#i guess all i can do is reread and reread but it's just so empty in comparison

[empty-blog-for-lurking]

I recently finished Love Sickness series by Junji Ito and it's like- look i completely understand where Ryuusuke is coming from, hell if something like that happened to me as a kid, i would be wrecked with guilt too, i do not blame him! but it's also like

why is a grown ass adult woman trauma dumping and asking advice from a bloody 8 year old??? Girl be serious

[mikeytxt]

i was supposed to prepare for something we're doing tomorrow but why do that when i could marinate in all sorts of feelings, uh, instead

[geminiwritten]

cowboy ; jake 'hangman' seresin

fandom: top gun

pairing: jake x reader

summary: the squad are sick of you and hangman pining after each other, so they set you up with the cowboy hat rule - 'you wear the hat, you ride the cowboy' (i know it's never specified but because glen grew up in texas, i'm applying that to jake)

notes: i am literally posting this while at work because i am so excited! i'm actually pretty proud of this one right now, so i'm trying not to second guess it and keep rereading it... i really hope y'all enjoy! please let me know all your thoughts! (in case you can't tell, i'm currently reading elsie silver's books)

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption / drunkenness, mention of a student/teacher relationship, and general horniness but no actual smut (i'm sorry, it's already so long)

word count: 10667

You roll your lips as your eyes wander across the faces of your friends, each of them expressing varying degrees of excitement as they discuss the upcoming celebration for Javy’s birthday this weekend. It’s been a good week for the dagger squad, and even Maverick has managed not to piss off the admiral in almost five whole days. Everyone is holding their breath, praying he can hold off for the second half of the day so the team doesn’t get punished with weekend rotation... again. 

You’re sitting in the middle of the long table with Natasha to your left and Bradley to your right, and across from you is the most gorgeous man on the planet. You can’t help settling your gaze on him, tracing the bridge of his nose as he faces Javy beside him, lips moving as words spill from them, but you can't possibly know what he’s saying because you’re too busy picturing what else those lips would be good at. His Adam’s apple bobs between statements and his tongue occasionally darts across those lips, making your innocent Friday lunch feel a lot filthier as your thoughts wander in the most inappropriate way. 

An elbow nudging into your ribs knocks you off your bullet train of thought, derailing it at high speed as reality comes crashing down and you turn accusingly toward Bradley. “What?” you snap. 

He chuckles, “You’re drooling.” 

Your hand flies up to your mouth, fingers padding at each corner only to find the skin dry. You scowl at him, “Asshole.” 

He has to hide his increased laughter in the mouth of his water bottle, taking a long sip so to not draw the attention of the rest of the group. “Sorry,” he says as he places the bottle back on the table, “but you were about to. I was saving you from yourself.” 

You roll your eyes, “Whatever.” 

Bradley shakes his head, his amused grin fading as he drops his gaze back to the tray of food in front of him, and a tiny pebble of guilt drops in the pit of your stomach. You suddenly feel bad for snapping at your best friend, so you bump your shoulder against his and reach over to steal a fry from his tray. 

He shoots you a glare from the corner of his eye, but the smirk on his lips tells you that he isn’t really mad. You pop the fry into your mouth and chew it with a smile before turning your attention back to the group, startling when you find a pair of green eyes already trained on you. Heat flushes up your neck, colouring your cheeks as you stare back at the man you had just previously been ogling. Time seems to slow down, or speed up, you’re not sure, but what you do know is how pretty Jake’s eyes are, swirling shades of green with flecks of gold that glow in the afternoon sunlight flooding through the high cafeteria windows. 

“Hangman?” Javy clicks his fingers in front of Jake’s face, simultaneously snapping you both out of whatever trance you’d been stuck in. 

When you look around the table, you notice that most of the group are standing now, holding their empty trays and getting ready to return to work. 

Jake blinks a few times, a slight frown creasing between his brows. “What?” he snaps. 

Javy chuckles, holding one hand up in surrender. “Calm down, I was just asking what time we should get to your place tomorrow night.” 

“Oh,” Jake’s shoulders visibly relax, “1800.” 

You roll your eyes playfully as you push up from your chair. “Okay soldier, you can just say 6PM.” 

His face breaks into a breathtaking grin as he stands and picks his tray up from the table. “Sorry civilian, I’ll see you at 6PM tomorrow night.” 

Low laughter rumbles through the group as you take an extra moment to appreciate the gorgeous man smiling at you, but then Javy tugs on Jake’s arm and interrupts you both for the second time less than a minutes. “Come on man, Mav will be pissed if we’re late.” 

“Wait for me?” Bradley asks. 

You turn to your best friend and find him looking at you – asking you – rather than his squadmates. “Huh?” 

He raises one judgemental brow, a teasing smirk on his lips. “After work, wait for me so I can give you a lift home.” 

“Oh,” you nod, “duh, I’m not walking.” 

His eyes flash toward Jake’s retreating form before he looks back at you with a grin. “Would you at least try to control yourself? Jesus, it’s so obvious.” 

“Oh, shut up,” you frown at him. “Hurry up or Mav will have your ass.” 

He stacks his tray on top of yours in your hands and leans forward, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “You’re so sweet to me,” he jokes, before turning on his heel and jogging after the others. 

You roll your eyes for what feels like the umpteenth time as you watch him leave, meeting Jake at the exit door leading to the main hangars. Just as they both disappear, you can swear Jake throws an angry glance over his shoulder at you, but the door swings shut before you can be sure. 

That glare haunts you on your journey back to the control tower. Had you really seen what you think you saw? Jake had just been grinning at you, joking with you, but then somewhere on his way across the cafeteria he had found a reason to glare at you. It doesn’t make sense. 

You try to push the image of his angry face out of your mind as you sit back at your desk, one of eight situated on the fourth floor of the main control tower. Three screens stare back at you, displaying various windows of information about the sky’s conditions and other operational statuses from around the base. You slide your headset on and adjust the dials until you can hear a soft crackle indicating successful connection to the correct frequency. One by one, you watch the faces and callsigns of your friends pop up on the right-most screen as they turn their comms on and ready their jets. 

“Maverick to control,” Mav’s voice comes through your headset. 

“Good afternoon, Maverick,” you reply, as if you hadn’t already been on the comms with him for half the day. 

“Radio check before take-off please, aviators,” he says, “alphabetical order if you geniuses can figure it out.” 

You roll your lips to keep from laughing, reminding yourself that despite your personal connection to these people, this is still your job. 

“Bob to control, can you hear me?” 

“Lound and clear,” you respond, quickly trying to figure out the alphabetical order for yourself. 

“Coyote to control.” 

“Copy.” 

“Fanboy to control.” 

“Copy,” you repeat. 

“Hangman to control,” Jake says, his voice in your ear sending the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy. 

“Copy,” you reply. 

The line then goes quiet, a faint crackling the only indication that the radio hasn’t completely dropped out. You wait a beat before speaking again, “Radio check please Payback.” 

“Shit, sorry. Copy,” Reuben’s voice responds. “I thought Phoenix was before me.” 

“A comes before H, idiot,” Natasha says, followed by a chorus of snickers. “Phoenix to control, can you hear me?” 

“Loud and clear, Phoenix,” you reply through your laughter. 

“Rooster to control,” Bradley’s voice fills your ears, “your favourite pilot here, bringing up the rear.” 

You roll your eyes, “Copy that, Shakespeare.” 

Another rumble of laughter comes through your headset as you quickly type into the afternoon’s log that the radio check was successful. 

“Okay, that’s enough,” Mav says as the laughter dies down. “Control, are we good for take-off?” 

“Skies are clear, Mav,” you reply, “take off at will.” 

You tune out the soft chatter as the squad ready themselves for taking off, and one by one watch their altitudes rise on your middle screen. They all pop up as red dots on the radar window, blinking slowly as they cruise through what you know is a cloudy afternoon sky. 

“We’ve got a stormfront coming in from the south,” you say, eyes darting to your left-most screen. “We might need to call it a little early this afternoon, Mav.” 

Maverick chuckles, “An early mark on a Friday? I don’t know if this lot deserve it.” 

A series of protests then fill your ears, almost every pilot falling for Maverick’s taunt and arguing that they do deserve an early mark, even going as far as to say that they’ve had a hard week. You’ve been here all week too, and you probably couldn’t agree with that since this week has been one of the cruisiest in a while. 

“Alright, alright,” Mav says to quell the bickering, “if you can perfectly execute the cloak and dagger drill, I’ll let you all land by 1500.” 

The complaining turns into cheering, and Bradley threatens the team to perform because he’s not staying back in a storm on a Friday afternoon. Not that Mav could keep them in the skies if the weather gets that bad. 

“Listen up,” Maverick says, “Coyote, I’ll be your wingman, and I want Phoenix and Bob behind us. Hangman, Rooster will be your wingman-” 

“I’ve been trying, Mav,” Bradley interrupts, his voice dripping with cheek, “but the man is oblivious.” 

Your heart leaps into your throat, blocking your airways as you suffocate on the audacity of your best friend. The laughter from your headset sounds distant as you try to remember how to breathe, willing yourself to calm down. Afterall, no one could really know what he’s talking about, right? 

“Yes, Rooster,” Maverick chuckles, “we’re all aware of how oblivious Hangman is.” 

Your eyes grow wide. 

“What are you talking about?” Jake pipes up, and you can almost see the adorable and confused look on his face. His brows pinched together, a little crease between them, and his bottom lip pushed forward in a small pout. 

“Point and case,” Bradley says, at which the rest of the squad dissolve into giggles. 

Does everyone know about your crush? Is Jake really the only confused pilot right now? 

“I don’t get the joke,” Mickey says over the laughter. 

You can’t help the smile that cracks across your face, a breathy laugh leaving your lips as you try to focus on documenting the weather warning in your afternoon log. The team continue to giggle, turning their teasing on Mickey before Maverick orders them to focus. They run the drill perfectly, finishing up just before an orange alert pops up on your screen, a notification from the weather analysis team telling you to get the squad on the ground. 

“Maverick,” you say, “the storm is coming in fast; you’ve been ordered to land.” 

“Copy that,” he responds, before rattling off instructions to the squad. 

One by one, you watch their blinking dots on the radar screen approach the runway and land. They manoeuvre toward the hangar, following instructions from the ground team to store the jets for the weekend. You exchange a couple of last words with Mav before they all remove their helmets and start the end of day procedures. You take time to check your emails and send the day’s log to the data analysis team before doing all your usual sign offs. By the time you’re exiting the control tower, it’s almost 4PM. 

You pull your phone out of your back pocket, about to text Bradley asking which lot he parked in today when his Ford Bronco skids to a halt three feet in front of you. He leans across the passenger seat and pops the door open with a grin. “Need a ride?” 

You roll your eyes, taking two long strides forward and throwing your bag into the back seat before flopping into the passenger seat beside him. “That was quick,” you state. “Doesn’t the debrief usually take longer on Fridays?” 

Bradley shrugs, “The admiral left early today so we didn’t have to do a formal debrief, and maintenance are doing a fuel flush on all the jets this weekend so they took them off our hands pretty quick.” 

“Oh, nice,” you reply simply before turning your attention back to your phone, checking the notifications you missed during work. 

Bradley navigates the base easily, slowing to a stop at the exit gates and having a short chat with the security guard in the booth before the boomgate rises and he hits the gas again. When the car merges onto the main highway, you tuck your phone under your thigh, not wanting to risk motion sickness with Bradley’s driving. Let’s just say, he’s a much better pilot than he is a chauffeur. 

“So,” he says, glancing at you with a cheeky grin, “do you want to hear something interesting.” 

You sigh, recognising that look. “Who were you eavesdropping on today?” 

“I heard Hangman talking to Coyote before I left,” he explains, eyes sparkling with mischief, “and I heard Coyote say to ‘stop making excuses and just ask her out’.” 

You frown, trying to tamp down the green-eyed monster rumbling to life in your stomach. “Ask who out?” 

“I didn’t hear a name, but I’m assuming-” 

“Don’t say me.” 

He chuckles, “Not me, you.” 

You scowl at him, “Don’t argue with me about semantics.” 

He rolls his eyes, “I just don’t understand why you won’t believe me. You heard the whole squad before, everyone knows except Hangman, even Mav!” 

“Mickey doesn’t know,” you argue. 

“Fanboy is almost as oblivious as your boyfriend.” 

Your eyes narrow, “Do not use that word.” 

He laughs again, “Which one?” 

“You know which one.” 

He sighs heavily, as if the weight of your unrequited crush was pressing down on his shoulders too. “Look, if you’re going to be stubborn, I’m going to have to take things into my own hands.” 

“Please don’t,” you beg, your eyes growing wide. 

He shrugs and adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. “I’m sorry, but you’re giving me no choice.” 

“Bradley, please,” you plead, turning in your seat to face him, “just leave it alone. I don’t want to ruin the friendship and make it uncomfortable for the whole group.” 

“The whole group already is uncomfortable with you two constantly eye-fucking each other!” 

Heat creeps up your neck, turning your cheeks pink and making your ears burn. You want to protest and continue arguing with him, because you’re adamant that Jake does not return your feelings, but your brain can’t seem to string a coherent sentence together. Instead, you sink down in your seat and scowl at the road, wondering what you could possibly be in store for if Bradley really is taking matters into his own hands. 

The rest of the drive home isn’t long, and soon enough, Bradley is pulling the Bronco into his parking spot in the garage of the apartment block you both live in. You don’t live together, but you do live in neighbouring studio apartments, so it often feels like you live together. You drive to and from work together, you usually have dinner together and watch movies together in the evenings. Basically, if you’re both not busy, you’re with each other, and it’s been that way as long as you’ve both been based on North Island. 

The squad had initially teased that the two of you might be more than friends, they even had you questioning it, but one wine-drunk kiss while watching The Bachelor confirmed that neither of you felt anything romantic toward the other. It was that same night that you also confessed to Bradley that you might be falling for Jake, to which he looked at you like you were stupid because duh. Apparently, your crush has been obvious from day one. 

Now, here you are, hopelessly in love with a man you not only work with, but you’d also consider one of your closest friends. Rock, meet Hard Place, and you? You’re in the middle. 

- 

After spending the night on the couch with Bradley and a box of pizza, you took yourself off to bed and dreamed one of the many reoccurring dreams you have about a certain fighter pilot. You managed to sleep in before taking yourself for a long walk and making a mental list of all the things you needed to do before Javy’s birthday party. 

Jake had been generous enough to offer having the party at his place, since the squad wanted to do something other than go to The Hard Deck for once. You'd offered to help shop for supplies and set up for the night, but Jake and Javy assured the group that they had it all under control. All you have to do is waste your Saturday and quell your nerves before the party. 

At exactly 5:45PM, there’s a knock at your door. You quickly finish applying your lip balm before tucking it into the purse hanging from your shoulder and grabbing the jacket you’d thrown over the back of the lounge. You yank your front door open to find your best friend grinning from ear to ear, his moustache looking particularly fresh. 

“You shaved,” you state, stepping forward and forcing him to step back. 

He nods before asking, “Did you?” 

You finish locking the door, slipping the key into your purse with one hand while the other slaps Bradley’s bicep. “Don’t be creepy!” 

He chuckles and rubs his arm. “I’m not being creepy, I’m just making sure you’re prepared for any outcome.” 

You narrow your eyes at him, “What are you planning?” 

"Nothing in particular,” he replies innocently, though the small smirk on his lips betrays him. 

You decide to leave it, since you're already nervous enough, and focus on relaxing the butterflies flapping wildly in your stomach. Bradley decided earlier that he would drive to Jake’s, since it’s hardly ten minutes from where you live, and leave his car in favour of getting an Uber home. Jake had said that anyone who wanted to crash was more than welcome to, but the thought of sleeping at his place only invigorates those nervous butterflies. 

“Stop,” Bradley says, one hand leaving the steering wheel to grab your bouncing knee. “Why are you so nervous?” 

You shrug, opting instead to wring your hands in your lap. “I don’t know, I just am.” 

“You see these people every single day,” he points out, “what’s so nerve-wracking about tonight?” 

You sigh, refusing to look at him as you reply, “I’m just feeling a little weird about going to Jake’s apartment.” 

His brows shoot up toward his hairline, and you can tell by the way he rolls his lips that he’s holding back laughter. Your cheeks burn, and you have to hide your face in your hands. 

“I’m not going to make fun of you,” he says quickly, “I actually think it’s a bit cute.” 

You drop your hands, turning to him with a frown. “What? Why?” 

He shrugs one shoulder, “I don’t know. It’s cute that you’re nervous to see where you’ll be living once the two of you finally fuck and get marr- ow!” 

You cut him off my smacking his arm, the same one as before, harder. “Would you stop being such a pain?!” you exclaim as the car comes to a halt. “You’re supposed to be my best friend; you’re supposed to comfort me, not make my face all red and blotchy right before we go inside.” 

He finally lets his laughter win, his shoulders shaking as he chuckles into his closed fist. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I’m not trying to be a dick, it just comes so naturally.” 

You roll your eyes and pop open the passenger door, throwing him a glare over your shoulder. “I know.” 

He manages to keep his thoughts to himself while the two of you cross the lobby and ride the elevator up to the fourth floor. This apartment block is shorter than yours, but wider. It’s one of the most coveted locations for naval personnel based on North Island, being the closest two- and three-bedroom apartments to the base. Jake had lucked out when he snagged one of these apartments with another lieutenant, and he’d lucked out even harder when that lieutenant got relocated and he ended up having the apartment to himself. 

The sound of Bradley’s knuckles against the hardwood door knocks you back to reality, and you find yourself standing in front of apartment 4B. 

“Who is it?” Natasha’s voice calls from the other side of the door. 

“Stripper,” Bradley calls back. 

“Finally,” the door wooshes open and you watch the liquid in Natasha’s red cup slosh dangerously. “We’ve been waiting all night.” 

Bradley winks at her as he strides into the apartment, but before you can follow, Natasha blocks your path. “You need to pay the entry fee,” she says, offering you the red cup. 

You frown, “Why me and not him?” 

“Because it’ll calm your nerves.” 

You catch Bradley smirking over his shoulder, and you scowl at him, wishing you could telepathically punch him for texting Natasha in advance, warning her of your anxiousness. 

“Fine,” you sigh, taking the cup and tipping it to your lips. 

You drain the cup, ignoring the burn that slides all the way down to your stomach. When you tip your head back to look at Natasha, she’s grinning. “Now you may enter,” she says, stepping aside. 

There are a few more people than just the dagger squad in the apartment. You recognised most of them, but you decide that it’s not important enough for you to go around the room introducing yourself to the ones you don’t know the way Bradley is. Outgoing motherfucker. Instead, you beeline for the kitchen where Bob is on the phone reading out an extensive list of pizza orders. He offers you a quick smile before returning his attention to the list. 

There’s a makeshift cocktail station set up beside the sink, with an array of alcohol bottles sat on the passthrough window bench. Your gaze drifts past the bottles and into the lounge room where everyone is gathered, landing easily on Jake who is animatedly retelling something to two men you recognise as Fritz and Yale. You’ve never been so charmed by someone in your life, it’s almost laughable the way this man captivates you. You can’t look away from the bright grin on his face, the tiny crease between his brows, and the excitement in his pretty green eyes. 

“Hey,” Bob says, startling you out of your trance. 

You can feel heat blooming in your cheeks as you turn to face him, leaning your left hip against the countertop. “Hey.” 

“Drink?” he asks, a small but knowing smile tipping the corner of his mouth up. 

You nod quickly, “Please.” 

You chat idly while Bob fixes you both a cocktail that you don’t recognise, not that you’re much of a connoisseur when it comes to bartending, and you’re pretty sure he sneaks an extra shot into yours. Either way, the drink he hands you tastes delicious and fruity, and you’re feeling a little less nervous as you both join the group in the living room. A couple of Javy’s friends who you don’t know have already parted from the dagger squad, starting a foosball competition while the rest of you find somewhere to sit around the coffee table. 

“Okay,” Bradley says to the group, “let’s play a little warm up game.” 

“Yes!” Mickey exclaims as he settles into a beanbag. “I’m so down.” 

Javy chuckles, “Alright, what are we playing?” 

“Never Have I Ever,” Bradley replies, his lips curled into an evil smirk. 

Your heart stutters, forgetting its usual rhythm before jumping into an erratic beat. You tip your drink to your lips, almost draining the whole thing, and when you finally look back at your best friend across the coffee table, he winks. This is his plan. 

“But instead of just putting a finger down,” Natasha says, making you realise that she is in on it too, “you have to take a sip of your drink.” 

“Does everyone have a drink?” Bradley asks. 

You watch as a few of your friends drain the dregs of their current drinks before getting up to retrieve fresh ones, and you sigh, tipping the last of your cocktail into your mouth. You might as well get drunk with them. 

When Bob returns to his seat beside you, he hands you a bottle of blue liquid. “Thought you might need this.” 

You smile gratefully, “You’re the best.” 

Once everyone is settled again, Bradley and Natasha take turns going over the rules of the high school game, even though it’s not that complicated. 

“Oh, one last thing,” Bradley says, eyes trained on you, “nothing is off limits, and if you lie, you finish your drink.” 

“How will we know if someone’s lying?” Reuben asks. 

“I think there’s enough of us here that know each other well enough to spot a lie,” Natasha replies with a smirk. 

Well, fuck. 

“I’ll start,” Bradley announces. “Never have I ever slept with someone else in the navy.” 

Jake, Javy, Mickey, Reuben, Natasha, and Harvard – who you only know by his callsign – all groan and take a sip of their drinks. Your eyes widen and you turn to Natasha on your right. “Excuse me, why did I not know about this?” 

She rolls her eyes, “It was ages ago.” 

“Damn, Phoenix,” Reuben says with a smirk, “didn’t think you were a rule breaker.” 

“Technically,” Natasha bites back, “it’s not a rule, just frowned upon.” 

Laughter rolls through the group before Bradley turns to Jake on his left. “You’re up, Hangman.” 

Jake clears his throat as he sits up straighter and surveys the group, lingering on you for a moment longer than the rest. “Okay,” he says, “never have I ever had a secret relationship.” 

There’s a beat of silence, a few people’s brows creasing in confusion as everyone stares at Jake. 

“That’s a weird one,” Natasha states, though you can see in her eyes that she’s trying to figure out the hidden meaning to Jake’s declaration. 

“Well, anyway,” Javy says, chuckling as he tips his beer to his lips. 

The rest of the group takes a moment to think before both Bradley and Mickey also take a sip of their drinks. You watch Jake’s eyes widen slightly as he watches Bradley drink, then his gaze darts toward you, as if waiting for you to take a sip too. When you don’t, his shoulders seem to relax. 

“Oh, my God,” Natasha whispers so softly that only you can hear, and when you turn to look at her, you find her eyes focused on Jake. 

You feel yourself splitting in two, torn between asking Natasha what her revelation is or demanding to know what this secret relationship of Bradley’s was. You decide to go with the less nerve-inducing option. 

“Excuse me, Bradley,” you speak across the group, “what was this secret relationship?” 

He chuckles, “It was in high school.” 

“Oh,” Reuben wriggles his eyebrows and nudges Bradley’s side, “were you a junior and she was a senior?” 

Bradley snorts, “Actually, I was a senior and she was a teacher.” 

Javy chokes on his second mouthful of beer, and the group suddenly erupts into laughter and questions while Bradley sits there like a king. You join in the laughter and use the commotion to slide your gaze toward Jake, heat rising in your cheeks when you find his eyes already fixed on you. He smirks, and you’re pretty sure your stomach does a triple somersault. 

“Alright, that’s enough,” Bradley says. “I know I’m a legend. Now, let’s get on with it.” 

Beside Jake, the man you only know as Harvard announces that he has never skinny dipped, at which everyone but Bob takes a sip of their drink. Next is Fritz, who declares that he has never had sex in the shower, and everyone in the group drinks. Your heart starts to race again as Natasha wriggles beside you, clearly excited about it being her turn next. 

“Let me think,” she says, rolling her lips as she pauses to think for a moment. 

You feel her brief gaze from the corner of her eye, and heat prickles the back of your neck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“Never have I ever,” she begins, her brown eyes glowing with mischief, “had sexual fantasies about someone else in this group.” 

Your breath catches on its way out, lodging in your throat as you once again forget how to breathe. You can feel your pulse across every inch of your skin, your heart thudding so hard against your ribs you worry it might break free. You can’t lie. You know you can’t lie, because Bradley is giving you a very pointed glare from across the group and Natasha has turned her whole body to face you. 

“Fine,” you mutter into the bottle as you bring it to your lips, tipping it up. 

You hear Javy's laughter above everyone else’s hoots and hollers, and when you look back at the group, you catch the tail end of Jake taking a sip from his drink. Natasha giggles beside you, subtly nudging your side with her elbow. 

Bradley’s eyes are trained on you, and he opens his mouth to no doubt say something taunting when Reuben lifts his drink to his lips, and Bradley turns to him in shock. “You too?!” he exclaims. 

Mickey has dissolved into fits of laughter, curling over and holding his stomach. 

“It was an accident,” Reuben justifies, the colour of his cheeks growing deeper, “I had one dream.” 

“About who?” Jake demands, his frown more accusatory than curious. 

Reuben shakes his head, “That is nobody’s business but mine.” 

The laughter slowly dies down, and you silently thank any god that might be listening for the distraction before Bradley or Natasha could embarrass you further. 

“Okay, my turn,” you say, quickly moving the game along. “Never have I ever piloted a jet.” 

The smirk on your lips is incredibly proud, and half the group groans while the other half chuckles as every single one of them tip their drinks to their lips. It was a cheap shot, but you had to distract from all the sex stuff before you spontaneously combusted. 

“Alright, Bob,” Bradley says, looking at the man to your left, “what have you got for us?” 

Bob clears his throat, a small smile curling his lips. “Never have I ever worn a bra.” 

Both you and Natasha roll your eyes and take a swig of your drinks, and across the group so does Bradley. You stare at him wide eyed as a stupid grin stretches across your face. 

“Oh, I have got to hear this story,” Natasha says, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. 

Bradley tries to shrug nonchalantly, but you can see blood seeping into his cheeks, turning them red. “Alright, as if none of you have tried a bra on before,” he says, eyeing the men around the circle. 

Everyone bursts into fits of laughter, holding their stomachs or their chests as they fold over and start mocking your best friend. You almost feel bad for him, watching him try to defend himself, but then you remember that he started this game to out your crush and any trace of empathy you had is quickly wiped clean. 

“Okay, everyone shut up,” Javy says over the giggling and teasing, “it’s the birthday boy’s turn.” 

The noise dies down, and only then do you realise that the group of Javy’s friends by the foosball table are now watching the game of Never Have I Ever as if it’s some enthralling reality TV show. 

“Never have I ever,” Javy says slowly, his eyes locked on Jake directly across the circle, “been too chickenshit to ask someone out even though I’m clearly obsessed with them.” 

Your heart stutters again, unable to discern the difference between being held at gunpoint and playing a stupid game mostly likely created by high school students. You tip your drink to your lips, not missing the fact that Jake does too, and certainly not missing the way Bradley’s eyes widen and snap toward you. Mickey and Fritz also drink, but to your immense relief, the rest of the group hold off on the teasing for this round. 

“Okay, um,” Mickey taps a finger on his chin as he stares into space, “never have I ever ridden a horse.” 

Beside him, Reuben frowns, “What?” 

Mickey shrugs, “I was looking at the horse.” He gestures toward the narrow bookshelf beside the television cabinet, adorned with a few books, photo frames, and knickknacks. On the very middle shelf is a golden trophy with a little figurine of a cowboy riding a horse, his rope poised in the air mid-lasso. 

Reuben turns his quizzical frown toward Jake. “Why do you have a horse trophy?” 

Jake’s cheeks are pink, either from embarrassment or alcohol, you can’t tell, but Javy speaks before he can reply. “Didn’t you know baby Hangman was a part of Austin’s champion junior penning team?” 

Mickey tilts his head like a confused dog. “What’s penning?” 

“It’s a ranching thing,” Jake replies, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “You’re in a team of three on horseback, and you have to separate cattle. There’re all these other rules too, but that’s the basis of it.” 

Your chest aches at the sight of Jake Seresin actually looking shy. You’ve never seen this man with less confidence than a stag in mating season, and that mixed with the imagery of a young Jake working on his family’s ranch; well, your heart is just about ready to burst. 

Bradley chuckles, “I always forget that you’re a cowboy.” 

“Can take the boy out of Texas,” Javy says with a southern twang, “but can’t take Texas out of the boy.” 

Jake rolls his eyes playfully and rumples up his empty red cup before tossing it across the circle at his best friend. From what you can gather, Jake and Javy have known each other far longer than just the past few years, and you’re always pleasantly surprised when either of them comes out with historic pieces of information about the other. 

“Alright, one more and we’re playing a new game,” Bradley announces, turning his attention to Reuben who is the last to go before it’s back to the beginning. 

 “Never have I ever,” Reuben says with a cheeky smile, “owned a cowboy hat.” 

The group dissolves into another fit of laughter, and you see Natasha and Fritz sip their drinks from the corner of your eye, but everyone’s attention has turned to Jake. 

He rolls his eyes again and pushes to his feet. “You people are relentless!” he exclaims, his tone laced with amusement. “I finished my drink anyway, so suck on that.” 

Renewed laughter rumbles through the room as Jake storms off down the short hallway, disappearing into a room you can’t see from your position on the lounge. Half the group make their way toward the kitchen to refresh their drinks, while the other half continue joking about Jake’s cowboy ancestry. 

You turn your attention back to the bookshelf where the trophy is, letting your eyes wander over all the pieces of Jake that are displayed on the shelves. You hadn’t noticed before, but a lot of the decor in the apartment gives subtle nod to his upbringing. Everything is washed in warm browns and oranges with rich wood furniture, photos of horses and farmland, and trinkets reminiscent of a life on the ranch. He has more than one trophy, you note, and there are a quite a few photos of a young, smiley boy standing proudly beside the same chestnut horse. Your chest squeezes again, reminding you just how enamoured you are with this man. 

“Drink?” Bob asks for the second time tonight, offering a different coloured cocktail than earlier. 

You nod, “Thank you.” 

“Pizza is almost here,” he says, looking at both you and Natasha. “Would you help me go down to the lobby and pick it up?” 

You both agree and let the rest of the group know where you’re going before heading out of the apartment door. The pizza guy meets you in the lobby barely a minute after you step out of the lift. Bob pays with cash, and you all stack your arms with boxes of delicious smelling pizza before stepping back into the lift and riding it up to level four. 

You can hear commotion the second the elevator doors part, and it gets louder the closer you get to Jake’s apartment. The three of you exchange dubious looks before Bob shifts the boxes in his arms to free one hand and knock on the door. It swings open almost immediately, and you can now very clearly hear some unrecognisable country song blaring while everyone hoots and cheers. 

Fritz, who opened the door, takes some of the boxes and calls for more help. As soon as your arms are free, you turn to see what all the fuss is about, your jaw dropping open the second your eyes land on the two men in the middle of the living space. 

Jake and Javy are arm in arm, jumping in circles and doing what you assume is supposed to be some country jig. It’s uncoordinated and they’re both laughing so hard they can barely breathe, but it’s not the dancing that has the butterflies in your stomach whirring to life. Atop Jake’s head is a brown cowboy hat. It’s simple and a little worn, the exact same colour as the horse in the photos with young Jake. 

Holy fucking shit, does that man look good in a cowboy hat. 

You’ve never really considered yourself as having a ‘type’, but right now you couldn’t be more sure that this man is your type. The only person on planet earth that is your type. You can’t help the way your lips are pulled into a grin so wide it hurts, and the fast, uneven thud of your heart against your ribcage, threatening to crack bone. 

“Are you okay?” Bradley asks, startling you as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. 

You sigh, feeling the pull in your gut that tugs toward the man in the cowboy hat. “No,” you reply, leaning into him, “I’m not okay.” 

His chest vibrates with laughter as you hide your face in it, keeping your arms slack by your side as you pretend to sob into your best friend’s shirt. His other arm wraps around you and his laughter doubles, one arm squeezing you tight while the other hand rubs circles on your back. Despite how much of an asshole he can be, you know that Bradley is always there for you when you need him. 

You pull out of his embrace when the music dies down and Bob announces that its dinner time. Your eyes easily find the cowboy, watching him walk toward the dining table where all the boxes of pizza are laid open. 

