get his hopes up, and if you were going to choose not to go out on a date with him again, he could at least keep it a secret to himself.

Since you were the one cooking tonight, Shinichiro thought it would be rude if he didn’t bring anything with him. So he got a bouquet, brought board games with him and some drinks just in case. He felt stupid for not having asked you beforehand what kind of drinks you liked, but he was almost at your place. No time for regrets.

You had also told him to dress comfortably. You were going to chill in your living room for a while, and you wanted your date to feel as natural as possible. So here he was, dressed in a white hoodie and some grey sweatpants, his hair was still slightly wet from the quick shower he took after getting off work, and he hoped that he wouldn’t catch a cold.

Arriving at your doorstep, the man was more than sure that this was your place. You had a cute doormat with the word ‘WELCOME’ written in bold, along with two huge plants on either side of it. If your doorstep felt this cozy, he could only imagine what the inside looks like.

Knock, knock, knock.

He waits approximately three seconds before he hears the sound of you running barefoot to the doorstep, a muffled “I’m coming!” accompanied with it. You handle a few locks before opening the door, greeting him with the cutest smile he’s ever seen. He doesn’t have time to look at your outfit or tell you how nice you look before you were wrapping your arms around him. You don’t squeeze too tight, but Shinichiro feels you flinch and pull away.

“Oh, sorry! I got too excited—“ you’re blushing—fuck, you’re blushing and he’s getting butterflies in his stomach like a teenager. Shinichiro has been on enough dates to know the difference between feeling nervous and having an absolute crush on his date—it was the latter with you.

“It’s okay, I like hugs,” he places the bag full of goods on the floor and pulls you in another hug, his hand caressing your back gently. He hopes you can’t hear how loud his heart is beating, because then he would be fucked.

“You smell really good,” you mumble against his chest and you feel him hum. He leans down and you can feel his nose on top of your head—this was too intimate for a first date, but neither of you minded.

“You smell like roses,” he lets you pull away from the hug, grinning from ear to ear that his words were getting you to blush this hard.

“Thank you.” So shy, so sweet--

I swear if this doesn’t work out, I’ll never date again.

“Oh how rude of me, please come on in!” You lead him all the way inside, and Shinichiro can finally take a look at your outfit. You were wearing the cutest dress that reached right above your knees, along with a pair of fuzzy socks. You looked so comfortable and adorable, he couldn’t help the smile on his lips.

“Quite the cute outfit,” his tone is playful, it makes you pause what you were doing in the kitchen to give him a playful glare yourself.

“Yeah, yeah, I told you I wanted us to feel comfortable. It’s bad enough that my heart is about to explode,” so it wasn’t just him feeling nervous, cool.

“You’re also nervous?”

“Also?” now it’s your turn to sound playful and the man laughs at your antics. He takes a seat on your couch, and waits for you to join him. He looks around your apartment, and takes in how well thought everything seemed to be. From the candles sitting by the tiny coffee table, to the polaroids hanging on the wall—your place felt like a perfect representation of how you were as a person and as a friend; comforting and sweet.

“You got me my favorite drink!” Your excited voice pulls him out of his thoughts. He stares at you and the way your eyes seem to light up at a simple drink. He picked out the flavor very randomly, his thought process was ‘I hope she likes this’ and turns out, you did.

Lucky him. Everything he seemed to do or pick for you aligned perfectly with your preferences. Though, he couldn’t deny that he was eager to learn more about you; what you did for a living, what your favorite pet was, your sleeping schedule, your favorite place to eat—he needed to stop.

You approached the TV and grabbed your remote control before turning around to face him.

“Food is almost ready, wanna watch something in the mean time?” Shinichiro nods and you quickly take a seat next to him on the couch.

“So, what kind of shows are you into?”

The next half hour passes by rather quickly, and you end up not watching anything as you both chat on the couch. He helps you check in on the food when you gasp in horror, thinking that it got burned—but thank god, it didn’t. You talk about your childhood, what you did for a living and how things were going for you. If you had any friends living nearby, where you grew up. You appreciated how attentive the dark haired male sitting on your kitchen stool was, your heart skipped a beat every time he flashed you an adorable grin. You were absolutely doomed.

“How about you though, any friends or family living around you?” You ask as you start serving the pasta on the plates he helped setting on the table. He hums in response, but you think it was directed towards the food and how delicious it looked.

“I have two siblings, a brother and a sister.”

“Younger?”

“Yeah, how did you know?” he quirks an eyebrow at you and you shrug your shoulders.

“You give off oldest brother vibes,”

“In a good way I hope,” he teases, waiting for you to take a seat facing him.

“An amazing way, you seem very caring and selfless.” You light up the candle sitting in the middle of the table, and Shinichiro tries his best not to stare for too long when you stand up to do it. You were leaning down, the light coming from the candle made you look ten times prettier tonight.

Well, fuck me.

You catch him staring at you, the taller guy almost cooing at how you seemed to blush at his attention. A shy ‘what?’ leaves your lips and Shinichiro shakes his head in response.

“Just—you look so pretty,” he was being honest. He wasn’t trying to scare you away or seem creepy, Shinichiro was just an honest man.

“Oh please—have you seen yourself? You’re so handsome, it should be illegal!”

“Not gonna lie, I am handsome,” you stare at him in disbelief, before breaking into a laugh.

“What? My parents were very beautiful people,”

“Oh, I’m not saying otherwise. It just caught me off guard,” you giggled, grabbing your fork to eat your spaghetti.

“Plus, I look like my mom. It’s my biggest flex,” you notice how he smiles when he mentions his mom, and realize that he used the past tense when referring to his parents. Should you ask him about them or not?

“Were they nice people?” you were thankful that he caught on who you were referring to, and gave you a nod.

“The best.”

--

Dinner went on very smoothly with you two chatting here and there. There seemed to be no hole in your conversations, and when it suddenly got quiet, you’d immediately fill it with a new topic. Talking to him was just so fun.

He helps you clean the dishes (despite you saying he doesn’t have to) and you learn from standing next to him without your shoes on that he was a rather tall man. His stature was incredibly attractive even with a hoodie on, and he seemed to love dancing while washing the dishes.

“Oh did I tell you I have a niece?” you gasp at the revelation, almost dropping the board game he brought with him.

“You do? Show me!” he immediately whips out his phone and shows you the folder he has dedicated to pictures of him and his niece. He has approximately 500 pictures of her and she’s the sweetest girl ever.

She looks exactly like him, you almost think that he’s lying to you about being her uncle. You can definitely tell that she got her blond hair from her mom (you passed by a few pictures of the little girl with her parents), but she definitely looked like uncle’s favorite girl.

He tells you about her, how she brought some joy to his life a year ago when she was born. You listen to him and admire how his eyes are full of love when speaking of her—this man was the greenest flag you’ve ever met.

“I’d love for you to meet her, y’know if we see each other again,” he hesitates as he says the last sentence, but your hand is immediately wrapped around his arm before you squeeze it reassuringly.

“I would love to meet her,” even if you didn’t explicitly say it, you were hinting that you were looking forward to your next date together. Lucky Shinichiro.

The rest of the night is filled with laughter as you try all the board games he brought with him. Even when you got bored and decided to do something else, the man was down for whatever as long as it meant making you smile and giggle until your stomach was hurting. He loved how you seemed to encourage him whenever he doubted himself, he also noticed that your hand would always land on his back in reassurance when he lost (mostly to tease him, but you still loved feeling his muscular back through the fabric of his hoodie).

It was around 11:30PM when Shin finally decided it was time to head back home, and he had to fight the urge to kiss your lips when you sulked at the realization that it was time for him to leave.

“Man, that was too fast,” you complain as you both walk towards the door, and he chuckles at how whiny you suddenly got.

“Hey, it’s not like we won’t see each other again, yeah?” his hand landed on your back to reassure you the same way you did when he lost, and he noticed how you seemed to melt at his touch.

“Yeah,” you reply in a small voice, shy and suddenly too aware of your loud heartbeat.

Was he going to give you a hug? Kiss you? You were honestly hoping for a kiss, maybe a quick peck?

You were thinking too much.

“Thank you for tonight, I really had so much fun with you,” his hand rested at your shoulder, and you almost melted when he squeezed it. His hand was big and warm, you couldn’t stop thinking of how nice it would feel if you held it, kissed the skin or maybe traced the scars on it.

“I had so much fun too,” you reply, your hand instinctively wrapping itself around his wrist. Your thumb caresses the skin there, and while your heart was telling you that this was the right thing to do, your brain was scolding you for being so forward.

Shinichiro could swear that his heart was about to come out of his throat when your hand wrapped around his wrist. Your warm touch and caring nature had the man feeling dizzy, blushing once again like he’s never felt a woman’s touch before.

“Goodnight,” he pulls you towards him to hug you, grabbing both your arms to wrap them around his waist. This doesn’t necessarily catch you off guard since your brain had been screaming at you to wait for him to do something.

“Goodnight Shinichiro,” your head rests on his chest, a smile adorning your lips. You pull away from the hug a few seconds later, and wait for him to put on his shoes before opening the door for him.

“Text me when you get home,” you say in a low voice, trying not to disturb the neighbors and he nods.

“I will, bye!”

“Bye!” you wave at him, watching his back as he slowly walks away from your apartment. You close the door and stand there for a moment, trying to recollect your thoughts. This was by far one of the best first dates you’ve been on. Not only was Shinichiro such a sweetheart, but you had so much fun with him. You felt like you could hang out with him forever, you couldn’t wait for your next date together—fuck, perhaps you were rushing things? Maybe he wanted to wait a couple of days before calling you again, or maybe he won’t call you at all—

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Your heart stills at the sound, you almost grab your phone to call the police. But something tells you to open the door anyway, and when you do, two warm hands are grabbing your face and pulling you out of your apartment.

Shinichiro?

“What are you—“

“I wanna kiss you—can I kiss you?” he looks out of breath and his cheeks are pink. You’re not sure if it’s because of the fact that he ran, or if he was flustered. But either way, your cheeks are the same color as his when you hear his request.

“Kiss me, please.”

That was all what he needed to hear before pressing his lips against yours. His lips are warm and soft, and he kisses you so passionately that you can feel your head spinning. Your hands are balled up in fists, tightly holding onto the fabric of his hoodie to keep him closer to you. Shinichiro’s bigger frame is obvious when he kisses you, his entire form leans over you and it makes you blush even more.

Your lips move together for a few more moments before you’re both pulling away, the taller male still pressing kisses all over your face before pecking you on the lips one last time.

“Goodnight,” he says one last time, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips before walking away from your apartment.

You close the door once again, and for a moment you feel like a main character in a romance drama. You lean your weight against the wall and feel your burning cheeks with your hands.

“Oh… my god,”

Shinichiro was going to be all you could think of for the next few days.

---

After your first date together, you and Shinichiro went on four more dates. Each one had a different vibe to it; at the fair, at a café, another date at your place and the most recent one was a cute lunch date at his bike shop. He fixed your friend’s bike but you also preferred being alone with him rather than outside with a crowd of people. Not that you didn’t appreciate the dates at the fair and the café, you were still feeling giddy from knowing each other, and so it felt more intimate to spend time together like this.

Shinichiro hadn’t asked you to be his girlfriend yet, and you were more than okay with it. You could tell he was waiting for the right moment to do it, it was adorable. There were times where it would get quiet between you two and you would find him staring at you so lovingly, it made your heart stutter in your chest.

He was about to come pick you up from your place very soon, and you remember him telling you to wear something comfortable which intrigued you. Where was he taking you exactly?

Soon after, you heard familiar three knocks at your door and almost jumped from the couch. You were so excited to see him, the part of your brain that usually embarrassed you for being so excited for a date was buried somewhere—this was Shinichiro, the same man who hugged and kissed you so passionately on your first date, held your hand at the fair and pecked your lips after winning a teddy bear for you. He got you food when you told him you were too tired to cook, and cleaned your kitchen despite you telling him he didn’t have to.

And he still hasn’t asked you to be his girlfriend yet.

You brushed off the negativity aside, trying to tell yourself that the pit in your stomach was from excitement and not disappointment. He’s been so good to you, just because he was taking too long to make things official didn’t mean he was playing you.

You hoped.

You open the door and is greeted with a good looking Shinichiro. It was dark outside, it was 9PM and so the street light made him look extra attractive.

He always looked good, but this time—wow. He was wearing a leather jacket with some jeans and a white shirt, and he had his helmet in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other. You tried your best not to blush at the sight of his hair slicked back, but you were so used to turning red in his presence that you just let it happen.

“Well hello there handsome,” you try to tease him, hoping that it makes your blush die down and give you a hint of confidence, but it withers away so fast when he places his helmet on the floor and pulls you into a hug. He smells so fucking good, it should be unfair.

“Hi pretty, ready for our date?” He pulls away from the hug to stare at your outfit and hums when he sees that you’re wearing shorts and a cardigan. “You look adorable.” He leans in and presses a kiss to your red cheek, and chuckles when you look down shyly.

“Thank you,”

“Still shy?” He teases, handing you the bouquet which you hold carefully.

“Shut up, it’s not my fault,” you walk back inside your place and Shinichiro waits for you by the door with his helmet. You put the bouquet of flowers in a vase and fill it with water before putting it on your table. This way, it always felt like a part of him was around you.

“It’s cute,” he flashes you a smile and you have to look away to try to calm your nerves. Making you feel this nervous should be illegal. Did he cast some spell on you?

“Anyway big boy, where are we going?” you walk out of your apartment and close the door, and when you turn around to face the taller guy, he places his helmet on your head and helps adjusting it so that it doesn’t fall off.

“I’m taking you somewhere, do you trust me?” He points at his motorcycle waiting for you both in front of your building and your lips part in awe. He was taking you for a ride on his most treasured possession?

“I do,” he sees that you’re in deep thought and squeezes your shoulder.

“Then let’s go.”

He gets on top of his bike and helps you sit behind him, and at first you hesitate on where to put your hands—until you feel him wrap your arms around his waist and tug you to press your chest on his back.

“Hold on tight, okay?” You could swear he was doing it on purpose, but you don’t think much of it when he’s suddenly speeding away from your apartment building.

It takes you ten minutes to get to your destination, with Shinichiro showing off his skills and laughing when you scream in horror when you get too close to car. You never thought that he would drive so…recklessly, but it was fun. He parks his motorcycle very close to where you were both standing, facing a small lake that you always passed by when going to work. It had pretty cherry trees, and people always took their dogs out on walks or walked with their partners here.

“I love this place,” you whisper, standing close to Shinichiro who chuckles at your words. He knows, you mentioned it before when you were having lunch together.

“I know, you always stare at it when we drive past it,”

He noticed. You almost coo at this, and stare up at the tall man through your eyelashes. Your arms instinctively wrap around his waist and he pulls you closer to him, resting your head on his chest.

“You like it?”

“I love it,” you pull away from the hug to rest your chin on his chest, staring up at him with the same eyes that always had the man weak in the knees. His hand caresses the top of your head as he stares down at you, and it slowly slips from the top to the back of your head.

“If you keep staring at me like that, I might just kiss you,” although there was a hint of sarcasm in his voice, you could tell he was being serious. And who were you to deny a kiss from him?

“Kiss me, Shin,” the man doesn’t need to be told twice before he’s leaning down to kiss you. You sigh in the kiss, his hands hold your face so gently that it makes you melt into his touch.

When you both pull away, you’re glad that it was dark outside or your faces would’ve given away how flustered you were. He can still tell from your warm cheeks that you were blushing and leans down to give you a quick peck.

“Can I be your boyfriend?” This man was too much for your heart to handle. You thought he was attractive, well-mannered and a gentleman—but this really takes the cake.

You’re excited, giddy that you could finally make things official with him. You’ve been waiting for this day since your first date—and it finally happened.

“Gladly.”

You and Shinichiro were officially girlfriend and boyfriend.

---

Today, you were going to meet Shinichiro’s niece. His sister had asked him if he could babysit her and he agreed, asking her if you could tag along which she agreed to. She wanted to meet you, and you weren’t opposed to the idea. Emma seemed very sweet from the many times Shin mentioned her, and so meeting her didn’t stress you out that much.

You got to Emma and Draken’s place at 5PM, they wanted to go on a date (which was well deserved) and so asking Shinichiro to babysit her seemed like the best option since the baby was in love with him. You greet the couple with a smile, and you watch as Emma shows Shinichiro where the bottles and diapers are, and what to do in case she cried—which he knew about already. His sister was just anxious, and probably felt a little too guilty to be taking some time away from her little girl.

“Have fun!”

Now it was just you, Shin and the little girl. For a one year old, she sure had a lot of personality. And you think that she definitely got it from her uncle. She giggles at everything he does and loves to sit on his lap, but when she noticed you sitting on the couch, her eyes lit up. She was intrigued, and she rarely ever met a new person.

You weren’t a familiar face, but she didn’t cry when you asked Shin if you could hold her. She gladly let you take her in your arms and even giggled and buried her face in your chest when you flashed her a small smile. What an angel.

“Oh are you getting shy on me?” You stand up from the couch with her in your arms and walk to the kitchen to get her one of the snacks her mother had prepared for her. You held her in one arm while the free one grabbed her chair to sit her there.

Shinichiro watched the scene unfold and could feel his body tense up. Whatever it was that had him feeling this… dizzy, he needed to brush it off. You were so good with his niece, so gentle and caring—you talked to her with so much tender and his niece seemed to love you; a complete stranger she just met. You treated her like she was your own baby, changed her diaper and helped getting her to bed, you even gave her a bath and Shinichiro could only imagine what it would be like to have a baby with you.

Watching you walk around your shared apartment with a belly full of his baby, so sore and whiny. You would cuddle up against him and he would feel the baby kick, you would place his hand on your stomach and he would caress the skin lovingly. You would be so needy and horny, grinding against his thigh and he would help you—his pretty little wife, bringing you to an earth shattering orgasm—

Shit, he was getting hard.

He was so relieved when Emma and Draken came back, their daughter was fast asleep and you both were cuddling on the couch. He didn’t realize how rushed his goodbyes were until he felt you tagging at his sleeve in front of the car.

“Shin? Are you okay?” You were worried, his pretty angel so concerned for him, so unaware that the thought of breeding you was all over his mind. He didn’t want to scare you away, but he thought since you’ve already made it official and made out a couple of times, he could tell you what was on his mind.

“Can you come over?”

“To your place?” You tilt your head to the side and Shinichiro nods.

“Spend the night, I need you.”

He needs you.

You felt yourself get dizzy at his words, lips parted in shock. You weren’t taken aback by the fact that he was horny for you, but saying it out loud and sounding so…desperate, you could feel your panties getting embarrassingly wet.

“I’ll give you my hoodie, I can go to your place and get you some clothes I just—“ He knew he was rambling, but he didn’t want you to think that he only cared about his pleasure, not when he knew the night was going to be all about you.

“Shin,” you cut him off, and the man stares down at you. “I need you too, please,”

---

Once at Shinichiro’s place, you didn’t have time to take off your jacket before he was pushing you up against the wall and kissing you so feverishly. You don’t know what set him off, but you weren’t opposed to it. His hands were helping you rid yourself of your jacket before slipping behind your thighs to grip the skin.

He pulls away from the kiss and presses his forehead against yours, panting and already so out of breath.

“If you feel uncomfortable or want me to stop, tap my arm, okay?”

So cute. Your response was a moan before you were kissing him again, this time trying to deepen it more than before. Shin taps your butt and asks you to jump, and when you do he wraps your legs around his waist and starts heading towards his bedroom. He kisses you like he means it, and unlike other kisses you’ve shared before, this one has a hint of lust to it—it tastes different; needy, demanding, and you melt into it like butter.

You expect his room to be a little messy, but you’re pleasantly surprised when you see how tidy it is. It smelled of sandalwood and his perfume, bed neatly made. He throws you on top of it like you weigh nothing, and is immediately on top of you after stripping himself of his own jacket. He gets back to kissing you, this time you’re aware of what’s pressing against your thigh and you don’t mind at all—instead, you’re pushing him away from you to sit up on your elbows.

“Are you—“

“Shut up and help me take off my shirt,” Shin’s lips are sealed shut at your words, then he’s doing as told. He helps you take off your shirt and grunts at the sight of you in your bra. Your tits looked gorgeous. He leans down and presses a kiss to the skin below your collarbone, hands sliding up to your shorts to pull them down in on fast movement and you squeal.

“Shin!”

“You don’t mind me getting a little taste first, right?” A blush spreads across your cheeks but you shake your head almost frantically at his words. You wiggle yourself out of your shorts, giving him a little show by letting them hang to your ankle for a moment before throwing them somewhere in his room. You giggle when he leans in and presses a kiss to your calf, but it turns into a moan when he licks all the way up to your inner thigh.

“You wanna tease me, is that it?” His mouth leaves wet kisses all over your inner thighs, before finally getting to your panties. He is shameless as he takes a whiff of your arousal through the damp fabric, and you almost kick him away because of how embarrassing it looks.

“You smell—fucking heavenly, “ he practically moans out the last part, and it makes a shy sound erupt from the back of your throat, looking away from him. But he’s having none of that—not tonight. He wanted you to look him dead in the eyes as he fucked every thought out of your head, wanted to feel you clamp around his dick as he brought you to a mind spinning orgasm.

You gasp when you feel him remove your panties in one swift motion, not even stuttering and hesitating as he balls them up and puts them in his pocket. You couldn’t even ask him what he was going to do with them before he was leaning down and spreading your pussy lips with a breathy moan. He looked so gone and he hasn’t even touched you yet, the sight of him looking so in love with your pussy made your clit throb—which made him audibly grunt.

“You’re a treat,” you don’t respond verbally—you can’t since he immediately wraps his lips around your clit and sucks. You inhale sharply at the contact, back arching and jaw going slack when he proceeds to pull away and flatten his tongue on the sensitive bud. Your eyes are rolled to the back of your head when he repeats the same movements—sucks, pulls away, kisses and then licks. It seems like a simple formula, and you can feel yourself getting louder and wetter but you have no care in the world. He’s eating you out so good, he’s showing no signs of stopping and you don’t want him to. Plus, whatever turned him on tonight must’ve made him feral if he was all over you like a mad man.

