#i just churned out an entire chapter listening to this

[7-ratsinatrenchcoat]

neurodiverse ambiance. enjoy

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 11)

first chapter >> last chapter

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Your heart could very well have stopped beating and you’d be none the wiser.

By now, you’ve experienced fear in all its varietals. The stomach churning and the latent, the languid; the swift moving silverfish slipping out of your grasp. The monstrous rising beast of it the day you turned around to find the master of the house turning the lock on the door and trapping you in with him. Then the delayed panic in the aftermath of bringing the bust down over his head and hearing his skull crack under its weight, the blood pooling around his body, almost aureole-like. Pondering the miraculous like, well, isn’t that just the devil of it. A halo for a man intent on your ruin.

 The fear washing over you now is entirely new though. Like a rapid exhalation. Of course you were right all along . Right to expect the devil showing up on your doorstep. The weeks of silence had imbued you with a sense of confidence. An arrogant, undeserved confidence that whispered in your ear to let your guard down. 

But you know now that the world is not large enough to hide in. It is a wasteland of false prophets and false directions. There are no second chances.

The only consolation is the silence from the man behind the counter as he studies the warrant. You imagine him standing there giving it a good once over, his face maybe scrunching up as it calls to mind the woman that just walked through his door. You wonder if they thought to add a sketch of your likeness, whether there’ll be a woman on the warrant that looks an awful lot like you. 

You stay put behind the shelf though, not risking so much as a peep. 

“Any information you might have would be much obliged,” Graves says, trying to coax an answer out.

After a few more seconds, the shop attendant answers with a rueful, “Can’t say I have, sir. You want me to leave this with the sheriff?”

Graves breathes out through his nose in frustration. “Now, are you positive about that? Take a closer look—I don’t mind waitin’ a bit longer for you to sift through your memories. I’m sure a town as big as this must get passersby from time to time.”

“No. I’m sorry, sir, but I’m certain. Never seen a woman fitting this description or name. Couldn’t even tell you the last time we had a stranger come through town and stay longer than a day.”

“I see.” It’s hard to tell whether Graves takes him at his word or not. The aura of menace that the man exudes suggests that anything said to him might rouse his suspicions. That they’ve already been roused, in fact. It makes even you second guess the man behind the counter, wondering if perhaps he knows and simply stays his tongue. 

“Sorry I couldn’t be of more help. Still want me to pass this along to the sheriff?”

The floorboards creak under his feet when Graves takes a step back. “If you don’t mind. Been having the darndest time tryin’ to track down the man and, frankly, I’ve got other obligations. I do appreciate your time though.”

You stay hidden behind the shelf, listening to the sound of the spurs on his boots rattling as he leaves. The chime on the door jingles when it slams shut. You flinch at the sound. For a minute after his departure, you wonder if the door will burst back open and he’ll come crashing in, heading straight for the back to haul you out by your hair.  

A minute passes and nothing happens. The floor beneath you still feels like it might give out at any moment.

When you take your first step, the nausea comes rushing up. 

“Mrs. Price,” the shop attendant says, perking up at the sight of you coming out from behind the shelf. “I forgot you were still here.”

You feel like an automaton or a ball-jointed doll, your movements stiff as you approach him. Morbidly curious as to what you’ll see on the warrant spread out on the counter separating the two of you. When you look down, your breath comes shuddering out. 

The sketch on the paper does bear a passing resemblance to you, but only if you squint. Nothing that anyone could point to and claim with certainty that it depicts you. Underneath the sketch, you balk when you see your real name. It’s jarring to even look at. Though you’ve gone most of your life answering to it, the past few weeks have disabused you of any connection to it. Now, you feel permeable, malleable—a substance that has been reshaped into something new. That girl on the warrant is gone now. Done and dusted. So detached from memory that even the sketch of her depicts someone else, proves false. 

Still, you’re shaken by how close he’d gotten. Supposing Graves had come in while you’d been within sight. Supposing he’d looked you in the eye and asked you directly, and you’d stuttered under his sharklike gaze and drawn further scrutiny. You almost can’t believe how close it’d grazed you. The sharp edge of fate like a blade now sheathed again. 

“Would you mind taking this to the sheriff?” he asks, not realizing the gift he’s given you. “I’m a bit tied up minding the shop.”

You nod wordlessly and take the folded up warrant from him.

It burns red hot in your hands when you step outside. You glance around nervously, unsure as to whether Graves had stuck around to question more people. You wouldn’t be surprised if he were still within earshot. 

You waver in the street with the folded piece of paper tucked in your hands. A horse pulling along a cart laden with firewood creaks as it passes, rousing you from the trance you’d fallen into. You flinch, raising a hand to shield your eyes from the sun. It’s blinding suddenly. A clear sky, the clouds long since taken away by the wind. 

John could be anywhere at this time of day. Despite the fear curdling in your belly, you can’t help the knee jerk reaction to go to him. That’s precisely what you don’t want to do though. You don’t want to be around the county sheriff on the day a bounty hunter came into town looking for you. 

A crow sitting on the roof of a building across the street caws and flaps its wings, taking off into the sky. 

You want to be anywhere but in town waiting anxiously for John to come find you. You don’t want to lay eyes on him and see that he’s found you out. The thought of John finding out about the man you killed back east is beyond contemplation. It nearly has you keeling over in the middle of the street. You can hardly bear the thought. How could you bear to live a moment beyond that, withering under his disapproval? His contempt? 

You don’t think you can.

Every shadow fills you with dread. A barmaid comes out to toss a bucket of dirty water in the alley and you flinch like you’ve been caught. You keep your head down as you walk, eyes straight on the ground. Someone calls out your fake name and you ignore them. 

Your instinct, as usual, is to run. Abscond from the scene of the crime. Even if the thought hurts. Even though you’d let yourself begin to hope that the times of trouble had passed you by. That perhaps you could’ve made a home out here in the middle of nowhere. You should have known that those dreams were just that. You should have known better than to want. These days, it is dangerous to long for anything.

It’s better if you fade from memory like a bad dream, you think when you spot Buttercup fixed to the post outside the sheriff’s office. Better if they think of you with a bad taste in their mouth and nothing more. A girl that came and stole their sheriff’s heart and his horse and then vanished into the night. 

When one of her black eyes fixes on you, you still in your advance. A horse can’t possibly read your intentions, but you feel like she does somehow. Like she knows you intend to take her and flee. She shifts, hooves coming up and back down, and you swallow the saliva pooling in your mouth suddenly, nerves taking on. You won’t let yourself be ruled by them though. There are bigger things to fear.  

“Come on, Buttercup,” you whisper, hesitating before smoothing your hand down her nose. You flinch when she nickers. “I just—I need you to help me, okay?”

It’s an outrageously bad idea. Even to you that’s obvious. You don’t have nearly enough experience riding solo or even with John trailing behind you on another horse to help offer correction if you falter on your own. You’re blinded by fear though, practically shaking as you undo Buttercup’s lead from the post outside the sheriff’s office. 

You’re clumsy trying to hoist yourself up onto her without John to boost you up and hold you steady. It takes a couple of tries before you manage to swing your leg over, and you curse under your breath when your dress bunches up around your waist, exposing the bare flesh of your legs. There aren’t many people roaming the street, fortunately for you.

Buttercup resists at first when you tug lightly on the reins to guide her away. She stomps her foot when you try again, giving a light whinny. Panic seizes you, a coil in your belly. You’ve only ever ridden her before with John at your side; you wonder if she’ll even listen to you in his absence or if even she can tell you’re about to do something foolish and wants nothing to do with it. 

“Please, girl,” you beg. “I promise—I’ll figure out some way to get you back.”

On the third attempt, she finally listens. The way she abruptly breaks into a fast trot nearly sends you toppling over. You catch yourself by clutching the horn, tight enough that your knuckles ache. Your forehead breaks out in a nervous sweat. Buttercup covers ground fast, and without John sitting behind you like a silent sentinel, you feel control slip out of your slippery hands, clammy with sweat too. 

“Whoa, girl,” you breathe, trying to calm her by stroking a hand down her neck. 

It does precious little to calm her down. You remember something John once said about animals smelling fear. They know it like your name. 

You lose control of her fast. Almost in the blink of an eye, you go from steering Buttercup towards John’s house to holding on for dear life. Your body rocks with hers and you’re forced to tighten your thighs around her midsection when she breaks into a gallop, your hands still clinging tight to the reins. Her hooves kick up dust and dirt in her haste, sending it flying behind you. 

“Slow down!” you shout, but the words are swept away by the wind, already behind you. 

Not once have you ever ridden a horse at this speed. Your direction seems like more of a suggestion to Buttercup, and not one she’s inclined to take. The town rapidly vanishes behind you, the vegetation sparse for the first few hundred yards, arid scrubland scorched by the sun and fed off of by the horses and mules coming in and out of town. The sun beats down hot on your head, no hat to shield you from the heat.

You can’t imagine you would’ve been able to hold it down though, you think wildly, mind still in a flurry of panic. It would’ve flown right off ages before. 

Your breath comes out in hitched pants as you clutch with all your might to the horn of the saddle, your hands soon transferring to her mane for better purchase. Buttercup moves like a rogue wave beneath you, like something sailors only speak about in hushed whispers. She takes a wide arc around John’s property, heading towards the mountains instead, and no amount of trying to steer her with your legs seems to work. 

Your head whips back to watch the house pass, the dark shape of it sailing past you, and it nearly causes you to lose your balance. Looking back in front of you only makes it worse. Panic courses through you when you stare ahead only for the world in front of you to spin. Bile creeps up your throat. You swallow it back, but only just.

The half-formulated plan you’d had in mind is long gone. All you can focus on now is remaining astride the horse beating dirt under you. Any thought of bringing her to a halt dissipates. Even the thought of escape evaporates into thin air. 

Only when you feel Buttercup slow to a trot do you peel open your eyes. The breath you let out as you look around is short, panic still churning in your guts.

Over the weeks since John married you and took you home, he’s taken you through the mountains a fair few times, familiarizing you with the land to the best of his abilities in such a short amount of time. But the wilderness stretches far and the terrain beyond John’s homestead is rough, treacherous. 

When you look around, you realize that you don’t recognize this part of the mountainside. 

The trail Buttercup takes you down is cut haphazard into the landscape—a crude, handmade path, not one seared into the ground from frequent travel. It feels distinctly wilder than where you’ve been before. Your head swivels around as you try to look for something that might jog your memory. The striated mountainside tells you nothing. The trees out this deep into the mountains are thicker and older, gnarled root systems bursting up from the earth and coiling around the nearby rocks like snakes winding around their prey. 

You sit up a bit straighter, still shaking when you rub your hand down Buttercup’s neck. “You know where we are, girl?”

She puffs out a breath.

That tells you nothing, but she keeps going down the same path deeper into the woods. No amount of squeezing your thighs or patting her neck gets her to stop. You should be thankful that she’s at least no longer sprinting, that you can actually sit up and catch your breath now, but the fear from earlier is but a paltry shadow compared to that which is brewing in you now. 

Every crick and snapping twig makes your head spin round. You stare intensely past the treeline, searching for the barest hint of motion. You don’t know much about these parts, but you know that this is no place for a woman by her lonesome. Even a man on his own out here might feel jumpy. This far out of the way, only cougars and bears take refuge, and the odd band of outlaws making camp for the night and taking advantage of the relative isolation this far out west. 

“Come on, girl, we can’t be out here,” you whisper, leaning closer to Buttercup to hopefully muffle your voice. Even as low as you speak, it still seems to echo.

You don’t know where you’re meant to go though. In the flurry of panic that had come over you at Graves’ arrival, you’d bolted without thought. Without a compass or map, you’re as good as lost in the unsettled land deep in the mountains. 

As that reality dawns on you, you realize that you haven’t had a drink of water in quite some time. 

An hour must pass with Buttercup stubbornly refusing to listen to your commands to turn back. Maybe longer. She resists even when you pull on the reins. In truth, you don’t blame her. Your commands come feeble, no strength behind them. The fear of being bucked off her back makes you soft. John would be gruff, unyielding—you can’t imagine him giving into fear.

That somehow upsets you even more. You can’t help but wish more than anything that he were here with you. 

The temperature drops as the sun begins to set. Without the sun beating down on you, you shiver in the cold air. There’s nothing to keep you warm other than the clothes on your back. Your lips smack when you part them, parched after hours without water. You haven’t stumbled across a river or stream in the hours since starting down this path.

Then, from behind you, you hear it. 

The name that isn’t yours. You don’t catch it at first until it comes again, louder this time. When you look over your shoulder and down the path behind you, John’s furious face stares back at you, his lips worked into a flat line. 

The way you gasp must spook Buttercup, because she abruptly breaks into a gallop, forcing you to hunker down and hold on. You want desperately to look back, torn between relief and distress, but you stare ahead instead. 

The black horse he rides gains on you fast, legs pumping beneath its massive body. It’s not a horse you’ve seen before. Maybe borrowed in his haste to chase after you. You don’t let yourself digest that thought though, too concerned with remaining astride. 

Despite its size, it collapses the distance between you two quickly, nearly on you now. Instinct has you leaning into Buttercup, trying to get as low as possible and let the air glide around you. Her gallop quickens into a sprint. You’re just holding on now, facing straight ahead, no chance of being more than a passenger on this trip. 

John shouts at you from your rear to bring Buttercup to a stop. You squeeze your lips together instead of shouting back that you can’t. If you open your mouth, you think your stomach will come straight out. 

Your body jostles around on top of your horse, on the verge of slipping off with every passing second. When she takes a turn too quickly down a trail leading up into the mountains and you slide a bit to one side on the saddle, only your foot in the stirrup catching you, your heart stops. Fear is ice inverted; poured over you. It drenches you in another layer of sweat that dries rapidly in the air whipping around you. 

Hot and cold. The ground seems to come towards you every time Buttercup’s legs kick up. Always on the verge of falling and breaking every bone in your body. You suck your tongue to the roof of your mouth so it doesn’t get caught between your clacking teeth and bitten right off. 

“Pull up on the reins!” John roars over the cacophony of stomping hooves. 

A glance to your right finds him close enough to graze with your fingertips. Your heart jumps in your chest.

“Pull up!” he shouts again, but all you can do is stare uncomprehendingly. 

You don’t know if he can see the terror in your eyes. It must be splayed clean across your face. He has to see the way his words mean nothing to you. Your panic effaces any meaning; all you hear is noise and anger pouring from his mouth, and trampled dirt and labored breath. 

When his horse pulls up alongside yours, he gets close enough to lean over and snatch the reins out of your hands. He pulls firm, tugging Buttercup’s head back until she almost rears up and you scream, hands fisting in her mane. 

Your body lurches forward when she comes back down, slumped over the saddle horn. It digs hard into your stomach. There’ll be a bruise there come morning, but nothing like the bruises that’ll bloom between your thighs. Even now the ache radiates down your body. You look up at the sound of John’s breath panting out like a bull, and he glares down at you with undisguised fury, the angriest you’ve ever seen him. 

“What in the blazes were you thinkin’?” he booms. Even the horse he sits astride shakes its head at the sound. “There’s nothing out here but outlaws and predators!”

The hand fisted in Buttercup’s reins pulls her closer, and he guides both horses into a slow trot and then to a stop. You can feel the way Buttercup’s ribs expand and contract under your legs. 

“Stop it— don’t touch me!” you snap when he reaches for you, smacking his hand away.

“Darlin’, if you get off that damned horse—” John warns, but you’re already swinging your leg over the saddle as the words come out of his mouth. 

You almost trip over the stirrup when you slide off Buttercup’s back and take off on foot. You fist the skirt of your dress in both hands to lift it as you run, letting it swish around you with the force of your strides. A curse and grunt come from back behind you. The sound of John’s boots hitting the dirt is loud, and when he chases after you, his boots pound into the earth.  

It’s a desperate last move, but all you can think is that you’d rather be anywhere else but in his arms. You’d rather take your chances with the wolves and bears in the woods, or with the bandits and brigands on the trails leading to the next town. 

You barely make it past the next tree before he barrels into you and takes you both to the ground, the world spinning as you fall down. He angles his body to take the brunt of the impact, but you still cry out when your hip hits the ground hard. The way he pulls you into his chest just barely keeps your head from slamming into a rock. 

“Goddamn it, woman,” John spits. “Where d’ya think you’re even going? There ain’t nowhere to run out here!”

Your head spins. When you open your mouth, all you can taste is rust and salt, sweat dripping off your upper lip. You can feel the heat of his chest against your back and he doesn’t give you a chance to gather your bearings before hauling you to your feet, tugging both of your arms behind your back. 

“Let me go!” you scream, trying to wrestle out of his hold to no avail. 

You know he doesn’t understand, but you can’t help the way you try to fight your way out of his hold. There’s no explanation that’ll make sense to him other than the truth, which you clamp tight in your chest. There's no telling if he already knows, if maybe Graves finally tracked him down or if someone else brought their suspicions to his attention, but you won't go spilling the truth yourself. 

He’s a solid mass behind you, breath labored from hours spent tracking you. You wonder if he noticed mere moments after you took Buttercup and left or whether he came back to the sheriff’s office only to find the two of you gone. 

John holds your wrists in one big hand at the small of your back and gives you a mean shake. “I don’t know what’s got you so riled up, but you better fix this attitude of yours and explain yourself before we get home or so help me God, I’ll take my belt to your ass.”

The mention of him belting your backside makes your hands go clammy, but you must have abandoned your common sense a mile back because your mouth keeps running. “I’ll gut you like a pig if you touch a hair on my head!” 

“We’ll just see about that,” he grunts, and you can hear the raw edged smirk in his voice and the anger behind it. 

When he leads you stumbling towards the horses waiting in the middle of the trail, you realize that capture had always been an inevitability in your mind. Maybe it even comes as a relief to know that the jig is up. 

You just hadn’t realized that it would be someone else hauling you back by your hair.

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Baby, Mine

Azriel x Reader - Angst/Fluff - One shot

Rhys returns from under the mountain and Azriel’s life is changed forever as a bond snaps with the female his brother brings back with him. After an unexpected pregnancy is revealed, Azriel strives to show his mate just how much she and their child mean to him. Please read warnings below.

Bonus Chapter/Part 2

Warnings: discussion of rape and S/A, pregnancy resulting from rape, mentions of trauma, language, mention of pregnancy termination

“We should get up. My stomach’s growling.”

“And I thought it was just the little one chatting with my shadows.” Azriel teased, flushing beneath her gaze as his scarred fingers traced lightly over the growing swell of her abdomen, becoming more apparent by the day. He’d been nervous touching it for the first time, like he’d desecrate that precious life force growing underneath with his hands that had inflicted so much pain. But the way her eyes lit up the first time he touched it, he never wanted to forget the feeling of love and joy radiating into him through that newfound bond. It was beautiful - made him feel worthy of helping raise the beautiful life she was bringing into the world.

Though her stomach growled again, she made no move to get up, and by the way her hands were holding onto him, Azriel knew better than to go retrieve a plate from the House of Wind’s kitchen for her. So he sent a shadow beneath the door to see if Nuala or Cerridwen were there and if they could bring leftovers in, that is if Cassian and Mor hadn’t devoured the entire breakfast already.

“How’s she doing?” Rhys asked into his mind.

“Better than some days but not great, Rhys.”

There was a pause before Rhys’ guilty voice reentered his conscious.

“She’s the most selfless person I know, Az. I’m glad you two have eachother. But if she needs anything, if you need anything, let me know.”

And she was. Selfless in a way that Azriel couldn’t fathom. Selfless in a way that made his gut churn, a way he wanted to roar at the moon and the stars, and anyone who would listen. Selfless when she should have never had to be. She was bright and radiant and kind. The world looked at her and saw ethereal sunshine, walking starlight, unfathomable beauty both inside and out. But there was darkness and pain there too, so buried down deep that only Azriel could feel it in the middle of the night as whimpers disrupted her sleep.

So many nights Rhys would have to come in and cradle her mind, send her soothing thoughts and visions of anything beautiful that could mask the perils that haunted her dreams.

Azriel hated himself for it, the jealousy. He wished he could soothe her in that way but no matter how much love he sent through their bond, that darkness rooted itself so deeply within her that sometimes it took significant power from Rhys to reach it.

As if Rhys wasn’t already fighting his own trauma and waging against the insurmountable guilt he carried after being under the mountain, plus worrying about Feyre in the Spring Court. And that wasn’t to say Y/N was a burden in any way, though she felt she was. It killed Azriel to see both his mate and his brother fighting so much grief and not being able to do anything about it.

She’d have been better suited to be Rhysand’s mate than Azriel’s own by their intertwined traumas, by their ability to put themselves aside for a better world. Azriel, of course, fit into this court of dreamers but she… despite only being here for such a short period of time, she was the biggest dreamer of them all.

Another rumble from her stomach snapped Azriel out of his thoughts, mentally noting to Rhys, “She could use breakfast.”

“I’ll send some for both of you. You need to take care of yourself too.”

Azriel smelled the salt of her tears before he saw the silver lining her eyes. Propping himself up on an elbow, draping a wing over her, he began to ask softly, “Hey-“. Her head immediately shaking and she choked on the word, “No.”

“Baby, I know what you’re thinking and it’s not a burden. He just wanted to know if you needed anything.”

She took a few deep breaths, willing away those tears. “He doesn’t have to check on me. It’s my f-“

“Stop that. Listen to me, I’m always here to listen to you and I know that you’re dealing with complex emotions and trauma that I cannot even begin to fully fathom but this.. it’s not your fault.”

Her eyes welled up further as Azriel continued,

“I don’t want to lecture you or invalidate what you are feeling. Your emotions are justified but… these thoughts will eat you alive, they’re vicious lies that have been conditioned into you, and I can promise you that nobody blames anything on you. This entire family is so fucking grateful to have you as a part of it. In a world of darkness, where you had every right, every reason to bring that darkness with you, you chose light.”

He choked on his words as those tears flowed down her face. “You chose light when it only brought more darkness upon yourself.”

She cut him off. “She’s not darkness.”

Azriel raised an eyebrow. “She?”

And through her tears, he saw the slightest gleam of radiance in her eyes. “I can just feel it. Feel her.”

Azriel pressed a kiss to Y/N’s belly. “Yes, you are absolutely right. She is not darkness - she’s a beacon of light, the brightest star in the sky, perhaps aside from her mother - but the mental load you are carrying, it is dark and it’s heavy. And yes, you would carry darkness with you regardless of this spark of hope” he rubbed her belly in tender circles for emphasis. “But I know that mind of yours. That you are telling yourself that you’re a burden, that you made the wrong choice, when there was no wrong choice.”

At this point, the tears were streaming down her face, his shadows dutifully whisking them away, but only gratitude and love flowed from her.

A knock came on the door. Azriel’s eyes glazed over as Y/N recognized the telltale signs of what was happening. A line creased in his brow before she placed a gentle hand on his arm. “It’s okay, he can come in.”

“You sure, my love? He understands when you need space.”

She nodded. “I know but I think I need to see him today.” Azriel brushed his thumb in soothing ministrations across her abdomen until she pulled her night gown back down to cover herself.

The door creaked open and Rhys padded over to the bed, guilt and adoration limning his features. “Hey, starshine.” She blushed at the term. She hated her own name after Amarantha had called it so many times under the mountain. Rhys had begun calling her Starshine in secret due to her Day Court origins and the fact that he was convinced she’d been more suited for the Night Court.

Rhys had been drawn to her under the mountain, something about her reminding him of his brother. Rhysand could admit that Azriel was the most beautiful of the three brothers, his features seemingly crafted by the gods themselves. But if Azriel’s features were crafted by the gods, Y/N’s were crafted by the Mother herself. Aside from that, she had a quiet presence, though far less stoic and broody than Azriel’s, it was more of a quiet, gentle grace. A grace that Amarantha had tried so hard to shed her of but was never quite successful.

Amarantha, of course, made it her mission to both seek pleasure from her and torment her. When she never fully broke, Amarantha decided that instead of throwing her to the dark corridors she stuffed most lesser fae in, she’d make an excellent play thing. She looked mostly High Fae after all, yet had enhanced sexual appeal due to her nymph ancestry - perfect high and round breasts, long legs, a firm yet supple ass, and an arousing scent - needless to say, Amarantha delighted to add her to her roster of bed chamber accompaniment.

Y/N and Rhys developed a quiet understanding of each other and the roles they were forced to play in the year that she’d been under the mountain before Feyre arrived. They did not grow close enough for Amarantha to become concerned but enough that she knew her play things got along well enough to bring them both into her chambers at the same time.

Rhys would never forget the first time Amarantha had forced he and her into her chambers at the same time. Y/N tried to be strong, and she was. Another aspect of her that reminded him of his brother.

But she began to crack slightly, and Rhys knew Amarantha would make it so much worse for her if she did. So he did the only thing he knew to do and held her mind. He showed her visions of the Night Skies of the Night Court, the spirits of Starfall, the laughter of a family surrounding a table in a beloved restaurant, anything that could help her through it.

As he held her mind, she’d unwittingly sent visions from throughout her twenty-two years of life prior to being captured and brought under the mountain. She was loved deeply by her family who had little more than love to give. Eventually they had been murdered by Amarantha’s cronies at the age of nineteen - she’d been able to escape and live among the High Fae who sneered and objectified her, but offered enough coin to sleep with her to keep a roof over her head.

Rhys had determined that night that if they ever made it out of there alive, he was taking her to Velaris with him. She’d never live like that again.

He even smiled at the thought of introducing her and Azriel when she was ready to meet his family, already picturing his brother’s rose-dusted cheeks in her presence.

“Thank you” Azriel’s low voice withdrew Rhys from his thoughts, taking the plate from his hands.

A familiar scent wafted off of Rhys to Y/N. Pregnancy had heightened her sense of smell substantially.

As she sniffed the air Rhys gave a soft, sad smile at the eye brow she raised at him before asking, “Where is she?”

He shook his head, darkness rolling in waves off of him. “Tamlin locked her in his fucking manor. She had a breakdown.”

Her face drew tight. “That bastard!” Azriel flinched at the rage flowing down the bond. “She must have been terrified.”

“She certainly terrified the servants in his manor. She shrouded herself in darkness and nobody could get through to her.”

“He doesn’t deserve her.”

Rhys nodded. “He doesn’t.”

“You didn’t answer my question, Rhys. Where is she?”

“At the Town House.”

Her eyes blew wide. “Cauldron boil me, is she staying?”

Azriel smiled as he felt her excitement flow into him. A bit of that Day Court sunshine returning to her.

“I don’t know. She knows she can’t tell anyone if she goes back, but…”

“I felt it through the bond, Y/N. I think she’s here to stay.”

Azriel’s shadows agitated at the pause in verbal conversation, chattering back and forth,

“Secrets”

“Secrets”

He rolled his eyes and dismissed them, already knowing there were some things that remained between just Y/N and Rhys. He’d accepted it the very moment he’d shown up after he received word that Rhys was finally home and the bond snapped as soon as he laid eyes upon the radiant female by his side. He knew it snapped for her too when she walked right up to him, touched the hands he tried to hide behind his back, her eyes speaking everything she couldn’t. “I see your scars. I bear them too.” And pressed a kiss to each hand.

“Do you want me to leave? I assume she’s at the Town House but I’m sure she’ll be visiting here too, yes?”

Azriel bristled. No way in hell was Rhys going to make his mate leave, whether this home was his or not, she had a right to be present wherever she wished.

“Easy brother.”

Azriel shook off the feeling. The mating instinct was still so strong that he had a hard time not jumping in to defend her at the thought of any threat, physical or emotional.

“Y/N” Rhys took her hand.

“Don’t bite my head off for holding her hand, either.”

Azriel huffed before firing back to Rhys’ mind “I can’t wait for you to find your mate someday so you can see what it feels like to be so wound up like this.”

Rhys only gave a small, secret smile in return.

Y/N interjected. “Are you two done gossiping or can I know whether I should pack up or not?”

“This is your home just as much as it is my home. You are my family and I want Feyre to meet all of you. Cassian has already barreled through the door of the Town House along with Mor begging to be fed. Feyre went up to nap and recollect herself.”

“Can we have dinner with her… if she wants to?” She asked softly with a mixture of excitement and nervousness to her voice.

Rhys gave a nod. “I was thinking that same thing. Would you be comfortable?”

She nodded before the reality of the situation caught up with her.

“Y/N.” Rhys leaned in, gently tilting her head up to look at him. “I am not ashamed of you. I will never hide you or the life you are selflessly bringing into this Court of Dreamers.” His eyes lined with silver. “And I will always be so proud of the love that you both share. I knew from the moment I met you that my brother would adore you. And the fact that you two are mates? It’s one of the greatest things to come from that shit hole of a mountain. A reminder of the beauty that can prevail, even after the most dreadful of circumstances. I love all three of you.”

Azriel held his mate closely, ensuring she felt just how loved she truly was.

“She kicked for the first time the other day.”

Rhys raised a brow.

Y/N let out a sigh. “Ugh, you two are so skeptical. I really believe that this baby is a girl.”

Rhys eyed the scarred hand protectively placed over her round bump, so many complicated emotions running through him, with love being the strongest.

“Feyre will likely ask questions tonight regarding all of us, our stories. Nobody has to share anything they do not wish to, but you also may share if you are comfortable doing so. I would really like for Feyre to become a member of the Inner Circle-“

Rhys looked to Y/N rolling his eyes at the smirk and waggling eyebrows she gave him.

“Stop that. My point is just that, I would like for her to know all of you. I know she’ll love you all just as I do. Hell, she’ll probably love all of you before she’s ready to even fully tolerate me.”

Azriel let out a chuckle as his mate quipped “Tell me the story of the time she threw a shoe at you. It’s my favorite!”

“You cruel, lovely little thing.” Rhys laughed. “See you both for dinner.”

As Rhys exited them room, Y/N sighed. “You were awfully quiet.”

Az nudged her. “And that surprises you?”

“Okay, quieter than usual.”

Azriel pulled her in close, peppering kisses across her forehead. “I just don’t want you to do anything you’re not ready for. You are still healing and now you’ll be facing someone else that was under the mountain with you.”

“She saved us all, Az.” She looked up into his hazel eyes with nothing but genuine adoration. “Without her, I never would have met you. And what kind of existence would that be?”

She began picking at the plate Rhys had brought in. Letting out a moan as the flavors burst on her tongue.

Az couldn’t help the involuntary twitch of his wings at the sound.

She laughed. “Don’t get any ideas until I’m finished with my food.”

Azriel raised his palms. “I’d never get between my pregnant mate and her meal. With the way she’s started moving, she’d likely kick me away anyway.”

She took another bite while nonchalantly commenting, “I thought of a name for her.”

“Oh yeah?” Azriel’s brows raised in anticipation of a potential name for their child.

“Azure. The same blue as the skies. I thought…”

Azriel cut her off, marveling at the name. Whispering more to himself than her. “Blue like the Day Court skies, blue like the skies that I love to take you flying in.”

She flushed. “Yes, exactly. And though it’s a different shade of blue, like your siphons.”

A lone tear escaped his eye. “And,” she continued with a coy smile. “We could call her ‘Az’”

Azriel sat still for a moment. And she would have thought he didn’t like it had it not been the rush of pure shock and awe flowing through the bond.

Suddenly he took her face in his hands, barely giving her time to swallow the bite of bacon she’d just taken, and crashed his lips into hers. And after her lips were swollen and puffy from the heat of his lips, he began pressing kisses all over her belly, whispering between them, “I love you, little Az. I love you more than the skies I fly in. More than my own name. More than any dreamer could dream of being loved. I can’t wait to fly you through the open skies, and show you every shade of blue this beautiful world has to offer. Nothing in this world matters more than you and your mother. I couldn’t be more proud to be your father.”

And he meant it. Every single word. The blood running through the baby growing inside of his mate didn’t need to be his, what mattered was the love flowing within the child and he intended to pour every single ounce of love he had into their baby.

It was Y/N though who broke down at those words. She and Azriel had spent every free moment together since meeting. He’d healed her in ways that she never could have dreamed. Finding her mate changed the time after Under the Mountain from the lonesome trauma reckoning hellhole she’d anticipated and into a time of healing. He listened to her, understood her, let her set the pace in every aspect. And he’d shared his trauma with her, all of it.

The child who had been abused by a wicked stepmother and horrid step-brothers, overlooked by his own father had grown up to be loving, caring, and patient in every way. And now, he was going to be the parent of a child that was not his by conception, choosing to love the child just as he would his very own. A vow he’d sworn in their mating vows and sealed with a bargain.

“What is it, love?” Azriel wiped away her tears.

“Stupid hormones. I just love you so much and I need you to know that you are so much more than I ever could have dreamed of. If I had to, I would go through it all again as long as it led me to you.”

Azriel’s eyes began watering again. “Look at us, Y/N. We’re quite a sight. Whatever you say tonight, just don’t let Cassian know that I’ve gotten so soft.”

Her glassy eyes sparkled as she gave a sweet smile. “I have a feeling that softness has already been there, my love, I just had the privilege of coaxing it out of you.”

He smiled. “Truth Teller personified.”

————————-

“We’re heading up now.” Rhys’ voice cut into Y/N’s mind.

“Are you sure about this, Rhys? Most of them do not know what all happened under the mountain. What if it’s too much for Feyre to take in?”

“She’s my mate, I have to hope that she will love and accept us all in time. It may be a lot to meet us and hear our stories but they’re a part of us, a part of loving us. I’m worried about Cassian scaring her off more than anything.”

“Valid concern. See you soon. Despite the circumstances, I’m so happy she’s here.”

“You know,” Rhys chuckled. “I feel the same way about you, Starshine.”

“You flatter me. Now enjoy your flight with the literal girl of your dreams.”

“She’s glaring daggers at me right now. Pray I make it there alive.”

“Where’d you go?” Az nudged.

Leaning into her mate’s side, embracing the warmth of his arms wrapped around her shoulders she replied, “Rhys and Feyre are on the way.”

“Are you ready for this?” He asked.

“I’m sure you can already feel my nerves down the bond but I appreciate you for asking.” She teased.

Azriel kept his pace slow as they wound through the hallways of the House of Wind toward the dining table. “If you’re not ready…”

She took a steadying breath. “No, he needs to get off on a solid foundation with her. And Cassian, Mor, and Amren have eyed us for a while, they realize that something is off. Plus, I mean, look at this thing.” Her delicate hands found her stomach. “They’re going to figure out that the timelines don’t match up soon enough.”

“Our girl IS growing.” Azriel spoke, not missing the opportunity to feel the life growing within his mate.

She teased, “You’ve referred to the babe as “her” a few times now. Coming around to the idea?”

“I know better than to go against your intuition.”

With that, Y/N gave a wicked grin. “Mother knows best.”

As they approached the dining room, Azriel pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be right by your side.”

She beamed. “And I’ll be by yours too, with whatever you may share tonight…and forever, of course.”

As everyone arrived and gathered at the dining table, Y/N couldn’t help but admire how lovely Feyre and Rhys were together. Though she hated the situation that brought her there, that Tamlin tried to hoard her away in his manor, she couldn’t help but feel joy knowing that she was finally beginning to see the true Rhysand.