“Look at him,” you whisper-shout to Bradley. “Fucking look at him! Don’t you just want to lick-” 

“Nope,” Bradley interrupts before you can even finish. “I definitely do not want to lick any part of that man.” 

You roll your eyes playfully as he guides you toward the table of pizza. He hands you a plate and you start stacking a few slices on it despite your nervous stomach’s protests. When you glance across at Jake, his piercing eyes are already on you – like they so often seem to be of late – but he doesn’t look nearly as joyous as he had moments earlier. There’s a crease between his brows and tension in his jaw as he chews. 

Natasha pops up beside you and starts babbling about what game you should all play next. She’s always a chatty drunk, not at all annoying, but definitely more vocal than usual after a few drinks. You listen to her and Bradley squabble about games before Javy pipes in, declaring that it is his birthday so he should get to decide. 

After everyone has eaten their fill, Jake and Reuben pack away the leftover pizza while Bob and Mickey start making a round of cocktails. Meanwhile, Javy announces that he would like everyone to do a shot, which is when three of his mates who you have guessed are not navy make their exit. 

“Okay, okay, okay,” Javy mutters, lining up all the mismatched shot glasses on the kitchen counter. “How many do we need?” 

You look at Jake, who is standing beside you and craning his neck to count the heads in the room. “Why do you have so many shot glasses?” you ask him. 

He pauses for a beat before chuckling and shaking his head. “You made me lose count.” 

When he looks down at you, it feels like your lungs constrict, forgetting once again how to do their one job. Your chest aches in the most deliciously painful way, because that ache radiates all the way down to the apex of your thighs. You don't just want this man, you need him. 

“I used to like to collect shot glasses,” he finally replies. “I’d try to get one in every city I visited but after about ten, I kept forgetting.” 

“We need eleven,” Javy announces, obviously having counted the room while Jake answered your question. 

“We’re one short then,” Jake states. 

You shrug, your inebriated brain quickly diving into devious thoughts. “Someone could do a body shot off me.” 

Every head in a two-foot radius snaps toward you. Jake’s eyes are blown wide, and a huge grin is pulling Javy’s mouth across his face. Bob looks shocked and Mickey looks amused, but Bradley is almost glowing with pride. 

You roll your eyes for the umpteenth time, “I’m joking, guys. Calm down.” 

Jake’s shoulders sag as if he’s disappointed, but he huffs a short laugh out before picking up one of the bottles to start pouring liquid into the line of shot glasses. “I’ll go last,” he says, looking at Javy. “I’ll just use your glass.” 

At Javy’s request, everyone gathers around and picks a shot, clinking them together and spilling drops of amber liquid on the floor before tipping them up to their lips. It burns all the way down and sizzles angrily in your stomach. Sweat prickles the back of your neck as heat breaks out across every inch of your skin. You’re well on your way to being drunk, so you take advantage of the cheering to slip back into the kitchen and pour yourself a glass of water. If anything, it might save your head tomorrow. 

Twenty minutes later, everyone has a full drink and a seat somewhere around the coffee table. Javy decided that it’s time for another game, and despite protests, he said that he has picked one and there will be no negotiations. You find yourself comfortably between Bradley and Natasha, trying not to ogle at the gorgeous man across the circle. He is no longer wearing his cowboy hat, having taken it off just before doing his shot, hanging it on the back of one of the dining chairs. 

“Alright, what are we in for?” Bradley asks Javy. 

Javy grins, “Truth or Dare.” 

There’s a mixture of cheers and groans, but everyone ends up giggling with each other since the whole group is very happily tipsy by now. 

“Okay, okay,” Natasha calls over the laughter, “what rules are we playing?” 

Javy and Natasha negotiate the rules of the game, deciding not to move the game in a circle but from player to player; whoever gets asked ‘truth or dare’ then gets to choose the next victim. You glance quickly toward Fritz, Harvard, and Yale, the three you don’t hang out with all that much, and wonder if they’ll ever get a turn. 

“And if you don’t want to answer the truth or do the dare,” Natasha says, “then you have to drink.” 

Everyone nods in agreeance before Jake announces from beside Javy, “Birthday boy goes first.” 

Javy’s eyes scan the circle before settling on Bradley. “Rooster,” he says, “truth or dare?” 

“We’ll start of lightly,” Bradley states. “Truth.” 

“Is it true that you and Y/N are just friends?” 

Your eyes widen and you immediately inch away from your friend, leaning into a giggling Natasha. 

“Yes!” Bradley exclaims. “It couldn’t be truer! Are you kidding me?” 

Laughter rumbles through the group, everyone but Jake finding Bradley’s disgust rather amusing. 

Javy chuckles, “Just checking! You two are pretty cosy.” 

You scoff, “He’s like my brother.” 

“Alright,” Javy raises both hands in surrender, “I won’t ever question it again.” 

“Good,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him. 

Bradley clears his throat and the snickering dies down. He looks straight at Jake, “Hangman, truth or dare?” 

“Truth,” Jake replies. 

“Is it true that you’re totally hung up on someone right now?” 

Jakes cheeks turn bright pink and he immediately covers his face with his hand, hiding his sheepish smile. He sighs, “Yes, that is true.” 

Your stomach twists itself into a knot, threatening to eject everything you’ve consumed in the past few hours. The rest of the group start giggling again, teasing Jake and making stupid oohing noises as the poor man places his beer on the coffee table to bury his face in both hands. 

“Okay,” he chuckles, swatting at Javy as he makes kissy noises, “that’s enough.” 

Once everyone manages to mostly compose themselves, Jake asks Bob truth or dare. Bob chooses dare, which lands him in Bradley’s lap for the next ten minutes. Bob then asks Natasha truth or dare, and she picks truth, deciding to drink instead of admitting who she finds the most attractive in the room. You have a feeling Bob might already know the answer to that, which is why she flips him the bird before asking Mickey truth or dare. He picks dare, of course, and has to do a shot of straight vodka.  

After he’s finished coughing and hacking, he returns to his spot between Bradley and Yale, turning his attention to you. “Y/N,” he says with an evil grin, “truth or dare?” 

“Truth,” you respond. 

“Earlier tonight, you told Bradley that you wanted to lick someone; who were you talking about?” 

Your heart leaps into your throat, beating erratically as it tries to crawl up and jump right out of your mouth. Bradley bursts into a fit of laughter beside you, and Natasha coughs on the sip of drink she had just taken. You clear your throat before lifting your own drink to your lips, taking a purposeful sip and rolling your lips together. 

Mickey whines, “You’re no fun!” 

You scowl at him, “You were eavesdropping!” 

His grin turns sheepish. “Technically, I overheard.” 

You roll your eyes and let the laughter subside before scanning the circle, wondering who you could pick that might keep you safe in return. Your eyes land on Jake and you have to roll your lips again to keep from smiling. Sure, you could dare him to make out with you, but you’d rather not force yourself on him, so you settle your gaze on the man beside him, Reuben. 

“Payback, truth or dare?” 

His face lights up, “Dare.” 

“I dare you to give your WSO a big kiss on the lips,” you say with a grin. 

Mickey snorts, “You think we haven’t kissed before?” 

“Dude!” Reuben exclaims across the group as everyone loses it to laughter once again. 

Mickey giggles as he crawls into the middle of the circle and meets Reuben, who rolls his eyes before grabbing either side of Mickey’s head and mashing their lips together. It’s very brief, but it has the group hooting and hollering like high schoolers as the two blushing boys return to their respective spots. 

Reuben shoots you a scowl, “I’ll get you back for that.” 

You give him a wink before tipping your drink to your lips, realising that it’s empty. You push yourself to stand, “Drinks?” 

You and Bradley work on taking the empties from the group and retrieving fresh drinks for everyone while they start asking questions about Reuben and Mickey’s first kiss. When you settle back into your seat, you see Reuben crouched beside Javy as they whisper into each other's ears, their eyes watching you carefully and their lips curling into evil little smirks. 

Well shit. 

Once everyone is settled again, Reuben looks toward Javy. “Coyote, truth or dare?” 

“Hm,” Javy pretends to think, “dare.” 

“I dare you to prank call Maverick.” 

Everyone oohs as Javy pulls his phone out, a shit-eating grin stretched across his face. He switches off his caller ID before finding Maverick’s contact, and the group falls silent at the first dial tone. It rings and rings, but Mav doesn’t answer, so when his voicemail requests a message, Javy puts on his gruffest voice. “Maverick, it’s Admiral Simpson. I’ve had a few drinks, and I know this isn’t appropriate, but I just wanted to tell you that I love you.” 

He hangs up and wheezes with laughter. Everyone is folded over, some wiping tears from their eyes, because right now, Maverick’s inevitable scolding doesn’t seem to be a worry. 

It takes a little longer for everyone to calm down, but once they do, Javy’s eyes narrow on you. “Y/N,” he says, “truth or dare?” 

“Me again?” you ask. “I just had a turn.” 

He simply shrugs, awaiting your answer. 

You sigh, “Fine, dare.” 

You played right into his hand, and you know it by the way his lips have split into a Cheshire Cat grin. 

“I dare you,” he says slowly, eyes moving past you and across the room, “to put Seresin’s cowboy hat on.” 

You frown, letting go of a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. It’s too simple. “What?” 

Javy nods toward the hat in the dining room. “Put the cowboy hat on.” 

“Coyote,” Jake warns, his voice low. 

“It’s just a hat,” you say, pushing off the couch and waving a hand dismissively. 

You walk quickly across the living space toward the dining table, taking the hat off the back of the chair and plonking it on your head. When you turn back around, Jake’s mouth pops open, Javy and Reuben giggle, and Mickey and Natasha look like they’ve just realised what the stupid joke is. 

“Oh, I get it!” Mickey announces proudly. 

You frown at him, “Get what?” 

He glances at Reuben, who makes the action of zipping his lips. Mickey turns back to you, “Sorry, I can’t say.” 

You roll your eyes. “Alright, Fanboy, truth or dare?” 

“Truth,” he says. 

“What’s the big joke about the hat?” 

“The hat rule,” he replies simply, as if it’s obvious. 

“What hat rule?” 

“The cowboy hat rule, you know-” 

“Nope!” Javy exclaims. “Technically, he answered the question, you can’t get another answer.” 

You huff, “Okay, whatever. Play your little games.” 

You lean back and cross your arms, the hat still propped on your head. Across the circle, Jake’s eyes are trained on you, and there’s a hint of a smirk on his lips. He looks mildly amused by whatever the joke is that you don’t get, but he also looks a little like he might be enjoying the way the hat is sitting on your head. The alcohol rushing through your veins gives you the courage to hold his stare as you draw your bottom lip between your teeth before pulling it back out slowly. His eyes drop to your mouth, lingering there before he swallows thickly and looks away. 

When you tune back into the game, you realise that Fritz is now asking Bradley truth or dare. You’re not sure what you missed, but you’re guessing it was one or two uneventful turns. 

“Dare,” Bradley says. 

“I dare you to walk out onto the balcony and make some weird, loud sex noises.” 

Bradley springs up, excitedly jogging toward the balcony doors, throwing them open and starting to honk and moan the second he steps outside. 

Jake chuckles into his hands. “You guys do realise that I still have to live here after tonight?” 

“OOH, FUCK YEAH!” Bradley shouts, at which everyone’s laughter doubles. 

Natasha nudges you, “Is this what you have to hear whenever he has a girl over?” 

“Unfortunately, yes,” you say with a dramatic sigh. 

Another few seconds pass of Bradley’s terrible sex noises before Jake calls him back inside. He sits back down beside you with a satisfied grin, his cheeks bright pink and eyes sparkling. He turns his attention to Jake. “Hangman, truth or dare?” 

“Truth.” 

Bradley clears his throat and casts you a quick glance before looking back at Jake. “What is the cowboy hat rule?”’ 

Javy and Reuben start to giggle again, and Jake sighs, looking incredibly sheepish as he runs a hand through his hair. “It’s uh- well,” he sighs, “you wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.” 

Your jaw goes slack and your mouth pops open, heart thundering in your chest. Bradley cackles beside you and Natasha snickers on your other side. The thought crosses your mind that if these people keep laughing so hard, they might explode. 

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Javy says to you before turning to look at Jake. “Now the two of you can fuck and relieve us all of this stifling sexual tension.” 

Neither you nor Jake can muster a laugh. You simply stare at each other, thoughts racing as you wonder why Javy would do this. Is what he said true? Does Jake actually like you the way Bradley has always said? Is the tension between the two of you that obvious? 

Eventually, the game rolls on, and neither you nor Jake get asked again. Truth or Dare somehow morphs into Would You Rather, and soon Bradley is standing beside you offering another round of drinks to the group. You stand up beside him and rush into the kitchen, dying for a moment away from Jake’s piercing gaze. It’s not that you don’t like him looking at you, you just wish you knew what it meant. 

“You good?” Bradley asks as he steps into the kitchen after you. 

You nod. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

“Still got the hat on,” he notes, pointing at your head. 

You quickly take it off and plonk it on the kitchen counter before reaching up to the passthrough shutters and swinging them closed. No one seems to notice, and the small amount of privacy seems to help settle the butterfly disco currently happening in your stomach. 

Bradley rummages through the fridge while you pour yourself a glass of water, sipping it slowly and watching him juggle as many bottles as he can between his two hands. He raises his brows at you before he leaves, a silent question, and you nod, assuring him that you’re fine. He disappears around the corner right before Jake steps into the kitchen, making your heart leap dramatically. 

“Hey,” he says, seeming much more relaxed than you’re currently feeling. 

“Hi.” 

“Are you okay?” 

You nod again, “Of course.” 

“Coyote can be a little insensitive sometimes,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. 

You shrug. “I’m tough. It was just a joke.” 

He frowns. “Which part do you think was a joke?” 

“The hat rule,” you reply, “right?” 

“Oh,” he chuckles, “yeah, I mean, that is a known rule but I’m not going to-” he hesitates, “I mean, I would never- oh, my God, this isn’t coming out right.” 

“It’s fine,” you say, dropping your gaze to your feet. “I know they were just having a laugh.” 

“No, I don’t mean it like that either,” he adds frantically. He steps forward, leaving very little space between your bodies. “What I’m trying to say,” he says slowly, “is that I definitely would do that with you, but not if you didn’t want to.” 

You look up, startled. “Would what?” 

He chuckles awkwardly, the pink in his cheeks turning red. “Let you ride me, if you wanted.” 

Looking up at his pretty green eyes is making your head spin, but you feel surprisingly stable. Something about his gaze is holding you steady, reassuring you the way a hug from your best friend does, and you quickly realise that this is the closest you’ve ever been able to stare into his eyes. They’re even more amazing up close. 

“You’re very pretty,” you blurt out, internally cursing all that liquid courage. 

He chuckles again, but its deep and breathy. “Thank you, but I’m nothing compared to you.” 

You frown now. “You don’t think your pretty?” 

“Well,” he shrugs, “I know I’m a little pretty.” 

You roll your eyes playfully. 

“But you are possibly the prettiest thing on this planet,” he adds, cupping your jaw in his hands. 

The contact lights your skin on fire, and your heart is practically vibrating in your chest. 

“Who’s the girl that you’re in love with?” you ask, once again unable to control that brain to mouth communication. 

He chuckles again, his eyes darting away from your face and finding the hat on the bench. He reaches past you, his breath fanning across your neck as he picks the hat up off the counter and plonks it on your head. 

“I’m in love with the girl wearing my old cowboy hat,” he says, hands holding either side of the brim as he adjusts the hat to sit perfectly. 

You don’t even wait for him to finish fixing the hat before you surge up onto your toes, pressing your lips to his. He responds immediately, hands abandoning the hat to find your hips and hold your body tightly against his. You’re almost positive you can feel his heart beating where your chests are pressed together, and it’s almost as erratic as yours. 

His lips move against yours gently, but there’s urgency in the way he holds your body, like you might disappear if he doesn’t hang on tight. Your own hands are gripping the hem of his shirt, fisting the material until you can feel your nails digging little half-moons into your palms. Maybe you feel the same, like if you don’t hold on, he’ll disappear, because you’re almost positive you’ve had this dream before. 

He pulls back for air, keeping his forehead pressed against yours as his hands drop to the crease beneath your bum. In one swift movement, he lifts you onto the counter and stands between your open legs, the buckle of his belt pressing deliciously against the crotch of your jeans. You squeeze your knees around his hips and tilt your head back, letting his tongue slide past your lips. You sigh against his mouth, every ounce of tension from the past few hours leaching out of your body as his hands explore and squeeze your thighs. 

“You have no idea”- he speaks breathily against your lips -“how long I’ve wanted to do this.” 

You pull back, staring up at his puffy lips and lust-blown eyes. “Why did you wait, then?” 

He chuckles and relaxes, the buckle of his belt no longer pressed against you. “Have you seen the way you and Rooster act?” he asks. “You’re practically inseparable, always having your little inside jokes, and you basically live together. How was I supposed to know you wanted me when all you do is look at him?” 

You gnaw at your bottom lip, willing your foggy brain to sober up and try to picture things the way Jake would be seeing them. “I guess,” you say, resting your hands on his chest, “but I only look at him to avoid staring at you all the time.” 

He tilts his head, a quizzical frown set between his brows. “Really?” 

You nod. “And most of our inside jokes are about the fact that I’m hopelessly in love with you.” 

His frown melts into a grin. “Hopelessly?” 

“More or less.” 

“More, I hope,” he murmurs as he leans forward again. 

Your lips have barely touched when a bang startles you both. Jake holds you against his chest as you look over your shoulder to see the passthrough shutters blown wide open. Your friends are all gathered in the opening with stupid grins on their faces and laughter bubbling from their lips. 

“I knew it!” Javy exclaims. 

“That’s all it fucking took?” Bradley asks, his brows almost raised to his hairline. 

“If I knew that, I would have put a cowboy hat on you ages ago,” Natasha says with an eye roll. 

“Yeah, okay,” Jake says, his smile wide and cheeks bright red, “that’s enough from you lot.” 

He reaches around you to grab the passthrough shutters and swing them closed, despite the shouts and protests of your friends. When his eyes find yours again, you feel like the only two people in the world. The noise from the living room fades away and the only thing you can feel is his warmth, his body. 

“Where were we?” he murmurs, holding your face in his hands as he dips toward you again. 

A sudden spike of panic slices through you, and you pull back with wide eyes. “Wait.” 

His smile fades, worry creasing his brow. “What’s wrong?” 

“You’re not just saying and doing all this because you’re drunk, right?” 

The concern on his face dissolves just as quickly as it had appeared, replaced again by that dopey grin. “Baby, I’m not drunk. You are a bit drunk.” 

You frown indignantly. “I am not drunk, I’m tipsy.” 

“Okay, tipsy,” he chuckles. “Are you only kissing me because you’ve had a few drinks?” 

You shake your head fervidly. “No. I’m kissing you now because sober me didn't have the balls to.” 

He laughs again, a little harder. “Are you saying that you’re not going to kiss me again tomorrow?” 

“Oh, I’m definitely not saying that,” you reply. The corner of your lips lift into a smirk as your eyes fall to his puffy pink lips. “You’ve opened the flood gates now. I’m going to have to put my lips on every inch of your body.” 

When your eyes find his again, the pretty green of his irises is almost completely consumed by black, lust-blown pupils. “I’ll be right back,” he says, untangling his limbs from yours. 

You hold on to the waistband of his jeans, not letting him move too far from you. “What are you doing?” 

“Kicking everyone out so we can get to all the kissing and the licking,” he replies, as if it was obvious. 

A soft giggle slips from your lips and you tug on his jeans, pulling him back into your arms. “As much as I love that idea, we should probably get back to celebrating Coyote’s birthday. We’ve got all day tomorrow to kiss and lick and suck and fuck.” 

His jaw slackens and a soft groan rumbles from the back of his throat. “Are you trying to kill me?” 

“Not at all,” you reply with a cheeky grin. “Come on, let’s get back out there before they decide to come back in here.” 

He sighs heavily as you slide off the counter, but before you can exit the kitchen, his hand wraps around your wrist. “We’re going to have to wait a minute,” he says, looking down at his pants. 

You glance down to see a bulge in the dark blue denim at his crotch, the zipper almost straining against the pressure from the inside of his pants. You roll your lips to keep your giggles at bay, and to stop yourself from begging him to fuck you right here in the kitchen regardless of who can hear. 

As if on cue, Bradley’s voice resonates from the living room, “You two better not be fucking in there! My beer is getting low and I will be getting another one no matter how traumatising it might be!” 

END.

[saltandfire-blog]

All Time Favorite Lucemond Fics

Thought I’d post some baddies to help us heal from this last season.

ñuhon - When Lucerys lives and wakes up to oblivion, Aemond decides that—more than an eye for an eye—Lucerys in his entirety would be for Aemond to completely own.

In other words: Omega Lucerys survives yet loses his memories, and Alpha Aemond takes his revenge on him creatively.

Holy fuck, this might actually be one my favorite fics of all time. INCREDIBLY well written and perhaps one of the most tragic/romantic lucemond pieces I’ve ever read. I also find myself adoring the Daeron/Joffrey dynamic that is unexpectedly thrown in that I didn’t know I wanted.

all I had to give - Lucerys has waited for Aemond to find him again since his fall. He is only surprised it took this long.

I think this was technically my first a/b/o lucemond verse fic that blew my heart away. Aemond and Luke’s portrayal in this might actually be my favorite. And the added Alysmond is a +❤️

real gods require blood - Before King Viserys I Targaryen draws his last breath, the Greens make their move. Rhaenyra Targaryen and her family find themselves prisoners in the Red Keep, cut off from their dragons and at the mercy of a new king.

Terrified of what fate awaits his family, Lucerys Velaryon turns to the only person at court willing to help him, no matter the price he has to pay.

Or: Lucerys offers himself in exchange for his family’s safety. Aemond could never refuse.

Not only is this fucking incredible to read, it might be my favorite smutty fic out there. The dialogue between Aemond and Luke just hits sooooo amazingly, this is one of those fics I go back to regularly to reread. I await the authors part 2 of this with baited breath!

Consanguinity - When the bastard Addam of Hull claims Seasmoke, it throws House Velaryon into disarray. All except Corlys, who spies the perfect opportunity to help his heir out of the delicate situation he has found himself in with an impromptu suggestion.

Though quite why Prince Aemond seems so affronted by the match is anyone’s guess.

Speaking of fics I go back to reread - this is definitely another one!! @nashiriel is an absolutely incredible writer and I can’t wait to see where she goes with this! I don’t like to spoil other people’s work…but I love a pregnant Lucerys a/b/o verse with a deliciously angsty twist ❤️

Divenire - Lucerys survives Storm's End however now he needs to survive Aemond, his obsession over a debt paid and the Dance of the Dragons.

This is one of the first Lucerys/Aemond fics that blew my mind. Is it insanely demented and toxic? Yes. Is it amazingly well written? YES! You decide if it’s your cup of tea, but I always return back to this one every once in a while when I want a pure hate no happy ending fic.

Heir of the Tides series - In 120 AC, Aemond Targaryen lost an eye to his nephew. In 129 AC, he demands the price to be paid.

Later on, Lucerys Velaryon will tell his mother that it was a fair exchange. (or, the author went out and wrote the eye fic she so wanted to read).

I admit, I am an absolute sucker for the idea of Luke taking his own eye out. Add on top of that a Luke who takes more of a role in his Velaryon inheritance - and can’t forget the battle of the Gullet 🤌🏻 !! Definitely a series to invest in.

Life for life, eye for eye - Aemond finds his nephew, somehow surviving the death of his dragon over Shipbreaker Bay, washed ashore, an empty socket where his right eye should be. The message, to Aemond, is obvious: the gods have given Luke to him, to do with him as he sees fit.

Meanwhile, when Luke wakes up, prisoner to his uncle, his world quickly narrows to one thing and one thing alone: surviving, so he can return to his mother, and the rest of his family, alive.

--

In which Aemond surpasses Daemon for title of 'worst uncle' by several miles and Luke suffers.

Ok so please beware, this is about as dark as it gets. If you’re triggered easily, this isn’t the fic for you. It explores extreme Lima and Stockholm syndrome forsure, but if you’re into this ship I’m sure you must know it consists of a broad spectrum of very dark, toxic fics, and this is one that just so happens is amazingly well written. Please keep in mind, if you don’t like, don’t fucking read.

Portrait of a Prince on Fire - Ser Luke Strong, legitimised bastard of the lord of Harrenhal, has found favour at the sumptuous court of Viserys I as a court painter. But he is also Lucerys Waters, unacknowledged bastard of Princess Rhaenyra of Dragonstone. The secret of his true parentage and the life he could’ve had eats him up, and he drowns his regrets in drink and brawling.

Prince Aemond hasn’t been seen outside court since he lost his eye, over a decade ago. Now he is about to be wed — and the king commissions Luke to paint the portrait that will be sent to Aemond’s betrothed.

They hate each other at first sight — but as Viserys lies dying, the portrait sets them on a collision course that will send them spiralling inexorably together. And as the realm descends into war, they will have to decide whether to hold on to each other as the world they knew begins to shatter.

Another fic I am completely obsessed with! @fruitageoforanges has probably written one of my all time favorite portrayals of Aemond and I love the refreshing take on Lucerys I’ve never seen done before in this ship. A 17th century AU that has an awesome amount of fashion I adore and is an absolute must read 😉❤️

Star-Crossed - Lucerys is taken captive by the Greens after his fall. When Aemond is assigned as his constant guard, and so constant companion, the romance that blooms between them spins the Dance of the Dragons on its head.

Or: two young lovers from rival factions of the royal family come together in a violent world.

I can’t list off lucemond fics without giving this one an honorable mention.

Dirección de la Luz - A decade had passed since Hwa Yeong was exiled from Yin. He had traveled through the entire empire three times and still had not found his death.

Until one day he met the dragon prince.

Or: Pregnant and solely with the company of his dragon Arrax, Lucerys Velaryon travels to the Yi Ti Empire and begins a new life away from his family and Aemond Targaryen.

A fic published in Spanish, but there is a translated version linked or you can translate yourself as I found myself doing because this story drew me in SO hard I couldn’t wait for the translator to update lol. This is such an original idea and SO fascinating to read with the authors portrayal of Yi Ti culture with such amazing detail!! I can’t give this author enough praise and encouragement to keep going!

the beast you’ve made of me - Lucerys Velaryon is no coward. He is frightened. He is alone. He is a bastard. He is a prisoner of a war he would do anything to stop. But he is no coward.

Lucerys survives Shipbreaker Bay. Aemond is baptised in the storm. This is the aftermath.

If you want Team Green Lucerys, this is your story. When you have to join the enemy to save your family with long term goals, Luke really goes through it in this one, but the political seesaw between his love for Aemond and his family is fabulous to read unfold 🤌🏻

Hope I’ve given you guys some beauties to read if you haven’t already 💎🗡️🩸

Lucemond is a beautiful, terrible place 😉

(Tried to @ as many as I could that are here on tumblr)

[loveshotzz]

I guess it’s never really over

mechanic!steve harrington x fem!reader exes to lovers

chapter three -

This has got to be the longest crush ever

Robin’s bad date, and a late night that changes everything.

warnings: 18+ A little bit of queer and mid twenties crisis angst for Robin, with comfort obvi. Tension, but are we surprised at this point?, and a secret third thing, wonder what it could be? 😚

wc: 6.3k

authors note: Hi babies! I am taking just a week off from my posting schedule for this week long work trip I’m taking on Monday. There’s lots of conferences and I won’t have much down time. We will resume our normal posting schedule for chapter four starting 3/20 🌻🧡

series masterlist | series playlist

June -

Would you believe me if I said I’m in love? 

                            Baby, I want you to want me.

You can’t believe you landed yourself in detention.

All your late night study sessions for the SAT’s that led to oversleeping and missed alarms finally catching up to you just like Robin warned you it would. Miss O’Donnell is the one who makes your best friend's predictions come true, handing you that notorious pink slip for walking into her class ten minutes late for the third time this week. 

When you arrive at exactly 3:15, the classroom is mostly empty. Your eyes scan the bored faces of the few students joining you, hoping to at least see Eddie’s familiar head of curls. But of course, today of all days, he’s managed to be on his best behavior or just didn’t get caught. 

Sighing defeated, you give Mr. Clark a tight lipped smile, ignoring the shocked look on his face seeing you in here. Picking an empty desk in the middle away from anyone, you decide to busy yourself with the Algebra homework you’ve been avoiding for the better half of a week. It’s when you lean over to unzip your backpack that you catch the sounds of sneakers squeaking against the ceramic floors.

”Ahh, Mr. Harrington. Even fashionably late to detention, I see. Your hair looks good enough to sit in silence for an hour and a half to me.” Mr. Clark announces the king of Hawkins's grand entrance with the kind of sarcasm that makes you smirk as you start arranging your things on your desk.

“That’s good to know 'cause I was doing it for you Mr. C.”

Steve Harrington always thinks he’s so charming

Snorting as you click your pen, you dare to look up only to catch ‘the hair’ looking right back at you with that golden smile that you’ve seen take even the strongest soldiers out. 

Oh no. 

Eyes going big, you quickly bring your attention back down to your homework, silently hoping he doesn’t take the seat next to you and land you in here next week too. 

“So thoughtful of you. Now why don’t you take a seat and do some studying for that test on Monday. And maybe this semester you won’t have to worry about relying on extra credit to keep playing basketball.” Mr. Clark dismisses him, earning a low whistle from the boy who holds his hands up in surrender, Nike covered feet coming down your row.

No, no, no, NO.

You still don’t look up, rereading the same question over and over again because no matter how many times you try, you’re too distracted by the cedar and clove that invades your senses kicking them into overdrive. The whites of his sneakers catch in your peripherals when he does the unimaginable and sits next to you.

Staring at the equation with the kind of concentration that’ll be sure to give you a migraine later, it takes him a good thirty seconds before he temporarily gives up trying to get your attention to grab something that gives the illusion of studying out of his backpack. 

Trying to play it cool, your stomach twists in nervous knots worse than the ones you get when Robin forces you on the janky rides at the summer fair every year. Sure, you’ve been hit on by a guy here and there, but no one can prepare you for what it’s like to catch Steve Harrington’s attention—especially for someone in your Hawkins hierarchy who would never be on the receiving end of it.

He flips through the pages of his textbook loudly, earning his first warning glare from Mr. Clark, and you decide to write your name on the top of the page so at least it looks like you’re doing something. After a couple bounces of your knee, you can feel the heat of his gaze back on you.

”Psst, hey.” 

The last letter of your name comes out illegible, and you jump at the hushed sound of his voice. Taking a deep breath, you work up the courage to meet his flirtatious smirk and golden brown eyes. The sun leaking through the windows gives you a glimpse of the green that hides inside them from this close. You hate to admit that he’s just as pretty as everyone says he is.

”Hi,” you smile a little shy, offering a small wave of your pen and it lights up his whole face, making your body buzz.

”You have a highlighter I can use or something?” He keeps up his ruse, the whites of his teeth showing in a grin.

You arch an eyebrow at him, something sarcastic reminiscent of Mr. Clark flashing behind your eyes. 

“What? You don’t think I’m actually going to study?” He acts shocked, slapping his giant hand across his chest and it earns the kind of giggle from you that pushes him full steam ahead.

”It’s blue, is that okay?” Giving into the bait, you try and hide the way your face warms, ducking down to dig in the bottom of your backpack.

”Are you kidding? I love blue. Favorite color actually.” Laying it on thick, you can see the way he scoots to the edge of his seat, the spice of his cologne making you bite at your bottom lip as your fingers wrap around what you’re looking for.

Sitting up in your seat, you aren’t expecting him to be so close and it threatens to steal the air right out of your lungs.

”H-here,” you manage, holding the blue writing utensil in the small space that's left between you.

Steve's eyes roam your face freely, pink tongue coming out to wet his full bottom lip before they settle back on your gaze, lids a little heavy, voice low and somehow sticky sweet.

”Thanks, honey.” He leans forward more, purposely brushing his fingers with yours when he takes it out of your grasp, “but now, I’m afraid the only way you’re gonna get it back is to let me drive you home after this.”

“I’ve got plenty, you can keep that one,” you try to stay strong, but when that second giggle slips out, you seal your fate.

”I can’t do that, this is your favorite one.” He tisks like it’s the craziest thing he’s ever heard, with a crooked grin that makes you bite the inside of your cheek.