“Shin—oh fuck, oh baby,” you’re out of breath, your hands are flailing around trying to find where to grip. Until you feel the man between your legs grab your hand and placed them on top of his head. He wanted you to pull his hair, Jesus fuck.

You don’t have time to think properly, not that you can. You’re pulling at Shinichiro’s hair, hips bucking and stuttering with every strong lick on your clit. Your body is arching off the bed, and you sit up with a huff. Shinichiro can tell you’re about to cum when he pushed your body back down and slides in two fingers at a time. He looks up and has to hold himself back from cumming in his pants when he sees the blissed out look on your face—glossy eyes, bruised lips and red cheeks. You were a sight to see.

He helps you reach your orgasm with fast thrusts of his fingers, kissing the inner of your thigh and humming quietly about how well you were doing for him, how you were going to take his dick like a champ, how he can’t wait to stuff your cunt full of him and—

“Fuck!” You cry out, your body stuttering and shuddering as you finally get to cum. You ride out your orgasm by grinding your hips to the same rhythm as Shinichiro’s thrusts, and you whine at him when you can feel him kiss your clit, praising you for doing so well for him.

“My pretty girl, my gorgeous girl—you did so well,” he whispers and kisses your stomach, and you look down at him with lustful eyes and a fucked out expression, which he chuckles at.

Your eyes follow his every move as he gets up from between your legs and walks to his nightstand. He opens a drawer and grabs a condom, and you almost whine at him for that.

“Ah, baby. We gotta be careful,” he soothes you with a hand on your cheek, his thumb tracing circles on the skin before traveling down to your lips. He feels like a mad man when you open your mouth and take his thumb in, swirling your tongue around before gently biting it. What a fucking tease.

“Next time, you can do that to my cock, yeah?” He whispers to you and you nod, but your eyes are wide and blown out with lust as you stare down at the visible bulge in his pants. He chuckles at your stare, and gives you a little show as he takes off his shirt—flaunting the body that he has even if it wasn’t the fittest, he was proud of it.

Then he’s wiggling out of his pants, and grins when you reach your hand towards his boxers to palm his hard-on. He grabs your wrist and shakes his head, leaning down to press a kiss to the back of your hand.

“I said next time, hm?”

You don’t have time to pout about it before he’s taking off his boxers—and holy shit. He had your mouth watering, but your heart stutters and jumps in your chest at the thought of such a heavy cock inside of you. Shin watches as your expression changes and he chuckles, his cheeks reddening a little. For a man who was so full of confidence a few moments ago, seeing you look so in love with his cock made him feel a little proud.

“Next time when you go on the pill, I’ll fill you up so good,” he rips the condom with his mouth and swiftly places it on his dick, he watches as you eagerly spread your legs to welcome him between them and you nod at his words, even though you’re mainly focused on his cock.

“Yeah? You’d like that?” he lines up the tip with your entrance and you nod desperately, feeling yourself get even more turned on. “You’d like me to cum inside you, watch it leak out of you when we go for rounds?”

You’re a moaning mess by the time he slips it inside. You cling to his shoulders, face scrunched up in pleasure when you’re able to feel the sheer size of him inside you. Holy shit.

“Yeah baby, you won’t even have to work for it,” he adds, sounding out of breath. He pushes your legs up and shamelessly stares at how you’re taking his dick—your pussy swallows him back every time he tries to pull out, almost begs him to keep fucking you.

“Gonna give my pretty girl exactly what she wants—shit, gonna fuck her full of my cum,” your tummy is alive with butterflies at his words, and you stare up at the man who looks so focused on your pussy. Feeling your stare, Shinichiro locks eyes with you and chuckles. He’s all sweaty and fucked out himself, and the smile he flashes you when he starts to drill his cock into you is devilish.

He knew what he was doing, and you weren’t complaining about it. Your body feels on fire with every drive of is hips, fingernails digging into the skin of his back when he reaches that one spongy spot in your walls—you squeal, hands traveling down almost to push his hips away and that’s when he knows he found it and fuck—he starts to bully it.

You’re a sobbing mess, begging for absolutely nothing in particular but you keep chanting ‘please, please, please’ repeatedly, and Shincihiro has to lean down and kiss you. He soothes you with his lips, a heavy contrast to his mean thrusts. He’s fucking every thought out of your brain, and by the time you’re even able to come up with a coherent sentence, he pushes a single leg up on his shoulders—and your entire body seizes up.

You’re cumming hard around him, your jaw has gone slack and Shinichiro doesn’t stop. The bed shakes with every harsh thrust, and by the time you’re able to breathe again, you’re letting out a small scream at the intensity of your orgasm.

“Atta girl—fuuuuck, gonna make me cum,” he whines out the last part, his hands pinning your hips down to the mattress. You cry out from overstimulation, your pussy aching for him to slow down.

“Just a bit more baby, just a little—“ It only takes a few strokes for him to empty himself in the condom, reaching down to rest his forehead on your shoulder. You’re both a sweaty, panting mess, clinging onto each other as though you were one another’s life line. And even through heavy breaths, you kiss Shinichiro’s cheek, giggling when you see him smile.

“Are you okay?” He kisses your shoulder lovingly, letting his lips travel up to your neck where he feels you hum. You look down at him, letting your fingers brush the sweaty strands out of his face.

“Never been better,” Shinichiro grins at this, and he fixes himself until he’s able to kiss you properly on the lips. He makes it short and sweet, trying his best not to get carried away again because he knew you were definitely sore.

“Come on, you gotta get up and pee, darling.”

“And shower… I feel so sticky,” you make a face at the word sticky and the man above you chuckles at this.

“I like you like this, you smell like me.”

“Shin!”

2023 © all works belong to slttygeto. do not repost my work anywhere else.

[froggiewrites]

hi I had another idea for a request! dealer’s choice on the character(s) (but if you’re stuck for an idea maybe law?), but maybe the reader gets hurt in a fight and their (slightly in denial about being in love) future love interest nurses them back to health? can be fluff or smut or whatever you want I’m not picky I just love seeing your words

thank you I still love your work please keep it up

This request is from @toadmakes, on anon since it's her sideblog! I thought this idea was so sweet, so I just made a really fluffy, self indulgent little piece. Also, I let Law be cool last time I wrote about him so of course I had to make him a flustered little nerd in this one. I hope you enjoy it!!

A Helping Hand

Pairing: Law x Reader

SFW

Summary: You get hurt protecting Law, and he's not pleased. Warnings: Fluff, Lots of Banter, Very Little Hurt/Lots of Comfort Word Count: 1.3k

You don’t remember throwing yourself in front of Law, or being carried back to the Tang. You don’t remember the screams of your friends, or the shaking hands that so carefully bandaged you back up. But that’s alright, because they were all too eager to tell you how stupid you had been once you came to.

“–disgustingly irresponsible! Not to mention unnecessary! What good reason could there possibly have been to do that?” Law is the most furious you’ve ever heard him, and you fear it may be because he’s the most scared you’ve ever heard him. You don’t know how close of a call it was, but you know you hurt all over, and his eyes are shining with something someone who didn’t know better might confuse with tears.

“I didn’t want you to get hurt.” You try not to say it like an excuse or a plea. It’s simply fact.

His eyes shoot away from yours. You swear you see a hint of red on his cheeks, but just as quickly as you notice it, it’s gone. He clicks his tongue with displeasure before continuing. “I wasn’t going to get hurt. I could have very easily moved out of the way. You–” he sighs. “Don’t do anything like that again.”

“Well I don’t think I’ll be doing it anytime soon.” You try to give him a wry grin, but it turns more into a grimace as you shift, pain shooting through you. You’re covered head to toe in bandages, every part of you sore and bruised. You’re surprised you’re upright and conscious right now, honestly. “Can I get some painkillers?”

“You’re on enough to take down a horse.”

“But it still hurts.” You pout, and he grits his teeth and looks away from you again.

“Yeah. Almost dying tends to do that.” Even with the gruffness in his voice and face, his hands are gentle as they begin to fuss with your bandages, checking over every inch of you to ensure you’ve been properly taken care of. You could swear he hesitates slightly at checking the bandages around your thighs and chest, but he perserveres, ever the professional. You wince a few times when his hands brush a particularly tender spot, yelping when he makes slight contact with your ribs. He fiddles with the IV in your arm, and you feel a flood of relaxation and relief hit you. Looks like he found a reason to give you more painkillers after all. “You’re going to be out of commission for a long while, y’know.”

“How long?”

“At least six weeks, but probably longer.”

“What?”

“That’s nothing compared to what it could be. You have a couple broken ribs, not to mention all of the cuts and bruises. You’re lucky your organs weren’t crushed.”

“Can’t you like…shambles it away?”

“No.” His voice is flat. You look at him with wide, pleading eyes, and he scoffs at you. “Well, more like I won’t.”

“Why not?”

“If I just fix it you’ll run off and do it again, and next time you might not be so lucky.”

“Oh…so you’re just worried about me?” You giggle, filled with warmth at the idea. And maybe the pain meds. “You could just say so.”

“That’s not–” he lets out a soft choked sound when he realizes there’s no way to deny it without insisting he doesn’t care about you. As grumpy as he can be sometimes, he would never say something so unkind. Not to you. “Shut up.”

“Hey Captain?” You feel your tongue loosening with things you would never say, but you’re too out of it to stop yourself.

“Yes?”

“Do you like me?”

There’s definitely a flush to his cheeks now. “What?”

“I think you like me. A lot.”

“I–No!”

“You don’t like me?” Your voice cracks a little, tears coming far too quickly. Whatever he gave you is powerful stuff.

“That’s not–I–agh!” He roughly runs his fingers through his hair, desperately avoiding eye contact with you. “I like you. As a crewmate.”

You puff your cheeks out a bit with displeasure. “That’s all?”

“That’s all.” 

“I’ll believe you if you look at me.”

“I am looking at you.”

“You’re looking at the headboard over my shoulder, Captain.”

His eyes flick to yours, and he turns an even more brilliant shade of scarlet. “I li–” His shoulders tense and he suddenly shoots up and turns away from you. “I can’t believe I’m arguing with you about this. You’re high off your ass. I bet you won’t even remember this when you wake up tomorrow.” You can see the tips of his ears burning as he gathers his things and prepares to leave.

“You’re gonna abandon me?”

“I have work to do!”

“I’m a patient, I am work!”

His voice is rising with frustration. “You’re already set up, what else is there to do?”

“I don’t know, Captain, I’m not the doctor here!” You try to raise your arm to reach out to him, only to let out a soft whine when you can barely move it.

“Please stop trying to use your broken bones.” He comes closer to gently hold your arm down, concern clear.

“It doesn’t feel broken.”

“It will soon.”

“You’re gonna let me hurt? On purpose? You’re so mean to me, Captain.”

He sighs. His thumb starts rubbing small circles onto your hand, though he doesn’t seem conscious of the action. “If I fix you up, do you promise not to do anything like that again?”

“No.”

The affectionate movements stop. “What?”

“I can’t promise that. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m strong, I can take a little pain.”

“But I don’t want you to.” You know you sound petulant and childish, but you can’t stop yourself. “I don’t want you to hurt at all, I don’t care if you can handle it. You shouldn’t have to.”

“So you should?”

“Yes.”

“That’s stupid.”

You huff. “You’re stupid.”

He can’t help but break into a rare laugh, a chuckle that rumbles through him and makes your heart skip a beat. He doesn’t seem to realize he’s lost himself until he looks up to see you staring at him, eyes wide and cheeks red, mouth slightly agape. “What?”

“I really like you, Captain.”

He grows horribly flustered, but for once he doesn’t pull away from you. He keeps looking you in the eye, even as every part of him screams to run and avoid his embarrassment. “You do?” His tone is heart-wrenchingly hopeful.

“I do. So, so much. You’re the most beautiful and wonderful person in the world.” You can feel your smile grow dopey and lovesick. “I’d take a million hits for you. A billion, even.”

“What if it’d make me happier if you didn’t take any hits at all?”

“Then I would say you shouldn’t have let me join your crew. Getting hit is part of the job. But that’s okay. You’re worth it.” You lean forward, begging him for a single touch, since you currently can’t lift your arms. You can feel your eyes drooping, but you fight to keep them open long enough to receive what you want.

He sighs, but you can see the affectionate smile creeping onto his face. “You’re insufferable,” he mutters, resting a hand against your cheek so tenderly you could weep. “Get some rest. I’ll fix you up in the morning.”

You hum as he uses his palm to gently push you back down, his other hand on your shoulders to recline you slightly. You’re fading fast, finally losing your fight with sleep, but before you go, you swear you feel the ghost of his lips against your forehead.

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece

[ohmyitsfaith]

Little survivors

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Summary: Eight years later, you are visited by a very strange and violent lady, who makes a deal with Five to get you out of the post-apocalyptic world. With this comes the bonus of a comfortable life and a few calm years.

Warnings: The Handler. Think I said enough. Domestic life, but starts off with the Handler threatening people. Quite physically. Also in the middle it gets a bit steamy. Talks of pregnancy and birth.

Word count: 10.6k (shit this is long)

A/n: This was also a requested fic, as a part two to Little survivor. I tried to twist the storyline a little bit, hopefully you guys will like it. I like the idea that the Commission is a part of a society where everything is disturbingly perfect. Maybe I overthought this whole thing, but honestly, it birthed a kind of great story, so... Also, I was debating splitting this into two, but then the title wouldn't have made sense. Anyway, enjoy!

As the days passed, life became harder and harder. But that didn’t stop you from enjoying time with your husband and son. Max was the cutest little kid and you really lucked out with his temperament being so good. He was the calmest little toddler, who then grew up to be a quite docile child. Sure there were a few tantrums, but in the end, he was a kind and calm little kid.

“Max!” you yelled for him as he played in front of the camp in the sand. He was now 10 years old and smarter than you thought was possible in the post-apocalyptic world. All thanks to Five, who provided the teaching material needed for him. With him working on the equations almost non-stop, it was up to you to try to get the best out of the material Five gave you.

You suddenly became aware of the deafening silence outside.

“Max?” you dropped the stick that you were using to light the fire for dinner and hurried out with your heart beating heavily in your chest.

As you rounded the corner, you saw a well-dressed woman, holding your son by his waist.

“What are you doing?!” you yelled at her, and, ready to save your son, you advanced toward her.

“Ah-ah-ah!” she held up her free hand toward you. “I wouldn’t come closer if you want this sweet little boy to live.”

“Mommy” Max whimpered in the woman’s hold.

You eyed him with worry in your eyes, then looked up, glaring at the woman.

“What do you want?” you asked.

“Just an answer,” she started, “where is Number Five?”

Your heart beat even more anxiously at that question. Five went out to gather more resources for the week and he was supposed to arrive by dinnertime. You were only expecting him around the time when the sun lowered beneath the horizon and that wasn’t til later.

“I don’t- I-” you stuttered.

“Don’t lie to me. I know you know where he went” the lady said calmly and you watched in horror as a small pistol was raised toward Max. “Now, where is Number Five?”

“Please don’t! I’m begging you, I don’t know where he is!” you pleaded, now on your knees. “Don’t hurt him, he’s just an innocent boy! Please.”

In that moment, the man in question turned up. When he saw the scene in front of him, a wild fire lit inside his heart. Not only was he scared, but angry as well. Who dares to threaten his whole world?! He dropped his gatherings and grabbing his gun, he ran up behind the unfamiliar woman.

“Let. My son. Go!” he gritted his teeth, holding the gun up toward the woman’s head.

“Ah, Number Five!” the woman turned around, smiling widely. “Just the man I wanted to see!” she thankfully put the pistol away.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked, still not putting his gun down, focusing fully on the woman, on every little move just in case she would hurt Max.

“Daddy” Max whimpered this time and Five’s eyes flickered over to him for just a fraction of a second.

“I’m here to help” the woman answered, still holding Max tightly.

“By holding my son hostage?” he asked, angrier than ever. “Tell me why I shouldn’t put a bullet right between your eyes!” he gritted.

“‘Cause…” the woman started, walking forward. Through your tears you could see Max struggling in her arms, trying to twist out of her hold. “If you did that, you wouldn’t hear the offer I’m about to give you” she said simply. “Which would be rather tragic, given your…” she looked back at you, “current circumstances.”

“What do you want? And be careful with what you say! My hands are quicker than you would expect” Five warned, his finger on the trigger, ready to shoot at any given moment. He just had to wait for when Max was safe out of her hands so he could shoot the woman dead.

“I work for an organization called the Commission” she started her explanation. “We are tasked with the preservation of the time-continuum through manipulation and removals.”

“I don’t understand…” Five’s eyebrows pulled together.

“Sometimes people make choices that… alter time” she shrugged. “Free will. Don’t get me started on that… When that happens, we dispatch one of our agents to… “she searched for the right words, “eliminate the threat.”

This caused Five to harden his shoulders, keeping the gun pointed at the woman, ready to shoot.

“No, no, no” she put her free hand up, chuckling. “You misunderstand me. You are not a target.”

“Then why don’t you let the boy go?” he hissed.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that just yet. I need your answer to my proposal” she smiled. “I’ve come to offer you a job, Number Five” she said. “We’ve had our eyes on you for quite some time. And we think you have potential!”

“What the hell are you on about?” he asked.

“Your survival skills made you quite a celebrity in the Headquarters” she explained. “The way you strive hard to protect what little you have and provide for them” she glanced back at you and then down at the boy in her hands. She reached out and caressed his head, which in turn made Five suck in a sharp breath. “That, and your ability to jump through time.”

“Don’t touch him” he hissed. “Tell me what’s in it for me? Why would I go with you?”

“You could get out of this place for one” the woman sighed. “And also go back to your family if you complete five years with us.”

“You… you’re saying we could be free?” he asked, glancing behind the woman, right at your still sobbing form.

“Once you served five years, your contract will be done, giving you a chance to retire to the time and place of your choosing” she smiled tightly.

Five thought hard about all that this woman was talking about. This could be his chance to save you, to finally give you and your family the life you deserved. He could live comfortably with you, have the domestic life you wished for and grow old.

“What about my wife and son?” he asked, which seemed to annoy the woman.

“You can bring them with you” she said and he could hear the distaste in her tone. “So, do we have an agreement?” she offered her free hand.

Five looked at you, lowering his gun slightly. You looked so scared, for him and for your son. He never wanted to see you like that. He didn’t want you to suffer. He wanted to give the both of you a chance at a normal life.

He looked at his son, who was sniffling in the woman’s arm, clearly scared out of his mind. The poor boy didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to be so traumatized by this post-apocalyptic world, by this woman, who threatened his life. He should be better off, in school, with food to fill his belly, clothes that fit him well and a roof over his head.

He will do this. For you. For Max. For his family.

“Fine” he put the gun down and approached the woman to shake her hand. “I’ll do it.”

“Wonderful!” the woman lightened up, letting Max out of her hold and shaking Five’s hand.

The moment your son was out of the woman’s hold, he collapsed, his legs giving out underneath him. But in the next moment, Five reached out for him, pulling him up and lifting him into his arms.

“We shall leave momentarily. We have a lot to do” the woman turned away and walked into the little camp to sit down.

The second she was out of sight, you rushed to Five and Max and collapsed with the two of them on the floor.

“Five” you sobbed, your heart pounding in your chest. “Max, oh my poor boy.”

“Mommy, daddy” he cried, grabbing onto both of you.

“You’re safe now, you’re safe” Five tried to calm the young boy, who didn’t deserve all this. He pulled you in, close, so he could take in your features, making sure you were still there. “You’re both safe.”

The first day at the Commission consisted of Five being dragged away for orientation and basic training while you and Max were herded to a room to wait for someone who would show you to your new house. 

You didn’t have to wait long: a woman with black hair and wearing a skirt suit opened the door. She had a kind smile on her face, and though she looked different and kinder than the other woman was, you still grabbed onto Max tightly.

“Oh, don’t be afraid!” she said quickly, her voice light and sweet. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m Dot, I work a desk job here. And I got the honor to show you to your new home!”

Still weary, but slightly comforted, you loosen your hold on your son, who looks at Dot in curiosity.

“I’m Y/n” you decide to introduce yourself. “And this is my son, Max.”

“Oh, what a cutie. How old is he?” her smile widens, a soft glow flashing in her eyes.

“He’s ten” you look down at him, still clutching your arm tightly.

“Aw, he looks a lot like Five. And his eyes! They look just like yours” she gushes.

“Thank you” you let yourself smile a little bit.

“Now, I’m sure you’re tired and in need of a good shower. Let us get going then.”

You nod, taking Max’s hand in yours and follow Dot out the door.

“We’re actually not far from the housing, you guys got a pretty adorable family home” she looked back at you as you walked through the entrance hall and then the doors.

It was a sunny day, colder than it was in the apocalypse, but the air was much fresher here. You didn’t know what year you were in or where you were for a fact. But you were just happy to be away from that hellhole.

“Do you know if…” you started and Dot looked back at you, curiously. “If that woman… will she bother us?”

“The Handler?” she asked and you shrugged. If that was her name… “Oh I don’t think she will. She only cares about agents, so you and Max should be fine.”

“And… and Five?” your heart raced. Was he in danger?

“That, I don’t know. I would assume no. She is a big fan of his, so if anything, she’ll make sure he’s fine” Dot hummed.

“Alright” you sigh.

Dot lead you through a small garden that was the Commission’s and you found yourself in view of a village-like assortment of houses. There were some smaller family homes and then there were a couple of huge buildings, which consisted of apartments.

“Do other agents have families?” you asked as you neared the main street.

“Field agents? No, most of them are either alone or only have a partner, no kids. But many of our people in filing or some of our security actually have families. Some smaller, some bigger” she explained.