The Inner Circle kept up with the typical antics and plenty of laughter filled the space, but the conversation eventually turned more serious as everyone took turns giving Feyre insight into themselves.

Feyre looked to Y/N with curiosity. “You were under the mountain, but Azriel was not?”

Her hands shook as she prepared to share. A warmth covered them as Azriel gave a gentle squeeze, sending waves of that reassurance in abundance. She took a breath.

She began by sharing the background of her family, their deaths, that she’d sold her body to survive afterward, how she’d only been under the mountain for a year before Feyre arrived.

“You didn’t know Azriel before they took you?” Feyre asked. Not harshly, just inquisitively.

Y/N held her head high. Her story was not one to be ashamed of.

“I did not. Rhys was one of the only souls to show me kindness under the mountain. I have nymph ancestry with primarily High Fae features. Amarantha took an interest in me and….”

An unreadable expression covered Rhys’ face. This was his trauma too, but he gave a reassuring nod.

“She began taking me to her chambers. I had no choice. It was warm her bed, or face physical torture until death.”

Feyre flinched along with Rhys. Y/N recognized that they were remembering the human girl Amarantha had tortured to death just before Feyre’s arrival.

“She also, against our hopes, realized that Rhysand and I had an understanding of eachother - serve her or die. Being the lust-driven wretch that she was, she began taking us both to her chambers. There was no room for weakness in there. She wanted us just weak enough to submit to her, but we had to remain strong in every other aspect. The first time she had Rhys and I, together,” she cleared her throat, giving pause before continuing, “Rhys saved me. I began to crack, and he held my mind. I will let Rhys speak on his own trauma and the mental load he carried, but he didn’t hesitate to help me get through it. It was not the last time he had to help me through it.”

The table was completely silent. Heart-wrenching expressions filled each face at the table. Palpable rage could be felt radiating off of Amren, though her face remained straight.

Her voice began cracking. Azriel pulled her close into him. “When you saved us,” She looked to Feyre. “I don’t mean to fawn or gawk over you, but Feyre, you did save us.” Feyre gave an empathetic look, nodding to Y/N to continue. “Rhys brought me back to Velaris because he couldn’t bear for me to return to the life I was living, because this Court of Dreams is made up of individuals who have lived through terrible traumas and, despite every reason to lead bitter lives- have chosen to dream of a better world. To fight for a better world. And he knew a certain Shadowsinger and I would get on quite well. In fact, he’s been a smug bastard ever since over just how well things went between us.”

“When I met him.” She stared lovingly to Azriel who swallowed a lump in his throat. “The bond snapped between us immediately. The same day I was brought here, I met my mate.”

Instinctively she placed her hands on the swell of her abdomen. “Rhys gave Azriel leave to spend time with me, for him to help me through the aftermath of what I’d been through…”

“But two weeks after arriving back, my scent began to shift.” Mor’s brows furrowed in contemplation.

“I became very sick shortly after that. Rhys called in a healer, Madja, who confirmed that I was two and a half months pregnant.”

Cassian audibly gasped and Mor murmured “Oh my gods.”

Azriel kept his composure for the sake of his mate, but this was killing him. His brother and his mate being forced by that fucking witch. “Azriel is not the biological father of this baby. The child was conceived under the forced coupling of Rhysand and I by Amarantha.”

Feyre’s face was a mix of sadness, and rage, and sympathy.

“There were options to terminate the pregnancy. However, due to my Nymph ancestry, such options can have negative, potentially deadly effects. Aside from that, though I never planned to have a child - I couldn’t bear the thought of losing another family member. Rhys, after losing his family, felt the same, which he only expressed after I shared my feelings with him. He was completely supportive of any decision I made.” Feyre looked to Rhys and then back to Y/N, no negative judgement written on those lovely features.

Y/N looked to Azriel with a loving grin “And Azriel- he took me to a priestess that night. We both wanted to accept the bond from the moment we met, the connection was unbelievably strong, I never believed in the power of the bond until I found him. And now because he’s ever the romantic, though I see him already blushing at the mention of it, he wanted to make a vow before the Mother - a vow to love me no matter what choice I made, a vow to love the life within me as his very own child, to love and cherish us both until his last breath.”

She pulled the sleeve off of her shoulder, revealing the intricate tattoo solidifying his vow.

“And Rhys,” She gave a soft smile. “He made a bargain to love and care for this child and to recognize Azriel as its father. We will not hide the parentage from our child. And Rhys, I know, already loves them dearly, but mine and Azriel’s decisions for our baby come first and will be respected as any biological parents would.”

She’d left out the part where Azriel had gone under the mountain to investigate later on and found that Amarantha had begun supplying a fertility tonic instead of birth control to Y/N after the Calanmai that Rhys had gone to the Spring Court and seen Feyre. Though she didn’t know who Rhys saw, she likely suspected he’d developed interest in someone else and become jealous, hoping an accidental pregnancy would either create a rift in any potential relationship or, even worse, that the baby could be used as leverage against him.

The table remained silent until Rhys chimed in. “So my brother is my child’s father. I’m sure stranger things have happened.”

Despite that sadness the Inner Circle felt, Rhysand’s comment elicited smiles. Azriel gave his brother a nod of thanks for breaking the tension while affectionately caressing his mate.

Mor eased the tension further by chiming in “Y/N! You are further along than we realized which means….. we get to go shopping for our newest family member sooner!!!”

Feyre decided soon after that she would like to work with the Court of Dreams.

————————-

Epilogue

Because his mate was always right, Azriel was indeed the father of a beautiful little girl, clever and stubborn like her mother, and the light of his life. Her mother the sun, and she the moon.

He and Rhys had just returned from taking “Baby Azzie” who was now a toddler to get pastries along the Sidra. Azriel returned with his half-asleep daughter in his arms, who perked up upon seeing her baby brother cooing in his bassinet. “Nyxie!!” She yelled, hurrying over to the winged babe. Rhys, however, arrived with numerous shopping bags in his own arms.

Feyre, who had been lounging with her head on Y/N’s shoulder gave the two a big smile. Y/N raised an eyebrow. “All of that better be for Nyx.”

Azriel and Rhys shared a laugh before Rhys spoke. “Well, half of it is, but only because someone batted her little lashes at us repeating ‘Brother, present. Brother, present’ until we took her into what is conveniently her favorite toy store.” Az cut in, “And because my brother is getting soft in his old age” before Rhys could remind Azriel that he was, in fact, the older of the two, Az continued, “Rhys had to buy something for her for every item she picked out for Nyx.”

Y/N groaned. “Cassian literally just bought her five new toys and six new outfits on their last outing.”

The raven-haired toddler with her mother’s nose and radiant skin, Rhys’ smile, and by some gift of the Mother - had Azriel’s golden-flecked hazel eyes, toddled up to Feyre, giving her a big hug. She then turned to her mother, leaning in to whisper something, that came out as quietly as a yell. “I got something for sissy too. Daddy has it in the pocket realm.”

Y/N’s face flushed as Rhys and Feyre gaped. “So much for keeping that a secret for a little longer.”

Feyre squealed leaning in and throwing her arms around Y/N. “I thought that maybe I was getting allergies, your scent hasn’t been as strong but you were glamouring it!”

Rhys pulled Azriel into a long hug, then walked over to Y/N with a wide smile, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Azriel placed a hand on his chest as he took in the sight of his blended family. It wasn’t what he’d ever expected but, to him, it was everything.

[sashaisready]

Starting Over: Chapter 2 - Broken

Mob!Bucky x Female Reader

Series Masterlist

When Bucky throws you out of the house for a betrayal and won't listen to your side of the story, you know the only way out is through - it's time to start over. Maybe this was never going to be your happy ending.

I'm sorry, part 2 got a little out of hand in length so I've decided to split it up into different chapters! There should only be one more part after this (maybe??!) Hope you enjoy! This is more of Bucky's POV and gives some more insight into what happened. Thanks for all your engagement with this series, as always comments and reblogs are appreciated! Unfortunately I no longer use taglists.

💔

Your phone sat on Bucky’s desk as he stared at it blankly. He wasn’t really sure what he expected, maybe that you’d call it, or it would magically reveal some sort of answers to the many questions he had. But it didn’t. It just laid there, about as useful as a rock. A ‘babe, how are you?! we need to hang out soon!’ notification from Natasha had lit up the screen an hour or so before, but otherwise it just continued to sit silently – an insulting prompt that mocked him with your absence, the clock on the screen taunting him with how late it had become.

He'd had a glance at the checking and credit card accounts he’d set up for you, but they hadn’t been touched. In fact, nothing had been touched. None of your clothes had moved, your toiletries remained in the bathroom. You hadn’t even appeared to have taken any shoes with you. Natasha’s casual check-in text suggested your friends were unaware of what had happened. You’d just…vanished. A ghost in the night.

He felt nauseous, his gut churning. He’d tried to find the CCTV footage of you leaving, but the image was grainy – he could hardly make you out. The cameras had been acting up lately, he needed Steve to get them fixed. He kept thinking about you wandering out into the night by yourself, no money, no plan, how he’d forced you out into the cold. The one person he swore to protect, to keep safe.

His guilt was eating him alive.

But then he thought of the recording. Your voice so clear, laughing with the fed – mocking Bucky, calling him names and sneering at his gullibility. He could hardly believe it all at first. Not you? Not his doll, who had opened him up to love in ways he could have never imagined. Surely it couldn’t have been you, who had uprooted his life for the better, who had hit him like a whirlwind, changing his very being forever in all the best ways?

But he’d checked in with Banner who ran the tech and had confirmed you had been there. Your phone had pinged the cell tower in that exact spot they’d tracked the meeting point to. They’d even found a CCTV clip of you getting in a strange car that day, despite telling Bucky you were having Wanda over for a girl’s night. The audio was delivered by his own men, verified by their informant. The evidence was overwhelming.

‘It was so easy’ you had giggled cruelly on the clip, the words burned into his memory, ‘I just fluttered my eyelashes a few times and he was asking me to move in after a few weeks. I barely lifted a finger yet he swallowed everything I gave him and asked for more. Now I know how his whole operation works…but I need more time on the Stark deal. Just give me a bit longer and I’ll have that one-armed pussy spill everything after a few more ‘I love yous’ and dirty fucks. I promise...’

Of course he’d seen red. How could he not? He’d always been hot-tempered (passionate, his mother used to say), and the recording had destroyed his entire world in a matter of seconds. Aside from the betrayal, the pain, he felt humiliated. He’d finally been vulnerable with someone, shared intimacy in ways he’d never experienced with another person – only to find out it was all a lie. A trick. A joke. It affirmed his biggest fear – that he had been correct to build those walls, to protect himself from anyone who would use his feelings against him. Love could be exploited as a weakness, and he’d turned up to the fight unarmed.

In his mind, he’d not thrown you out – not sweet, beautiful you. Not you who held him close in your sleep and nuzzled into his chest, not you who traced his scars with her fingers and encouraged him to take off his prosthetic when you were intimate if he wished to. Not you, who stayed up late on his birthday just to present him with a homemade cake when he came home after an exhausting meeting – insisting he blew out the candles. Did she ever even exist? He’d always joked you were too good to be true. Now he’d accidentally manifested that into reality.

No. He’d thrown out her. The woman who had been gathering intel on him since the moment the two of you had met. The woman who exchanged kisses for information. The woman who had laughed about all of this as she gleefully ratted on him, delighting in her prowess over the foolish, lovesick mob boss she’d so easily toppled. The woman who’d callously worn the mask of someone who loved him. She was thrown out of his house, out of his embrace.

Unfortunately, the two versions of you were one and the same.

But at least he knew better, now. He’d go back to casual sex and pretty girls hanging off his arm. Easy. Fun. Uncomplicated. The walls would go back up and they wouldn’t come down again. Deep down he’d always known that men like him weren’t meant to be loved, that they weren’t worthy of genuine affection. Not all voids could be filled. People like you, or at least who he thought you were, were not for him. They deserved better. You’d always deserved better. He’d had a brief taste of happiness, but that was all he deserved. The universe would continue to punish him for his many bad deeds.

The only thing left to do was finally go to bed, but a solemn knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts. He could tell it was Steve. 

“Steve?” he called, checking his watch. It was late, he’d assumed his second in command had already gone home.

Steve entered looking sullen. He was tensely holding his phone, and someone appeared to be on FaceTime with him. He cautiously extended it to his long-time friend.

“I’m sorry, Buck”, he said gravely.

“Steve..what?” Bucky asked as he gingerly took the phone from him. Sam looked back at him from the small screen, his solemn expression mirroring Steve’s.

“Bucky…I’m sorry,” Sam said quietly in that same tone, filling Bucky with a sinking dread.

Something was very wrong here.

“What is it?” He fired angrily at Sam, “just spit it out…”

Sam flipped the camera around to face what looked like a heap of old rags on the ground. He appeared to be in a parking garage, surrounded by nothing but concrete and darkness. It was hard to make anything out.

“What am I looking at here?” Bucky squinted at the camera as he tried to focus the image. Steve silently observed over his shoulder.

“Tell him what you just told us,” came the sound of Sam’s furious voice off-camera.

Bucky watched with confusion at the screen as Sam's boot suddenly kicked out at the heap, and the heap moved.

And then he clicked.

The ‘heap’ was a man.

The man groaned and cried out as Bucky realised the ‘rags’ were ripped, bloody clothes. He rolled over in obvious pain as Sam manoeuvred the camera to get a better look. As the man turned over, Bucky recognised his face. 

It was one of his own. 

“Rumlow?” Bucky asked with confusion. 

Behind him, Steve moved closer and leaned forward to watch the screen. “Just watch, Buck” he said sombrely.  

Rumlow looked up at the phone, blearily staring into the lens as he squinted at the phone light. His face was bruised and bloodied. Someone had given him a good going over. 

“It was me. Alright? I did it,” Rumlow groaned.

“Did what?” Bucky sneered, still not entirely clear on where this was going – but already feeling his anger mounting.

Rumlow sighed heavily and Sam gave him another swift kick to the ribs to encourage him to continue. 

He moaned out in pain and closed his eyes. “Aaargh. Alright…I did it! I did it okay! I made the recording!” he spat.

Bucky’s eyes darkened as comprehension of the situation unfolding began to take hold. His fist tightened around the phone screen. “Which recording…Rumlow?” He asked, his voice sinisterly calm. 

Rumlow paused and spat a wad of blood onto the floor. Bucky recognised the look of fear building in the man’s eyes, he’d seen it many times before. Rumlow was stalling to delay the inevitable.

“Tell me!!” Bucky roared at the phone, holding it so tightly in his fist that the screen might crack.

He watched Rumlow wince as he turned away from the screen, dropping his head in defeat.

“Of your girl…talking to the police…it wasn’t her-uh-it wasn’t even real. I used AI. From…from recordings of her voice from old security footage…I’m sorry…I just-”

But Bucky was eerily composed. Rumlow took his silence as the cue to continue.

“I hacked into the security system and planted the clip of her getting in the car. And I stole her phone for a few hours when she was at the house with a friend, planting it at the meeting point then driving back with it. She didn’t even notice it was gone…I’m sorry I…”

Bucky cleared his throat. He tapped a single contemplative finger over his lips as his eyes glazed over.

“Sam?” he asked, his voice void of emotion. 

Sam flipped the camera back to face himself. He looked grimly into the lens. “I’m sorry Buck…we had no idea…I caught him on the phone with the feds about the shipment – he thought I’d already left and-”

“Keep him warm,” Bucky interrupted, his voice cold like ice, “I have more urgent matters to attend to first, but I will deal with him”.

Sam merely nodded. Just as he cut the call, Bucky heard Rumlow wail and beg in the background. He’d be doing a lot more of that soon.

In a sudden fog of anger, Bucky pelted his phone hard against the wall. He roared with rage, lobbing his scotch glass at the window – shattering both. He flipped his desk, the chair, the bookcase �� leaving a tsunami of destruction in his wake. Steve merely watched on, patiently. He knew Bucky needed to vent whichever way he could.

Eventually Bucky slowed, panting with exertion as he took a second to try and slick back his hair, now unkempt and messy from his outburst. He pulled back his shoulders as he attempted to regain his composure.

“We’ll find her, Buck”, Steve told him unwaveringly. “She can’t have gone far on foot. Then you can explain everything and apologise”.

Bucky shook his head as he ran his hands through his hair. Toeing the pile of debris that now cluttered his office floor he sighed heavily. “She told me she didn’t do it, Steve. And I didn’t believe her…”

“The recording was very convincing,” Steve clamped a sympathetic hand onto Bucky’s shoulder, “it sounded just like her – and had all of us fooled. Not to mention the phone location evidence…the CCTV of her leaving…before I came up here, Sam told me that this AI is brand new tech, far more advanced and convincing than what the masses have access to…”

Bucky bleakly shook his head, “Doesn’t matter. She’s my girlfriend and I’m supposed to trust her. Believe her. When I heard her voice on that recording I just…”, he trailed off sadly, “…it tapped into my worst fears…”

Steve nodded sagely. “Let’s just find her first, and you can talk to her. And then we can deal with Rumlow”.

Bucky grimaced, “I knew he was a risk to take on…with our shared history in HYDRA’s organisation…but I never thought…”

“Let’s just find her for now,” Steve repeated, always calm in a crisis. He pulled out his phone, making calls to various members of their group, sending out texts and kicking off various communication chains. In mere minutes, they’d have entire squads of their men scouring the area with a fine-tooth comb.

Bucky stood amongst the wreckage – the room’s physical ruins a glaring reminder that this wasn’t the only mess he’d made tonight. He pulled his own phone from his jacket pocket, opening his photo album as the pings and buzzes from Steve’s device filled the room. He flicked through the pictures of you: your face cheesily grinning at the camera, your lips sweetly planted on his cheek, a candid shot of you cooking in the kitchen – caught off-guard, your mouth a small ‘o’ of surprise. You’d asked him to delete it as you thought you looked dumb, but he insisted he keep as he like the way your eyes sparkled in it. It was one of his favourites. Looking at the pictures helped him calm down, his breath evening as he remembered what was important here. He ran a finger over the image of your face, “I’m sorry, doll” he whispered, “I promise I’ll do anything I can to fix this…”

A couple of miles away, you slept deeply in the tear-stained hotel sheets – completely unaware of the organised efforts to track you down. You didn’t dream, you didn’t stir, you just slept - grateful to give yourself over to oblivion.

💔

There had only been a few places you could have gone on foot.

Bucky’s men had worked quickly despite the late hour. The local police force, already firmly in Bucky’s pocket, loaned him a few law enforcement bodies to assist with the search, no questions asked – as was standard. Sheriff Bodecker always played ball. They collected the CCTV from local businesses, doorbell cam footage from local residents (who weren’t particularly happy to be woken to do so, but didn’t have much choice), swept the area on foot and in vehicles. It was faintly possible you had hitchhiked and thumbed a ride into the city, but Bucky knew this wasn’t likely, so they put that option on the backburner – although it hadn’t been entirely ruled out.

The gas station staff hadn’t seen you, but their CCTV did catch a blurred figure passing in the road opposite the camera. A faint outline of your route started to emerge as the puzzle pieces came together. Eventually, Bucky was sent the security footage of you checking into the Holiday Inn. His heart pulled as he watched you looking lost at the reception desk – your eyes round like saucers as you produced crumpled dollar bills, head turning left to right as you surveyed your drab surroundings. He could only imagine how lost you must’ve felt, how hurt and betrayed. Exiled by the man you loved, you trusted, and having to hunker down in a shitty roadside hotel. Part of him was impressed by your ability to pick yourself up and keep going even in the toughest circumstances – it was one of the many reasons he loved you. But mainly, he was ashamed. Ashamed that he’d pushed you to this, that he’d failed you in so many ways.

Bucky inhaled deeply as he closed the hotel clip on his phone, nodding to his driver and stepping into the dark SUV.

I’m on my way, doll.

[focusonkayjay]

between the ride and the roses (6)

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: biker/ motorcycle shop owner! jungkook x flower shop owner! reader, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, slow burn, angst, smut, fluff

Series summary: There's an insane turn of events when your calm and peaceful life is intruded by Jungkook, a biker boy who sets up his loud business right next to your own. Your paths cross under unlikely circumstances, starting with a clash of personalities but gradually you find yourself establishing a deeper connection with the annoyingly attractive biker jerk. You both have no idea what's in store for you guys as you try your best to put up with each other.

Word count: 4.8k

Chapter Warnings: mature language, mention of injuries and wounds.

A/N: thinking of uploading another story soon and simultaneously updating it with this story. anyways, let me know how this part was <333

part 6: bruises before the blossom

The harsh buzz of the alarm pierces through the silence, dragging Jungkook from a restless, fitful sleep. His head throbs, heavy from the lack of rest, his body aching from tossing and turning all night. The bed feels too cold, too empty, and it’s a reminder of just how miserable he feels.

Even in his sleep, his mind never truly let him escape the images of you... the sound of your voice cracking with anger, the hurt in your eyes, and the way you turned away from him.

He drags himself out of bed, a sigh slipping from his lips as he rubs at his eyes. The entire day ahead seems like a mountain he’s not sure he’s capable of climbing. He’s still trapped in the mess he made.

There’s a weight pressing down on his chest that doesn’t ease, not even when he tries to focus on the simple motions of getting ready. His mind keeps replaying the argument, each harsh word, each painful silence, and his stomach churns with guilt.

The ride to his shop is cold, the morning breeze biting through his jacket. As he rides, all Jungkook can do is replay the mess he’s made in his mind, searching for a way to fix the chaos he’s so recklessly caused.

The hum of the shop’s overhead lights and the scent of motor oil mixed with leather greet Jungkook as he steps into his motorcycle shop, the familiar setting providing a small sense of comfort amidst the chaos inside his mind.

It’s early, and the place is quiet except for the occasional clinking of tools or the sound of an engine being worked on in the back. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but it doesn’t help. The weight of yesterday still hangs over him like a dark cloud.

Yoongi’s already there, sipping coffee at the counter, his eyes flicking up when he hears the door open. He raises an eyebrow at Jungkook’s disheveled appearance and his tired eyes. He doesn’t need to ask if something's wrong.... it’s so obvious.

“Wow, you look like shit.” Yoongi comments dryly, leaning back in his seat, the mug still in his hands.

Jungkook drops his bag onto the counter with a heavy sigh. He doesn’t even respond right away, simply running a hand over his face in frustration. The guilt is eating him alive, gnawing at the edges of his every thought.

Jungkook remains silent, pulling up a stool and sitting down beside Yoongi. He leans forward, elbows on the counter, his gaze unfocused. “I screwed up, hyung. I fucking... I fucking messed up.” he starts.

Yoongi furrows his brows, not quite sure where this was coming from but he watches Jungkook carefully for a moment, before placing his mug down and crossing his arms. “What happened?” he questions.

Jungkook swallows hard. “We… we had a fight. Last night... me and Y/n... And... and I...” He pauses, grimacing at the memory of how he’d snapped, how everything spiraled out of control. “

"I didn’t listen. I said things I shouldn’t have, Hyung. Hurtful things. And the worst part, we weren't even alone. People were watching...And now… now I can’t stop thinking about it. The way she looked at me when she walked out…” His voice falters, a knot tightening in his throat. “I don’t know how to fix it.”

Yoongi’s expression hardens slightly, the disappointment clear in his eyes. “You messed up that bad, huh?”

Jungkook nods slowly, his hands trembling slightly as he grips the edge of the counter. “I don’t even know why I acted like that. I just... got so caught up in my own head, I didn’t even think about how she was feeling. And now… she’s pissed. Probably doesn’t want to see me... ever.”

Yoongi exhales sharply, rubbing his temples. “Listen, Kook… sometimes you really act like a damn idiot. But come on... you know better than this. She didn’t deserve that. I don’t care how stressed you were, how tired you were… there’s absolutely no excuse for treating anyone like that, especially her.”

Jungkook flinches at the words, but he can’t deny the truth in them. Yoongi’s never been one to sugarcoat things, and right now, his bluntness is exactly what Jungkook needs to hear.

“I know...” Jungkook mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. “I really know. I just… I don’t know what to do next. How do I fix this?”

Yoongi lets out a long, resigned sigh. "I know I helped you out last time, but this time… I’m afraid you’re on your own, Kook. You’ve got to figure this out yourself." He shrugs, not sparing the younger man a single glance.

Even though his words sting, Jungkook knows Yoongi’s right. This time, he has to take responsibility for his actions and find a way to make it right on his own.

The morning stretches on, but Jungkook’s mind is stuck in an endless loop, the weight of his actions from the previous night pressing down on him with an unrelenting heaviness. He keeps glancing over at your shop, the stillness of the street on your side, unsettling, your shop’s "Close" sign glaring in the quiet morning light.

Something’s not right. You’re never late to open. His thoughts spiral, consumed by guilt. Did his words hurt you so much that you’d decided to close for the day? The weight of the uncertainty gnaws at him, each minute dragging him deeper into the pit of regret.

As the clock ticks on and the day wears into afternoon, Jimin and Hoseok finally arrive at the shop, both as lively as always, their energy contrasting sharply with Jungkook’s clouded mood.

They step inside, their footsteps echoing on the concrete floor, but they immediately halt when they see his expression... dark circles under his eyes, shoulders hunched, and the tightness of his jaw.

Jimin raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he watches Jungkook. “What happened to you? You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

Hoseok, ever the teasing one, chuckles as he makes his way to the counter, but the moment he catches a glimpse of Jungkook’s face, the humor fades. “Man, what’s with the face? You look like a kicked puppy.” he worries.

Jungkook’s eyes flicker up to meet theirs for a moment before they quickly drop again. His heart is too heavy to lift his head properly, too consumed by the thought of you. He can barely form the words, his chest tight with an overwhelming sense of guilt.

Finally, he exhales a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and sinks onto the stool, running a hand through his messy hair.

“Y/N’s not opening her shop today...” he mutters. Jimin raises both eyebrows, the concern immediately evident on his face. “And that’s got you looking like you’re about to collapse?” he questions.

Jungkook nods, his voice strained as he continues. “I… I messed up last night. Badly. I...” His voice pauses as he struggles to form the words, the guilt threatening to choke him. “I hurt her. I said things I shouldn’t have. And now… she’s not even opening her shop. I think… I think I pushed her too far.”

Hoseok steps forward, his expression hardening as he leans against the counter, crossing his arms. “You hurt her? How? What did you do?”

Jungkook’s eyes are glassy, filled with regret. He hesitates, his mind racing back to the argument, to the harsh words he’d thrown at you in the heat of the moment. He swallows hard, before narrating the entire incident from last night.

Both Hoseok and Jimin listen to him intently and Jungkook can't seem to ignore the disappointed look on their faces.

Hoseok, places a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. “You can’t undo what’s been said, but you can make things right. It’s not going to be easy, but you need to give her space. Let her process everything. Don’t push her.” he says.

Jungkook nods slowly, his throat tight. All he can do for now is just wait and see when he's about to be gifted the opportunity to talk to you again and set things right.

//

You pull the blanket tighter around you, cocooning yourself against the world as you lie in bed. The echoes of last night’s argument reverberate in your mind, pressing down like an unbearable weight. It’s not the anger that lingers... it’s the shame.

The shame of losing control, of letting your emotions boil over in front of him. You hadn’t meant for him to see that part of you... the part you keep carefully hidden, locked away behind walls you’ve spent years building. Now, the memory of it stings, and the question gnaws at you: Will he ever see me the same way again?

Today was supposed to be a normal day. You’d planned to open the shop, lose yourself in the routine of arranging flowers and greeting customers. But the idea of facing the world... facing him...feels unconquerable.

So you stayed in bed, letting time slip by as guilt and self-doubt festered. The shop, your sanctuary of independence, momentarily feels like a burden, a tether pulling you towards a confrontation you’re not ready for.

Your thoughts churn, trying to make sense of everything. The tears, the words you shouted in the heat of the moment... they feel too raw, too exposed. You wish you could take them back, even as a part of you knows they needed to be said. But guilt has a way of distorting things, making you second-guess what was right, what was wrong, and what was simply human.

As the sun dips lower in the sky, Taehyung and Juwon show up, their familiar faces offering a much needed reprieve. They find you exactly where they probably expected... in bed, unmoving, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Taehyung doesn’t ask questions, he simply sits beside you, his hand warm and steady as it rests on your arm. Juwon mirrors his quiet support, settling on your other side, their presence wrapping around you like a shield against your own thoughts.

They don’t press you for answers or force you to recount the night. Instead, they coax you out of bed with gentle persistence, presenting the takeout they’ve brought like a peace offering. Though you can’t bring yourself to talk about the turmoil brewing inside, the quiet comfort of their company begins to lighten the heaviness in your chest.

Taehyung eventually puts on a movie, something lighthearted and familiar. As the scenes play out on the screen, you find your mind wandering to tomorrow.

Closing the shop today might have been necessary, but you can’t keep hiding. There’s a business to run, responsibilities to shoulder... even if the thought of seeing Jungkook again ties your stomach in knots.

The anger is still there, simmering just beneath the surface. What he said, what he did... it wasn’t excusable. But a small, stubborn part of you wants to hear his side, to understand why. Will you ask him? Probably not. Not yet.

For now, all you can focus on is how to avoid him tomorrow, how to navigate the day without letting his presence unravel you all over again.

//

A week passes, and you’ve become somewhat of a pro at ignoring Jungkook. Each time he walks past the shop or lingers in the vicinity, you manage to find something else to focus on, your eyes never straying in his direction.

He doesn’t approach you either, which you figure is his way of giving you space. Though you wouldn’t admit it out loud, you’re grateful for the unspoken truce.

The planning meetings for the town fair have stalled, but you push the thought aside, convincing yourself it’s not worth worrying about right now.

It’s Friday evening, and the shop feels unusually quiet. Taehyung had called earlier, practically buzzing with excitement. He’s sold one of his paintings to a famous singer who not only bought the piece but also promoted it on social media. The result?

Tae's art business exploded overnight. To celebrate, he invited you and the rest of the group to a jazz club, and there’s no way you’re missing it.

You decide to close the shop early, flipping the sign on the door with a small thrill of rebellion. The usual routine of tending to customers and tidying up can wait until tomorrow. Tonight, you’re determined to let loose.

You brought your outfit with you earlier, knowing you wouldn’t have the time to go all the way back home, just to change and get ready. You head into the storeroom, a quiet hum of anticipation filling the air as you change out of the clothes you're wearing.

The dress you’ve chosen is simple yet striking, a dark, elegant number that hugs your figure perfectly. You smooth it down, catching glimpses of yourself in the small, dusty mirror propped in the corner. It’s not ideal, but it’ll do.

Once dressed, you grab your makeup bag and head to the washroom to finish getting ready. The harsh fluorescent lights are far from flattering, but you lean close to the mirror, carefully applying your eyeliner and adding a touch of highlighter to your cheekbones.

When you finally step back to take in the full picture, you pause, a small smile tugging at your lips. You look... radiant. The shadows that have clung to you all week seem to lift, and for the first time in days, you feel more like yourself. The heaviness that’s been following you takes a backseat, and you let the excitement of the evening take its place.

With one last swipe of lipstick, you grab your clutch and flick off the washroom light. Stepping back into the shop, you take a moment to glance around before locking the door behind you.

The cool evening air greets you as you step outside, a soft breeze carrying the promise of a night to remember. For the first time in what feels like forever, you allow yourself to look forward to something other than your next obligation.

Tonight, it’s about celebrating Taehyung and, for just a little while, forgetting everything else.

Once you lock the door behind you, you’re ready to leave the day behind and immerse yourself in the celebration waiting for you. But just as you turn to head down the street, you stop in your tracks.

Sitting on the curb a few feet away is a figure so familiar, your heart recognizes him before your eyes fully process it.

Even with his face tilted downward, you know it’s Jungkook. His dark hair falls in loose strands over his forehead, and the slump of his shoulders speaks of exhaustion. He’s completely still, almost like he’s waiting for something... or someone. The sight makes you pause, confusion flickering across your face. What is he doing here, sitting outside on the curb, right outside his shop?

You take a hesitant step closer, the sharp click of your red pumps breaking the silence. The sound alerts him, because his head lifts slowly, and suddenly, his gaze meets yours.

In that instant, it feels like time itself stops. His dark, expressive eyes hold yours, and for a moment, the weight of the world seems to fall away. It’s the first time in what feels like an eternity that you’re truly seeing each other.

You take a sharp breath as your eyes scan his face, and what you see makes your stomach twist. A nasty bruise blooms across his forehead, his split lip is still raw, and the faint trace of dried blood lingers at the corner of his mouth.

He looks like he’s just come out of a fight. Panic rises in your chest, questions swirling in your mind. What happened to him? Who did this? And why is he sitting on the curb like this? You remember he was like this the other night too... the night he snapped at you, the night you snapped at him.

While your mind races, Jungkook sits frozen, too stunned to speak. He’s captivated, his eyes drinking in every detail of you like it’s the first time he’s truly seeing you. Your long hair cascades freely down your back, glossy and catching the faint glow of the streetlights.

The sleeveless cherry red satin dress hugs your curves with a perfect balance of elegance and allure, the thigh-high slit teasingly revealing the smooth length of your leg with every subtle shift of your body.

He can’t stop staring, his eyes tracing the curve of your shoulders, the way your dress glides effortlessly with your movements, and how your red pumps seem like they were made just for this moment. You look breathtaking. Ethereal. He almost forgets the pain in his body, too lost in the sight of you.

“You look…” he begins, but his voice falters. Words seem inadequate for what he wants to say. His throat tightens as he tries again, but nothing comes out. His eyes do all the speaking for him, wide and reverent, as if he’s looking at something impossibly beautiful.

Your heart hammers in your chest, torn between the storm of emotions his presence stirs and the worry that knots your stomach at the sight of his injuries. “Jungkook…” you whisper, your voice soft but tinged with concern. “What happened to you?” you question softly.

He doesn’t answer right away, his gaze still fixed on you, as though he’s afraid to look away and break whatever fragile spell this moment holds. But you don’t miss the faint twitch of his lips, like he wants to say something but can’t.

The silence stretches between you, charged and heavy, until finally, you take another step closer, your concern overpowering your hesitation. “Jungkook...” you say again, firmer this time. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Unable to hold yourself back any longer, you step towards him, your heels clicking softly against the pavement. Without a second thought, you crouch down beside him and gently place a hand on his arm, your fingers curling against the fabric of his jacket.

“Come on.” you murmur softly, your worry overpowering the tension that had hung between you for the past week. Jungkook stiffens slightly at your touch, caught completely off guard. He hadn’t expected you to come near him, let alone help him.

But before he can process it, he’s distracted by something entirely different... your scent. It envelops him, warm and sweet, with a faint floral hint that makes his head swim. It’s intoxicating, like you’re some kind of drug, and for a brief moment, he forgets the sting of his bruises.

You carefully pull him up, his weight leaning against you as he stumbles slightly. “Let’s get you inside.” you say, your tone leaving no room for argument. He doesn’t protest, letting you guide him towards the entrance of his shop. With one arm wrapped around his waist for support, you open the door and step inside, the small chime above the entrance ringing softly in the quiet.