”Is it?”

”Absolutely.”

“Are you two done? Or should we schedule a second date for next week?” Mr. Clark interrupts.

”That would actually be date number three. We’re going on two after this is over.” Steve smirks, throwing you a wink ignoring the harsh way you whisper of his name. 

Yeah… you were fucked.

“I’ve got a date tonight!” 

Robin sings excitedly, bursting through the front door in a wild ball of energy, successfully waking you up from your nap on the couch. Blinking slowly, as you start to recognize your surroundings, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you force yourself to sit up, wincing at your stiff neck and the fact that you dreamed about Steve Harrington again. 

“A date with who?” You grumble, still a little grouchy, yawning with a stretch that pops in your back.

”This girl that I met at the record store this morning, we talked about Tracy Chapman and Tori Amos for what felt like hours. She’s just, wow, she’s so cool. Almost too cool for me, you know? She’s a senior in college-“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up.” Cutting her off before she can ramble any longer, you wave your hands for her to stop: “First of all, no one is too cool for you, okay? If anything, it’s always going to be the other way around.”

“Yeah, okay, Steve.”

It takes a minute for her words to sink in about the man you haven’t seen in almost a week and a half, but when they do, the glare that settles on your face makes her laugh. 

“Ha ha, very funny.” You deadpan with a tight-lipped smirk, before clearing your throat, “Well where are you guys going? Do you want me to go undercover in case you need saving? I’m fully prepared for a stakeout.”

Robin rolls her eyes, but her smile, which spreads wide enough to see all her teeth, gives away her love for your dramatics. 

“No, I don’t need you to go undercover or anything. I mean, it is going to be nice knowing you’ll be here waiting for me to tell you all about it instead of having to call you and hope the city girl answers.” She teases, earning the scoff from you that she was looking for.

“I’m choosing to ignore that, and if at any point you change your mind, you know your own number.”

Earning a genuine laugh from Robin always makes your soul feel lighter, so when your joke lands and you get one, the heaviness of Steve that’s been weighing down on your shoulders eases up just a little bit.

”I’ve just never been approached in public before like that, you know? It’s not just the other girl you know is gay on campus. I don’t know, it feels good.” Your best friend’s confession makes you want to wrap her up in a hug, keeping the urge to remind her of your offer to move to the city with you to yourself for right now, letting her bask in the moment.

”Well, you're hot. Can you blame her? If you weren’t basically like a sister to me, I’d be all over it.” Wiggling your eyebrows, she flips you off, but you still catch the tinge of pink that paints her cheeks rosy.

”Please, Steve would have my head on a stake.” She snorts, purposely trying to get under your skin now.

”Robin.”

”What? I thought he was going to pop a blood vessel in his eye when I mentioned your little ‘adventure’ last week” She giggles, heading towards her bedroom.

If only she knew just how much those words were true. Your thighs meet like in the memory you can’t stop playing on a loop, palms turning sweaty, remembering the velvet of his lips so close to your neck.

”Wait! Did you ask that on purpose?!” You gasp, jumping to your feet to follow her.

”Maybe.”

”Maybe?!”

”You know what I do need help with?” She ignores you, spinning on her heel to meet your narrowed eyes.

”What?”

”Help me pick any outfit?” Pushing out her bottom lip, she gives you the kind of puppy dog eyes that no one in their right mind could say no to.

Sighing heavily, your feet drag on the carpet before flopping yourself onto her bed huffing out a “Fine” as the box springs squeak.

The rest of the day is spent going through what feels like every outfit in Robin’s possession, even getting desperate enough to try on some of your clothes despite your clashing styles. Settling on a pair of boot cut jeans, a black half crop top with a flannel shirt that you’re pretty sure she stole from Steve and the Dr. Martin’s you got her for her birthday last year, she was ready to break hearts. Blue eyes roll in the back of her head when you make her say ‘I’m the prize’ until you feel like she halfway believes it before handing over her I.D. that you’d found stuffed between the cushions of the couch in a frenzied panic to search for it only ten minutes prior.

The sun starts to set on Robin’s small apartment after she finally heads out the door, and the shadows that bounce off the white walls bring back the thoughts of Steve you’d successfully gotten rid of for a few fleeting hours. 

Huffing to yourself with crossed arms, you watch the flat bag of popcorn spin around in the microwave. You can still hear the beginning Moonstruck playing on the TV in the living room, over the loud hum of the machine. Comfortable in an oversized shirt that lands just at the bottoms of your cotton sleep shorts, goosebump dot across your legs from the cool of the A/C. Your skin still tingles everywhere he touched and the week of radio silence feels worse the second time around. 

The shrill sound of Robin’s phone and the first kernel of popcorn exploding in the bag overpower your ears all at once, making you jump. Mumbling cuss words under the now constant sound of popping, you try to calm your heart rate down, wandering to the living room. Your hand hovers over the phone, the realization about who might be on the other line making your stomach drop. He hadn’t called Robin yet. There’s a moment of hesitation, but you take a deep breath, letting the air expand in your lungs, silently counting to three before you grab the phone off its hook.

”Buckley residen-“

”I need you to come get me, I- I’ve made a huge mistake and I’m just so fuck - “ Robin cuts you off, the rasp in her voice cracking like she’s trying not to cry, “I’m just really embarrassed, please come get me.”

“What happened? Where are you? I’m coming, just - just tell me where you are.” Running to her bedroom to grab your sneakers with the phone pressed to your ear, you can hear her sniffle.

”Benningans, it’s the next town over. I’ll be outside -“

”Are you safe?” You panic, slipping your foot into your shoe as quickly as you can.

”I’m safe, I’m just, I’m embar- I don’t want to talk about it right now. I’m safe, I’ll be outside.” She mutters.

”I’ll get there as fast as I can, okay?” Feeling a little helpless, you try to ease the hurt that’s evident in her tone with soft reassurance. 

”I’m just, I’m really glad you're here. I’ll see you soon.” She manages to get out before the line clicks dead.

Slipping your second shoe on, the realization that you don’t actually have a car to save her with, hits you like a ton of bricks. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Stomping back to the living room, your eyes find the mustard yellow address book next to the phone’s dock. Your fingers fumble through its pages, eyes squinting as you try to read Robin’s messy writing, searching for a familiar name. You find two:

Eddie and Steve.

You stare at the page, your moral compass going haywire. Despite the way he’s rented a space in your mind, the thought of seeing him alone again makes your stomach twist. Eddie would be simple. Eddie would be easy. Your thumb hovers over the first number in the one she has scribbled down for him, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t bring yourself to press it. She needs Steve.

You groan loudly, stomping your foot for good measure, before letting out a long breath through your nose, dialing his number that you knew you should have all along. 

It only rings twice.

“Whatever it is, the answer is no,” Steve deadpans.

”Is that really how you answer your phone?” You scoff, doing your best to ignore the butterflies you’ve managed to stifle as they start to come alive at the sound of his voice.

“I thought this was - shit, I thought this was Henderson - erm I mean Dustin, you remember Dustin?” He stammers and you know that hand of his is running through his hair right now.

“Yeah, the middle schooler.”

“Well, he’s like nineteen now -“

“I didn’t call you to talk about Dustin, Steve,” You sigh heavily, rubbing the bridge of your nose, “Robin called me really upset from Bennigans, and I don’t have a car or any way to go get her-” 

“I’m on my way.” He cuts you off without any hesitation,“Be outside in five minutes for me?”

”My shoes are already on.”  

After a click, you’re left with the sound of the dial tone in your ear. You hang up the phone as warmth floods your body, easing some of your temporary worries. 

Steve Harrington is making it hard to hate him.

The short walk to Steve’s BMW from Robin’s front door feels like stepping through a time machine.

One that takes you back to late nights sneaking out your bedroom window, always being extra careful not to wake your parents up so you could go make out with your secret kind of boyfriend under the stars. Those were always your favorite nights with him. The nights he’d put away the king Steve armor, those nights he’d just be Steve. A boy who just wanted to make his father proud, thinking maybe he’d stay home more if he was.

You can feel the way his eyes roam your body, the heat of his stare lingering on your exposed legs, setting your skin on fire. Suddenly more than aware of your lack of pants, only part of you regrets not changing into some leggings, but you try not to think about that too hard right now.

He clears his throat when you open the passenger door, the smell of leather and the dark woody sweet scent of oil surrounding you as you slide into your seat. The spice of his cologne tickles your nose when you close yourself in, clicking your seatbelt in place before daring to meet his eyes. The golden brown inside them shimmers with something you’d missed in the orange glow of the street light and the nerves still feel the same way they did five years ago. The only thing that hasn’t changed.

”Thanks for doing this,” you offer with a weak smile.

When he realizes you’ve put your weapons down for the night, his face softens with a crooked grin, subtle pink dusting the apples of his cheeks.

”I meant it when I said I can’t say no to you,” he starts, selfishly letting his eyes roam the smooth lines of your face that are finally not twisted up into a glare before realizing his slip up, “and Robin, my best friend obviously.”

”Our best friend, Steve.” You tease trying to ignore the tension that crackles in the empty space between you even worse than before.

”Whatever you have to tell yourself,” he winks, forearm flexing as he puts the car in drive.

Scoffing a ‘whatever’ with a playful roll of your eyes, you let your muscles relax into the familiar seat. The Police’s Every Breath You Take spills through the speakers just loud enough to be heard over the low rumble of the engine, and you become hyper aware of his hand resting on the stick shift, the tips of his fingers just close enough to brush against your thigh every time you hit a bump. 

There’s a silence that falls between you once the street lights run out and his full focus shifts to the pitch black road ahead. The quiet is filled with what almost happened in his room, unspoken words that don’t dare to roll off of sober tongues. You wait until he’s too distracted looking for surprises that might run out from the woods on either side of you to let your eyes wander over and really take him in.

A white drawstring hangs low on his heather gray sweatpants that fit tight over his thighs spread wide. Your throat goes dry at the white tank top that hugs his broad chest, the gold chain that wraps around his neck getting lost in the thick patch of curls on display. You’re finally able to really make out more of his tattoo for the first time, thin, precise lines that look like feathers attached to a set of sparrow wings.

”Did she tell you what happened? I mean, is she safe?” He interrupts your greedy stare, eyes lighting up when he catches you, tucking it away for another time.

”Uhh, yeah,” you answer with a shake of your head, teeth biting down on your bottom lip with hot cheeks, “she’s safe, she kept saying she’s embarrassed but wouldn’t tell me why, just kept begging me to come get her.”

He just hums, lost deep in thought of all the things it could be, and his grip on the steering wheel tightens with worry. 

“We’re only ten minutes away, so it won’t be too much longer now.” 

He reassures you, but it feels like he needs it too, especially when his hand leaves the stick shift to run through his hair that looks more tousled than usual, making you wonder if he was lying in bed before this. A worried breath exhales through his nose, with a tight jaw, and you hate the way your stomach drops when both his hands find the steering wheel after he tugs on his roots a little bit. 

Nervous fingers play with the bottoms of your sleep shorts, trying your best not to stare while you keep your gaze out the passenger window. Stolen glances are followed by tight lipped smiles when you’d always find him staring back. Honey and chestnut make your stomach flutter, and you think maybe some things never change. 

It takes less than the ten minutes that Steve promised for the back roads to turn busy, and bright with the kind of lights a small town on a Saturday night has. A slouched frame sitting on the side of the road catches in his headlights, getting closer you see that Robin’s waves have lost all the bounce she left the house with, along with the rosy tint in her cheeks. The flashing Bennigans sign spins a block behind her, and the orange bulbs match the burning ember on the end of her cigarette that dangles from her full lips. 

“Shit, it’s bad if she’s smoking,” Steve mutters, turning on his hazards as he pulls up next to her, the wheels of his car coming to a stop. 

She hollows her cheeks out, taking one last drag, waving at you to stop unbuckling your seat belt as she gets to her feet. Blowing the smoke from her lungs into the wind, she flicks the half smoked butt into the street before opening the back door, sliding into the leather seats with an exasperated huff.

“Just, don’t – I’m okay,” she starts, closing the door and shutting out the whir of the traffic outside. “Turns out her boyfriend’s best friend really likes Tracy Chapman and Tori Amos too. She really thought me and him might hit it off after our talk at the record store today. I don’t want to talk about it, I just want to go home with my two favorite people and feel sorry for myself.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” Steve doesn’t miss a beat. Turning around in his seat, he flashes her his million-dollar Harrington smile. “I’m the king of feeling sorry for myself.”

Her lips twitch, but when she sees the natural roll of your eyes at the boy next to you, it turns into a full blown smile. A little shimmer came through in the dulled-out color of her eyes.

Got me up all night

            all I’m singing is love songs.

“Honestly, now that I’m thinking about it, this girl sounds like a scammer, Rob. I mean, come on.” Steve snorts, rifling through her cupboards in the kitchen. Tracy Chapman and Tori Amos, what kind of game was she playing at anyway?”

Robin giggles from her place next to you on the couch, her head resting on your shoulder, the green apple of her shampoo still lingering on her curls that tickle your cheek. 

“Plenty of people like those artists, Steve.” She sighs, but you can still hear her smile, “It’s fine, I’ll just stay the lonely Hawkins lesbian for the rest of my life, no big deal.”

”Shut up!”

”Will you stop?!”

You and Steve chide her at the same time, hard eyes meeting from across the living room and softening. He doesn’t even try to stop the lopsided grin that pushes up your favorite cheek and you hope Robin doesn’t feel the way it makes your skin warm. 

“Whatever, I already warned you I’m going to be miserable. Gimmie a break, and you’re actually taking forever in there, by the way.” Whining, she sits up, sending a rush of fruit and leftover tobacco to your nose.

“Yeah, well, I can’t find your peanut butter,” he mutters, opening up the cabinet above the sink, the bottom of his tank top rising enough to see a sliver of sun kissed skin and a few more freckles. Why does it feel like there's always more?

”What are you even making anyway?” you ask, ignoring the way Robin’s head whips around. A smirk spreads wide across her face because you’re actually trying to make conversation with Steve.

“Just a little something that’s going to cure my best friend’s heartbreak,” he winks, the jar of JIF extra crunchy looking extra small in his grasp, twisting the cap off. “We came up with it together, actually.o biggie.”

Your gaze narrows, but he doesn’t miss the way the corners of your mouth twitch, something sparkling inside the dark gold in his eyes.

”Interesting, considering I ran to the store earlier to grab my best friend’s favorite ice cream, just in case.” You counter, something mischievous twisting up your lips. “You didn’t even think to stop and get it on our way home. Some friend.”

Robin’s smile lights up the room, very obviously enjoying the show, maybe even a little too much. Clapping her hands together, she lets out a content sigh before leaning back into the couch cushions.

”I really could get used to this,” she beams, “maybe we should have a contest, see which one of you can do the nicest things for me.”

You can’t stop the snort or the roll of your eyes that has Steve throwing his head back in a fully-bellied laugh, giving you the perfect view of his neck, and only Robin clocks the way your giggles are cut short and the secret way your eyes glaze over.

”I’m not gonna lie as much as I love crunchy peanut butter banana s’mores, I have to say Steve, the fact that she actually called you makes her the winner for the night.” She smirks, chuckling harder when you shove her with a hushed ‘Robin!’

His smile doesn’t fade as he starts to cut banana slices. Big eyes meet yours with the kind of look that threatens to melt you into the couch.

”That’s alright, I’ll be a gracious loser tonight, but just know, honey, I’m very competitive.” He warns, long fingers spreading the fruit evenly throughout the peanut butter that messily coats graham crackers.  

“I don’t like to lose, so it’s fine.” Your quick reply deepens the smile lines in his cheeks, putting the finishing touches on your snacks.

“Yeah, this is definitely the life I was meant to live,” Robin gloats, nudging you, “I’m the prize, right?”

It’s your turn to throw your head back in the kind of laugh that rattles in your rib cage, too distracted to see the lovesick way Steve bites his bottom lip watching you from across the room.

But Robin does.

With a heart so full it might burst, tears threaten to spill from the ocean in her eyes, daydreaming about moments like this, only ever thinking they would be something that stayed trapped in the confines of her mind. The warming feeling of happiness wraps around Robin like a blanket when she gets to sit between you both on the couch. A distant friend she hasn’t seen in a long time, a secret she’s kept mostly to herself. 

With a messy plate of half eaten treats and sticky fingers, she’s content watching Cher and Nicholas Cage fight over how much they love each other. Fully knowing that Steve is sneaking looks at you from over her head, smiling to herself at the nervous way you fiddle with your hands in your lap because of it.

Robin doesn’t fight the exhaustion that starts to make her eyelids heavy just a little halfway through the movie. It’s easy to give in when your body weight relaxes deeper into her side, and how Steve drapes his arm over the back of the couch, tucking you both into his chest with evening breaths.

You’re warm, cozier than normal, and it surrounds every part of you.

Cheek pressed against something that’s not firm enough to be the couch, you nuzzle yourself deeper, chasing the heat and the sleep that’s threatening to evade you. Your cushion starts to move, making eyes shift behind lids that aren’t ready to open yet. Lashes flutter, feeling the way your leg is slotted between someone else’s, and the warmth of a palm finds the small of your back, pulling you closer.

A deep sigh rumbles in your ear before fingertips lazily trace up and down the dip of your spine. Stubble tickles your forehead, and as coherency starts to come back to you, a softer patch of hair rubs against your cheek. The kind of spice and lingering sunshine that could only come from one person hits your senses, and the white cotton of Steve’s tank top finally becomes visible. 

The shift in your breathing brings his soft touches to a halt, the muscles you’re pressed on your side against stiffening. Realizing your hands are sprawled across his chest, just under your chin, you can feel the way his heart races under your palm. He’s everywhere, and despite the way you’ve told yourself you hate him, your fingers curl into the cotton of his shirt because it feels like home. Toes pressing into his calf, you wind your leg around his tighter, and it turns timid fingertips sure of themselves, tracing patterns between your shoulder blades. You don’t dare look up at him yet, or it would make the way your own hand starts to explore his abs that twitch under your red nails real. 

He feels different than you remember, there's more of him now, harder in spots that used to be soft. Your fingers get greedy, the blunt ends of your nails scratching along the outline of his happy trail, earning a low groan from him that vibrates deep in your core. Those butterflies that have made a permanent home out of you start to stretch their wings, and when they feel the soft velvet of his lips against your forehead, they tickle at your ribcage and kick up your heart rate. You wonder if he can feel it.

It’s the faintest kiss, one that you’re not sure you would’ve even felt if you were asleep, but it makes you lean in closer. Inhaling deeply, tears sting at the corner of your eyes when the familiar scent only makes you crave him more. After years spent denying the existence of his touch from your memory, it’s almost overwhelming to feel it again. 

The muscles in his arm underneath your neck twitch, and the fingers that have been drawing lazy circles on your back move slowly up your shoulder. The backs of them run down your arm before they finally connect with your skin, goosebumps exploding underneath his touch in a ball of electricity that you can feel on the pads of them that start a new path up the loose sleeve of your shirt.

You fiddle with the bottom hem of his tank top, the heat of his body radiating against already flushed skin. Brave fingers dare to dip underneath only to get stopped by a large palm wrapping around your wrist 

“Baby,” there's a hint of a smile and a little bit of grogginess in his voice that gives away that he hasn’t been awake that much longer than you, “I think you should at least look at me before I let you get under my shirt.”

Biting at your bottom lip, you push yourself deeper into his chest, embarrassed, feeling the gentle shake of his body when he laughs. 

“Come on pretty, let me see your face.”

His affection makes your heart swell, and you know what it means if you look him in the eyes. Your nails dig into the cotton, tugging at the fabric a little while you pull yourself together, lashes fluttering against your cheeks, shaking the rest of the sleep. Lifting your head up from its hiding place, you cross the line you promised yourself you wouldn’t, but when you meet the green that shimmers in the darkness of his eyes, and the crooked grin that twists up his full pink lips, it feels good to give in.

Releasing the hold on your wrist, he’s gentle, almost hesitant, when his warm palm cups your cheek. The rough pad of his thumb traces the line of your cheekbone feather light, and you can’t help but lean into his touch. No more armor, fleeting glances, or stolen looks, not when he’s this close and even more handsome in the glow of the moonlight. 

“Beautiful.” He murmurs just loud enough for you to hear, and your legs somehow wrap around his tighter.

”Yeah?” you whisper, your fingers coming up to the play with the gold chain dangling from his neck. “Why didn’t you kiss me then?”

”What?”

”Last week,” 

”That wasn’t the right time,” he sighs, eyes tracing every line of your face like he’s committing it to memory, “It would have ruined it.”

“Ruined what?” You press, twisting the metal between your fingertips, heartbeat ringing in your ears.

“My chance at trying to do this the right way, the way you deserve.” He doesn’t hesitate to say it, like it’s something he’s thought about for years, and it makes your head spin.

“What about now?” 

“That depends,” he hums, the pad of his thumb dragging across the slight pout of your bottom lip, threatening to steal the air from your lungs.

”On?” Your voice comes out just above a whisper. Tilting your chin up, you can still smell the peanut butter on his breath.

”If you want me to.”  He breathes, the tip of his nose running along the length of yours. 

Your hold on his gold chain tightens, pulling him even closer. His eyebrows pinch together when he feels the slightest brush of your lips against his, and he can still taste the sweetness of the banana.

”Please tell me you want me to.” 

The desperation in his voice is enough for you to tug him down, closing what’s left of the small gap, your top lip catching against his full bottom one. Just enough to feel the familiar silk that could leave a wildfire in their wake before you finally speak.

“Kiss me, Steve.”

A groan rattles deep in his chest, and he doesn’t hesitate to do what he’s wanted to since he saw you. Applying just enough pressure to wake up every last butterfly, the tip of his nose pushes into your cheek when he slots his lips with yours. It’s soft at first like he’s testing the waters, taking it slow so he can savor it, just in case you never let him do it again.

He pulls away enough to look at you, chestnut eyes blown out wide, and you hate that you already miss his kiss. Giving into everything you’ve fought for so long, it’s your turn to capture his lips. It stuns him at first, but when you open your mouth, his body melts easily into yours, and that big hand of his moves from your cheek to hold the back of your neck. Tongue swiping boldly across your lower lip, he begs you to let him in.

Moans get hidden, muffled inside each other's mouths after you grant him access, your fingers tangle themselves inside the thick forest of his hair that’s still just as soft as you remember. Nipping at his bottom lip, the grip on the back of your neck tightens and you can feel the way he kicks up in his sweats because of it. Your own thighs threatening close when you’re reminded of what’s between his legs.

“Baby,” he warns in between kisses, feeling the roll of your hips, but you don’t miss the subtle way he tries to meet them with his own.

It’s too easy to get lost in him, and the years it took to move past him make even more sense when your tongue finds his again. Fighting for dominance, you try not to think about the irreversible damage tonight might do to you as you tug at his roots, teeth scraping together, the kiss turns more heated by the second. Years of anger and longing come out in desperate touches. His hand finds its way to your hip, the pads of his fingers brushing against the skin under your shirt, sending a shiver up your spine, letting you roll them one, two, three times before tightening his hold.

He pulls you closer, letting you win before his nose nudges against your cheek, his lips finding the corner of your mouth. Catching his breath, he trails them along your jaw before making his way down your neck. Your chest heaves, fingers turning soft and slowly running through his hair. He hums against your skin, his hand staying under your shirt, the warmth of his palm covering the small of your back, leaving wet kisses on the sensitive spot behind your ear.

”Let me take you on a date,” he whispers, leaving one more under his jaw before pulling back to look at you.

”Steve -“

”Just one,” he begs, bumping his nose with yours, smirking when it makes you smile.

”Let me sleep on it,” you sigh, ducking your head under his chin to hide. Too many thoughts trying to occupy space in your mind with a head still dizzy from his lips.

”I’ll take what I can get,” he laughs, the tips of his fingers starting up the familiar patterns that started all of this, quickly make your eyelids heavy, nuzzling deeper into his chest. You weren’t ready to think about tomorrow yet.

🌻 chapter four

[daengtokki]

part eleven | litotes // serial killer!Kim Seungmin/afab reader

WC: 15k

RATING: mature/mdni—contains: family trauma (specifically mother/daughter), casual racism, self harm, suicide mention, miscarriage mention, blood play, cannibalism (just a little), things staring ominously from a distance (again), hallucinations

SYNOPSIS: Seungmin floats through life alone, haunted by his memories—keeping himself under control, and quieting his mind the only way he knows how…killing and watching the life leave his victims eyes. When you cross his path on a morning hunt, something new (something forgotten) starts to move inside of him, leading both of you on a path to confront the unspeakable past.

COMMENTS: The first chapter to be given a proper title at posting! And the meaning of this title is a hint for what’s to come in part twelve. Take your time reading...reread everything after this if you'd like (I know a few of you that like doing that, and it's amazing to think about—seriously). I will have part twelve up before I leave for my dominate concerts.

[ ML — DEITY MASTERLIST AND TAGLIST]

[ PLAYLIST PARTS 1—6 ]

The quiet in his head becomes unbearable, and he never imagined he would think that. Quiet. Beautiful, comfortable silence—that’s what he has with you when he gets into bed every night. This isn’t the same.

Seungmin didn’t always come home to his big empty bed at night, not before you came around. Sometimes he would close a bar, stumble to an empty park and will something to come out of the darkness for him in his drunken stupor. Some nights he would check into a hotel just to look at something different for a change. The monotonous torment of his existence became intolerable too often.

He came very close to telling you and Heecheol about his state of mind last spring—May 23rd, to be exact. Seungmin checked into a motel not unlike the Dalkkum in Hongcheon, and the only thing he brought along with him was every pill he could find. Before he went through with it, or almost did, he sat in a hot bath and watched the full moon move across the sky for an hour or so…however long it took the water to go cold—and instead of acting on his big plans, he drank the bottle of champagne he was going to wash everything down with, and a second bottle, and then he passed out on the balcony.

The next morning, he didn’t really want to die anymore. Not as much, at least. The anniversary of that day could have been bad. The anniversary of his mother’s death could have been worse. It wasn’t, because you were there with him.

“Stop…” he pushes until Heecheol releases him. “Please, I can’t.” Seungmin is far too gentle, but…he also kept going and kissed right back, so what right does he have to overreact now? The sting of his lips remains even after Heecheol turns away, but first he looks Seungmin up and down like he’s just realizing he’s in the room. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”

It takes him a few beats before he can turn and force a smile. “It’s fine.”

The static hasn’t returned, at least. The room is still too quiet, too warm, too heavy. Seungmin isn’t quite sure what to do now aside from leave. “I should get back home. Tokki is all alone with the boys.”

“I was going to ask if I could take you two out for dinner, but I guess that wouldn’t work with two little ones.” It’s not the awkwardness of the kiss he’s concerned about, it’s the babies. “But ordering in is always an option. I’m sure getting a good dinner on the table is tough while taking care of them.”

No, Seungmin thinks. He isn’t sure how taxing things will become in the next few weeks and months, but he’s looking forward to finding out. “I’m not sure—“

“Look, I’m sorry I was kind of forward there. But you didn’t…forget it.”

“Today might not be the best for getting together.”

Heecheol turns away again and starts undressing. First his shirt, up and over his head and thrown to the floor. He pulls at his waistband, but the sweats remain on for now, to Seungmin’s relief. Now he remembers his phone going off, and he knows it’s you before he even looks at the screen.

my mother is here

He has to check the name again. Yeah, it’s you—maybe you mistyped, or spoke into your phone and it didn’t hear correctly. Maybe you were just talking to the boys. This day can’t get much more strange. “Huh?” A stupid response, but he feels stupid right now. Heecheol’s eyes are burning right through him as he waits for your reply.

are you almost home?

Thank god he is. The apartment is only a quick walk away. “Yeah, I’ll be there in ten”. “I have to go. I’ll text you.”

“Will you?”

Seungmin isn’t sure how to answer that, but he tries not to huff in frustration. “If I don’t…you text me.”

“Are you going to tell her?”

“I tell her everything.”

***

How does your mother know where you live? Well, because you told her. But you’ve never received so much as a letter from anyone. No gifts or care packages filled with comforts from home, hardly a phone call. Why travel so far when you can’t even text?

The elevator ride is excruciatingly slow, and he can’t even hold his hands still enough to slide the key in the deadbolt. Seungmin is nervous, but the day hasn’t been kind to him. He has reason to feel like he’s going to vomit at any moment.

“Seungmin…” You walk to him, arms folded over your chest, and he knows why. One of the babies is crying in his cot, the other is working his way to the same volume. “She’s in the nursery.”

“Why?”

“Checking it.”

“Checking…checking what?”

She pops out, and Seungmin is actually relieved. The image in his mind was much scarier than what just appeared in front of him, but still, her face is sour. She looks like you, but not so much that it’s an undeniable mother/daughter relationship. She could just as easily be your aunt, or an older sister.

“You must be…” she stops to think, and her accent is much more severe than yours. “Forgive me, I just learned it fifteen minutes ago.”

“Seungmin,” you repeat.

Her eyes move between the two of you. She’s saying it under her breath, as if she’s trying to get a feel for how to say it out loud. S-sungmin, is what comes out. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet the reason…reasons…my daughter never came home.”

She turns away and looks at them. They’re together in their cot, surrounded by the laundry you were folding. The tv is still playing, and Seungmin wants to laugh again when the Twilight Zone theme starts playing in the silent room. He holds it in, but he can’t hold in his smile when he sees them, slowly quieting and soothing each other. How does he respond to that, though? Seungmin looks to you, but your eyes are on the floor, arms still folded across your chest. “Uh, well, I take good care of her if that is a concern.”

The resemblance is a little stronger now. Her lips purse, and she folds her arms across herself just like you do. “Your English is very good.” She sucks her teeth like he tends to do.

“Thank you. Her Korean is getting very good.” Seungmin smiles in your direction, but you look like you’re going to vomit.

“Oh is that right?” Now her hands drop to her hips. “I’m surprised, you never were to good with your school work. And…”

You watch his face grow red, and the clench of his jaw is obvious, especially as she makes her way to the cot. He takes a step closer, and you do the same.

Seungmin jumps when she spins to face you. “And this. Twins! Didn’t think it was in the cards for you, considering…”

Considering what? Seungmin doesn’t say it, but you can tell he’s thinking it. Your mother is being purposely vague and her saccharine voice and smile are making you sick. If she thinks there’s some chance of pushing the two of you apart, she’ll go for it.

Considering what? You know what she’s thinking of course, and you’re surprised she didn’t come out and say the word. Seungmin doesn’t know, and it’s not because you purposely kept it from him—there is nothing to gain by keeping secrets in this house. Maybe it was your fear keeping you from saying the word and dwelling on the possibility even more, or perhaps putting the thought in Seungmin’s head scared you. He was already so worried.

Another smile for you, sweet, but with a question mark behind it. “Excuse us for a moment.” He says, eyes fixed on you, and his fingers gently grip your wrist. Reading him his easier now, but at the moment, your racing heart and swirling stomach aren’t quite sure what to think. Seungmin closes the door, leaving just enough space for him to peek out, and pulls you into his arms. “Don’t worry.”

“I’m not.”

“Liar.” He laughs. “I can handle her attitude. I can handle it for both of us.”

“I’m sorry…there are things I should have told you—“

“We can talk about it later, if you want. First we handle this.” Seungmin looks through the crack in the door. Your mother hasn’t approached the boys, and they’re still quiet. “Fresh shirt?” He starts pulling it over your head before you answer. “She won’t get under my skin.”

***

The whole apartment feels off with someone new in it. It wasn’t quite like this with Heecheol…oh, Seungmin almost forgot. How could he forget? It wasn’t just the kiss that made things weird—everything, including Heecheol himself, was strange. This is more manageable, regardless of how uncomfortable everyone is going to be. She looks at the two of you briefly, then walks toward the cot again. The moment she reaches in, Seungmin reacts. “Have you washed up?”

“Excuse me?”

The moment of awkward silence is excruciating.

You chime in first. “We always wash up and change if we’ve been out…before we touch them. They’re, um, we can’t risk them getting sick.”

“How early were they?” She backs up and eyes the kitchen sink, and you can tell she wants to touch them, hold them. She can’t help it. It doesn’t matter how much she might not actually like Seungmin and your sons, she won’t pass up the opportunity to hold a baby.

“They were due September 4th, and born on June 1st.”