You hummed and looked down at Max. Maybe he could make friends with other children. He wouldn’t have to be alone. And you could also meet some other moms…

You rounded a corner and found yourselves in a long street, filled with family homes and a playground.

“This is the street you will be living on” Dot smiled. “If you go down the road where we came, we actually have a clothing store and grocery store, so you can buy your own stuff. A bit further from the housing area, you can find an elementary school and a high school as well. Max will be enrolled by the end of the week. You’ll receive a mail from one of our staff.”

“He can go to school?” you asked, your heart picking up pace.

“Of course!” she smiled. “Only the best teachers there.”

“Oh” you nodded.

“Well, we arrived” she stopped in front of a beautiful blue house with white picket fence and a small garden. “Hope you’ll enjoy your stay with us. Five will be here any time he is free or has his day off. But don’t worry, Mary, the woman who lives in the house beside yours, and her daughters Betty and Lily are excited to get to know you guys.”

“Thank you.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it. It was great to meet you” she stepped back and waved.

“You too” you smiled and waited for Dot to disappear down the street before squatting down in front of Max. “Are you okay?”

“Yes Mama” he nodded and though you could see a little bit of worry in his gaze, he seemed to say the truth.

“Alright darling. Shall we see what’s inside?” you caressed his cheek and he nodded, gripping onto your hand.

You stepped up the few stairs to the front door. There was a key in the door, presumably the one you were meant to use later on. You took the keys out and opened the door.

It really was a small and cute home. Everything aesthetically arranged, the walls and floors in beautiful contrast. It was a wild change from the apocalypse, where everything was very yellow most days.

Across from the front door was a kitchen and dining room with a door to the family bathroom. On your right was the master bedroom, which was painted in a similar light blue as the outside was. To the left, there were two rooms, one the living room and the other a smaller bedroom.

“Look, I think that will be your bedroom” you pointed to the open door. “Do you want to see it?”

“My… my room?” Max looked up at you, confused. “I will sleep alone?”

“Yeah” you nodded.

“But… I don’t want to” the boy’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“Oh darling” you pulled him in your arms. “You won’t be alone. We’ll be right across from your room. We won’t be far.”

“But at night…” he sniffled. “The monsters will come.”

“Your dad will keep you safe from them” you tried to calm him. “We’ll never let them hurt you.”

But Max was crying, inconsolably. You tried to think about what you could do. How could you help him? His sobs were twisting your heart and you felt as helpless as when the Handler arrived in the afternoon. Where you were unable to move, unable to help your little boy, who didn’t deserve all that. You could only imagine what was going through his head in that moment and now, hours after it.

“Tell you what. You can sleep with us for the first few weeks, okay?” you pulled away a little, looking into his eyes. “You can get used to your room during the day. Would that be alright, darling?”

“Y-yeah” he sniffled.

“Alright, now let’s get you cleaned up and some food in your tummy, okay?”

Max nodded, still rubbing at his eyes. You pressed a kiss to his forehead and walked into the dining room, where the door to the bathroom could be found. There was a shower and bath combination in the opposite corner, with some soap and shampoo. It was all neatly arranged and you once again felt that jarring feeling of everything being just… off. But you just took a breath and looked at Max.

“Do you need help or can you wash your body and hair alone?” you asked gently.

“I can do it” Max squared his shoulders, trying to appear strong and you smiled. “But…” he looked up at you. “Can you stay with me?”

“Yeah, of course. How about you take your clothes off and pee while mama goes and sees if there are some clothes in your room?” you suggested.

Max’s hold on your hand tightened for a second and you could see the conflict on his little face. But then he slowly nodded and let you go.

“Alright, I’ll be right back, okay? If you’re done, then stand in the shower.”

Max nodded, looking toward the bathtub. You quickly walked to the smaller room, leaving both doors open, so you could hear your son if he needed help. In the room there was a dresser and a single bed. It was clearly meant to be a kid’s bedroom, what with the wallpaper having dinosaurs and birds on it.

You looked in the dresser to see different sized clothes, both for boys and girls. You sighed in relief and grabbed two different sizes from underwear, pants and a t-shirt, not knowing which one will be good for Max. It’s been a long while since you saw new clothes and not to mention that you never had the luxury for Max to wear the right sized clothing.

“You’re in luck” you stepped back into the bathroom. “We got some clothes here. I brought you two sizes, we’ll see which one will be good” you smiled and watched as Max nodded, stepping into the shower. “I’ll help you adjust the water” you put the clothes down on the sink and reached out to the taps. “See, this has a red dot. It means it’ll give you hot water. And on the other side is a blue dot. It means cold water” you explained to him. “Hold your hand out, underneath the tap” you instruct him, kneeling next to the tub. “I’ll start the water, okay?”

Max nodded and squatted down, holding his hand under the water.

“Tell me if it’s too warm or too cold, okay? We’ll adjust it.”

With your help, Max got the right temperature and he - albeit a bit clumsily - washed as much of the dirt away as he could. You helped with his hair a bit, but otherwise just kneeled next to the tub, so he could do most of it himself.

“Alright. That feel okay?” you asked as you helped him out of the tub and gave him a towel.

“Weird” he said simply.

“I know darling. But now you’ll get used to it. It’s going to be all okay” you promised, drying his hair. “Should we see which clothes will fit you?”

Max nodded and so you picked up the smaller underwear first. To your surprise it slid on easily, even loose around his waist a bit. You knew that Max was a smaller kid then others his age might have been and that’s all thanks to the apocalypse. But you didn’t think he was this small.

“Should I see a smaller size still?” you asked him. “Or is that comfortable.”

“It’s okay mama” he shrugged.

“As you wish,” you sigh. “Are you feeling hungry?” you helped him into his pants and shirt as well.

“A bit” he nodded.

“Alright. I’ll see what I can do” you smiled at him. “Why don’t you grab a book that looks interesting to you and we’ll practice your reading while I cook?”

Max nodded and walked toward the smaller bedroom, looking back at you, to make sure you were still there. When he was reassured, he quickly went in and took a book from the bookshelf. In an instant, he was back in the corridor and taking your hand.

“Well, come on, then” you smiled gently and went up to the counter.

Max sat down at the small circular table, opening the book he grabbed. You watched him flip to the first page and looked at the words. He knew how to read, you and Five taught him. But it took him a little time.

“The story of… Doctor… Do- Dolittle?” he pronounced it slowly, then looked up for confirmation. You smiled at him encouragingly. “The first… chapter. Pudd-puddle-puddleby. O-once upon a time, many… years ago…” Max started reading slowly.

As he read, you started to look through the pantry to see what could be used to make a meal. You didn’t really know how to cook, but thankfully there were some cookbooks that you could use.

You always wanted to get out of the apocalypse, but never imagined what you’d do once you’re out. You never wondered about some of the simple facts of a normal life. Like how to cook. But you were ready to learn. Anything really.

You and Max spent the rest of the afternoon in the kitchen. He read slowly, page after page and you trying to put a meal together for your little family.

“Y/n, Max?” you heard the door opening and Five calling out to you.

“In the kitchen!” you called back just as Max sprang from his seat, running toward Five, yelling: “Daddy!”

You smiled as you walked toward them, seeing Five embrace the boy.

“Hey, little crumb. How was your afternoon?” he asked. “What did you do? Oh and what is that smell? Is that your hair?”

“Yeah! We showered! And daddy, you know, the soap smells so good!” Max rushed out.

“Does it now?” he smiled. “Well, I’ll have to see it for myself.”

“And I read a book about a magic doctor! He can talk to animals!”

“He can?” he laughed gently. “You’ll have to read it for me too, son.”

“C’mon!” Max stood up and pulled him toward the kitchen.

“Hey” Five smiled as he reached you.

“Hi, how was the orientation and training?” you asked, reaching out to him.

“Boring” he sighed and leaned over to peck your lips. “But I got my first assignment. I’ll be going there tomorrow.”

“For how long?” you asked, worried.

“Shouldn’t be long. It’s supposed to be part of the training, with a more experienced agent by my side, so maybe that day? Or two?” he guessed.

“Alright” you sighed.

“You’ll be alright?” he asked gently.

“I will” you nodded. “Just be careful.”

“I will” he promised.

You sighed and pulled away, turning to the stove, where the food was finishing cooking. As you prepared the plates, Max explained the plot of Dolittle to Five, excited about the story.

“Alright boys, it’s time to eat” you put their plates in front of them, full of warm food. “I hope it’s good.”

“I’m sure it is” Five smiled at you.

Truly, it was not so bad. It was definitely better than what you ate in the apocalypse, which was a relief. And even though you cooked the normal amount, there was so much left after you finished eating, you felt worried. You knew it would take time to get used to eating like normal humans, but you couldn’t help but worry about your son.

After dinner, you heard the clock chime loudly from the living room.

“What was that?” you furrowed your eyebrows.

“Oh, they didn’t explain it to you?” Five looked at you. “In the evening and morning the clocks chime to signal the end and the beginning of the day. We’re supposed to go to bed.”

“Oh” you frowned. “Okay.”

“We’ll get used to it” he comforted and turned to Max. “Well, little crumb, could you show me which soap was so good smelling?”

“Yes!” he perked up and jumped off his chair. “Come on daddy!”

You smiled at the two of them before picking up the plates and washing them. You once again marveled about the way water felt on your skin. You couldn’t wrap your head around the day you had. It was so far-fetched and such an outlandish idea, that your brain couldn’t accept it.

“Mama, could you read a bed-time story for me?” Max came to the kitchen, forcing you out of your thoughts.

“Sure thing, baby. Would you like me to read Dr. Dolittle?” you smiled gently.

“No” he shook his head. “I want to read it myself. Could you read something else?”

“Of course” you smiled. “Let’s go to the room and see what we have.”

You soon found a book called “The Wheel on the School”, which Max liked the sound of, so you gave it to him and turned around to look for some pajamas for him.

“What are you looking for, mama?” he asked curiously.

“Some pajamas” you looked back at him. “You know, when you go to sleep, you are supposed to wear some clean, comfortable clothes to bed” you explained to him.

“Oh.”

“Here you go, son” you gave him the pair you found.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sweetie.”

“Will you wear pajamas?” he asked as you went to the master bedroom.

“Yes, but first I need to shower as well.”

“Okay…” Max nodded. “Will daddy stay with me until then?”

“Of course” you nodded. “Now get into bed, I’ll read to you, until daddy finishes showering.

Max climbed on top of the king-sized bed and lay down beneath the sheets, in the middle.

“Comfortable?” you asked and Max nodded. So you started reading to him.

When Five came out of the bathroom, he found the beautiful scene in front of him. Max, in the bed, lying sleepily beneath the sheets, fighting to keep his eyes open, and you, sitting in the armchair close to the bed, reading to him in a soft voice. Five’s heart jumped, filled with warmth and love. His little family, who survived so much and who deserved the world. The reason he was doing all of this.

You finished reading and put the book down, looking at your fast-asleep son. You smiled gently and walked over to him, pressing a light kiss on his forehead. Then you looked up at the door, where Five was standing. He was clean and shaven. You smiled at him and walked up to him.

“You look good” you said to him sincerely.

“Thank you” he smiled and put his hand on your waist, pulling you in. “I didn’t dare to shave it clean, so I left a little stubble.”

“It looks good” you leaned into him, putting your hand on his jaw. “It feels good.”

Five let out an airy laugh and hugged you properly. The day was crazy and he couldn’t be more thankful for your strong presence.

“I love you so much” he murmured.

“I love you more” you teased, pulling a bit away, so you could put your hand on his cheek again.

“Not possible” he smiled.

“Everything’s possible” you countered and then leaned in to kiss him.

He held you close, gripping your waist tightly. In the unfamiliar setting, he finally found something familiar: you. The way you taste was still the same, your lips reacting to his. He was glad to be kissing you once again.

“I wish…” you sigh against his lips.

“You wish?” he murmurs, not wanting to let you go.

“I wish we were alone now. If just for a moment” you finish your sentence, kissing him again. “But I need to shower and our son is lying in our bed.”

“Hm, maybe later then” he surmised.

“In a few weeks. He will get used to his own bedroom and then…” you smirked at him cheekily.

“Can’t wait” he smiled, warmth and passion glinting in his eyes.

A month later, Five finally got his first paycheck in his hands. And he couldn’t believe his eyes. When they said that the payout for a good performance was great, he thought that they would pay him good. But not this good! For weeks now he thought about what he could buy from the first paycheck. He could get more groceries, he could buy his son some clothes that would fit him and also could be his own choosing, he could buy you a beautiful dress, like the ones you fantasized about in the apocalypse and… Well… the most pressing one in his mind was a ring. So that you could wear the sign of your love.

And so, without much thinking, as his hours were done, he immediately blinked to the street of stores in the city. He found the jewelers and went in.

“Hi! I’m looking for wedding rings?” he smiled lightly.

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You were in the kitchen, making a fruit salad when the door slammed.

“Max, I told you, be careful of the door!” you yelled out.

“Sorry mama,” he rushed in.

“How was school, dear?”

“Good! Bennet played with me in recess!” he beamed.

“Oh really? And what did you play?” you smiled and Max took a deep breath before he started gushing about his day in school.

True to Dot’s words, at the end of your first week in Temps, a letter arrived in your mailbox. In it, they stated that Max would join class 4/B, which is right in his age-group and well within his skillset. They also sent over some paperwork, essential for securing his identity as a citizen.

The first week in school was… trying to say the least. But thanks to Max’s good temperament, it became easier and easier each day.

Now, in the third week of school, Max was starting to make friends. The left side neighbor’s twin daughters Betty and Lily were also in Max’s class, so them, and now apparently Bennet as well, became fast friends.

It turned out that Betty and Lily’s mother, Mary, was working in a café on the street where the school was located, so after a couple hang-outs with the three of them: a deal was made. She would take the kids to school on most days, and when she wasn’t working, you would walk them.

Mary was also very helpful with understanding the town’s rules. The chimes from the clock in the morning and evening were only the beginning. There were also some other things like: lunch was strictly at 12pm, at 3pm you had to have a coffee break (or tea break for the kids) and chat with either your neighbors or your co-workers and also, there was a curfew of 8pm being the latest you could leave the house. You also couldn’t work into the night (the only exception being the night guards at the Commission building) and couldn’t leave your house before 7am. There were some others as well, but they were not essential to your days.

Now, after a month, you were finally starting to get used to Temps’ weird rules and even weirder people. Still, you couldn’t help but sigh in relief whenever 8pm rolled around and you could be alone in the privacy of your home with your husband and son.

“…And can you imagine? Bennet said it was such a cool game!” Max was still gushing about recess and you couldn’t help but smile.

Since he started eating more and healthier, he started growing. Not much in a month, but his clothes now fit perfectly on him and you didn’t have to fold the bottom of his pants up anymore. There was also a healthy glow to him, his hair becoming fuller and shining brighter. You were so glad to see the change.

“Honey, I’m home!” you heard Five call out to you and you smiled as Max’s rambling stopped and his eyes lit up.

“Daddy!” he ran to Five as he reached the kitchen door.

“Hi little crumb” Five smiled and squatted down to embrace him. “Did you have a good day?”

“Yes, the best!” Max beamed. “Bennet played with me in recess!”

“Oh really? Wow!” Five laughed, happy for his son. “That’s amazing, baby!”

“It was! And he invited me over for a sleepover!” he mentioned, which caused you to stop smiling and looked at Five, who also looked at you.

“Really? You haven’t said that yet” you put the spoon down into the bowl and walked to your boys. “Did he ask his mom?”

“He said he would once he got home” Max looked at you. “Mama, can I go?”

“I don’t know son, we haven’t talked to Bennet’s mom yet. We don’t know if she agreed to host the sleepover” you sighed and you could see Max’s face fall.

“Tell you what. If they show up, we’ll talk about it” Five tried to reassure the boy, but it didn't help much. He pulled away from both of you and turned to walk down the hall and into his bedroom.

You sighed again, sad to see your son so sad. Five stood up and you could see that he shared that compliment. But there truly was nothing you could do.

So you went back to mixing the fruit bowl together and Five went back to the door so he could take his shoes off before joining you in the kitchen.

“So, how was work today?” you asked.

“It was… fine” he shrugged. “I got my first pay-check.”

“Oh, yeah?” you looked up at him.

“Yeah and, I was surprised to say the least” Five sighed and got the paper out of his suit pocket. “Look at this” he walked up to you and showed you the paper. You almost dropped the bowl from your hands.

“What?!” you asked. “Is that real?”

“Apparently so” he nodded.

“Oh my God…” you blinked, looking up at him. “What do we even do with all that…”

“I don’t know” he sighed. “Well… this months’ I know, because I-”

But at that moment there was a knock from the door. You and Five looked at each other before walking up to the door. Through the glass, you could see a woman standing there. You looked at Five again before opening the door.

“Good afternoon” she greeted.

“Good afternoon” you greeted back with Five. “What can we help you with?”

“Oh my son, Bennet came home from school saying he wanted to invite Max around for a sleepover” she smiled.

“Oh, you must be Sharon!” you smiled at her. “I’m Y/n, and this is Five, my husband.”

Bennet peeked out from behind her and looked up at you.

“Good afternoon” he said shyly.

“Hi, Bennet” you smiled at him as well, then looked up at Sharon. “Would you like some fruit salad? I just finished making it.”

“Thank you so much” she nodded and followed you inside.

“Five, would you be so kind and tell Max that his friend is here?” you looked at him and he nodded. You reached up to take five small bowls out and turned back to Bennet and Sharon. “Bennet, a fruit salad?”

“Yes, thank you” he said just in time when Max came bounding out of the room.

“Bennet!” he shouted happily. “Good afternoon Mrs Meyer.”

“Hi Max” she smiled and let the boys sit together.

“Sharon, a fruit salad?” you looked at her.

“Thank you, I’ll take one” she agreed and you put some of the fruit salad in her bowl as well before placing it in front of the two guests.

“Max, Five?” you asked.

“Yes, thank you mama!” Max agreed loudly, while Five just nodded.

“Here you go, boys” you gave one to each of them. “So, Sharon. You were saying?”

“Bennet wanted Max over for a sleepover” she started. “I have no objections to Max spending the night if you are okay with it as well.”

“Yes, we…” Five started before rethinking his choice of words. “What I mean is, as you know Max had a difficult time adjusting to being away from us at night. We don’t wish to give you any trouble, should he get scared and decide that being houses away from us is too much.”

“I promise daddy, I won’t!” Max immediately said. “I’ll be good!”

“I have no doubt about that, sweetheart. We just don’t want you to feel scared.”

“But mama…” he looked at you sadly.

“How about we put down some ground rules?” Sharon suggested.

“What do you suggest?” Five asked.

So in over an hour, you talked it all out. You agreed that she could take the boys and there wouldn’t be a word about disobeying the Meyer parents’ words. If that would happen, they couldn’t go over to the other’s house for a week. The boys thought that over and then agreed.

“Max, come with me, we’ll put your clothes together” you told your son.

He eagerly followed you to his room, jumping around as he watched you grab a bag from the top of the dresser. You told him what to grab and he rushed to find it and give it to you. You neatly folded them into his overnight bag and once everything was in, you zipped it in and grabbed his hands.

“Listen son, this is the first time you’ll be away from us at night” you started. “But I want you to enjoy this. If you find yourself afraid, remember: mommy and daddy will always protect you. There’s nothing that can harm you” you told him and he nodded slowly. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you too, mama” he smiled and let you pull him in for a hug. You pressed a kiss to his head and smiled at him.

“Alright,” you stood up and walked out with him to the kitchen. “We’re ready.”

“Well, thank you so much for the fruit salad, it was really good” Sharon stood up, Bennet coming up beside her.

“Yes, thank you Mrs. Hargreeves!” he beamed.

“You’re very welcome. And Sharon, thank you so much for letting the boys have this sleepover. If this goes well, the next one is on us.”

Sharon nodded and herded the boys outside. You stopped in the doorway and Five came up to hug you from behind. You watched as Bennet and Max excitedly chattered, happy to spend time together. Five pressed a gentle kiss to your shoulder as you sighed, filled with worry.

Though Max looked engrossed in his conversation with Bennet, he thankfully looked back at you two and waved goodbye. You forced a smile and waved back. You stayed out until the Meyers’ car disappeared from view and then Five gently led you back inside.

“It’s going to be okay, my love” he said gently, hand around your waist and his other hand leading you. “He’ll be okay.”

“I know” you sighed, sitting on the couch with him. “I’m just worried.”

“I know, darling” he pulled you in his arms, holding you close. “But look at the bright side.”

“Which is?”

“He felt up to going. Remember the first week? He couldn’t even let you go to the bathroom alone. Now he’s finally healing” he explained.

“You’re right” you nodded. “Still, it doesn’t stop me from worrying.”

“And it doesn’t have to. You’re his mom, of course you worry about him” he reassured you. “How about I take your mind off of it?”

“What do you have in mind?” you looked at him.

“Remember our wedding?” he pulled a bit away from you and turned you to face him.

“How could I forget?” you smiled.

“Well, we’ve been married for… about fifteen years.”

“Yeah?” you blinked. “It’s been that long?”

“Yeah” he chuckled. “And I finally bought the one missing thing from that day.”

“You did?” your heart picked up speed.

“I did” he pulled the box out of his pocket. “It’s not exactly what I imagined… and I wish we could’ve chosen it together, but… I just wanted to surprise you” he opened the box and the sight of the two golden rings in it made tears spring in your eyes.

“Oh Five” you sobbed, reaching a shaky hand out to cover his own.

“Do you like it?” he asked, slight worry in his eyes.

“They’re perfect” you sniffled, smiling through your tears. “God, they’re so perfect.

“I’m glad you think so” he smiled sweetly and reached into the box, picking up the smaller ring. “May I?” he asked, holding his free hand out.

You nodded and offered him your right hand. He pulled it on your finger, then raised it up to kiss it. You sniffled as he reached his hands out to wipe your fingers.

“My beautiful bride, the gorgeous mother of my child” he murmured. “Thank you so much for staying with me.”