It’s your first time in Jungkook’s shop, and as you help him inside, your eyes instinctively wander. The space feels intimate, yet rugged, filled with the unmistakable smell of motor oil and leather. Rows of polished helmets and sleek motorcycle parts line the shelves, glinting under the dim, warm lights.

A large workbench sits towards the back, cluttered with tools and blueprints, while a sleek black motorcycle stands proudly in the center of the room, gleaming like it’s just been polished.

For a moment, you’re almost in awe. You’ve passed by his shop countless times, but stepping inside feels like stepping into a part of him you’ve never seen before. Each detail seems to hold a piece of Jungkook... his precision, his passion, his identity.

But while you’re busy taking in the space, Jungkook is busy watching you. He leans slightly against you, his gaze fixed on your face, illuminated softly by the warm light.

The way your eyes dart around, curious and intrigued, makes something stir in his chest. Even now, with everything that’s happened, he can’t believe how stunning you look and how easily you take his breath away.

Finally, you spot a counter against the wall, and with a quiet urgency, you guide him to it. “Sit here.” you say, your voice firm but gentle. He lowers himself onto the stool with a wince, and you step back slightly, taking a proper look at him.

His face is a mess of bruises, and his split lip looks worse under the harsh lighting. The sight makes your chest tighten with worry.

“Look at you...” you murmur, shaking your head. “You’re hurt.” In that moment, it’s as though all the unresolved tension, the arguments, and the awkward silences are erased. The only thing that matters is him and the pain he’s in.

“Where’s the first aid kit?” you ask, your voice steady but laced with concern. Jungkook hesitates for a second, his eyes still glued to you. It’s impossible for him to look away... the way the soft red of your dress clings to you, the shine in your hair, the way you’re moving with such care for him...it’s overwhelming.

Finally, he clears his throat and gestures toward a cabinet near the workbench. “Over there.” he manages to answer, his voice hoarse. You move quickly, locating the box and pulling it out with purpose.

Taehyung’s jazz party, your plans for the night, everything fades from your mind as you return to Jungkook’s side. Setting the first aid kit on the counter, you pull out antiseptic wipes and gauze, ready to tend to his wounds.

As you gently dab at the cut on his lip, he flinches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he watches you intently, his gaze softening with every careful motion you make. The way you focus on him, your brows furrowed in concentration, makes his heart ache in a way that has nothing to do with his injuries.

“Why didn’t you take care of this sooner?” you ask quietly, breaking the silence as you work. You don’t look at him, your focus entirely on cleaning the dried blood from his forehead, but your tone carries a mix of frustration and worry. “You shouldn’t be walking around like this.” you add.

Jungkook doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, his lips twitch into a faint, rueful smile. “Didn’t think it mattered.” he mutters, his voice barely audible. You pause at that, your hand stilling for a moment before you continue. “Of course it matters.” you say firmly, your tone soft but resolute. “You matter.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with unspoken emotion. And for the first time in what feels like forever, Jungkook feels something warm begin to thaw the cold wall between you.

You want to ask him what happened... why he’s in this state, all battered and bruised, like a fragment of some untold story. But the words falter before they can leave your lips. There’s a hesitation you can’t shake, a fear that prying might break whatever fragile tether still holds the two of you together.

So instead, you focus on the tangible, the here and now, pouring your attention into tending to his wounds while your questions remain locked inside.

For Jungkook, the proximity is intoxicating. Your scent is subtle but distinct, wrapping around him like an embrace, a drug he knows he shouldn’t crave but can’t resist. Every small movement you make draws him in deeper.

The way your long hair cascades over one shoulder, framing your face, the delicate piece of jewelry resting at the hollow of your throat, catching the faint light like a whispered secret. You look like something out of a dream, and he wonders, for the briefest of moments, if this is some cruel trick his mind is playing on him.

“Why are you all dressed up?” The words escape him before he can think them through, his voice low, almost reverent.

You glance at him, your fingers pausing for just a second before resuming their careful work on his bruised knuckles. “My friends and i are going to a Jazz club. Just a small celebration.” There’s no irritation in your tone, no sign that his question was unwelcome. Just calm sincerity, as if speaking to him like this is the most natural thing in the world.

The weight of guilt suddenly bears down on him, sharp and unrelenting. “I’m ruining your plans.” he murmurs, his eyes dropping to the floor, his voice tinged with regret.

You shake your head, an easy, unthinking gesture. “You’re not.” you reply softly. “There’s still time.” The simplicity of your words only deepens the ache inside him.

How can you be this kind, this patient, after everything? The warmth of your presence, the gentle tone of your voice... it’s disarming, unraveling the careful composure he’s trying so hard to maintain.

As you place the last bandage on his forehead, smoothing it down with a tender precision, he can’t help but watch you. Every detail, every gesture, is etched into his memory like a masterpiece he’ll never get tired of admiring. And then, as you pull back, your hands brushing against his ever so slightly, something in him snaps.

Before he realizes what he’s doing, his hand finds your waist, pulling you closer with a delicate urgency. The motion is fluid, instinctive, and you freeze, startled by the suddenness of it all.

Your heart skips a beat, your breath hitching as you find yourself standing between his legs, your hands bracing against his shoulders for balance. His touch is firm but hesitant, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away.

“Jungkook…” you whisper, your voice fragile, barely audible.

He wants to speak, to apologize, to address the distance that’s grown between you, but the words just won’t come out. He’s too distracted by the feel of you so close, by the way your wide eyes meet his with a mix of surprise and something else, something he can't really read.

He opens his mouth to speak, to apologize, to say something... anything... but the words die before they can form. Instead, his gaze drops to your lips, the space between you charged with an intensity neither of you can ignore.

He drinks in the sight of you... the soft sheen of your skin, the way your breath hitches ever so slightly. He’s utterly lost, caught in the gravity of this moment, and he doesn’t want to be found.

You, too, are caught in the pull, your thoughts hazy and disjointed. Your eyes trace the curve of his lips, lingering on the slight swelling from his injury, and before you know it, you’re leaning in. The distance between you seems to disappear on its own, like some invisible force is drawing you together.

Jungkook’s heart is pounding, his hand tightening ever so slightly on your waist. His mind is a whirlwind, and yet, everything feels perfectly still. This is it, he thinks. This is the moment where everything changes. He’s so close now, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours, and he swears he can feel the faintest ghost of a connection with you.

But then, like a cruel twist of fate, your phone rings. The sound is loud, jarring, shattering the fragile bubble that had enveloped you both.

You jolt, startled as you harshly step back, breaking the connection. Your cheeks flush as you fumble for your phone from your clutch that was placed on the counter, the spell broken but the aftereffects still lingering. “Sorry.” you mumble, your voice shaky as you glance at the screen. It’s Seokjin. Of course, it’s Seokjin.

“Where are you?” his familiar voice, laced with concern comes through the line once you answer.

“I... uh...I’m on my way.” you stammer, trying to steady your voice. “I’ll... I'll be there... I'll be there soon.” You hang up quickly, your hands trembling as you slide your phone back into your clutch.

Turning back to Jungkook, you open your mouth to say something, but the words won’t come. Instead, you hold your clutch close, your movements rushed and uncertain.

“I...ummm...I have...I have to go.” you finally manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. Without waiting for a response, you turn and run for the door as your heels click against the floor while your heart pounds against your chest, your mind trying to process what just happened.

Jungkook doesn’t stop you. He stays where he is, leaning against the counter, his hand still tingling from where it had rested on your waist. A faint smile tugs at his lips, bittersweet and filled with longing. He can still feel the warmth of your presence, still smell the faint traces of your perfume lingering in the air.

His heart is a riot in his chest, his mind replaying the moment over and over like a movie he can’t turn off. He tries to calm himself down and to make sense of it all, but one thought keeps cutting through the haze. You were there, with him.

And even if it was for a fleeting moment, everything....everything felt right.

taglist: @kimyishin @ghijkd @dolligguk @mimi1097 @jksusawife @yooforeaa @abbie1847 @myjungkookthighs @thesarcasmqueen-22 @fairypjminie @lovelytaes-blog @jjeonjjk7 @daddyjeonnn @vantelover1306 @jeeykey (if i missed someone, pls lmk !!)

<- part 5 // part 7 ->

series masterlist

[buryhny]

One Night Stand ; 41

➥ rundown ; as if the unexpected twist of a one-night stand turning out to be your CEO boss wasn't surreal enough, the situation takes a more challenging turn when both of you discover that you're expecting his child.

→ genre ; enemies to lovers | CEO au | pregnancy trope | slowburn

→ Jungkook x y/n

→ contains smut, fluff and angst

→ Chapter forty one ; wc | 9.5k

primarily on Wattpad

index ⇢ next chapter

Your mother is an angel; she's not just a mother. She's everything to you, and you're more than just her world—you're her entire universe. If there's a word or phrase better than that to express how much you mean to her,

she would use it. She's raised you in her own special way, where love, kindness, and security thrived in her care. She has a unique way of being strict, yet her warmth and kindness always shine through.

She truly is the best person you could ever have in your life, the best mother anyone could ask for. Her endless gossip might get on your nerves, but you tolerate it because she once patiently listened to all your teenage dramas in high school—now it's your turn to return the favor. You wouldn't call it a favor; you'll say it's a duty now, which at the end of the day, you like.

You wouldn't say that to her, though—she'll be over the moon about it. But it's not about all that right now, because she's standing in front of you, her eyes wide like saucers and lips slightly parted, struggling to speak but unable to, and the sight leaves you breathless. Because your grip on Jungkook's

hands has tightened so much, he's beginning to wonder if his bones might break. You want to greet her, hug her, but as you lift your foot to step forward, your mother speaks, "What the hell?!" Her voice rings out, loud and full of shock. Both of you flinch at the sudden outburst, and you instinctively take a step back, startled by her reaction. The tears pour down her face, you watch her, and burst out in tears too.

"M-mom—" "What the hell is this—" she murmurs and covers your mouth with her trembling palms. "I-I can expla—" "There's no need for explanation! I see it all!" She speaks, her tone laced with embarrassment over her daughter. You can't bring yourself to meet her eyes, shame washing over you for letting her down.

Yet deep inside, you know you love your child unconditionally—nothing will ever make you feel ashamed of that. This feeling only exists because of your mother's judgment, not your own heart. Her eyes move from your bump to the man beside you, her lips parting even more as the minutes pass. You want to hide from her and everyone else, from the world.

Jungkook beside you isn't doing anything at all, and that's because he's afraid of what would happen if he speaks. The situation isn't calling for him, so he'd rather keep quiet than make things worse. Your lips tremble as you try to hold back your sobs and tears; your mother can't collect herself, so she zones out as she tries to think about it. Jungkook shifts uneasily,

aware of how long the two of you have been lingering at the doorway, but he can't bring himself to say anything. Relief and anxiety churn inside him as your father appears, walking toward you both. "Who's at the door, darling?" he murmurs, his voice steady as he steps closer and pushes the door open wider. You freeze in place, your hand slipping from Jungkook's grasp without thinking.

Your father's gaze locks on you, his expression unreadable as he scans you, then shifts to the boy beside you. He says nothing. The silence is suffocating, heavy enough to make your heart race. A pit forms in your stomach as regret seeps in—you wish you hadn't come back home. Your sobs get uncontrollable, and your cries get loud and heavier than they were.

You've never cried this hard; the last time you did was when you found out about your pregnancy—never again. "D-dad—" You're gasping for air, crying so hard it feels like you might break. Jungkook's starting to panic, his worry mixing with anger. Why the hell are your parents just standing there, letting this happen at the doorway, when you're a total mess—and pregnant?

His jaw tightens, grabbing your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he turns to face you. "Hey... hey," he whispers, trying to pull you back from whatever's breaking you. His voice is soft but shaky, desperate to calm you down, because this isn't just crying—it's something deeper, and it's killing him to see you like this, and he can't take it anymore.

Your parents watch the scene unfold, their frowns deepening as they notice the stranger holding their daughter. "Y/N, shhh," Jungkook whispers, his voice soft but strained. He's desperate to calm you down, his worry growing with every shaky breath you take.

You're such a mess, and he's terrified this much crying might make you sick. You cling to his hand tightly, trying to steady yourself as you gather the courage to speak. But before you can, your father cuts in.

"Come inside," he orders, his tone sharp. Jungkook stiffens, startled by the sudden authority in his voice, and you flinch. You glance at your father as he pulls the door open wider and steps inside. That tone—it's so unlike him. He's never spoken to you like that before, and it only makes the tears flow harder.

If Jungkook had a choice, he wouldn't step inside. It's not about his pride—it's about you. Sure, you're their daughter, and he gets that they're shocked and struggling to process everything. But making you stand at the doorway for over twenty minutes, crying your heart out while nosy neighbors peek from behind curtains? That's where his patience runs out.

The sight of you breaking down like this, with no one stepping in to help, fuels nothing but anger in him. You deserve better—pregnant, vulnerable, and hurting—and the fact that they can't see that makes his chest tighten with frustration. He gets it—it's not an easy situation. This isn't some casual introduction of your boyfriend. You're pregnant, unmarried,

and with a man they know nothing about. Of course, it's hard for them to take in—it's overwhelming, even. But still. At the very least, they could take you inside first. Let him stay out; he doesn't care about that. What matters is you—giving you a seat, letting you breathe. Watching you cry like this, standing in full view for the world to see, feels unbearably wrong, and it only adds to the weight in his chest. Jungkook holds your arms as he helps you walk inside slowly.

He focuses on your feet and sobbing, all he wants is to make you sit down on a couch. That will ease him. Your father sits on his maroon armchair, which looked worn out, like it's been used for the past 15 years. You sit on the larger couch as Jungkook rubs his hand on your hair, looking at your face with a frown.

"Stay here, I'll take our luggage inside, mm?" he whispers to you, not wanting your parents to hear his voice. You tug at your nose and nod at his words, unsure of what else to do. He casts a brief glance at your mother, who glares at him as though he's unwelcome in her home. Without a word, he carries the luggage inside, setting it against the wall.

Yours, he moves closer to the stairs, a quiet act of care. His own, he leaves untouched, off to the side. It's clear he has no intention of staying the night—or perhaps he knows better, judging by the sharp chill of your parents' silent judgment. He walks back to stand beside you, not wanting to take a seat because it's obvious that no one wants him here.

Your mother sits in front of you. She doesn't speak a word as she tries to collect her thoughts first. Your father, on the other hand, does not seem very angry as your mother does; he looks disappointed. "Can you explain this to me?" your father speaks up as he communicates with his eyes, moving from your bump to the man beside you. You gulp, nodding.

You wipe off the tears that run down your cheek and pull your nose. "I w-will!" You sit up straighter, trying to claw back the confidence you'd built over the past few weeks—the same confidence that crumbled the second your mom opened the door. Jungkook looks like he wants to reach out, maybe grab your arm to let you know he's there, but he doesn't.

Not with the way your parents are glaring at him like he's the worst decision you've ever made. You take a moment, your eyes darting around as you try to gather your thoughts, piecing together words that refuse to come out as sentences. "I..." you start, your voice faltering, stammering under the weight of the truth. How do you explain something so unreal?

That the man standing beside you was once a stranger, someone you hooked up with, only to discover later he was your boss. That the pregnancy you never planned became a mistake you embraced wholeheartedly. And now, here you are—hopelessly in love with both him and the life you're creating together.

It would sound completely like you've taken it out from a film, but it's the raw truth, and you just can't seem to find a way to explain it to them. Jungkook sees the struggle; your parents see it too, and it only makes them fear for what they must hear next.

"So I..." This time, Jungkook doesn't wait; he places his palm on your shoulder so he can speak this out. He doesn't want to put the whole burden on you when he was an equal part of this.

"Please don't take it out on her. This... this whole thing was a mess, and if anyone's at fault, it's me. More than her," he says quietly, his voice steady despite the weight of your parents' piercing gazes. You stay silent, your words stuck in your throat.

The way he steps in, taking the blame for something that wasn't entirely his fault, twists something deep inside you. He's shouldering everything, trying to protect you, and it makes your heart ache in ways you can't put into words.

"No... don't do this, Jungkook," you murmur, and he looks down at you with a frown. You wipe your tears away, not wanting to cry anymore. You're determined to lay everything out for them, no matter how messy or awkward it gets. They deserve to know the full story—every detail, no sugarcoating, no covering things up.

You can't stand the idea of them hating Jungkook, and more than anything, you want them to accept the baby you created together. This little life means everything to you, and you need them to see that too.

"You don't have to take the blame on yourself," you say and pull his hand to sit beside you. You want him next to you and seated. He doesn't have to stand behind you like he doesn't belong here; he's yours and belongs wherever you are. He sits, with a fair distance between you two.

"This was all unplanned, and I promise you that it all began as a mistake," you start. You're aware of your parents' decency and how they don't interrupt. You're thankful that they are respectable and allow others to keep their opinions before they speak. They listen, and you know that they will hear you out no matter how messy and awkward this situation and story is. You look at Jungkook, who gazes at your bump with his eyebrows crossed together.

"We weren't together until a few months ago, and I know that everything is very upsetting and difficult to take in, but we both are taking our responsibility and... and we are trying to do as much as we can. I just want you and Dad to support me in this." You blurt it all out in one breath, squeezing your eyes shut as if bracing for the storm of their reactions. Jungkook shifts uncomfortably beside you, awkward under the spotlight that feels far too bright, his every instinct screaming at him to escape.

Your father lets out a heavy sigh, his gaze drifting away as he tries to process everything you've just dropped on him. Meanwhile, your mother sits stiffly, her anger still palpable, though she holds back from yelling. Her eyes, unblinking, fall to your bump, and something softens—though only slightly. She's clearly torn, her thoughts racing as she takes in the sight of you,

undeniably pregnant, and wonders how everything came to this. You look more beautiful than you ever have, but how can she admire you when you've so clearly hidden everything from her? She can't believe how her own daughter could have kept something so important, so life-changing, hidden for so long.

The realization hits her like a cold wave, and for a moment, she's at a loss for words. The hurt is there, buried beneath her frustration, but it's not just anger—it's disbelief. How could you have kept this from her? From both of them?

Your mother finally breaks the silence, her voice quieter than you expected, yet still sharp with emotion. "Why didn't you tell us sooner?" she asks, her eyes narrowing in both confusion and hurt. "This... this is a huge deal, and you've kept us in the dark all this time?" Jungkook, still awkward and tense beside you, looks like he wants to say something,

but he holds back. It's clear he doesn't know what to do, how to help, or how to ease the tension that's growing thicker with every passing second. You feel the weight of your mother's gaze, the expectation for answers. You want to explain, to tell her why you waited, but the words are stuck, caught between the truth and the fear of losing her approval.

"Why, Y/N?" Her voice trails as she asks you again. You hurt her so deeply that you can hear it. You want to cry all over again, but now's the time to talk and clear everything up.

"I... I was scared," you mumble under your breath, and you hear your father chuckle sarcastically, which makes Jungkook turn his head to him in confusion.

"Scared?" he repeats what you said. "I thought we raised you to tell us every. single. thing about your life. The silly, the happy, the worrying, the anger—and even the crazy things you've faced," your father says, his voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and hurt. His words slice through the tension in the room, a reminder of the trust and openness he believed you'd always share with both your parents.

Your mother's eyes are searching yours, waiting for some kind of explanation, some reassurance that this was just a mistake, a misstep on your part. But you know there's no easy way to make things right. You look down at your bump, feeling ashamed of hiding this big deal from your own parents.

Jungkook is taking notes on how each of your parents speaks. Your father speaks warmly, even if his words are limited and cold for the moment. He senses that he's still being delicate with it for you. He's also observed how your father is a quiet man who takes his time to give a reaction, in comparison to your mother, who has outbursts from time to time.

"We did not expect this from you, Y/N," your mother says as she looks at you with red eyes and trembling lips. It stings you in each layer of your skin and heart because you're well aware of this. You did not expect this from yourself either, and although you grew out of it with time, it resurfaces now that your mother says it.

"Enough, honey," your old man stops her from saying anything more, and Jungkook relaxes his tightened jaw when he hears it. He's glad that your dad spoke up because now's not the time to throw any more taunts. What's done has already been done, and putting you down is not going to magically make it all disappear.

"But—"

"They're tired. Let them rest. We can talk about this tomorrow," he says and stands up from his armchair. Jungkook does not know what to do, so he sits still.

"Have you both had dinner?" he asks, and you nod. You're not very hungry since you had your meal on the flight along with snacks that Jungkook got for you. The man beside you nods too, so your father hums.

"You can go to your bedroom, Y/N." You get on your feet with the help of Jungkook. You don't want to leave the room without completely solving everything, but you also can't take it anymore. You're in desperate need of rest, and you're not ready for a lengthy conversation yet.

Jungkook somehow feels something isn't right when he leads you to the stairs as you guide him up to your old bedroom. And he guessed it when your father says, "You can't stay with her," he announces, and you both stop in your tracks and look at him. You're frowning, and the guy next to you is biting his lower lip like he saw this coming.

"He can use the guest room, downstairs," your dad says, and Jungkook just nods. You don't say anything else. Honestly, with all the drama, you're just glad he gets to stay at your place, especially since your parents were so against him.

You lead him to your bedroom, and he helps you sit on your bed, removing the layers of coats that you put on. No words leave your lips, nor does Jungkook's, but surely the awkwardness floats in the air, and all you want to do right now is go back home and sleep in his arms. This doesn't feel like home, mostly because of the negativity that lies around. You hope it all clears when the day arrives. You pray for it, but right now, you both must accept this.

"Can you help me use the washroom?" you ask, and he stills at your question. He feels very aware of everything, like your parents are watching the two of you through the walls. You seem to figure it out and shake your head. "They might see us—"

"They won't... please..." you whisper, and he agrees. It's not that he does not want to help you, lord no. He'll do anything for you, but he's also developed a fear toward your parents with whatever happened a while ago. He helps to remove your socks and shoes, then leads you out of the room because your old bedroom does not have an attached washroom. He walks you and sees your father standing by the corridor, giving him a side-eye, which makes Jungkook gulp.

"I'll stay right here. Let me know when you're done," he says to you as he shuts the door and leans against it, not sparing a glance at the surrounding because he can see the old man by the corner of his eye.

You feel such relief after finally emptying your bladder. The tension from holding it in for so long is gone, leaving you feeling completely free.

"I'm done!" you yell as he nods and gives a tight smile when he meets your father's eyes. Jungkook walks you to your room and puts away all your coats. You both are quiet as he brings up your suitcase and places it on the couch so it's easier for you to reach your clothes. You notice how he looks irritated, his eyebrows creased, and his jaw tightened as he picks a pair of PJs for you to dress for the night.

You look at him curiously, wanting him to speak. You tilt your head and raise your eyebrows to signal him. He glances at you, then goes back to the clothes.

"Say something..." you whisper, and he sighs. You don't like his silence, and even though the matter is not solved yet, both your parents are mad at you, you don't want him to be angry at you either.

"Jungkook... are you mad at me?" you mumble under your breath, and he breathes deeply as he drops his hand and looks down. He doesn't want to tell you that he's angry and scared.

"I'm not, darling."

"Then why a—"

"I want to see you downstairs, not in her bedroom," your mother says as she stands by your door with her arms crossed. Jungkook clenches his jaw as he places your clothes on the bed and stomps out of your room without sparing a glance. You feel a twinge in your heart; you didn't want him to leave just like that. He didn't even say good night. You look up at your mother, then sigh.

"Mom—"

"I don't want to hear anything from you," she says as she steps inside, coming to a stop in front of you. Her arms remain firmly crossed over her chest as she fixes you with a stern gaze. You avoid her eyes, your attention wandering around the room instead.

She studies your face intently, taking in the soft fullness of your cheeks and the radiant glow that seems new and unfamiliar. You look so beautiful—pregnancy suits you in a way she never expected. You notice her staring at you, which makes you feel uncomfortable, but you don't address it.

"We will talk tomorrow. Get some rest now," she speaks, and you hum as she leaves the room after placing a bottle of water on your desk.

You sigh when the door closes. You look around your room and notice how everything is just as it was when you left. Nothing has changed, except for you. You feel lonely here, unlike before. You used to enjoy your own company, but now things have changed. You enjoy his company, and you can't wait to go back home and spend the rest of your nights with him.

Jungkook, on the other hand, is offered the guest room. He hesitates to suggest staying at a hotel—not because he wouldn't, but because he refuses to leave you. From everything you've told him, he expected your parents to be loving and accepting,

even though the situation is life-changing. That was the only reason the idea of a hotel even crossed his mind. But now? No way. There's no chance he's leaving you alone, not when your parents are this furious.

Your father stands by the door as Jungkook looks around the room and blinks. It's very different from his; the room is warm, homely, and has a touch of family in it, unlike his luxurious, cold rooms. "All good?" your dad asks, and Jungkook turns to speak. "Yes, thank you." He places his suitcase on the single chair and waits for your father to leave, but he doesn't. Instead, he walks toward Jungkook, leaving him nervous.

"I don't know who you are, but... you don't seem to be someone who would hurt my daughter," your father begins. "Until everything is clear, I don't want to see you around her. It doesn't matter what's going on between you two." Jungkook feels like his jaw might shatter from how tightly he's clenching it, but he forces himself to nod in response. He remains rooted to the spot, his fists trembling at his sides, until your father finally walks out.

The moment the door closes, he lets out a muffled curse under his breath. "Fucking hell!" His frustration boils over, and he stomps his foot in anger. Everything is a mess, and knowing how uncertain it all is from this night makes Jungkook fear for the future.

Jungkook ; Did you take your meds?

You grab your phone when you see the screen light up. Turning carefully to the side, you read his texts and respond.

You ; Yes, I did.

Jungkook ; Good. Are you okay?

You pout at his words, mostly at how cold they sound through the screen. You know he's not in his best mood, and neither are you, but it's not making you feel better, especially when you need him the most at this moment.

You ; Are you mad at me?

Jungkook turns to his left side and sighs when he reads your texts. He doesn't want to sound angry, but can he control himself? Definitely not.

Jungkook : I'm not, baby. I just don't feel okay.

You ; Can you call me? I want to hear you.

Jungkook ; No, not today. I don't want us to fall into trouble right now.

You agree. Now is not the time to call when everything is still heated, so neither of you reaches out, even though you both badly want to. The night is cold, much colder in the empty room you share. This was your bedroom, a place you spent your childhood and teenage years, but none of those memories matter to you now. You've had both happy and sad times here, but you don't dwell on them.

Instead, you focus on the future because that's what matters most—a future where you share every living moment with the man you love and the child you carry. Your parents beside you, supporting your decisions and being part of your life-changing experiences. That's what you think and wish for.

So you turn onto your side, trying to fall asleep, though it doesn't come easy. After hours of counting sheep, you manage to drift off, but it takes every ounce of effort. Meanwhile, Jungkook stays awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering about the "what ifs" and how he's going to face your parents in the morning.

He mentally prepares himself for whatever is left to come and thinks about how he'll protect you from all their questions.

Your parents aren't sleeping soundly either. In the quiet of the room they share, they collect their thoughts together. Last night, they couldn't sleep in excitement at the thought of seeing their only daughter again, but tonight, they lie awake in disappointment and shock that their daughter knocked on their door with a stranger and a pregnant belly.

;

Morning rolls around, and you wake up to the smell of fried eggs and bacon and—a couple of very uncomfortable movements and kicks. "Bun... where are you?" you whine as you try to sit upright and get out of bed. One palm stays on your belly, and the other takes support of the bed. Sometimes, just trying to sit up feels like a whole mission.

After lying down for hours, dragging yourself out of bed can feel like such a chore—especially when the baby's in some weird position, and you can't even tell if it's a hand or a foot giving you that little kick. You try to understand what's what, and by the time you do, there's a movement again.

You're tired at this point, can't wait for the baby to pop out because this does not feel like months—it feels like years since you carried this child. "You're being a pain today, I swear," you mumble as you stand up and take your clothes for the day. You walk out of your room to get to the washroom and meet your father along the way.

"Morning," he says, and you give him a tight smile.

"Morning, Dad."

He helps you with the door, and somehow you feel like the mood may have shifted since last night. He doesn't seem too mad, and he's also giving you a soft smile. Your father has always been a kind-hearted man. He doesn't lose his temper easily and has the patience to handle things calmly. He cools down quickly, which helps him empathize more easily—unlike your mother, who takes a bit longer to let things go.

You love that about him; it's why you like to share most things with him. You used to when you were back in high school and college. Things shifted when you got messy and became a woman. You got closer to your mom, but that doesn't change that you've always been a daddy's girl. Maybe you don't tell him everything now like you used to, but inside your heart and mind,

you're closest to him. That's why he feels hurt more deeply than your mother, even though he rarely shows it. While your mother expresses her feelings through words and actions, he lets his pain show in his silence. If you could look at him more closely, you'd see it all in his eyes—whether it's happiness, sadness, or anger.

It's also one of the reasons why you love Jungkook. His eyes hold galaxies just the way your dad's do.

You shower and walk downstairs carefully, holding the railing while you take each step. You come to face your mother and Jungkook already at the dining table. He has a blank expression on his face as he looks at the food on the table.

"Morning..." you murmur, and he turns his head to look at you. A shine radiates from his features, like you turned on a bulb in him. Your mother glances at you and mutters the same as she seats herself on her chair. You can still see that she's not very happy yet. Jungkook helps you sit and pulls the chair for you.

"I cooked your peameal bacon and pancakes," she mentions as she puts some on your plate, freshly cooked and warm.

You smile and nod. "Thanks..." you mumble. You four share breakfast in silence; only the clinking and scraping of your forks and knives fill the place. You had about four pancakes, two eggs, and a very long drizzle of maple syrup. Your parents glance at each other when you eat so much, making Jungkook feel uncomfortable because they gaze at him too.

He was used to seeing you gobble your food down, but they weren't. You barely ate before, trying to look good and in shape, but now... they feel happy too, seeing you eating so carefree.

"Where are the dogs?" you ask, curiously looking around. Your dogs would usually lie around here somewhere. "They are at Aunt Susan's place. She wanted some company since... Uncle Dan passed away." Your eyes bulge at your mother's words. "What?!" She gulps and nods like it's been ages since that happened. "He passed away a while ago now."

You couldn't believe it because Uncle Dan was someone who played a major role during your childhood. And although he wasn't really there for you after you turned eleven, he was someone special, so it hit you that he passed away not so long ago.

"Well, it doesn't really matter. What matters now is you two," she mutters as she gets up from her chair, screeching it and collecting the empty plates while you nervously look over at Jungkook as he freezes with his fork hanging in the air, waiting to be inside his open mouth.

"Mom... can you hear me out, please—"

"What? You're gonna tell me about this boy you've come with? Who is he even? How old is he? Twenty? And what's on his arm?! He looks unholy—"

"Mom, stop!" you raise your voice at her to stop her from talking rubbish about the man who sits beside you.

Your mother now does her chores with a lot of sound, proving to you that she's angry. You deeply exhale as you try to calm yourself down and not explode at her.

"He's not twenty; he's not a boy. He's a man, he's got his job, and he has a name for himself. If you don't know who he is, you should look it up."

You continue to speak, even though Jungkook gives you the look. He doesn't want them to know that he's a renowned businessman and all that. He doesn't like the boasting about himself. Even though that's not your intention, it puts him in the spotlight, which makes him uncomfortable.

"And about his ta—" Jungkook places his palm on yours to stop you from dragging this, but you don't buy it. "His tattoos don't change anything about him. I like them, and that sums everything."

You mumble and eat up the last piece of pancake before getting up from the chair and washing your own dishes. Your father looks down at his food and doesn't know if he should be happy about how you stand for the man in front of him or angry at how you spoke to your mother. 

"You need to stop talking to me like that, young lady!"

"Mom, what?" You chuckle and lean against the cabinet. "You don't want to hear me explain anything, but you also come up with assumptions? At least hear me out. I know you're mad and disappointed in me, but trust me, this was all unplanned. I... don't want to call it a mistake because I don't think it is one now. But... I promise you that none of this was in my plan or hands." You gently run your hand over your bump, smiling at how big it's gotten and how close your due date is.

Your mom slows her dishwashing, quietly listening to you talk. She's not mad at you about any of this—just hurt that you kept her in the dark all these months. You walk away from the kitchen to the backyard, feeling suffocated in the tension. Jungkook reaches for his plate, ready to wash it, but your mother gently takes it from his hands. He hesitates before speaking, his voice steady but full of sincerity.

"She's seven months pregnant, and... I know I'm still a stranger to you. I know you don't think I'm the right person for her, but I haven't left her side since the pregnancy. Even when we couldn't stand each other for months, I stayed. Things are different now. I really, really care about her. What she needs most is your support—that's what will help her feel better," he says as he backs away from the cabinet and walks to your dad. "Can I be with he—"

"No. I'll go."

Jungkook lets out a frustrated sigh as the conversation ends. Meanwhile, your father peeks outside and notices you sitting quietly on the step in the backyard. He walks over and settles beside you, his eyes fixed on the birds chirping on the electric fence. Neither of you speaks, and neither looks at the other.

You sit there together in heavy silence, your chest tight as you fight back tears. You never thought it would hurt this much, but everything feels overwhelming now. All you want is to go back home, curl up in the bed you share with Jungkook, and hold Bam close until the pain eases.

"Seven months, huh..." your dad murmurs. He smiles and looks up at the beautiful blue sky. "Boy? Or girl?"

"We didn't check the gender yet."

He nods, his smile only getting wider. "You know, when your mother was pregnant with you after three tries, we thought you'd be a boy. I was so sure of it! I got you blue clothes and basketball toys and spent bucks on all that, only for you to be born a girl." He chuckles as he recalls the old times.

"Were you disappointed?"

"Oh God, no. Never." He says with a gasp as his hand reaches to caress your face. "You're no less than a boy, if you ask me."

He chuckles, prompting you to roll your eyes, though a smile sneaks onto your face. Your father gazes at you with pure affection. He loves you deeply, enough to give you the entire world if he could. So, you made a mistake—what of it? At least you had the courage to own up to it, embrace it, and cherish it. He tells you that in his own words, and you feel much heavier than before. Because your father is so kindly accepting you, it fills your heart with love for him, even if the disappointment and agony inside you grow too.

"Look at you. He takes good care of you, I can see."

You blush at this and nod your head. Your father pulls you closer to him and caresses your arm.

"He does..." you whisper. Jungkook is everything you could have hoped for in this phase of your life. Even though he was part of this unexpected situation, he stayed—and that alone speaks volumes. Through all the ups and downs you've faced together, he never once walked away.

"He's the CEO of Jeon Industries, right?" You nod with furrowed eyebrows.

'So Dad googled him...' you think.

"How did all this... happen?" he asks, curiously.

And you explained it to him, leaving out all the explicit details. Your father didn't judge you or give you any looks. In fact, he listened with open ears and arms. Your smile faded while you explained the very beginning of the horrific news, but as you came closer to the incidents that took place recently,

your father noticed how your smile grew and how excited you were. Like you're living in the moment when you talk about Bam and how you both fought and how he made up for it. Your father noticed little details, like how you say Jungkook's name and your eyes sparkle. All that sums up to one question that he had in his mind.