The urge to hold them is too strong, because she heads for the kitchen to wash her hands. But not before looking Seungmin in the eyes. “Lucky.”

They were lucky. Lucky that you kept them alive long enough, and lucky they were healthy when they arrived. Bad luck used followed you everywhere, but not anymore. Now Seungmin follows you everywhere.

“What are my grandson’s names?” Haneul is wrapped tight and scooped up first, and she looks him over with a weird curiosity. “My only grandbabies. Never thought I’d see the day, and that it would be you. Definitely never thought—“

“That is Haneul,” Seungmin interrupts. “Ha…neul.” He repeats it slowly and clearly, but you know she won’t appreciate his patience with this, or with her. “And Haesung. Haesung is his little brother.”

“Do they have middle names…nicknames?”

You jump in before Seungmin gets a chance. “No. Haneul and Haesung.” Letting her call them something else is out of the question.

“No cute nicknames yet.” Seungmin lies, but he sounds convincing. Haneul was Sky before he was born, and Haesung eventually became the new Puppy.

“Shame they look nothing like you.”

“Why are you here? Did you fly all this way just to…just to torment me?”

“You’ll never learn to respect your mother, will you, girl?” Haneul is placed back in his cot, and she takes a moment to touch Haesung’s cheek before turning her full attention to you. “Well, now that you are one, maybe you’ll appreciate how much work it takes. Hopefully your boyfriend…husband…doesn’t go dying on you like your father did.”

The air feels too heavy to breathe, and you’re not sure if it’s the mention of your father’s death, something she never talks about, or the intrusive thought of losing Seungmin. The sleep walk into the woods started it, and it’s been off and on since then. He seems unfazed by the comment, but he has to be—all of it has to be trying to dig in.

His mouth twitches. “Husband.” A week after leaving the hospital, you made your marriage official. “I don’t plan on it.” Seungmin moves between her and the cot so they can see him again. Both have quickly given in to their exhaustion.

“We never do.”

It didn’t take much convincing to get her to leave after the awkward first meeting. Seungmin booked her the only room he could find—the same hotel where Heecheol is currently staying—and sent her on her way. This won’t be the end of her, though. Your mother has never stepped foot in an airport before getting on a plane to Seoul, and she’s never wanted anything to do with you unless it was for her own benefit. She didn’t fly all this way for one brief encounter.

“When she asked for my address, I assumed she wanted to send something. This is not what I imagined. And no warning.”

As irritating as it was, Seungmin can’t help but find it amusing. “The no warning part doesn’t surprise me, for some reason.” He turns on his side and puts a hand on Haesung’s full stomach, and when he closes his eyes, the rest of his day comes rushing back to him. “Oh,” they pop open, but you don’t react. You’re sitting up, focused, drawing pad in your lap—the sound of the pencil moving back and forth on the paper seems to be as soothing to the boys as it is to Seungmin. “Today...earlier today, before I got home.”

“Oh, the guy? You said it was a bust.”

He glances up at you, and you’re staring hard. The pencil goes straight to your mouth as you wait, and he can see your teeth start to work on it. It’s only been a few weeks since you painted the mural in the nursery, and since then you’ve started reclaiming a small part of the former you he never knew. Seungmin can feel you becoming lighter and happier as you adjust to the new life with him and the babies…not just you and him. Neither of you had much time to find each other anywhere but on the surface, or at your very cores. Now you get to explore everything inbetween.

And now he has to tell you he kissed someone else.

The graphite hits the paper again, and the next move you make is ripping it from the pad and crushing it in your fist. “I had a miscarriage a few years ago. I almost died.”

“What?”

“I didn’t know I was pregnant, and it…well, it didn’t grow where it was supposed to. And I almost bled to death.”

“You…almost died?”

"I was relieved when I got that first ultrasound and saw that they were in the right place.” You take a long, hard look at him, and then your pencil is on the paper again. “Hold still for a second.”

Seungmin listens. He doesn’t blink, or let his mouth twitch into the frown he’s holding back. All he wants is to move closer, pull all three of you into his arms and hold on tight. Months ago, he truly thought he wouldn’t have enough of himself for all of you, and he was wrong.

Haesung isn’t happy about being moved from his warm spot on the bed, but you tuck him comfortably into his cot. Seungmin does the same with Haneul, and you remain back to back until they begin dozing off again. And then the bed moves, and you feel him getting close. A hand wraps gently around the back of your neck, but his fingertips only graze and fall away from you. Seungmin reaches for the crumpled piece of paper and smooths it out the best he can. A rough sketch stares back at him—his eyes, the slope of his nose, and the soft curves of his jaw. It’s a good depiction of him…like looking at a faded photograph, but seeing it through the eyes of whoever took it. It’s how you see him. He crumples it up again, and wonders why you were unsatisfied with it.

“Sometimes when I’m in bed with you, when I can’t sleep, I think about that night.” It comes from nowhere. You’re not sure why you mention it at all.

The memory is now tucked away where he has to reach for it to truly remember. He counts in his head, seven months…three weeks? Here the two of you are, two babies, and it’s barely been eight months since you’ve crossed paths. Seungmin prefers remembering that very first encounter on the street…walking you home. He likes thinking back to how it felt to fall for someone so quickly and (for him) recklessly; how it felt to want to touch you, to draw pain and pleasure from you. Break your neck, kiss you, find the fear that was already rising to the surface, and then protect you from it.

He looks at you now like he looked at you then, the strange, mysterious thing that you still are. “Why do you think about it?”

Seungmin seems surprised when you turn to your sketch pad again. “I try to remember everything, exactly how I felt and what was going through my head. It’s hard. Maybe I blocked some of it out.”

“What do you remember?”

“I still remember where I went when everything went dark. The pain of giving birth brought back memories from that first time. It went dark then, too. A different dark, but…”

He’s hypnotized by the measured movements of your hand, but he hears every word you say. You’ve died before, came back, died again.

Your attention turns to the walls around you, the half open curtain being moved by the warm breeze. “I remember being so afraid of dying in this room when you tucked me back into bed. The locked door, the knife. The pain I was in...”

“I was worried. I was afraid you’d get hurt if you tried running home in the dark. And that I’d never see you again. I actually thought I’d be able to explain myself and change your mind by morning.”

“The thoughts running through my head that night might surprise you.”

“Like?”

For no reason, you feel embarrassed to admit it. “I wanted you closer when you got back into bed, but I guess that could have been the tea taking hold.”

“I wanted you to feel safe. That’s all that mattered, but it was impossible.”

“Waking up the next morning was nice, until I remembered. Everything after that was adrenaline.”

Seungmin moves closer, “even the kiss?”

“We talked about the kiss.”

“We did," he whispers. “The way I saw that night in my mind was perfect. I was going to be different, finally…I don’t think I knew it then. I didn’t know how much I just wanted to fall asleep and wake up with you still there.” Even after all this time, saying every word that comes to him, no filter, feels like jumping. Fight or flight tries to kick in. Looking back and forth between the babies grounds him again. “I’m glad you kissed me, even if it was mostly to distract me.”

The nerves in his voice are more obvious than he thinks. “Mostly because I couldn’t resist your mouth.”

He laughs, and his entire body relaxes into his fluffed up pillows.

The sketchpad is back on your side table, and a quick peak into the cot lets you know Haesung is sound asleep. “I still can’t.” You wait for him to look at you, and eventually, he does.

Seungmin’s smile creeps slowly across his lips as he examines your face. He peeks into Haneul’s cot—sound asleep—and then back at you.

“She’ll try to pull us apart. I know she will.” That’s why you brought it up, but it didn’t occur to you until just this moment. “I’ve never been allowed to be happy or satisfied, not in peace. I thought I finally won by being seven thousand miles away.”

The smile fades quickly, and he struggles for a moment to find the right words. What is it you need to hear? Seungmin can tell you a million times how much he loves you… “nothing can pull us apart, just—“ He stops himself. The word still hanging on the tip of his tongue, he doesn’t know why he thinks it. Death. “She can try if she wants to, but she’s going up against me.”

You’ve missed his cocky attitude. He’s become so good and soft, and sometimes you forget who still lives deep down inside. Seungmin can still drive his knife into someone’s neck if he feels like it, or slam their face into a wall. He’ll break his knuckles sending a message. “C’mere.”

“Hm?”

“Get over here,” you purr, and pull your shirt over your head.

Seungmin’s eyes drop to your chest, and his tongue pokes out as they jump back to your eyes. His crawl to you is slow, and he cages you in with his arms as he comes down for a kiss. The heat is already radiating from him when his shirt comes off, but he pulls back.

The lamplight from your side of the bed illuminates the deep cuts across his chest. They look fresh, ready to bleed again. “What’s this?” You latch onto his arm and hold him there. “Minnie?” He flinches when your thumb grazes the length of the biggest, deepest one, but relaxes almost immediately. “Did you just do this?”

“Yes…”

“Why?” The look on his face as you touch it makes you think he just needed to feel something under his skin, and he still needs that. Or maybe it’s more penance. You push again, glide your finger across it, and his stomach tightens as he quietly moans. Fresh blood trickles out when your nail digs in, and Seungmin grips the pillow beneath your head to steady himself. Another release. The satisfaction in his face sends a pulse up your thighs, and he can feel it—your legs are forced open, and he’s easing his fingers into you before your mouth can close around the newly opened wound. His gentle touch, the sharp taste of his blood…your head swims and you ache for more of him. Your teeth sink into skin, and the warm metallic taste fills your mouth as his fingers are replaced with the impatient push of his cock.

“More,” he whines. Blood continues to trickle, but it slows. The pressure from your tongue seems to hit the right spot, but not for long. “More…please.” He’s careful, and you know he’s using all of his restraint to fuck you slowly. Seungmin pushes into you and against your mouth for more.

You close your lips around him and suck at the hot, salty skin; bite until you taste more blood. Every moan makes you bite down a little harder, and as his pace picks up and you feel an orgasm rising, your teeth sink in and break new skin. The sound he makes is beyond any climax you’ve given him—pain and relief mixed with ecstasy. He struggles to hold himself steady, but you pull him down against you, kiss up his chest and neck, and make even more of a mess. “Minnie…are you okay?”

Seungmin kisses you deeply and cleans the blood from your lips. “No, you’re being too gentle on me.”

“Gentle?” You look down at the open cuts and bite marks on his chest. He smiles when you touch him again. “Too gentle?” And he laughs when you lock your legs around his hips.

“Let me feel how much you love me.”

He doesn’t have to ask again. You grab his shoulders and sink your teeth in, and this time you don’t think about the pain you cause him, the mess you’ll make…the mark that’ll be left behind. Seungmin groans as you break the skin again, and he licks his lips as you pull away with a piece of him between your teeth. You keep your eyes on him—you can’t look at what you did yet, but…

His soft cry hits your ears. Haesung, little brother, who sometimes feels like Haneul’s big brother. What time is it? That cry forces you out of whatever trance you’re in, no matter how deep it is. You wipe at your mouth in your half-sleep, and then your eyes open to the pitch black of the bedroom. The smell of blood is still in your nose, and you jump up when you remember… “Min?” You reach and set your hand on his stomach, warm and damp with sweat, and you don’t move until you feel him take a breath.

Haesung cries again, just for a moment. He’s coming out of the same deep sleep you are.

“Seungmin?” Your eyes start to wake up, and your vision clears. The marks on his chest are red and angry and fresh, but not much worse than they were before you got your hands on them.

Seungmin stirs when you run a finger across them again. He mumbles and closes his hand around yours, and sighs when you kiss his chest. “Hey, you alright?”

“Had a weird dream.” You wipe at your mouth and bring blood back on the heel of your palm. “You should probably work on pulling out until I get back on birth control.”

“Oh, you think you’ll get pregnant again?”

“It’s possible. I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet.”

“Yet?” He sits up and kisses your cheek. “Tell me about your dream.”

“I bit some…flesh off of you, and I think I ate it.”

“Oh?”

You weren’t sure what kind of reaction to expect, but the little grin on his face isn’t very surprising. “Yeah, while we were having sex.”

He notices you examining his chest, and looks down at it himself. “You ate a piece of me…” he whispers, and the grin doesn’t fade. “Would you consider this a dream…or a nightmare?” Seungmin wipes at your mouth and stares you down as he waits for an answer.

“Somewhere in between. Do you have a fetish you haven’t told me about?”

“No, but the thought of you doing it and enjoying yourself is a little hot. So…maybe, yes.” He looks around nervously, fidgets with the blanket. “It feels romantic.”

“Consuming your lover to have him be a part of you forever…romantic? Yes, but having you here with me is so much nicer.”

“Okay, I won’t ask you to...eat me. But thank you for confirming what I already knew.”

You slide your hand across his thigh and onto his growing cock. “What’s that?”

“Dangsineun isanghaeyo.”

***

Seungmin doesn’t resist when you clean and bandage the newly open cuts on his chest. He tossed and turned and scratched in his sleep, and the sheets were smeared with bright, fresh blood before you changed them. He looks up at you with tired eyes as you work—maybe something else. He looks sleepy and sad, like he’s still waiting on more forgiveness from you, but there’s nothing more to forgive right now. You bend down and kiss him, and he returns it with a smile.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?”

He shakes his head and sits up, “thank you.”

“They have to go outside today, I almost forgot. They have their first check-up in a few hours.”

“That’s right.” Seungmin crawls to the cot and scoops up a mostly awake Haneul. “We get to see how well you two are doing, and how much weight you’ve put on with us.” He holds him against his bandaged chest, and you can hear the soft noises coming from Haneul. “You feel a little heavier, buddy. Dongsaengeul hwaginhae bopssida.”

Haesung is asleep, and he’s still. The moment you lay your eyes on him, your body goes cold. “Haesung?” Something feels off about him.

Seungmin is up and on your side of the bed a moment later, Haneul still in his arms. Maybe you’re overreacting and he’s in a deeper sleep than usual, but he’s pale, and the only movement is the tiny flutter of his lashes. You grab his foot and rub the skin, and he gives a half-hearted kick, “something is wrong,” and a feeble cry. You take Haneul from him, but Seungmin is surprisingly calm as he sits at the edge of the bed.

“Mwo-ga jalmotdwaesneoyo? What is it, puppy? Jo wassoyo.” He sets his palm on Haesung’s forehead, tilts his chin up, and his eyes flutter open.

You’re too scared to say anything.

Seungmin looks back at you and forces a smile, but his attention returns to Haesung. He rolls him onto his side and rubs his back, and you start to wonder if he prepared himself for something like this. Why didn’t you? You got comfortable and felt safe too quickly—how could you be so careless?

After another two seconds of slow, excruciating silence, Haesung sucks in a lungful of air and starts to cry. It feels like the delivery room all over again; the horrible silence, holding your breath for the smallest cry. This one grows louder and louder, and you’ve never heard anything so wonderful. Haneul squirms a little in your arms, and he decides to match his brother’s screams.

“I’m sorry.” Your throat tightens up, and the tears that roll down your cheek fall onto Haneul’s messy hair. You watch as another follows, and from the corner of your eye, you see Seungmin reach for you.

“Sorry, why?” He wipes at your cheek, but it doesn’t make stopping any easier.

“I panicked. You didn’t.”

He shakes his head and smiles again, much easier this time. “Last month my therapist told me…reminded me…I have gangbak jangae, very strong intrusive thoughts. I think we talked about this before.”

You nod at him and wipe at the tears burning your eyes. “We have.”

His mind jumps back to the static in Heecheol’s hotel room. “Not just the voices, or the noises. Or the urges. I haven’t told you how scared I’ve been of something happening once we got them home.”

“No, you haven’t. You’ve been so confident, and perfect.”

“I’ve been staying up all night…watching them, talking to them, learning everything I can.“

“Learning?”

“How to care for them. What to do if something happens. I’m sure you’ve realized I shut off your alarm once or twice to let you sleep. I fed and changed them. Because I was already awake.”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m sore, and you’re so tired.”

Seungmin is careful picking up Haesung, but he seems fine now. His cheeks are pink, and his cries don’t quiet until he’s safe against Seungmin’s chest. “Sore?”

“I have to feed them, or pump every time I get up or they get a little painful…but—" his face falls, “but it’s not that bad.”

“I’m sorry, I thought I was helping.”

The look in his eyes hurts. Seungmin hasn’t done much in the past few months except prepare, but he’ll beat himself up for this, you know that. “Five or six solid hours of sleep is a good exchange for some soreness. But promise me you’ll sleep.”

“Promise. I’ll sleep when we get back. We’re going to the hospital now so Haesung can get looked at.”

***

It looks like a smile, but it can’t be yet. It’s too early, but Seungmin is going to pretend that’s what he saw anyway. Haneul just yawns back at his dad’s excited laugh, and luckily, Haesung follows with a cry for attention. “I’m right here, pup.”

Haesung was sent home after a few hours with a clean bill of health, so you’re convinced you overreacted this morning, but still, both of you will be on high alert for the next few days—sleeping in shifts, mostly. One of you has to be awake with them 24/7, and you know Seungmin will insist on taking the brunt of it. He’s already doing it, sending you away for a nap when he told you he’d rest after their appointment.

“Minnie, you promised, just for a few hours…get into bed and close your eyes.” He’s still quietly singing when you walk up behind him and rub his back—for a minute there, I lost myself…I lost myself. Even as he sits hunched over on the living room floor, his hushed singing voice is pretty, but he’s still so shy about it. “Please, puppy.”

That grabs his attention, and he turns his head toward you. “Can we talk first?”

“Sure, what about?”

“About yesterday, when I was following that guy. Heecheol texted me, and I ended up losing track of him.” That doesn’t feel right. “Actually, I thought I heard him…his voice, I heard him calling out, but he wasn’t there. That distracted me.”

“That’s understandable. But he texted you, too?”

Seungmin is relieved he doesn’t have to explain the intricacies of his mind to you. “Yeah, he’s here in Seoul. I sent your mother to the same hotel he’s staying at. But I also visited him, and that’s where I was when you told me she was here.”

“Oh, how is he?”

“Uh, he kissed me.” His chest hurts from how erratic his breathing has become. He wasn’t expecting to just come out with it.

You keep quiet for a moment while you think. You admit this isn’t the biggest shock, but Seungmin’s uneasiness means there’s more to it.

“He asked me to visit, so I figured I’d stop before heading home, since it was on the way…”

“And you kissed him back?”

All he can manage is a nod while he nuzzles his face against Haesung. Tiny fingers clench around a lock of hair and tug, and Seungmin smiles despite the sick feeling in his stomach.

“Did you,” you stop and give yourself another moment. “H-how do you feel about it now?”

“Strange. I don’t know why I did it.”

He stares at you, waiting for something…anything. Are you angry? Maybe you should be, but you don’t feel anything boiling to the surface, or ripping at the seams right now. There’s a knot in your stomach bouncing around, giving you that weird homesick feeling you get when you think too much about the past, or the uncertain future.

His eyes move from Haesung to you. Seungmin usually has no problem with eye contact, but tonight that’s not the case. Every time the intensity gets to be too much for him, they find something else.

“What was going through your mind when it happened, before it happened?”

Most of it is just coming back to him. “I felt off when I got there, but I was already feeling that when I heard his voice in my head.”

“Off how?”

“Uhm, dizzy. Everything was loud, like how I feel when it gets really bad.”

You set a hand on him, move your fingers through his hair. “But you didn’t want to kill him, I assume.”

Seungmin still can’t wrap his head around how intense and uncomfortable everything was until the moment they made contact. “No. Everything calmed down when he kissed me.” Maybe he didn't have to mention that part. Seungmin looks at you when you don’t respond, and one Xanax later he finally goes to sleep.

*

A good first check-up has done wonders for some of your anxieties (now you have new ones), but you still find yourself glancing at both of them much more frequently as you get comfortable on the floor. It doesn’t last long. Your phone vibrates and you know who it is before checking.

So, are you two going to take me out for dinner?

She can’t be serious. Two preemies, barely settled at home, and she expects to be taken out to dinner. But you’re not surprised, because selfish comes naturally to your mother. Why didn’t your sister come along and entertain her? It may have been slightly more stressful, but it’s better than her being alone.

“We aren’t taking the babies out anywhere crowded yet, but I can order in and we can have dinner here in a few hours.”

hours?

“Seungmin just went to try and sleep. He’s been up all night.”

aren’t you supposed to be the one up all night?

Oh my god. "Don’t worry, mom, I was still up every 2.5 hours. I’ll send you a ride at 7. In the meantime, go outside and try some street food. It’s nice out today.”

You decide to ignore the next message, but nothing comes. They both stare up at you with sleepy eyes, and you watch as they get closer and closer to it. Now you sneak to the bedroom, quietly click the door open, and walk softly (and quickly) to the sketchpad in your drawer. Seungmin already seems to be out. He has to be, because there’s no hint of a scowl, no pinched eyebrows. But he definitely fell asleep anxious about his confession…as he should.

The second sketch you started last night feels better than the first, but not having him next to you for reference makes it difficult. You pull up your camera roll and open the album you made just for this—every angle of him you managed to capture in the last week; awake, sleeping, candid, and a few where he actually smiled sweetly for you. Looking at him like this makes him feel distant somehow, like you should be aching for him even though he in the next room. It almost makes you want to push away the bad creeping up inside of you and get into bed with him. Could that make things better? Would giving in and forgiving be easier?

After a solid two hours, your hand starts to cramp. Haesung starts to stir again, and this time he’s up fast and hungry. Seungmin will hear him, and you can’t have that yet. “Are you hungry, pup?” He doesn’t settle right away when you set him against your chest, but as soon as you get him into the right position, he knows he’s getting what he wants. “Maybe we can get you fed before your brother wakes up." But that’s unlikely, and you know it. Haneul will know his brother is up, so you might as well make a bottle now. Seungmin is awake, though, so your plans of working on the music box after they eat will have to wait. It will get fixed someday.

“Minnie?” The noise coming from the bedroom gets louder, and it’s odd. Haesung is back on his pillow while you check on him, and being put back down gets him crying again. “I’ll be ten seconds, sweetheart. I promise.” The look he gives you feels like understanding, but he only quiets for a moment. “Hana…” You keep your eyes on him as he looks around for you. “…dul…set…”

The doorknob clicks loudly despite your best efforts. “Net…daaasut…" The room is dark, as if it were already well passed sunset, but your eyes start to adjust and pick up the scene in front of you. “Yeo— Seungmin?”

The movement at the edge of the bed isn’t right. It feels off, and it’s not even because of the popping in your ears or the spots in your eyes. It’s the dark shape, much darker than the room around it; the shape of Seungmin still under the covers; both things existing in the same space. The shape isn’t him. Of course it isn’t him, you know that, because the thing at the edge of the bed is wrong. It doesn’t belong here. You can smell it. The feeling of dread you felt in the woods is here, in the house…in the bedroom, looming over him. The charm around your neck feels heavy as you sneak toward the light, but when your fingers touch it, the thing moves. “J-jeoli gayo.” Under your breath, because nothing else will come out.

Finally, the lamp is within reach, and when light fills the corner of the bedroom, it’s gone. There’s nothing except him—the steady breaths of Seungmin beneath the covers, and Daengmo peeking up from your side of the bed. You’re just tired. Even after your nap, you’re sleep deprived and anxious about the babies…

“Oh…boys.”

Both cry in unison right as you think it, and the shape is almost forgotten as you run back to them. The first thing you see is them tucked safely in their spots, both red in the face. The second thing you see is it…again. No, it’s them. Yours, white and soft with painfully blue eyes, and his, the inverted version—as black as the shape, but this isn’t what you saw a moment ago.

You kneel in front of the boys, set your hands on them, but your attention doesn’t leave the dogs. “What do you want?” It comes out like a whisper caught in your chest. As soon as one baby begins to settle, the white one stands on all fours and stretches like a cat before disappearing into the nursery. The other one doesn’t move yet. He’s staring you down with eyes like the ones you wake up to every morning, and as Haneul finally quiets, the dog looks to its left, then its right, and he bounces away. “It’s okay, boys, umma is here, and daddy will be up soon. Everything is okay.”

“Daddy is awake.”

When you look back, he’s mid-yawn and mid-stretch, and a tired smile is plastered across his face. “You barely slept.” And whatever was in there with him couldn’t have helped. He had to have felt something.

“I feel good, though. It was a good sleep.”

“Was it?” You have to tell him what you saw. “No bad dreams?”

He shakes his head and joins you on the floor. “No bad dreams, not that I remember.”

Maybe later would be better. It’s not the most ideal thing to be dwelling on over dinner, so for now you focus on remembering every detail for when the time does come. “Are you hungry?”

***

Even when he dresses up, it’s still casual—his closet is full of the most basic pieces, yet somehow, whatever he throws together looks like it was styled by a professional. He’s always effortlessly cool, and it’s not surprising how easily he seems to pick up the men and women he goes for. Tonight is no different, except that he looks…cute. When he walks out of the bedroom, he laughs at the look on your face.

The black denim shorts hit just above his knee, just tight enough around his slender thighs; socks pulled up tight; an overpriced white t-shirt under a short sleeve button-up. There’s a little embroidered bear on the chest pocket, and Seungmin runs his hand over it and makes sure you see. He has his black rim glasses on tonight to pull it all together.

You jump up and flatten the front of your outfit. “It’s just dinner, you didn’t have to go crazy.” The green linen dress you bought in December, the one that looked like the dress you lost along with the rest of your belongings, is just as casual. The most important part is that it still fits you the same way it did when you tried it on, so you’re back to your old self, physically. “That bear looks familiar.”

“I put the same one on the overalls they don’t fit into yet.”

“Oh, no bear for me?”

Seungmin doesn’t always catch your sarcasm. “There were only three, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, as long as you guys match.”

“What’s for dinner? And are we prepared for her?”

You tidied up and set the table, yes, but mentally preparing yourself is pointless. The amount of effort you put into yourself, the apartment, and the babies will not matter, but you try anyway. “I put rice on, and there’s plenty of banchan left. I was going to order bulgogi since she didn’t give us much time. That might be tame enough for her.”

“Order it now, and we can pretend we cooked everything. I’ll go pick her up, and I’ll take my time.”

Seungmin doesn’t have to take his time, because the traffic does all the work for him. The food will be delivered and ready to serve while he sits at this red light, he thinks. This is why he only drives when it’s truly necessary, and he guesses this is one of those times—whatever keeps your mother happy and off your back is worth the extra annoyance to him.

“You can tell her I’m here.” He's not keen on the idea of her having his phone number. And now is the perfect opportunity to close his eyes...

“Seungmin?”

It doesn’t get through to him the first time. He’s reclined in his seat, music playing softly.

“Mo!”

“Fuck, what? Oh…”

“Sorry buddy, didn’t realize you actually fell asleep. I don’t think you can park here long, though.” Heecheol leans in a little, hands gripping the car door. “I can show you where the parking lot is.”

He’s still not completely with it until he sits up and grabs the steering wheel. “No, no I’m not staying. I’m just picking Tokki’s mother up. She’s staying here, since we don’t have the extra room anymore.”

“Oh. Gotcha. I thought maybe I was getting a visitor. I wasn’t sure if you got my message yesterday.”

Blood rushes to his face, through his ears. Heecheol says something else, but he misses it completely. He wasn’t sure if he got the text? “Cheoli, I was here yesterday. In your room. Don’t you remember?” Another night of drinking too much, perhaps. Maybe Heecheol was drunk yesterday, but Seungmin would have tasted it on him. He looks at the brace on his wrist, and wonders if he’s on a particularly strong pain medication, or maybe he was just high from swiping pills from work. No, what the fuck am I thinking?

“Mo, I think I would remember you visiting me.”

So he doesn’t remember the kiss. Heecheol doesn’t remember him almost fainting on his room, pushing him away after they shoved their tongues down each other’s throats like they’ve been waiting years to do it. Meanwhile, Seungmin can’t get the feeling out of his mind. Now what. “I must have had a very strange, vivid dream them.” He opens the glove compartment and pulls out the pack of cigarettes stashed there, and he goes as far as striking a match before realizing what he’s doing. He shakes the flame away and throws the pack back where he got it. A cigarette is what he needs right now, and what he can’t have.

“Yeah, I guess so. And her mom is here?”

“She surprised us with a visit yesterday. And I see her coming right now.”

“Oh yeah, I can see the resemblance. I’ll leave you to it, and maybe I’ll see you soon. Cute shirt.”

Heecheol tugs at Seungmin’s collar before he walks off, and now he’s left alone while your mother approaches. Her scowl actually makes him nervous, but you told him she looks like that all the time…and he can’t remember what you called it. You said you do it, too, but Seungmin doesn’t think he’s seen a look like this on your face, not since the first time he told you to leave his apartment and never come back.

The door unlocks, and she jumps in without a word. He thinks that’s less remembering what he looks like, and more you telling her what kind of car to look for. Mom isn’t nearly as charmed by his looks as you are.

“Hello.” Seungmin adjusts his glasses and smiles as sweetly as he can. She may not find him irresistible, but he’ll be damned if she doesn’t think he’s cute. “I hope the hotel was comfortable.”

“It was alright. Better than the one by the airport. Who was the boy at your car a moment ago?” She looks around, expecting to find some clue as to why he was leaning in through the window.

“Oh, he’s a good friend of mine. He is also staying at this hotel while he’s in Seoul.”

“Is he coming to dinner?”

You might not appreciate a surprise guest. You definitely won’t appreciate a surprise guest if it’s Heecheol. Seungmin stifles a laugh as he thinks about it; your unbearable mother, and the guy he stupidly kissed behind your back. “No, not tonight. Just the three of us. Five of us.”

“It smells good in here.” He kicks off his shoes and waits for her to follow, which she eventually catches onto and does. “Do you want some tea, or coffee? Maybe something cold.” He decides to remain helpful, overly sweet, and charming no matter what she throws at him, if she does start throwing.

“Coffee is good.”

The three of you are not here to greet them, surprisingly. Even after pouring a mug and fixing it how your mother requests, you don’t emerge from the bedroom, and you don’t make a sound. He excuses himself. “She might be in the middle of feeding them. I’ll check.”

You are—cross legged in bed with one single lamp illuminating the dark room. Haesung is in your arms, and a mostly empty bottle sits next to Haneul.

“Hey, need some help?”

You shake your head. If your hair wasn’t pulled back, the ends would tickle Haesung’s pink cheeks. Seungmin can make out his shiny eyes staring up at you as he eats, and it’s a relief to see him so content after this morning. He can’t see you, though. You’re hunched over, head down and face hidden.

“Everything okay?” He barely hears your mhm as he approaches. Seungmin is stupidly mesmerized by your exposed skin—the curve of your shoulder and neck…your chest. When you finally look to him, he sees your wet cheeks, and your red eyes. “Oh, what’s wrong? Are you…are you alright?”

All you give him is a shaky nod, and his stomach turns when he kneels to grab your free hand. He can see how puffy your face is, and that you’ve been crying for a while. There’s a wet spot on Haesung’s blanket where you let your tears fall. “Did your mom say something?”

“No, it’s not her.”

It hits him, and for a moment, he wonders why you didn’t feel this way a few hours ago. Why didn’t you give him the response he deserved? You seemed almost dismissive of it, but the feeling has had time to sit—in your head, in your stomach, your heart. “Oh. I fucked up. I’m so sorry.” Your silence, a single sniffle and a wipe of your cheek confirms it. “I really fucked up.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“If we hadn’t met, and you found him, would he be as special to you?” Haesung unlatches when he senses his father, and he does his best to turn toward him. You adjust and cover yourself, and Seungmin notices how quickly you hide from him. “Like us?”

“Heecheol doesn’t know me the way you do. He likes what he sees on the surface, and the memories we have.” Lying to you isn’t going to help, so he just says exactly what comes to him. “I guess it’s possible. If we didn’t meet, I don’t know where I would be right now…but if you had left, I think I would have killed myself.”

You believe him, but being a reason for him to keep going while his mind wages war against him is a strange feeling. One of the reasons. He has two more, and one is comfortable in his arms right now. “Seungmin, please don’t fall in love with someone else.”

***

Your mother stares, tries to figure you out. She thinks she can, but you’re not the person you were before you left home a year ago. You’re not even the person you were the day after that night in December. Nothing has changed you quite like your babies have, but Seungmin comes very close.

Haesung is in her arms, calm for the moment, but his eventual fussing finally moves her attention away from you. “When you were a baby, you screamed constantly until you were three or four months old.” She brings him closer and runs a thumb across his brow. “Colic.”