You sniffled, trying to keep your sobs and tears in. You reached shakily for the other ring and took Five’s right hand in yours.

“You’re the love of my life” you whispered, not trusting your voice. “I love you so much” you pushed the ring up on his ring finger gently, putting your own right hand next to it. “I can’t believe we finally have these…”

“I couldn’t be happier” Five turned his right hand and took your hand, caressing your knuckles.

“I’m so happy” you agreed, wiping your tears and looking up at him. “Thank you. For everything you do for us.”

“I love you” he replied.

“I love you too” and finally Five leaned in and kissed you.

It was so soft, so full of love, you couldn’t comprehend how there could be so much love. But you just pulled him closer, your hand going up to his soft hair, grabbing a fistful of it. His hands went to your waist and pulled you in his lap oh so gently.

“Five…” you breathed into his mouth, trying to convey the message you couldn’t form with words.

“Y/n…” he sighed, pulling your lips back on his, while guiding his hand holding your waist down to your ass, so in the next moment he could stand up with you in his arms.

You yelped, but then you were back to kissing him, letting his tongue in your mouth as he walked with you toward your bedroom. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pushing your bodies together. You were in the bedroom quicker than you could’ve imagined, the door slamming shut behind you.

The sixth month of your stay at Temps became a huge deal. Not only was it a really long time that you could stay in one place and be perfectly comfortable, but also it became a big milestone in your lives.

Around the fourth month of staying in Temps, you found out something really big. Like huge. It wasn’t something you were expecting or hoping for, but you were still really happy. You still remember talking about this with Five.

“So… uh, Five?” you started the conversation one night after you put Max down to sleep.

“Yeah?” he looked at you, climbing into bed and pulling you in close.

“You know when we were talking about Max, way back when…” you tried to find the right words.

“Back when…” he tried to urge you on with your explanation. “In the apocalypse?”

“Yeah…” you nodded into his shoulder, trying to contain your anxiety mixed with excitement. “Specifically when he was just a little toddler.”

“Hm, still not sure which conversation you refer to” he hummed.

“Well it wasn’t just that one time we talked about this. But that was the first time. Actually we talked a lot about this, all things considered” you explained vaguely.

“Is it about his normal life?” he asked.

“No- well partly” you agreed.

“So… what is it, Y/n?” he caressed your shoulder.

“Okay, okay” you got up suddenly, kneeling beside him. “So… things have been going better for us, right?”

“Yeah” he nodded, turning to his side to look at you properly.

“And we’re no longer in the apocalypse…”

“Thankfully.”

“And, well… I know it’s a bit late and Max is so old now, but…” you stopped for a second, not sure if Five will be happy.

“But…?” he was holding his breath now, you could tell.

“I’m- I’m pregnant” you finally blurted it out.

For a moment there was silence. You could see the wheels turning in Five’s head. Then he was up on his knees as well.

“Are you serious?” he asked, shocked.

“Y-yeah” you nodded, afraid of his reaction.

“You’re really, really serious?” he grabbed onto your hands.

“Yes. Are you-” but you couldn’t even finish your question because Five grabbed you by your sides, pulling you close and squeezing you.

“You’re really pregnant” he whispered, though you couldn’t decide whether it was a question or a statement.

“Yeah” you whispered back, still a little confused about his reaction being happy or not so much.

“Oh my God…” he breathed out and that’s when you became aware of his shaking body and the sudden wetness at your neck, where Five buried his head.

You finally smiled and let yourself get lost in Five’s warm embrace and pure love.

And since then you tried to figure out Max’s stance on siblings. You haven’t popped yet, so you could hide it from him, even if that made you feel bad. You never really had secrets in front of Max, especially not big ones that concerned his future as well.

But you heard enough horror stories about kids reacting badly about a new addition to the family before, so you wanted to be prepared. You didn’t want Max to feel like he’s loved less just because there will be a baby in the house. And though you didn’t ask him right out about siblings, there were a number of ways you deduced whether or not Max was ready for a baby sibling.

Today, you noticed in the morning, while you were getting dressed, that your stomach seemed a lot… bigger. It took only a second to realize what happened: you popped. So it was time.

By some twist of fate, it was Five’s day off. And so, immediately as you noticed, you stalked out into the kitchen, where he prepared morning coffee and breakfast.

“Five” you whispered. It was still early in the morning and you didn’t want to wake Max up.

“Yes, my love?” he asked, looking up from his book.

“I popped!” you smile at him, turning to the side, so he could see the big change in your figure.

“Oh my God!” he put his book down, eyes filled with wonder. “You really did!”

He stood up from his seat and walked to you, so he could caress over the bulge of your stomach. You were looking up at his face, seeing him so focused on your belly, eyes full of wonder and love.

“You’re so amazing” he whispered, his free hand going around your waist and pulling you close.

“No, you are” you smiled, lifting his chin with a hand. “Without your hard work, we wouldn’t be here, safe. But thanks to you, Max could heal, we could build a life and also,” you put your hand on his, that was still caressing your baby bump, “expand our little family.”

Five smiled at you gratefully, then leaned in to kiss your lips sweetly. He pulled your robes in again, when he suddenly heard shifting from Max’s room and smiled at you encouragingly.

“Today’s the day.”

“Yeah” you sighed and sat down at the table, grabbing one toast from the pile.

The next moment, Max’s door opened and your son stumbled out, completely out of it from sleep. You smiled at his sleepy face and the way he sluggishly walked toward you and Five.

“Hey there, little crumb” Five smiled, embracing his son when he reached him. “How did you sleep?”

The only answer was a little grunt, which made both Five and you giggle lightly. Contrary to you and Five, Max was not a morning bird. While both you and Five got out of bed easily in the mornings, on most days you had to practically drag your son out.

“Darling, come, there is breakfast here for you” you said gently and pulled a chair out for your son to sit down on. “How about some milk, would you like some?”

Max nodded slowly and sat down next to you. You got up to grab the milk, pouring some for the young boy.

“Here you go” you smiled at him.

Breakfast went by in silence, Max waking up more and more as he ate. Soon, he was starting to chit-chat about the weekend and how you could go to the playground.

“We can, right?” he looked at the two of you and you shared a look with your husband.

“Not right now, son” Five put a hand on his smaller one. “Actually, mama and I want to talk to you.”

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked, immediately scared about being told off.

“No, no” you said quickly, placing a hand on his other hand. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. There’s just something that’s… Well…”

“There will be some changes in our lives…” Five helped you out. “Soon.”

“What changes?” Max looked between you.

“Well… you know how mama has been feeling unwell for the past few weeks?”

“Is… is mama sick?” Max turned to you, his eyes filling with tears.

“No darling, I’m very healthy” you smiled gently at him. “The sickness has been caused by something else” you thought for a moment on how to approach the subject. “You know Betty and Lily, how they’re sisters?” Max nodded. “They were born on the same day. But you can have siblings a few years in-between.”

“Like Dean and Paul?” he asked, referring to his classmate, who had a younger brother.

“Yes, like Dean and Paul” you nodded.

“What we’re trying to tell you is that mama is now…” Five started. “Well, mama is carrying a baby. In her stomach.”

“What?” Max looked at you, his brain working overtime.

“Yeah, darling” you moved a bit around the table, so he could see your midsection and you opened your robes. “I’m pregnant.”

Max blinked a couple times, reaching out to touch your stomach as if not trusting his eyes. “There’s a baby in there?”

“Yeah” Five nodded.

“And… he is going to be my little brother?” he asked, looking up at you.

“Or sister, we don’t know their gender yet” you smiled. “Are you happy?”

At that question Max’s eyes filled with tears and moved in to hug you. He was gentle, steering clear from your belly. There, he nestled his face into you and nodded a little.

Around your one year mark of staying at Temps, you were about ready to pop. You ached everywhere, your feet were swollen and you were constantly tired. It was no longer fun being pregnant.

But in hindsight, it was a better pregnancy than it was with Max. There were obvious differences and not just because you were in an apocalypse then. Your stomach was bigger and rounder than it was with him and also, your feet had swollen more.

You were ready for the baby, more so than you were when you learned that Five was going on a longer mission in a few days.

“Come on, baby. I don’t want your father missing your arrival” you groaned as you tried to get off of the couch in the afternoon. “He deserves to be there to greet you. Please.”

But the only thing you can do is wait. Wait for the baby to feel ready. Your doctor said that from the 38th week, it can happen any day. And you couldn’t be more happy about that fact. You were ready for them to arrive.

But they didn’t arrive that day. Nor the next one. And Five’s departure for his mission just kept crawling closer.

“Don’t worry” Five tried to placate you every night. “They’ll be here soon. And I’ll be right by your side.”

You talked to Mary about this as well. She was nice enough to offer Max a place to stay, should your labor start during the day. Which was also a big question mark in your head.

“What if my water breaks during the night? After the curfew starts? What then?”

“Well…” Five looked up from where he was massaging your feet. “I helped deliver Max, so I don’t think we’re in any danger.”

“Yeah, but what if you’re gone by the time this little one decides to come to the world?” you huffed.

“That won’t happen” Five got up and leaned over the armchair to press a kiss to your lips. “Don’t worry, everything will be okay.”

“I hate this” you pouted.

“I know” he smiled gently and then went back to massaging your swollen feet.

On the last day, you start feeling worse. In the morning, you found some weird substance in your underwear, which at first weirded you out, then realized that it was probably related to your pregnancy. Your doctor was on a day off, so you couldn’t go in, but you could go to the payphone at the end of the street and call them.

They told you, after explaining what happened, that that was a good sign. Your labor was finally approaching. It still could be days but it could be only hours. They also told you to call them if any more advancements are made.

The whole day, you barely got anything done. You tried to do something as simple as sweeping the floor, but your back started aching almost instantly. You did manage to make some warm food for dinner, when your two boys showed up.

“Hi mama” Max came home first, but only a couple minutes before Five showed up.

“Hi darling” his smooth voice called from the hallway. “What did the doctor say?”

“To call them when my water breaks” you sighed, rubbing at your lower stomach.

Five hummed and came up to press a kiss to your cheek, then to Max’s, who was sitting beside you, caressing your stomach.

“The baby doesn’t move as much” Max voiced his sorrow.

“They’re sleeping more” you explained. “They’re getting ready to see you.”

“Really?” he looked up at you.

“Really” you smiled gently.

Time ticked by, slowly, even as you wished it would rush. You were in so much discomfort, you really wished that time would pass, so you could just FINALLY-

In that moment, a weird sensation ran through you and you felt a warm sensation run down your legs. Looking down, you saw that your previously dry pants were no longer dry.

Breathing hard and slightly panicked, you yelled out: “Five!”

In just a fraction of a second, Five blinked next to you and grabbed your hand, looking frantic.

“What happened?” he asked, clearly just as panicked as you.

“My… my water just broke!” you told him, still in shock. “What- what do we do?”

“Uh…” Five looked up at the clock. It was 7pm. He could try calling your doctor, but it was unlikely that they would be able to come and it was an hour til curfew. “Shit… I’ll go call the doctor, you… just try to breathe and lie down.”

He quickly made your bed, heaping the pillows, so you would be in a half-sitting, half-lying down position. He helped you lie down and then blinked into Max’s room, where he was reading his favorite book. Soon, Max was knocking on your bedroom door and then peeking his head in.

“Mama?” he asked, looking slightly scared.

“Hey darling” you breathed out, wincing at a sudden pain in your lower stomach.

“Is the baby coming?” he walked up to the bed.

“Yeah, I think they want to” you sighed.

“Does it hurt?”

“Yeah” you nodded, not wanting to lie. “It hurts really badly. But don’t worry, they’ll be here soon and it won’t hurt anymore.”

“Can I help?” he asked, ever the caring little boy.

“You could bring me a glass of water while daddy gets back” you smiled at him as gently as you could.

Max nodded and rushed out to fill a glass with fresh water. He was soon back, giving it to you.

“Thank you darling” you sighed as you took a couple sips.

Five was back within a couple minutes, but not with good news.

“I reached the doctor, but they can’t come” he sighed, frustrated. “He said your delivery could be an hour from now or even 24.”

“Oh God…” you sighed, dropping your head back down. “So I’ll just suffer here?”

“I’m here with you. We’ll get through this” Five took your hand gently in his, then looked back at your son, who was waiting by the bedside table, tears in his eyes. “Max, darling, I think you should go to bed. Mama will be alright” he said gently.

“But I don’t want to leave her. She’s hurt” he sniffled.

“Darling…” Five walked to him, but you interrupted him.

“Let him be here” you told him. “But Max, you have to do what daddy tells you, while you’re here, okay? Once the baby starts coming, mama will be in a lot of pain and you can’t stand in daddy’s way.”

“I promise to be a good boy” he nodded eagerly. “Please, daddy.”

“Fine” Five sighed. “I’ll get some towels.”

Your labor advances quite slowly and every half an hour you get up to walk around with Five’s help. You couldn’t be happier that he was there with you. And Max, he seemed to grow up quite a lot in the hours since your labor started. You of course wished you could spare the young boy from seeing you in pain, but you also didn’t want him to have to be scared in his room as he heard you scream through your delivery.

Which he instead got to experience right by your side. Though Five told him that he didn’t have to take your hand as you couldn’t control how tightly you hold onto it, he did anyway. His eyes were filled with tears, but he didn’t let go of your hand as you delivered the baby, his sibling.

It was quite a shorter process than it was with Max, but somehow more painful. But that all washed away, when Five finally handed them to you.

“It’s a little girl” Five said, tears in his eyes, looking at the crying baby. “I’m so proud of you, darling” he leaned down to kiss your sweaty forehead.

You sobbed as you held your little girl close, so small and fragile. Five disappeared into the bathroom to wash all the blood and other fluids away from his hands and arrived back to seeing Max on the side of the bed, looking down at his sister.

“She’s so tiny” he said quietly.

“Yeah. But you were smaller” you smiled at him.

“Really?” he blinked, his eyes big.

“Yes” Five agreed, grabbing a washcloth and cleaning up the area. “Max, how is your hand?”

The little boy seemed to only just notice his hand, too preoccupied by his sister. He lifted it and showed the red marks on it, that resembled your fingers.

“Oh darling, I’m so sorry” you teared up again. “Mama didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s okay mama” he smiled. “It hurts, but you were hurt more.”

“You’re such a strong kid” Five praised him, kissing his head. “But come on, I’ll get some ice on that for you.”

“But mama…” he started, but then just nodded.

Once things calmed down, Max was sitting on one side of you and Five the other. You looked at your husband.

“What do you think her name should be?”

“I was kind of thinking about flowers…” he hummed.

“What about Penny though?” Max chimed in, looking at his baby sister in your arms.

“Penny? Why Penny?” you asked him gently.

“I don’t know” he shrugged.

“Well, I like Penny” Five agreed with his son. “Not my first idea, but I like the name.”

“I do too” you nodded, smiling down at your sleeping daughter. “Welcome to the world, Penny.”

Days, months, years passed in Temps as your little family grew. Max was now 13 and baby Penny 2. They were the bestest friends, even when Max’s temper got the best of him. He was going into puberty, his hormones working more and more. But the one thing he never did was hurt his baby sister, no matter what. He was gentle with her at all times.

Five was working hard. Not just with the Commission jobs, but with the equations to get you back to 2019, back to his family. He was getting closer and closer to the answer every day, but didn’t know how close.

One day though, when he was waiting to finish his work for that day, he looked through his book again. There it was. The answer. His heart beat fast as he stared at the book. He could finally… they could finally go…

But before he could think more about it, he had to finish the job and get back home as soon as he could. He needed to see Y/n, the kids. So for the next few minutes, with his heart beating fast, he waited with bated breath, keeping his gun trained on where the target would be. It was only minutes, but he felt like hours passed. He never thought time could pass by so slow.

And when the job was finally done, he wasted no time in jumping back to the Commission, passing his briefcase down and blinking into your home.

“Y/n, get the kids, we’re going” he yelled immediately, pulling his book out.

“Going? Where?” you asked from the kitchen, where you were feeding baby Penny.

“Back to my family” he said lowly when he reached the kitchen. “Come on, before they realize what I’m planning.”

“Okay” you breathed out, anxiety coursing through your veins. You put the bowl from your hands and picked her up from the highchair. “Max!” you yelled from your son as you followed Five to the living room.

“Yeah?” he called from his room.

“Come on, put your shoes on. We’re going home.”

“Home? We are…” Max stopped as he realized you didn’t mean this home. You meant the home in another time. Without another word, he put his shoes on, also picking up baby Penny’s shoes and your own as well. “Here you go, mom.”

“Thank you” you smiled thankfully at him, taking Penny’s shoes first.

“Stand by the door. This portal will be big” Five instructed, stepping back as well, his hands curling into fists.

Max took Penny from your hands so you could pull your own shoes up. The living room was suddenly lit in a blue light and you could hear Penny coo at it.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Max asked and gave her back, when you finished tying your shoes.

Suddenly there was a… fire extinguisher? flying through the portal and you only just pulled Max out of the way from it.

“Woah…” Max looked at the objects now rolling on the floor.

“Take my hand” Five suddenly yelled, reaching back for Max. “And take your mother’s.”

Max immediately took yours in his right then Five’s in his left hand. “Dad…” he didn’t, couldn’t say more, but Five looked at him.

“It’s gonna be alright” he said as gently as he could.

With that, you all took a step forward, holding each other’s hands. Going through the portal felt like wading through thick mud, the energy around you almost forcing you back. But your strong hold on each other didn’t let it.

Soon you were falling, your hand letting go of Max’s as you curled your arms around Penny, to protect her from the fall. Five did the same thing with Max and you all landed in a heap.

Groaning, you got off of Five, Penny safe in your arms. Five stood up as well, looking at Max who was…

“Mama?” the word made you turn to… little Max.

“What…” you blinked, looking at your husband, who was…

“Does anyone see little Number Five and other kids, or is that just me?” a guy asked from your right, but you couldn’t take your eyes off of Five.

“Five…” you whispered, confused and shocked, bouncing a crying baby Penny in your arms.

“Y/n…” he looked you up and down, then himself as well. “Shit…”

[Part 1] [Masterlist] [Part 3]

Taglist: @snixx2088, @piopoi87, @izzyj12119, @groovydazephantom

[sweetimpurity]

I Think I'll Keep You 5

a/n: Thank you again for your patience! I hope you guys enjoy and the next chapter is already underway and will come very soon! And some more art and bots coming out as well so look out for that!

w.c.: 10.2k NSFW MINORS DNI

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5

“...accurate and efficient methods of decoding… further aiding us in understanding… um… complicated genetic codes… pushing preservation and conservation. Uhh… yeah.” Miguel sighs, sitting up in his seat and peering over your arm as you type away on his laptop. Sitting at a table in the middle of the library during tutoring hours. Your fingers typing for him as he speaks what he wants written. He can’t type. Not with his right hand totally out of commission. So he’s come to your open tutoring hours. And now you have a student to work on so you can get paid and he can get help with his work. It’s Saturday and the two of you have been practically connected at the hip for the past two days.

You woke up beside him yesterday afternoon after that late night emergency room run. Lazily, sleepily taking the rest of the day slowly. Walking across campus to get food since all you both ate the whole night was a few pieces of candy. Smiling and talking, shoes splashing in shallow puddles along the concrete. A refreshing feeling having moved on from the mess of the last few weeks. The bubble has popped. That bubble of sex and ignorance that felt so great for the both of you. Sitting in the dining hall, among the hardwood and tall, ancient windows of your old university; looking over the school grounds turned fall shades and the autumn breeze blowing in through the window. Trying to talk about anything that won’t add any more stress or tension. No talk of friends, or family, not even school. Really just talking about whatever comes into your mind. And the conversation is just so easy. It’s different to spend time with him outside of the dorm room. It didn’t happen very often before. A lot of your conversations were pillowtalk. It’s different talking about the other parts of your life that don’t take place right after doing the deed. Miguel is funny. And he’s a good listener when his mind is clear and he’s focused on you. Only you. 

Feels like things are going back to normal. Well not how it was before. A new normal. 

“I think it sounds good… it’s a little awkward in the intro still but we can fix it up later…” You assure him, fixing a few typos and reading it over. The library is nice and quiet as always. You didn’t have any other students come this afternoon so you have time to focus on this and help Miguel since you know he can’t really do it himself right now.

“I don’t know… feels like I’m missing something. I’m gonna include the research but it doesn't feel like enough.” He sighs, leaning his elbows on the table, pushing his frames further up the bridge of his nose and looking over the notes in his hand. His knee is bouncing under the table and you can feel the vibrations of it in your seat. He’s applying to the Alchemax grant program. A huge grant with a long essay to go with it, multiple letters of recommendation and a personal profile piece. Tens of thousands of dollars for his research project. And he’d basically be an intern there. Able to use their facilities and labs to complete the job and create a brand new study of his own. It would start right after graduation and almost definitely lead to a great job at Alchemax Industries. He sighs, leaning back in his seat, draping his arm over the back of your chair. 

“You okay?” You hum, observing his clearly distressed behavior. His knee bouncing, his brow furrowed, the sighs. He looks over at you, in your eyes. Don’t lie. “Yeah I’m fine… just… want to get this right.” 

You nod. Knowing that’s not all there is to it. But accepting it for now. “Well, maybe you should include some of your… personality…traits…” You suggest with a small smile, knowing that it will be like pulling teeth with him, clasping your hands in your lap and looking over at him next to you. 

“Like what. I mean… Tyler knows me. He’s the one that told me to apply.” [Tyler Stone. President and Ceo of Alchemax Industries.] He sighs, pushing his glasses up on his head, his dark curls becoming a little messy with the metal pushed through them, and rubbing the sides of his nose with his fingers. The ache of wearing his glasses for a while when he usually doesn’t like wearing them at all. But he’s worn them more often the past few days. He can see you more clearly now.  