"So, you love him?"

You paused at this. Your eyes blink a couple of times as you look around, trying to find a way to answer this sudden question. This makes him burst into laughter, resulting in your frown. "What, Papa??" you ask, your frown deepening.

"You love him, Y/N... oh, you love him," he says and gets on his feet, walking into the house, leaving you confused.

;

You've never felt so lonely in your home before. Your mom would entertain you, or you would be busy with a presentation to submit in a few days. Now you look at random objects and think of random thoughts with nothing to do. Your father didn't share everything you told him with your mother. He wanted you to tell her yourself. But he did ask her to be gentle with you and not lash out, even if she's more sad than angry right now.

Jungkook wants to be with you, sit next to you, but he can't. He doesn't want to disrespect your parents, so he settles inside his room, texting you or checking on his emails. He hates it here, but he won't tell you. You ask your mother if you could help her cook lunch, and she said she didn't want your help, which made you upset. You've got nothing to do, and it eats you up that you're just zoning out when you could be doing something useful.

"Mom, please, let me help with something," you plead, leaving her no choice but to hand you the chopping board.

You give her the side eye while you chop the vegetables for meat pie. You don't make an attempt to talk to her, but neither of you can handle the silence anymore, so she asks you, "How many months are you?"

"Seven..." She nods while she stirs the broth.

"Do you plan to deliver here or in Korea?"

The question stings a little, a reminder of how your parents haven't been as involved in your pregnancy as they would have liked. You don't want to answer and risk making her feel even sadder. Your silence speaks volumes, though, and she senses your hesitation.

"It's okay," she says softly, her voice understanding. "Just say you want to deliver in Korea."

She walks over to you and places her hand on your shoulder. "You don't have to think too much." She smiles, making you feel lighter instantly. "I'll take these." She takes the cutting board and gets back to work. You see Jungkook peeking at you from his room. He gives you a thumbs up, and you give him a flying kiss.

;

The day slips by quietly. You stroll through the neighborhood with your father and Jungkook, though he couldn't walk beside you like he wanted to—he had to follow behind, which annoyed him, but he went along with it anyway. Jungkook had not been feeling very well; he can't stand how he has to stand meters away from you when you're just around.

He wants to hug you, kiss you, and tell you how he feels, but he can't. You know that too. You see his frustration, and you feel the same. All you want to do is sleep in his arms, and you can't wait to go back home.

To your home.

You didn't talk much to your mother, but your dad did. He shared a few things with her, and it seemed to help her understand everything. Tomorrow, you'd be leaving, and she was trying to come to terms with it all, hoping to send you off on a positive note. She'd been watching you and your bump whenever you were busy reading a book, and she couldn't help but feel so soft at the sight of you and her grandchild.

She wanted to ask you about everything, buy baby clothes, pack up, and be ready to fly to Korea when you deliver. She wanted to do so much, and for that, she must talk to you. 

;

Lunch was quiet, and so was dinner. But when your mother approached the dining table with a bowl of warm apple cinnamon rolls, you swear you almost teared up on the spot. 

"I'm sorry for yelling at you," she says with tears in her eyes, and you shake your head, pulling the chair so she can sit in front of you. Your father signals Jungkook that they shouldn't be here, so the men get up from their seats and walk to the backyard together. 

"Mom, don't be sorry! I totally get why you reacted like that—anyone would've!" 

"But I should've checked on you first," she says, tears still falling. It hurts to see her cry.  "Hey, Mom..." you wipe away her tears and give her hand a gentle squeeze. "Let me tell you about the crazy journey I've been on!"  She nods quickly, letting out a little laugh, and you watch her, curious about what she'll say.

You shared with her how you and Jungkook were complete opposites and how everything between you was such a chaotic mess. You really thought it would never work out. But somehow, it did. As you recounted all the wild moments, your mom couldn't help but laugh along with you, even though she still had her doubts about Jungkook. 

He wasn't the man she had envisioned for you—she'd dreamed of someone entirely different. Jungkook, being the exact opposite, made it hard for her to warm up to him. She didn't understand what you saw in him. Even by looks, he didn't seem all that good in her opinion, and with those tats that she hated, it made it more difficult to like him. 

While you and your mother had a chat about the past few months, Jungkook and your dad had strolled out into the backyard. Jungkook felt awkward, like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin in the oppressive silence, especially with your dad shooting him subtle glances every few minutes. He wanted to have a conversation but knew Jungkook was nervous and uncomfortable. He wanted to break the ice, to talk to the boy and know him better, to know you better. 

Finally, your dad broke the tension. 

"So, Jungkook... tell me about yourself. Your family? What you do?"  Clearing his throat, Jungkook straightened up, trying his hardest to sound professional—he was too nervous to speak naturally. 

"I'm the CEO of Jeon Industries... I, uh... don't really have a family." 

His voice trailed off as he avoided eye contact, glancing around the yard as if it might offer an escape. He tried not to sound affected, but deep down, the lack of a family stung more in moments like this. Being with your tight-knit family made him feel out of place—ashamed, even—though he'd never admit it. He didn't know how to speak to your dad. The pressure of speaking *to* a father—something he'd never done before—scared him. 

"I like to think Y/N as my only family..." he mumbled under his breath, not wanting your dad to hear him, but he did, and he smiled. He liked that, a lot. 

"You don't have to be nervous, son." 

Jungkook froze mid-step when he heard the word *son*. It hit him like a wave, a word he'd never had the chance to claim as his own. The sound of it lingered in the air, sinking deep into his chest and settling in a place he didn't know was empty. For a fleeting moment, he wished he could hear it again, over and over, like a melody meant just for him. 

Your dad might've understood more than he let on because his eyes smiled warmly at Jungkook, even if his lips didn't fully follow. It was the kind of look that said he knew—he knew Jungkook hadn't heard words like that before and silently wished he could offer them more. 

"Can I call you son?" he asked softly. 

Jungkook stopped in his tracks, his round doe eyes speaking louder than any words ever could. 

"Can I—" 

"Y-yes, yes... please," Jungkook whispered, his voice trembling as a genuine smile spread across his face. He didn't realize how much he needed it until he heard it. 

Your dad opened his arms, his voice gentle but firm. "Come here." 

Jungkook stepped forward, his hesitance fading as he accepted the embrace. It wasn't just a hug—it was a moment that stitched together a part of his heart he didn't know was broken. Jungkook hadn't felt a male presence in his life for as long as he could remember—no father, no father figure to guide or comfort him. 

But this hug, this simple embrace, seemed to mend something deep within him. It was as if all the tangled emotions he'd buried over the years unraveled in an instant, leaving behind a quiet, unexpected sense of peace. It completed him in ways he didn't know he needed, filling a void he'd long ignored. And in that moment, all he wanted was to know what it meant to truly have a father—and to be one himself. 

You four sit together for dinner, and things have never been better. None of you are sulking, and there's no feeling of anger. All that's left is peace and happiness. 

Your dad strikes up a conversation with Jungkook about business, their tones shifting between casual and analytical, while your mom focuses entirely on you, piling more food onto your plate every chance she gets. She barely spares a glance at Jungkook, her disapproval lingering quietly, even as her husband seems to admire the man sitting beside you.

Despite your dad's growing fondness for Jungkook, your mom remains unconvinced, her gestures more protective than welcoming, as though silently questioning if this man is truly the right one for her child. 

You feel Jungkook holding your thigh and bump every chance he gets under the table. Since he's barely made any contact with you, he craves it so much more, and he can't wait to get back home and make love to you, skin on skin, with no one to stop or fear. 

After dinner, your mom gently suggested you head to bed early and even asked if she could join you. Her question caught you off guard, and you hesitated, unsure how to respond. 

Your dad, always observant, noticed the fleeting glance you exchanged with Jungkook—and how Jungkook immediately choked on his water, scrambling to cover it up by suddenly fixating on the slightly crooked frames hanging on the wall. 

Clearing his throat, your dad chuckled softly, pretending not to notice Jungkook's awkwardness. "Guess I'll fix those tomorrow," he said, his tone light, though his knowing glance at your mom betrayed his thoughts. 

"I can help you with that, Mr. Lee..." Jungkook began, but your dad quickly cut him off.  "Oh, shut it. Don't call me that," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "Call me Dad."  Your mother whipped her head around at the words, her expression a mix of confusion and surprise, as if she was silently asking, *What on earth is going on?* 

You couldn't help but glance between Jungkook and your dad, wondering when exactly their bond had formed.  Jungkook, though clearly anxious, couldn't help the small warmth that spread through him at the thought of calling him 'dad.' Are you sure?" he asked hesitantly. "Of course! Come on," your dad said, his voice full of reassurance. 

Jungkook bit his lower lip, trying to suppress the smile that was threatening to spread across his face. You couldn't stop yourself from giggling at the sight of their unexpected camaraderie, even though your mom's quiet frustration was evident in the way she folded her arms, unsure what to make of it all.

;

"mmmm you look like you're having a boy..." your mother says with a smile beaming through her face as she hands you the pills and a glass of water, examining your belly while you lay on the bed. "Really? I wouldn't mind either way," you say and gulp down the vitamins. "Oh, I'm so excited for you! We can go out tomorrow if you wish... since you'll be leaving at night."

You nodded and handed back the glass, wiping off your lips. "Good night, Y/N. Call me if you need anything..." "Good night, Mom." She walked out of the room and closed the door behind her. You immediately grabbed your phone and texted him.

You ; Pstttttt wake uppppppp

Jungkook ; I never slept, darling

You ; Come out in... 10 mins

Jungkook; Why???

You ; I want to see you

Jungkook ; You saw me the whole dayyyy

You ; I want to touch you

Jungkook ; Don't talk unholy, Y/N!

You giggled at the reference to your mom that Jungkook typed.

You ; plssssssss

Jungkook ; If we get caught, Y/N, it would be bad

You ; They're probably asleep, we won't get caught, trust meeeeeeeeee

Jungkook ; Your parents strictly told me to stay away from you

You ; Either you meet me down, or I'm coming into your room, and we fuck

Jungkook ; What the fuckk!

You ; You heard me, and I'm hungry anyway.

Jungkook ; Stubborn.

You waited patiently, tapping your phone and looking around the room, finding the old posters of The Beatles so fascinating, like you're seeing them for the first time ever. You even put a timer on your phone because you're not waiting any longer than 10 minutes; it already feels like an hour. As soon as the timer says 1 second left, you get on your feet.

"Baby, you need to stop kicking me right now. I'm not in the mood for this pain. But I'm so in the mood for your father!!!!" You giggle and open your room door, peeking out to see if your parents are around. Then you tiptoe down the stairs very carefully because you don't want to roll down the stairs.

"Oh my god, Y/N, give me your hand!" he whispers as he comes up the stairs and slowly takes you down.

"Jungkook!!!!" you jump and hug him. You miss him so much, you would rip his clothes right this moment at how excited you are.

"Baby, I miss you." "I miss you so much moreeeee." "No, I do!" "Nope, it's me." You both fight as you stay in each other's embrace. You miss his warmth and just the feeling of him so much.

"I wanna fuck so badly." "Shhhhh, behave, Y/N." He covers your mouth, looking around just in case your parents hear you. "I don't want to behave," you whisper, your lips grazing his ear, a hint of mischief lacing your words. He closes his eyes at the feeling of your lips. He doesn't want you to behave either,

but he can't; you both must be cautious. You're not alone here. "Being on your best behavior gets you nothing. So why not be bad instead?"** Jungkook's jaw tightens, his dark eyes narrowing as he tilts his head to face you.

"You think being bad will get you what you want?" You smirk, leaning in closer. "Maybe. Or maybe I just like it better when you try to fix me." A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest, but his expression remains firm. "Oh, I'll teach you how to behave when we get home."

"Yes, please, Mr. Jeon..." He arches a brow, his tone dropping an octave as he counters, "Being on your best behavior has its benefits, darling." "Then teach me, sir..." "Don't test me, Y/N. We're not home," he warns, his dark eyes flashing with intensity. You can't help but chuckle at how quickly he reacts, you intentionally edge him. "I'm hungry! Make me something..."

"This isn't my kitchen..." he protests, glancing around nervously. "I know, but do something," you reply, gesturing at the ingredients scattered on the counter. "Your mom will kill me if she sees this mess." "I'm giving you full permission to mess up my mom's kitchen. So just do it. Make me something," you insist with a playful pout.

He rolls his eyes but relents, pulling open the fridge in search of something quick and easy. After rummaging through its contents, he grabs crackers, peanut butter, and jelly—something simple that won't create too much chaos. As he starts preparing, you interrupt with a soft plea.

"Wait—come here. Help me sit on the counter, please.!"  "Y/N..." he sighs, but there's no real annoyance in his voice, just mild exasperation mixed with affection. He steps closer and gently lifts you, his hands steady as he sets you down on the cool countertop. You smile at him, swinging your legs slightly.

"Much better. Now I can supervise properly." "Supervise? All you're doing is sitting there and watching me," he teases, smearing peanut butter onto a cracker with deliberate care. "Exactly. I'm an excellent supervisor. And also—"You pause, poking his arm to grab his attention. "I like being close to you."

For a moment, his movements falter, and he glances up at you with an unreadable expression. Then he shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"You're so annoying."  "Yeah, but you love it," you quip, making him chuckle as he resumes his task. Minutes later, he holds up a cracker sandwich triumphantly. "Here. Gourmet dining at its finest."

You giggle, taking the makeshift snack from his hand. "Who needs a five-star chef when I have you?" "Yeah, yeah," he mutters, turning away, but you catch the faint blush creeping up his neck and red ears, popping a cracker into his mouth as you pull his arm to make him get closer to you. "Stay close..." you whisper as you deeply exhale in his warmth. You miss him so much, you can't wait to be around him every second.

"I want to go home." You mumble while licking the peanut butter off your finger. "But you are home..." he says with a frown. "Home is where you are, Jungkook, where we both are together." This makes his heart skip a beat, but he doesn't show it. "Yeah?" he asks, and you nod with an eyebrow raise. "Getting quite good with your words, huh?" "I've always been good with my words and actions."

"That, I know," he says with a smirk, scooping a dollop of peanut butter and playfully smearing it on your nose. "Heyyy!" you protest through laughter, retaliating by dabbing a bit on his nose too.

"Shhh..." he whispers, his chuckles melting into the quiet warmth of the moment. He cups your jaw gently, his thumb brushing your cheek as he leans in, resting his forehead against yours. The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, eyes locked, the soft hum of affection filling the air. Neither of you notices the figures watching from just beyond the doorway.

"They really do love each other, honey," your dad says softly, his voice filled with quiet pride as he glances at his wife and wraps an arm around her shoulders. She smiles, her eyes glistening with emotion.

"I know... I know," she whispers.

next chapter ⇢

[saerins]

⋆୨ chapter four ୧˚ behind a box of reasons why

⋆୨ if not for you (masterlist) ⋆୨ previous: chapter three - for a while, you were all mine <> next: chapter five - if not for this love of mine ୧˚

⋆୨ synopsis ୧˚ neither of you want this. both you and sae reluctantly agree to this marriage, although sae’s dissatisfaction far outweighs your own. with hidden agendas and old flames, will this ever work out between the two of you, or will your forced spark be doomed to fail?

ೀ series: sae x f!reader | wc 7.3k | ೀ content warnings: fluff/angst, modern au, arranged marriage, rich!sae and rich!reader, jealousy/paranoia, third parties, abuse/gaslighting, some blood, trauma sharing | notes: sorry if there’s any mistakes !! rushed this out and had no time to proof >_< but heh i tried to keep angst minimal so enjoy <3

Tumultuous is a fair word to describe your honeymoon. Between being over the moon when Sae finally started acting like an actual husband to you and being down in the dumps when you realise that he’s still in contact with the ex-girlfriend that he had apparently promised to wait forever for, you’re still a little conflicted.

Still, you’re easy to appease, given how easily you believed him when he promised you he’d stay. You chalk it up to you being efficient—you’re not about to let your overactive imagination ruin your days. You’re just going to trust Sae, even with that little seed of doubt already planted in your mind.

There’s a part of you that believes he wouldn’t bother promising anything he didn’t mean; although you should know he could, given the day of your wedding, both of you lying through your teeths about loving each other. You’d like to believe that the present is different somehow.

It proves hard to do though, given how you’re achingly suspicious every single time a routine changes.

Like this morning, when Sae tells you he’s taken the day off and tells you it’s for no particular reason when you asked him about it. That paranoid voice in your head keeps wondering if he’s just using that time to meet with Mirin.

The chat messages you saw from her that day is an indication that they’re still on friendly terms, if anything. And somehow, it’s enough to make your stomach churn.

“Hey Y/N, you okay?”

Your coworker and best friend at work, Sumi, asks as she swivels her chair around to look at you, the concern lining her brows.

“Yeah, I’m fine, don’t worry about it,” you tell her, trying to brush it off as you offer the widest smile you can manage.

Sumi sighs, the scepticism clear on her face. “You’re always bottling things up to yourself,” she chides, with a hint of motherly affection your own lacks. “If you need to rant just remember I’ll listen to you anytime, okay?”

Days like this, you’re thankful for nice people like her who treat you normally despite knowing you’re the owner’s daughter. Even working in a subsidiary they own, it’s hard to escape the greedy ones who try to get close for perks.

“Thanks, Sumi,” you tell her, a genuine smile on your face this time. “Maybe I’ll take you up on it one day.”

You’re usually grounded, and you don’t usually allow stray thoughts to influence your mood or decisions. But somehow, it’s difficult when it comes to Sae, and you have to wonder whether it’s because this is the first time you think you’re in love with someone.

How would you know what it is, anyway? How should you know if it’s what you’re feeling? You’d thought Reo was someone you loved, but that felt entirely different. It was always comfortable, like a safe space that you’d rather keep stagnant than to try rocking the boat.

You think about it the entire trip home. Back home, where you’re wondering if Sae’s there, or whether he’s out with—god, you don’t even want to think her name.

When you open the door, you don’t see anyone there, and you feel a sinking in your chest. You’d been hoping that he’d be there and you can keep from overthinking, but maybe that’s asking too much. And just when you’re ready to give up and pour yourself a bath and hope to fall asleep while having one, you hear someone clearing their throat as you retreat down the corridor to your room.

Spinning around, you see your husband there, hair a mess and face stoic as usual, looking like how you first left him in the morning. You blink once, twice, wondering if you’re dreaming. Sae doesn’t usually like to stay cooped up in his room, which was why you’d thought he wasn’t home in the first place, but it looks like you thought wrong. (Yay!)

Sae’s about to speak when you cut him off.

“Oh! Right, dinner—let me put my stuff down and I’ll cook something up!” You’re already bounding down towards your room as Sae tries to call out your name, unfortunately falling on deaf ears.

But he doesn’t have to wait much to get a reaction out of you, your mind twirling a thousand possibilities in your head as to why the fuck your stuff are gone from your room.

Sae thinks it’s absolutely comical how the first things he hears out of your mouth are: “Sae, are you kicking me out? Where’d you send my stuff?”

Because in every single universe, that would be your first thought.

He doesn’t say a thing, only offering you a roll of his eyes and a sigh as he gestures with his hands for you to walk the other way. 

So you do—slowly. You walk towards him, furrowed brows and eyes searching his expression for answers which, unfortunately, do not give anything away because he’s annoying like that.

Fifteen agonising seconds (for Sae) later, you open his bedroom door to find your “missing” items.

The books you’re reading are on one side of the nightstand, your clothes that you’d haphazardly collected on a pile on your chair are in a similar arrangement on the other side of the room where the study desk stands, and even your beloved Santa doll is situated on one side of the king-sized bed, sitting atop the pillow.

Turning around to face Sae again, you suddenly feel the guilt wash over you. While you were thinking that he’d go out and meet his old flame, he probably spent the whole time carefully moving everything over.

To his bedroom.

It takes you a while to really connect the dots.

Sae, on the other hand, is too impatient to wait for you to speak, your mouth slightly open and looking like a total idiot. For once, the expression you see on his face isn’t completely stoic. There’s a lilt in his eyes, and a hint of a smirk tugging on his lips.

“Okay, you figure out where the fuck your room is, and I’ll sit here and wait for you,” he tells you, the playful sarcasm dripping from his lips, his inviting subtle chuckle sounding like the signal of forever.

He sits down on the couch, idly flipping through the channels while you enter the bedroom further and take your time looking around. And by that, you mean to make sure you’re not dreaming.

You slap your face a couple times, you open the cupboard to ascertain your clothes are there, you peek into the bathroom to find that Sae is unexpectedly kind of corny because you find matching his and hers sets of toiletries.

A few minutes later, you find yourself at the doorway, Sae looking at you expectantly, brows raised. “Yes, wife?”

Now he thinks you’re kind of pathetic because he can see your face light up from just a little call of your title. But Sae thinks he might like that look on you. Maybe a little too much than he’s comfortable with.

Your excited grin dissolves into a sheepish one. “That sounds kinda corny.”

Sae shrugs, getting up off the couch, “guess that’s the last time I’ll call you that then—” But he doesn’t get to finish his sentence because you slap your hand across his mouth, and Sae can almost laugh at how different you are from the first time he saw you. Still as pretty, just a little less reserved, a little more happy.

“I take that back,” you tell him, giggling and skipping away to the kitchen, not giving him any time for a rebuttal. “What do you feel like tonight? Fish?”

He follows you, looking over your shoulder as you get the food ready. “Anything, as long as you’re cooking,” Sae says, as if it’s normal that he says shit like that and it takes everything in you not to make too big a deal out of anything he says. “Oh, I’m going out drinking with the guys later by the way, so you can get to bed first.”

Yeah, as if you can get to bed when you’re that happy and excited. Later that night you just end up tossing and turning in bed, grinning yourself silly. And who can blame you? It’s the first proper time that Sae is solidifying that he’s had a change of heart. Even if it’s in spite of all your uncertainties. To which Reo had told you to try talking to him and asking him about it because he’s your husband and you really shouldn’t have to be afraid of talking about the difficult stuff when you have to be with him forever.

Reo’s right, you know that. But you’ll hold off on it. Only because you don’t want to possibly ruin this right after it barely started. It’s foolish, but you really don’t want to go back to square one.

Even if it’s the right thing to do.

That night, Sae gets home only after three, to which he finds you peacefully sleeping on your side of the bed, phone still with its screen lit up. You must’ve been scrolling through it before you passed out.

If he was sober, maybe he would’ve allowed himself to think that this gesture of his was just a whim, that it was a moment of weakness. That you don’t really mean all that much to him. After all, how could you, when he just met you not long ago?

But he finds himself treading carefully, and he finds himself moving quietly, all in the name of not disturbing your sleep. And maybe he can’t convince himself you don’t mean that much to him anymore.

While he gently settles himself on the other side of the bed, your phone buzzes and Sae looks over, your text chat with Reo left open on your screen. The slept already? weak. message he just sent you would’ve been left at that by Sae, except he sees one message at the top, a night, stupid. call me if you need anything. 

And so maybe he feels more for you than he thinks. Because there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that message especially because Reo’s your best friend but Sae’s stupid in relationships and he scrolls a little bit upwards and sees the previous message from Reo.

maybe i should marry you instead, sae who ��

It’s irrational how much it can bother him. Even if it’s dated over a month ago.

When you wake up the next morning, you find yourself pressed up against Sae, his head atop of yours, his arms wrapped around your waist. His breathing’s slow and steady and he’s definitely not up for work, it looks like. And neither are you, because this moment feels precious and you’re not sure what spurred that on, to hug you to sleep out of nowhere, maybe it’s the alcohol, but whatever it is, you’re thankful for it.

At times like this, you’re grateful for the fact that your parents own the company. They’ll be fine if their daughter ditches a day of work. Especially since this was what they wanted from the start—for the marriage to work.

ok, i’ll pick you up later. see you, stupid.

“Someone’s in a good mood.”

Frantically, you try to suppress your grin and lock your phone screen, but it doesn’t escape her—your reason for being happy.

“Meeting your husband for dinner tonight?” Sumi asks, looking like she’s been bored out of her mind for the past half hour anyway.

Deciding it’s pointless to act coy, you nod. “Managed to convince him to cook with me so we’re just gonna stop by the market later.”

“Wow, look at you guys,” she cajoles, nudging you playfully on the elbow. “You know, the first few weeks of your marriage you looked absolutely miserable, I was beginning to wonder if he was abusing you or something.”

You laugh awkwardly, because you can’t blame her for that. For the first few weeks you’d been spacing out at work, going home looking so downtrodden, and then going back to work looking like a zombie. It’s not that much of a stretch for Sumi to think so.

“If he ever treats you like shit, you tell me, okay?” Sumi tells you, looking as fierce as she can muster. Which is funny because she’s a small petite-sized girl, not any older than you and has such pretty brown doe eyes that it’s almost more adorable than angry. “I’ll beat the shit out of him.”

Later on, when Sae waits for you in his car at the lobby, Sumi follows you, curious to see what your husband even looks like because she wasn’t invited to your wedding despite your adamant requests to your parents to include her. Lucky for you, she’s understanding enough.

“Hey, from here your husband looks kinda handsome,” she whispers to you, trying to make out what he really looks like from behind the tinted windows, but it’s hard to see especially when Sae has his shades on. Still, Sumi tries to wear her cynical face, “but a husband who doesn’t even open the door for his wife? What a—”

As if sensing her cynicism, Sae hops out of his car at that moment, black Burberry wool coat shielding him from the cold. He looks straight out of a magazine that you can’t even blame Sumi for gaping as he walks over.

“Hey, ready to go?” He asks you, ignoring Sumi at the side who’s completely gone mute.

“Yeah let’s go,” you tell him, internally laughing at how meek Sumi turns, reminding yourself to make fun of her tomorrow for it until your mind goes completely blank as Sae plants a kiss on your cheek.

You’ve been able to process when his affections go on in private, or around strangers who barely pay any attention, but when he kisses you in front of your friend, you’re half-embarrassed and half-flattered.

Sae puts his hand on the small of your back, starting to guide you to the passenger seat before he turns back to look at Sumi. “Do you need a ride too?”

Sumi hurriedly waves both her hands, shaking her head. “No no, it’s fine I wouldn’t want to interrupt your date,” she tells him, and you snicker. She’s being a whole lot more polite than you’re used to her being but you suppose it’s not weird for people to be intimidated by Sae.

He nods curtly in acknowledgement before he goes around to the driver’s seat, Sumi mouthing a ‘have fun’ as she winks at you.

That’s exactly what you plan to do—you and Sae being at the grocery store together makes you feel like everyday life with Sae, even if it’s doing something simple like this, it really won’t be so bad. His initial cold shoulder and semi-hostile nature has completely gone, and he’s been initiating a lot of things too that you wouldn’t feel right doubting him too much over whatever you might’ve seen back in Korea. Or maybe it’s just your aversion to confrontation that’s speaking.

Either way, you decide to shove it to the back of your mind for the future you to deal with.

A flick to your forehead brings you back to Sae, his deadpan face unamused as he finishes the self-checkout.

“What’re you daydreaming about?”

With a cheeky grin, you shake your head. “Nothingggg.”

Sae clicks his tongue, brushing his card against the reader and doesn’t even wait for the receipt before he’s pushing the trolley full of dinner out to the car. “Mm, must be about me then.”

You feel the heat creep up to your cheeks, pouting as he raises a brow at you, taunting you to deny him. But you don’t, because you’re honest to a fault and Sae knows that.

He suppresses a grin, looking smug as he loads the food onto the trunk, earning a smack on his arms from you.

The ride back to the apartment is so different from the first that you can barely believe it. Sae’s cursing out everyone he had to deal with at work today and you know he’s only doing it because he’s comfortable with you now and it warms your heart. Compared to the first time where he barely spoke to you or even deigned to look at you, you’re impossibly happy right now, your playlist blasting over the speakers while Sae entertains your questions about his day.

“If you hate it so much, why’d you agree to take over the business then?” You ask, though quietly, because you’re not sure if it’s too sensitive of a question.

Sae goes silent for a second, like he’s considering whether he wants to tell you. “There was something else I wanted to do.”

He’s not really answering you, but he’s trying to give you something, and that’s all you really need.

“What was it?”

By instinct, he drives slower whenever he’s thinking. His hand on the joystick tenses up a little, gripping it slightly tighter before he ultimately releases it and shakes his head. He looks in your direction before looking back to the road ahead.

“I’ll tell you next time, okay?”

If he isn’t ready to share, then you’re not willing to press him either.

“Okay.”

By the time you reach home, the atmosphere between you and Sae has dissolved to normal, and you’re all for a wonderful date night in, happily thinking how you should torture Sae by giving him some insanely difficult tasks just to see how he would handle it—until you realise the world loves giving you bad surprises.

The moment you open the front door, your laughter dissipates, replaced by a perplexed smile as you notice the two guests sitting in the living room.

“Darling, there you are!”

Your mother bursts forward to hug you while your father remains expressionless, standing in the bright living room, black suit a stark contrast against the white walls.

Behind you, Sae sticks close, whispering an are you okay? in your ear, waiting for your nod before he relegates to the kitchen to put down the groceries.

“Oh, I hope you don’t mind, we had a copy of the key since we were helping to furnish the place for you both and we just missed our baby so much that we wanted to drop by,” your mother announces, and you already want to gag from the amount of bullshit you hear.

This is definitely not normal parenting.

“Would you like some tea?”

From the kitchen, you can already hear Sae brewing something. You want to help him, but your mind goes numb, drawing a blank. It’s never good news whenever you see your parents. Their care has always been a ruse for some other agenda, and you don’t know if you want to know what they’re really here for.

Questions fill your mind. Questions like why must they come at such a time? or why are they here at all? and then comes the feeling of impending doom all because that since you’ve been young, you’d only ever been taught that your parents’ will are absolute and that you’d rather die than have to disobey and suffer the consequences.

But a warm hand on yours begs to differ. Before then, you didn’t even realise you were trembling.

“You sure you’re okay?” Sae’s right there, beside you, already made sure your parents are distracted by the tea. Calloused fingers intertwined with yours, a gentle squeeze—one, two, three times—to get you to calm down.

“Yeah, I’m fine, really.”

“Sure you don’t wanna just tell ‘em to go?”

“I can’t.”

Two simple words and Sae doesn’t ask any more. There’s a certain kind of comfort to know that he’s here with you, that he’s someone like you, that he knows what you’re going through and out of everyone, he would understand. Two older siblings who unfortunately have to obey their parents’ every wish for probably different reasons and yet suffer in the same way anyway.

“Let’s go,” he tells you, gently dragging you by the pinky. “I’ll take your side whatever it is, so don’t worry so much. We’ll get them out of here in no time.”

Sae makes it sound so easy he makes you nearly believe it. But you of all people know your parents are anything but easy.

About five minutes into small talk (and by that you mean that they’re skirting around, asking about all the pictures hung up in the house, asking why you two still looked kind of awkward when your pictures show otherwise, and last but not least a very awkward question your mum threw about asking for a grandson to which Sae had choked on his tea), your father wastes no more time trying to get to the point.

“So, Sae, how’s our daughter treating you?”

Caught off guard by the question, Sae clears his throat, picking his words wisely. “She’s perfect, sir. Why do you ask?”

Internally, you’re grateful he’s being more polite than he usually cares to be. Can he feel you stressing out beside him?

“Nothing, just curious.” Your father throws you a dirty stare before focusing his attention back on Sae. “So nothing’s been off, then? Everything’s all good?”

Sae’s just as confused as you are, but he keeps his cool, nodding. “Everything’s great. We were actually having a date night in before, well, we saw the both of you here.”

Your father doesn’t say anything much after that. Your mother does most of the talking, but you know this is all just part of their plan. That’s what they always do. Your father is the one who’s straight to business, doesn’t waste his time or energy speaking in some roundabout manner. But he’s not a businessman for nothing—you can’t get anywhere without establishing a connection, and that’s always where your mother comes in. She’s always charming to people who aren’t aware of the inner workings in your family. That’s why you’re immune to it. And after hearing so many negative things surrounding your parents, it looks like Sae is as well.

The next ten, twenty minutes are carried by your mother, talking about anything and everything in the world. Sae talks more so you don’t have to.

“It’s fine, you can pick that up, we’ll have some alone time with our daughter,” your father says after noticing that Sae’s phone has been vibrating for a while now. There’s a pattern—his phone vibrates, Sae silences it, it starts vibrating again. Like the caller either has some emergency or they know nothing about personal space.

Sae’s about to reject again when you put your hand over his, squeezing it in the same way he did. “It’s fine, just go.” And come back soon because I don’t want to be left alone with them for too long—you try to telepathically implant that thought in his head, anxiety gripping tightly onto you.

It’s not like he wants to leave you defenceless, either. He of all people know what toxic parents are like and yours are class A vultures. But he’ll get this call out of the way and then switch his phone off and help you get out of whatever this is.

But then he sees the caller ID and he stills for a minute before picking it up. “Mirin?”

Over the phone, he can hear her muffled voice, saying his name and then a string of words he can’t understand.

“Hey slow down, what’s wrong?”

Mirin’s just sniffling now, and maybe it’s because of all the years of friendship and relationship they had that she can still tug on Sae’s heartstring.

“Remember that you said you’d be there for me if I needed you?” She asks, half sobbing in between. Sae doesn’t know what to answer her, so he keeps quiet. “I really really need you right now.”

Sae hesitates a little. “How bad is it? Can it wait because—”

Mirin’s sobbing gets even louder. “No, please, I just… I really need you here, Sae.”

Maybe it’s because he rarely ever heard her cry like this. Or maybe it’s because of how it’s different when there’s someone crying and begging for him that the words just slip out of his mouth before he realises it.

“Okay, okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Wait for me, yeah?”

Out in the dining room, you’re drumming your fingers nervously on your thighs, shrinking under the heat of your father’s gaze.

“So, have you been behaving, Y/N?” It’s your father speaking, and he’s as relentless as ever. The moment Sae is out of earshot, he’s back to his authoritative tone, the one that he used to ring terror on you and your little sister as children. The one he still uses to this day to assert his authority over you. To remind you that you’re being seen as his properties, that you’re just a cog in the machine that runs for him.

Even if you’re not sure what he’s referring to, you nod anyway. You haven’t done anything wrong.

Somehow, you feel like nothing you do can appease him, because the next moment, he’s heaving a deep sigh, getting up and sitting himself in Sae’s seat, flipping his iPad open and scrolling through something on the screen.

What he shows you next makes your heart sink to your ass.

It’s a picture of when you met Reo last, before you went to Korea, when you were confiding in him about Mirin. There’s nothing wrong with meeting him, you know that. In fact, your parents keep a good relationship with his for a reason. They just never pushed you to marry Reo because there are bigger fish; namely, the Itoshis. But what’s wrong with it is the angle from which it was taken; it’s from behind Reo, and the way he’s leaning forward and your eyes happen to be closed, it looks like you’re kissing him.

You can tell your father a thousand times that that’s not what’s going on and that the angle is misleading, but you know that’s not what he’s nitpicking about. It’s about how you carry yourself, you can recall from those lessons he tried to instil in you as a child. It’s about not giving anyone else anything to say anything about.