“So did—“ you stop yourself. You refuse to help her start an argument. As far as your mother is concerned, you were the difficult child. “They’ve both been okay so far. They sleep well.”

Seungmin interjects. He senses your uncomfortable shift all the way in the kitchen. “Haemuljeon?”

“Yes, please.” It’s the first you’ve eaten since this morning, and shoving several pieces in your mouth is temping, but you wait.

“What is it?” She pokes at one with her fork before scooping it up and inspecting. “Oh, shrimp?”

“Seafood pancake, shrimp and green onions. I left the squid out.”

To your surprise, three little pancakes quickly disappear, and Seungmin is obviously pleased with himself. He spent a whole twenty minutes throwing them together.

The fourth one is held up and examined again, “These are very good.”

“Thank you.”

“You made these?”

He nods and puts on his cutest smile again. “I did. They don’t take much time.” But it falls when he sees the look she gives you—a mix of annoyance and impatience, he thinks. Seungmin still remembers that look very well, and he knows how it feels to be on the receiving end. “Uhm…”

“Your husband cooks for you?”

This may be the most uncomfortable silence the apartment has ever experienced, and that includes the murder. Both of them. Sometimes Seungmin forgets about the first one you witnessed—it feels like so long ago now. He knew you were the one after that night.

He remains silent a few moments longer. Your mother needs to hear you stand up for yourself.

“We don’t think much about who does what. And he was raised well…he knows how to take care of himself, and us. And I know how to care for them. So, yes.”

The look on her face is satisfying, but visions of her bloodshot eyes and blue lips take over his mind and he can’t push them away. Her throat crumpling under his grip. Begging for mercy, gasping for air, pleading forgiveness for how she treated you. No, he has to push it away. Seungmin can’t kill your mother—can he? No, not a very smart idea. For now, it lives in his head. “Tokki made everything else.”

Not a complete lie. You made the rice, and you made three different banchan…just not today.

“Tokki?”

He turns away to laugh at her harsh pronunciation, grabs the rice and sides, and nods as he sets everything down. “Tokki…” he repeats, soft and slow. “It means rabbit.”

“Cute.” She doesn’t seem amused, though. “Rabbit.”

Seungmin wants to take the baby from her, but doing it gracefully, and like he isn’t irritated by everything about her right now, is difficult. Luckily, Haesung starts to get upset and pulls away, as if he can sense his father’s need for him. It works perfectly. Your mother hands him off without a second thought, and Seungmin gets the cuddle that he wants.

“Does…Tokki…know your friend from the hotel?”

“Huh? Oh…yes.”

Heecheol? You can’t lift your eyes to look at him, but you can feel his on you. He was visiting Heecheol again. Seungmin left for thirty minutes and found time to visit him, and in front of your mother, no less.

You stand and keep your cheek pressed against Haneul as you head for the bedroom, and nobody says a word as you do.

“Sore spot?” She took a chance mentioning Heecheol. It could have gone either way, and it paid off in her favor. You were right. Even though the meeting was brief and accidental, you don’t know that, and Seungmin has to hope that you’ll trust and believe him when he goes in there to talk to you again. But he doesn’t go right away. “No, no we’re all friends.”

No more comments, she just gives him a nod.

“But maybe,” he holds Haesung up and looks him over, “you’re due for a change. We should check before we have dinner.” It’s a valid reason to disappear for a moment. “I’ll be right back.”

***

The room is still dark, but the curtain is pulled back enough to let the light from the setting sun spill across the floor. He’s nervous. In all of your time together, the only tense moment between the two of you was the morning you cut his hair, the nightmare you had about him…the day he found out about the pregnancy test. That was a silly thing to fight over, if you could even call it that. Seungmin knows this is different. He understands you’re feeling left out right now—betrayed, maybe. It seems like a strong word, but if you knew how deeply he kissed him, you’d be even angrier.

Haneul is cuddled up next to you. There’s enough light to see his tiny hands reach toward your face and successfully grab at strands of your hair. “Can I come in?”

“It’s your bedroom.”

He doesn’t correct you. It hasn’t been his bedroom in a long time, and he doesn’t want to be pushed back to a time when it was his…alone. “I know you don’t want to be out there with her, and maybe not with me either. I can entertain her if you’d rather have your dinner in here.”

“No. I’m not going to make you sit out there with her by yourself. That’s not fair.”

He’s relieved when you sit and look at him, and even more relieved to see your face dry. No tears this time. “He saw me sitting in the car waiting. I didn’t go looking for him. We talked for two minutes.” No, maybe this time it’s anger.

“She’s probably listening to us right now. I’m just making this easier for her.”

“Then she can hear me tell you how much I love you, and nothing she can do or say is going to change that.”

His phone buzzing in his pocket is deafening—one text, and then another. And a third. Heecheol has impeccable timing.

“What did he say?”

Seungmin pulls out his phone and reads. “Hope your dinner is going well. In-laws can be pretty scary…I’ve heard, at least. No personal experience. I hope her umma is as kind as yours was.”

You scoff.

“I was trying to remember everything I did yesterday, and I definitely didn’t see you. I hope your head is in a good place. Are you keeping up with your meds?” And the last one; “sorry, I’m already a few drinks in, and I hate drinking alone. I hope I can see you all sometime soon. Especially the twins.”

“He doesn’t remember yesterday?”

“No. I mentioned it when I saw him, and he didn’t know what I was talking about.”

Heecheol not remembering means nothing to you. “But you remember. It happened, right?”

Did it? Would it be unusual if the memory was entirely false? It’s not a thought he’s going humor. The last thing he should be doing right now is trivializing what ultimately comes down to cheating. However small it seems in the grand scheme of things, it’s as big as anything in your mind. “Yes. Even if I dreamed it, what I feel is very real, and I feel awful. I’ll do anything I can to fix things.”

You decide to leave it at that, mostly because you have no idea what to say. Forgiving and forgetting the whole thing would be easy, because you do believe his remorse is real, but you still think some part of him enjoyed the kiss. If he falls into that trap again, how could you forgive him? It might make him the charming, heartless killer you assumed he was before he convinced you otherwise. “Let’s try to get through dinner.”

***

It could have been worse. Your mother ate with almost no complaints, though she made sure to question whether you actually made dinner.

“You were always clumsy in the kitchen.”

You never let me cook with you, you thought. Seungmin lets me cook with him. He speaks to me like his mother probably spoke to him—patiently, sweetly. Defeat was working its way in all day, and you’re not surprised that it won. You took everything quietly. No disagreement, no back-talk, no arguing.

"You quit your job? One income household must be nice. I assume you have a job?" Seungmin wasn’t prepared for it. He was not prepared for her to question you as a house wife, but also question not supplying an income in the same breath...he’s settling uncomfortably into the realization of what you had to fight back against growing up. Nothing you did was good enough. Everything you did was (and still is) wrong. Watching you hunched over at the table made him think of his mother, who did her best raising him, and as far as he’s concerned, did a great job despite the obstacles she faced. Maybe she too sat at the kitchen table just like this after Seungmin went to bed; scared, heartbroken, helpless. Putting that smile on for you the next morning was only possible after a long night of sorrow.

You don’t even have him to turn to for comfort right now, or you don’t want him. All you have right now are the boys, and you’re watching the clock tick down to feeding time.

“You could always move back home, bring your husband and kids…”

“What?” Seungmin sits up and looks to you, but you’re still staring at your half empty plate of food, completely checked out, and he doesn’t blame you. “Uhm, I don’t think so. But…my mother grew up in the US, well, she lived there for six years when she was a kid.”

That grabs her attention more than anything else has. “She did? Why didn’t she stay?”

“She missed home. But it was a good time in her life, I know that. She spoke English well enough to teach me when I was little.” He hates these moments where they seem to be getting on like good friends, but he’s just trying to get you through the night. “Which was very lucky when I met you.” Finally, you look up at him, but he can sense your mother look somewhere else. She turns away, takes a drink—anything to get through the moments where Seungmin lays out his affection. Your mother doesn’t even want him loving you.

You say nothing in return, and at last, the alarm goes off.

He hopes when he returns, you’ll be better. If not, he needs to fix what he did. Seungmin has never had to do this, so he’s in the dark, and who can he turn to for advice? It can’t be Heecheol, not this time. He needs his mother…he needs— “Oh.”

It’s late, and his aunts will certainly be sleeping, but he pulls up her info and calls anyway. When he left five years ago, he told himself he wouldn’t burden his family anymore, but he’s been sending cards and checks to his aunts for four of those years. Phone calls are rare, and visits even moreso, mostly because he's still afraid his mask will come off without realizing, and they'll see the monster he turned into.

It rings a few times, and just when he expects the answering machine to chime in, he hears the sound of a landline receiver click.

“Yeoboseyo?” She sounds sleepy, and a little stern. Probably wondering who the hell would call her after 10pm.

“Gomo annyeonghaseyo!”

“Eh? Puppy?”

“Yes it’s me, I’m sorry for bothering you so late. I hope you weren’t asleep.”

Her laugh takes Seungmin back ten years. “No, I’m still a night owl unless I take something. Is everything alright? Haven’t heard from you in some time.”

“Everything is alright. I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch.”

“Don’t apologize! You have your own life to live, and we have your cards to let us know you’re still out there. But…you sound like you need something. That's a nice change.”

It’s no surprise that Eun-ji can hear something in his voice, both of his aunts could read him like a book unless he worked hard to hide it. “Just some advice.”

“My favorite thing to give! Ask away.”

“How many times can I apologize before she gets tired of hearing it? Does it even help?”

“Oh no, a fight?”

“I’m not sure I would call it that, but…”

“And a girlfriend. You’ve never mentioned having a girlfriend in any of your letters. Is this new?”

Are you still new? Maybe this would still feel new to most people. “Uhm…eight months.” Maybe Eun-ji will give him more insight. Despite never marrying, both of his aunts have had plenty of experience with relationships, and they never shied away from talking to him about it. They didn’t shelter him—Seungmin sheltered himself, until he didn’t. “Sort of, but it doesn’t feel new.”

“Do you know what made her so upset, was it something you said, or did?”

“It was something I did, but there may be some other things out of my control adding to it.”

“You don’t have to explain what you may have done, but give her some space, at least for tonight. Oh, do you two live together?”

“We do. And we got married last month.”

“Married! Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Married? Who?”

Seungmin hears another voice in the background getting closer.

“Who are you talking to at this hour?”

“It’s Minnie, Woo…say hi.”

“Seungmin, you got married and didn’t tell us?"

He’s feeling awful all over again. The distance he put between him and his remaining family was for their own safety, of course, and what little sanity he could hold onto. Mentioning you and the babies didn’t cross his mind, because you and the babies fill his mind completely. “I did, I’m sorry I didn’t call, or write.”

"We have missed your letters. You’re such a lovely and thoughtful writer."

“I will write, and I’ll visit.”

Eun-ji returns to the phone, “give her space, but stay close. Make sure she knows you’re there for her if she needs you, but no hovering.”

“Thank you, both of you. I should get back to the apartment.”

“Jal jayo, puppy.”

***

Just as he suspects, the apartment is silent. The table is cleared, the dishes are clean, and the only light is the one he put near the still flourishing moonflowers. A sick, empty feeling starts to rise in him—you didn’t wait up. Was he gone too long? The drive to the hotel was quick, and he didn’t linger; the drive back was even faster, and the conversation in the car only lasted…he checks his phone…six minutes.

The bedroom is dark and silent, too, but he can make out the lines of your body curled up beneath the thin blanket. Both cots are next to each other, pulled close. You fed them, cleaned up, and went right to bed.

Instead of stripping and climbing in with you like he so desperately wants, he grabs an extra blanket and decides the couch might be better tonight. But first he kisses each boy on the forehead. It’s necessary, but it’s also a chance to peek at your sleeping face. “Jal ja.”

***

The bedroom door is cracked, and he plans on listening for any hint of a cry all night. He’ll take his aunts advice and Seungmin will give you space, but if you both happen to each have a baby to sooth in the same room, well…he’s going to take that opportunity.

Puppy?

Seungmin leans back and takes a long drink of the beer he knows he shouldn’t be drinking. He’s stressed, and he’s tired. Of course he’s hearing things.

What’s bothering you, sweetheart?

The voice is there, but his meds make him question whether it’s there and real, or there and not real. She wasn’t there when he called for her before…so why now?

You’re hurting, I can feel it. I can’t stand to see you so sad.

“I’m going to be sad for a while, I’m sorry.”

Everything will be okay soon

“How do you know that? You can’t. I don’t know that.”

Silence.

"Why are you back now? Where were you before?" He tries to whisper. “That’s it…you’re gone? Umma?” But it comes out in choked stutter, and louder than he expects. Seungmin doesn’t want you to hear him talking to himself. “Umma?”

She’s gone.

The couch is cold and uncomfortable, but his pillow and blanket still smell like you. Daengmo does, too, because he almost always ends up clutched to your chest in the morning. It makes him wonder if there’s a small comfort of yours that was left behind—something soft that you clung to every night when you needed to forget the day. He feels a pang of guilt knowing you might wake up at some point and reach for him. He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it, because he made himself tea and his brain is already starting to get fuzzy, and too tired to care about how much he doesn’t want to sleep here. The last thought that runs through him is a small hope for good dreams. Seungmin wants to dream, and he wants to dream about you.

*

he’s running. he hasn’t run like this since he was a kid running the bases. no…not since the incident with the bartender. the burn in his chest is unbearable and if he doesn’t stop to catch his breath, he’s going to collapse from the pain. a tiny bark in the distance is the only sound, and it’s not like he imagines his big black dog sounding. this is different. is this what daengmo sounds like? daengmo doesn’t bark, he thinks, daengmo is a telepath. and he can see his breath. why? it’s july…

“seungmo…”

he knows who that is. heecheol says it again in a teasy, sing-songy voice.

“mo, look at me…turn around”

“where are we, cheoli?”

“you don’t recognize this place?”

he doesn’t, and as he turns, what looks back at him is nothing…nobody. hecheol is not where his voice is.

“where did you go?”

“this is where we felt it for the first time" heecheol is laughing as he says it, as if he’s proud.

“yeah, I think I remember” how many memories of his are still shoved where he can't reach them? “where is that barking coming from?”

heecheol shrugs, “barking? you must be hearings things.

His eyes pop open to the dark living room. He hates it. Waking in the pitch dark alone can send him spiraling if he lets it, but this time he takes his deep breaths until his heartbeat begins to slow. Daengmo is clutched tight in the bend of his elbow, crushed under the weight of whatever he was dreaming about. Some of it sticks in his mind. “What a stupid fucking dream,” he sighs and fluffs his dog back to life. “Do you bark?”

It takes no time at all for him to drift back to sleep.

this time he’s home. not in uljin, but right here, in this apartment. it looks different, like maybe you finally redecorated (because you hate the couch, and the chopped up rug—you don’t like the minimalist style he went for and never changed)

“tokki?”

no answer. you have to be here, though. he heads for the bedroom, and it feels like he’ll never get to the door. every few steps, he resets, and he’s right back where he started.

“tokki!”

finally, he twists the doorknob. the bedroom is empty. the bed is neatly made, but a few of your drawers are partially open. no cots, no mess of nighttime feeding things on your bedside table. the only thing he sees is his silver medallion where your phone usually sits. he pulls open the drawer and finds it empty. the chest where you put all of your winter things is empty, too.

“what’s happening? where are you?” he says it to himself in a shaky voice. you wouldn’t leave and take his children without a word. would you?

This time, he can’t slow down his racing heart. Seungmin can barely catch his breath when he sits up, and as he does, Daengmo slips to the floor with a soft thud. A moment later he’s up on his trembling legs, headed for the bedroom. It was just a dream, you’ll be sound asleep when he opens the door, all three of you. You’re awake, and the sound of you humming to them makes it to his ears. Feeding them, talking to them, humming the same tune his music box used to play. The courage to open the door and go in is not in him, despite how relieved he feels after the dream. You didn’t pack up and leave him in the night—his brain did that, but Seungmin is just as afraid of losing you now as he was in December.

“Are you at least trying to keep the nightmares away?” Daengmo stares quietly until his soft neck gives out and his head falls to one side. “Can you try harder, please?” Seungmin’s eyes close, but open again immediately. “I didn’t mean that, I know you’re doing your best.”

The third attempt is dark and cold and wet.

he hasn’t dreamt about the shed in months, but he knew it would return eventually. the soil beneath his fingers is as real as it has ever been, and maybe it’s because he’s been away for so long—seungmin has been too comfortable and safe with you. the other hand clenches around something soft and damp. daengmo is clutched in his left hand, limp and dirty, two sad black eyes staring right at him.

"why are you here…you’re not supposed to be here"

the shk sound of the shovel hitting dirt makes his stomach turn. he’s next. as long as he’s finished off before being put in that hole.

"no…no, I don’t wanna die anymore” tears sting his eyes and roll down his cheeks “please don’t kill me”

he can’t move. the squeeze of his fingers and eyes, that’s it. he’s stuck, and every bit of energy he has left turns his head toward the sound

"tokki? help me, I can’t move." it’s only in his head. the only sound that leaves his mouth is a sigh

No, not again, he thinks, because he can’t move. There’s the smallest sensation of his finger twitching against the couch, but that might be his imagination. It definitely is. He thinks about moving his arm, but his brain can’t find where to send the signal, so he relaxes. Seungmin almost lets his eyes close, but the floor creaks. It’s not real. The sleep paralysis sounds are never real, and he knows that. It’s taken him years to train his mind to remember that.

what’s wrong…puppy?

Is that you? It sounds like you. No, it’s not real. But it’s never addressed him before.

I watched you yesterday. she saw me. she didn’t tell you, did she?

What did you see? Seungmin’s eyes are wide open and he sees nothing. Where is it? He can hear it, and now he can smell it—the smell of damp, rotten earth and a freshly lit cigarette burns his nose and throat. It’s not real.

I am very real

Something cold touches his bare shoulder and slowly moves toward his neck.

she hates you, do you feel it coming from her? how silly to think someone could ever love you

It’s right. Seungmin can feel it right now. The love you felt for him is slowly leaving you. Or maybe it was never truly there, because how could it be?

how silly to think you could love someone unconditionally, and that they could love you in return

Even if she hates me, I still love her. Seungmin thinks about you in there with his children, holding them close and singing, and he feels like he could cry. Unconditionally. He does. A tear slides across the bridge of his nose, and through blurry eyes, its bone white face comes into view.

The force of his body and mind waking simultaneously almost sends him to the floor, along with everything else. The blanket, Daengmo, his phone. The sun is starting to glow faintly in the window, and he hoped by morning he would feel better, but that’s not the case. Seungmin feels worse; empty, hopeless, stupid, broken, unlovable. He remembers everything It told him.

He stumbles into the bathroom and wonders if he should take his aunts advice and continue to give you space, because all he feels he can do is kneel in front of and beg for forgiveness again.

The reflection looking back at him, is that really what you love? Why? Seungmin runs his fingers through his hair and pulls. All the worst parts of him are showing, he can’t hide them and he never could, and you’re finally coming to your senses.

He drops to his knees and swings the cabinet door open, rifles through boxes of hair dye, extra toiletries and forgotten things thrown under here and out of the way. Finally, he finds what he’s looking for in the little black bag, and when he rips it out and plugs it in, he isn’t even sure it’s going to work. But it does, and the buzz of the clippers is louder than he expected. One more look at himself, and then he pulls at his bangs again, up and out of his face, and the clippers have little trouble going through. Again and again, over and over…erratically at first, but as he calms, the strokes become slow and careful. And he doesn’t know it, but the buzz wakes you from your deep sleep.

Seungmin doesn’t hear as you carefully make your way toward the sound, and if he would have closed the door, you might not have heard him at all.

The door creaks as you push it open, but he still hears nothing.

“Seungmin, what are you doing?”

He jumps and drops the clippers into the sink, sending the guard flying onto the floor, and finally quieting them.

“Seungmin…”

Why are you looking at him like that? Confused, disgusted, mad that he woke you… “I’m sorry.” The feeling rushing through him is familiar. It’s the itch, the one that makes him want to claw at his skin until there’s nothing left. The itch that It put into his brain, and in every nerve in his body. Seungmin looks at himself in the mirror, only for a moment, before bracing himself on the sink and sending his face straight into it.

The sound is unbelievable, and the crunch of glass is even worse the second time. All you see is red. It pours from the center of his forehead and onto every part of his pale face…it drips as he stumbles backward, and when he leans forward to keep from falling, you unstick yourself from your spot and put your arms around his neck. “Seungmin, look at me.” You reach for the hand towel and drape it over your shoulder, and he naturally falls into your embrace. Three small shards of glass stick to his wound, and he stares, bewildered as they’re carefully pulled away. “Why?”

He lets out of body shaking sob when your hands slide over his back. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

You sush him, run your fingers up his neck and into his much shorter hair. He feels as cold as the bathroom floor, and sitting here in nothing but shorts is not helping. “Why did you do that?”

Seungmin only groans and pushes his forehead against your shoulder. “I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't." It's a lie, but whatever gives him a small amount of comfort right now. "I'm gonna run you a bath, okay?"

There is no energy in him to tell you no. The throb in his head might be the worst physical pain he’s ever been in, but it’s somewhat soothed by the sight of you. Seungmin presses the towel against his wound and one sleepy eye watches as you kneel and turn the water on. Nothing would be better than crawling closer to touch the bare skin of your thighs, or the shoulder peeking out from the bed shirt you’ve worn down to almost nothing—the same shirt he gave you the night you came back with him. He won’t, though. Seungmin will keep his hands to himself until you invite him back in.

"Come over here."

His steps are still shaky and cautious, but your hand reaching back gives him more courage. You touch his leg, and goosebumps move all the way up to his neck…then your hands are on his hips, pulling gently at the waistband, sliding them down his thighs. Such a stupid moment to feel a jolt of pleasure in his dick. Not now. A drop of blood escapes and lands on your arm, and then another until you stand to face him.

“In.”

He listens and carefully steps into the water, and he’s relieved when you hold him steady on the way down. It’s not a good time to trust his coordination, considering the lightheadedness he’s keeping from you. But there’s an awful lot of blood on the sink, the floor, him…and now it’s in the water, bursting and spreading like rainclouds. He watches, transfixed, and he moves the towel in an attempt to make more. There’s a warm gush between his eyes, and then you’re back, pressing a clean white towel against it.

“Tilt your head back a little.”

“Are the boys okay?”

“They’re good…they’re asleep. I’m gonna clean this up and try to get a better look. It might sting.” The brand new first-aid kit came in handy. Ever since the garden shear incident, you decided to prepare in case something similar happened again. This wound doesn’t seem as deep, but there has to be pieces of glass still stuck in the two criss-cross gashes—one is at least two inches long, and the other isn’t much smaller. They’re jagged, very unlike the cut on his arm, and you know it needs stitched by a steady hand. “Close your eyes.”

The sting of the antiseptic brings a new pain. He lets himself cry out in release as the warmth of blood mixes with it, and a soft piece of gauze soaks it up. He thinks back to the shed, and the pounding, bleeding wound he woke up with on the back of his head. There must be a scar there, but he never looked for it. He might be able to see one now.

“I don’t see anymore glass. Nothing big enough to see, at least.”

“Feels like…” yours eyes meet, and he stops. He has no business complaining about the pain he caused himself. There may not be anymore glass, but it feels like there is. “Thank you.”

“That’s why I’m here.” Seungmin’s eyes close as you pour warm water over him, filling the tub with more blood, more clumps of his buzzed hair. “I’ll even this out in the morning.”

He wants to tell you cleaning up and taking care of his stupid, reckless behavior is not why you’re here, regardless of how you meant it. But he can’t get any words to come out. You could have left him feeling embarrassed and in pain on the floor…it would have been so easy just to go back to bed. But you’re here, another clean washcloth in hand, wiping away the blood on his lips and chin and down his neck. “Thank you,” he repeats, because he doesn’t think you want to hear another I’m sorry. “I love you.” It’s barely a whisper, and he knows you hear him, but you don’t say anything in return. He’s not very easy to love right now. “The first time we went to Uljin, I said...” Why is he even remembering this? “You asked about who took me in after umma died, and if they were good to me.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“I was gonna say…I wasn’t easy to love. I don’t think I was a bad kid, I was just,“ Now you aren’t even looking at him, “I was sad all the time, always in a bad mood. I cried a lot, didn’t talk or leave my room for days at a time.”

“That didn’t make you hard to love, you were just hiding from it.”

He knows his aunts would agree, and he knows you’re probably right, but that’s not the case tonight. “I don’t wanna be hard for you to love.”

***

Morning comes while you finish cleaning and bandaging him, which you’re getting very good at, and he almost heads for the couch. Seungmin seems surprised when you stop him and take his hand in yours. He’s relieved, because all he can see by the couch is that white face staring down at him, the promise of more nightmares. None of that will mix well with the pain in his head.

“Go, I’ll get your things.”

The bedroom feels safe despite what his nightmare told him—I watched you sleep, and the sounds of the babies waking up distract him from everything going through his mind. It doesn’t matter right now. If the monster is here and watching him, there’s nothing he can do the fight back against it…is there? He never could before. Finding someone to kill…”it’s only been,” he picks up Haesung and holds him tight against his chest… “too long I guess. Not enough.” Killing has always been his only defense, and he hasn’t done it in weeks.

“Not enough what?” You return with Daengmo and a handful of painkillers.

The last attempt was a failure, at least so far, but the noises have yet to return. “Nothing, just…thinking. Maybe I’m overdue.”

“Overdue to…kill?”

Seungmin nods and switches babies. And as preoccupied as he is with them, he notices an unusual hesitancy in your reply. “No noise or voices, but it still feels close.”

“What feels close?”

“It does, the voice. Voices. But, something else, too.”

“Oh, right.”

“We don’t have to talk about it. I’m, uh…“ anything but sorry, stop saying that word. “I’m just tired.”

You crawl across the bed and adjust his pillows, add an extra one so his head stays elevated, but he doesn’t get in right away. Seungmin watches you return to your own spot first. “We should.”

“Talk?”

He’s relieved when you nod, and now it’s easier sliding in next to you, but his spot feels cold in more ways than one. You want to talk, though, and that’s good.

“Something is close.”

This isn’t how he expected things to start, but he’ll take it. The quiet of your voice sends a shiver over him, but it’s replaced by a more pleasant one when you run your palm over the mess he made of his hair. He felt like he was doing an okay job, but he quickly realized the state he was in did not allow for a steady hand. “What do you mean?” The monster’s words come back to him again. She saw me, she didn’t tell you.

“Yesterday, I thought I saw something at the foot of the bed while you were asleep. I heard something, thought you were awake, and I came in to check on you. But I think I was just seeing things because it was gone when I turned on the light.”

“What exactly did you see?”

“A shadow, a black figure…like a person covered in a cloak, I guess. Tall, hunched over. It felt weird.”

“Did you smell it.”

“Yeah.”

Seungmin can only assume it was the rot of the forest, and the decaying stench of the thing that haunts him. He doesn’t need to ask. That same sickening scent from his dream is still stuck in his nose.

“Did we bring it home with us, Min?”

***

Seungmin?

You already know you’re dreaming, but this is the most lucid you’ve been since you were pregnant.

Seungmin, you’re holding too tight

The grip on your waist is pushing the air from your lungs. A pinch doesn’t faze him, and neither does a squeeze of his forearm. You can feel the taut muscle move beneath his skin as he holds even tighter.

Minnie please

But you’re stuck in some half paralysis. Just like a dream, you’re moving through air twice as thick as it should be, and you feel like you’re drowning.

Seung—

Your eyes open, and the room is unbearably bright. The only thing squeezed around you is the sheet you tangled yourself into, but you are a little breathless from your dream. “Min? Are you…” He’s not here. It’s late, though, and you start to panic at the thought of sleeping through an alarm. But even if you did, sleeping through two crying babies would not be possible.

Both cots are back on your side, so Seungmin took the time to move them both close to you. And both are sleeping peacefully.

The kitchen and dining room are empty. The bathroom is empty, but you know he was in here, fixing his hair most likely, changing his bandage—the first-aid kit is still sitting on the sink.

“Where did you go, Seungmin?” A few more steps back toward the kitchen bring you some sort of answer—the folded note on the coffee bar would have gone unnoticed if you weren’t hoping to find something. Scribbled on the front is a cute attempt at a bunny, and on the inside is a single, messy line of Hangul..

이것도 고칠게요

TAGS: @kkamismom12/ @r0tt1n/ @heluvschibi / @feckinbecky / @missystay / @seungluvr / @babrieeee / @curiouscocoabean / @feelikecinderella / @carpioassists / @soulsbbg / @san-axa0 / @vixensss / @keiizzx / @xyliskz / @reignessance / @velvetmoonlght / @ghostedgameplays / @pochaccochacco / @lashaemorow / @eastjonowhere / @fackeraccount / @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna / @maddycline / @smilefordongil / @lolniall / @caughtinthemoment163

[batbirdies]

What are your top fanfic recs for 2024?

aha!! I am late answering this as usual but I went through all of my bookmarks made in 2024 to pick out my favs and I saved the links in an email draft and then when I went to make this post it was poofed gone so then I abandoned the idea but am back, recollecting links here and half rereading them as I go lol.

So these are some of my particular fav fics read and bookmarked in 2024, not necessarily that were published in 2024. (Though I think most of them were)

Also I don’t know if most of these authors have Tumblrs or what their handles are if they do, so if you recognize one and know it please tag them! Or let me know and I’ll edit in the tag.

So:

Ground Control to Jason Todd by TheThoughtsThief [22,520 words]

Jason died at fifteen years old. He recalled a light, searing and white against the expance of a black sky and the nothingness of space. He recalled a star, speaking to him with a morose calm. Then, finally, he remembered the universe giving him a second chance at life. A few years down the line, he goes chasing after myths to figure out why.

Or, a Dick and Jason space road trip au featuring Japanese death poems, Shakespearean tragedies, and Abba's greatest hits.

My first bookmark of 2024! This fic is super unique. I’m not usually big on AUs but road trips are my jam so I gave this one a shot and the ~vibes~ are impeccable. It’s soft and flowy and the recurring poetry and the relationship between Dick and Jason and the willowy liminal space experiences… so good.

Hope is the Thing with Feathers by TheSilencer [13,106 words]

"Oh." Nightwing said. "It's your first time."

"My what?" Jason said.

"It's like 'The Time Traveler's Wife.' Except I'm not your wife. Not that I'd be a bad wife, but not for you. That'd be gross - Wait, is that movie even out, yet?" Nightwing rambled, and Jason stood up on wobbly legs. "Shoot. I guess it doesn't matter. Not relevant -"

Or Jason Todd is a time traveler, and Dick Grayson is always his destination. 

A story about brothers doing their best.

Basically what it says in the description. Jason randomly moves through time throughout his life, always landing where Dick Grayson is. sometimes Jason needs Dick, and sometimes Dick needs Jason, and neither of them ever really has the full picture of what’s going on. But they do their best for each other<3 they’re brothers your honor 😭😭

Still hurts underneath my scars by valkyriered [2,928 words]

“Stop.” The man in the purple suit says, and Jason freezes.

“Stay there.” He says. “Don’t move.”

Jason tries to lurch forward, has some half-prepared snark about being told what to do, and he finds that he can’t. He can’t even move his arms. His eyes dart around the empty warehouse. Fuck. “Who are you?” Jason demands. “What is this?”

The man doesn’t even look over at him. “Stop talking.” 

I’ll warn, this fic says “no archive warnings apply” but there is heavy implication of previous sexual assault. No direct references but it’s definitely there.

The use of Killgrave in this is stellar, I still find him one of the most terrifying villains I’ve ever watched or read about in anything I’ve seen. The moment is small and doesn’t even seem that bad on the surface but the writing puts you in Jason’s head and you can feel how frightening it would be, and how scared Jason really, really is. Has made me think about using Killgrave in a fic sometimes cause it truly has some juicy potential.

There is comfort, and Selina is great in this, but it is from Jason’s POV and he is still pretty Not OkayTM when it ends, so just, you know, be careful with yourselves. It’s very well written and Jason is well taken care of by his loved ones in the end but it’s a hurty one.

Displacement by @imbecamiel [21,244 words]

“He’s dead,” Tim said, blankly.