“Yeah but he’s not the only one who’s gonna be working with you or deciding if you get the job or not. You want people to know who you are… know the kind of person you are. More often than not, that’s more important than the research when it comes to something like this. I mean, you’re not just applying for a grant, you’re applying for a job…” You explain kindly. He looks up, in your eyes, his eyes raking over your pretty face. He loves feeling like he can be close to you again. He loves feeling like he knows what’s going on in your head. Or maybe that’s just his need for control seeping in. Like venom in warm blood. Just sitting next to you like this. Even if he hasn’t so much as kissed you since everything went down. It’s only been nearly two weeks but it feels like an eternity. He wants to so badly. But he reminds himself that this is how things are right now. He messed up and he’s getting a second chance. He won’t take your forgiveness for granted. “Yeah, you’re right.” He admits, dropping the graphs and charts on the table.

“Maybe talk about family… inspirations… personal goals. People like that kind of stuff. People also want to know that you can be a part of something bigger than yourself…” You say, fingers brushing over the keys and ready to type what he says. “Uh…” He sighs, running a hand through his hair, trying to pull this out of his brain. He doesn’t really want to talk about his family. Doesn’t want to give them the satisfaction of being considered inspiration. But his upbringing and his parents’ names alone have opened a lot of doors for him in the past. His fingers fidget on the back of your chair, catching a few strands of your hair, playing with it so softly that you don’t even feel it. And he watches the side of your face to make sure you don’t notice, your eyes focused on the computer screen. Curling the strands around his finger and getting lost in touching you. Hanging on desperately to this morsel of touch. Knowing he probably shouldn’t but he just can’t help himself.

“I guess… we could say I grew up watching my parents with their business. But that’s more… financial services. When I was born, OLI was just taking off and now… I’ve watched them build it into what it is today.” He explains. You keep typing, writing it down in the notes to keep it straight. You can hear the sigh in his voice like he hates to be talking about it. You don’t know why. Mostly because he’s never spoken about this before. But if he’s applying for such a big opportunity then it’s important to include.

“OLI, I’ve heard of that, I think…” You look over at him, unsure what that stands for but you know you’ve heard that acronym before, or maybe you’ve seen it somewhere? 

“O’hara Legacy Investments.” He says with a nod and sigh, a level of disdain in his tone. He leans forward, his mind still on this essay. On beefing it up with info that might secure him this grant. Even though he’s confident his connections will get him in. There’s always a chance things might not go his way. He wants to prepare for every possible outcome. He hates to feel out of control. You stop typing. That sounds like investment banking. Like the kind of thing that makes people billionaires. 

“Is that the… that tall building downtown?” You ask, looking over at him and he nods, a blank stare in his eyes as he’s looking down at the research notes. “Your family runs that?”

“Yep.” He sighs, not offering more information so you don’t ask for more.

“Okay sooo… how would that influence your work at Alchemax?” You prompt, trying to veer back on course. You can tell he’s losing steam, you’ve been at this a while. 

“So I guess it’s not really the same as what I would be doing at Alchemax but… Watching how that runs… how many people it takes to keep something running like that. I guess something about leading teams of people working towards a goal…” He keeps thinking out loud and you keep typing, interpreting his words into organized notes and ideas. “So.. maybe about you as a leader? You think you can be a good leader…” 

“Yeah. I think so… and soccer, we could include that too.” He says, perking up and sitting up a bit straighter. Although the topic of soccer does bring his anxiety levels up a bit. Watching you type while playing with a piece of frayed material on his cast. “Yeah, captain of the soccer team, sports is always something they want to hear. If you’re a leader… organizer. And coming from SU especially, they love to see it.” You agree, typing and compiling the thoughts that come to mind. “And to know you can work in a team…” 

Miguel nods. Feeling relieved that you’re able to help him with this. He did all the more technical notes for it over the past few weeks. Organized lots of thoughts and data to start the writing process. Then he broke his fingers and that put a wrench in the process. It’s due next week and without you he’d be screwed. But it works out sort of perfectly, and a little selfishly, that now he’s spending more time with you because of that. “I think also…” 

He starts. You look over, ready to type whatever he suggests. “I’m an older brother too… that’s… I don’t know…” He mumbles. You find yourself smiling. “I feel like… maybe being a leader in that way is different.” 

“It’s very different, yes…” You nod, looking back at the laptop screen, a smile dancing on your lips. “Maybe something about… protecting… looking out for those that are important to me. Or being a good role model I guess…” He sighs. Thinking. About Gabriel. About you. Pretty much the two most important people in his life. I guess I haven’t been a very good role model as of late. 

“Loyalty… role model…” You say and nod. Typing those words in the compilation of notes you’re making in the margins. His knee is still bouncing.

“I also think you’re very passionate…” You say. He looks over at you, the side of your face, watching you type more things in the notes. Trying to create a section of his essay that can portray him as not just another applicant. “I think I’m just generally angry… I don’t really think before I do things…” He scoffs, shaking his head and leaning forward, his arms on the table, his head resting down on his forearms, looking at your pretty face from this angle. You grin and nod, giving him a look. “Yeah but we don’t have to include that… passion works…” 

He laughs through his nose, blinking softly and admiring your face. Watching your pretty eyes, the light of the computer screen reflecting in them, making them especially sparkly. It’s quiet for a moment, just the clicks of keys and fingertips. He thinks, reflecting on all that’s happened in the past few weeks. That thing with Dana keeps coming to mind. That was really a moment of lost control. Is that the passion you’re talking about? That he loses control and can’t get it back until it’s almost too late? He worries about that. Not remembering most of it because he was so angry. It sort of feels like a dream. Especially since he fought with you right after that and then everything went right to shit. 

All he knows is that Dana made it back to his dorm. He knows for a fact nothing happened. He wouldn’t have wanted it anyway because he despises her and she was drunk off her ass. But she did lie on his bed. Her perfume was all over him. And he remembers standing over her and wanting to make her hate him. Just so that she would leave him alone. That’s a level of anger he never wants you to witness, or anyone really for that matter. It scares him a bit now to think of it. All he knows is that if you think he’s loyal, he’ll be loyal as a dog. If you think he’s passionate, he’ll be a raging, burning fire to keep you warm. You think he’s anything, he’ll be that. If you want him to be. 

He fidgets with the fray on his cast. Coming off the blue material. His gaze caught on the little cursive “mine” you wrote. That night in the drug store. When you were both so deliriously tired, sitting in the middle of the floor. Having this on his arm is like a reminder. Or a promise. That maybe you’ll be his or he’ll be yours again. He’ll just have to be patient. His thumb brushes over the word, like making sure the letters won’t fall off, making sure they’re stained into the blue permanently. Do you even remember writing this? He thinks. Or were you so tired it feels like a dream? His bouncing knee still vibrates against your chair. 

“Anything else for today? We did a lot…” You ask, looking over at him. Bringing him out of his thoughts. “No, I think that’s good, thank you… but maybe next week we can finalize things and you can help me edit it?” He asks hopefully. “Yeah definitely, I’ll block out some time for you…” 

He nods, sighing and pulling his glasses off his head. Folding them up in his hand and collecting his papers. You just save the document, debating in your head the words on your tongue. Closing the laptop so he can pack it up in his bag. 

“So… you wanna tell me what’s stressing you out?” You ask, turning in your seat to face him and leaning your elbow on the table, head in your hand. He stops what he’s doing, putting down the stack of notebooks. “You can read my mind…” He smiles. 

“No, you’ve just been bouncing your knee against my chair for the past hour.” You sigh, smiling soft but sympathetic at him. His shoulders slump. “Oh sorry…” He shakes his head, feeling embarrassed for being so obvious, pinching the bridge of his nose in his fingers. 

“It’s okay… Is it the grant? I think your essay will be good enough…” You hum. Noticing all of his distress and not wanting him to be freaking out over something he’s already spent so long working on. “No it’s not… I… I’m really glad you can help me with it. Thank you… I’m just worried about the game tomorrow…” He nods. And it dawns on you. “Ohh…”

“I actually should get going… have a meeting with the coach. Figure out how we’re gonna pull this off…” He sighs, getting up from his seat to gather his things. He’s been wracked with anxiety about the game ever since putting two and two together that he’s out for the next few weeks. It’s against the rules for someone to play with a plaster cast on and he’s nowhere near getting that removed. So the team will have to supplement him. 

“You’re not gonna play are you? You shouldn’t… not with your hand like that.” You insist, watching him get up, pulling on his jacket precariously with his one working hand. He can hear the concern in your voice. “I can’t. It's an instant disqualification… so I have to talk to Coach and maybe I’ll just assistant coach tomorrow, I don’t know…” He sighs, knowing it’ll be a struggle for the team to play without him. And they very well might not win. This is a university proud of its win streak so far. 

“If it hurts, let Coach know… you don’t have to do anything that’s uncomfortable.” You advise softly. Wanting him to be comfortable. Always. That look of care on your face makes him feel a little warm. Making him feel a little soft and fuzzy inside. He can’t remember ever being worried over like that. He clears his throat, trying not to let that feeling get to him too much, shoving his laptop in his bag and zipping it up. “I will… don’t worry about me…” 

He says it but he doesn’t really mean it. Although he doesn't want you to be anxious; he definitely doesn’t need to inflict any more emotional pain on you, he’s done more than enough of that over the past few weeks… he does want you to care. Or it’s more like… once he realized you actually do care, now he doesn’t want to lose that. 

“Just be careful… I know you’ll do well and the team will be fine…” You smile gently. Clicking your pen and watching him getting ready to leave. His bag slung over his shoulder. “Thank you… yeah I just need to chill.” He sighs, moving his hurt hand around absentmindedly to soothe the ache. “Well… the feeling you’re having just means you care. It’s a good feeling, even though it’s scary…” 

He looks in your eyes, down at where you’re still sitting. Feeling struck by your words. You’ve always been so good at that. You always know exactly what to say when he needs to hear it. He hopes to do the same for you one day. If only he can figure out how you manage to do it every time. He just nods in thanks, a renewed sense of relief inside. 

“Dinner later?” He inquires, brow raising as he’s starting to walk away. Walking backwards away from the table, his eyes on you the entire time. 

“Sure, I’ll meet you there…” You rest your head on your hand, watching him go from where you’re sitting. Watching that look on his face. A sort of satisfaction in that he’s leaving but already thinking about when he gets to see you next. He nods. Turning towards the library doors and smiling to himself, making his way out. Sneakers tapping on the hardwood floors of the academic building, sparing you one last glance. Finding your eyes still on him. A stupid sort of giddy feeling in his chest. Lopsided grin on his lips as he leaves the library.

“O’hara! Dude.” Peter’s voice brings him out of his flurry of thoughts. Watching his friend march down the rest of the hall to him. “Where you been? You disappeared again…” Peter chuckles.

“Oh yeah I‘ve just been… busy in the lab and stuff… and my application.” He lies. While it’s true he has been working on his application and piles of homework, he’s also been actively avoiding all of his friends ever since your fight. Unable to handle even the slightest of social interaction. His mind set on you and only you. But he won’t tell Peter that. 

“Dana said you were being crazy or something…” Peter huffs, his brow quirked in disbelief. Miguel’s heart starts to beat a little harder at that. Did Dana tell everyone what happened? Or her version of what happened? “What did she say?”

“Well… she’s kinda implying that you two hooked up after the party last week…” Miguel’s eyes widen at that news. It’s just not true. But that seems to be the story everyone believes so far. “MJ thinks she’s full of shit bu-"

“She is full of shit.” Miguel sighs. Pinching the bridge of his nose. Or trying to with his cast. It was a foolish thing to give into his anger and take Dana back to his dorm. But he didn’t sleep with her. He’s not surprised though that she’s spreading that rumor around. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

“Shit, what happened?!” Peter flips, looking down at the cast engulfing Miguel’s forearm to the tips of his fingers. Looking at the seemingly broken hand, his eyes scanning over Miguel as a whole. Feeling like he has no idea what’s going on with someone who’s supposed to be his closest friend. “I broke my wrist but it’s fine, doctor says it’ll be fine even without surgery.”

“It’s fine?! What about the game?” Peter asks in panic, running a hand through his previously neat light brown locks. It’s against policy rules to play with a hard plaster cast for the safety of the other players and teammates. But Miguel’s the captain, their top offense and shooter. 

“I’ll be on the sidelines and Miller and Durante can take care of it.”

“It’s Princeton, Miguel. We’re gonna get fuckin’ smoked out there…” Peter huffs, going on and on but Miguel just shakes his head, feeling that anxiety rising again. The anxiety you were able to dampen only moments ago. “I know it sucks… I know. But those new drills have been helping… I’m gonna talk to coach.” 

“Alright… but Marco and Santiago need to get their asses in order before tomorrow. I’m not playing defense because they can’t pay attention to the fucking ball.” 

“I know, I know…” Miguel sighs and nods. Knowing this is all bad timing. They’ve been preparing for this game for a while now and it’s a pretty big spectacle. The stands will undoubtedly be full to the brim. It makes him tense and anxious to think about.

“Okay…” Peter huffs, running a hand through his hair. “Well, text me what Coach says…” He sighs, lifting his fist. Their knuckles colliding as he’s starting to walk off to where he’s going. “No more disappearing…” Peter chuckles, looking back as he starts walking down the hall, pointing a finger at his friend. “Yeah, yeah…”

“Alright, I’ll see you later.” Peter says with a nod, his hands in his pockets as he rounds the corner, walking into the library. Miguel sighs, feeling that tension, that tomorrow might not go well and it’ll be all his fault. Because he can’t do more to help the team he’s supposed to be leading.

He jogs down the stairs, down another hallway and outside. The fall breeze and smell of the trees and crisp autumn air flows past his cheeks, blowing back the little curls by his ears. Hunching his shoulders up when the brisk air cools his neck, pulling his collar up and walking across the commons to get to the athletic building on the other side of campus. To meet with Coach about the game plan for tomorrow. 

“Come on guys, one more time!” Miguel calls out to the team. Dressed in his uniform, dark blue and silver stripes, school colors with the Sterling University crest on his arm, a C on his chest. Number 99 on his back. Cleats and his cast to match. It does suck he has to miss out on actually playing but he does a lot of assistant coaching as captain anyway so it’s nothing he’s not used to. Coach Dean is talking with the referees anyway. Schmoozing on the sidelines, convinced it’ll earn them less whistles through the game. 

Miguel sighs, anxious, shaking his head and directing his attention to the mobs of people filling the stands. The sun is setting, the field lights coming on and a slight chill filling the air. A buzz with that too. College soccer fans here as well as lots of students from both universities. People are excited. The team is excited as well as anxious without Miguel playing beside them. Knowing they’ll have to supplement him being out. Miguel huffs, stretching his arms and wincing slightly at the remnants of ache in his wrist, his breath fogging in the cold air.

“Come on… si yeah! ¡Mantén la posesión!" He shouts from the sides, watching the team warming up with the drills and keeping order, following them up and down their half of the field. “Marco!¡Sigue presionando! Call for it!" A mix of Spanish and English naturally leave his lips. Dark eyes follow their form and technique. Keeping everyone in order. They’re doing really well as always. But Miguel would prefer perfection. “Good! Alright break!” He shouts.

The team all relaxes, sighing in relief and collecting on the sidelines near the bench. Some passing the ball back and forth. The goalie is doing some technique in the practice nets with Durante and Miller. Others glancing at the opposing team warming up on their side of the field. “Marco, you’re gonna break you’re fuckin’ ankle doing that. Keep it light, it doesn’t have to be so fast. Slow down and go through the steps, alright?” Miguel instructs calmly, grabbing a ball and demonstrating on the turf by the benches. Marco nods, wiping his brow with the edge of his jersey. 

“Just like that… keep it loose and look at Miller, he’s the one you’re paying attention to. Don’t look at Durante, he’s gonna be looking at Miller for that pass down the field. But that was still good, keep it up..” 

“There’s a lot of people here…” Peter comments, squirting some water into his mouth, catching his breath. Miguel walks over from helping Marco, standing beside his friend and looking out at the people in the stands. It’s a little more than they’re used to. Little intimidating considering this stadium seats thousands of people.

“It’s a big game…” Miguel huffs, grabbing his water bottle. Wish I could fucking play… he thinks. Glancing at Coach, still talking to the refs near the midline. They have a little while before everything starts.

It’s the end of the first half and it’s been a good game so far. Princeton is good but so is Sterling. They’d be better if Miguel was on the field to help them. He finds himself getting frustrated on the sidelines, disagreeing with the refs calls and calling out to his teammates, trying to lead and instruct. The whistle blows and the team finally relaxes. Panting and walking over to the sidelines. 

“They’re fast…” Marco pants, plopping down on the bench to catch his breath. “We have to be faster… but we’re holding our own…” Miguel says, hands on his hips and looking over the team, trying to keep the edge from his tone. He’s here to lead, not berate.

“You good?” He sees Peter covered in grass stains. Peter’s the one that’s been scoring pretty much all the goals so far. Princeton’s defense is good. It’s one of those games where no one’s going to score very many goals, it’s all about making sure the other team doesn’t get too close. “That was really good, keep doing that. And if it works better for Marco to go up the right side, then do that.” Miguel says. 

“I will… they’re so fuckin fast…” Peter pants, grabbing his water bottle and squirting some in his mouth. Breathing heavy through his nose. The team takes a few minutes at halftime to refuel and plan for the second half. Peter and Marco will have to be smart about the next plays. They’re down by two and the other team just keeps getting closer and closer. 

“I got a girl in the stands…” Peter says with a lopsided smile, still out of breath, spraying some more water into his mouth. “Yeah?” Miguel’s brow quirks at that information. He knows Peter has a lot of girls around him and friends that are girls. Makes sense, he’s very smart, an athlete, loud and the life of the party. Everyone always trying to get a piece of him. Not a foreign concept to Miguel himself. Miguel grabs his water bottle too, raising it to his mouth. “Who is she?” 

“Her name’s y/n…” 

What?

“...yeah you should meet her… she’s really pretty and smart and funny...” 

What?

Peter keeps talking, tossing a ball to someone else across the bench. Not even registering the look on Miguel’s face. Like shock and something else. Something Miguel himself can’t put a finger on. And Miguel can only half listen to Peter’s words. “She’s head of the tutoring club… did I tell you I started doing that? Dude, I’m getting paid to do some freshman’s homework and get course credit. It's like the easiest shit in the world…” Peter laughs, talking on and on. 

Miguel doesn’t understand. It’s like his brain can’t process this. Staring at Peter silently and waiting for him to say it’s a joke. But how could it be a joke?

“She’s riiiiight… there-” Peter turns, pointing at the stands. Turning stiffly, Miguel looks out to where he’s pointing. His dark eyes searching the stands and looking for your face. Hoping to see some stranger who happens to have the same name as you. But no. It’s you. 

He watches your gaze snap onto them, seeming surprised to have both their attention now. How did he not notice? You’ve been here this whole time, sitting nearly 15 rows behind him and he didn’t know? But Peter knew?

He can’t help that his immediate reaction to seeing you is relief. Seeing you up there and he just wants to smile. Wants to disappear with you and forget this stressful game. You’re like… his best friend in the whole world. But then that relief is quickly quelled when he realizes Peter is the one who invited you, he’s the reason you’re here. 

Miguel huffs. Nearly getting hit in the face when Peter starts waving at you. Stepping back and trying to make sense of this. There you are, waving back their way. What is this? He wonders. Unable to help the scowl that appears on his face as he observes Peter waving. What is this happening that he doesn’t know about or had no idea could even happen? Another bubble has popped and he didn’t even know it. 

He looks back up at you. Your eyes looking his way. But are you looking at him or are you looking at Peter? He hates that he can’t even tell. He hopes it’s him but it’s too much distance to know for sure. He just holds up a hand weakly. Waving at you. Feeling like an idiot, a total fool. And here Peter is waving at you, thinking Miguel doesn’t even know who you are. Fuck.

“Alright boys! Let’s huddle up!” Coach yells, coming over to the bench and motioning for everyone to come over. Peter moves to head over, gently kicking a ball on his way. And Miguel can’t help but keep glancing at you. Feeling self conscious. You’ve been watching him and witnessing all of this, this entire time? He didn’t even know you were here and half of the game had already been played. And all he’s done is stand on the sidelines while Peter played big shot scorer. 

Your hands wave at him, mouthing something he can’t make out. His brow knitting together as you try to communicate something to him before Coach snaps again. 

“O’hara!” 

His eyes snap to the team huddled by the bench. Taking long strides to get over there. But his mind is a mess. He didn’t even know you knew each other. 

The second half, the rest of the game, it’s hard for Miguel to focus on coaching. He’s watching the team play but it’s like a delayed reaction in his mind. Like his body is here but his brain is trying to tap into some invisible signal stretching from you to him. Peter scores again and Miguel flinches at the sound of the stands erupting. Cheering and echoing through his head. Pounding the sides of his skull.

He can’t help but glance your way every chance he gets. But every time he’s able to spot you in the sea of colors and foreign faces, you’re looking at the ball on the field. Which is always in Peter’s possession. And he can’t focus on anything except what he doesn’t know. What he can’t control. 

…

“Wooooo!” Marco hollers, the team gathering in a huddle on the field and celebrating their close victory. They won, but it was a tough game. Miguel stares almost blankly as the team all slaps hands and says good game. And by the time he snaps out of it, turning to find you, the stands are already emptying out and you’re gone from your seat. 

“O’hara!” The team shouts, bringing him out of the mess of thoughts. The players crowding him in celebration on the sidelines. Cheers and loud voices. Talking about moments in the game, highlights, certain techniques that had Princeton on their toes. All in all it was an exciting match and Peter was definitely the savior, scoring more goals than anyone and making the game. And Peter is all smiles. 

The team heads back to the locker room. Showering and warming down from the game. Miguel stands at his locker. His new locker since the punched in door wouldn’t close properly on his old one. Pulling off his jersey carefully with one hand and hanging it up. Wiping down his broad chest with a towel and hearing Peter with some of the boys walking in from the showers. His movements slow, brow furrowing, grabbing his change of clothes and pulling a tank top on, the black material bunching down his toned abdomen against his deep skin. Listening to Peter’s voice. 