“We were just having—”

“I don’t care, Y/N,” your father sighs, rubbing his temples, entirely frustrated for god knows what reason. “I don’t care if you want to be a fucking tramp and fool around with someone else when you’re already married. But if you do so, you better make fucking sure no one sees you.”

There must be an art to how he can say words so cruel, filled with toxin and yet his face remains so straight. There must also be an art on how to not give two fucks because your mother’s in her original seat, sipping on her tea as though this is a normal evening as any.

“Dad, I’m not doing anything wrong with—”

“Do you know how hard it was for us to convince the Itoshis that you’d make an excellent wife?” He cuts you off once again, spitting words that could break your bones. “And here you are, flaunting around town with that Mikage boy.”

Is it bad to say you’ve lost all will to fight when you realise your parents don’t care one bit if you’re in the right or wrong? You want to ask how they managed to get such a picture too, but you doubt they’d entertain anything from you right now.

“You know, we thought you were finally useful after all this time,” your father ponders out loud, eyes fixed on the marble tabletop instead of at his own daughter. “But here you go again, making a mess of everything.”

You’re about to speak, but this time it’s your mother that cuts you off.

“Honey, I don’t think you realise the gravity of the situation,” she says, her voice silky smooth and calm even though what she’s saying is quite the opposite. “This marriage marked a wonderful partnership with the Itoshi company, the merger is almost finished and we don’t want you to ruin it all by wasting your time with some second-rate boy.”

That must be the first time you feel the anger bubbling up and threatening to burst where all other times you’d feel scared. To call Reo second-rate is uncalled for, and your fist clenches, ready to argue, when you hear your father chuckling beside you.

“Looks like this girl can’t control her temper either,” he says, as though you aren’t even here. “That Mikage boy aside, looks like our poor girl here can’t even control her finances.”

“What?”

By now you’re more than just a little confused. You’re used to them having a say in everything when you still lived with them. But now that you’ve already moved out, you’re already used to the freedom that came with not having to worry about them criticising your every move. Turns out, that was premature. Even after moving out, they still make sure to keep track of every single thing.

“Tell me why there’s barely any money left in your account,” your father demands, tone lacking any sort of sympathy and choosing to go full on accusatory. “Did you just go insane and spend it all? Did we bring you up to be a spoiled brat, is that it?”

There’s a dagger to your heart with every single syllable. Finally coming to terms with the fact that your parents never loved you nor cared about your wellbeing hits harder than you expected. They didn’t miss their daughter nor did they care about her happiness in the marriage. It was only ever about them them them.

“I didn’t—”

“Honestly, after all this time you still haven’t learned to control yourself. First it’s with Mikage and now it’s with money—”

“I’m afraid that was my doing, actually.” Sae cuts your father off, stepping in for you, reappearing at the kitchen doorway. His teal eyes are cold, staring straight at your father. “I told her to move it to a joint account since we’ll be sharing finances.”

Your father narrows his gaze, shifting his attention to your husband, your hands shaking under the table. Why does it feel like some bad confrontation is going to happen? One thing’s for sure: your father doesn’t like that rebellious tone of his.

“And what makes you think you qualify for that? What if you try to swindle my dearest daughter out of all her money? As her father I’m sure you can understand why I have my concerns.”

For the most part, it looks like Sae is unfazed, and why wouldn’t he be? From what you gather, it doesn’t look like he’s had such an easy childhood either.

“Then as her father, I’m pretty sure you’d want the best for your daughter, right?” Sae asks, more taunting than anything. “She’s chosen to put her trust in me, so I’m handling it. She doesn’t have to worry. Sounds like a good deal, no?”

Sensing the defiance oozing out of Sae, your father goes back to his favourite target: you.

“Is that right? You trust your husband over your father’s words now?”

The threat in his eyes is real. They’re daring you to go against him, like they just know you’re way too scared to. But then you catch the pair of eyes behind him—the teal ones that look at you gentler than they’ve ever been—and suddenly, it doesn’t seem so scary.

A single nod of affirmation from Sae is enough to give you that pump of courage that you need.

“I trust Sae a hundred percent,” is all you say, deciding that’s enough to get your point across.

But maybe you’d been obedient a little too long, and you’d been spared from how harsh your father could be for too many seasons that you didn’t see it coming. You’d forgotten how cruel he can be, both mentally and physically.

With his hand raised, you watch it go up the same angle like it always did back then, and you’re reminded now of just how much force is behind one of his slaps. You remember the way your little sister cried as she hugged her teddy bear, watching you take the blame for her mistakes and bearing the brunt of your father’s anger. Your eyes squeeze shut, the fear taking over. 

You wait for it to land, but it doesn’t. 

When your eyes open, Sae’s there, his hand around your father’s wrist, a vein appearing on his forehead as he stares him down. 

“You may be her father, but I’ll have to tell you this: don’t you dare hit my wife.” Sae’s more menacing than you thought he could be. His knuckles are white, your father feeling the force before yanking his own hand away.

As always, he’ll look at you with all the hatred he can muster, unwilling to back down. “You ungrateful little bitch—” His words still hurt, but you catch sight of the pot of tea he’s thrusting towards you and you squeal, instinctively cowering backwards. Either way, either the scalding hot tea or the porcelain with which it’s made is going to hit you.

But once again, you’re proven right to trust Sae, because he’s in front of you in a heartbeat, shielding your body from any harm, letting the pot hit the floor, breaking into countless little pieces, some tea splattering onto your arm and you can’t even imagine how badly Sae got hit.

Still, he doesn’t wince even a little bit. He’s still staring at your father, but with his back facing you, you can’t really see him.

“Mr L/N, this is the last time I’m going to tell you nicely. If you dare to hurt Y/N again, I’ll personally stop the dealings myself.”

Your father bursts out laughing at Sae’s declaration, as if he doesn’t believe that Sae has that sort of authority. In all honesty, you’re not sure if he has. But you appreciate the thought. You’re still a little shaken up, eyeing all the little sharp pieces of glass all around the floor.

“Honey.” Your mother’s voice is soft but firm, and she’s only glaring at your father. It’s a look that tells him he needs to back off. It’s a warning, only because she’s his only anchor. She doesn’t care about any of this that’s going on, only at the fact that offending Sae might put their relationship with the Itoshis at risk.

Clicking his tongue, your father rolls his eyes and gets up and you can’t even wish for him to accidentally step on a piece of glass because he’s wearing his shoes in the house. Always prepared.

“Suit yourself,” is his last parting words before he strolls out of the apartment, banging the door shut behind him and leaving you two to the mess.

The first thing you do after they leave is get up and make sure Sae’s okay—although you’re quick to realise he’s not, because his pants are soaked with the tea and there are cuts on his feet and ankles, none too deep but they are still the result of your father’s temper and you feel only guilt. He got into this shit because he was trying to defend you.

But you find out that you’re always underestimating Sae when you feel his strong grip around your arm, preventing you from moving even more.

“Hey, careful, you’ll get hurt,” he tells you, harshly but only because he cares.

You manage a weak smile, “says the one who’s already hurt.”

Sae chuckles, ruffling your hair. “It’s fine, just some small cuts. But you really weren’t lying about your parents. Real piece of work.”

Fifteen minutes later, the two of you are sitting on the couch, Sae letting you tend to his wounds. You have the first aid kit out, and the mess in the dining room is long gone, both you and Sae’s date night ruined because of it.

“Sorry about him. He’s… always been like that.”

There’s a sombre mood in the air, but Sae sighs and flicks you on the forehead. “It’s not your fault, don’t apologise.”

You smile at him, a quiet understanding falling into place. You don’t need to explain your father’s temper and Sae doesn’t need your apologies.

“For what it’s worth, thank you.”

Sae nods, though he feels there’s nothing to thank him for. It may have taken him a while, but he’s figuring this out slowly. If anything, he’s sorry it’s taking him so long. It’s just that since the longest time, there was only one person he’d thought of marrying and now… there’s you.

Your hand reaches out to his feet, dabbing alcohol lightly on the cuts, and Sae doesn’t even flinch. You slowly reach the cuts on his ankle until you freeze.

“It won’t hurt so don’t worry,” Sae tells you, as if you’re the one that needs consoling.

You furrow your brows, unsure, though you heed his words and dab on it lightly. There’s a big scar lining his ankles, and now that he’s changed out into his shorts, you see a similar one lining his knees. All on the right side.

“You can ask if you want to.”

Trust it to Sae to figure out what’s going on in your head.

“How did you get it?”

Sae smiles, but it’s filled with more melancholy than mirth. His eyes seem like they’re gazing into thin air. “Your father seems to use his own physicality when he’s unhappy with something,” Sae ponders, eyes focusing back on your face. “Mine tends to leave me alone. Until I leave him with no other choice but to hire other people to do the hurting.”

You listen to him as you tend to all the cuts, trying to be gentler with the red on his skin, burned slightly from the tea.

“I told you I wanted to do something else right?”

You nod.

“I was dead set on a soccer career instead of taking over the business.”

“You mean, like Rin is now?”

Sae nods. “Yep. Exactly like Rin. Taught that little guy everything he knew.” He chuckles a little, and you can see how fond he is of his little brother, even if he doesn’t express it all that much. “But once they found out both of us wanted nothing to do with their business, that’s when things got ugly. I’ll spare you the details, but let’s just say they have a certain vision that they wanted me to uphold, and this—” he gestures to the scars on his leg—“was a warning of what would happen to Rin if I refused.”

As an older sibling yourself, you guess you can understand why Sae quit. But going so far as to hurt your own children like that—both your father and his seem to be assholes in their own rights.

“Can you still play at all?” You ask, out of genuine curiosity.

Sae sighs, pondering. “Yeah, but I get tackled once and that’s probably it for me,” he says, trying to lighten the mood with a laugh. “Why? Wanna watch me play that bad?”

You grin. “Depends, is my dear husband gonna let me?”

Sae’s brows raise in surprise. “Oh, someone’s getting comfortable,” he points out, and you can’t stop grinning, earning a shake of his head. “Maybe next time, stupid. We still got dinner.”

“Okay since you’re hurt, I’m gonna cook, okay?”

“I got a few cuts, I’m not a cripple.”

“La la la can’t hear you,” you hum, winking at him before skipping over to the kitchen, intent on saving date night by at least cooking a decent dinner. 

Back at the couch, Sae suppresses a smile as he looks at you, and he wonders what is it about you that he can’t shake off, that he can’t help but let in. He tilts his head in wonder; maybe it’s your adamant nature. In how you’re always nice no matter how much of an asshole he is.

After seeing what your father is like, he feels the guilt building up from the back of his head. If that’s what you had to endure everyday as a child, he doesn’t find your demeanour now to be all that weird.

Before he can even think of anything else, he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket.

Fuck, it’s Mirin. It’s Mirin who he’d promised to go find because whatever it is she’s going through, it sounds like a lot and she’s sobbing her guts out, apparently. And now he doesn’t know what the fuck to do.

“Do you want spicy or garlicky?”

It’s something so small, so tiny—just your voice from the kitchen, the clanging of pans as you hurry to cook a dish for him, and the fact that he knows you’d let him go if he told you he has somewhere to be.

Just like that, the answer isn’t so complicated anymore.

He rejects the call and opens up her message thread, typing in a won’t make it tonight, sorry before he switches off his phone.

“Mmm, garlicky,” he says the moment he reaches you, standing behind you as he watches you mix the sauce together.

You bring a spoonful up to your lips, tasting it. “Think it needs some salt, what about you?” You ask, offering him the small concoction in your saucer pan.

But Sae doesn’t take it, instead he leans forward and presses his lips against yours, his tongue savouring every single inch of you he can taste, his hand on your waist, pulling you close.

When he pulls away, you can’t help but stare at him blankly, in a daze because is this really happening? Sae can tell what’s going on in your head, but he throws you a bone by not teasing you about it.

“I think it’s perfect.”

By the next time you see Sumi in the office, she can sense the radiant glow from your face, hurriedly rushing over to your desk.

“Wow, I take it date night went well?”

You nod, not being able to contain your surprise. “Very well.”

Sumi asks for the details, and you divulge, since at this point, Sumi’s the one you trust the most. Even if she’s a little loud most of the time, you’re sure that you can call her a good friend.

“I’m so jealous, your marriage sounds like a dream,” she gushes while the two of you are having lunch.

You hesitate a little, the mention of it makes you think back to the Mirin issue. So far, you haven’t seen anything else that are any red flags, so at least that’s a step in the right direction… right?

“Uh oh, I know that look, tell me!”

So you give her the bare minimum, about how Sae had an ex-girlfriend who he seemingly can’t get over, about her calling him during the honeymoon and your little stalking spree. Sumi immediately does the same, typing in her phone before scrolling through her posts, unimpressed.

“She looks like she’s trouble,” Sumi remarks offhandedly, thumb pressing on the story that she apparently just uploaded five minutes ago and you completely freeze up. “Y/N, what’s wrong?”

Her story seems completely innocent until you realise you can tell exactly where she is: in your own house, at your own kitchen, taking a picture where Sae’s hand is barely visible, no doubt in a bid to make it seem mysterious.

“She’s in my fucking house.”

taglist: @kimvmarvel @mxplesyrvp @yuzurins @futuristicxie @kiopanxp @k0z3me @y-sabell-a @sae1toshilover @xoxojisu @karmatiz @sagejin @minnieminnie00-got7 @hearts4heidi @shiinobu-x @n1uh @prepchuu @leeyzhuo @shidouryusm @tsukishiro-yue2402 @kaiserkisser @pookiebearcave @dcvilxswish @saeskiss @whtflrr @arminseas @raphsimp @saharei @danibxe @lectris00 @comet-kun @ishitam67 @gskill @sweet2wthsblog @astruoise @scaraslover @beaniedoodz @bersuadikotatua @idk-bro-gay @etoiile @sanzu-sanzu-sanzu @yourstrulyharu **bolded: means i can’t tag you guys because of your settings >_<

[acute-crashout-jeyuso]

Between the Ropes.. a Jey Uso x Rhea Ripley fanfic.

Chapter 31: in a million years..

Rhea stared at herself in the reflection of the hospital's dim hallway window. Her eyes, wide and vacant, looked nothing like her own. Her body was bare beneath the blood-soaked robe that clung to her, every fiber stained with a red that no amount of scrubbing would ever remove. Her jewelry even stained as well.- Her hands— trembling, uncontrollable-were smeared with blood. His blood. Jey's.

The sounds replayed over and over in her mind. The deafening bang of the weapon, the sickening thud of his body hitting the ground. She blinked, but the images wouldn't fade. Her hands twitched, still feeling the warmth of his life slipping away through her fingers as she tried to stop the bleeding, but it had been too fast. Too much.

A nurse, concerned and gentle, approached with a set of clean scrubs. "Ma'am," she said softly, holding out the clothes. But Rhea didn't respond. She couldn't. The world was muffled, her mind drowning in the echoes of that gunshot. She stood frozen, trapped in the nightmare that had unfolded before her. The nurse set the scrubs next to her and walked back to the desk.

The double doors swung open, and Jon and Trinity hurried in, their faces lined with panic.

The moment Trinity saw Rhea, she ran to her, tugging Jon behind her. They skidded to a stop in front of her, the reality of what they were seeing crashing down on them. Rhea stood like a statue, drenched in Jey's blood, her skin as pale as the hospital's cold white walls.

"Rhea!" Trinity cried, dropping the bag she was carrying and kneeling at her side. She grabbed Rhea's hands, shaking them gently, trying to break through the shock. "Rhea, talk to me. Tell me what happened." Her voice was steady, but her eyes were full of fear.

Rhea's lips trembled, but all she could say was, "It was so loud..." Her voice was barely above a whisper, the words hollow. Her mind was stuck in that moment, in the piercing sound that marked the end of everything.

Jon's breath hitched as he took in the scene.

He could tell Rhea wasn't fully there, lost in the shock. "Rhea, listen to me," he said, his voice firm but gentle. "You need to put on the clothes, okay? There are people here and we don’t want them to see you like this."

But Rhea didn't move. She couldn't. It was like her body no longer belonged to her, every muscle locked in place by the horror of what had just happened.

Trinity took charge, pulling Rhea to her feet and guiding her towards the bathroom.

"Come on, honey. We need to clean you up." Rhea stumbled along with her, her limbs moving only because Trinity moved them for her.

Jon stood back, his stomach churning. His eyes followed the bloodstains that had smeared onto the white plastic seat Rhea had been sitting on. It was everywhere.

Without thinking, he shouted down the hall,

"Can we get a damn janitor in here?!"

The hospital's sterile air smelled like disinfectant and fear, and it was closing in on him. He needed to see Jey. He needed to know if his brother was still alive.

Rhea stood as if paralyzed, staring at the floor, her body refusing to move. The weight of everything that had just happened pressed down on her, making it hard to breathe. Trinity worked with quiet precision, her heart breaking with each step as she witnessed Rhea’s pain. She pulled out a paper towel from the dispenser and dampened it under the cold faucet. When she reached for Rhea’s trembling hands, Rhea jerked back, her eyes wide with fear and disbelief.

“No…” Rhea’s voice was raw, her throat tight, her tears pooling in her eyes, threatening to spill over. “It could be all I have left of him…”

Trinity’s chest tightened at Rhea’s words, feeling a deep ache for her practically sister-in-law. In that moment, it felt as if the entire world was collapsing around them. Rhea’s anguish was just… heartbreaking, a heavy fog that filled the small bathroom, making it suffocating. Trinity wanted to cry for her, to grieve for everything that had been lost, everything that had gone wrong. But she knew she couldn’t. Not now. Right now, Rhea needed her to be strong.

“Don’t think like that, Rhea,” Trinity said softly, her voice steady despite the tempest of emotions raging within her. “He’s still here. Jey is still fighting.”

But Rhea could only see the blood, the chaos, the horror of that moment. She could feel the warmth of Jey’s blood seeping through her fingers, vivid and bright against her skin, an unknown image to the life they had built together. The sound of the gunshots echoed in her mind, relentless and haunting, drowning out Trinity’s words.

Rhea broke at that, her body collapsing like a marionette with its strings cut. Her legs gave out, and she crumbled to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably, a sound filled with despair and desperation. The tears streamed down her face, each droplet a reminder of the agony that enveloped her heart. Trinity moved with her, wrapping her arms around Rhea, rocking her gently, not caring about the stains that bled into her dark clothes. All that mattered now was Rhea.

“It’s okay,” Trinity whispered, her hand gently stroking Rhea’s hair, trying to ground her in the present. The comforting gesture was a lifeline, something to hold onto in the storm. Rhea pressed her face into Trinity’s shoulder, seeking refuge from the turmoil swirling inside her. But even in that embrace, Rhea felt so utterly lost, a shattered piece of glass that couldn’t seem to find its way back together.

Minutes passed, each one stretching into an eternity. As Rhea’s sobs began to quiet into soft whimpers, Trinity gently slipped off the blood-soaked robe, handling it like a fragile relic of a past that felt so far away. The sight of Rhea’s skin marked with remnants of chaos felt like a punch to the gut, an undeniable reminder of how close she had come to losing everything. Trinity folded the robe and stuffed it into her bag.

“Let’s get you dressed,” Trinity murmured, her voice soothing yet firm. She reached for the sports bra, her fingers trembling slightly as she slipped it over Rhea’s shoulders, moving with tenderness and care. Rhea remained passive, her gaze distant, lost in the memories of the night. Each article of clothing Trinity put on her felt like a shield against the world, yet it did little to protect her from the pain of what she had experienced.

As Trinity pulled on the oversized black t-shirt, Rhea could barely register the warmth of the fabric against her skin. It felt foreign, as if she was wearing someone else’s life. She felt stripped bare—not just of her clothes, but of her identity, her strength, everything that made her who she was. The enormity of her vulnerability wrapped around her like a thick fog, suffocating and disorienting.

When Trinity reached for the underwear and basketball shorts, Rhea felt a rush of emotions overwhelm her. Each touch from Trinity, each whisper of reassurance, was a reminder of the harsh and unfair reality: she had been thrust into a nightmare. She couldn’t shake the image of Jey’s blood, his body falling, the weight of his life hanging in the balance.

Finally, Trinity pulled out the black socks and the slides, gently placing them on Rhea’s feet. The act felt almost ritualistic, a way to bring her back to a semblance of normalcy, but it couldn’t erase the chaos that had consumed her life. Once Rhea was dressed, Trinity cupped her face, her hands warm and steady, grounding Rhea in the moment.

“We need to get you cleaned up before we go back out there, okay?” she said, her voice soft yet resolute. Rhea didn’t respond, her silence heavy with a mix of fear and shame. She felt like a ghost in her own body, detached from the reality of the situation.

Trinity took the damp paper towel and began to gently wipe away the blood from Rhea’s face. Each pass of the cloth was slow and careful, removing the crimson stains bit by bit. Rhea remained silent, her heart aching, the reality of her world crashing down around her. The blood felt like an indelible mark, something that would forever tie her to this moment, to this loss.

“It’s going to be okay..” Trinity whispered, though even she wasn’t sure of that anymore. Rhea’s breath hitched as she allowed Trinity to wipe away the remnants of the night, but the heaviness in her chest only grew. The blood was a reminder that everything had changed—nothing would ever be the same again.

When Trinity finished, Rhea felt a flicker of relief mixed with despair. There was no escaping what had happened, no denying the horror that had unfolded. Trinity let out a slow breath and gently kissed Rhea’s forehead, offering her silent strength, a promise that they would face whatever came next together.

“Are you ready?” Trinity asked, though her own heart raced at the thought of stepping back into that reality. Rhea nodded slowly, though the uncertainty in her eyes spoke volumes. Together, they prepared to face what lay beyond the bathroom door, knowing that the world outside was still waiting, still spinning, while their lives hung in the balance.

Rhea and Trinity stepped into the waiting room, the fluorescent lights buzzing above them, casting an eerie glow on the white walls. Rhea hesitated in the middle of the room, her heart pounding in her chest. The chaos of the past hours still felt surreal, and the sterile atmosphere only heightened her sense of disorientation.

“Rhea, come here..” Jon called softly, his voice steady but laced with concern. He stood with an air of quiet strength, but even he could feel the weight of the moment. The connection between Rhea and Jey, their shared history and deep bond, loomed large in the air, pressing down on them both.

Trinity gently nudged Rhea forward, and Rhea’s legs felt like lead, each step heavier than the last. It was as if she were moving through a dream, the sounds of the waiting room fading away, leaving only the distant echo of Jey’s laughter and the warmth of his smile in her mind. She reached out to touch Jon’s hand, the gesture instinctual yet profound, as if by connecting with him, she could bridge the gap between the two brothers.

For a brief moment, Rhea could almost see Jey standing there beside Jon, a comforting presence that made her heart ache. It was a cruel trick of her mind, reminding her of what was at stake, what they were fighting to hold onto.

Jon’s eyes began to well with tears, reflecting Rhea’s pain as if they were two sides of the same coin. In that instant, it felt like they were sharing an unspoken understanding, an acknowledgment of the love they both had for Jey and the helplessness that clawed at their insides.

“Demi..” Jon said, his voice thick with emotion, and before she could respond, he pulled her into a fierce hug. The warmth of his embrace enveloped her, but it was tinged with an unsettling familiarity. Rhea felt the gritty remnants of Jey’s dried blood in her hair, a chilling reminder of the violence.

“I couldn’t protect him,” she whispered, the words escaping her lips like a confession, a haunting echo of guilt that would linger long after this moment.

Jon held her tighter, drawing strength from her fragility. “It was not your job to protect him,” he said firmly, his voice steady despite the turmoil brewing within him. “It was mine.”

His words hung in the air between them, a heavy promise laced with pain and responsibility. Rhea leaned into him, her breath hitching as the weight of grief pressed down on her. She felt Jon’s heart pounding against her, and in that heartbeat, she could sense his resolve.

“But I was there,” she choked out, her voice breaking as she fought against the tide of sorrow threatening to overwhelm her. “I was supposed to be there for him.”

“None of this was your fault,” Jon replied, his voice unwavering. He gently pulled back to look into her eyes, wanting her to see the truth in his gaze. “You did everything you could. You fought for him. You still are.”

Rhea searched Jon’s face for some semblance of hope, some glimmer that everything would be okay. But as she looked into his eyes, all she saw was the same fear that resided in her heart. They were both trapped in a nightmare, unable to wake up, unable to escape the reality that loomed ahead.

In that moment, they stood united in their grief, siblings bound by love and loss, the chaos of the outside world fading into a mere backdrop against the storm raging within them. Rhea closed her eyes, taking a shaky breath, letting the moment wash over her, grounding herself in Jon’s presence.

After two long hours, the waiting room felt like a time capsule, suspended in a haunting stillness. Jon, Trinity, Rhea, and their family sat in tense silence, each lost in their thoughts as they processed the chaos of the night. Solofa and Talisua, Jey and Jon’s parents, were huddled together, seeking solace in each other’s presence as they tried to navigate the incomprehensible reality unfolding around them.

Rhea could barely register their quiet murmurs of comfort; she felt as if she were trapped in her own world, cut off from the emotions swirling around her. Earlier, she had been approached by the police, who asked her for her blood-soaked robe as evidence. It felt like a cruel mockery that they cared more about her clothing than the life hanging in the balance just behind those hospital doors. Trinity and Jon had fought back fiercely, voices raised in a protective fury, refusing to let the officers treat Rhea like a mere piece of evidence when Jey was fighting for his life.

But Rhea had remained silent through it all, her mind numb to the world outside. The clock on the wall ticked relentlessly, each second stretching into eternity. She glanced at the time: 12:21 AM.

Her gaze drifted down to her hands. Though the blood was gone, the light red residue left behind was a haunting reminder of the horror she had experienced. Rhea felt as if the stains would never truly fade, like a part of her would always be marked by what had happened. She clenched her fists, trying to shake off the sense of despair that threatened to swallow her whole.

“Rhea,” Trinity said softly, her voice breaking through Rhea’s haze. “Jey is a fighter. He’s strong, just like you.”

Rhea didn’t respond, merely staring blankly at her hands, replaying the events of the night in her mind. Every flash of Jey’s face, the laughter they had shared, and the warmth of his embrace collided with the horrific moment she’d seen him fall. The juxtaposition left her feeling hollow, her heart aching with an unbearable heaviness.

Jon watched Rhea from across the room, worry etched across his features. He could see the pain in her eyes, the way she withdrew deeper into herself with each passing moment. “Rhea,” he ventured gently, hoping to reach her. “You need to believe he’s going to be okay.”

But she didn’t want to believe anymore. Believing had led her to this moment, and she couldn’t fathom facing that possibility again, especially when the reality felt so dark and heavy.

Trinity, sensing Rhea’s retreat, moved closer, sitting beside her and placing a hand on her knee. “We’re all here for you, okay? You’re not alone in this,” she said, her voice soothing yet firm. “You’ve got to hold onto hope.”

The words hung in the air, a fragile lifeline thrown in the midst of a raging storm. Rhea finally lifted her gaze to meet Trinity’s, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “What if hope isn’t enough?” she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of her fear.

“It has to be,” Jon interjected, his voice steady despite his own turmoil. “It has to be enough. Jey needs us to be strong for him. He needs you.”

Rhea felt the truth in Jon’s words, a flicker of warmth amidst the coldness that surrounded her. Yet the fear of losing Jey clung to her heart, making it hard to embrace any sense of optimism.

Suddenly, the double doors swung open, and a doctor stepped into the waiting room, his expression grave yet composed. The atmosphere shifted, and all eyes turned toward him, a collective breath held in anticipation.

Rhea’s heart raced, and she found herself grasping Trinity’s hand tightly. “Please,” she whispered, a silent plea to whatever fate lay ahead.

The doctor cleared his throat, and the silence in the room was deafening. Rhea braced herself, knowing that whatever came next would shape the course of their lives forever.

The doctor took a deep breath, his eyes scanning the room filled with anxious faces. “I’m Dr. Patel,” he began, his voice steady but carrying a weight that felt unbearable in the silence. “I’ve just come from the operating room, and I need to update you on Mr. Fatu’s condition.”

Rhea’s heart raced as she clutched Trinity’s hand tighter, a lifeline she desperately needed. She could feel the tension in the room, a collective holding of breath as everyone leaned in, eager yet terrified to hear what he had to say.

“Joshua suffered two gunshot wounds, both located in his right upper shoulder area,” Dr. Patel explained. “The first bullet entered near the clavicle and caused significant damage to the surrounding soft tissue and blood vessels. The second wound penetrated deeper, grazing the humerus and causing some fracture to the bone.”

Rhea felt her breath hitch, a sickening wave of panic washing over her. The medical terminology blurred in her mind, but the reality was stark and unforgiving. Jey was hurt—hurt in a way that could change everything.

“During surgery, we had to repair the damaged blood vessels and clean the wounds to prevent infection. There was some internal bleeding we had to manage, and I want to be clear: Mr. Fatu is stable now, but he lost a significant amount of blood. He will need time to heal, and there are risks we need to discuss.”

Each word felt heavy as Rhea absorbed the gravity of the situation. The thought of Jey struggling to regain his strength, to fight back against the limitations this injury could impose on him, felt unbearable.

“The main concern right now is that the gunshot wounds could lead to complications such as nerve damage, reduced mobility in his arm, or even something manageable like chronic pain. We’ll need to monitor him closely for any signs of infection or other issues. His recovery will take time, and he’ll likely face physical therapy to regain full function of his arm.”

A heavy silence settled over the group, punctuated only by the soft sounds of Rhea’s breathing. She felt a mix of fear and determination coursing through her. The thought of Jey enduring the challenges ahead, of fighting to reclaim his life, sent a chill through her.

“And as for his chances of survival…” Dr. Patel paused, letting the weight of his words hang in the air. “Right now, I would say they’re good. We managed to stabilize him, and he’s responding well to treatment. But we are not out of the woods yet. His body has been through a lot, and he will be in and out of consciousness for the next few hours.”

Rhea swallowed hard, fighting against the wave of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. She could see Jon’s brow furrowed, the tension in his jaw as he processed the information. Talisua and Solofa sat together, their expressions a mixture of heartbreak and resolve, all of them grappling with the reality of the situation.

Before leaving, Dr. Patel glanced back at them, a serious expression crossing his face. “One more thing—while he was coming out of anesthesia, he kept saying ‘Demi.’ I don’t know who that is, but it might be someone significant to him.”

Rhea felt a sharp pang in her chest at the mention of her name. Demi. The word echoed in her mind, an unexpected reminder of the bond they shared. As much as it thrilled her to hear it, it also cut deep, a reminder of how vulnerable they were in this moment. Rhea stepped forward and said, “I’m Demi.”

Dr. Patel continued, “I think it might be best if you go in first by yourself. We want to minimize any stress on Joshua right now.”

Rhea nodded, understanding the reasoning behind his suggestion but feeling the weight of the moment settle heavily on her. She wanted to be there for Jey, to offer him comfort and support, but the thought of facing him alone, knowing he was vulnerable and possibly scared, sent a wave of trepidation through her.

As the doctor left, Rhea steeled herself for what was to come. She inhaled deeply, willing herself to be strong. Jey needed her, and she wouldn’t falter. She wouldn’t allow fear to overtake her. They were in this together, and she would fight for him just as fiercely as he would fight for his own recovery.

Jon wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and Rhea leaned into him, drawing strength from his presence. “He’s going to fight this,” Jon said softly, his voice steady. “We’ll be right here with him.”

As Rhea prepared to see him, her mind was flooded with memories of Jey—his laughter, his strength, and his unwavering support for her. She was determined to be his strength now, to remind him that he wasn’t alone. She wasn’t just going to be a spectator in his recovery; she would be an active participant.

Rhea took a breath, focusing on the name he had whispered, on the love they shared that connected them even in this moment of chaos. She would be there for him, not just as Rhea but as Demi—the woman who loved him fiercely and would fight for their future together.

She would face whatever lay ahead, and when Jey opened his eyes, she would be there—ready to remind him that he was loved and that together, they would navigate the uncertainty of this moment.

Rhea stood frozen in front of Jey’s hospital room door, her hand hovering over the handle as if touching it would break her already fragile composure. Her body felt heavy, drained of all strength, her legs weak beneath her. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, her breathing shallow and uneven. The faint beeping of the machines on the other side of the door made her stomach twist in knots.

Jey was in there—alive but wounded. Vulnerable.

Rhea closed her eyes, summoning the last bit of resolve she had left. Her hand trembled as she grasped the handle, slowly turning it until the door clicked open.

The sterile scent of antiseptic and the noises of the machinery hit her senses as she stepped inside. The room was dimly lit, with the soft glow from the monitors casting shadows over the bed. Jey lay there, his upper body partially elevated to ease his breathing. Bandages covered his right shoulder, the edges stained slightly red from the surgery. Tubes were connected to an IV line in his arm, and the heart monitor beeped steadily in the background. His face, though peaceful, bore the marks of pain and exhaustion. His lips were dry, and his chest rose and fell in a steady but labored rhythm.

Her breath caught in her throat. Seeing him like this, so vulnerable and still, was a shock she wasn’t prepared for. Rhea felt the tears burn at the back of her eyes, but she forced herself to hold them back. Jey didn’t need her tears right now—he needed her strength.

Slowly, Rhea approached the bed, her feet barely making a sound on the cold hospital floor. She reached out, hesitating for a moment before her fingers finally touched his hand. It was warm but limp beneath her touch, and she had to fight the overwhelming urge to break down.

“Jey…” she whispered softly, her voice barely registering.

As if sensing her presence, Jey stirred slightly. His eyelids fluttered open, his brown eyes dull with pain and fatigue. He blinked several times, struggling to focus on her face.

“Jey,” Rhea said again, her voice trembling with emotion. “I’m right here.”

Jey’s eyes moved toward her, recognition flickering in them as he tried to lift his head. His lips parted, and he struggled to form words, his voice hoarse and broken. “B-baby…”

Rhea’s heart clenched at the sound of his voice, so weak and strained. She leaned in closer, brushing a stray hair from his forehead. “Yes, baby, I’m right here,” she said softly, her thumb gently caressing the back of his hand. “Don’t speak, okay? You don’t have to say anything.”

Jey shook his head weakly, as if disagreeing. He swallowed hard, his chest rising and falling unevenly. “I… love… you…” he managed to whisper, his words slurred and filled with effort. Each breath seemed harder than the last, his body straining to keep up.

Before Rhea could respond, the heart monitor began beeping erratically, the rhythm changing from steady to frantic. Jey’s body suddenly tensed, his muscles seizing up as his eyes rolled back slightly. His breathing became shallow, gasping, as the alarms from the machines grew louder. His heart rate plummeted on the screen, the numbers dropping rapidly.

“Jey!” Rhea gasped, panic flooding her as she reached for him. “Jey, no!”

Before she could even yell for help, the door burst open, and several nurses and a doctor rushed inside, all of them moving with practiced urgency. One of them gently but firmly pulled Rhea back from the bed as others gathered around Jey, assessing the situation.

“Get her out of here,” someone said in a calm but authoritative voice.