“Look at me.” Jason ducked his head to catch Tim’s eyes. “Hey, look at me. You didn’t kill him. You just shot him. No big deal, right? You’ve injured lots of people. Just part of the job. Doesn’t matter it was with a gun this time. Doesn’t change anything. I’m the one who killed him. You’re fine.”

Loooove this fic. Tim accidentally fatally shoots someone in self defense. Jason is there, sees Tim panicking, and finishes the job himself so he can take the blame.

The relationships in this fic are so good, and the CHARACTERS are just SO GOOD. I started to say a lot more but then I just started summarizing the whole thing and spoiling it. Just know that Jason and Tim’s interactions in this are great, and Bruce and Jason have SUCH a good and satisfying end to their arch in this, which is so important to me and can be hard to find.

A Sad Song With Nothing To Say by WakingNightmares [14,805 words]

It starts with the Make A Wish foundation, and ends with a funeral.

Which, Bruce supposes, is unfortunately how things involving the Make A Wish foundation usually work. But what happens in-between catches him completely off-guard.

Ok, know first that this fic isn’t really my usual fair because it’s heavy on the hurt and light on the comfort. Be prepared if you decide to read this one.

A young gotham boy dying of cancer uses his Make A Wish Foundation wish to meet The Red Hood, more as a joke than anything, not expecting it to actually happen. The boy has no one else, he’s dying alone and in pain, and Jason can’t do anything about the pain but he can keep him from being alone. So he stays with the kid, whenever he can, and soon the other bats start helping, so he’s not by himself. But Jason grows attached, and Bruce knows, they all know that it is not going to end well. That the devastation this is going to wreak on Jason will be no small thing. But no one really has the heart to do anything but help.

Like I said this fic is damn well agonizing but it hit me in such a cathartic way. Because it’s devastating. The story is so painful, but everyone is helping. Everyone is there. There is so much love in this fic and as much comfort as can be offered even if it is not nearly enough. And when it ends—Bruce is there.

Open Line by @lurkinglurkerwholurks [2,140 words]

Dick pinched the phone between his ear and shoulder as he pulled the crate down from the top shelf. The line rang twice before connecting.

“Hey, you busy?” Dick stepped down from the stool and carried the crate to the table, popping the top and flipping it off to the side to reach inside.

“Everything okay?” Bruce asked. His voice sounded close, like he was in a small space.

Dick is dealing with some unexpected grief and Bruce is a good dad. That’s all you need sometimes, you know?

Eat Your Heart Out by Lishalalalala [35,527 words]

What people don’t expect of Bruce Wayne is his ability to love in such a detailed way. What people absolutely expect of Jason Todd is his ability to show up at the worst place, at the worst time, every damn time. But not all late-night calls from the hospital are bad, not all galas are bad, and not all of Bruce's culinary attempts are bad. Featuring food; Jason's self-esteem issues, his complicated relationship with food; and the different ways confidence can be filled. Also featuring one Bruce Wayne trying his best.

(Endeavoring to grow up shouldn’t have been this hard considering it’s the second round for him. )

A story of Bruce and Jason revolving around each other, pinging off in different directions when things don’t go well. Of love shown through food. Of Jason’s skittish and slow acceptance of that love.

Each chapter is its own scene, little time skips between, building on each other to craft a very soft picture. This fic makes me ache in such a way. It’s poetic, it manages to make sweet, nostalgic moments stab you in the heart. Very recently completed, and I still need to leave a comment on the final chapter, whoops.

Also gives a well thought out and reasonable explanation for Bruce’s poor cooking skills lol.

Thats all from 2024, but im gonna cheat and also add one from this month cause I read it yesterday and have been gushing about it since and there’s so little Steph and Bruce fic out in the world, it needs more love.

If they could only remember/which one is you and which one/the source of all fire by @luvo27 [9,086 words]

When she’s not with him on patrol, he knows she’s often patrolling on her own. When she’s not patrolling on her own, he knows she’s wandering around Gotham. She doesn’t spend a lot of time at home, not even after her father died. She seems, Bruce thinks, like she’s lonely. He clears his throat. Stephanie looks up from her phone. Bruce can read the screen upside down, she’s still looking up solar eclipses. An idea starts to form in his mind. He starts to ask, “Do you…would you—the path of totality crosses over Vermont. Or the state of New York.” “Yeah,” Stephanie turns her phone to face him. “I was looking at the maps.” “That’s a little over seven hours away by car,” Bruce says.

Or: Stephanie and Bruce take a road trip to see the solar eclipse, featuring: Stephanie Brown and her Stephanie Brown-ness, Bruce Wayne and his Bruce-ness, and grief.

Bruce’s POV throughout. Stephanie is Robin, Jason is dead, and Bruce can see so much of Jason in Stephanie that he can barely look at her. But even in his grief he can’t stop caring, can’t stop wanting to help her. Can’t stop being terrified that she will meet the same end that Jason did.

Bruce is messy and he’s not doing amazing but he’s trying very hard. Stephanie is also messy and not doing amazing, but she is trying very hard. Has a soft ending but deals pretty heavily with grief, so be aware.

Hope you enjoy these!!

[lovingseventeen]

How would svt react to you skipping your meals because you're too engrossed in the thing you're doing? 🤔

svt reacts to you accidentally skipping meals

a/n: thank you thank you all for 900! so glad our community on this blog is gradually getting larger! paragraph format for this post bc some of these scenarios got a bit longer than i anticipated.

seungcheol:

oh he is not happy, but he’s far more concerned than he is mad. he sent you a text around noon asking what you were up to and you told him: just a paper. when he comes over you greet him quickly at your door, but your hug is far too short when you’re already hurrying back to your seat.

“i’ll make food or something after, let me just finish this one paragraph!” you tell him, voice already getting father and farther away from him. he follows you back to your room, plopping onto your bed as you type away at your laptop. he’s scrolling on his phone in the quiet room when your stomach grumbles loudly.

he looks over the first time, easing his head to see that you were still working. then, not even five minutes later it happens again.

“hey, when was the last time you ate today?”

you pause, “i don’t know? i had a bagel from breakfast?” then you return back to your paragraph

he’s focused on you now, propping himself up on his elbows. “wait, so you didn’t eat lunch?”

“i guess not…” you reply, half paying attention to him as you reread your words

he’s shifting from your bed and you see him leave your room from your peripheral. maybe thirty minutes later he’s coming back into your room to gently grab a hold of your wrist.

“cmon, you need to eat, i just ordered food so you don’t have to do anything.”

“wait but this part needs-”

“baby,” he says gently, his other hand turning your chin to look at him, “is this due tonight?”

“no?”

“then can you please take a break? it’s not good for you to skip meals you know.”

he looks so concerned and he has brought to your attention that you actually are hungry. your stomach feels like it's shrinking into itself, making you feel quite empty.

“okay cheol, you’re hungry too, aren’t you?” you say, getting up to walk to your kitchen with him.

“i am, but you’re the priority right now, y/n.”

jeonghan:

you can't escape his light scolding whines.

“ayy,” he says, eyebrows furrowed when he sees the remnants of your iced coffee, your supposed “breakfast”, which only consists of melted iced now, “this is all you’ve had today?”

“you know this isn’t good for you…” he trails on.

before you know it, he’s tapping away on his phone and browsing for where to order from immediately. he doesn’t need to ask you because he knows you so well already.

when the food comes in, he’s opening the containers and setting them in the table near you, allowing the smell of the hot food to finally make you notice the growl in your belly

to speed up the process he’ll literally grab the takeout menu that comes with the food and fan the smell towards you. or better yet, he’ll set up an actual fan to waft the smell of food at you at a higher velocity. “jeonghan turn that off! the food is gonna get cold!”

“so you’ll eat,” he determines proudly.

joshua:

eyes got so wide at the realization that you haven’t eaten all day. he immediately tries to find the quickest snack to get something into your stomach.

i’m a believer in him cutting up fruits for you. then when he notices that you haven’t touched the fruits next to you, he’ll go so far as to feed you.

“c’mon, eat this, babe” he coaxes, gently prodding at your lips with the cubed melon on the fork. will tap your cheek with a finger to signal you to open your mouth if his voice isn’t enough to grab your attention

he’s still cheeky though so at some point he’ll give you your little tap only for you to open your mouth to nothing.

“hey! i thought you were feeding me” you pouted.

he rubs the top of your head, giving in immediately.

“looks like i’m spoiling someone here a little too much” (he can’t help it anyway).

jun:

it’s already 7pm and he returns to your apartment to see you in the same position he left you in. you were hunched over on your desk, still hyper focused on this little lego set you were building.

“junnie! look i’m almost done!” you exclaim, beckoning him to walk over to see your work.

“hey,” he says in his deep “extra manly voice”, “have you not eaten yet.” his arms are crossed but he softens when you proudly show him your bouquet of lego flowers.

“i only have one more flower left, but isn’t this so cute?” you gush, holding the vase up to him.

“they’re pretty,” he agrees, tucking your hair behind your ear, “i’ll be right back as you finish up.”

“okay” you hum, gathering the pieces for the last flower

he walks away and within 15 minutes, you can smell something cooking in the kitchen. he comes back to set a bowl of (quick but delicious) fried rice next to you.

“here, c’mon, eat up babe”

“there’s still some more..” you begin, but he pushes a spoonful of rice into your mouth (he blew on it first, don't worry).

“you can finish it after you eat though, right? you haven’t eaten all day.. you should eat while it’s warm” he encourages.

“true, you did make it really good today,”you decide. “i’m very lucky to have you.”

he smiles at your words but returns to his “ver stern man voice”, “you are. so to keep me you better make sure you don’t skip your meals again.” 😤

hoshi:

he pulls a very dramatic romeo and juliet move.

he facetimed you while he was getting driven home since he wouldn’t be able to see you in person that week.

“did you see the food we ordered for the staff today! we should go there when i’m finally free, i want you to try their noodles” he rambled.

“sure let’s do that,” you smiled, happy to see his excitement.

“did you eat dinner yet, baby?” he asked.

“dinner? oh wait, i didn’t have lunch” you thought out loud.

“you didn’t!” he exclaimed, head dropping back in his seat dramatically, “baby you shouldn’t do that!”

“i didn’t realize!” you laughed, rolling your eyes as his head was still tilted back, hand covering his face.

“how could my love forget to feed themselves?” he whined.

“soonyoung, i just got so invested in my paper!” you explained, “i wasn’t even hungry!”

“baby,” he says, now holding his phone very close to his face, “if you don’t eat i won’t eat.”

“what are you talking about!” you chuckled.

“it’s not fair to eat if you’re starving.”

“soonyoung, light of my life, my love, i didn’t purposefully skip lunch. please, you need to eat too, with all your dancing and horanghae-ing.” at the end of your sentence he can't help but give you his signature tiger paw hand gesture.

“promise you won’t forget again?”

“i will do my best,” you agree, lifting your own hand to horanghae back at him and he takes this promise very seriously.

wonwoo:

let out a soft, but audible gasp when he texted you at 4pm asking what you ate only to find out that it was nothing.

:0 that's not good he sent

i didn't even realize that lunch passed wonu

he left you on read, and you wondered if this was actually going to be an argument between the two of you even if it wasn't that big of a deal. at least, not that big of a deal to you.

you wait to see if he's just taking a moment to text you back. then thirty minutes later, two of your co-workers are bringing in cups of coffee and a bag full of sandwiches.

your phone buzzes in your back pocket soon after. your heart warms when you see that it's a message from wonwoo.

they told me it arrived, did you get it yet?

you're about to type your reply when he continues.

i know your team is probably busy so you can't fully sit and eat a bento lunch box, right? so i ordered sandwiches so you guys could eat and work if you had to

your co-workers are setting the food on your shared table and you can see the slight confusion on everyone's faces. "oh it's from wonwoo," you explain, "he sent food because i told him we skipped lunch today." you get a chorus of excitement from everyone and various responses of "tell him we said thanks!"

this is very sweet of you wonwoo, thank you <3 you made me (and my team) very happy :) you sent

i'm just glad you get to eat :) but try not to skip meals from now on please

i will try, love u (i'm going to devour a sandwich now)

woozi:

jihoon himself skips meals a little too regularly. he gets caught up in his studio and before he knows it, the sun has set and he hasn't eaten all day.

ohoho, but when he finds out that you haven't eaten all day he finds himself in a bit more of a panic than he ever would for himself. you called him after work, "do you want to get food when you get out? it was so busy at my job that i didn't even realize that i missed lunch."

"what? you didn't eat?" he asked, suddenly alert even though he was just starting to feel tired.

"yeah, i didn't even realize what time it was until all of our customers cleared out," you replied, "so do you wanna go out? i feel like i could eat a horse."

"yeah, let's go eat, you need to eat," he agreed, immediately getting ready to pick you up.

at the restaurant he encourages you to get whatever you want. even when you're just skimming the menu and you mutter, "huh, this looks interesting," he's telling you, "you want to get that? order it."

"i was just looking at it babe," you chuckle.

"you can get it if you want, you can get all of it if you want, i just want you to get full."

he's very attentive, further asking you what drink you want and if you want to get dessert after too.

dokyeom:

you're in the kitchen reading a book one day and he asks you, "do you want some ramen too? i'm hungry and i think this is all we have."

"i think i'll eat a little later, my book is starting to get interesting so i might read a couple more chapters," you reply.

"you sure?" he checks, walking over to you, "because it'd be bad if i took care of myself and let you starve, i'd be a bad boyfriend then."

he ran a hand through your hair as you chuckled, "you could never be a bad boyfriend, not when you're so sweet." he hums in response before walking back to the stove to check his boiling water.

eventually he finishes making his ramen and he goes into the living room to watch something while he eats. (he'd eat in the kitchen but he doesn't want to be loud when you're reading). the warm soup makes him feel so cozy after and he really just passes out on the couch while his show keeps playing.

dokyeom wakes up about two hours later, much past lunch time. he wanders back into the kitchen a little groggy to see if you're still there. he notices that not much has changed since he fell asleep other than that fact that you're sitting cross-legged on the chair.

"did you eat yet, baby?" he asks.

you momentarily pause your reading, "hm? oh, i guess not."

"huh?" he gasps, glancing at the clock. "baby.."

"i'm in the middle of a really good chapter!" you explain.

"but baby you gotta eat," he pouts. "how 'bout this, if i run out to buy a couple things and i cook it, will you put your book down?"

"you don't have to go through all that," you tell him, "i could just have ramen-"

"no, no, you can't eat that when you're been starving all day," he disagrees, "i'm going to give you some nutrition." he's already walking out of the kitchen to get dressed to go out.

you fully put your book down by now, "i'll come with you to the store. i feel bad if i make you do that all by yourself."

"you can keep reading if you want," he tells you genuinely, "i don't mind, i just want you to eat something good." this is one of those moments where you realize how sweet your boyfriend really is.

"i'll come with you," you confirm, "and let's cook together too, hm?"

he can never say no to you. plus, he loves your company. "i guess we do make a good team, yeah," he smiles.

mingyu:

immediately gets to cooking in the kitchen. he isn’t preparing just one dish either but a spread of food, from various side dishes of veggies to braised meat that goes so well with rice.

“you better eat all of this to make up for your lack of nutrients today” he huffed, sitting across from you after setting everything around you. he stands up again and he'll take the bookmark in your hand and put it into your book for you too.

“gyu you know i can’t eat all of this by myself,” you laughed, “but thank you for cooking, you know.”

"i know, just eat as much as you can, you shouldn't be on an empty stomach," he tells you, further pushing the dishes for you. when you try to offer him a bite, he won't open his mouth, pushing you spoon back towards you.

minghao:

so you were painting and you got so deep into groove that you didn't realize that three hours have passed and that your stomach is currently running on a cup of coffee.

"hi baby, i'm home," he announced as he entered your door.

he finds his way to you first to place a kiss on top of your head. "hi, hao," you hummed back, careful to keep your hand steady as you dragged your brush across your canvas. for a moment, the two of you stayed in silence to avoid disrupting your movement.

though what actually ended up interrupting the quiet was your stomach letting out a very loud growl.

"are you hungry?" he asked.

"i guess i am," you murmured, rinsing your paintbrush in water. "wait, now that i think about it, i don't think i ate lunch?"

"you didn't?" immediately his eyebrows are furrowed and you realize he probably has an incoming lecture already forming in his head. "you know you shouldn't skip your meals..."

"i know!" you explained, "but i just got so into this, i mean, i think this is in the running to become my favorite painting yet." when you wiped your cheek, you accidentally left a stroke of blue paint.

minghao, as caring as he is, crouches down and wipes off that paint with one of hi thumbs. "you know i love your creativity, and this painting looks great so far, it really does, but we can't have you passing out before you finish it, right?"

you smile at his comments as he continues, "can you take a break? eat something? it doesn't even have to be big meal but you should have something."

seungkwan:

he was appalled when he saw the breakfast he bought you still on the counter, untouched.

he walks into your room where you're working on a project for the nth hour. "what's this?" he asks, holding up the plastic bag of food.

"it's what you brought home this morning?" you replied, before immediately going back to you little diorama.

"and why is it not in your stomach?" he huffs, arms now crossed.

"uhh, i lost track of time?"

"unacceptable," is decides, but he walks over to you and breaks off bite-sized pieces of bread the bread he bought to personally feed you anyway.

"thankf-you" you mumbled back as he fed you.

"tsk, what you you do without me? starve?" he tutted (but the way he feeds you is still so gentle). he wipes off the crumbs from the corners of your mouth and asks you if you want anything else when you do finish the bread <3

vernon:

vernon drops his jaw in the most cartoonish way when he finds out.

"you haven't eaten yet?"

his (perfect) eyebrows knit together as he contemplates what to do, as you don't usually skip your meals. this wasn't exactly on his boyfriend-responsibilities bingo card.

"this isn't something you do regularly, right? or have i been missing this for a long time because that would be bad," he thinks out loud.

"vern, it's just today. i didn't even realize how much time passed," you explain.

"mm good to know it wasn't on purpose but i'll order something for you now," he decides, head quirking to the side as he scans his phone for nearby restaurants.

precious boy ends up ordering from two very different restaurants because he doesn't know which you'd prefer but he was a little panicked and figured: better safe than sorry. it's very weird when one bag of food comes to your house with burgers and fries and the other arrives with noodles and soup.

dino:

dino jokingly picks a fight with you when he finds out. you both wind up being a little loud, but not actually fully yelling.

you're surprised by him sitting a little ominously on your kitchen table despite the bags of freshly delivered food on it.

"is everything alright?" you ask.

"you!" he points, "you always take a cute picture of your lunch, so why didn't you have lunch today!"

"wow someone here is a detective, huh?" you chuckle, "you figured out i missed lunch from that?"

"this is serious y/n," he says, tone proving otherwise and fist coming down on the table with no actual force. "it's bad for you to miss lunch."

"okay, okay, yessir i understand i won't do it again," you joked, even putting your hand over your heart as a promise.

"you're not taking this seriously!" he whined.

"i am," you assured.

"no you're not!"

"chan! i thought you knew i missed lunch! i'm hungry and this food is getting cold!" it was your turn to whine now. immediately, he gave in, getting up to open the bags of food. he got a little too invested in his "scolding" and momentarily forgot that you actually had to eat.

[littlespoonevan]

I watched the first three seasons of 911 back when that was all that had aired and just didn’t keep watching after the break between seasons for whatever reason. I also didn’t really get buddie, I just thought it was a beautiful friendship. I’m now on a rewatch and just got to the end of season 4 and boy am I all in, Buck’s reaction to Eddie getting shot and the aftermath really made me get it. Anyway, I was wondering if you have any fic recs for a buddie newbie? I’m probably gonna speed through the rest of the show in a few days and need something else to occupy me hahah

hey bud, welcome back to the world of 911!! 🥰 okay so i have some previous fic recs that i've posted here and i also have 489 bookmarks on ao3 which you can have a scroll through here (i only ever bookmark something for rereading or reccing purposes so can confirm i've read and loved them all)

but i'll do my best to make a somewhat cohesive list below of some of my personal faves. i have no doubt i'll probably leave some out accidentally but they'll definitely be in my bookmarks so 100% check those out too!! ❤️

The Nearness of You by allisonRW96 / @homerforsure

Eddie reassured himself that he could do this. Other teams coming in were probably going to be staying at the same hotel in the same double rooms and it was very possible that none of them were going to be having sex. Or even lying awake at night thinking about it. Or: Buck and Eddie go on a work trip.

Leave the Light On (I'll Be Coming Home) by HMSLusitania / @hmslusitania

“We’re here for our grandson,” Helena says. “Chris is still sleeping,” Buck says. “I meant, we’re here to take him back to Texas,” Helena clarifies. “Yeah,” Buck says. He’s too tired, way too tired to be tactful. “Over my dead body.” -- An accident on a call leaves Buck with custody of Chris after Eddie is... missing presumed. While they navigate their new family circumstances -- and fight to stay together, despite Eddie's parents' best efforts -- a John Doe wakes up in a coma ward with no memory of his own life beyond the knowledge he has a son named Christopher and, somehow, he needs to get home.

To Build a Home We Deconstruct Our Rituals by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels /@letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

After the shooting, Eddie realizes he needs to put some things in place. Like who will get his assets if he dies. Who will speak for him if he ends up in a coma. What might happen if his family contests Buck's guardianship. Luckily, he's got a simple easy-peasy solution that won't result in insanity, catastrophe, or heartbreak: Marry Buck.

standing on the brink of emptiness by woodchoc_magnum / @woodchoc-magnum

In which Eddie is struggling in the aftermath of being shot, learning how to take care of himself and realising he's in love with Buck; and Buck is dating Taylor, taking care of Eddie and Christopher and trying to figure out why he's so goddamn confused about everything.

across our great divide (a glorious sunrise) by catchingpapermoons 

“We’re working on it,” Maddie explains, shooting Chimney a look. He nods seriously. “In couples therapy.” “Huh,” Eddie says, and then he thinks about it. "Do you think Buck and I would benefit from couples therapy?" — or, Eddie gets Buck to come to couples therapy with him.

darling, the future's better than yesterday by rarakiplin (gmontys)

Eddie, ten years younger, in this awful 2010, blinks up at him. He's still sitting slumped on the curb, and for a second Buck thinks he might tell him to fuck off, but then his eyes fall shut and there’s something — aching and painfully vulnerable in the bend of his mouth, the faint tension in his brow. “My…um, girlfriend, I guess. She’s pregnant.” “Holy shit,” Buck says. - or, buck deals with some wonky dimensional/time travel and then breaks up with his girlfriend. eddie, obviously, is involved.

i'm here (i’m yours for the taking) by farfromthstars / @buckactuallys

“Everyone!” Around forty heads turn, and Buck shifts on his feet uncomfortably at the attention. “This is my old friend Buck and his husband, Eddie.” “Uh,” Buck makes, turning to Eddie with wide eyes. Eddie's looking just as stunned. “Connor, I think you got–” He cuts himself off when Eddie wraps an arm around his waist. ~ at the winter wedding of an old friend, buck and eddie pretend to be married to each other. the plan has no weaknesses, obviously, not even mistletoe or anyone’s secret feelings… they call it the season of giving i'm here, i'm yours for the taking

Your Fingerprints Smeared on My Heart (Lead Me Back to You) by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

In 1880, Evan Buckley of the arriviste set is sent out west to oversee his family's railroad and recover from a broken heart - and meets Eddie Diaz, cowboy. When fate tears them apart, they make a promise: find each other again. In 2018, Buck walks into his fire station in Los Angeles - and meets Eddie Diaz, new recruit.

no kingdom to come by waywardrenegades

Family, FaceTime, guilt trips, phone calls, church, heart healthy meals, and learning how to let yourself be happy. Whatever that looks like. or; when his father experiences a health scare, Eddie flies to El Paso.

when i was shipwrecked (i thought of you) by catchingpapermoons 

Buck walks toward Jee-Yun’s room, still talking, and Christopher trails after him, asking excited questions in response, and Eddie’s smile grows. He wants this forever. Everything, every part of it; Buck, Christopher, and him—that’s all he needs. And— Oh. Oh no. He shuts his eyes for a moment, inhaling sharply. He’s looking at Buck, and feeling something strictly not platonic at all. or: Eddie needs to learn how to let himself feel, and one step at a time, he learns how to do just that. (And he falls in love with Buck along the way.)

i don't swim and you're not in love by hattalove / @hattalove

She turns to Eddie and says something else, but Buck is busy fighting the headrush he gets at the sound of Ana Flores calling Eddie and Christopher 'the boys'. Like they belong to her already. God, what’s wrong with him? What is this? or, eddie cooks, chris domesticates a slug, and buck tries to figure out why he hates his best friend's girlfriend. to everyone's immense shock and surprise, it goes badly.

everything's coming up milhouse by hammersmiths / @bucktommys

LAFD Updates (@L*A*F*D_Metro) LAFD Alert: Red-level traffic on Gardiner Road this morning. If you are trying to get into the city centre consider taking Westerley Lane. buck 🔥🔥 (@firebuck) so true bestie or, Eddie mans the LAFD Twitter account. Buck tries to be supportive.

said i couldn't stay, but it's different now by hattalove

“I think,” he says, watching Karen pull Hen out onto the dance floor, their eyes never leaving each other’s, “I think I’m just—sad.” Maybe. That feels like a close enough word to describe this gaping maw right in the center of his chest. It’s only really there sometimes, taking little bites out of him, easy enough to ignore, but today is worse. “About being single at a wedding,” Eddie says, not a question. Buck shrugs. “Sounds stupid when you put it that way.” or, the one with the four weddings (feat. a drunk karen wilson, shania twain, a single cheerio, and some confessions over cubed fruit).

cause i'm tired of sleeping alone by rarakiplin (gmontys)

Buck goes on dates now. Not often, and never with the same girl twice in a row, but he goes on dates. And the thing is — the thing is, Eddie can’t be mad about that, because he goes on dates too. - or, five (ish) times eddie and buck go on dates with other people, and one time they go on a date with each other

so far from being free by allisonRW96

"That’s Daniel. He was our brother. Buck doesn’t know what to do with the past tense. He never had a brother. He’s always had a brother. He gained one and lost one in the same breath and it feels impossible. But even if Buck was capable of doubting Maddie, the truth of her confession is evident in the way it throws every facet of his childhood into sudden perfect clarity. That yawning, arctic absence. The unnamable fear. The impenetrable target of his parents’ approval that he was never, ever going to be able to hit. That they didn’t want him to hit. He has a brother. A dead brother who has haunted Buck’s steps for his entire life."

don't let the tide come and wash us away by writerforlife

Buck develops a relationship with the ocean, avoids talking about the day Eddie was shot, realizes he might be in love, and drives. Order may vary. (a fic for the "Buck is going to break all the way down in season 6" truthers)

dance, for all that we've been through by catchingpapermoons 

The Los Angeles Ballet’s 2022-2023 season ends with a bang with their fresh take on a ballet staple, Swan Lake. Artistic Director Bobby Nash is in his eighth season with the Los Angeles Ballet, and it has flourished under his direction. However, his associate, Eddie Diaz, is the one whose reimagining of the choreography has caught our attention... (or, Eddie Diaz moves to L.A. to restart his dance career, and ends up choreographing a show, finding a family, and falling in love. Not necessarily in that order.)

I'll Scrawl it on Every Wall I See by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

When Eddie joins the 118, he and Buck don't exactly hit it off on the right foot. Or continue to walk on the right foot. In fact they kind of can't stand each other. Good thing they each have a beloved anonymous pen pal to share their daily woes with, someone completely unlike their insufferable coworker. Or, in which Buck and Eddie love each other before they know each other, and know each other before they love each other. When Eddie joins the 118, he and Buck don't exactly hit it off on the right foot. Or continue to walk on the right foot. In fact they kind of can't stand each other. Good thing they each have a beloved anonymous pen pal to share their daily woes with, someone completely unlike their insufferable coworker. Or, in which Buck and Eddie love each other before they know each other, and know each other before they love each other.

never felt this way before (yes i swear) by withoutthetiger

It’s the summer of 2022, when Buck no longer wants to be called Evan, and it only occurs to his parents to mind. It’s after the pandemic – or so they say – and before whatever hell will befall the world next, when Buck can’t wait to join the LAFD in September, and he doesn’t know if he’ll ever meet someone as gently strong and fiercely protective as his big sister. It’s the summer he goes with his family to the One Eighteen Ranch & Lodge. *** A Dirty Dancing AU, set in Texas in 2022, featuring a whole lot of familiar faces in a not so familiar place.

Fragile lines (and wasted time) by Mellaithwen / @mellaithwen

“Hey Buck,” Christopher says a little shyly, before reaching out to grab Buck’s foot through the hospital blankets—shaking it in the same way he’s woken his father up on many a bleary-eyed morning. The familiarity of the gesture makes Eddie’s head spin. But of course, there’s no response from the comatose man on the bed. “I thought you said he was sleeping,” Chris mumbles, angrily swiping at his cheeks, and Eddie’s already broken heart shatters all over again for whatever hope his son had just lost when his expectations were so cruelly dashed. . While Buck sleeps, and dreams in the aftermath of the lightning strike, Eddie tries desperately to hold himself together.

Don't Take the Money by HMSLusitania

“You know, being stuck here isn’t actually the end of the world,” Chimney says, coming up to the table and picking up one of the smoke detectors. “It just feels like it, Buck. Trust me, I know.” “I’m pretty sure it might actually be the end of the world,” Buck says. “Considering this is the sixth time I’ve lived this day.” Chimney stares at him for a beat and then his eyebrows lift. “Wait, are you like – dude, are you in Groundhog Day?” OR The post-lawsuit time-loop AU literally no one asked for.

keep your eyes on the road by iriswests / @fcntasmas

Buck used to speed through yellow lights; now they’re his favorite part of the drive. -- or; a glimpse into buck and eddie’s developing relationship, told through ten moments stopped at a traffic light

Hot Ghost Problems by ebjameston

The ghost would prefer to go by Buck, if Eddie wouldn’t mind. +++ [Eddie is the newest firefighter at the 118. Buck is the ghost haunting the 118. Unfortunately for both of them, Eddie's also a witch and needs to put Buck's spirit to rest, because that's what witches do. Turns out, Buck's spirit? Super not interested in being put to rest. Very interested, however, in flirting with Firefighter Diaz, who is just trying to survive his candidate year. (Also turns out, Buck? Super not dead.)

as lucky as us by hammersmiths

One of the first things Ravi learned when joining the 118 was to, under no circumstances, think too hard about Buck and Eddie’s relationship. But brother, they could try make his job easier. “I mean, I get it,” Buck’s saying, overhead, and Ravi’s knee-deep in literal human crap and even he can smell that shit from a mile away. “You and Tommy have a lot in common.” or, Ravi continually suffers as a third-wheel.

[eternalgirlscout]

sometimes i reawaken my riz & kalina brainworms and i go reread the bits and pieces of a fic that's been sitting in my google docs since 2020. i do NOT remember the plot i had planned but it was an au where kalina kidnapped riz when he was ~5 and was planning to raise him as her little baby assassin. pok and sklonda eventually got him back after kalina burned their apartment building down to try to kill them, and riz came out of the experience with fucked up (mechanically soulknife rogue) powers that he is incapable of being responsible with and a little taste of Evil Cat Babysitter Trauma. i don't think i'm ever going to finish it, and it's not enough for a full ao3 post, but have this section that almost works on its own:

The Sword of Shadows works in the cell—that is, it teleports him far enough to be rebuffed by a wall, then makes up the rest of the Misty Step’s thirty feet by throwing him back across the room. Riz bounces between the floor, walls, and ceiling like a screensaver. Across the hall, Fig, still disguised as Agent Worrell, tracks the movement with all the enthusiastic confusion of a cat with a laser pointer.

“The Ball,” Fabian grouses from his cell. “Stop. It’s not going to work.”

“I’m—trying—to—” Riz replies in staccato snaps as he vanishes and reappears. At last, the sword runs out of distance. He’s deposited, scowling, in the middle of the floor.

“Leave him alone, Fabian,” Adaine says. She shoots another finger of Ray of Frost at the visibly unfrozen lock of her own cell door. “At least he’s trying.”

“I beat up my dad and talked to my bike!” Fabian whines. “So don’t talk to me about trying, alright? God.” He hunches down on the prison cot and turns toward the back wall.

Riz looks down at the sword in his hand. Its black blade doesn’t shine. There is no oil slick iridescence, but rather a line of darkness, of absence, like a hole in space. That perfect blackness clicks in the back of his mind. It blends perfectly into another shape, a slinking presence—he remembers, suddenly, how the plaque in the arcade said the Sword of Shadows was forged.