His mind races. Since when did you two become such good friends? And why wouldn’t I know you were coming to the game when I saw you all day yesterday? Does Peter know that? Does Peter know we spend countless hours together? Does Peter know we have this deep connection that I’m actually working really hard to repair? He ought to. 

He listens to Peter’s conversation, as if waiting for him to say your name to confirm he’s talking about you. But he can’t make it out all the way. Something about a party, something about his car, something about the game. He watches the rest of the guys leave the locker room. Peter walks by with the guys and he just subtly, silently glares as they pass, not noticing him. pulling his hoodie on and shutting his locker gently. Pulling his phone off the charger and slinging his sports bag over his shoulder, walking out. 

He slumps down the concrete steps, the hallway leading to the exit doors, opening out to the athletic parking lot. Raking a hand through his hair, his mind a mess. He’s not used to feeling so beaten down after a game. They won, he should be happy. He should be glad. But he just feels indifferent. Or he just really needs to see you. 

When the door swings from someone else leaving, he catches a glimpse of you through the opening. The bright lights from outside assault his eyes as the door swings again. Seeing you for just a moment. Just a split second. Talking with Peter against the fence. He stops. What is he walking into? What’s about to change? You’re gonna be there right when he goes through that door. He stands in the dim concrete tunnel, feeling his heart race. He doesn’t like this feeling. This is the loss of control.

“Miguel!” Peter smiles, making you turn to look back. And there he is, walking out the door. You want to just run into his arms and tell him how great he was. Even though he didn't get to play he still coached very well and played his part in the victory. But Peter is talkative and gets in there before you can. And you don't really want to interrupt when he's talking with his friends. Since this is the first time you've been around his friends with him. 

“We’re gonna get drinks, you have to come” Peter says, ushering Miguel over to where you’re standing. “This is y/n… y/n this is Miguel” 

“Yeah we know each other.” Miguel says immediately. Not a hint of a smile on his face. He’s annoyed with Peter. Annoyed that it’s not a known thing. He wants it to be known that you two are an item. Or… that there’s something going on… he’s not even sure of at the moment. At least that Peter should know to back off. “Oh cool, so drinks?” 

Miguel’s a little astonished with how easily Peter just brushed that off. Eyes flicking between you two and hoping to god you don’t accept the drink invite. But he bites his tongue. Friends. Really good… friends. 

“Uh… I don’t know, I’m kinda tired…” You sigh. Part of you not wanting to go since it’s not your normal scene but a bigger part needing to go so you can feel like you’re really one of Miguel’s friends. Not someone he has to hide. That you can get along with them and be a part of his life. That’s all you want to prove to him. 

“Come on… please?” Peter pouts. And Miguel wants to scream. Trying to tell you with his eyes that he doesn’t want to do this. Not right now. Maybe later when he’s had time to mentally prepare himself. It doesn’t help that you look adorable right now. In your Sterling Uni hoodie with a scarf to keep warm. He doesn’t want to do this. He’d rather just go to dinner. Like always. Talk for hours and maybe even fall asleep talking in your dorm like always. Not this. Please not this. 

His eyes burning a hole right through you, trying to communicate it without using the words since he can’t right now, not with Peter standing right there. Part of him wants you to come and show you off. The other part of him wants you all to himself, not wanting to share you with anyone. But he’s trying to be better. Trying to control himself rather than try to control everything else around him. 

“It would be fun, right Miguel?” Peter asks, bringing him out of his thoughts. He wants to say no. Wants to say fuck no and disappear, taking you with him. But he can’t do that now. So he just nods stiffly, forcing a smile. Almost painfully. “Yeah… come…” 

Your eyes light up and Miguel knows he’s done for. “Oh great!” You smile and Peter is instantly excited too. Talking about how great it’s going to be and how many people will be there. Miguel’s heart is pounding, seeing how easily Peter was able to get you to come. How Peter is smiling and looking at you. A sense of dread filling his chest.

It’s the usual bar. The college bar around the corner from campus where the sports teams usually congregate after a game. Or the general student body on a Friday night. Loud music and conversation, the place is packed. Football and UFC playing on the multitude of TVs hanging in the place. The team filters in all acting like they own this place. Playing pool and getting drinks, talking to girls in corners and at the bar. It’s a crazy night at least for you. Miguel’s seen nights like this before, but this time you’re here. And he won’t let you out of his sight. Even as people talk to him, trying to strike up conversation and catch up. Since everyone knows who he is and knows his name. He still keeps his attention focused on you. He doesn’t care about anyone else in this bar tonight. 

Drinks flow the second everyone is in there, laughter and loud voices, trying to be heard over the music. Miguel keeps his arm barred at your side to help get you through the density of people. Like a shield to make sure no one bumps into you. Not wanting you to be too claustrophobic or crowded. Staying nearby until you find two seats at the bar miraculously. As you sit down, Miguel quickly scans the room. Looking for one face in particular. No sign of Dana and he can relax a tiny bit. Sliding into his stool seat beside you. 

He sits down, watching how you observe the place, looking a little out of your element here. It’s clear you’re not a party girl. You’re a smart, intelligent tutor and it shows. It would almost be comical if Miguel didn’t have a fierce determination to protect you in this place. 

He leans over, getting closer to your ear to be heard over the noise. The smell of your shampoo mixed with your perfume, so close and familiar, filling his senses and almost making him dizzy. His mind flashing with moments of you in his bed. Your body under his and his face buried in your soft sweet smelling hair. He’s the only one in this bar that knows what you sound like when you come.

“Drink… Do you want a drink?” He asks, trying to be heard over the noise, his cheek brushing against yours. Pulling back to hear your response. “Yeah! Whatever is fine…” You smile, trying to speak over the chaos of people and stimulation. A bit out of your element but doing fine. Excited to be here with him and feel like you’re fitting into his world. 

He gets the bartender's attention, ordering you just a beer in a bottle. He doesn’t know if you’d want anything fruity, not that this crappy bar would have anything that good anyway. He’s never drunk with you before. He slides it over to you, watching you take a gulp and smile. You’re so out of your element here. He sighs. A swell in his chest. 

Even though he would normally be drinking a couple beers himself, he just has water in front of him. He wants to stay relatively sober. Enough to keep watch over you and make sure no one else talks to you. “Oh, I thought you were gonna get the same thing…” You chuckle, leaning your elbows on the bar and watching him sipping his water from a plastic cup. 

“Someone needs to be responsible for all these people right?” He chuckles. As captain of the team he actually does feel that responsibility. To keep people in line since he knows they’ll listen to him. “And I need to be sober if I’m carrying you out of this place drunk off your ass…” He jokes, teasing you. 

“I’m not getting drunk tonight, no way. No thank you…” You sigh, shaking your head. Looking down at the label on the bottle in your hand. Then your eyes dart around the crowded room a few times. He just looks at your face. You’re so pretty. Especially pretty in this low light. 

“Well how is the beer at least? I know it’s not something sweet but it’s probably the best thing they have here.” He huffs, keeping his eyes on you, studying you. He’d love to just be all over you and show people that you’re his. But you’re not right now. You’re his friend and that’s the boundary you both set. He’s trying his best to uphold that after his mistakes. “It’s fine… I don’t ever drink much anyway so I’m not picky…” 

He nods. Learning more about you all the time. The two of you have never been out to a bar or club before so this is all brand new. He can see how you’re a little nervous in this place. It’s not your usual hangout spot and he can tell. “Yeah, this place is pretty chaotic tonight…” He comments, looking around then back at you. “You’re okay though, right?” 

“Yeah I’m fine…” You smile. Clasping your hands in your lap. He’s attentive, more recently than ever. It’s true that he’s become like your best friend over the last month and a half. Even though it hasn’t been that long, it’s felt like a lifetime. And with how much time you spend together, it still feels like he separates you from a lot of the other parts of his life. Friends, family, everything else. You spot Peter across the way standing with some people. The only other person you even know in this place. 

Miguel follows your gaze over towards where Peter is and he can't help but wonder why you're looking at Peter or what you're thinking. He looks at the group of people around him, recognizing teammates and classmates, but notices Peter in particular.He tries to remain cool, looking back at you. "He's a great friend… isn't he… "

He says it with a little bit of annoyance in his voice, thinking about how you two have gotten really close as friends and he didn't even know it.

"Yeah he's really sweet," You smile, not really noticing his expression. You want Miguel to know that you can get along with his friends too and you can be a part of his life. "He's funny…"

His brow twitches just a bit. He doesn't know how to feel about the fact that you two are friends in and out of the tutoring club. And that you’re calling him sweet. And funny. He knows how charismatic and charming Peter is, knowing he could get any girl he wants. "He always gets the girls…  he's quite the flirt…" He mumbles.

"Oh really?" You smile and scrunch your nose up, looking back at Peter and seeing that yes, there are many girls around him right now. And he must be very popular with the girls, you think. You hadn't really noticed that Peter was a flirt but you think he's charming. Maybe you're just so focused on being his friend to prove to Miguel you can be part of his friend group.

Miguel can feel his patience slipping. How you seem so oblivious to the fact that Peter is a huge flirt and that Peter was flirting with you earlier when he invited you to the bar. But he's been Peter's friend for years, of course he knows the girls flock around him. It just annoys him that you’re completely oblivious to it. He watches you watching Peter across the room, trying not to let it show on his face how frustrated he is.

"How's your hand?" You ask, taking a sip from your bottle. Gesturing towards his cast in his lap. Trying to talk over the noise in the room. The topic change gives him some relief. Grateful to think about something other than the image of Peter taking you home tonight. He lifts his hand, flexing a few fingers. "It's fine. Doesn't really hurt much right now. It's a good reminder to not lose my cool again… "

"Yeah, that locker room hates to see you comin’…" You joke with a smile. Shaking your head. Punched his locker like some guy in a movie.

Miguel can't help but smile, knowing you’re referring to him punching the front of his locker like a crazy person. He sighs, knowing it was stupid and a loss of control. "That locker had it coming though…"

You laugh at his words, his eyes lighting up watching your head throw back a bit. The fluttering sound of your laughter carrying slightly over the noise in the room and hitting his ears. He wants to make you laugh like that all the time. Make you smile like this every day. And  Peter works his way through the room over to the bar. 

"There you guys are! I thought I lost you…" Peter's face lights up when he gets closer, excited to see his best friend and you, the pretty tutor. He stands behind both your chairs putting his hands on the backs of them. Miguel’s eyes flick back-and-forth between you two. You're still oblivious. Smiling at Peter like you don't know what he's doing. Every instinct inside of him telling him to make Peter back off. But he's trying to be better for you. Trying not to lose control or act impulsive. 

"Spending the night bragging, are you?" You smile and tease Peter lightly. Leaning over the back of your chair. He did score a lot of the winning goals tonight. Peter laughs and loves any attention from you. Miguel can only listen and watch this interaction between the two of you. It's like a nightmare come to life. And he's feeling claustrophobic in this crowded place with all these people. He just wants to take your hand and go back to campus, go back to your dorm, go back to the library.

"Well you all played very well…" You hum. Looking between the two boys. You can't help but notice Miguel’s body language. Thinking he must just be upset that he didn't get to play because of his cast. But he did very well on the sidelines. 

"Peter here was especially on his game today. Princeton is tough…" Miguel says with tension in his tone, finally joining in on the conversation. His eyes flicking between the two of you but landing on you mostly. Watching your reaction to Peter's words.

"It's all in the foot work really. Reading the opponent… Gotta think about 10 steps ahead." Peter says with a grin, in his element. Miguel has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. As much as he loves Peter, he wants him to fuck off right now.

You giggle softly at Peter's joke and his obvious love for attention. Loving the way you can so casually hang out with Miguel and his friends for the first time ever. Miguel clenches his jaw, sipping his water and trying to keep his cool. You take a sip of your beer finding it's the last one, putting the empty bottle back on the bar. It seems both boys take notice. 

"Can I get you another? "Peter asks, His eyes lighting up.

“Um…" You're thinking. You don't really do this that often and you're finally getting to hang out with Miguel and his friends. What the hell… "Sure!"

Peter flashes that charming smile at you and Miguel can feel his control slipping again. Now he's buying you drinks? 

"I got it." Miguel suddenly says, waving to the bartender for another round. If anyone's getting you drunk tonight, it's gonna be him. So he can make sure you're okay. “Okayyy…” Peter huffs softly, raising his brow at Miguel’s rivalry. But Miguel doesn’t care. Grabbing the fresh cold beer bottle and sliding it over the bar in front of you. Looking back up at Peter, a stern expression on his face. 

Over the next hour and your next two beers, Peter just won’t go away. He’s practically hanging on your chair, talking to you about whatever. And because you’re so nice and sweet you just keep giving into him. Smiling at Miguel too like you want him to be in on the conversation. But it just makes him feel worse somehow. Is he really losing you to Parker? Is that how this is gonna go? 

“So… you guys are like best friends?” You ask, your words slightly slurred, cheeks pink and flushed. You’re tipsy and Miguel’s watching you like a hawk. Your beer shined lips as you smile up at Peter. So damn cute and pretty. “We are… best friends…” Peter says in a cocky way. Grabbing Miguel’s shoulder and shaking it a few times, a beer in his other hand. Miguel might be the only sober one in this place and it’s getting annoying. 

He fidgets with the same fray on his cast, pulling on it and pulling on it. Watching you talk to Peter. Forcing a smile when you look his way. It’s getting unbearable. Eyes flicking around the crowded room and just wanting to get out of here. 

“One more round?” Peter asks and Miguel groans internally. You’re both drunk, everybody is drunk and he just wants to get you back somewhere it’s safer. Peter gets to chatting loudly with some other people down the bar.

“Do you wanna leave?” You lean over, getting closer to Miguel, right up to his face and he just gives you a soft look. Admiring your pretty flushed features. He can see you’ve been having fun. “No, I’m good, we can stay if you want…” He hums gently. 

“Don’t lie, Mig…” You whisper, barely loud enough for him to hear over the noise. And his brow knits together, hearing the nickname, your soft warm voice, wanting to reach out and brush your hair back, kiss your pretty pink lips. Anything. “I’m a little tired…” He admits. And even in your tipsy state, you know it’s time to go. 

“Let’s go then… it’s too loud…” You sigh, a distracted Peter now talking loudly with Marco and Miller down the bar. Relief, Miguel thinks. He does really want to make sure you get back to your dorm okay. 

…

“Wai-I ‘ave a question…” You slur, hanging onto him and pressed up against his chest as he’s trying to get you over to bed. His big strong arms around you and it feels so good, feels so right. What you’ve been missing all this time and now it just feels like everything is perfect and everything is good and… and your tongue still tastes like beer and… and he smells so good. 

“Yeah, what's your question?” He asks so soft and gently. His voice is like smooth melted butter mixed with sweet brown sugar. Bringing you over to your bed and sitting you down on the edge. Making sure you don’t topple over. “Hold still, I’m gonna take your shoes off…” 

“D’you think… that… um…” You sigh, the alcohol clouding everything making you instantly forget what you were about to ask him. But the thought is mixing around your brain just waiting to come out. After all, it’s all you were thinking about all night. “M-my shoe is stuck”

“I know, I’m trying to get it off…” He sighs, unable to stop the smile when he hears your little whine. You are pretty cute like this and he likes helping you. Kneeling down in front of you and taking your shoe onto his knee to undo the laces, slipping it off.

“Do you think that… all your friends… that they like-like it?” You sigh, wiggling your toes in your socks as he slides your shoe off. His hands on your calves, absentmindedly caressing up and down, having you in his hands like this is too good to pass up, but he looks up at you at your question. His brow furrowing, wondering what you mean. “Do they like what,-?” He almost called you baby right there. But stopped himself. Maybe it’s just being like this with you right now. Being close and finally being needy for his help, needing him in any way. Or the way you seem so soft and fragile right now he just wants to protect you. 

“That they like me…” You sigh. Pushing a hand through your hair and he pulls your other shoe off, your feet freeing and legs dangling off the side of the bed. 

He looks up at you, piecing together your broken sentence. Do his friends like you? Peter? 

“Like P-peter… does Peter like me?” You ask and his expression goes serious. Swallowing thickly and setting your shoes to the side. He knows the answer. He knows that Peter obviously has a thing for you. It’s becoming more clear you have a thing for him too. 

Miguel straightens back up, standing over you and listening to your drunken rambling. Your mumbles. “Cuz I think Peter is really nice and I think you and I can be friends… and I can be friends with your friends too…” 

He doesn’t understand what you mean. Towering over you and feeling so blocked up. Like he’s miles away from where he wants to be with you. He wants you to want him. Not think about Peter. 

“Uh… I think Peter likes you, yeah…” He mumbles. Looking down at your face. The way it lights up and his heart falls. “Really? So we can all be friends?” 

His heart hurts, looking in your eyes. So confused, not knowing what to think. But wishing he could just kiss you right now and make your thoughts stop. Or to fill your thoughts with him. If he kissed you right now would you forget Peter ever existed? If he kissed you right now, if he laid you down and pumped into you until you were a crying trembling moaning mess like all those times before, would you forget Peter and think about him again? 

“I’m sweating…” You huff, moving to get up off the bed and his arms come to steady you. “Woah woah slow down, sweetheart…” The words ooze off his lips. His hands guide you before you reassure him you can walk. He huffs, watching you walk over to your closet. He sits down on the edge of your bed, head in his hands. Feeling pathetic and so lost. Not even knowing what to do at this point. Has he actually lost you for good? Will he actually only ever be your friend now?

You’re sweating, pulling at the material of your hoodie and ripping it off over your head. Slipping your pants off and sighing in relief. Standing in your panties and bra by the dresser and looking for some comfy clothes. Your mind filled with the thoughts of being Miguel’s again. You’re friends with his friends like any girlfriend would be. So what’s stopping him? What’s stopping both of you from just being together again? Since you’ve proven to him, you can fit in. 

“Miguel…” You hum, his head coming out of his hands and looking up at you. Eyes widening seeing you in just your underwear. Gulping thickly. “Yes?” He whispers. Like beckoning to your call. Like a plea for you to just put him out of his misery already. 

You walk over to him, trying to half haphazardly pull on a big t-shirt. His hands unable to stop themselves, coming up to help pull the material down. You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re doing. This all just makes him feel somehow worse. Your body taunting him, teasing him with everything he needs and no way to get it. 

Your hips slot between his legs, standing between them and getting closer. Fingers clenching into his shirt and smashing your lips against his. His fingers splay out, shock and surprise. His eyes wide and heart seemingly stops. You’re… kissing him… you…

Heavy breath through his nose and his eyes flutter closed. Kissing you back, feeling your eager tongue tasting like alcohol come into his mouth. Letting it swirl against his lips and his tongue. His big hands snaking around you, holding you for the first time like this in so long. You gasp and hum against his lips and a chill goes down his back. He must be dreaming. 

But your hands go to his chest, pushing him back on the bed, and he’s so weak to you. His back hitting the mattress. He wants this so badly. Wants you more than anything in the entire world. You climb on top of him, clambering over his body, sitting on his abdomen and leaning down to kiss him again. 

“Wait-”

He’s silenced by your lips, trying to be dominant and licking into his mouth. You never did that before. That was always him. But right now it’s like you’re hungry for him in the exact same way he was hungry for you all this time. 

“I need you…” You whisper, pulling back from his lips with a smack. His eyes wide and breath heaving. It’s everything he’s ever wanted and yet it’s not right at all. “No baby… you need to go to sleep… you’re drunk…” He whispers, feeling so weak, his hands running up your warm bare thighs, like medicine. His cast is slightly scratchy on your thigh. Finally your body on his, your warmths feeding off of each other. 

“No please… say you want me, please you have to, don’t you want to?” You whine. Leaning over him and kissing his cheek, burying your face in his neck. He’s speechless. Doesn’t know what to say or think. He thought you were done all this time. He thought you were pining after Parker. 

“I want you… I do want you…” He whispers before his mind can even think. His hands falling from your thighs and flat on the bed. It feels wrong to touch you this way. His love for you overshadows his own selfish need. You won’t remember this in the morning. 

You won’t remember this in the morning. 

“I love you…” He whispers. Into your hair. Choking back a lump in his throat. 

“Mm?” You groan, pushing yourself up drunkenly on your hands, your hair dangling into his face under you. 

“Nothing…” He whispers. Swallowing thickly and wrapping his arms around you again. Pulling you to his chest and hugging you. Keeping you there, knowing you’ll pass out in a few minutes anyway and he can tuck you into bed safe and sound. 

To be continued…

Reblogs and comments very much appreciated!! Let me know what you think or your theories!

Taglist (thank you my sweets 🍬) :

@miguels-cock-piercings @queerponcho @club-danger-zone @bossva @softcrayon

@nommingonfood @bruhhvv

@jessies-unrelagated-thoughts @mauvecherie-writes @haveclayeveryday @kimivixen

@jadeloverxd @chiikasevennn @mvlanchqly @resident-cryptid

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@mooreaey6yem @peachey-pie @migueloharacumslut @pxtched

@yougavemeyourheartyouknow @julia4today

[reasonsforhope]

Early mornings are chilly in Los Romero, a village high up in the mountains of western Guatemala. As in other predominantly Mam villages – Indigenous Maya people who have lived here since pre-Columbian times – households come quietly to life before dawn. Isabel Romero, a grandmother with long black hair, used to feel somewhat trapped in hers.

“I was afraid of speaking because I was cooped up at home. I didn’t go out,” she says, explaining that like many Mam women, her days were dedicated to the hard work of running a household with little money, and she rarely spoke with other women. “I worried a lot and had headaches.”

Residents of Los Romero live mainly from subsistence farming, growing maize, beans and squash, or grazing livestock. Almost 50% of the population is Indigenous in Guatemala, Central America’s biggest economy, but they do not share in its prosperity. Indigenous women in particular are discriminated against and dispossessed, with a life expectancy 13 years lower, and a maternal mortality rate two times higher, than the national average, according to the World Bank.