Rhea resisted, her feet planted firmly on the ground, refusing to leave. “No! I need to stay! Please!”

But before she could fight further, she felt strong hands on her shoulders. It was Jon. He was pulling her back, his grip steady but not harsh. “Rhea, come on,” he said, his voice tight with emotion. “You have to let them work.”

She shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “I can’t leave him, Jon! I can’t!”

Jon held her tighter, pulling her out of the room as the nurses and doctors worked frantically to stabilize Jey. “Rhea, please,” he whispered, his own voice breaking. “You have to trust them. They’ll save him.”

The last thing Rhea saw before the door closed was Jey’s still body surrounded by medical staff, the beeping of the machines growing more chaotic. The door clicked shut, separating her from him, and the weight of it crushed her chest. Her legs gave out beneath her, and she collapsed against Jon, sobbing uncontrollably into his chest as he held her.

It felt like hours before the door to the trauma unit finally opened. Dr. Patel stepped out, removing his gloves and adjusting his surgical cap, his face a mixture of exhaustion and concern. Jon, Trinity, and Jey’s parents immediately stood up, bracing themselves for the news.

Dr. Patel looked at the family, his expression serious but gentle. “We were able to stabilize Joshua. His heart went into shock due to the blood loss and trauma from the gunshot wounds. We administered medications to get his heart rhythm back to normal and performed an emergency intervention to control some internal bleeding that we hadn’t anticipated during the initial surgery. The good news is that we’ve stopped the bleeding and his vital signs have stabilized for now.”

Rhea, who had been staring at the floor, barely registered the words. All she could think about was that moment—Jey’s body seizing up, the heart monitor’s rapid beeping, and the nurses rushing in. She felt numb, empty.

Dr. Patel continued, addressing the family, “Joshua will be closely monitored for the next 24 to 72 hours. We’ve inserted a central line to administer fluids and medications more effectively, and he’s on a ventilator to help with his breathing until his body can recover from the shock. There’s still a risk of infection, and we’ll be watching for any signs of complications.”

Jon’s voice was steady, but tight with emotion. “What are his chances, Doc?”

Dr. Patel hesitated for a moment, clearly weighing his words carefully. “At this point, it’s hard to say with certainty. His body is weak, and he’s been through a lot of trauma. The next few days are critical, but I can say he’s a fighter. He made it through the hardest part, and that’s a good sign.”

A collective breath of relief passed through the room, though the tension was far from gone.

The doctor glanced around the family. “I want to stress that he’s still very weak..”

The fatigue, the weight of everything, was overwhelming. She felt the hollowness deepening in her chest.

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her eyes met Solofa and Talisua’s, and in that moment, she nodded quietly, a small, barely perceptible gesture. “You go,” she whispered, her voice fragile. “You should be with him.”

Solofa nodded back, his face worn with worry but grateful. Talisua, tears in her eyes, reached out to touch Rhea’s arm gently before she and Solofa made their way toward Jey’s room.

Rhea watched them go, her heart pounding in her chest. She felt disconnected from everything, like her body wasn’t her own anymore. She couldn’t even process the pain or the fear—it was all too much. She just wanted to disappear, to escape it all.

Without a word, she stood up from her chair, her movements mechanical. Jon and Trinity noticed immediately, both rising to their feet.

“Rhea?” Jon’s voice was concerned, searching her face. “Where are you going?”

Trinity stepped forward, her eyes full of sympathy. “Do you want us to come with you?”

Rhea didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She just shook her head slightly, her gaze unfocused, and before they could say anything else, she turned and walked out of the waiting room.

Her feet carried her through the sterile white hallways, past people she didn’t recognize, past nurses and doctors who didn’t even notice her. She had no idea where she was going—she just kept walking, as if the movement itself would make the weight in her chest disappear.

Before she knew it, she had stopped in front of a vending machine in an unfamiliar hallway. The soft hum of the machine filled the silence around her, the bright neon glow casting a harsh light on her pale face. She stared at the rows of snacks, but her mind was far away, detached from the world around her.

Rhea’s hands were trembling again, but this time she didn’t try to stop them. She just let herself feel the shaking, the emptiness, the overwhelming grief. The enormity of everything was too much to process—Jey’s injuries, the trauma of the attack, the guilt that sat heavy on her chest. The worst part was how powerless she felt. She couldn’t protect him. She couldn’t save him. All she could do was watch as his life hung in the balance.

As Rhea stood in front of the vending machine, her eyes landed on the row of Snickers bars. Something about them pulled her out of the fog of her own grief, yanking her back to a memory—a simple, almost ridiculous moment, yet one that now felt like a lifeline.

Her mind drifted back to that day, back when things were normal, and Jey had walked through the door to his hotel suite with a Walgreens bag in hand, his grin wide as he dumped a massive fun-sized bag of Snickers onto the coffee table. She’d raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a smirk.

“I asked for KitKats,” Rhea had reminded him, slightly annoyed but amused by how unapologetic he looked.

Without missing a beat, Jey reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a single KitKat, holding it up like a peace offering.

“There you go, babe. One KitKat. Special delivery.”

Rhea had rolled her eyes at him, playfully snatching the KitKat from his hand. “You bring home a million Snickers and only one KitKat? I see how it is.”

Jey had shrugged, popping a Snickers into his mouth with a mischievous grin. “Snickers were on sale. You know how it is. Gotta stock up.”

She’d huffed in mock frustration, but deep down, it was those little quirks of his that she loved. That moment, so small and ordinary, had become something she cherished—something she never knew would come to mean so much now, when she stood on the edge of losing him forever.

In the cold light of the hospital, staring at the Snickers bars behind the glass, Rhea felt her chest tighten. She would give anything to hear his voice again, to tease him about buying too many Snickers, to just be with him in that ridiculous, comforting normalcy.

Her hand reached up, brushing at the tears that slid down her cheeks. That memory was so vivid, it hurt. It was the kind of hurt that wrapped itself around her heart, suffocating her, but at the same time, it reminded her of what she was fighting for—why she couldn’t give up, not yet.

Jey had to pull through. He just had to.

“He brought the KitKat bar in the hotel lobby because he forgot to buy it for you at the store,” a soft, familiar voice said from behind her.

Rhea’s breath hitched, and her body froze. Slowly, she turned around, eyes wide with disbelief. Standing before her was Julie—her miscarried daughter. Julie looked ethereal, almost translucent, her presence so gentle yet so powerful that it filled the space around them with an otherworldly calm. She seemed to glow, a soft light surrounding her, making it clear that she wasn’t entirely of this world.

She couldn’t speak. Words felt too heavy, too impossible. Her throat closed up, and all she could do was stare.

“I’m sorry I haven’t visited since your coma,” Julie said, her voice like a whisper on the wind, tender and kind.

Rhea swallowed hard, still unable to respond. Her hands shook slightly as she clenched them at her sides. She had so many things to say, so many questions to ask, but nothing came out. She just stood there, overwhelmed by the sight of her daughter, who should have been alive, here, with her.

Julie, noticing her silence, looked up at the ceiling, as though she were listening to something far away, something beyond their realm. Her expression softened, and she fixed her gaze back on Rhea.

“The big man said it was not his intention to bring more pain,” Julie explained gently, her eyes filled with a deep understanding, a kind of wisdom that no child could possess in life.

Rhea’s heart ached, her mind whirling. Was Julie talking about God? Fate? The universe? Everything about the moment felt surreal, like a dream she wasn’t quite sure how to wake from.

Still, Rhea remained silent, her emotions too raw, too jagged to untangle. She wanted to reach out, to hold Julie, but she knew she couldn’t. Not really. It was like touching air—her daughter wasn’t truly there, and yet, her presence was undeniable.

Julie’s expression softened further, and she tilted her head slightly, watching her mother with a kind of sorrowful compassion. “You don’t have to carry all of this alone, Mom,” she whispered. “It’s okay to let go of the guilt. It wasn’t your fault.”

Rhea’s knees felt weak, her hands trembling as she clenched her fists harder. Guilt. It had been her constant companion since that day—since she lost Julie, since everything spiraled into chaos.

“Why couldn’t God just take me instead?” Rhea’s voice trembled, each word heavy with grief and despair. Her heart ached with the weight of her losses, and she felt as if the ground beneath her was crumbling away.

Julie looked at her, sorrow etched across her young features. “Dad said the same thing,” she replied softly, her voice gentle yet full of understanding. Rhea furrowed her brow, confusion swirling in her mind.

Before she could ask for clarity, Julie reached out and touched Rhea’s heart, the warmth of herl hand sending a jolt through Rhea’s body. In an instant, Rhea felt herself being lifted, transported somewhere new. The fluorescent lights of the hospital hallway faded away, replaced by the soft glow of candlelight.

Rhea found herself in a chapel. The air was thick with a sense of reverence, each flicker of the candles casting dancing shadows on the walls. It was quiet, yet a heavy tension hung in the atmosphere, as if the very space was holding its breath.

Rhea’s gaze swept across the room until it landed on Jey, kneeling before the statue of God at the altar. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him, so vulnerable, so lost in his grief.

“Is this my punishment for loving Rhea?” Jey’s voice was strained, filled with anguish. He was speaking to the heavens, his hands shooting up in frustration, palms open as if surrendering to the weight of his pain.

Rhea’s breath caught in her throat. “Why didn’t I see this?” she asked Julie, her voice barely a whisper.

“Because you were in your coma,” Julie replied, her voice heavy with sorrow.

Jey’s frustration turned to desperation as he cried out, “What did I do to deserve this? You already took Julie away! Now you’re going to take Rhea?” The torment of his daughter’s loss twisted like a knife in his heart, the grief feeling fresh, as if the memories of that devastating day were replaying in real-time.

With each anguished word, Jey’s voice grew louder, a storm of anger and sorrow. “What do you want from me? Why put her in my path if you don’t want me with her? Why give me a glimpse of happiness only to snatch it away? Why?” The raw emotion in his voice echoed through the chapel, each word laced with a mixture of defiance and hopelessness.

Suddenly, he crumbled, collapsing onto the cold stone floor, the weight of his pain pulling him down. Rhea felt her heart shatter as she watched him, his body shaking as he let the tears flow freely, the sobs erupting from him like a dam bursting under pressure. The sound reverberated in the stillness of the chapel, a raw and heart-wrenching symphony of heartbreak and defeat.

“Take me instead!” he pleaded, his voice hoarse and cracked, eyes glistening with tears as he looked up at the statue, hands still raised in supplication. “Don’t take her! Take me! I can’t bear this pain anymore!” Each word spilled from him, a desperate cry into the void, challenging the very forces that had shaped his life.

Rhea’s heart ached for him, tears streaming down her face as she absorbed the weight of his despair. She longed to comfort him, to tell him it was okay, to share the burden of grief that had threatened to consume them both. But she remained frozen, helpless to reach him.

Suddenly, Julie touched Rhea’s heart once more, and in an instant, they were back in the hallway again, standing before the vending machine. The stark contrast of the mundane moment compared to the spiritual weight of what they had just witnessed left Rhea reeling.

“Is he going to be okay?” Rhea asked.

“I have to go…” Julie said softly, her voice filled with love and reassurance. “I love you, Mom.”

With that, Julie vanished, leaving Rhea standing alone in the hallway, her heart aching with the weight of everything that had transpired. She clutched at her chest, feeling the emptiness of her daughter’s absence while holding onto the hope that perhaps, just perhaps, there was still time for both her and Jey.

The vending machine hummed quietly, a reminder of the reality she had returned to. But Rhea knew now that they weren’t alone in this fight. They were still connected, bound by love and shared pain, and somehow, they would find their way back to each other.

As Rhea stood in the hallway, grappling with the overwhelming emotions swirling within her, the world outside continued to spin with urgency and fear. The frantic calls from Jon had set off a chain reaction, each connection woven into a tapestry of worry, love, and hope.

In San Francisco, Takecia paced her living room, the phone pressed to her ear as she listened to Jon’s shaky voice. “He got out of surgery, but he went into shock, Takecia. They said he’s stable now, but you need to get to Pensacola as fast as you can.”

“I’m on it,” she replied, her heart racing. She turned to her sons, Jeyce and Jaciyah, who were sitting on the couch, confusion etched on their faces. “Boys, we need to get to your dad. He’s hurt, but he’s going to be okay. We’re catching the next flight.”

“Is he gonna be alright, Mom?” Jeyce asked, his young voice tinged with fear.

Takecia knelt beside them, forcing a reassuring smile. “He’s strong, just like you. He needs us right now.”

As she pulled up the American Airlines website, she felt a pang in her heart. She hated that her children had to go through this. They deserved better. In that moment, she resolved to be the strong anchor they needed.

Meanwhile, across the country in Las Vegas, Joseph and his wife Almia rushed to pack their bags, urgency fueling their movements. The news had hit Joseph like a freight train, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. “We have to get there, Almia. Jey needs us.”

“I know,” Almia replied, trying to keep her voice steady. She grabbed a few essentials and stuffed them into their suitcase. “I’ll check for the next available flight.”

As Joseph paced the room, he couldn’t shake the feeling of helplessness. “What if something happens while we’re on the way? What if we’re too late?”

“We won’t be,” Almia insisted, her voice firm. “We’ll get there. He’s going to pull through. Just focus on getting us on that flight.”

On the other side of Pensacola, Joe and Galina were already on the road, the tires of their car screeching against the pavement as they made their way to the hospital. “What did Jon say?” Galina asked, her voice tinged with anxiety.

“He said Jey got out of surgery but then went into shock,” Joe replied, trying to keep his tone calm. “I can’t believe this is happening. He’s practically my brother; I should’ve been there.”

Galina reached over and squeezed his hand. “You’re here now, and that’s what matters. We’ll get through this together.”

As they approached the hospital, Joe couldn’t shake the dread settling in his stomach. He knew the wrestling community would be there, and he couldn’t help but feel the weight of their collective worry.

Outside the hospital, the media had descended like vultures, eager for any detail they could get. Cameras flashed, and reporters stood poised, ready to relay the latest updates on the wrestling star’s condition. The news reporter for the local station began her broadcast, her tone serious as she spoke directly to the camera.

“Breaking news from HCA Florida West Hospital, where WWE Superstar Jey Uso, also known as Joshua Fatu, is currently recovering after being shot earlier tonight. We have confirmed that there was a home invasion at the home where Mr. Fatu shared with his current fiancé Demi Bennett, also known as WWE Superstar Rhea Ripley. The police have not named the assailant but we can confirm here that assailant was taken to another nearby hospital where he is being treated. Sources confirm Fatu is stable but has experienced shock. Family members are gathering as we speak.”

In that hospital hallway, the lives of so many were about to converge, bringing with them the strength and support that Jey needed to fight for his life. As Rhea’s heart ached for Jey, the universe was quietly aligning to remind her that she was never truly alone.

—

November 6th, 2024 1:45 PM

It had been two days since Jon, Trinity, and Rhea left the hospital to make arrangements. Rhea and Jey’s house had become a crime scene, leaving Rhea to stay at Jon and Trinity’s home. Solofa, Talisua, Joseph, and Almia all decided to stay there too, while Joe and Galina took Takecia, Jeyce and Jaciyah to stay with them. Each family member had spent time with Jey throughout the day, but Rhea had chosen the night shift, opting to sit with him when the room grew quiet and still. Damian, Kayden, Finn, Liv and Dominik had reached out to Rhea but she asked for privacy at the time being, she didn’t have the social battery to say ‘thank you’ and ‘he will pull through’ comments to them. Nevertheless, the group sent flowers to Jey’s room, often Rhea looking at them and watering them.

Rhea remained seated under the awning, her eyes lost in the heavy rainfall that drenched the world around her. The rhythmic drumming on the patio roof was the only sound, offering her a fleeting sense of peace amidst the chaos swirling in her mind. Each day Jey didn’t wake up, was another day Rhea stayed in the patio. Not to mention, the rain hadn’t stopped.

Inside, Trinity silently prepared the ultrasonic jewelry cleaner machine. She filled it with the cleaning solution, the liquid bubbling softly as it settled. After making sure everything was ready, she pulled on her gloves, her heart heavy with the weight of the task ahead. The small machine sat on the kitchen counter, humming faintly, waiting for the jewelry that held so much history and pain.

Trinity stepped outside, the cool air mixing with the warmth of her own nervous breath as she approached Rhea on the patio.

“It’s time,” she said softly, crouching beside Rhea’s chair, her voice full of compassion.

Rhea turned to her, eyes dull, weighed down by exhaustion. “Can you undo it?” Rhea whispered, her voice barely audible. “I don’t have the strength.”

Trinity nodded, her movements steady yet gentle. She reached for Jey’s Cuban chain first, unclasping it from around Rhea’s neck. Next came the chain Jey had gifted Rhea and the necklace that seemed so intertwined with their relationship. Rhea clenched her hand for a moment, reluctant to let go of the last two pieces of him, but with a shaky breath, she allowed Trinity to slip off the matching permanent bracelet that bore Jey’s full name engraved on the bar. Rhea looked at her engagement ring, the last and hardest piece to remove.

“It’ll take no more than 10 minutes,” Trinity said gently, though her voice wavered.

Rhea just nodded, her gaze fixed on the ring, the sound drowning out the emotions she was too exhausted to express. She felt Trinity’s hand and felt the ring be removed from Rhea.

Trinity stood, clutching the jewelry in her gloved hands, and returned inside. She carefully placed each piece into the ultrasonic cleaner, watching them sink into the clear solution. As the machine hummed to life, she stared at the liquid, hoping this ritual would somehow cleanse the horrors of the past days.

But then, slowly, the solution began to turn red.

The sight of the clear liquid darkening made Trinity’s throat tighten. She hadn’t expected this—hadn’t realized how symbolic it would feel, like seeing Jey’s blood all over again. It wasn’t about getting rid of Jey; it was about trying to cleanse the pain, the trauma, and the violence that had led to this point. And yet, the red hue in the solution seemed to remind her that the damage was already done.

Meanwhile, Takecia pulled up to Jon and Trinity’s house, her heart heavy as she realized she had to face Rhea. The woman who had been there when Jey was shot. The woman who had been with him during what should have been their marriage. The thought sent a sharp pain through her, but she knew she had to push through it for her sons. She couldn’t keep putting this off, today was the day.

Taking a deep breath, she got out of the rental car, her feet dragging as if they were made of lead. She hesitated for a moment, her hand trembling as she knocked on the door. Trinity answered, and despite the bad blood between them, the tension of their last interaction melted away as Trinity stepped forward and pulled Takecia into a hug. Neither of them spoke, but they both understood the weight of the situation. Words weren’t necessary.

Takecia glanced toward the patio and saw Rhea sitting alone under the awning. She could feel her throat tighten, her stomach twisting as she set her keys and wallet on the hallway table. Slowly, she made her way to the door and stepped outside.

Rhea looked up, her eyes locking with Takecia’s. The woman who had shattered her marriage, the woman who had caused her so much pain. And yet, here they were, face to face, united by the same man they both loved.

Takecia took a seat across from Rhea. Neither woman spoke, the rain continuing to fall, filling the silence between them.

Rhea and Takecia sat under the awning, their gaze lost in the downpour. They didn’t even flinch when she heard the thunder. Both women didn’t say anything for what felt like forever. The rain beat a steady rhythm, filling the silence with its own soft melody.

Finally, it was Takecia who broke the quiet, her voice soft, almost hesitant. “You know… I never blamed you.”

Rhea blinked, frowning as if she hadn’t heard correctly. “What?”

“I never blamed you,” Takecia repeated, this time with more certainty. Her eyes remained fixed on the falling rain. “Not for the affair. Not for Jey leaving. Not even for what happened with Matt.” She shook her head slightly, her voice carrying a weight of someone who had long come to terms with the past. “I spent a long time trying to figure out where things went wrong between Jey and me. And… I realized it wasn’t about you.”

Rhea’s brow furrowed deeper, confusion spreading across her face. “I don’t understand.” Her voice was rough, raw.

Takecia sighed, leaning back in the chair, her body heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. “Jey and I… we were broken long before you. Maybe I saw it, maybe I didn’t. But you weren’t the reason for our end, Rhea. You just happened to come into his life when he was already ready to leave. I did try… but something deep in me told me it was done. Sure, I acted like it caught me off guard.. but I knew.”

Rhea’s lips parted, her eyes softening in disbelief. “But I… I thought I ruined everything.”

Takecia met her gaze for the first time, her expression surprisingly calm. “It was more complicated than that. If it wasn’t you, it would have been something else. Jey was looking for something I couldn’t give him anymore.” There was no venom in her voice, only quiet acceptance.

Rhea lowered her head, her fingers gripping the fabric of her jeans. “I never thought you’d say that. I didn’t think you’d ever…”

“Hate you?” Takecia gave a small, sad smile. “I did. For a long time. But it wasn’t fair to blame you for everything. People drift apart, and Jey and I did. It took me a while to accept it.”

Rhea’s eyes brimmed with unshed tears, a weight lifting from her chest that she didn’t even know she had been carrying. “I’m sorry for everything that happened,” she whispered. “I never meant to come between you.”

“I know.” Takecia’s voice was quiet but firm. “And, in a strange way, I’m glad Jey had someone who could make him feel alive again. Even if it wasn’t me.”

Rhea’s breath caught in her throat, tears spilling over. “You’re stronger than I could ever be,” she whispered, overwhelmed by Takecia’s unexpected grace.

Takecia shook her head gently, her own eyes shimmering with emotion. “No. I’m just tired. Tired of hating. Tired of being angry. I just want him to wake up and be okay, whether it’s with me or… you.”

The silence returned, but this time it wasn’t heavy with resentment or guilt. It was filled with an understanding neither of them had expected to find. The rain continued to fall, steady and relentless, but somehow, in that moment, the storm felt a little less fierce.

After a long silence, Takecia stood up, her movements deliberate. Rhea watched, unsure of what to expect next. Then, in an act that shocked Rhea to her core, Takecia stepped forward and enveloped her in a hug. The embrace was unexpected, warm, and genuine. Rhea stood frozen for a moment, her heart racing as she registered the significance of this gesture. They didn’t say anything; words felt insufficient in that moment. They simply stood there, wrapped in the weight of their shared grief and newfound understanding, as the rain continued to pour softly around them, the rhythmic sound echoing their silent exchange.

When they finally pulled apart, Rhea saw a mix of sadness and determination in Takecia’s eyes. “When all this mess is over,” she said, her voice steady despite the downpour, “I’ll be selling our house in San Francisco. I want to move to Pensacola to be closer.” The admission hung in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the future they were both navigating, albeit from different paths.

Rhea nodded, feeling a strange sense of relief wash over her. “That sounds good,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. It felt like a promise of sorts—a promise that they could coexist in this new reality.

Takecia continued, “Jaciyah wants to speak with you when he gets back from seeing Jey. I think it’s important for him.” Rhea felt a lump form in her throat at the mention of Jey’s son, knowing how hard this must be for him too. “I’d like that,” Rhea managed to say, grateful for the chance to connect.

With a final nod of understanding, Takecia turned to leave the patio, pausing at the door to look back at Rhea one last time. “We’ll get through this,” she said quietly, her voice nearly drowned out by the sound of the rain before disappearing into the house.

Rhea watched her go, feeling a mix of emotions swirling within her. The weight of the moment lingered, but there was a flicker of hope too—a sign that perhaps they could navigate this journey together, no matter how rocky it might still be.

Taking a deep breath, Rhea returned her gaze to the rain-soaked garden, the familiar ache in her heart still present but somehow less suffocating. The steady rainfall mirrored her thoughts, yet it also felt cleansing, washing away some of the tension that had built up inside her. She felt more grounded now, ready to face whatever came next for her, Jey, and even Takecia.

As the clouds hung heavy above, she knew that the road ahead would be challenging, but maybe, just maybe, they could find a way to heal together.

Rhea stayed out on the patio, watching the rain as it poured steadily, lost in her thoughts. Memories of Jey flashed through her mind—his laughter, the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention, the warmth of his embrace. The steady rhythm of the rain seemed to echo the turmoil inside her, a backdrop to the whirlwind of emotions she couldn’t quite sort through.

The patio door opened once more, breaking her reverie. Jon stepped outside, holding a plate of food that caught Rhea’s eye. It was her favorite—ham and pineapple pizza, two steaming hot brownies, and a bottle of cherry coke. The aroma wafted toward her, stirring her stomach, reminding her just how long it had been since she had eaten.

“Hey,” Jon said softly, placing the plate in front of her before sitting down opposite her. He turned his gaze toward the rain, the weight of the moment settling between them.

“Jaciyah and Jeyce are with Jey right now,” Jon added, his voice steady but tinged with concern. Rhea nodded, grateful that the boys could be with their father, even if it was under such dire circumstances.

She stared down at the food, her appetite conflicting with the heaviness in her heart. Finally, she pushed the plate aside, her guilt washing over her like the relentless rain. “I should’ve had Jey check the peephole,” she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. “Maybe if I had—”

“Rhea, don’t do this to yourself,” Jon interrupted, his tone firm but gentle. “You can’t blame yourself for what happened. You did everything you could.”

“But if I had just been more careful—” Rhea’s voice broke, the guilt threatening to drown her. “I should’ve known he would come after me. I put Jey in danger!”

“Stop,” Jon said, leaning forward. “You can’t think like that. Jey chose to protect you. That’s on him, not you.” He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing. “I know it’s hard, but Jey wouldn’t want you to carry this weight.”

Rhea drew in a shaky breath, looking out at the rain once more. “What happened to Jey when I went into my coma?” she asked, the question hanging heavy in the air. Jon’s expression shifted, the hurt evident in his eyes. He seemed to hesitate, the memories clearly painful for him to recount.

“I don’t want to talk about that,” he said quietly, avoiding her gaze.

“Please, Jon,” Rhea pressed, desperation creeping into her voice. “I need to know. Was he… did he…?”

Jon clenched his jaw, clearly torn. “He was in shock, Rhea. It wasn’t just the physical injuries; it was everything that led up to it. You should have seen him. He was a wreck,” he finally admitted, his voice strained. “He stayed by your side, even when it looked like you might not wake up. He refused to leave the hospital.”

Rhea felt her heart constrict at Jon’s words. “I didn’t know… I didn’t know he was hurting so much.”

Jon looked at her, his eyes softening. “He was, Rhea. He still is. But right now, he needs you to be strong. He needs you to fight for him like he fought for you.”

A moment of silence passed between them, filled only by the sound of rain drumming against the roof. Rhea finally picked up her plate and took a small bite of the pizza, the flavors flooding her senses. It was comforting, a small reminder of home in the midst of chaos.

“Thank you for this, Jon,” she said, swallowing hard. “For everything.”

“Just be hopeful..” Jon replied, giving her a reassuring smile. “That’s all that matters right now.”

[honeyhotteoks]

this night together - chapter nine (j.yh + s.mg)

chapter nine: too little too late

chapter summary: you probably would have preferred the cold shoulder. yunho and mingi find out about your heat, and things get harder.

warnings: this chapter is a pain train. no other warnings except angst and consistent references to heat and all that goes with that.

notes: i'm SO glad you all enjoyed chapter eight!! it was a fun one. please enjoy the moment many of you have been waiting for..... yungi's return and everything that comes with that. good luck because oof our y/n is going through it.

pairings: alpha!yunho x alpha!mingi x omega!reader

genre: smut, a/b/o/omegaverse, angst, fluff, romance, polyamory

word count: 6.3k

previous chapter | next chapter | AO3

You expect to see them immediately when you walk into the studio a little early on Monday but it’s painfully empty. The back office door is shut and locked tight, so you know Yunho hasn’t been in yet and if he’s not here, neither is Mingi. It feels familiar, and you’re starting to wonder if every heat is going to end with them throwing a tantrum. 

“You just going to stand there?” Wooyoung’s voice nearly knocks you sideways and you jump in your shoes. 

“Don’t do that!” You spin on your heel and smack his shoulder. 

“You’re literally staring at a door,” Wooyoung levels you with a look, “I’m trying to pull you back down to reality so you can make it through this stupid day,” 

“Fine,” You sigh, “I guess… I don’t know, do I look okay?” 

He rolls his eyes, “You know you do,” 

“I just don’t want,” You start but the sound of the heavy back door to the studio startles you once again and your heart lands squarely in your throat when you see them. 

They barely look at you. A swift, fast glance, just enough for you to know they’ve seen you. Your hands suddenly feel slick and clammy and your stomach starts churning immediately. 

“Hey,” Wooyoung steps around you to grab their attention and break the sudden awkward tension in the hall, “did anyone ever call to get the lights in Studio 3 fixed?” 

Yunho blinks, almost confused by his words but then he recovers, “Uh, no, I thought they were fixed already,” 

“Out again,” Wooyoung shakes his head, “I think it’s electrical if the bulbs keep blowing,” 

Mingi listens for a moment, but the moment he’s sure this conversation has nothing for him he simply says, “I’ll catch you guys later,” and then he’s pushing past the two of them to cut down the hallway. 

He doesn’t look at you at all. 

Yunho watches him go and then refocuses on Wooyoung, “I’ll call someone,” he says, “is it the whole back panel again?” 

“I’ll show you,” Wooyoung gestures down the hall, throwing a fast glance at you that communicates so much with just one flick of his eyes - Don’t follow, you’re welcome, you owe me. 

As Yunho turns away from you to follow Wooyoung down the hallway you mouth a thank you and watch them go. The cold shoulder you can deal with, you’re almost too practiced with that at this point, so at least you can breathe a little easier and get back to work. 

You bottle it all right back up, and even though the day has been terrible and long and awkward, you know that San’s right. It’s your studio too. You’ve missed things being out for your leave and you have to catch up quickly to stay an unshakeable member of this group. All you have to do is focus on the work. 

You know you probably have to talk to them at some point, but you really didn’t think it would be today of all days. You thought they’d go back to the way it was before, an entire day of their tense glances communicated that clearly. But suddenly Mingi’s in front of you while you’re tucked up on the computer in the corner of one of the studios rewatching a cut of today’s practice and you know it’s going to be now, now or never.

“So, you’re good?” He asks suddenly, a little starting since you had expected him to just pass you by without a word, just like the rest of the day behind you. 

“What?” You manage, swiveling around in your chair. 

“You’re good?” He asks again, but his face is blank, passive. 

You open your mouth to answer but Yunho’s voice from the side has your head snapping towards it. 

“Mingi,” Yunho’s voice is firm, “let’s go.” 

“One sec,” Mingi doesn’t look away from you. 

“I said let’s go,” Yunho shakes his head. 

“Hey,” Mingi starts and then Yunho looks at you. 

“Can you lock up if you’re not leaving?” He asks, jaw tightening as soon as the words are out of his mouth. 

“Sure,” You manage. 

“Mingi, let’s go.” Yunho’s attention leaves you instantly, and you’ve never felt more invisible to him. 

“Bro,” Mingi shakes his head, “can you fuck off for one second?” 

“No, I’m getting in the car, do you want a ride or not?” Yunho’s jaw jumps in frustration. 

Mingi mutters something under his breath and then meets your eyes again, “y/n,” 

“Yeah?” You’re so overwhelmingly confused. 

“I said, are you good?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be good?” Your brows draw together. 

Mingi shuts his mouth tightly, his hands forming loose fists and then he nods once, “Fine,” 

“What’s going on with you two?” Your eyes dart between them, the anger in the room so palpable. They’ve been cold, they’ve been passive, but they’ve never, ever been angry with you. Not like this. 

There’s a long beat of silence and then finally Yunho speaks, “Are you serious?” 

“What?” 

“You disappear for three days,” Yunho drops his gym bag and looks to you, “and you can’t even answer a single fucking text message, and you want to know what’s going on with us?” 

Your stomach clenches hard, his dark eyes boring into you now and you need him to look away. “I was on heat leave,” You say clearly, “you got the paperwork, I know you did.” 

They’re both silent. 

“Look,” You sigh, and it’s already harder to maintain the wall than you thought it would be, “I’m sorry I didn’t text you back, that was shitty, but I was a little preoccupied,” 

Yunho grimaces. 

“Yunho, jesus,” You push yourself up off the chair and take a few steps towards them, “I don’t know what you want from me,” 

“We were worried,” Mingi offers, and his voice is still low and firm, but his words at least are a little kinder. 

“Well, I appreciate that, but I was fine.” 

Yunho huffs, and you can almost see him fighting an eye roll. Anger bubbles inside you at their entitlement over you and your time and you can’t stop your mouth or your hot head now. 

“Seriously,” You square your shoulders towards him, “Yunho, we’re friends so I feel like I can say this, but you’re acting like an asshole right now.” 

“I’m acting like an asshole?” His voice gets sharp at the end, anger radiating in him. 

“Yes!” You push farther into his space, “Sharing a heat together doesn’t mean I owe you something,” 

His jaw jumps at your words. 

“No one’s saying that,” Mingi cuts in immediately, physically pushing between you both and holding his hands up. 

“Tell that to him,” You nod towards Yunho. 

Yunho stays silent. 

Mingi keeps his hands up, “Listen,” he catches your eyes, “no one’s angry. We just didn’t hear from you for three days, we didn’t know if you were somewhere safe. That’s all.” 

“Well, I was,” You assure him, “I had everything handled, I’m back on my suppressants,” 

“I know,” Mingi nods, and you suppose he would be able to tell, with your scent dampened. 

“What about onboarding?” Yunho pipes in and you crane around Mingi to see him. His cheeks are flushed pink, and you can see how frustrated he is, but he tries to ask this question a bit more softly. 

“What about it?” You give him one more chance, just one. 

Yunho clears his throat and says again, “Onboarding. Mingi said it can be a lot, like before,” 

“I had it covered,” You assure him. 

“I just thought,” Yunho shifts from foot to foot, trying to find his words, “I thought maybe if it was as hard as before you’d be out of it, and I, I don’t know,” 

You want to be mad at him, you really do, but that part of his fear makes sense to you. When you think about your time with them and how much you don’t quite remember perfectly, how hard it was to make it home, you get it. 

“Honestly,” You exhale, relaxing the tension a bit, “I am sorry I didn’t text you back. I can understand why you were worried,” 

His shoulders relax with yours, “I’m sorry too,” 

You can’t say it’s okay, but you nod, glancing up to Mingi who’s seemed to soften up a bit too. There’s a long beat between you and finally Mingi asks, “So, we’re good?” 

“Yeah,” You nod, “we’re good,” 

Yunho nods and agrees, “I am really sorry, I really was just worried about you,” 

“I know,” You nod, “I think I should have just texted you, but I didn’t know what to say,” 

“Yeah,” Mingi laughs a little, just a huff and he runs his hand through his short hair, “that’s fair,” 

You smile too and press your hands to your cheeks for a little cool relief, letting out a long sigh as the tension starts to release. It could end here, they could say goodbye and goodnight and you could finish up and then it would be over, but when Yunho shifts and glances between the two of you, you know immediately it won’t be so simple. 

“Well,” Yunho clears his throat, “next time if you’d rather not be alone, you know, I think we’ve done pretty good at staying friends,” 

“Oh,” Your heart feels like it might just fall straight out of your chest, “Yunho, I,” 

“It was weird for a couple of weeks,” He adds, “but,” 

You know you just have to say it, you have to get it out of your mouth before you can’t, and the words bubble up sharp and sudden, “I wasn’t alone,” 

“You weren’t?” Mingi’s brows shoot up. 