“Huh.” Riz packs the sword into his briefcase. He makes sure everything is there: old arquebus, business cards, Gukgak gun, crystal.

“What are you doing?” Fig asks. Adaine looks up and squints at Riz, packing his things as if for a trip.

“Probably? I’m about to bounce around my cell again,” Riz admits. “But I have an idea.” He closes his eyes, points himself at the hallway outside the cells, and—

Whoosh.

“The Ball! What the fuck—”

Riz opens his eyes to find himself six inches from Fabian’s startled face as it shifts into reflexive annoyance.

“Shit.” Riz leans back against the wall.

“How did you do that?” Kristen cries, able to see into the cell that Riz and Fabian now share. 

Gorgug cries a long “Aaah!”

“What did you—Riz, did you just Misty Step again?” Adaine’s voice sounds frantic with confusion. “I thought you could only do that once per day, and—why did it work that time? Well, not work, but. You made it to a different cell?”

“Oh, no, it wasn’t a Misty Step,” Riz explains. He walks over to the bars of the cell to see if he can peer out and look at Adaine. “It was my, uh, my teleport thing. I thought it might be different.”

“You could fucking teleport this whole time?” Fig cries.

Riz blinks.

“Yeah,” he says. “I thought you guys knew that.”

“No!” Adaine, Fig, Kristen, and Fabian say in unison.

“Did I know that?” Gorgug asks.

Riz shrugs. “I guess you do now. It’s not that impressive. I don’t have a lot of control over where I end up.”

“And you can just… do that?” Fabian asks.

“I can, yeah. It’s, it’s a long story.”

“So,” Fabian looks pointedly back at Riz’s empty cell, “you can, ah, go back to your own room?”

“Wowww,” Kristen says.

Like an explosion went off, the rest of the party starts talking over one another to admonish Fabian for being rude, who huffs, “Oh, sorry, I’m supposed to just share my tiny cot that I barely fit on while we are all in prison together, is that it?”

“The cots are pretty small,” Gorgug admits quietly. “My legs hang off the end.”

“Fabian’s barely taller than I am,” Kristen laughs.

“That is not true—”

“‘Ey, ‘ey, ‘ey, what’s goin’ on in here?” One of the beat cops rushes down the hall. “What’s the—Hey! Where’d he go?” The cop jumps cartoonishly at seeing Riz’s empty cell. “Aw jeez, aw man, we gotta catch the little guy. All units, we got another one busted out.”

“Not busted out!” Riz pipes up, at the same time Fig says, “Yeah, and he locked me in this cell too!” as Angela Worrell. 

Agent Worrell herself strides down the cell block a moment later.

“Get back to your desk, officer. None of you are permitted to speak to any of these children again, am I clear?” Her sharp eyes spy Riz—who is, admittedly, making absolutely no effort to hide. “How the fuck did you get over there?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, you fake bitch?” Fig taunts. Agent Worrell pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs.

-

Riz sleeps poorly anywhere and everywhere. Jail is no exception.

In Ballaster, the train comes through every night at three forty-six in the morning, give or take. Despite the many moves, Riz has lived in orbit around the train tracks all his life. Half the time he’s awake when it chugs by anyway, but on the occasions he isn’t, it pulls him close to waking before the familiar rumble puts him back at ease.

The Elmville Police Station is nowhere near the train tracks, so every morning at three forty-six, Riz wakes up and finds himself startled by silence.

He pulls the thin blanket up to his chin and tries to wiggle into a more comfortable position. It’s well into spring, but the nights get chilly and the jail’s central heating has never been reliable. As Riz rolls onto his side, he catches sight of the dark hallway—and peering out of that darkness, right at him, a pair of eyes.

Riz freezes, prey-still. For a brief second he thinks the yellow gleam might be his mom, but the pupils are too slitted for how dark it is, the eyeshine too cold. Riz sits up. The shadow splits from the rest of the darkness, solidifying in a familiar silhouette of black against the darkvision gray of the rest of the world.

“Hey, kid,” she says. “You’re in a real pickle this time, huh?”

“I—” He swallows. A million questions rise in his throat. They cause a tightening not unlike the feeling of an oncoming sob.

“I’d appreciate it if you kept this visit on the down low, Riz,” she interrupts. “You won’t like what happens if you wake up one of your friends while I’m here.” She smiles. Her teeth are needles in a mouth that wants to reassure him and never will again.

Riz throws the blanket off and hops out of bed. His heart quakes like a bird in the rain. Cold floor on bare feet freezes his toes. He’s shaking from top to bottom, inside and out, but he forces himself to walk to the metal bars and wrap his hands around them, tilting his head up to look her in the eye. Her pupils expand and narrow again at his approach.

With a confidence he certainly doesn’t feel, silently pleading that his voice won’t crack, Riz asks, “What do you want, Kalina?”

“Not even a hello?” She crosses her arms. “It’s been a long time. You could stand to be more polite to a family friend.”

“No, I don’t think I could.”

Kalina sucks an offended breath in through her teeth. “Yikes. You were always such a sweet kid during our time together. What happened?”

Riz says nothing. He glares, hoping the green shine in his eyes conveys disdain instead of fear. He has plenty of both.

“Fine.” She puts paws in the air in a wry show of innocence. “No pleasantries. I get it. I’m just here to talk.”

“I’m not stopping you.” Riz doesn’t break eye contact, but his ears twitch as he listens for the sounds of his friends’ breathing. To his right, Kristen snores loudly enough to wake the dead; Gorgug mumbles in his sleep to his left. Adaine trances silently—Riz wonders if it would be easier to break her out of that than to wake up someone who properly sleeps. Fig is always restless, so at least her tossing and turning means she’s okay. Fabian is a silent lump in the darkness.

“Here’s my thought. We make it a game, like we used to. You remember the games we used to play, don’t you, Riz?”

“Nope,” Riz says through gritted teeth.

“We both know that’s not true. You were practicing earlier today! When you zipped into your friend’s cell over there. Am I right?” Kalina gestures over her shoulder, toward Fabian, and grins.

Riz bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes copper.

“How do you know about that?” he asks after a long moment. He hates that he can’t resist the question—hates that he’s giving her exactly what she clearly wants.

“Riz, honey.” She sounds so maternally patronizing, it makes him want to bite through his own tongue. “I know everything about you. You think I ever really left? I’ve been looking out for my guy.”

She reaches through the bars as if to ruffle his hair. He ducks away, a full cunning action disengage, before she can make contact. There is no flicker of hurt on her face, or even surprise, at the avoidance. Kalina pulls her paw back. She won’t stop fucking smiling.

“That’s what I came here to talk to you about,” she continues. “Getting out of this place.”

Riz freezes.

“You can get me and my friends out?”

Kalina cocks her head.

“You can get you out. I’ll tell you all about my cunning plan if you agree to play the game.”

“I’m not five years old,” Riz snarks. “I don’t want to play games with you anymore.”

“Oh, they grow up so fast.” She rolls her eyes. “Fine, since you’re a mature young man now, let’s call it a deal. A wager, even, if that soothes the trust issues you’ve clearly got going on.”

“Gee, wonder why,” Riz mutters under his breath. Kalina’s pupils expand, her only tell. A tell of what, Riz doesn’t have the familiarity to say. Not anymore.

“Here’s the deal: I tell you everything you need to know to be out of this jail by morning, and you,” she leans in, pupils razor-thin yet again, “don’t tell anyone you saw me.”

Riz stares. Kalina waits.

“We all get out by tomorrow?”

“There’s the catch. You’re sharp, kid. I see why you’re gunning for that investigator’s license.” She leans back into a relaxed posture and shakes her head. “It would just be you. Nobody else.”

“I’m not leaving without my friends,” Riz says without a moment’s hesitation. This is a hill he can die on. In the idiomatic sense, ideally.

“You’re not even curious? This isn’t the only time you’ll need to get out of a sticky situation, I can promise you that. Half of Spyre is littered with the bones of goblins who couldn’t get away quick enough.”

Riz’s icy fear melts. In its place flares a smoldering anger.

“I got away from you,” he says coldly.

Kalina tsks.

“This is exactly what always frustrated me about you, Riz. You’re so clever, but you can never just do the smart thing.”

She steps back from the door. Out of the dim aura of light coming in through the window of Riz’s cell, Kalina fades into shadow more than should be possible. Riz knows the kinds of things she can make possible. He keeps the shining points of her eyes in the center of his vision.

“There’s no point if I’m the only one escaping,” he says. “And I’m definitely not going with you.”

“Oh,” a laugh bleeds into Kalina’s voice, “I’m not bringing you with me anywhere. You’re always welcome, Riz, I hope I’ve made that clear, but you’re your own person. I just want to help.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I’m not lying to you. And, to prove it,” her smile gleams white in the darkness, “I’ll leave you with two pieces of information. Less than I would have given you if you’d taken my deal, but a hell of a lot more than nothing. Consider it a trade for sacrificing your precious sleep to listen to an old cat. Sound fair?”

Slowly, stiffly, Riz nods.

“This one’s a teaser for what I’d’ve spelled out for you if you weren’t hell bent on giving your old man a run for his money when it comes to obstinance. Pay attention, because I’ll only say it once.” She slinks closer. Even with darkvision, Riz can’t make out which swimming pieces of darkness are Kalina and which might be her shadow. The effect blurs the edges of what, in the light, is clearly a tabaxi into something nearly serpentine. “Your aim’s off.”

A beat passes, silent. Kalina doesn’t blink.

“What?” Riz croaks.

“I said what I said. That’s your problem, kid. The theory was sound, it’s just your shoddy aim. Why do you think you ended up in one of these other cells?” She glances over at Fabian’s sleeping form. Riz feels a brief flash of panic before she looks back to him, slitted eyes wide and questioning.

“The—there’s a ward, they must be connected—”

“Why don’t you ask your friend Adaine about how these spell sinks work? Ah—” Kalina holds up a paw when Riz is about to interrupt with another question. “I’ve already given away too much. You’re getting more for your money, expert haggler. I’ll be honest, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

The combination of praise and condescension pricks at a pair of tender reflex points in Riz’s brain: a need to please, and a need to prove any and all underestimation wrong. He doesn’t remember how she spoke to him years ago, but his dreams do. Apparently, she’s always known precisely how to press his buttons.

“And here’s the second thing,” Kalina continues. “Not a threat, just something to think about. Ready?”

“Ready,” Riz growls reluctantly.

“Think for a second about what your mom would do if she knew I came to see you.” Kalina lets a beat pass. “If you want, you can ask her what happened last time she came after me. Would you bet her life on her getting lucky twice?”

“How—” Riz cuts himself off and lowers his voice when he hears how loud he’s getting. “How is that not a threat?”

“Hey,” Kalina shrugs, “I’ve got nothing against Sklonda, but when you corner someone with claws, don’t be surprised when she scratches. Like I said,” she finally blinks, and something about the movement looks wrong, “think about it. Night, kid.”

With a wink, and a break in time like blinking or blacking out, Kalina disappears.

[4urvalidation]

A CASE OF LIMERENCE | Chapter Fourteen

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

A/N: I'm really, really, REALLY sorry for the wait. Travelling for two weeks, working for ten hours and then finally getting to go home can do a number to a girl. In all honesty, after the small break I really didn't feel like writing. Writer's block is something I've been struggling with since the moment I've been writing (mainly due to my incessant need for everything to be perfect on the very first try) and getting back into ACOL has been a struggle.

If I'm being dramatic - which I am, always - I guess you could say I've been fighting an inner war; for the past couple of days I wasn't sure whether I even wanted to continue writing this, but then I reread it; reminded myself just how happy creating all of this has made me feel so here we are.

My original idea for how this was supposed to go is so different from what I've written so far, so tying old notes with brand new ones has been a little bit difficult but I've decided to play it as lays (or whatever the saying is)

That being said - y'all got a big storm coming :)

Leni doesn’t know for just how long she was standing in that corridor. Seconds? Minutes? Hours? Time trickles past her like the beads of sweat in the back of her neck and when she finally returns - fingers prickling and curled into tight fists - Cleo is the only one concerned by her sudden disappearance. The others are a bit too preoccupied with whatever seems to be going on in Polly’s phone. 

Silently, Leni returns to her seat - the corner of her eye adamantly fixed on the still empty deckchair on the other side of the pool as she tries not to think about it; to think about him, but her mind keeps taking her there. The memory of Rafe’s touch gingerly pressed upon the skin of her hand, its warmth and the bolt of electricity it sent through her entire body, lingers like a bad perfume. 

She tries to shake it; tries to stop her brain from constantly replaying the image of his suddenly cold gaze; the sound of his voice and the way it shook when he spoke again… 

When he told her to lie.

“You ready to go?” She feels the touch of Cleo’s hand rest gingerly on her shoulder and almost instantly, as if on queue, their eyes meet. 

Leni nods. 

Stands.

“We, uh… we’re gonna head out… now.” She finally has Tess and Polly’s attention and they’re both looking at her now, but Leni is only looking at Tess. How long have you known? Is the first question that pops into her head before a flurry of others start crowding the rest of her brain and force her fingers into complete numbness. 

“No!” Polly cries out, the bright screen on her phone suddenly visible and playing a video of Topper and Rafe. The glimpse makes Leni’s stomach flip. She swallows. “I literally just ordered another round of bramble!”

“I know, I’m sorry, but I really don’t feel good-”

“Yeah, we’re still kinda hungover from last night.” Cleo swoops in, an apologetic smile gently tugging on the corners of her lips. 

“Not you too!” Polly is fully pouting now, her hands curled into tiny fists - just like a petulant child’s. The sight almost makes Leni smile a little, but then the corner of her eye catches movement - Rafe has finally returned - and so is the frown on her face. 

“Sorry girls.” She says with a small shrug; all her belongings haphazardly thrown in her bag and there it is again: his gaze - deep and haunting, shamelessly lingering on the side of her body and making her heart react in the stupidest of ways. 

Call me when you learn how to lie. 

His last words echo in the back of her head as she and Cleo step outside. A gust of humid air hits Leni’s face like a slap as the memory of Rafe’s blue eyes prickles at her skin like salt water. The regret she feels over saying those things; over pushing him away comes to her in waves - slow, agitating ones that make her want to learn how to turn back time just so she can undo her stupid mistake. 

But was it really?

Was it really a mistake if the reason she did it was because he was a horrible, psychotic person?

The throbbing in her temple returns and Leni feels sick all over again. 

She doesn’t want to return to her hotel room.

She doesn’t want to watch reruns of a TV show she’s seen a dozen times or stuff herself with all kinds of junk food until he is no longer the reason why she feels like vomiting. 

Silently, with one single swift movement, Leni pulls the key out of her pocket and hands it over to Cleo, “Here. I… uh… I kinda need to be by myself a little. Just an hour or two to clear my head… If you go by the pool they usually serve ice cream around this time… it’s not as good as the one we just had at the club but-”

“Leni,” Cleo interrupts her, her pretty face alight with the world’s kindest smile, “Don’t worry about me. Do what you gotta do.”

Her numb fingers hover over the keyboard as she watches the notification appear and then disappear. It’s not a surprising thing - getting a text from her mom. She always gets texts from her; weird, silly ones at the strangest time of the day - usually when either of them is supposed to be sleeping, but never like this. 

She stares at her phone as the lump in her throat grows bigger and bigger. The myriad of texts JJ had sent her begin to blur into one, as the screen of her phone turns to black. Dazed, Leni catches a glimpse of her reflection in the broken glass, desperately trying to remember what she wanted to tell that sweet, sweet boy, but her mind keeps drawing blanks. 

Until suddenly, it doesn’t. 

The first thought comes once Leni finds herself completely sprawled onto the sand and with it comes a feeling so insidious it makes her want to throw up again. She can barely feel her fingers - toes included - and there’s a strange feeling inside her chest; like someone keeps pressing their hands against it, weighing her down and making it hard to breathe. 

She tries not to think about it; tries to focus on the sound of ocean waves crashing, but what once used to bring her peace now seems to be the cause of her furthering anxiety and before she knows it, Leni is having a full blown panic attack.

When she finally comes to, her hair and clothes are covered in sand and the sun has started to set. Breathless she fishes for her phone, opening Instagram for a grain of distraction and there he is, the biggest one Leni has ever had. Like some stupid, lovestruck teenager, she watches each and every single one of the stories Rafe’s posted in the past hour or so. She hates how silly this whole entire thing probably makes her look, but not as much as she hates herself for allowing to have these feelings for him in the first place.  

Closing her eyes, she tries to imagine what being with him would actually look like, but instead of a fully fledged movie all her brain is able to conjure is… nothing. The stillness of it annoys Leni. Picturing herself having sex with him is easy; natural almost and yet, the thing she shamefully yearns for the most also somehow happens to be the hardest to conceive. 

Probably because Rafe isn’t boyfriend material, a small voice from a far corner of her mind bellows inside her head and almost instantly, as if on autopilot another one counters: But he was. With Sofia. 

Until he wasn’t. 

Until he cheated on her and threw a bottle of whiskey right next to her head and scared her into leaving without a single goodbye. 

And that’s when it comes to Leni. 

All at once, the images of their hypothetical relationship slide through her mind’s eye like a really bad Powerpoint presentation, but only one remains etched in her memory. 

She’s on Rafe’s boat - gently sunkissed, hair in a braid, her white shirt slowly flailing in the wind and he’s right there; watching her with those stormy blues like a blind man looking at the sunset for the first time. Her heart skips a beat and she giggles - even though they’ve been together for a while now, he’s still capable of making her feel like the very first time.  

And it’s strange really - how important, loved and wanted she feels. So much so, Leni no longer cares how loving him has practically alienated her from every single person that’s ever mattered. Yes, there have been plenty of times when she’s yearned for Sarah’s company or the sound of her mother’s voice, but what’s the point in having any of that when all they do is judge Leni and her choices? 

She is happy. 

She is satisfied. 

She is having the best sex a person could ever have in their entire fucking life. 

So what if half of it is a facade? 

She knew what she was getting into. Had been warned about him over a dozen times. But she wants him. She loves him. Yes, he is flawed and rough and so fucking difficult and complicated, but so is she. 

They don’t understand. 

No one will ever understand. 

Except, maybe for the person that married his father, but Rose has always been a hypocrite. Leni couldn’t see it then; she was far too young and blind and naive to understand or even accept that part of her beloved Godmother, but she sees it now. She sees it as clear as day and loathes Rose for it. 

Back in the present, sad reality that has somehow become her life, Leni pats herself down, but the sand keeps sticking to her hair and clothes. Much like the sour taste in her mouth that Rose has created. Above her the sky is growing dark - a clear sign of a storm brewing in the horizon. 

Leni is running now, eager to go back to her hotel room where Cleo is most definitely waiting with leftover junk food and a kind smile, but her mind is still a mess. A clutter of unruly, panicky thoughts that have her standing on the edge of a spiral and then, on the very bottom of it, there’s Rose. 

There used to be a time when she was the most important person in Leni’s life. Before Sarah, before Ema - hell,  even before her very own mother - there stood Rose, constantly propped on a pedestal. The best person alive. The cool aunt. Her mother’s best friend who dyed her hair fun colors and let her eat sour candy until her tummy hurt and encouraged her to talk to boys. She was Leni’s best friend before Leni even knew what having a best friend meant; comforted her over the phone when Leni and her family had to leave the country overnight and fought ferociously with her mother when they wanted to send Leni to a boring summer camp. 

“Why don’t you have her spend the summer with me, Ward and the kids? Ward’s oldest daughter- Sarah - is the same age as Leni. Very awkward. I’m sure she too could use a friend.” The conversation is alive in Leni’s mind as if it happened only yesterday. 

Rose was supposed to take care of her. 

That was the deal. 

She was supposed to be here - picking her up from the airport and driving back to Tannyhill as the most god awful country music blasted from the speakers of her all too girly car. They were supposed to be laughing; making lunch plans and getting their nails done and talking about boys. She would’ve known the exact remedy for heartbreak; helped Leni put the pieces of her broken heart back together and most importantly - keep her away from making the mistakes she’s done in her absence. 

Why didn’t she tell me? 

The question plagues Leni’s mind; brings tears in her eyes and she swore she wouldn’t do it again, but there she is: standing still on his porch; fingers balled into a tight fist and hovering over the door. 

JJ opens after one single knock and when their eyes meet, his expression is nowhere near what Leni expected to see. “Hey,” She hears herself say - her voice rough and barely above a whisper. “Sorry for, uhm, showing up like this… so out of the blue and stuff… I… I saw your texts and… I was gonna reply, but-”

“You were too busy playing hooky with Tess and Polly?” It’s not his reply that has Leni’s mouth fall slack, but the tone of his voice. The words leave his mouth like slabs of ice - each colder than the one before. “I saw the stories. What were you thinking? Lying about having a migraine? And bringing Cleo into your mess? Do you have any idea what you’ve done? The trouble you created? Kie - who was actually not feeling well today - had to come into work sick and do a double, just so you can play Kook!” 

“I-” Leni opens her mouth, but the sentences are lodged behind the gigantic lump that’s appeared in the middle of her throat. And she tries to stay calm; to speak with a slow and measured tone but the sole mention of Kie’s name sends her into a further frenzy and suddenly, Leni finds herself shouting at JJ, “Ohmigod, who cares!? I was hungover and didn’t feel like coming to work today! Sue me!”

“Leni, you have a responsibility! You can’t just not show up because you don’t feel like it!”

“I have a responsibility? Oh okay Mr. Big Work Ethic - when was the last time you had a job?” She regrets the words the second they slip through her lips, but instead of disappointment, JJ’s blue eyes glow with something else entirely. 

Defensiveness. “That’s none of your business.”

“JJ…  you’re making it my business!”

“Well… now I’m unmaking it! Boom! You’re free.”

Leni blinks. 

Is he for real?

Or just exceptionally high?

“That’s… that’s not what I was trying to say…”

“What were you trying to say then?”

“I just… for once I just wanted you to take my side…”

“Why?” His eyebrows shoot up so high, they’ve practically become one with his hairline, “You’re not my girlfriend.” The statement is like a slap to her face and it hits Leni so hard, she can actually feel the burn on her cheek. 

Slack-jawed and completely devoid of words, she watches JJ open and close his mouth several times - the realization of what he just said hitting him a little bit too late, “Shit, Leni.” She can feel the regret in his voice; the way it spreads across his entire face before finally taking shelter in his gaze. 

“Don’t worry about it.” She says, “You’re right. And besides, it’s not like it was gonna happen anyway.”

JJ blinks, “Wh- What do you mean?” 

“I’ll be leaving soon and-” You are in love with your best friend and we should just stop torturing ourselves and start being with the people we’d both rather be with, so “the best thing right now is to… stop.”

“You’re breaking up with me?”

“Uh… yeah, I guess, but… it’s not really breaking up if we were never really together now is it? I mean, you just said it yourself - I’m not your girlfriend, so-” 

“So you never liked me?” 

“That’s…” His question makes Leni’s head start to throb and she hopes to god that this irrational thinking of his is the product of all the weed he’s smoked before she showed up and not due to a sheer lack of intelligence. “I do like you Jay.” 

“Just not like that.”

She nods stiffly, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t… don’t apologize. Seriously. You’re only gonna make it worse.” 

Leni swallows. 

Above her the clouds have turned a dangerous shade of dark grey.

She should start leaving soon, but JJ clears his throat,“It’s cause of Rafe isn’t it?”

Her heart skips a beat. 

“Rafe?”

JJ shrugs, “Yeah, I… I dunno, I just… When I told you all that stuff about him you looked at me the same way Sarah does whenever Pope and I talk shit about him. And then Kie told me she saw you crying… and I just thought…”

“Rafe has nothing to do with this.” 

But it has. 

It has everything to do with this.

Everything always has somehow had Rafe something to do with her decision making and she is absolutely sick of it. 

Sick of him, sick of this fucking island, sick of herself. 

JJ is looking at her - baby blonde hair flapping comically in the wind and she should be going now. He says so himself, in that small unnatural voice he seems to have created just so he can speak to her post whatever this conversation was. “I’m not kicking you out or anything. It’s just… it seems like it’s gonna rain soon and I don’t want you being caught in the middle of it or being forced to stay here…” 

Leni nods. 

He is right. 

So she leaves, but the weight on top of her chest remains. As a matter of fact, it kinda feels like it got heavier - a kilo or two or perhaps even more. 

She feels bad. 

Downright disgusting and horrible even though things - as unplanned as they were - went a lot better than expected. 

JJ wasn’t overly angry.

Or upset. 

When he raised his voice, he didn’t accuse her of leading him on or using her. 

He did everything like she was desperately hoping he would. 

Then why on earth is she so fucking unhappy?

 And then it hits her. 

It hits her harder than the bolt of lighting she sees cut through the sky in the distance. 

A pair of stormy blue eyes and a shaky voice. 

The willingness to fight for her; the despondent way he told her all of his deepest, most darkest and shameful of secrets… how he was ready to do anything to get her on his side. 

No. 

JJ isn’t Rafe.

Never was and never will be and Leni tries to convince herself how that’s actually a good thing. 

A fat raindrop falls directly on the crown of her head and then another one and another one and before she knows it, Leni is drenched and riding her bike as fast as she can to the quickest shelter. Her hotel is still a ten minute ride away, but there’s no way she can make the trek - at least not with the rain coming as hard as it’s doing in this very second. 

Suddenly tired, Leni wraps her arms around her cold wet body. The last thing she needs right now is to catch one of those pesky summer colds. 

She sighs. 

And then calls her mom. 

“Hi honey.” 

Leni tried to be strong. 

She really fucking did. 

When she pressed that green call button right next to her mother’s name, she took a deep breath and promised herself to keep all her broken pieces intact, but all of that fell apart the moment she heard the sound of her mom’s voice.

“I want to go home.” A loud sob tears through her throat. “Rose left me and I can’t reach her and I’m so fucking lonely and hate it here and… please Mom… Can you come and get me? Please… I want to go home.”

Silence. 

In her mind’s eye Leni pictures her mom sitting on that god awful orange sofa in their living room, her right leg bobbing nervously. “Leni, honey, you know that’s not possible… Your dad and I… we… we really thought it’d be fixed by the time you got back next year but-”

What?

Leni blinks, “Mom… I was just… I was gonna ask you for a ticket home… what are you talking about?”

“You father… he got in trouble at work and… we’re not in a very good place right now financially.” She can feel the lump in the middle of her throat grow bigger with each new word that leaves her mother’s lips. “He made a lot of…” Scams. Is what her mother wants to say but doesn’t because in her head Leni’s father needs to be the best person possible even though both of them know that’s the farthest from the truth. “Bad decisions and…” 

“We’re broke.”

“Yes.” Her mom hesitantly says after a pause that feels a thousand years long. Then, she adds a couple of more things; a bunch of words that Leni cannot hear from the sound of the heavy rain mixed with the flurry of panicked thoughts going in and out of her brain. 

It’s happening again.

They’re gonna have to leave in the middle of the night and force Leni to skip town without saying goodbye to any of her friends and-

“So I can’t come home anymore?” She croaks. With her heart beating ferociously in her throat, Leni waits for her mother’s response, but all she gets is silence. Silence that stretches on for what feels like ages. Only when she decides to check on her phone does she realize that the reason for it all was her now dead battery. 

Annoyed, Leni curses under her breath. 

If she hadn’t felt defeated before she sure as hell feels now. 

Stuck and hopeless, she leans against the cold glass window of a hardware store that seems to have been out of business even longer than she’s been alive. The rain keeps coming down harder and harder with no intentions of stopping, making Leni wonder whether she’ll have to spend the night here and whether they’d arrest her for breaking and entering if she finds a way to shelter herself inside the store. 

And that’s when she hears it - the undeniable roar of an engine; a familiar vehicle stopping right there in front of her. The dark tinted windows make it a little hard for Leni to see the person behind the wheel and she may not be very good with cars, but she’d recognize that shade and model everywhere. 

Rafe. 

Breath catching and heartbeat skipping, she eagerly awaits for him to roll down the window and flash her that shit eating smirk of his. Yes he is mad and this isn’t what they agreed on,, but how could he resist driving past her on a rainy day like this and not tease her into oblivion before offering to give her a ride home.

“Leni? Leni, is that really you?”

Her heart drops. 

She should’ve known. 

It was far too good to be true. 

“Yeah. Hi Mrs. Wutton-Kelley.” 

“Ohmigod, how many times have I told you! Call me Jessica!”

Jessica, selflessly offers her a ride because of course she would. They secure Leni’s bike on the back of her trunk and then finally, head home. The car is warm and smells like lavender and Leni is soaking through Jessica’s fancy leather seats, but she doesn’t seem to care. She’s far too busy going on and on about the last time she saw Leni, “You’ve grown so much!” She gushes. “I almost didn’t stop just now because I barely even recognized you. How’s your mom? I talked to Rose the other day and she told me her and your dad were planning a trip to the Maldives?”

After the news she just broke to her, Leni doubts that the last thing her parents would be planning is a trip to the Maldives unless it’s the kind that includes packing their nearest and dearest belongings and- “You talked to Rose?” The realization hits at the very second the question leaves Leni’s mouth. 

Jessica grins, “I talk to her almost every day. Well, every two to three days, now that Rafe has that stupid P.I breathing down my neck… but yeah. We try our best to stay in touch. She talks about you a lot.”

Leni nods stiffly; gently tracing the cracks running down her phone’s broken screen and that’s when it hits her. “Good things I hope.”

“Oh, absolutely!” Their gazes meet for a second. Jessica is beaming. “The best.”

“That’s a relief.” She chuckles, “It’s been ages since I’ve talked to Rose and I thought she might’ve been complaining to you about it.”

“No, no. She’d never. All I’ve heard her say about you is what a great kid you are and gush about the college you’re going to next year.”

Leni nods. Smiles and it’s a genuine one. The kind that shoots warmth in every single part of her body and gently reminds her that despite all of it, Rose still loves her. “Well next time you two talk can you please tell her I broke my phone? I, uh… dropped it at one of the beaches down at The Cut and I’m pretty sure some water got into it and that’s the reason why half of my photos and phone numbers are missing.”

“Oh no! Is that why you haven’t talked to Rose?”

“Yeah… actually - now that I’m thinking about it… I think it’s best if you don’t tell her anything. She’s gonna freak out if I tell her I’ve been spending most of my time here at The Cut.” From the corner of her eye, Leni can see Jessica nod vigorously at this. “Not to mention the tantrum my mom’s gonna throw if she finds out I broke my phone.”

“Don’t worry. My lips are sealed shut.” 

“Thank you.” Leni smiles again, only this time the corners of her mouth tug in a very slow and calculated manner.  

When they reach the Summerwinds Hotel, Jessica doesn’t ask the question that’s on everybody’s lips once they find out where she is staying. Instead, she makes that weird grin that makes her look like she’s severely constipated before gleefully telling Leni to stop by their hacienda whenever she wants. 

“Thanks. I will. And thank you for the ride.” 

“Anytime.”

Outside the rain has calmed down a little and she is about to leave the car when - “Oh, I almost forgot. If it’s no bother, can you please give me Rose’s number? Just so I can shoot her a text and let her know I’m alive?” 

“Of course! And don’t worry - your secret’s safe with me.” 

Back in the hotel room, Cleo is indeed waiting for her splayed out on the bed with a bunch of leftover junk food and an episode of Gilmore Girls playing from the laptop she seems to have brought from home. 

“I’m just gonna take a quick shower to warm up and I’ll join you.” Leni says eagerly before locking herself in the bathroom and finally getting her phone to charge. 

She lets the water run down her body until there’s no longer any hot water left. When she comes out, her phone is almost at fifty percent. She’s got one missed call from her mother, a text and three missed calls from Sarah. 

With a towel snuggly wrapped around her body, Leni bites the skin around her prickling, numb thumb until she draws blood. Then, she presses send.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

[disappearenceofsomeone]

the small... the itty bitty.. the sad sniffles..