In Romero’s village and throughout the region, a community-based collective of women’s circles has been quietly improving Indigenous women’s lives, empowering them to find voices that have been suppressed through centuries of marginalisation.

It was a long process, but Romero’s headaches and fear are now a thing of the past. These days she gets out to workshops, meetings and women’s circles. She shares her knowledge of weaving traditional textiles on a backstrap loom and has a leadership role in the women’s group she co- founded: Buena Semilla (Good Seed).

The initiative emerged from Maya Mam women’s experiences, when French physician Anne Marie Chomat brought them together for interviews for her doctoral fieldwork in 2010- 2012. The simple act of gathering with others and sharing their experiences had a profound impact on the women, many of whom are still dealing with the traumatic legacy of Guatemala’s civil war.

During the 1960-1996 armed conflict between leftist guerrilla groups and the military, more than 200,000 people were killed, overwhelmingly Indigenous Maya civilians killed by the army. Another 45,000 were ‘disappeared’. A truth commission concluded that the state committed acts of genocide...

“There’s so much chronic stress and other issues that are not being addressed,” says Chomat, Buena Semilla’s international coordinator, who now lives in Canada. “So much healing happened in that space of women connecting with other women, getting out of their houses, realising: ‘I’m not alone’.”

Once Chomat’s fieldwork was finalised, several participants decided they wanted to continue meeting and with Chomat came up with the idea of women’s circles. With the help of a grant, the project got going in 2013 and now more than 300 women in two municipalities participate every week or two in circles, each comprising roughly 10 to 25 women.

Wearing traditional embroidered huipil blouses and hand-loomed skirts, the women gather, arriving on foot via the dirt roads that weave through the villages. They meet in a home or community building, or outside when they can for the connection with nature. The circle opens with a welcome and a prayer and then the group engages in breathing and movement exercises. Next up is discussion of the nahual, the day’s name and energy according to one of the interlocking ancient Mayan calendars, traditionally used for ceremonial practices. “Here in Santiago Atitlán it is only maybe 20% of people who speak about [knowledge of nahuals], so we are reviving it,” says Quiejú.

Then it’s time for the sharing circle. “More than anything, it is speaking what they have in their hearts,” says Quiejú. But every time and each circle is different, even though the leaders all work from the same guide, she says.

Sometimes circles will have a guided meditation. Sometimes they’ll have a workshop to learn weaving, or another skill that can help them earn money. Sometimes they eat together. Sometimes they cry. Often they laugh. No matter what, they generally end with a group embrace...

Only 1% of Guatemala’s national health budget is designated for mental health, and nearly all of that goes to the country’s one psychiatric hospital. Most mental health professionals are concentrated in the capital, offering psychotherapy and prescribing medications. For those in rural areas, there is little discussion of mental health or access to services.

“There is nothing for the preventative side, to work with families, to work with communities,” says Garavito. However, he emphasised that the concept of buen vivir (good living) among many Indigenous peoples in Latin America, which includes the traditional festivities, ceremonies and community of everyday village life, inherently incorporates good mental health. “Mental health is a fundamentally social concept and that has been a historical and common practice among Indigenous peoples, without them calling it that.”

...Financial constraints also pose challenges. Since 2020, Buena Semilla’s budget has been funded through crowdfunding and small grants. Staff and leaders all work part-time and many volunteer unpaid, but most circles now meet bi-weekly due to a squeeze on funds...

[Note: If you'd like to help, you can find out more and support Buena Semilla here, at their website.]

Despite the challenges, interest keeps growing. Elsa Cortez joined a circle earlier this year, motivated by her sister’s positive experience with Buena Semilla. In her mid-20s, she lives with her parents and as well as helping to run the household, she weaves belts, drawing from a basket full of spools of brightly coloured thread. She did not go out much before.

“There was a mentality that women were only supposed to be in the home or should only do certain things. That’s how we were raised,” she says. “My family was like that too.”

Thanks to Buena Semilla, those dynamics have started to shift in some families, including her own, says Cortez. Now she is exploring the idea of starting a circle specifically for girls, to help build their self-worth and self-esteem.

“It used to be difficult for me to socialise or chat, but now I am starting to socialise more easily,” says Cortez. “In the group I feel like it is psychological therapy every time we meet.”

-via Positive.News, December 8, 2023

[rose-tinted-kalopsia]

≡;-꒰ 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I  𝒔𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈

╰┈➤ ❝ caleb x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni

tags : pwp (with plot (?) this is more fluff-centric with a lil smut towards the end <3), lighthearted, comfort, dancing in the kitchen, teasing, slight bickering, kissing, couch cuddling, sort of a netflix-and-chill moment?, heavy petting, fingering, riding, vaginal sex, creampie, praise, dirty talk, use of pet names "pipsqueak" "baby" "princess". lmk if i missed any tags ! ((unedited))

wc : 3.8k

an : *roxie on the dash* zayne comfort !!! *roxie in the drafts* :D caleb comfort !!!! WHFKJSHDGKJH it's not sunday but i've been writing this through the week between work because i miss him ... and i figured screw it. there are rumors going around. so. if they turn out to be not real. I'LL CONSOLE MYSELF WITH THE FACT THAT HE ISN'T HERE (yet)

taglist : under the cut! (SIGN UP HERE)

KO-FI JAR / COMMISSIONS

Sometimes, slow days with him are all you need to feel a little better.

The fact of the matter was this:

Blankets were comfortable.

Your hands and legs stretched out as you turned, the warmth of the sunlight falling upon your face. You were delighted at the colder sensation on the side of the pillow you hadn't been lying on until now, and a smile spread across your lips—this was nice. Your fingers curled around the duvet, bringing it back up to your neck, and your eyes blinked slowly open. Your position allowed you to glance at the clock on the wall. And though you had fully expected it to be noon, you were pleasantly surprised to find that it was not quite as late as you'd assumed.

You had been known to sleep in a little.

Work was demanding; sleep was as much comfort as you could find in your spare time. Weekends, on the other hand, were heavenly for it. So it wasn't a surprise to you that you'd woken up this time with the entire bed to yourself, all warm and comfy in your blankets…

♪ Sunday morning, rain is falling… ♪

Your eyebrows raised as the tune filled your head, wafting into the bedroom along with a more-than-welcome scent of… something.

You couldn't quite make out what it was.

But you were very aware of who was singing, and the smile on your face grew significantly.

This time you sat up and stretched, before swinging your legs off the bed and finding the soft fluff of your bedroom carpet. Your hands moved to rub the lingering sleep from your eyes as you stood up—soft trudges into your slippers, a hand on your doorknob, and the muffled voice became clearer to you.

♪ Clouds are shroudin' us in moments unforgettable~ ♪

It was so silly.

You had to keep yourself from laughing as you peeked around the corner and into the kitchen, and there he was.

The original track was playing lightly in the background, likely to keep him company, but the whole scene was just so typically Caleb. To throw out a couple of tunes without a care in the world, lazily flipping the piece of toast he was frying in such a smooth motion that you almost thought your eyes were playing tricks on you... He had his back turned to you, focused on the stove, but his head moved casually to the rhythm of the song. And it wasn't that you'd say he was bad; in fact, quite the opposite, more like. Not stellar, definitely, but there was a little roughness to his tone that made it feel endearing to listen to. You were grateful for the fact—his voice was much louder than the actual song, and if you weren't enjoying yourself, you might as well have thrown something right at him.

But this time the giggle that was fighting its way out of you felt harder to suppress, and you stepped into the kitchen. Your back leaned against the entrance. "So, it's not Sunday, first of all," you grinned.

He turned at the sound of your voice and threw you a wink. "Ha ha, maybe not, but it sure feels just like it with ya~"

It was swift, the way he pulled at the pan and with a flick of his wrist, and the plates he'd set out a few feet away from him flew perfectly into his waiting hand. The toasts slid right onto them, contents of the pan rather quickly replaced with a set of freshly-cracked eggs.

Impeccable control as always.

Setting the stove back on low heat, he neatly placed the plates back onto the table, and offered a bow. "Mornin', sleepyhead!"

"Show-off," you rolled your eyes playfully.

Yet as he held out his arms for a hug, you were quick to approach. Arms wrapped snugly around his waist as you fell against his chest, a familiar warmth and a familiar feeling of… home.

"Mm…" you sighed. "Yeah, g'morning."

"Sleep well?"

"Mhm! Warm and comfy!" You pulled back a little bit to look up at him, and sighed contentedly. "I mean, partly thanks to you, no less. I didn't put this on last night before we went to bed… You put your sweater on me before you went out. Thanks, Caleb."

"Oh, so we're gonna talk about last night… now?"

A smirk began to form on his face—the teasing lilt in his voice was back, and you shoved him away with a huff.

"No way! I was just thanking you for—"

He promptly scooped you right back into his arms before you could finish your sentence, twirling you around before planting a quick little kiss over your lips.

"Kidding," he whispered.

You could have melted.

Your feet touched the ground once more as he gently set you down, hand sliding away from your waist to go back to the eggs in the pan—you wouldn't have known if it was intentional; you found that you'd learned many new things about him over the past couple of months you'd started a relationship of a more romantic nature. Yet he'd do these things, be all cute and soft with you, and you'd almost feel as if you were in a daze.

You watched, quiet, listening to the music, and his humming… no different from before. He moved around the kitchen, grabbing a couple of things from the side: the onions, some garlic, some tomatoes… You hadn't had omelettes from him in a while, but you already found yourself anticipating how it would taste. After all, he knew exactly how to cook all your favorite dishes. Even the simplest of them.

And the reality that you were always so well-cared-for with him settled in.

It made you smile a little more.

The comfortable silence between you broke as you walked over, peeking from behind him and resting your head against his shoulder. "Sooo… You didn't think to ask me how I like my eggs in the morning?" you teased.

A laugh; another kiss into your hair.

"Me? Nah, don't need to, baby. Already know just how you like them."

With the omelettes settled perfectly in the next minute, he offered a bite for you to try. "Here. Wanna try?" He had his head tilted to the side, almost as if surveying your reaction, but the twinkle in his eyes told you he was confident you'd like it anyway.

He would be right, of course.

You happily obliged as you wrapped your lips around the spoon, and you knew he had to laugh at the way your eyes lit up.

"See?" he poked your forehead with a playful roll of his eyes. "Don't you doubt me!"

"Oh, no no no, I win this. You totally fell for my ploy to sneak an early bite," you grinned. "I didn't doubt you at all!"

"Whatever you say, pipsqueak."

The food found its home on the two plates he'd previously placed the buttered toast on, and this time, it was you who leaned in to steal a kiss.

Soft and quick, not unlike the kiss he'd given you just earlier—

And then another.

And another.

And then within seconds he was laughing, pulling you against him with his hands resting at your waist, your own hands placed upon his shoulders. Your foreheads rest together as he sways you gently to the music—another more of those older tunes he seemed to be fond of these days, a little smooth, jazzy melody to them that surely did have you moving your feet to it.

Not that you looked away from him.

His hair fell over his face, a little bit longer than you were used to—it had been a while since he'd trimmed it, and you had half a mind to think that maybe he'd been a little bit too preoccupied with you to notice.

But it did little to distract you from the pull that his eyes had always had on you.

Still that beautiful, beautiful hue of sunset purple and tangerine skies… You had to let out a soft sigh—

At least, one that nearly turned to a squeak as he took your hand to spin you around. Having caught you off-guard, you could see him nearly double over in laughter at the few missteps in your movements, but he was quick to catch you in a little dip before you could really trip over yourself.

"Heyyyy!" You whined a little, reaching up to flick at his forehead, but he only winked.

The audacity.

His eyes were narrowed playfully, a glimmer of amusement clear on his face. "Alright sorry," he chuckled, "but don't you wanna tell my what's brought this on, at least?"

The song still continued to play through the little speaker, enough to spur him to lead you through to finish it—but his eyebrow remained raised.

"Nothing!" you laughed honestly as he spun you around a second time, successfully this time, before catching your waist and guiding you to glide across the kitchen tiles. "I was just thinking that it's pretty neat to have such a nice, caring boyfriend around…"

"Just pretty neat?"

"Yeah! Just pretty neat."

The last couple notes filled the air as he pulled you back against him, settling into the position you'd started in moments ago.

His forehead pressed against yours.

"I was hoping I'd get something a little more, I dunno… starts with an I, ends with a you, maybe some four-letter-word in the middle…"

You scoffed, and he nuzzled your nose affectionately.

"What? I'm waiting!"

This time, you grinned. "You silly goose," you clicked your tongue, feigning annoyance. But you closed the distance for another quick kiss, and your expression softened. "I love you."

"There we go. I love you too, princess."

Another little kiss, this time to your forehead, before he pushed you back, and gestured towards the table with his eyebrows raised. "So I promise it'll just be a lazy day with the both of us, so you can think up whatever more of those silly antics that I'm totally gonna be on-board with, but eat. It's nearly just noontime, pipsqueak, and I worked on the food, y'know!"

Once again a laugh fell from your lips, and you promptly sat down on the seat he'd pulled for you. But a bite on your spoon reached out towards him; "Okay, but. The chef gets first honors. Say aah~"

And, breakfast—brunch, rather—aside… Caleb kept his promise well.

He knew you usually only had today, and tomorrow, to relax in ways you wouldn't have been able to for the rest of the week. And for the rest of the day, he had simply been adamant on ensuring that you did.

It most definitely was a lazy Saturday.

And now, you had yourself snuggled comfortably on the couch, legs resting over his lap as he surfed through the list of movies on the screen.

"Geez, there's been nothin' interesting out in the past couple months…" He was mumbling under his breath, a tiny furrow of his brows evident to the mix of concentration and frustration.

Yet his free hand had time to run over your exposed thighs, lazily drawing shapes into your skin—so much so that you had nothing left in you to care about anything else he was saying.

"So let's just re-watch something!" you huffed a little, trying to make it seem as if you were keen on making conversation.

"You really wanna?"

A mistake.

He turned from the screen to your face, conveniently catching the way your eyes had been watching the way he caressed your skin, almost subconsciously gliding higher up your legs without really noticing what he'd been doing.

Until now, that is.

"Baby, the screen is here, not there," he teased with a squeeze to your thigh. The action made you gasp, but if you thought he'd tease you further, you were surprised by the gentle tone his voice took on next. "Don't wanna watch a movie anymore, or somethin"?"

Your eyes flitted back up to him. The answer you wanted to speak didn't come out immediately.

"Hey, this day's about you, alright?" He shifted closer this time, one hand reaching out to poke at your forehead. "We don't have to watch. I mean, if you'd rather do somethin' else…"

This time he wiggled his eyebrows a little, daring to slide his hand up a little higher—

You squeaked, clearly the desired effect, as he let out a laugh immediately after.

"Your call, princess."

Swallow your pride, was a phrase you'd often have to repeat to yourself when you were with him.

He used to be a little more lenient with you, but these days he seemed almost insistent to hear the words out of your mouth instead—for good reason, you figured. You knew that he knew you well enough, but you couldn't blame him for wanting you to speak.

So you shifted your position to settle over him, noting the curious gaze in his eyes as you snuggled against his chest.

"Baby?"

"Don't really wanna do much," you mumbled. "But… I want to be close to you. I mean… We can watch something if you want to, but, mmh…. I'm okay with just this. With you."

"Yeah?"

"…Yeah."

He rubbed soothingly into your back. "Alright, alright, I can work with that... But, hm. 1-10 on the cozy scale?"

You lifted your head, resting your chin on his chest to look at him with a little pout. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you looked pretty riled up a second ago, princess, so you tell me if you want me to do anything, right?"

Another glimmer of amusement.

Part of it was frustrating—but, again. Swallow your pride. You were sure that as much as he adored pushing your buttons, he wasn't quite doing this on purpose.

So a soft laugh through your nose.

"Okay, not the level of rough from last night, if anything," you joked. "But… Yeah. Yeah, okay. I'd… like it if you touch me."

Nothing quite changed in the way his hands were moving over your back in the same consistent, soothing motions, but he smiled—satisfied with your honesty, and more than willing to oblige.

"God, I love it when you're honest," he chuckled. He deftly slipped his hands beneath your sweater—his sweater—and sighed.

And perhaps it was this moment of intimacy, but you felt yourself leaning up, hands cupping his face, pressing your lips against his.

It wasn't rushed, nor heated.

He smiled into the kiss, and your lips moved almost lazily against each other. Eyes closed, enjoying the casual comfort of the moment, your thumb gently rubbing over his cheek as his hands explored every dip and curve of your skin.

Blankets were comfortable, and dancing in the kitchen was fun, but, this—this was really all that you needed.

"Mmmh…"

You sighed as you pulled back for air, but quite frankly, neither of you very much wanted to part.

It only took a few moments before he was kissing you, and you were kissing him, and your fingers had nestled into his hair as his trailed down to slip beneath the band of your underwear.

"So wet, baby," he murmured against your lips, a trace of a laugh in the way he spoke.

You smiled, and tilted your head, allowing the kiss to grow from soft, and lazy, to a little bit deeper.

"Mhm. S'for you," you whispered.

And a low groan tore from your throat as his fingers sunk into your heat, the feeling oh-so-familiar, and oh-so-welcome. And with how many times you'd done this, the stretch felt nothing more than you were used to—but it was delicious.

Your legs spread in an immediate response to the intrusion, allowing him to move a little easier. Separating from the kiss for a mere moment, your head turned back, just in time to see him pull out and discard your panties completely, just in time to watch the way he thrust back slowly into your walls, the squelch of your wetness so deafening in your ears.

"Holy shit," you whispered—and it was almost ridiculous how you sounded, you'd think, so much so that you had to let out a breathless laugh as you turned back to him.

He raised an eyebrow, grinning. "Yeah? Feels good, huh?"

"Real fucking good."

It was his turn to laugh a little. "Yep. I totally love when you're honest."

Before you could lean back in to kiss him, however, he helped you sit up with him, moving both his hands back over your waist to grab a handful of the flesh of your ass.

"Easier this way," he murmured.

And he kept a hand behind you while the other moved to your front, resuming steady thrusts that had you slowly grinding into his palm.

"Nnnh.. If you keep teasing me like that, m'not going to wait any longer for more than just your fingers," you rolled your eyes.

But he was right; it was easier like this. He had his other hand running up and over your entire body, slipping back beneath the sweater before dipping down over your ass—it was easier for you, too, finding the momentum to guide the movements of his fingers in your cunt, urging him to rub against your sweet spot.

Even as your lips found each other within moments yet again, busy with all these sensations and the wet noises that you felt were echoing in the living room, your hips continued to move—a little up-and-down motions, riding his fingers, very evidently craving more.

"Thaaaat's it," he groaned against your lips, finding time to speak praises of approval in-between kisses and gasps for air. "Get off on my fingers, baby. Y'feel good? Hm?"

You no longer had the mind to reply to him.

Kisses turned to whispers of dirty words into your hair, your face buried into the crook of your shoulder. Muffled moans, movements more frantic…

And then you said it.

"Need you," you gasped, feeling him hit that spongy spot once more. "Need—hngh—need you, Caleb, need more—"

Another kiss over your head. "Shh, shhh. I'll give it to you, baby. Just a little more…"

"Mnh, but! I don't— don't want to—haah—like this—"

"Relaaxx, princess. Breathe, alright?"

He was so deep. So good. So—

"Not this, I wanna cum on your cock…"

You felt him smirk.

It was almost as if he'd been waiting, again, to hear it—to push you enough to have you snap, have you disregard that little tiny bit of pride you still have left.

"Yeah?" he grinned, and he pulled his fingers out of you with a little schlick.

You nearly whined at the sudden emptiness, so much so that even without his fingers to ride, you couldn't help but grind over his bulge.

"Baby," he laughed. "Are you that excited?"

Your movements made it difficult for him to deal with the tie of his sweatpants.

"Just… just hurryyyy!"

"Geez. I've spoiled you, huh, princess? Got you craving my dick this much?"

With a huff from you, he lifted you up just enough to push down his pants and take out his cock. A couple of pumps over his length and you sat yourself down, taking him in with a long, drawn-out moan.

"Oh, fuck, baby."

He was no different.

"Who's—haah—who's the cocky one now, huh?" You managed to smirk at him, despite the way you were panting, despite the way you could feel him, warm and pulsing, reaching deep into your pussy.

You were so full.

"Shit, baby, just move—" He choked on a moan, almost instinctively thrusting up into you.

You fell forward into his chest with a startled cry, but it was enough.

The feeling was not one you were keen on letting fade, and your hips began to move. Slowly, at first, almost as if getting a feel for it again, before moving faster. And he was groaning, and hissing, cursing into your ear, trying to keep his voice down, restlessly roaming his hands over your body. It didn't take long before he was pressing you tightly against him, your bodies moving in a synchronized push-and-pull.

Your hips moved up and down, hands gripping his arms to steady yourself. "Caleb—!" Your moans mixed with broken words, broken syllables of his name, higher-pitched than usual as you worked yourself over his cock.

You could see another one of those shit-eating grins making its way to his face, all flushed and heedy with lust, but you couldn't be bothered to care about it anymore.

"You should see yourself, princess," he panted, moving his hands to grip your cheeks tightly and earning a delicious gasp from your lips. "Shit—fuck—can't ever get enough of you, baby, you're so fucking perfect f'me."

"Mhm? Feels good? Feels… Feels…! Nngh—Caleb! F-feels so good—"

Your movements began to turn frantic.

Grunts and groans mixed in with the slap of skin against skin as you bounced yourself over him, his own thrusts meeting yours with a fervor. There was the heady scent of sex in the air, and you could barely even remember what you'd planned to do here in the first place.

"M-mmhn—! G-gonna cum!" you whined, breathless.

You were panting, steadying yourself with your hands on his shoulders, trying with every ounce of your strength to keep yourself consistent despite the building tingling in your stomach, despite the tensing in your limbs.

"Cum for me, baby."

He leaned in to nip at your earlobe before trailing his lips over to yours, swallowing that loud cry of his name into a deep, filling kiss.