Yunho falls silent, ears running dark pink. 

“No,” You shake your head, “I wasn’t,” 

“Of course you weren’t,” Yunho manages, “sorry, that was… I don’t know why I assumed,” 

“Probably because I told you that’s what I normally do,” You soften, “so I understand why you were worried, but I’m telling you that I was fine, taken care of,” 

He asks it like he can’t help himself, the word falling right off his tongue, “Who?” 

You take a half step back, shaking your head, “Yunho, no,” 

“Why not? We’re friends,” Mingi rationalizes. 

They suddenly look so much like jealous lovers you can’t breathe. Something deep in your gut must have been right all along about them, and you don’t know why you can’t stop making this same mistake over and over again. Your biology must really want you to fall for a guy like this but as harsh as the twist in your gut feels, you push it back, refusing to submit. 

“No,” You turn on your heel, “I’m leaving,” 

Hands on your arms pull you back and twist you around in Mingi’s hold, “Fuck,” he says, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, that was so out of line,” 

“You don’t get to ask, okay?” You push him off, putting a foot of distance between you. 

“I know that, we know that,” Mingi nods, holding your gaze and trying to diffuse whatever this conversation has become, “it was stupid, forget it,” 

Yunho moves closer, stopping by Mingi’s side to give you the same distance, “Completely stupid, I’m sorry,” 

You’re already so sick of them apologizing, but you swallow tightly and try to let it go, “Okay,”

“Only,” Yunho pauses, debating on whether or not he should say this and your breath catches in your throat, “only, why didn’t you call us?” 

“What?” You can barely believe him. 

“You don’t have to tell us anything,” Yunho says, looking quickly at Mingi who nods, “I just… I thought you would have called us, and when I saw the paperwork and you didn’t answer I thought maybe something happened.”

The stretching silence between you is crushing you. A flare of anger bubbles in your belly, “You said my heat before was a one time thing.” 

“I never said that.” 

“You did,” You shake your head, and now you just can’t stop the words, “and you know what, Yunho? Maybe this wouldn’t have been so hard and confusing if you didn’t treat me like I was invisible for weeks after we had sex,” 

“You were avoiding me too,” His tongue is quick when he’s angry and you can almost see the regret in his eyes but he doubles down, “both of us.” 

“I’m not going to listen to this,” You cheeks flare with angry blush, “I’m done. We work together, that’s it. I don’t know what you want from me, I’ll get whiplash if you keep-”

Your words die on your tongue, your back connecting with the hard studio wall behind you. You don’t see Mingi coming, your eyes steady on Yunho and you’re about to throw up your hands and leave again when Mingi collides into you, his lips on yours. 

“Mingi!” You squeak against his mouth. 

“Please,” He pleads, shaking his head.  

His body feels so good you might lose your mind entirely. His plush mouth stays on yours, tongue dipping between your lips to flick along yours. His scent envelops you, his hot hands holding you against him, and you melt into him as your body responds to him. He kisses like you’re his only lifeline, messy and hungry and pouring desperation into you ounce by ounce. Your hand tightens on his back. He hitches your leg up onto his hip, pressing your body open for him to slot between your legs. 

Your eyes stay shut as he kisses his way down your jaw, nipping along your skin until his mouth is on your throat, ghosting softly over your pulsepoint. Your mind is spinning, flooded hot, everything falling away and then it all stops. 

Mingi stiffens, body locking up and you hear him take a deep inhale of breath. He rocks back away from you, “Seonghwa?” 

“What?” Yunho’s voice re-enters the mix. 

Mingi steps away from you and you brace your body against the wall, finding your feet under you and trying to catch your breath, “Don’t,” 

“I’m right,” Mingi’s face knits up in confusion, his fists tighten, “fuck,” 

Yunho looks stricken. 

“You slept with Seonghwa?” Mingi repeats.

“Don’t,” You repeat, anger curling inside you and you push off the wall, “we’re friends and maybe I should have texted you, but that’s all we are, you made that perfectly fucking clear after my heat. You don’t get to treat me like I cheated or try to mark your fucking territory,” You scrub your hand across your throat where Mingi kissed you, where he let his tongue linger. 

“We’re not together,” You reiterate, “we’re not in love, or soulmates, or scent matches, or whatever the fuck else people say. We had sex, that’s it.” 

The words are out there, dropped between you like lead and you realize coldly somewhere in the back of your mind, you can never take that back. 

Yunho and Mingi stand stock still at the grenade dropped between you, but then Yunho shifts forwards one step with a tight inhalation of breath.

“That’s not all it was for me,” He manages, and when you meet his eyes your resolve nearly, nearly crumbles. 

“Whatever you feel for me isn’t real, it’s biology,” You shake your head, trying to catch your breath and keep your words straight. If they loved you before they would have come to you then, you just have to hold onto that truth. 

“Don’t tell me what I feel,” Yunho looks away from you, his hands tight, “don’t patronize me.” 

“This is why we should have never,” You shake your head, looking at Mingi like you might see a scrap of reason in his eyes, but you see nothing, pure passive inattention like he’s shut down and left the conversation. 

“y/n,” Yunho shakes his head, “I’m not some lovesick virgin,” 

“I know that,” You sigh, “I didn’t mean,” 

“You did,” Yunho interrupts, “and if you don’t feel the same about us, just say it.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You feel like you’ve entered an entirely different narrative, “You said you wanted to be friends, isn’t that what we are?”

“Friends don’t kiss like that,” Mingi admits gruffly. 

“You kissed me,” You manage. 

“y/n,” Mingi says softly, “I felt it, the way you kissed me back, touched me… there’s something there,” 

“Is that what this is about?” Your jaw tightens, “You think I’m yours?” 

Mingi’s jaw snaps shut, muscles jumping. 

Yunho shakes his head, bringing you back to his eyes, “No,” he sighs, “but,” 

“But what?” You won’t cry, not here, “You’re perfectly fine treating me like I’m invisible until another alpha gets a little too close? I’m a person! A whole entire person, I’m not an omega for you to… to…” 

“I know that!” Yunho exclaims, “I like you. We like you, it has nothing to do with designation,” 

“That’s the most naive sentence I’ve ever heard,” You take a step back, away, closer to the mirrored wall, “if that were true why didn’t you say anything weeks ago?” 

“I didn’t know then,” He insists, looking to Mingi for help but finding none in his vacant eyes. 

“That’s what I’m saying,” You sigh, exasperated, “you’re just realizing it now? Right when I spend my heat with another alpha? You’re confused.” 

“It’s not confusion,” Mingi says simply, “we’re not stupid.” 

“So, you both have feelings for me? Is that what you’re saying?” You bite back, and you clench your fist tight. You won’t cry.

They say nothing, silence filling the room like smoke and you need to get out. 

“After we spent that time together,” You take a steadying breath, “I missed you both so much it hurt. All the time. I would convince myself not to come to your place and knock on the door and… and I don’t know what I wanted. I thought about you all the time, and the things you said and did for me. I missed you so much it made me sick,” 

“Then,” Yunho starts, his voice small but you shake your head. 

“But you didn’t want me,” You insist, “you spent weeks making sure I knew it. Every day you wouldn’t look at me, you wouldn’t talk to me, I’ve never felt so small.”

Mingi’s eyes cloud and he drops his head. 

“And it was hard, but the things I felt for you went away,” You press, despite the tightness in your chest, “with a little time and space, it went away. I know you both care about me, and I care about you, but you don’t love me.” 

“I don’t accept that,” Yunho shakes his head, moving forwards before you can process it, his arms around you as he tucks you into his chest, “how can you say that when this feels the way it does?” 

Your head throbs with the scent of him, washing through you and making your limbs go soft and your heartbeat slow to a stutter instead of a pounding thump, but your brain clicks back into place and you wriggle in his arms, “Let me go,” 

He leans away, cupping your cheek in his hand to draw your face up to his gaze, “Don’t you?” He manages, voice cracking gently. 

You’re dizzy, mind flooded and confused, but you try, “I don’t,” 

His thumb strokes a gentle line over your cheekbone, shifting just a little closer, “y/n,”

“Yunho,” You manage, your voice shaking as you try to stay level, “if you kiss me now, there’s nothing for us.” 

His brow creases as he studies your eyes, exhaling an unsteady breath. 

“I’ll go, I’ll find another studio.” You grip your hand tight and let your nails dig into your soft palm, “I need you to let me go, please, let me go,” 

His arms fall away, and he takes two sizable steps back, running a hand through his hair, “After everything, that’s it?” 

“It has to be,” Your eyes feel prickly, “I’ve moved on. I need you both to do the same. Find someone else, another omega. I know you think you want me, but it’s just your alphas talking. And maybe we could have been more than this, but you hurt me, you both did, and I’ve moved on.” 

“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” Mingi manages. 

“No,” You shake your head, “you shouldn’t have.”

“I’m sorry,” His voice is small. 

“This,” Yunho tries to say something, but his voice is thick with emotion and he clears his throat, words dying on his lips. 

“I’m sorry too,” You finally add, “and I thought we could go back to being friends, but this, it hurts too much.” 

“What do we do?” Yunho asks, voice hollow. 

“I need some space,” You swallow tightly, “we’ll do the work, but that’s it. If we ever have a shot at being friends someday, at feeling like this isn’t always there… that’s what I need, and maybe we can fix this.”

“Okay,” Mingi says. 

“Tour,” Yunho takes a deep breath, and you realize now that he has tears flooding his eyes that he’s doing his best to blink away, “we’ll be gone for months,” 

He’s right, in a matter of weeks they’ll be gone with a small group of the BB Trippin dance crew to Europe. You have your focus here with the newly debuting group alongside Dahan and Yujin, but they don’t, they’re leaving with New World and it would be almost three full months until they’d be back in Korea. 

“Good,” You breathe, ignoring the pit forming in your stomach at the thought of not seeing them, “then let’s just get through the next few weeks, but after that you go. Don’t text me, don’t call me, just… move on.” 

Silence stretches, but Yunho nods. 

If you stay here for one more minute you’re going to cry, “I have to go,” 

He nods again. 

There’s more to say, you can feel it, but you can’t do it now and you have to push yourself to get out the door. You push past them as quickly as you can, eyes on the door in front of you, but Yunho follows behind and catches you once more in the hall. 

“y/n,” He doesn’t touch you, but calls after you in the hall, but you don’t turn around you can’t. If you look at him one more time you’ll cry, you’ll go back, you’ll throw all the things you said to the side just to feel his arms around you one more time or Mingi’s lips on yours and you can’t. You have to be better than this, for yourself. 

You stop though and turn your head just a little to let him know you’re listening. 

“I’m,” His voice tightens and hitches, “I’m really fucking sorry we lost you,” 

Hot tears overflow at his words, spilling over down your cheeks and you drop your head and nod. You grip your hands tighter and steady yourself and hope to god that your voice will hold up, “Me too,” 

He takes a tight, wet inhale and you have to move, one more second in this hallway and you’ll want nothing more than to comfort him, to soothe your alpha and smooth this moment over, but the latent thought of him as yours strikes panic in your chest and you push forward down the hall.

You round the corner at the end by the office, and the image of him coming out of the doorway that first night won’t leave you alone, the way he softened when he saw you in heat, the way he took you in his arms. 

You stifle a sob with your hand over your lips, and then you’re running. Out of here, away from this, and you don’t know where you’re going until you get there, every step a blur. 

You knock fast on San’s door, and you feel bad about crashing their night, but you can barely breathe and you need to see a friendly face or you just might fall apart. You had gotten your tears under control on your way over, out of sheer embarrassment that you were crying in the middle of the street, but tightness gathers in your throat now as you wait for an answer to the door and pins prick the back of your eyes. 

You hear shuffling on the opposite side of the door, a hand on the knob, and tears spill over already. 

San’s smiling when he opens the door, looking over his shoulder back into the main living space and finishing saying something to Wooyoung who’s inside, and your breath hitches. 

His eyes settle on you, “y/n?” His face falls as he sees your tears, “What?” 

“S-San,” Your tears rush faster, your words cut off in a sob and you launch yourself forwards to collide with his chest, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his shoulder, sobs wracking yours. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” He stumbles back, wrapping his arms around you, “what’s going on?” 

“y/n’s here?” Wooyoung’s voice comes from the side and you can’t stop yourself from crying harder. 

“I need you to breathe,” San soothes you, his voice low, “I need you to tell me what happened,” 

You shake your head into his neck, hiccuping as you do. 

“Are you hurt?” He presses, one of his hands sliding up your sides to search your body, “I need you to talk to me,” 

You drag in a shaky breath, but Wooyoung sees you now and jumps forwards, “Is she hurt?” 

“Woo,” San interrupts him, “hang on, okay, just,” 

“I’m,” You clear your throat, “I’m not hurt,”

San exhales heavily, relieved at your words and nods, cupping the back of your head, “Alright, just breathe,” 

“What the hell happened?” Wooyoung says. 

“I know as much as you do,” San says, “just grab her stuff and let’s get inside,” 

“Yeah,” You hear Wooyoung moving, picking up your bag from the floor outside his apartment door, and then you hear it click shut. 

“y/n,” San tries again as you try to get your breathing under control, “can you tell me what happened?” 

“I t-talked to Yunho and Mingi,” You murmur wetly into his shirt. 

“What the fuck did those idiots do?” Wooyoung’s hand settles between your shoulder blades as he shifts closer to try and catch your eyes. 

“It’s a mess,” You manage. 

“Woo,” San says softly, “get her a glass of water,” 

“But,” Wooyoung starts. 

“Go.” San insists. 

Wooyoung’s hand leaves you. 

“y/n,” San says, “come inside and sit down,”

You peel yourself away from him, covering your face immediately as tears continue to roll down your cheeks, but San steers you inside with a warm arm until you’re sinking down onto the couch. 

“Water,” Wooyoung says, holding an icy cold glass in his hand and taking his spot on the extended length of the sectional so he can angle towards you and see your face, “drink this,” 

He presses the glass into your hands and you take a shaky sip, the cold shocking your brain a little as you try to get a little more down. 

San tugs the coffee table a little closer and takes a seat on the wood top and then leans forward to catch your eyes, elbows resting on his knees, “Can you tell us what happened?” 

You sigh deeply and then recover your breath, wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater, “They know,” 

“About this weekend?” San surmises. 

“Just Seonghwa,” You clarify, taking another sip of water, “they were so angry, I didn't want to tell them the rest,” 

“Fucking assholes,” Wooyoung curses, his jaw tightening as he looks away. 

“What else?” San’s voice is gentle, so unlike confident alpha tone you had gotten used to, “You can tell us,” 

“They… I mean, Yunho… he said that they,” The words get jumbled in your mind as you flash back to the studio room, “it’s all so fucked, they’re acting like this is…”

“Babe,” Wooyoung plucks the glass from your hands and passes it to San, returning his hands to yours so he can steady your shakes, “you’re not making a lot of sense, and I’m about two seconds from driving over to their place and castrating them. I need you to please tell me they didn’t do anything stupid,” 

“Youngie,” San sighs, exasperated. 

You shake your head, “No,” you manage, “they have feelings for me, they said… when they found out about my heat they were so…”

“Now?” Wooyoung’s eyebrows go high, “Now they have feelings for you?” 

“That’s basically what I said,” Your lips turn up in the smallest smile. 

“What else?” San cuts through the commentary. 

“If they had said something, anything weeks ago,” You trail off. 

“They didn’t though,” San reminds you, “and that’s on them. Not on you.” 

“So you fought?” Wooyoung surmises. 

You wipe your eyes again and nod, “It was awful,” 

“I’m sorry,” Wooyoung takes your hands in his, smoothing his thumbs over the back of your knuckles, “We all knew they might be upset, we shouldn’t have left you alone,” 

“I handled it,” You shake your head, the telltale feeling of a migraine coming on in the back of your skull from how many tears you’ve shed, “I… just - I don’t know why this is so hard,” 

San shifts forwards, cupping your cheek in his hand and soothing you, “How about you stay over tonight? We can order some takeout and just forget about this for now,” 

“I’ve got soju if you need a drink,” Wooyoung adds, “whatever you need, we’re here,” 

“I just want to know what to do,” You push San’s hands away and drag your fingers through your hair, “it shouldn’t be this hard,” 

“How did you leave it?” Wooyoung asks gently, hand on your knee. 

Yunho’s words in the hallway strike back through your chest, but you shake your head, “Kind of terribly,” 

“Okay,” He prompts you for a little more. 

“I told them to go on tour and to not contact me so we can get some space,” You say it in a single breath and then you duck your head in your hands again. 

“Damn,” Wooyoung grimaces. 

“I know,” You sniff back fresh tears, “maybe I should have stayed, but, I just… I couldn’t,” 

“y/n,” San pulls your hands down and takes them in his, smoothing his thumbs over the soft hollows of your palms, “you did the right thing. Space is good,” 

“Is it?” You said it, and in the moment you believed it, but months without speaking to them feels like torture. 

“It’s good,” He nods, wiping away your tears, “you need time to figure out how you feel and they need time to do the same. You’re never going to be able to get it if you’re working on top of each other every day,” 

You let San’s words sink in and you know he’s right. All of the talking and the not talking with them up to this point had just left your relationship a jumbled mess. Time away could fix this. You knew it deep in your gut in the studio as you backed out the door and you know it now. 

With a deep breath you scrub your hands under your eyes to clear away the last remnants of tears and any smudged mascara and you nod, “Woo,” you face him, “where’s that soju?” 

“On it,” He grins, “I know exactly what you need,” 

“Yeah?” 

“Mhm,” Wooyoung hops up and heads for San’s kitchen, “Beer, soju, and junk food. I’m making chapagetti,” 

You groan, knowing exactly what your body is going to feel like tomorrow.

“At least put some protein on it,” San calls back, “for the love of god,” 

“Sannie,” Wooyoung says, his head clearly in the fridge at the muffled tone, “just let me work my magic,” 

“Mhm,” San shakes his head. 

“I’m going to be so hungover tomorrow aren’t I?” 

“Definitely,” San laughs, “but you can crash here, we’ll take care of you.” 

You nod, knowing they absolutely will. 

When Wooyoung hands you the cold glass of beer and the shot you clink your glass with him and knock it back in sync and for a little while you put it all out of your mind. 

It isn’t until later, in the safe darkness of San’s bedroom with your best friends on either side of you, that you feel like the words might make it out of your mouth without it all ending around you. The alcohol in your system has started to dissipate, leaving you exhausted and a little heavy feeling, but your thoughts are starting to stitch back together and you just have to tell them. 

You’re snuggled tight to Wooyoung’s chest, your forehead pressed to his sternum, San behind you but not really touching you, just laying on his back and staying close enough to give you the comfort of another body. You can’t stop replaying it, seeing them when they realized you had been with not just someone else but someone they knew. 

You don’t know what possesses you, but in the darkness you murmur, “Mingi kissed me,” 

Wooyoung’s breathing hitches for just a moment as he registers your words, but he recovers cleanly, his fingers just running over your hair again and again, “When?” 

“Tonight,” You shift, pushing yourself to lie on your back between the two of them, “I think he was trying to show me he meant it,”

They let your words sit there for a moment, and then Wooyoung turns to look at you, “How do you feel about it?” 

“Stupid,” You exhale, answering honestly, “really fucking stupid,” 

“Why?” San props up on one arm, hand on his cheek and brow furrowed as he looks down at you. 

You feel the outline of his mouth on yours again, his hands and how they held you, how much he poured into one moment just to get you to understand. “Because,” You answer, “all I could think about was how much I missed him,” 

“y/n,” Wooyoung murmurs, “do you think they meant it? That their feelings are real?” 

“Maybe,” You say, “but the timing,” 

“Yeah,” 

“And besides,” You shake your head, “I said some things I shouldn’t have,” 

“Like?” San asks. 

“I told them they fucked it up,” You blink back tears, “and that we weren’t soulmates and that they’re wrong,” 

“Oh,” San says, “that’s direct,” 

“I know,” You groan, dropping your hands over your eyes, “I was just so angry,” 

“Space will be good then,” Wooyoung offers, “you all need a breather.” 

“There’s no easy way to work together when that’s how you left it,” San points out, “so time away gives you all a chance to rethink some things and get some clarity,” 

“What if,” The words die in your throat. 

“What?” San nudges you. 

“What if they come back and nothing’s fixed,” You sigh, “what if it’s worse?” 

“You won’t know it until it happens,” San takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together, “you can’t control everything, y/n, sometimes you just have to let things work out.” 

You nod, and then you ask the question you’ve been afraid of since you walked out the studio door, “Should I have just stayed? If… if they do have feelings for me, and they’re real, should I have just stayed?” 

“It would have been easier,” Wooyoung murmurs, “but babe, you’d still have the same questions,” 

“Yeah,” You breathe, stomach in knots.

“Tour is soon,” San reminds you, “you got through weeks of the cold shoulder last time, you can do this,” 

You nod. 

“It’s late,” Wooyoung comments. 

“I know,” You murmur. 

“It’s going to be okay,” San says, “I know it will.”

“You’re right,” You breathe, ���I just think it shouldn’t be this hard, if we were meant to work out, shouldn’t it be easier than this?” 

They’re quiet for a moment and then San sighs, “Probably,” 

Wooyoung turns and looks at him, his lips closing before he shrugs and rolls towards you, snuggling up to your side. 

“What?” You nudge him, reading through his silence. 

“Nothing,” He says. 

“Woo,” You nudge him harder. 

“I just think you shouldn’t close any doors,” 

“Mm,” 

“I’m just saying,” He wraps an arm around your middle, “take the break from them, see how you feel later. You’re overthinking this,”

San drags his thumb over your knuckles and Wooyoung shifts closer, resting his head on your shoulder. The quiet stretches around you as you take in his words. He might be right, but you can’t think about that now. Not with the day you’ve had and the headache behind your eyes. 

The fight plays over and over again in your mind every time you close your eyes, a loop of Mingi’s mouth on yours and Yunho’s eyes shining with tears. The feeling of their hands on you, begging you to stay. The look on their faces when they realized you had sought out another alpha for your heat, and not just any, but one of their best friends. You wonder what might have changed had you texted them back, who you might have met at the studio today instead. 

That’s not all it was for me. 

A little piece of you wishes you could take back everything you said. 

[enhastars]

THE RED ROOM જ⁀➴  CHAPTER FOUR

AT THE RESTAURANT, OCT 13

Y/N felt her stomach flip as she made her way to the back of the restaurant. Each step she took felt heavier than the last, as if the weight of her own dread was pulling her down. Her heart seemed to drop to the soles of her shoes, and her mind raced with a million possibilities about why Sunghoon had summoned her. The top contenders: he was either going to fire her, kill her, or maybe even both.

Before she realized it, she was standing in front of Sunghoon’s office door. Most of the locks were undone, which wasn’t much of a relief. Sweat trickled down her back in cold rivulets, and she wiped her forehead with her sleeve in an attempt to appear composed. If she was about to get fired, at least she wanted to look decent while it happened.

Raising her hand, she knocked lightly. Her fingers trembled with hesitation, and she was about to knock again when the sound of the lock turning startled her. The handle moved, and the door cracked open.

“Come in.”

The door creaked as she pushed it halfway open, her gaze glued to the floor. She didn’t dare meet Sunghoon’s eyes. The last thing she needed was to spiral into a full-blown panic attack under his intense stare.

“Here. Sit.”

Sunghoon’s words were short and to the point, and Y/N was grateful for his brevity. If he had said much more—or spoken any louder—she might have bolted out of the room entirely.

She sat down on a red leather chair in front of his desk, her fingers immediately moving to fidget with each other. It was an old nervous habit, one she hadn’t quite managed to break. Her head remained bowed, her eyes refusing to meet his.

“I need you to look at me, Y/N.”

His tone was sharper now, more commanding. Y/N hesitated, her eyes darting between her lap and the desk. She didn’t want to defy him any further, especially not after the events of earlier that day.

Slowly, she raised her eyes, meeting his gaze at last. The moment their eyes locked, her stomach churned with unease. Sunghoon’s irises gleamed with something she couldn’t quite place—delight? Satisfaction? But beneath that, there was a terror lurking in his expression that made her skin crawl. His wide, glazed brown eyes held a weight she couldn’t begin to fathom. Those eyes alone could kill someone, she thought, and she already felt like their victim.

There was also another sick feeling, deep within her that had found it attractive. While scared beyond her wits, the man in front of her was the most handsome man she had ever seen. She pushed these urges down though, beating herself up mentally for even thinking this way– as if Sunghoon could read her mind or something. 

“There you are.”

Sunghoon smiled then, wide but empty. The smile didn’t reach his eyes. Two gold frame teeth gleamed as his lips curled upward. Normally, she might have found the detail of the grillsl cool, but now it only unnerved her. His breath smelled faintly of fresh coffee, just like last time, and she concluded that he must be a caffeine addict.

She forced a small, awkward smile in response, though it looked more like a grimace. Her leg began to bounce unconsciously, the tension in the room making her feel like a cornered rabbit.

This is so uncomfortable, she thought. 

“Listen, I wanted to apologize for what happened earlier.”

Y/N blinked, surprised. She hadn’t expected him to bring it up at all.

“I was looking for something,” Sunghoon continued, “and I stumbled upon you sneaking around in the Cold Room.” He let out a soft chuckle, but there was no warmth in it.

“I—yeah, sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” Y/N stammered, clearing her throat nervously. She prayed silently that her apology would be enough to satisfy him.

“I forgive you.”

The words came so quickly and easily that she was caught off guard. Sunghoon even smiled—a genuine smile this time, not the eerie grin he usually wore.

“Wait—really?” she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief. 

He nodded, standing from his seat and downing the last of his espresso. Y/N hesitated, unsure of what to do, but eventually followed his lead and stood up as well.

“Come, I’ll give you a proper tour of the place.”

She stared at him in shock. She’d come here expecting to be fired, but instead, she was being offered a personal voyage of the restaurant.

“Wait, I don’t understand—”

Sunghoon didn’t give her the chance to finish. He was already striding out of the office, leaving her no choice but to follow quickly behind him. Her curiosity gnawed at her, but she stayed silent for now.

They passed by the interns lounging in the hallway, some scrolling aimlessly on their phones while others smoked in the corner. Everyone immediately straightened up the moment Sunghoon walked by, their eyes darting nervously toward him. Yet Sunghoon didn’t spare them a glance, his focus fixed straight ahead. The display of authority was both impressive and unsettling.

“There’s nothing really in the Freezers,” Sunghoon said as they galliantly entered the kitchen, which smelled like a heavenly oasis of spices. “I just don’t like people snooping around like they’re cops.”

He chuckled, and Y/N felt her stomach growl. She realized she’d barely eaten breakfast, and the aroma in the kitchen wasn’t helping.

“Sunghoon!” A voice called from nearby. Jungwon, the general manager, approached them with an exasperated look. His notepad and pen were in hand, his expression tired. “Riki’s been looking everywhere for you.”

“Has he?” Sunghoon sounded genuinely surprised.

Jungwon sighed, brushing past the two with barely a glance at Y/N. She didn’t blame him—he clearly had more important things to deal with.

As they continued toward the ventilation room, Sunghoon paused, glancing over his shoulder at her. “You trust me, right?”

Y/N hesitated, unsure how to respond. But eventually, she nodded. Her instincts screamed at her not to, but she figured it was best to stay on his good side. 

Sunghoon didn’t wait for a verbal response. He turned back to the door, entering a series of numbers into the keypad. His movements were deliberate, and he angled his body slightly, ensuring Y/N couldn’t see the code. She stood in tense silence as the lock clicked open.

Y/N expected something grotesque, something top secret and vulgar— she wasn't sure why, but anxiety usually made her think of the worst possible outcome. She was half expecting a serial killer to jump out behind the door, ready to slice her face in half and serve it on a platter. That was ridiculous though, so she quickly shoved the thought away. 

The door creaked as it swung inward, and a gust of cold air rushed out, chilling her to the bone. Sunghoon stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter.

Y/N hesitated, her heart pounding as she peered into the room. The fluorescent lights flickered slightly as her eyes adjusted. Taking cautious steps forward, she braced herself for the worst, imagining grotesque sights or hidden horrors.

Once her eyes adjusted to the bright lights and she finally took it all in, her jaw slackened in surprise. No way.

The room was completely empty.

Well, not completely. A couple of industrial freezers stood against one wall, and two vacant stainless steel tables were positioned in the center of the space. That was it. There were no hidden horrors, no bloody secrets waiting to be uncovered—nothing.

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. She’d let her imagination run wild, assuming the worst about Sunghoon when, in reality, the man was just overly cautious. Y/N felt a wave of guilt wash over her. She hadn’t said anything about her suspicions out loud, but she still felt like she owed him an apology.

“See? Nothing special.”

Sunghoon’s voice had a smug, “told-you-so” edge to it. He leaned against the doorframe, watching her with a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“I’m really sorry, I didn’t—”

Before she could finish, Sunghoon raised a finger to his lips, silencing her. His expression softened, but his body language said everything: I know. The simple gesture made her skin prickle with unease. It wasn’t just the unspoken understanding that he knew her thoughts—it was how confident he was about it. As if he could see straight through her.

“It’s okay,” he said, his voice calm and measured. “I know.”

With that, he stepped back into the hallway and pressed a new code into the keypad. The door locked with a soft beep, sealing the room once more.

Strangely, the pit in Y/N’s stomach didn’t go away. The sense of dread lingered, heavy and suffocating, even though she’d just seen for herself that there was nothing suspicious in the room. She shook her head, trying to push the feeling away.

Gut feelings don’t mean anything, she told herself firmly. I just need this job.

Sunghoon studied her closely as she stood there, lost in her thoughts. There was an almost playful tilt to his lips, seemingly enjoying the inner turmoil she was facing at that moment. Y/N caught a glimpse of that same devilish grin she’d seen before, and suddenly, a vivid image flashed in her mind. 

For a split second, she saw Sunghoon standing over her, his face smeared with blood. The walls around them were crimson, cracked, and lined with hanging bodies dripping with gore. His laugh echoed in her ears, distorted and inhuman, as he loomed over her like a predator over its prey.

She gasped, jerking herself out of the horrifying vision. Her hands balled into fists, her nails digging into her palms. She clenched her jaw, willing herself to calm down.

The image was horrid, and it left her mortified. She didn’t know where that sudden vision came from or why it happened, but it made her scared of the man all over again. 

Why am I acting like this? This is so stupid. Sunghoon was her boss, and he’d never shown any signs of being capable of something so monstrous. And yet, her body refused to listen to her brain.

All she knew as they left the room was that she didn’t trust him—not one bit.

The slam of a door jolted Y/N out of her spiraling thoughts. She whipped her head up, startled by the sudden noise. Sunghoon didn’t seem fazed at all, though his brow furrowed in mild annoyance.

“Oh, Jake and Jay should be here by now,” he said casually.

“Jake and… Jay?” Y/N repeated, blinking in surprise. She hadn’t expected to meet anyone else today, let alone two new people.

“Yep,” Sunghoon replied, his tone light. “They’re coming all the way from Busan, so they must be exhausted.”

Busan?

Her hometown?

She wanted to comment on the coincidence but decided against it, unsure if it was worth mentioning. Instead, she followed Sunghoon as he opened the door to the main kitchen.

The first thing she noticed was a short man with chestnut-brown hair, his doe eyes and mischievous grin giving him a puppy-like appearance. He was making obnoxious kissy noises at someone while flailing his arms dramatically.

“Baby, did you miss me?” he called loudly, earning an exasperated groan from the red-haired man beside him, who was clearly trying to avoid his advances.

Next to him was someone a bit taller, with an intimidating aura that left Y/n amazed. His sharp eyes were narrowed and his jaw was locked, making him look even scarier. His blue/black hair was neatly gelled up, with a few strands falling onto his face. It was like the sun and moon– how drastic the two’s personalities seemed. 

“I told you to stop calling me that!” Heeseung groaned, rejecting the happy guy’s advances and swatting at him with a wooden spoon. 

Y/N blinked, utterly baffled by the chaotic scene.

“They’re always like this,” The intimidating guy muttered, pinching his face in frustration. 

“God, you guys are so embarrassing.” Riki rolled his eyes, unfastening his tie and wrapping it around the hanger by the lockers. Even with his tie undone and his hair slightly disheveled, he still looked annoyingly handsome.

The intimidating guy turned around first, noticing Sunghoon with a girl basically hiding behind him. In a mere second, his face morphed from annoyed to pleased, a wide grin growing on his face. 

“Well there’s a new face.” His sharp eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Y/N.

This caused the rest of them to turn around, immediately straightening up at the sign of their boss. Sunghoon had such a presence that caused people to stop what they were doing and become attentive and obedient. Y/n found that kind of power very admiring. 

“Hey, hyung.”

Sunoo approached with his usual bright smile, now dressed in a clean set of clothes. He carried an air of calmness that made him seem immune to the chaos around him. Bowing respectfully to Sunghoon, he turned to Y/N and affectionately ruffled her hair.

Y/N felt her shoulders relax at the small gesture. Sunoo had an ease about him that made her feel safer whenever he was nearby.

“Sunoo, you don’t have to do that,” Sunghoon chuckled, his voice surprisingly light. The expression on his face was unlike anything Y/N had seen before—soft, warm, even affectionate. It was a side of him that didn’t match the sharp, commanding aura he usually exuded.

Heeseung appeared behind Sunoo, his own genuine smile lighting up his face. There was an undeniable camaraderie between them all, a comfort and closeness that made them seem more like lifelong friends than coworkers.

Growing up, Y/n was never the sociable type. She had a hard time making friends, so she didn’t have many in the first place. Guys would tease her relentlessly, while the girls were always cruel. The only friend she did manage to get had approached her first, and they’ve been inseparable since middle school– however they’re currently studying abroad in the U.S which left Y/n feeling more alone. She yearned for a family type bond with someone his whole life, as she was never given a chance– with her father being absent and her mother having disappeared at a young age. Seeing how comfortable everyone here was with each other, she had a sliver of hope that she too could become apart of it. 

“So, are you gonna introduce us to the pretty new girl or what?”

The puppy-like man—Jake, if Y/N remembered correctly—threw an arm around Sunghoon’s shoulders, grinning mischievously. Sunghoon brushed him off with a scoff, but there was no real annoyance behind it. She flushed at the compliment, brushing it off as just him being nice.

“Y/N, these are thing one and thing two,” Sunghoon said, his tone teasing as he gestured toward the two men.

The taller of the two—Jay—let out a sharp scoff, shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket.

“Park Jongsaeng,” Jay introduced himself, his sharp eyes glinting as he offered her a polite smile. “But I mainly go by Jay.” 

Y/N mirrored the gesture, bowing her head slightly. “The pleasure is all mine.”

Jay’s gaze flicked down to her outstretched hand, his head tilting slightly in confusion. Before Y/N could retract her hand in embarrassment, Jake burst into laughter, poorly stifling a snort with his fist.