(hi guys!! needed a break to deal with something, but hopefully I can actually try a schedule for posting stuff soon :3 )

uhh I got designs + barely cohesive context right below:

I love these SILLIES!!! don't mind how empty Winnie's page is, I didn't know what to do

decided that giving them school uniforms to match the surrounding this took place in was a ok decision so I did that!!

also here's the rlly confusing context I made in the middle of the night whilst accidentally pulling an all nighter at the same time:

(I have 0 experience in writing anything in general, I was spouting whatever made sense in my head so if you think this is ooc for them, it probably and most likely is lmaoo. sorry in advance to everyone who was curious ehough to read whatever... this is considered..)

anyways, prologue takes place in an elementary school where Winnie just finished his day at school, it didn't go that well but y'know, there's 10 more things to worry Abt then that. He gets to the bus stop, knowing well he was gonna have to stay there for awhile and planned on making himself comfortable. Upon arriving, he hears sad sniffles from across the seats and boom, sad lil meow meow auggie appears!! Very concerned Winnie approaches the kid, proceeds to get a very hot headed response from him as auggie pushes him away (he isn't having any of it today + he was kinda a punk when he was little like damn!!!) Winnie clearly sees that the dude needs ATLEAST *some* company so he just, sits by him awkwardly. Augustine over here doesn't have a clue why he's still not going away but accepts it nonetheless, albeit in a very tsun tsun way I guess. Winnie takes this as a small talk starter and tries to engage with him, to no avail as auggie seems to have a very reserved manner when alone. After a few minutes of trying, he decides to just be straightforward and ask him what's up, to which Augustine replies with a 'none of your business, why do you want to know?' type of response. He just tells him that moping around wasn't gonna do him any good and since they both seem to be going home late anyway, might as well kill time. (on second thought, they sound very adult for 7-12 yr olds, what. I will come back to reread this dw) Augustine now knows Winnie doesn't mean any harm and decides why not, got nothing else to do. He proceeds to tell him regarding how others seem to only want to be around him whenever he acts a certain way (ie, very bubbly, friendly, etc) and thinks about whether or not people actually do like him for himself. It also makes him feel like if people actually knew how he was, not many would stay (like a 'yeah I want people to stay, but I want them to stay for who I actually am' type thing). Winnie tells him that he should be himself, regardless of what anybody else thinks otherwise. Additionally, Winnie thinks that if nobody's willing to stay after seeing the truth, it's their loss honestly, he thinks Augustine should care about people who would actually be there for him, not for who he's trying to be. Augustine is somewhat stunned by this, asking if he's been through this before, to which Winnie remarks with a similar situation happening back in his previous school (Winnie's friends didn't stay in touch and never contacted him ever since he moved). They pretty much notice atp how similar they were and decided to spend to the entire time waiting just chatting, turns out they got along very well (cue scenes of them yelling at each other playing games, cat scratching as they yell something dumb at the other while simultaneously talking about how cute the cats walking around were). Time passes and bam! Winnie's mom finally comes over to pick them up!!

"Hey! I know that lady! She's my mom's neighbour! :O"

"Oh, it's my mom-- How do you know my mom???"

"Uh, duh!! >:/ I just said that she's my mom's neighbour--- she's your mom!?!?"

(Cue them getting inside the car and getting bits about how Augustine and his mom met. Apparently, he and his mom visited to send off some gifts for her, when in actuality, it was to send off some medicine for Winnie, who was sick during this time. Of course they got some gifts but the medicine was important. And the gifts were too.)

As they got closer towards their houses, Winnie was planning to just go back inside the house immediately since he's got no plans going on and assumes that was it. Augustine thinks otherwise, so when they both got out of the car, he immediately blurts out his name and introduces himself. Winnie, realizing this entire time they haven't even said their names towards each other, also introduces himself in response.

They both seem to connect easily and since no one else was willing to, they will instead. With a promise to stay by each other's side no matter what, they both spent their entire childhood together. They were practically two peas in a pod, nobody ever saw them apart, even if they were in a group of people. They stood out by a lot since then, the very loud and obnoxious kid was hanging around with someone who could chill him out in an instant. The two were inseparable

[drundertalescum]

So, i've been in the process of downloading PDFs of all my bookmarked fics for the sake of having a personal backup (and i will be similarly backing up my own fics when thats done) and it's rather surprisingly put me in a mood to read and reread and maybe even write something. I've been an empty well of ideas for years now but some stuff is coming to mind just from being reminded of all these fics I forgot about

So, putting out a call I guess. What are some UT fics you REALLY love? I don't have any specific rules here, you can inbox or reply or reblog. I do have some stuff I'm especially in the mood for though:

Canon Compliant/Not Heavily Into Multiverse

Canon Divergence

Gen fic (but doesn't have to be)

Angsty

Alphyne (and/or Alphys or Undyne centric)

Long Fic (preferably completed)

really strong one-shots

Published in the last 6 years (this ones because i almost definitely havent seen it if its published after my mental block on fic that happened in 2018ish)

Can't promise I'll get to all or most but we will see

[zhaohuis-lost-walnut]

Zechuan vs Lanzhou: What’s in a Name?

[vague spoilers up to chapter 181 I think? idk, it's not even a big deal probably]

One aspect of the story that has always intrigued me is how Shen Zechuan seems to compartmentalize "Shen Zechuan" and "Shen Lanzhou". I honestly wanted to make a post about that specifically, but I had a hard time finding the words to describe what I wanted to say ToT

But in my attempt to make that post, I realized something that I only really thought about while rereading my notes and various chapters: The way Shen Zechuan and Xiao Chiye use "Lanzhou" is very different. And it has been driving me insane!

So I guess I'm making the post I wanted to from the very beginning after all, and then some!

First, I shall establish how I believe Shen Zechuan sees "Zechuan" vs "Lanzhou". The short of it is "Lanzhou" is Shen Zechuan's carefully curated persona. But it isn't simply a mask; there are many scenes, especially in the later parts of the book, where Shen Zechuan goes into heavy detail about "Shen Lanzhou". Shen Zechuan describes "Lanzhou" as the only part of himself untouched by Shen Wei, fully belonging to himself. "Lanzhou" is like a symbol that keeps Shen Zechuan grounded. While Lanzhou can still be ruthless, it's a very calculated ruthlessness. Shen Lanzhou isn't striving to be a good person, but he's a least a lot more palatable than "Shen Zechuan".

"Shen Zechuan" has been "killed off", leaving an empty shell where only vindictiveness remains. In chapter 68, it's mentioned that "Shen Zechuan" has "a pure heart with few desires". But it is later established that that "purity" did not mean "sanctity", but rather, the idea that "a kindness given is a kindness given, and a wrong done is a wrong done" as said in chapter 72. "Shen Zechuan" is driven by revenge. In later chapters the story introduces the motif of "Shen Zechuan" needing to be sheathed and it's so beautifully well done. But it's not solely about controlling his anger and murderous impulses.

Shen Zechuan carries a lot of shame. And as much as he wants to act like none of his humanly desires remain, they do. He has people he cares about: at the beginning of the story, its only Qi Huilian and Ji Gang. But as the story progresses, his circle of those he's fond of grows. Even before he leaves Qudu he finds himself genuinely moved by Cen Yu's praise in chapter 75.

"Shen Zechuan" isn't just the angry remnants of a person wronged. "Shen Zechuan" is everything he represses. The bad and the good. In the first half of the story, Shen Zechuan is very detached from his actions. But in the latter half, especially as he gets closer with Xiao Chiye, he starts to not only criticize himself more, increasing his shame, but also confronts his feelings.

After meeting with Xiao Fangxu in chapter 163, Shen Zechuan worries that he won't be accepted because "Shen Zechuan" makes him untrustworthy. Thinking to himself: “Many of what he did in the past had their roots in impure motives. As long as he got his hands on it, he would fully exploit it. He called all of those “hypocrisies”, and they were even more atrocious before Xiao Chiye had come into the picture. That was why he could not—dared not tell anyone.”

Man, I hate it when my political strategies mess up my chances with the in-laws.

On a serious note, Shen Zechuan has had moments previous to this where he self deprecates, but I feel that after he had to confront himself in this way, (aka, his moves affecting his personal relationships) it got worse :D He continues to unpack this throughout the story with ups and downs and I simply love the way it's handled in the narrative.

Now, Xiao Chiye.

While I haven't made several notes and google docs marking down Xiao Chiye's use of "Lanzhou" like I did for Shen Zechuan, I will simply trust my brain to not lie to me for this post <3

I'm mostly focusing on them as a couple because that's what's been rotting my brain, but I find it interesting that Shen Zechuan refers to Xiao Chiye with many names interchangeably, while Xiao Chiye's sole term of endearment for Shen Zechuan is simply his courtesy name: Lanzhou.

Shen Zechuan goes by many names in his head, and he has different feelings about all of them. He's Shen Wei's Son. He's Bai Cha's son. He's Shen Zechuan. He's Shen Lanzhou. He's a pupil of the Ji Clan. Grand Mentor Qi's student. And so much more.

Shen Zechuan doesn't like every part of himself. He "accepts" that he can't get rid of them, and while he doesn't let them define him, he still wishes he could scrub such connections from himself. On the other hand, he loves everything about Xiao Chiye, and I feel like that affection is mirrored in his use of all his names: Xiao Chiye, Ce'an, A-ye, Er-gongzhi, Er-lang~

But Xiao Chiye doesn't box himself into different personas. He put on an a general act in Qudu, yes, but I don't think he necessarily labeled them the way Shen Zechuan did his own.

Xiao Chiye doesn't love "Lanzhou" while fearing or chaining down "Shen Zechuan". He doesn't resent the son of Shen Wei, nor revere the son of Bai Cha. The Lanzhou in Xiao Chiye's head is different from the "Lanzhou" in Shen Zechuan's head.

To Xiao Chiye, Shen Zechuan is Lanzhou.

There's no difference. Xiao Chiye loves him. All of him. Lanzhou encapsulates all that Shen Zechuan is in a singular word. He doesn't separate the "good" from the "bad"; they're all a part of you. Xiao Chiye is all of his many titles, but at the end of the day, those fancy words don't change how he sees himself and who he is at his core. And I think this reflects in Lanzhou simply being Lanzhou to him.

Of course, Xiao Chiye can tell when Shen Zechuan is putting on a front, and he specifically wants Shen Zechuan to feel safe enough to not have to keep up his mask with him. But he also finds Shen Zechuan's "Lanzhou" hot. We know this.

There are so many scenes where the love Xiao Chiye feels towards Lanzhou truly radiates off the page. And part of me regrets not marking down every single quote that made my heart swoon (though I did save some hehe).

I really hope this made sense ToT This has been brewing in my head for a minute and I'm happy was able to articulate it at least a little bit! Thanks for reading. Until me next bout of unwellness 🫡

[wooataes]

Real Eyes, Fake Lies (Part Six)

Pairing: soulmate!Lee Jihoon x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.7K

Warnings: angst, Hanahaki!AU, filler chapter before next big plot point 👀, Marvel spoilers i guess?? Jihoon sucks when it comes to talking about things, sus Jeonghan, swearing, feelings of self doubt?

Summary: What do you do when you find out the one person that was created by the universe to be yours doesn’t want you back?

A/N: Just a short little filler chapter for you guys before the next big plot point! A few cute little moments and a lay off the angst for a bit too! Some new characters will drop next chapter, and I can’t wait for you all to read! Thank you all for loving this story as much as I love writing it 🫶🏼

-Tae 💜✨

If you’d like to be tagged, shoot through an ask!

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Y/N: Meet me at the auditorium after you finish class? I’ll be helping the Jeongyeon and the girls with their Vocal project and then we can go to the library.

Jihoon rereads your text for the fifth time as he makes his way towards the auditorium with a sigh, looking up at the sky as the sun tries to peek out from behind the clouds. It’s a Friday afternoon, Ji-ah has just sent him off with a kiss and a smile as she leaves campus to take the train back home to her family as per usual, leaving him alone for the weekend. He winces into direct sunlight with a scowl before trudging inside the large building.

Jihoon blinks at the sound of five distinct voices harmonizing together on the empty stage, and he recognizes that the voices belonged to your five girlfriends, Jeongyeon, Jihyo, Momo, Dahyun and Nayeon. He spots you sitting at the piano at the side of the stage, playing a simple melody as the girls sing into the empty theatre. He is captivated at how well the girls’ voices all blend together.

“Heaven forbid someone whisper ‘he’s part of some scheme’,” Jihyo sings. “Your enemy whispers,”

“So you have to scream!” The girls harmonize, and Jihoon’s eyes widen as you sing alongside them from the piano, still playing flawlessly.

“I know about whispers,” Momo’s voice is soft and delicate.

“I see how you look at my sister...” Your voice is clear as a bell as your voice projects through the room. Jihoon feels like time has stopped as he hears you.

“Don’t!”

“I’m not naive, I have seen women around you,” Dahyun’s voice is deep and angry, singing with emotion, your voice harmonizing behind her. He can’t keep his eyes off you.

“Don’t think I don’t see how they fall for your charms,” Jeongyeon and Jihyo sing together, facing each other and locking eyes.

“All of your charms!” Everyone sings together.

They’re good, Jihoon thinks to himself. Really good.

“I’m erasing myself from the narrative,” the girls all sing in a ladder, overlapping each other with precision.

“Let future historians wonder how Eliza reacted when you broke her heart,” their harmonies are on point, Jihoon can feel goosebumps rise on his skin.

“You have thrown it all away, stand back and watch it,”

“Burn~”

The harmony echoes through the empty seats, Jihoon now sitting at the end of the front row to listen.

“Just watch it all burn,” he keeps his eyes on you, singing full heartedly as you keep playing the piano without missing a beat. Your eyes are glued to the sheet music in front of you as the rest of the girls stay put in their spot.

Jihoon stays quiet in stunned silence as you, alongside your friends sing the rest of the song together in perfect harmony. He’s shocked at how polished the performance is, you all have clearly put a lot of time and effort into it.

“If you thought you were mine,” it’s almost like the girls were competing with each other for the best belt for the finale, but at the same time their voices overlapping fits the song perfectly.

“Don’t.” The song stops sharply and abruptly.

The girls are all looking expectantly at you, and you turn on the chair to smile at them.

“I think you’re ready.” You beam. “Like seriously, that was the best you’ve all sounded yet.”

“Really?” Momo smiles back at you, taking both of your hands in hers.

“Really!” You nod excitedly.

“I personally think we only sound this good because of you.” Jihyo smirks, hugging around you from behind, your laugh echoing in the room as she plants a kiss on your cheek gratefully.

“Oh hush, you.” You swat her hands playfully as the others laugh with you.

Your laugh is foreign to Jihoon, but he wouldn’t mind hearing it more often, he decides.

“I agree with Ji.” Jeongyeon hums, bumping her hip with yours. “Your voice was just what we needed to make it perfect. It’s a shame that you have to hide behind that big piano though. We need you center stage with those golden pipes.”

“Then who else will play the music, silly?” You snark back, smiling.

“We can easily find a backing track, miss smarty pants.” Dahyun raises her eyebrow as Nayeon points to her with wide eyes.

“She has a point, Bug.”

“And risk the performance fucking up because we trusted a machine?” You cross your arms with a pout. “I’m happy behind the piano, you know that.”

“Excuse me!” Jihyo’s voice now booms towards your soulmate, who was now sitting up, startled at the volume of her voice. “This is a closed practice! Women only!”

“I..”

“Yah! Have some decorum!” You throw a bottle of water at her with a laugh. “It’s just Jihoon. We need to go study for Film Studies.”

You roll your eyes with a grin as all the girls rush to grab you. But you’re faster, jumping off the edge of the stage and leaning beside Jihoon with your backpack in hand.

“No fair! You don’t get to steal her away!” Momo whines and stomps her foot, making you laugh and wave at the girls.

“Unfortunately, he does. Unless you want me to fail and stay behind for a year.” You smirk as they all relent. “Good job today, my loves! Same time next week yeah?” You blow them all kisses as they repeat the gesture back to them. “Sorry, did I take too long?” You ask your soulmate quietly as he trails out of the auditorium behind you.

“Uhh, no.” He finds his voice after a beat of silence, cheeks slightly pink. “Not at all.” Your angelic voice is still ringing in his ears.

“Sorry about them,” You wave your hand back at the building. “They tend to make goodbyes a drawn out affair so I tried to be quick.”

“It’s fine.” He nods, and you release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, walking to the campus library with Jihoon in silence.

Jihoon watches you from the corner of his eye as you walk together, suddenly more withdrawn and quiet. If you were a flower, Jihoon would’ve thought you just wilted right in front of him.

“Do you think people will sit back and think about that?”

“This is exactly what this project is about!” You chirp, pushing the laptop towards him. “Think about it. Tony Stark is obviously a fan favourite, both in the comics and the cinematic universe.” You’re pointing out graphs on the screen. “Everyone was on his side when Civil War came out. I bet you were too.”

“I mean, yeah, I suppose.” Jihoon raises his eyebrow at you.

“Which brings me back to my point.” This is the most animated he’s seen you be towards him, scribbling down on a notebook in front of you both. “Bucky is not to blame for Tony’s parents death. Yes, he is the one who caused their deaths, but he was under the mind control of Hydra. He was not in his right mind to control his own decision making due to the fact he was literally being controlled by these crazy bastards.”

Jihoon opens his mouth to speak.

“I know what you’re about to say,” you counter before he speaks. “You’re going to say ‘but he still did it.’ I mean, he did do it but if I hypnotized you to be a killing machine that you literally couldn’t stop yourself from being said killing machine, would you have the power to stop me? The answer is no. Bucky didn’t deserve the witch-hunt he was faced with, and Steve was completely justified in protecting his best friend. Bucky even felt guilty about it when Tony confronted him.”

“Tony was Steve’s friend too, though.”

“Who he knew for what, five minutes?” You quip back. “If your childhood best friend made a mistake and spent his entire life in agony against his will, tried to defend himself from your new friend of two years, who would you be picking?”

“… you make a point, Choi.” He hums, nodding his head sagely. “Yeah, okay, this is good. This will get them talking.”

“And it’s perfect, because we can discuss both sides!” You smile. “Even though I’m on Bucky’s side.”

Jihoon lets out a chuckle, with a little smile on his face. “I’m happy with that idea if you are?”

“Really?” You sit up straight, blinking owlishly. “You don’t have any ideas?”

“I mean, I had a few ideas but they were all pretty one sided. This idea works well because we can say the views from both sides.”

You blink again before giving Jihoon a little smile. His heart skips a beat involuntarily. “Okay, let’s do that then.”

“I can work on the Stark side and you can work on the Barnes side and we can discuss?” Jihoon pulls out his own pen and paper, starting to jot down a few notes. “We should only do a few ideas now and next week we can meet up to watch the film to draw out some points.”

“Sounds good to me.”

You nod your head quickly as you both get to work, the only sounds between you both being your pens and the occasional clicking of the keyboard of the laptop between you both.

Every so often, Jihoon feels like he can feel your eyes on him, but every time he sneaks a glance, your eyes are firmly on your notebook, diligently writing line after line of dot points on your page. It must be his imagination.

Every few moments, he spots you reaching up and rubbing at a spot on your collarbone like you have an itch, and he feels his curiosity growing but decided to leave it be for the sake of the project.

“I heard you were helping out with auditions..” you trail off softly as you walk by Jihoon’s side, two hours after your study session had begun. The sun is setting in the sky now as you shove your hands in your pockets. You’re standing on the outer side of the sidewalk, feet ghosting over the lip of where the concrete meets the road.

“Sure am.” He drawls, kicking at a rock on the pavement. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason,” You shake your head quickly. “I was just going to ask how it’s going.” Your eyes stay focussed on your feet. Jihoon spots your neck flushing pink.

“It’s not bad.” He shrugs. “But I don’t know how you can work with some of those actors. Almost all of them can’t sing for shit.”

You let out a cough as you seemingly choke on your own saliva, a laugh escaping your throat. “They’re not that bad, Jihoon-ssi.”

Jihoon feels like it’s so formal when you address him now. There is still the occasional moment you will call him simply Jihoon, but never Oppa. Not since the incident.

“They are bad when you have to hear the same rendition of ‘Mamma Mia! Here I go again. My my, how can I resist you?’ for four hours.” He groans, your amused smile growing on your lips as he speaks. “Why didn’t any of your friends audition? They sound a whole lot better than anyone else who sang.”

At the mention of your friends, you perk up a bit. “Believe me, I’ve tried. But they’re happy in their little show choir. I insisted that they would easily get the main role if they just showed up to audition, but they argued with me every step of the way.” You sigh, shrugging your shoulders. “So, I gave up.”

“Hmm, pity.” He hums. “It would’ve been better than who they’re deciding for callbacks.”

You nod along with him, and just as you’re about to respond, Jihoon beats you to the punch.

“You would’ve been good, too.”

Your cheeks immediately flush a deep red, turning your head to look away. “Uhh, thanks.”

“I mean, it isn’t a compliment.” Jihoon retorts. Your shoulders sag. “Well, I mean… it is, I suppose.” He immediately tries to mend things. “But coming from someone who sadly has perfect pitch, you, Jeongyeon and the others were the best singers I’ve heard all month.”

“Thank you, Jihoon-ssi.” You smile softly at your soulmate before flinching and taking a quick step towards him.

You were standing a bit too close to the road as a car sped past you, almost knocking you off your feet if it wasn’t for Jihoon to catch you by the loop of your backpack. He swiftly maneuvers you to walk on the inside of the path, now standing in your original spot without blinking an eye or missing a stride.

“It’s fine.” He acts like nothing happened. “And, if it’s too much for your rehearsal, or whatever.. I’ve been trained in piano since I was in middle school. So, uh… I could play the backing track for you if you wanted to focus on singing with the girls… if you wanted.” It was his turn to turn red as he walked, stammering. He truly didn’t intend on offering this to you, he just let it slip out like word vomit. “I don’t have anything to do after school on Friday’s since Ji-ah usually leaves for her family, so I mean if you guys wanted I could help out.”

He was babbling and probably repeating himself now. Oh god, can you please shut him up.

“Oh..” your eyes are wide as you stare at him. “I mean, I can check with the girls… but are you sure? You really don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Jihoon feels it. Your nerves begin to swirl in the pit of your stomach, the doubt and worry running through you as you question everything.

“It’s fine.” He insists. “Really, I love playing the piano anyway so this is just like a holiday for me. Honest.”

“Then, yeah.. sure.” You nod slowly as your walking slows as you reach the block before your house. “I’ll ask the girls and see. Thank you.”

“Sure.” He hums, hands stuffed deep in his pockets.

“And… uh… before you leave.” You pause at your front gate. Jihoon stops and turns to face you, eyebrows raised in curiosity. “Soonie told me to ask you… usually this time of year leading up to Cheol’s birthday, we usually go on a big camping trip. This year we’re going to Busan and Jeonghan has told us to invite anyone who we think would want to go.”

You’re kicking at the invisible dust on the ground. “Soonie knew I was meeting up with you for the project so he told me to ask if you and Ji-ah want to come. It’s in a couple of weeks from now so you don’t have to decide yet, but the offer is there.”

“Oh, that sounds fun.” He nods slowly. “I’m from Busan, so that’d be nice.”

“And you guys wouldn’t have to worry about getting a ride there!” You insist quickly. “Jeonghan is hiring a bus so you guys can just tag along- wait, what did you say?”

“It’d be fun..?” Jihoon repeats himself before you let his words process through your brain. You blink and nod your head quickly.

“Oh, okay. Good.” You step inside the gate. “I’ll get Soonie to text you the details?”

“Sounds good, thanks.” Your soulmate nods again, a ghost of a smile on his face.

“Thanks for walking me home, Jihoon-ssi. Have a good night.” You bowed your head before turning around, rushing to the front door of your home.

“Goodnight.” Jihoon mumbles, the door already closed behind you. Once he knows you’re not going to go out again, he turns around and continues his walk home.

“Ladybug? Is that you?” You hear Jeonghan’s voice coming from the kitchen.

“Yeah. It’s just me, Oppa.” You call back, stepping into the room and giving him a quick hug.

“It’s late. Did you walk home on your own?” Seungcheol steps into the room at the sound of your voice, hand on his hip.

“No, I had to study with Jihoon-ssi, remember?” You lean against the counter with a little smile. “He walked me home, it’s on his way.”

“Oh, how chivalrous of him.” He cooed playfully, making you roll your eyes.

“Oh please.” You wave your hand. “He probably only did it because you would’ve murdered him if he didn’t walk me home, or had someone organized to get me.”

“This is true.” Your brother smirks, reaching out and ruffling your hair. You have a small smile on your face that doesn’t go unnoticed by Jeonghan, who watched you with a raised brow.

“Hannie-Oppa,” you turn to said man. “Jihoon and Ji-ah are confirmed to be coming to Busan too, Soonie invited them.”

“Ji-ah?” Cheol asks, tilting his head.

“His girlfriend.” You mutter, Jeonghan’s eyebrows raising so high up that he’s surprised they haven’t touched the ceiling.

Girlfriend. Interesting.

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[jeon-ify]

that night- j. yunho : pt. 3

a/n: heyyyy girl did you miss me 😋 i know i know. after i reread the first 2 parts of this fic, im starting to feel like its already going NOWHERE. but!! i hope this part makes up for all the weirdness in the first couple of parts.

this chapter is a little short

warnings: mentions of self harm, mentions of sex (if you squint), drug use, swearing, use of the word ‘pookie’ only once, reader starts to second guess if she’s at fault

enjoy!

🤍🪩☁️

you watch your phone ding twice after you wipe your tears, processing the fact that yunho just walked into your apartment for the first time ever. you felt like none of it was real, that it was simply a blur that he came to your home, cried to you, kissed your forehead and promised he’d change.

yunho often kept his promise, thus leaving a feeling of confusion on your heart. you decide to ignore what your heart is telling you to do, and instead, listening to your brain:

you trusted him once before, and he fucked it up. don’t do that to yourself again, y/n

no matter how hard you try to ignore the messages on your phone from yunho’s support buddy, you can’t. what could mingi want at this hour?

y/n: hi, whats up?

*seen just now*

mingi.?: can i call you? i wanna talk to u ab smth rq

mingi.?: i stole ur number from yun

y/n: sure.?

as you respond to mingi, you wait a few seconds before mingi’s called ID pops up on your phone. the last thing you need right now is to talk about yunho— and if he calls for just that, you’d rather hang up and sit in silence as you literally haven’t even recovered from that entire show that just took place not even an hour ago.

“hello?” he speaks.

“hey, m-ming…mingi?” you try to pronounce his name, thinking you forgot his name, but he’s quick to confirm that you’d pronounced it right.

“yeah you said it right. how are you, y/n? how’s everything going?” you think he’s only starting small talk just to get to the topic of yunho.

“i could be better but for now i’m okay. how are you, mingi? what makes you call me at this hour?”

“if i’m being honest, i was going to ask you how you and yunho were putting up since i know he just got home from your place. he looked pretty fucked up, y/n.” you feel like he’s guilt tripping you, but you also feel like he’s part of the reason you got to see yunho tonight.

“we didn’t really talk much, he explained what happened that night and i know he regrets it— well, i like to believe he regrets it. plus, i really don’t know why it took him so long to reach out to me through san. because if he really wanted to reach out to me, he wouldn’t just send me pathetic ass texts and not have san call me.”

you and mingi both know that yunho’s texts were not pathetic. they— in fact— made your heart sink, and got you to seeing yunho, even though you didn’t want to be reminded of him, those texts are the reason you still saw him.

“i talked to him a couple years ago and we found each other at our lowest. we met at rehab— he was very much into popping pills and inflicting pain onto himself so i decided to help him out since we were going through the same thing. he had no place to stay, he sold his apartment because he owed that fucker san drug money. i took him into my apartment and i helped him build his credit score and save up to get his own place. he ended up buying a house bigger than mine. no matter what he does, he’s never really happy. i’ve known yunho long enough to know that he is not himself. listen, y/n. i’m not trying guilt trip you, but yunho really did love you. a lot of us do things we shouldn’t but that’s not an excuse. people fuck up, and you don’t have to forgive him, but give him the room to change in a way that shows how much he regrets doing that to you. i’m not saying you need to forgive him now or anything, but let your logic do it’s thing. goodnight, y/n. call me if anything changes.”

mingi hangs up the phone, leaving your head empty and full at the same time. so much happened today, and the last thing you needed was mingi unpacking everything to you.

yunho never mentioned that in his texts. since the both of you were together, yunho was too scared to touch a drug— that being part of the reason he never got along with san.

your pink nail polish is laid out on the floor in crumbles as you’ve picked it all off your nails. you think twice or three times over about how yunho was so broken over what he did to you. he’s the victim in his own story.

you are broken, but you didn’t feel like you were allowed to be hurt— though you have every right to be.

while you and yunho were together, you often refused sex when you got back from work, claiming that you were ‘too tired’ or ‘too busy’ to pay yunho any attention. you can’t remember the last date you had with yunho.

your thoughts cloud your brain as you slowly start to feel like you’re part of the reason he’d cheated on you.

“we hadn’t had sex in like 4 months so i started to believe it.”

“they said you don’t deserve someone like me.”

“they said you can’t handle me”

you walk over to your kitchen, grabbing your lighter and heading back to your balcony. as the night sky hugs your home, you start to mentally prepare yourself for the next few months. you’ve cancelled every lash booking you had for the next week and a half, not being in the right headspace for anything.

you pick up your phone, calling wooyoung.

“it’s 3 in the morning go back to sleep.” he groans. you caught him at the wrong time, hearing a female voice in the back moaning and breathing heavy.

“can you come over? i need you here.” you light your cigarette, the smoke clouding the air in front of you.

“i’m on my way.”

in almost 7 minutes, your best friend is sitting right by you, throwing the cigarette off the balcony. he notices how your nose and eyes are puffy from crying, how your gaze is absent. he puts his lazy hand around your shoulders, pulling you to lean on his own.

“i’m guessing it didn’t go well?” he asks, his baggy flannel smells like comfort, making your eyes well up in tears, in appreciation for your best friend.

“i’m sorry, wooyoung. i keep crying to you. i’m just so overwhelmed and so much shit is unfolding tonight, i just wanna run away from everything bro.” you sniffle into his chest, his hand rubbing on the small of your back.

“hey, it’s okay. it’s okay to cry. talk to me when you’re ready. i’m here to listen, babes.” he rubs and shushes you, as you relax against his hands.

“we talked about what happened that night and how it happened. he said he just didn’t feel like i wanted him anymore and because we didn’t have sex in like 4 months he started to believe what sara and maya were saying.”

“what were they saying?”

“they were saying shit like i didn’t deserve someone like him and that i was stupid to believe i could have someone like him. then when he left he kissed my forehead and walked out and that just was the cherry on top.”

“shit, y/n. i’m sorry.” he stops rubbing your back as you sit up facing him. he brings his hand up to wipe your tears and fix your hair.

“what else, babe?”

“then like an hour after he left, mingi texted me and when i saw it he asked to call. then i said yeah and called me and he told me how yunho was coping when we split. he said he got into drugs and started doing self harm and shit, he sold his apartment cus he owed san money for drugs and he had to get into rehab for it all. he told me how yunho regrets everything but i don’t know, woo. what do i do?” you breathe. you don’t wanna keep crying, but it’s all you can do.

“how’d you feel after the talk with yunho?” he questions.

“i don’t know. i just feel like i wanna give him room to change cus i feel like he would. but then again, he cheated once and he literally said he wanted to leave but i was holding him back from doing what he wanted. i feel like a burden on him even when we’re not together anymore. and i don’t wanna have to go through that again.”

“first of all, you’re the victim. i don’t know why mingi is making it seem like you’re to blame. second of all, i’m not gonna tell you what you should do. all i will say, is that you need hella time to figure it out. listen to your brain, y/n. not your heart. your heart will tell you to do things impulsively, it’s why your brain is up here, and your heart is right under it. your brain will lead you to do the most logical thing and what’s best for you. ’ll support you, no matter what choice you make. but please make the right one.” he kisses your temple, bringing you back to lean on him again.

“woo,”

“yes, y/n.”

“i don’t know what the fuck i’d do if i lost you.”

“you interrupted the best fuck of my life, but i forgive you. don’t let it happen again.”

you laugh, following wooyoung’s giggle.

“i love you pookie”

“i love you, y/n. do you want me to stay the night?” he watches the stars twinkle and dance, taking in the feeling of his best friend in need, and him being the only person who could make you feel at ease— something he would never take for granted.

“please.”

wooyoung giggles lightly as the both of you stand up to head to bed, falling asleep much easier than the night before.

—————————————————————————————

hello!! wooyoung is so cute ☹️

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