It was messy.

Your body slumped against his as the pleasure crashed over you in waves, body trembling almost helplessly in his arms. Your chest heaved; you could feel the warmth spreading inside you as he spilled his cum inside within seconds of your orgasm, and you whimpered—you felt so sensitive.

"Shit… Fuck… I know, baby, I know, I know, you did so well…" He cradled you in his arms, voice low and hoarse. In that same comforting manner, he had himself rubbing your back soothingly, giving you a little bit of a squeeze. "Shh, it's okay. Breathe, princess, breathe."

And it would be like this.

You stayed still in that same position for a moment, Caleb whispering soft little words of reassurance, sweet words of praise as he peppered kisses all over your face.

"Satisfied, on a scale of 1-10?" he chuckled a little, stealing a kiss from your lips as you looked back up at him.

Your eyes softened.

"You're kidding, right?" you murmured. "A 10. With you? Always a 10."

"I mean, yeah, I'll bet. You were practically crying about how good my—"

"Caleb!"

You'd reached to grab a nearby pillow and promptly shove it at his face, but it did little to stop the laughter from bubbling from his throat.

"Okay, okay! But! C'mon. Nice start to your weekend, right?"

And this time, you grinned.

"…You know what? Yeah, you're right. Always feels like a Sunday with you."

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[dykelizard]

jayvik headcanon masterlist

jayce goes to bed super late and wakes up super early, while viktor either doesn’t sleep at all or literally sleeps until noon.

jayce sleeps like a baby once he’s actually down, and has like eight alarms set to get himself up in the morning. he snores like a foghorn too. viktor is a very light sleeper because of his childhood, and will wake up at the tiniest sound. he moves around a lot while he sleeps, and he tends to wake up with a lot more back pain than usual because of it.

in the early days of their partnership they would work nonstop for multiple days and end up totally losing their minds while running on no sleep and a fuck ton of HexCaffeine. heimerdinger would walk in on them giggling uncontrollably and egging each other on to blow stuff up at like 4 in the morning.

caitlyn once sent them to the grocery store together for literally two things and viktor accidentally left jayce behind and jayce panicked when he realized viktor was gone and knocked over five displays and a shelf. they somehow came back with the wrong items.

jayce is rly good at cooking (his mama taught him) and he cooks for viktor to get him to eat when he’s too immersed in his work in the lab. viktor is TERRIBLE at it. he approaches it like an experiment and something always ends up getting set on fire. one time vik tried to make soup for jayce while he was sick and he somehow set it on fire and showed up to jayce’s apartment completely covered in soot with a pot of burnt soup and singed hair.

zaunites having developed that thing that nocturnal animals have where it’s that reflective sheen in their eyes when it’s dark because of how little natural light the undercity gets, and jayce getting the shit scared out of him by viktor because they pulled an all nighter in the lab and jayce wakes up in the middle of the night because he hears a clatter and he looks up while half asleep to see viktor rummaging around for a part and vik turns to stare at him and his eyes are just fucking GLOWING. jayce almost cries.

jayce gets really loopy when he’s sleep deprived. like he’ll just be so out of it and start suggesting the most nonsensical stuff and start building, like, hex-blenders. viktor thinks it’s hilarious, and always helps him. meanwhile, viktor just LOCKS TF IN when he’s sleep deprived. he’ll completely forget that other people are even in the room, and also that he has to eat food, or drink water, or blink. he gets very grumpy when distracted from his work by anyone other than jayce, and will not hesitate to smack people with his cane.

both of them hate the winter equally, jayce because of ptsd and viktor because he’s disabled, and they will literally just sequester themselves away and hide in the lab with a space heater the entire time. they have sky bring them food a couple times a week and they just hunker down there to avoid having to go outside.

viktor almost froze to death on the streets of zaun when he was a kid, and jayce sobbed for an hour when he first told him.

when they were first starting out, viktor used to accompany jayce to those fancy piltie parties where they tried to schmooze for investors, but whenever people tried to touch jayce or pull him away without asking or flirt with him to the point where it visibly made him uncomfortable, viktor would get really pissed off and protective and he would end up “accidentally” tripping like half the people they talked to with his cane. jayce secretly loved it and got really sad when viktor stopped coming.

jayce is a cat person, and always feeds the feral cats around the lab. secretly, they remind him of viktor. viktor calls them dirty strays and says that he hates how jayce encourages them, but jayce has caught him cooing to them before.

viktor loves dogs, and has wanted a pet ever since rio, but he worries that he wouldn’t be able to take care of it properly because of how much he works and with how often his illness puts him out of commission. at least now he has jayce.

they both have a twelve year old’s sense of humor, and they LOVE pranks. heimerdinger ended up having to ban all production of (patented) HexSilly-String, HexPaint, and the HexWhoopee-Cushion.

viktor throws up when he gets nervous. jayce is scared of vomit, but he always rubs his back and helps him get cleaned up whenever it happens.

they had a lot of trouble while interacting in the first year because jayce is very tactile and expressive with his emotions, and viktor tends to be more reserved. jayce thought that viktor didn’t like him, and viktor thought jayce was pitying him. eventually, they worked it out.

when jayce found out how few places actually had accessible entrances, he immediately went to the kirammans and petitioned to the council about implementing more disabled-friendly locations in the city. viktor still doesn’t know it was jayce who got accessibility ramps installed in all the university buildings.

jayce fidgets with his hands a lot, and he’s almost always idly putting together tiny gadgets or fiddling with gears. he gives a lot of the small contraptions he makes to viktor, who keeps them all on a shelf in his apartment.

jayce is a total lightweight. he always tries to make himself drink beer because it’s more masculine, but he actually loves fruity cocktails. viktor can handle his alcohol like a 300-pound pit fighter—that is to say, he can take 6 shots of gin in a row and still only be a little tipsy.

whenever there’s a spider in their lab, viktor always tries to kill it immediately but jayce makes him take it outside and set it free.

jayce loves kids so much. he really likes seeing what they think of hextech, and always asks what they would change about it and nods very seriously while taking actual notes. viktor doesn’t really know how to interact with them, so he either freezes up and awkwardly sidles away, or talks to them like a scientific colleague in hopes that it’ll bore them enough that they leave.

jayce gets panic attacks whenever it snows, and viktor talks him through them.

viktor won’t accept if jayce tries to give him food directly, so he just leaves it out while they’re working and waits for viktor to meander over and eat it on his own terms. or, if it’s homemade, jayce will make big sad puppy dog eyes and go “but i made it…” until viktor gives in.

viktor thinks his laugh is ugly, and jayce thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.

viktor rants in czech when he’s pissed off and jayce complains about people he hates in spanish.

jayce cant hold a poker face to save his life but lies really well. viktor has the best poker face known to man but is somehow unable to lie.

viktor is completely stone-faced while thinking about fucking jayce over the lab table and jayce is turning bright red while thinking about holding hands.

viktor whacks jayce with his cane when he’s being an idiot. jayce has accepted it.

they’re both very protective over the other, and they both don’t want to let themselves be protected.

jayce is terrible at personal space, and always leans way in over viktor’s shoulder when he’s showing him something. viktor had no idea how to react at first and would just starts internally combusting, but he’s gotten used to it.

jayce is actually really strong because of all the forge work. one time he lifted viktor up while trying to move him out of the way of an explosion in the lab. viktor has never forgotten about it.

jayce yaps 24/7 about science and magic and whatever happened to him that day and just literally everything, and viktor always listens to everything he says very intently.

jayce thought viktor’s machine herald voice was SO HOT but will never ever tell him.

after so many years of spending every minute together, they eventually just kinda stop having any boundaries. they pretty much know everything about each other.

jayce knows how he’s perceived as a dumb prettyboy and hates it. viktor always makes sure to remind him of how smart he is.

jayce was scared while he was dying because he didn’t think he’d done enough yet and viktor was at peace while he was dying because he thought he deserved it.

their periods sync up.

viktor always steals food from jayce and claims it tastes better that way. jayce started leaving food out intentionally to get viktor to eat more.

jayce is just as bad as viktor when it comes to feeding himself consistently, and viktor constantly calls him out for being a hypocrite

viktor tries to make jayce feel cared for as best he can. jayce never brings it up, but it means the world to him.

viktor expresses his affection in smaller ways. jayce shows his affection with bigger gestures.

jayce’s favorite comfort food is the birria that his mom makes. viktor has tried multiple times to recreate it, but keeps setting it on fire. viktor’s favorite comfort food is halušky from a street stand in the lanes. jayce learns to make it for him when he gets pneumonia during the second year of their partnership.

jayce was the pickiest eater when he was little but now he’ll eat anything. viktor would eat anything he could get as a kid but got more particular about it as he got older.

they would both rather sleep at the lab than at home. they rest better knowing that the other is there with them.

jayce calls viktor sweet nicknames in spanish and viktor calls jayce an idiot in czech.

they both tend to revert back to their native languages when overly tired. sometimes sky will walk in and they’re arguing with each other in completely different languages and yet somehow understand everything the other is saying.

viktor loves telling jayce what to do. jayce lives to to please viktor.

jayce goes into the undercity to get materials for their work on hextech. viktor insists on going with him to save him from getting scammed again.

jayce gives viktor the biggest hugs whenever they have a breakthrough on a new piece of hextech. viktor begrudgingly indulges him by hugging back.

viktor loves bad slashers and jayce loves black and white detective films. they both love cheesy sci-fi movies and usually watch them together.

viktor fell asleep on jayce’s shoulder once and jayce didn’t move for the entire duration of viktor’s nap

jayce smells like metal, three day old cologne, and smoke from the forge. viktor smells like sweat, chalk dust, and the oil he uses to polish his brace.

viktor hates when people treat him like glass because of his disability. jayce never holds back when it comes to being physical with viktor.

jayce trusts too easily and he thinks viktor is too much of a cynic sometimes. viktor trusts very sparingly, and he thinks jayce is too naive sometimes.

jayce has a lot of trouble adjusting to living with a disability and gets frustrated with his leg very easily. viktor teaches jayce the least painful ways to maneuver with a brace and never blames or pities him for needing help.

jayce designed and made viktor a new cane after his old one got broken during their first day together. viktor refused to take it until jayce said it was a memento to commemorate their new partnership. jayce modifies it any time viktor’s mobility changes.

jayce clears out the lab and brings viktor warm sweetmilk whenever he has a low spoons day and doesn’t have the energy to deal with other people in his space. viktor appreciates it more than he can express with words.

jayce likes lo-fi jazz and viktor prefers classical music. they will never not fight over who gets radio privileges in the lab and had to come up with a system where they switch off depending on the day.

jayce cries over everything and viktor almost never cries.

jayce thought about going back to the ledge at his old apartment after viktor left him. viktor would’ve never forgiven himself if he knew.

jayce never stopped thinking about viktor when he was stuck in the pit. viktor couldn’t help feeling like something was missing the whole time he was at the commune.

jayce sleeps splayed out like a starfish. viktor sleeps curled into a little ball.

jayce was forced by his mother to take ballroom dancing lessons when he was younger and he tries to convince viktor to let him teach him. viktor would rather eat hot coals than learn how to “fancy dance” and teaches jayce a traditional zaunite folk dance instead.

jayce is really good at following directions and almost never gets lost. even if he does somehow end up losing his way, he would rather die than ask somebody for directions. viktor has the layout of the undercity completely memorized, but somehow gets lost every five seconds in piltover. stubbornly refuses to ask for directions.

jayce has a burn scar on his left foot from when he was twelve and tried working in the forge for the first time. he dropped a scorching hot hammer and it burned a hole through his shoe. viktor is missing the tip of his right pinky because he accidentally sliced it off with a sheet of corrugated scrap metal when he was seventeen.

jayce accidentally elbowed viktor in the face once while gesturing about something and apologized profusely for almost twenty minutes. viktor laughed himself into a coughing fit over it.

jayce never feels like he has to fake being happy around viktor. viktor never feels like he has to make himself seem okay around jayce.

jayce loves to knit even though he’s terrible at it. he claims it hones his hand-eye coordination. he makes the worlds ugliest sweater for viktor’s birthday one year and viktor doesn’t take it off for a solid three days. viktor loves reading crappy science fiction pulp novels. sometimes he reads them out loud to jayce and they make fun of how inaccurate they are.

viktor has a green thumb, but he always forgets to go home to water his plants so they end up dying anyways. jayce tries so, so hard to keep plants alive, both in the lab and at his apartment, but literally everything that he touches wilts. he cries every time he kills a plant.

jayce would play the trumpet. viktor would play the piano.

they find REALLY dumb ways to entertain themselves in the lab. many an innocent egg has been fried by a hexclaw laser and a couple of scientific geniuses (dumbasses) with too much free time.

viktor falls asleep in the lab during the day and jayce falls asleep in the lab at night.

jayce loves viktor’s moles. viktor loves jayce’s crooked teeth.

viktor has the biggest sweet tooth known to man. jayce prefers more savory flavors.

viktor cannot handle spice for the life of him. one bite of jayce’s chilate de pollo and he starts dying coughing and turning bright red. jayce LOVES spicy food but learned the hard way to start making viktor’s portion way blander than everything else.

jayce tries to lean backwards in his chair to seem cool and falls on his ass 9/10 times. viktor laughs at him whenever it happens.

jayce cracks his knuckles really loudly when he gets nervous. viktor hated it at first, but eventually started taking it as a sign that jayce needs reassurance.

there are two non hextech-explosion related holes in their lab. one is because jayce was dramatically banging his head against the wall when they were stuck on a project and he somehow managed to put his freakishly hard skull through it. the other is because one time viktor tried to turn a timer off with his cane while wildly sleep deprived, and not only did he miss, but he also accidentally cracked the drywall.

viktor always wears mismatched socks because he thinks it’s a waste of time to find matching ones when nobody is going to see them anyways. jayce balls his socks up in pairs so that he doesn’t accidentally wear non-matching ones.

jayce is a people-pleaser because he’s scared of rejection. viktor refuses to suck up to people for their own comfort because of how accustomed to rejection he’s become throughout the course of his life.

jayce uses half of his “scientific journals” as glorified diaries with a whole lot of detail. viktor loves snooping and reading what jayce writes over his shoulder. he thinks it’s cute when he immediately blushes and tries to cover it up.

viktor has a terrible short-term memory but a really good long-term memory. jayce has an awful long-term memory but a great short-term memory.

jayce has broken his nose by booking it full speed into a glass door. viktor has broken his nose by tripping over his own cane and absolutely whiffing it face-first.

jayce is very clingy while drunk, and gets really sad whenever viktor tries to extricate himself from his octopus grip. viktor gets super giggly when he’s drunk, and bursts out laughing at literally everything, even if it’s not funny. whenever they’ve been drinking heavily together they just have to stumble home with jayce clinging to viktor like a limpet and viktor laughing every time they trip on a loose rock.

jayce likes giving stuff that he makes to viktor, like a new cane or a vik-safe toaster. viktor likes giving stuff that he finds to jayce, like pretty rocks or a cool looking gear.

jayce hates being the butt of the joke, but will always pretend to laugh along. viktor notices when he’s fake-laughing, and will immediately try and change the subject.

they’ve both memorized the sound of the other’s footsteps.

one time jayce got ants in his apartment from leaving food out too often and he slept in the lab for a solid two weeks until he was sure they were gone. viktor stayed in the lab with him out of solidarity, and they shared the sofa-bed.

viktor hasn’t gotten top surgery, and doesn’t really tend to get chest dysphoria. jayce has gotten top surgery, but his pecs are still larger than average.

their mario kart games get INSANE. jayce mains donkey kong and viktor mains dry bones. one time jayce convinced mel to play with them and she kicked their asses so bad that they both couldn’t face her for a week.

jayce likes fried eggs over-easy and viktor likes scrambled egg whites.

jayce has huge violent dad sneezes that sound like an exploding airhorn. viktor has tiny dainty kitten sneezes that sound like tinkling bells.

both of them are incredibly fucking stubborn.

jayce apologizes first after an argument. viktor tends to apologize with his actions rather than his words.

jayce will do this thing where he shoots awake in the middle of the night at the lab and turn to a wide-eyed viktor just to whisper the most incomprehensible gibberish known to man, then collapse back onto the desk and immediately start snoring. he wakes up in the morning and asks viktor if he wrote down the “genius idea” that he thought of last night and viktor smacks him with his cane.

jayce is ticklish EVERYWHERE. he lives in fear of viktor finding out. viktor already knows and is planning on exploiting it when jayce is least expecting it.

jayce has tiny freckles on his nose and viktor counts them when he thinks jayce isn’t looking.

jayce had to bail viktor out of jail once after he had too way much to drink and tried to fight an enforcer. viktor didn’t regret it for even a second.

jayce tells the most awful dad jokes whenever the lab gets really quiet. viktor tries to hide it, but he laughs every time.

viktor tried to give jayce a haircut once and jayce wore a hat for a solid two weeks afterwards.

jayce has the worlds longest skincare routine with like eighteen steps. viktor washes his face with dish soap and calls it a day.

jayce only swears occasionally, but when he does, you know that shit is getting SERIOUS. viktor swears like a sailor, but most of it is in czech so nobody can tell.

jayce gets loud when he’s angry and viktor gets very quiet when he’s angry.

jayce is super vocal in bed but can never actually say what he wants. viktor loves how easy it is to overwhelm him, and always talks him through it.

jayce wishes it was him who had been killed in the council attack. viktor only remembers being grateful that he was the one who took the brunt of the explosion, and not jayce.

[3rdgymbros]

━ 𝐌𝐲 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐏𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐨 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 !

— pairing; vil schoenheit x ramshackle! reader

— summary; in true ramshackle fashion, you confess to vil through a chaotic song, and it doesn't have the intended effect.

— notes; this was fun to write hehe. please donate to my kofi or consider commissioning me if you like my work bc im broke and need cash. and know that i am mentally smooching everyone who reblogs my stuff.

❋ After weeks of pining, you finally decide to pluck up your courage and confess to Vil in a way that feels grand and romantic — because, of course, Vil deserves nothing less.

❋ You consult with your friends before finally deciding on a grand romantic gesture: a heartfelt serenade under the stars.

❋ Grim, Ace, and Deuce eagerly volunteer to help, sensing both chaos and entertainment in your (poorly thought-out) plan. And you manage to rope in Epel, of all people, to help you compose a song.

❋ You would have been better off enlisting Rook’s help.

❋ Epel takes his role of the group’s lyricist very seriously. Unfortunately, most of the song consists of poetic potato metaphors, given Vil’s penchant of calling everyone by that nickname.

“Your hair is as golden as a potato, it surrounds your face like a beautiful halo.” “You’re the flawless gem in my potato patch; my heart turns to mash around you.”

❋ You think it’s an absolute masterpiece, and none of your friends have the heart to tell you otherwise.

❋ The four of you sneak over to Pomefiore in the dead of night, armed with precisely two things: nerves of steel, and some old instruments you’ve found up in the dorm’s dusty attic.

❋ Grim provides lighting and ambience with his flames, Ace makes a valiant effort to pluck at the strings of his borrowed guitar, and Deuce shakes his tambourine with far too much enthusiasm, it’s almost enough to drown out your painfully off-key singing.

❋ And there you stand in the centre of it all, holding a bouquet of wildflowers (still with the muddy roots attached) and warbling singing your heart out, your voice cracking from nerves and the lack of practice.

❋ Instead of romantic ambiance, it’s pure chaos. Birds startle out of the trees. Lights flicker on in nearby dorm rooms. The nearby students think a murder has just taken place on the grounds.

❋ All the noise music has the intended effect of summoning the object of your affections.

❋ Draped in a pink satin robe, Vil appears at the window, his hair in a perfect loose braid, and a silk sleep mask pushed up to his forehead. Really, it’s unfair how effortlessly flawless he looks even in the dead of night. He doesn’t interrupt your performance but instead folds his arms and watches, his expression caught between bewilderment and judgment.

“You’re the apple of my eye, my sweet potato prince, please go out with me, don’t make me cry!”

❋ You finish the song with a dramatic flourish, slightly out of breath. You’re still holding onto that bouquet, staring up at Vil with wide, hopeful eyes.

❋ There’s a pause before Vil pinches the bridge of his nose with a deep exhale. In a flutter of pink, he descends the stairs to meet you, looking like a queen poised to address her court.

❋ Instead of swooning into your arms, Vil stands before you, his eyes narrowed and his voice a mask of carefully controlled calm. “Prefect,” he begins. “Do you honestly expect me to be wooed by that . . . Performance?”

❋ And you’ve opened up the floodgates; Vil’s perfectionist tendencies take over and he spends the next ten minutes giving a detailed breakdown of how the performance could be improved.

“Prefect, your pitch is horrendous, and you’re completely off-tempo.” “Ace, never pick up a guitar again. Your rhythm was an assault on my ear drums.” “Deuce, why are you even here? Your tambourine skills are atrocious." “And you — Grim! What were you thinking, using fire in such a haphazard manner? Do you want to set Pomefiore ablaze?” “The lyrics are positively horrendous. Who even writes about potatoes in a confession?”

❋ Vil’s lecture lasts for all of ten minutes (Ace kept count).

❋ You remain silent through it all, but you’re just about ready to combust from embarrassment as Vil continues his critique.

❋ Finally, he falls silent with a final, dramatic sigh. "If you wanted my attention, you didn’t need to orchestrate such a . . . Spectacle. Though I will admit, the effort is . . . Endearing. Misguided, but endearing.” He softens just slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he reaches for the bouquet of flowers, careful to avoid the muddy roots.

❋ He turns on his heel to leave, but pauses on the doorstep, his back to you. “By the way . . . I would prefer some red roses the next time you come for a visit.” He disappears back into Pomefiore, leaving the group in a stunned silence.

❋ Wait.

❋ Next time?

❋ Was that . . . An invitation for a second chance? Ace immediately confirms this with a triumphant yell, and you can’t help but grin, feeling like a love-sick fool despite your bruised ego and the lingering humiliation.