“You’re supposed to shake it, idiot,” Riki chimed in from his perch on the counter, a wide, amused grin spreading across his face.

The silence that followed felt suffocating. Y/N straightened her posture, scratching the back of her neck in an effort to mask her embarrassment. Her ears burned, and she tried to hide her flushed face by tugging at her sleeves.

“She’s cute,” Jake giggled, glancing between Sunghoon and Jay.

Y/N caught the shared look between the three of them—subtle, but not subtle enough to go unnoticed. It was as if they were in on a secret that no one else was privy to. The thought left her both curious and uneasy.

“Sorry, shaking hands isn’t really my thing,” Jay said, breaking the silence with a shrug.

“Oh, it’s okay,” Y/N mumbled, still flustered.

Riki tutted sympathetically and hopped off the counter, walking over to pat her gently on the back. The simple gesture eased her nerves slightly, and she managed a small smile in return.

Riki and Sunoo were the only ones she felt remotely comfortable with so far. Sunoo had a protective, older brother vibe, and Riki exuded a laid-back confidence that was both calming and reassuring.

“Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but Jake, Jay, and I have some business to discuss,” Sunghoon said, cutting through the moment.

Jake groaned dramatically and flung himself at Heeseung, wrapping his arms around him in a clingy embrace.

“Work talk is boringgg,” he whined, earning a pained yelp from Heeseung as he tried to pry Jake off him.

“Jake, stop being annoying,” Jay snapped, his sharp tone enough to make Jake release his hold immediately.

The group began to disperse, understanding that whatever Sunghoon meant by “business” was not meant for their ears. Y/N, however, stayed rooted in place, her curiosity gnawing at her. What kind of “business” were they always disappearing to handle?

“Wanna help Riki-san wash dishes?” Heeseung asked, tossing her a pair of rubber gloves. They were stained and worn at the fingertips, but they’d have to do. “Shift’s almost over anyway.”

Y/N caught the gloves, nodding silently. It wasn’t like she had much of a choice, but she didn’t mind. Working alongside Riki didn’t seem like the worst way to end the night.

Riki shot Heeseung a pointed look. “Take it easy on her, okay?” he said, though he was smiling.

Heeseung shrugged, a playful smirk tugging at his lips as he walked away.

Y/N slipped on the gloves and joined Riki at the sink. He passed her a pot to scrub, and she worked quietly, her thoughts spiraling despite the comforting routine of washing dishes.

She couldn’t shake the lingering sense of unease that clung to her like a shadow. Sunghoon, Jay, and Jake all had an energy about them that felt... off. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but it gnawed at her, leaving her restless and distracted.

“Y/N,” Riki said softly, his voice pulling her out of her thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“You’re scrubbing the same spot over and over.”

Y/N glanced down at the pot in her hands, realizing with a jolt that she’d been absentmindedly scrubbing one area for who knows how long.

“Sorry,” she muttered, moving on to rinse the pot.

Riki studied her carefully, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “You sure everything’s okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, forcing a smile.

He didn’t look convinced, but let it go anyway. “If you say so.”

As Y/N scrubbed another pan, her thoughts drifted back to Sunghoon. Something about the way he carried himself—the way people froze when he walked into a room—made her both curious and wary. She didn’t trust him, not entirely. And she had a feeling that whatever “business” he was discussing with Jay and Jake wasn’t as straightforward as it seemed.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“So, she’s Choi’s daughter?” Jay asked, his voice low as he made sure no one else was within earshot. The three of them had left the kitchen and were now weaving their way through the narrow corridors of the offices toward the garage, where the shipments usually arrived.

The garage doors were rolled down, but tangerine rays of the setting sun seeped through the cracks, painting the dusty floor in warm hues. The faint golden light caught on their faces, highlighting the sharp tension in Sunghoon’s jaw. Stacks of packages loomed in uneven rows, their movements stirring the air and kicking up clouds of fine dust. The scent of dirt and motor oil clung to everything, but they were used to it by now.

Sunghoon’s demeanor was far removed from the laid-back, almost carefree persona he wore in front of the others. His brows were furrowed, his lips set in a thin, tight line.

“Yeah, that’s her,” he said, his voice clipped.

Jake let out a disbelieving laugh, leaning casually against one of the crates. “Wow. That was way too fucking easy.” He reached for the lever to the garage door, pulling it down to reveal the trucks waiting outside.

Sunghoon exhaled deeply, his shoulders sagging slightly. It had been too easy—almost unnervingly so. Y/N had fallen right into their hands, just as they’d hoped. The second her application crossed his desk, he hadn’t hesitated. She was perfect: unassuming, innocent, and far removed from the spotlight that followed her family.

“I liked her, she was cute. It’s too bad,” Jake added, a pout forming on his lips. He tended to get attached to people far too easily, a trait that Sunghoon often saw as both an asset and a liability.

Excitement practically radiated from Jake as he bounced on his feet, his energy palpable. “I’d totally ask her out too,” he said brightly, as if he hadn’t just been plotting her demise minutes ago.

Jay exchanged a wary glance with Sunghoon, his expression tinged with unease. Jake was always so happy-go-lucky that it was impossible to tell when he was serious or just playing around.

“You know we have to kill her, Jake,” Sunghoon said quietly.

Even though he knew it was the inevitable conclusion, the words tasted bitter on his tongue.

Jake rolled his eyes, waving a hand dismissively. “Of course I know, dude. But don’t you think she seems different? I mean, yeah, her dad’s an asshole, but she’s not like him.”

Sunghoon knew all too well about Mr. Choi. His uncle had drilled it into his head from the moment this job became a possibility. Choi was a self-made man, the epitome of a “rags-to-riches” story, and now one of the wealthiest businessmen in the country. Married into wealth, father of three, and adored by the public, he seemed untouchable.

But Sunghoon’s uncle had other plans.

It was all painfully simple. Choi was running for mayor—against Sunghoon’s uncle. The stakes were high, and both men had powerful support, but Sunghoon’s uncle wanted an edge. That’s where Y/N came in. She was the least public of the three children, making her disappearance easier to cover up. The eldest son was an executive at a tech company, and the middle daughter was an up-and-coming K-pop idol—both impossible to target without sparking nationwide outrage.

“I begged him not to do this,” Sunghoon murmured, more to himself than anyone else. His uncle’s words still echoed in his mind: “You do what you gotta do to survive in this world. Learn that from me, boy.”

And he had learned. Sunghoon, of course, didn’t enjoy killing for revenge, but he learned how to silence his conscience, to lock away the guilt that threatened to consume him every time he followed an order. He didn’t want to hurt Y/N—she was an innocent caught in the crossfire of her father’s ambitions. But what choice did he have?

“You think they’d be suspicious if she disappeared?” Jay’s question pulled Sunghoon from his thoughts.

They’d have to come up with some kind of believable story, maybe something about her running away. But the thought of lying to the others—Riki, Sunoo, Heeseung—made Sunghoon’s chest tighten. They had all been loyal to him, trusting him blindly. The thought of breaking that trust, of seeing Sunoo’s heart broken despair, Jungwon’s mortified face, Riki’s tears– was unbearable.

No, they don’t need to know everything. Everything was fine the way it was now.

Jay placed a hand on Sunghoon’s shoulder, his touch firm but oddly comforting. He seemed to sense the turmoil swirling inside him.

“If anyone deserves to know,” Jay said softly, “it’d be Heeseung.”

Sunghoon nodded reluctantly. Heeseung had been with them the longest—longer than anyone else. He was the glue that held their group together, the steady presence they all relied on. But the thought of Heeseung finding out what Sunghoon had done—what they were still doing—sent a cold chill through him.

If Heeseung knew what his signature Korean beef bulgogi was really made of, what would he do? What would he say? Sunghoon didn’t want to imagine it.

Strangely enough, he didn’t feel any remorse, and he was slowly feeling like Jake and Jay weren’t either. It made him feel like shit, in all honesty. Like he was some kind of monster that brainwashed them. He probably was a monster. Their transformation from when he first met them satisfied but also terrified him– how much human nature can change under the right conditions was jarring.

A tapestry of disaster were the men that stood before him, and Sunghoon was the painter. Whether he should feel honored or burdened, he wasn’t sure. 

“Well,” Jay said, snapping him back to reality, “it’s either Y/N dies, or we face the wrath of your uncle.” He let out a humorless laugh.

“Both of those choices can suck my dick,” Jake quipped, earning a startled laugh from Sunghoon.

“Oh my god, I did not need that visual,” Jay groaned, his laughter turning into a sigh.

“Count this as revenge for that lasagna comment earlier,” Jake shot back, grinning mischievously.

Sunghoon usually reminisces on moments like these, but the notion from earlier still lingers. He hates holding secrets from people, and he had had to hold many throughout his life. Jay was right; Heeseung was clever and will probably catch onto their schemes sooner or later, so why not lay it on him while he's still oblivious? Sunghoon faced many dilemmas in his life, but this was by far his trickiest one. 

“What? Cat got your tongue?” Jake was relentless, but Jay didn’t return the humor this time. While Sunghoon was deep in his thoughts– like always– Jay had gone behind the trucks to open the cargo space since he was impatient waiting for the rest of them to arrive. 

“Hello? Earth to Jay?” Jake called, his voice tinged with concern.

Jay didn’t respond. His eyes were wide, his hands frozen in place as he stared into the back of the truck.

Sunghoon’s stomach dropped. “What is it?”

Jay finally turned to face them, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s empty. There’s… nothing here.”

Sunghoon’s heart began to race. He pushed past Jake to see for himself, and his breath caught in his throat. The cargo space was completely bare—spotless, as if it had been wiped clean. Jake stood frozen, his hands tangled in his hair.

“We are in such deep shit.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

author note: sorry the slow burn is slow burning 🙏 i promise sunghoon's romance with y/n will hasten, i'm just taking time to establish their relationship bc angst hehhee. also, jake and jay is such an iconic duo name im obsessed with the '02 liners <3 hope you guys enjoyed!

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taglist: @rebeccaaaaaaaa, @strxwbloody, @shuichi-sama, @pshbites

[djloveyou3000]

Belladonna

Chapter three

Bell hesitated, their gaze locked with Russell’s, feeling the suffocating weight of his presence. They were alone, and the room felt smaller by the second. Fear flickered in their chest, mingled with an inexplicable pull toward the man standing so close.

Russell stepped even closer, his voice low and coaxing. “Don’t you trust me, Bell? I thought you cared about me. Don’t you know I just want to protect you? To know you?”

Bell’s breath hitched as his hand came up to cup their cheek, his touch warm but firm, almost possessive. “I gave you my memories of Nam—even the good ones. I didn’t have to, but I wanted to. For you.” His thumb brushed their skin, his eyes locking them in place. “So why not do the same for me? Let me in, Bell.”

Bell’s mind raced. What’s the harm? He’s just worried about me… he cares. But then came the nagging whisper: Maybe he cares too much.

Russell, sensing their resistance weakening, leaned closer, his tone softening to something almost tender. “You know I want what’s best for you. I care about you. I just don’t want anyone else to take advantage of you—or your memories.”

And then, the words that broke through Bell’s defenses entirely: “I love you.”

Bell froze, their eyes widening as tears began to well up. It was the first time he’d said those words, and they hit harder than they’d ever expected. The tears spilled over, and Russell’s thumb moved to wipe them away with a satisfied look.

“There, see? You’re listening to me. No brainwashing. Just you and me.”

Before Bell could say anything, his lips were on theirs—needy, hungry, and possessive. Bell’s resolve crumbled as they found themselves giving in, their hands clutching his jacket, the kiss deepening.

When they finally pulled apart, both were breathing heavily, a string of saliva briefly connecting their lips. Bell felt their cheeks burn, embarrassed by how easily they’d melted under him, while Russell, his face faintly flushed, smirked with quiet triumph.

“So,” Russell murmured, his tone lighter but still holding an edge of command. “That journal?” He winked, his smirk growing.

Bell, still reeling, snapped out of it and rolled their eyes, playfully smacking his shoulder. “You’re impossible,” they muttered, trying not to smile.

Russell mockingly winced. “Ouch. Careful, Bell. I’m fragile.”

Bell turned and began walking toward the room where they’d kept the journal. “Like I said at the party, it’s all jumbled,” they said over their shoulder, trying to keep the mood light.

Russell followed close behind, his gaze darkening for a moment as his smirk twisted into something more predatory. Baby steps, he thought to himself. Baby steps. He quickly smoothed his expression when Bell glanced back at him.

Bell beamed, the excitement in their voice almost childlike. “Hey, after we piece things together, we can share some of the memories with the others! Wouldn’t that be great?”

Russell’s jaw tightened, but he forced a smile. “Sure, beautiful. Let’s get started.”

Bell grinned and opened the door to the room, grabbing the journal while Russell stood in the doorway, watching them intently. His mind churned with plans, carefully concealing his true intentions behind a charming facade.

They’ll come around, he thought. One step at a time. This is my Bell. They just don’t fully realize it yet.

[leighsartworks216]

Death Bed

Julian Devorak x gn!Reader/Apprentice

I transcribed almost an entire chapter of Julain's route just for this 💀 I want the Apprentice to react more when they find out they died. Like, THEY DIED let them cry about it

Title from "death bed (ft. beabadoobee)" by Powfu

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, crying, mental breakdown, coming to terms with dying, death, spoilers for Julian's route

Word Count: 1,395

Masterlist

AO3

“So… um, so.” Julian shifts a book in line with the rest, fiddles with the fraying edge of the spine, and slides it back out to shift the order around some more. “Well, it worked. I met the Hanged Man, got the rest of my memories back, got my cure, and…” 

He scratches mindlessly at the pressed together pages, brow furrowing. It’s like he wants to look over, but knows doing so would make what he wants to say even harder.

“Listen, uh, just stay calm and listen to me, okay? I found out that… that…”

His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again, before he bites his lip.

You take in a quiet breath. “That you knew me… and I died?”

His head whips up in a flash. Wide eyes stare at you. “Wh… How did…? I was psyching myself up to tell you that and you already knew?”

You could almost laugh at his shock. At the look on his face.

But a waver at the back of your throat prevented anything as joyful as that from forming. You swallowed before saying, “I didn’t know. Not until today.”

He blinks cluelessly at you.

“I saw you, in the Hanged Man’s realm. I couldn’t call out to you, I couldn’t reach you, but… I heard everything.”

You can see the realization dawn on his face, in the way his eyes widen and soften with sympathy. “Are you… are you okay?”

Your mind spins.

Are you okay?

This morning, maybe you could say you were. Even as Julian was being carted away to be hanged, as his eyes gaze across the crowd and locked onto you. As his body fell out from under him. You could have bit your cheek, sucked it up for a moment more, clinging to the hope his plan would work.

You could watch him die, and still hold on just enough to reassure Portia that he would be okay.

But this?

Every time the thought reaches the forefront of your mind, your head spins. A headache presses at your temples, your stomach churns, your heart feels off-beat. How… How can you be okay?

You shake your head weakly, eyes falling from his face, vision unfocused as hot tears begin pooling too quickly to try stopping them. “No. I… no, I’m not.”

His words sound distant. All you’re aware of is his cool hand touching your shoulder, guiding you down to the ratty old cot taking up space in the small cell. The way his hands glide around you, pulling you into his chest.

And all at once, you finally break.

Harsh sobs shake you to your core as you hug him back. The fabric of his shirt becomes a prisoner in your tight grip, tugging desperately to pull him closer and closer.

His hand cups the back of your head, guiding your face to his neck. He whispers reassurances - mindless platitudes to try distracting your mind from the terrible truth to your missing memories. Kisses planted sweetly at your temple and hairline.

“Who-” You have to gasp for air. Your lungs burn with the next sob, especially as you try to stifle it down against his skin. “Who was I?”

He stiffens under you, and squeezes you tighter in his hold.

That person you used to be… You’d never know them. When at one time, all you knew was yourself, suddenly that rug has been ripped out from under you. Is who you are now- are you even you? Would your past self have become this? Were you them anymore? Did you share anything with them anymore?

And all those memories. All those days, all that time spent living just… gone. Did you used to think of your parents on holidays? Were you even close enough to them to think of them? Were they even alive? You know your shop belonged to your aunt, but you don’t even remember her anymore.

How many childhood memories bathed in golden nostalgia are lost now? How many friends did you used to have, now faded into obscurity?

God, friends. You tried so hard to be kind to all of the vendors at the market, but they all stared at you so warily. No matter what you tried, they were always on edge, always whispering behind your back. Even the baker had his moments of unease toward the beginning of your newest memories. Asra was the only friend you had. For so long. Who else had come before him?

And Julian! You’d known him! Worked as his apprentice! Were you friends then? Did you drink Salty Bitters at the Rowdy Raven together back then? Did you share secrets late in the night? Did you welcome him at work with a cup of coffee? Or did you drift through life back then, too? Keeping a practical distance between you both, staying professional, never anything deeper than that.

You press your face further into his shoulder. You can’t imagine it. You can’t imagine not being as close to Julian as you are now. All the adventures and laughter and love…

But you wish you could remember it. Just for a moment.

Julian brushes your hair back, humming a song out of tune by your ear. You wonder how long he’s been humming for, you didn’t even notice when it began. You focus on the melody, however butchered it may be from years of singing shanties with pirates. If you listen carefully, imagining what it should sound like, you think it may be a lullaby.

The more you listen, the more aware of your body you become. Your skin is warm where he rubs up and down your back. His other hand is gloveless, though you don’t know when he removed it. It tangles softly in your hair, scratching gently at your scalp, sending tingles that mix with your trembling body to form goosebumps along your arms.

His chest rumbles as he hums. You’re pressed close enough to feel it vibrate through you, too. When the song pauses and he inhales, you feel it, too. You can hear it by your ear, the sharp intake of breath.

You remember the sight of him dangling by the neck. You couldn’t tear your eyes away when they waited for him to die.

But he’s not dead now.

You bring a hand around to rest on his chest. He pauses briefly, head shifting as he tries to see what you’re doing, but he doesn’t completely stop. His skin isn’t cold as death, it’s just cool. Underneath, you can feel the powerful beating of his heart. Its steady rhythm is persistent.

Your tears slow, until the leftover drops stick to your eyelashes. Your body stops shaking with the force of your despair. His hand slows to a stop on your back, melody petering off to welcome the silence of the dungeon once more. He kisses your temple.

“Are you alright?” he whispers hesitantly.

Are you?

You take a deep breath. The lingering smell of coffee and the sea greets you.

You nod slightly. Your voice is crackly and raspy as you speak, fragile. “I think so.”

He lets you pull away when you’re ready. You can’t stand the thought of leaving too wide of a gap, though. So your hand remains on his chest, over his heart. There’s a kind understanding in his eye as he covers it with his own.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you back then,” he apologizes. “You needed me and I wasn’t there. I failed you.”

You shake your head, cutting him off. “You’re here for me now.” You muster up a weak smile. “That’s what matters.”

His shoulders sag a little with relief. He lets go of your hand to cup your cheek, wiping away the drying tears with his thumb, before drawing you forward and kissing your forehead once more. It’s easy to close your eyes and sink into the affection. Knowing how close you have both been to dying for good, it feels precious. It is precious.

But it’s all too soon when he pulls away, brows taught with seriousness. Too many questions are left unanswered. Too many things hinge on Lucio not coming back. For as much as you want nothing more than to linger in stolen moments forever, it will have to wait.

You won’t let this plague come back.

You can’t.

[theladyofbloodshed]

Hunt x Nesta - Chapter 8

The sounds of the shower roused Hunt from sleep. Since Nesta had discovered that her cell could access music at any moment, she was unstoppable. A symphony blasted through the wall; violins were reaching their crescendo alongside a barrage of brass instruments that were accompanied by a flurry of percussion. Then the cannons came as she turned off the shower.

Releasing a groan, he rolled onto his side to check his cell. Eight messages. All from Nesta at various points in the morning whilst he still slept. Each one made him laugh.

‘Hey, when you text, you don’t need to write an address line or a sign off. I know it’s from you because I have your contact saved,’ he explained as she entered with a towel wrapped around her body.

‘What do you mean?’

Hunt motioned for her cell that was churning out another classical song. ‘What am I saved as?’

Nesta paused the music. ‘I don’t know. Plus five zero five eight two-’

He yelped like he’d been shot and threw himself down. ‘You didn’t even save my number? Do I mean nothing?’

‘I don’t know how.’

With Ruhn’s number, he showed Nesta how to save it. He pulled a photo from the web of Ruhn being arrested before he was legal to drink – of course, his daddy had the charges scrubbed but the photo remained – and saved him as the Prince of Pricks.

‘There, now try with me.’

A devious smile flitted over her lovely face as she stood in the middle of the room typing at the speed of a snail.

‘That index finger is getting quite a workout,’ he commented.

Surprising him, she raised her middle finger.

For the second time that morning, Hunt collapsed back onto the pillows, laughter rumbling out of him. ‘Who the Hel taught you that?’

‘We have that in my world.’ She flashed the phone towards him.

His contact name had been updated to Orion Athalar – my favourite angel along with as many emojis as the name would allow. The picture was of him shirtless with ridiculously fluffy wings.

‘You said you’d deleted those, liar.’

‘I’m leaving today. I need a memory to keep.’

‘You’re taking the cell with you to plug in where exactly?’

Nesta shrugged and pressed it to her chest. ‘I will invent electricity in my world so I can always look at these photographs.’

There was no doubt in his mind that Nesta could do anything that she set her mind to. He couldn’t help but wonder what sort of person she’d be if she stayed in Lunathion. They’d stayed up late in each other’s arms talking for hours; Nesta had wanted to know everything about him and the land she was leaving behind. They’d talked about university for over an hour with Nesta needing to know what could be studied, what the fees were, who could study, when it could be studied, and what happened upon graduation. Hunt had listened to her talk about Prythian but most of it left him seething. Nesta couldn’t tell him anything about the place she lived because they stuck her in a fucking house and cut off her funds so that she was entirely dependent on the king and his lackey. That one, Cassian, he’d quite like to meet so he could knock him into next week. She’d grown upset when she talked of her sister whose pregnancy would cause her death. Beyond kidnapping a couple of surgeons and a midwife, Hunt didn’t know what to do to help. The male, Cassian, who forced her on a hike as punishment for telling her sister the truth deserved to be punched. He didn’t like any of these fae males, but this one sounded like the worst.

He'd even come clean about Micah and the awful things he did to inch towards freedom. In a way, Hunt wanted her to be repulsed or to pull away then at least it would soften the blow of her departure. But this damn female just said that she understood why he did it and held him a little tighter.

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?’

Nesta snickered. ‘Don’t tempt me, Hunt.’

It wouldn’t be that hard to adjust. He’d grown up in a time when technology was near enough non-existent then emerged from a dungeon and everybody had cell phones or were driving cars. He’d cope again going backwards. Anything was possible with her at his side. But maybe Hunt would cause a few too many fights with the fae that ruled her.

‘Just stop letting them put you in danger and using you. Or I’ll fly all the way there and kick their asses.’

Hunt sat her down on the edge of the bed to start drying her hair. She was nervous about him doing it although he thought he did a fabulous job of his own. Truly, he was desperate to do it. Nesta was leaving back to a world where the male that she was tangled with didn’t seem to care for her at all. He needed to show her that males could be gentle – that it was a choice not to be caring. He wanted to dry her hair and take care of her because that was a male’s duty – not fucking her then leaving with his seed still dripping from her.

Vik was expecting them when Hunt took Nesta through a private entrance into the Comitium that was strictly for workers only. Worker was laughable. The slave’s entrance was a better name for it.

‘The sword and the Harp as promised. And I don’t need to remind either of you that it would be a good idea for Nesta to return today, do I?’

‘No, mom,’ Hunt replied, kicking her boot lightly.  

‘And I needn’t advise you that walking through Lunathion with a sword will likely have you arrested.’

Hunt frowned. ‘Danika Fendyr and Ruhn Danaan do it.’

‘They’re leaders of the aux and will be the heads of their species one day,’ Vik said.

Sensing Hunt was about to argue with Vik, Nesta rested a hand on his forearm. ‘I’d rather spend my last hours here with you rather than in an interrogation room.’

‘I’d still be there. We can play cops and robbers.’

‘Gross,’ muttered Vik before she turned back to her computer.

For once, Nesta had left most of her hair down. She’d pulled it from her temples with a twist and a couple of hair pins. Paired with a pale blue summer dress, she was utterly stunning. But his dreams of strolling through Lunathion with her again hit a snag when Micah’s name flashed on his cell.

‘You should answer that,’ she said, peering at the name.

‘I want this day with you.’

Nesta pushed the phone towards him. ‘I’d be glad for time with my thoughts. Answer that. Do whatever it is you need to do. We can meet later.’

‘I’ll fly those to the hotel,’ he said, gesturing to her returned items.

Nesta kissed his fingers then strode into the sun, hips swaying as she went.

***

How many different ways could Nesta try to convince Hunt to leave with her – or for him to ask her to stay. She didn’t want to impose. She’d done that enough already on his life. But if Hunt asked her to stay… No, she couldn’t. Feyre was dying. What sort of sister would she be if she left her in those final moments?

Nesta sighed.

The same sister they all believed her to be; worthless, spoilt, and needing redemption.

A shadow bumped into her arm then a figure took up the seat beside her on the bench. Ruhn Danaan wore his typical black jeans and t-shirt with a pair of sunglasses to protect his hungover eyes from the bright sunlight.

‘It’s very loud,’ he said, wincing.

Children were playing at the park where Nesta’s feet had taken her to. Their squeals and joy made her think of the children who never stood a chance in Prythian; the ones who were exposed to war, Illyrian girls who were clipped and beaten.

‘I didn’t think you would come.’

‘And miss the chance to say goodbye?’

Following Hunt’s advice, Nesta had sent a text that merely asked Ruhn to meet her – and she received a reply asking who it was in return. Then another saying if they had once had a date, he wasn’t the sort of guy to want to settle down and he was sorry.

‘I need to return this.’ Nesta held out Tristan Flynn’s credit card. ‘I’d like to keep the cell phone. If that’s alright.’

‘Of course you can. Flynn will be devastated you gave this to me and not him.’

A messenger otter scurried along then stopped in front of Ruhn, brandishing a letter. Nesta couldn’t stop her fawning.

‘Tharion Ketos. What a weasel,’ he muttered, pocketing the letter.

‘I wish we had those.’

‘Mer?’

Nesta tutted. ‘Otters. We have otters, but not ones that wear little jackets and deliver letters.’

Ruhn gave a slight laugh then folded his arms over his chest. He looked at her, really looked at her. ‘You don’t want to go back, do you?’

Everything suddenly felt hot and painful. Nesta tipped her face upwards, blinking as quickly as she could to keep from crying. Ruhn stroked her bare arm.

‘I can’t sugar coat it. My father will not stop until he finds out who you are. You’re technically under his jurisdiction as one of the fae. Hunt is a slave – there isn’t much he can do for you. If Micah sells his ass to Sandriel, he won’t be here.’ Ruhn winced. ‘Is it really better here for you than there?’

Yes, she thought. Because I can be somebody here. I can study and learn and be my own person without history trailing me. And I’d have Hunt.

‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘I know I have to.’

‘Let me walk you back to your hotel at least.’

Despite the beauty of the day, Nesta had gone cold and hollow with every step closer to the hotel.

Nesta steeled her wounded heart. She held the pieces together even if they felt like they would shatter from the force. It wasn’t fair.

‘How much would it cost to buy Hunt?’

Ruhn let out a whistle. ‘The Umbra Mortis?’

‘What if I offered my Harp or my sword?’

‘It might sweeten the deal but Hunt Athalar is one of a kind.’

Visions of her putting on the Mask or Crown and forcing Micah to release Hunt to her came to Nesta. It was a bad idea, but a tempting one. There had to be some way for them to be together. Maybe destiny was forged by their own hands.

‘That Harp of yours,’ Ruhn said. ‘It wouldn’t be related to the Horn, would it?’

‘Why would it be?’

Ruhn shrugged. ‘It’s just that the Horn went missing the other day. I came to see you just afterwards and you looked pretty panicked. Then Athalar appeared looking sweaty just after there was a freak lightning storm at Luna’s Temple.’

‘How odd.’

‘Odd indeed.’

On an instinct, Ruhn grabbed the strap of her dress with two fingers at the edge of a busy road without a crossing. Nesta hadn’t quite mastered it yet, but she knew not to walk out now – but his care was appreciated.

‘I heard it’s broken anyway,’ Nesta said with an airy tone. ‘It wouldn’t be any use to the person who now has it.’

‘Unless they knew how to create Made items like a magic sword that doesn’t like me.’

‘What would it mean if there was somebody in Lunathion who could create Made items – theoretically, Ruhn?’

The hotel came into view and they slowed their pace to finish their theoretical conversation. Ruhn pretended to stroke an imaginary beard then slung an arm around her as they walk so he could lean towards her ear and speak in a whisper.  

‘If the Asteri knew there was somebody with those powers in Lunathion, they’d be the public’s most wanted. And Hunt Athalar would be ordered to bring them in dead or alive. I don’t think that theoretical person would want the Umbra Mortis in that situation, would they?’

There was no telling if Hunt could disobey direct orders although she knew he’d try. For her, he’d try. And she couldn’t do that to him.

At the doors to the hotel, they stopped opposite each other. Amidst the vibrant colours of his tattoos, Nesta could make out damaged, scarred skin.

‘I’m sorry that it can’t be the way you want it.’

Nesta offered a half-smile that felt like a veneer slapped over a rotting foundation. ‘Do any of us ever get what we deserve?’

‘Maybe in another life.’

This was her other life, her other chance. When Ruhn embraced her, she didn’t know how to respond because the males here treated her with kindness without expectation.

‘I’ll tell Flynn you love him. He can peddle that story about unrequited love to simpering females.’

‘Goodbye Ruhn.’

***

Five names. Five names for him to kill.

Hunt felt sick from it. Sick with himself. Because five on one night was more names than he usually had in half a year. He shouldn’t rejoice in death, but it would shave off a little more of his debt.

He was wrong for it. Wrong for being glad that he could exchange a life for his debt.

Nesta deserved better than that. Better than a slave. A killer. A worthless male.

When he met her in the hotel room, he didn’t mention that he could smell Ruhn Danaan on her clothes despite her desire to spend time alone. He’d let her keep that secret if he could keep his. She might have held him last night and waved away his debt to Micah as something he couldn’t control, but it was Hunt’s action that led him to this point. Nobody forced him to lead a rebellion. And it wasn’t just killing. A single bullet to the head was merciful; the sorts of death Micah had him enact would send Nesta running from him.

Hunt bundled up his grief and disgust. He could hold it back for a few hours. Give her a good few hours before she returned. Let Nesta go home beneath a golden sky rather than his storm.

‘I did something. I think.’

Nesta held out the Horn to him which was glowing with an iridescent light. Faintly, he could feel a thrum of magic through his core.

‘How?’

‘The sword is a Made item. Made by me. I was Made by the Cauldron then took its power.’ Nesta swallowed then looked at him. ‘I fixed it Hunt. It can open to new worlds. It’s a safer bet than the Harp. I fixed it.’

‘If anybody could fix a relic that is thousands of years old, it would be you,’ he said, rubbing his thumb along her cheekbone.

Every now and then, a silver flame would skitter across the instrument that she clutched in her hands. The Harp would hum in unison with it. Whoever – whatever – Nesta was, Hunt didn’t care.

‘Are you going to blow it?’

Despite her nod, Nesta didn’t move for a while, just stared at him with wide eyes.

‘It’s alright if you’re scared. I’ll be with you.’ He kissed her forehead and the Horn buzzed between them like a hornet. ‘I’m talking to Nesta, not you.’

*** ‘Ready?’ She wanted Hunt to call it off, to tell her to stay at his side until the stars fell. No matter his warnings about the Asteri or Micah or the Autumn King, none of it could be as bad as what was waiting for her in Prythian. A vengeful queen, a sister who was to die, and a high lord who only wanted her to suffer. It didn’t matter what danger she faced in Lunathion because with Hunt at her side, anything was possible. There was no storm they couldn’t weather together.

Hunt squeezed her knee. ‘Ready. To the stars.’

Pursing her lips, Nesta touched the horn to her lips and blew.

A pathetic, raspberry echoed through the horn.

She glanced at Hunt, heat building in her cheeks, and saw that he was screwing his face up. After a moment, he burst into riotous laughter.

‘What was that?’ He asked between his booming laugh.

She found herself laughing in answer, infected by his merriment. ‘I’ve never blown a horn before. I don’t know how to do it.’

Hunt slapped his thigh, trying to right himself. ‘Not like that!’

The pair of them lost it. Whatever tension had been clinging to the room soon evaporated as Nesta tried again and again to put her lips towards the horn. Each time she pouted or made a trumpeting noise, Hunt roared with laughter, setting her off too.

‘Stop looking at me because you’re putting me off.’

Tears rolled down Hunt’s cheeks. He squeezed his eyes shut although a large grin spread across his handsome face.

Nesta pulled out her phone and searched how to blow a horn. In a world where knowledge was at her fingertips, it seemed terribly wasteful not to utilise it.

‘Maybe the Horn is still broken, Starlight.’

But it couldn’t be because her magic had been drawn to it and the Horn had been buzzing with possibilities since.

‘I can do it,’ she insisted.

‘I know you can,’ he replied, touching her leg again. ‘Not looking again.’

Easing out a breath, Nesta formed her lips in the shape her cell phone told her to. A low, well-held note emitted from the top of the horn.

Hunt whispered her name.

Near the wall, a great portal had opened, its edges rimmed with her silver flames. Rather than offering a view of Crescent City, Nesta saw into the library in the House of Wind. There was her favoured arm chair with the foot rest pulled close by. A little stack of books that she’d pulled out a couple of weeks earlier was upon the three-legged table.

‘You did it,’ he praised, stroking her cheek. ‘Is there anything you can’t do, you wonderful girl?’

Nesta grasped for him, too emotional to speak. Her hands reached for his face, pulling it to hers to kiss one final time. Strands of his hair fell onto her cheek as they kissed and she stretched out a hand to brush the inside of his wing one last time.

‘Mother above, what the fuck.’

She leapt away from Hunt, startled by the voice.

Lucien Vanserra stood in the library opposite them, peering into the hotel room, a full cup and saucer held in his hand.

Hunt braced his legs then lightning wreathed his body.

‘No,’ Nesta urged. ‘This is my sister’s mate.’

His voice took on a lethal edge. ‘This is Rhysand?’

‘Definitely not,’ called Lucien.

‘Elain’s mate. The eye.’

‘The eye,’ confirmed Hunt, finally taking in the golden eye and the scar rippling down Lucien’s face which was paler than usual.

‘We thought you were dead or kidnapped or trapped in the Prison.’

‘Surprise,’ Hunt said drily.

They passed the bag through first to test it. Lucien, baffled and muttering to himself, waited on the Prythian side to accept it. Maybe it was odd to keep all of the clothes from Lunathion as they’d have no place, but Nesta didn’t want to part with anything from her week there. Everything was taken from her in the war, so she wanted to keep this.

When the Harp and Atraxia were passed through safely, she said it was her turn.

The portal was too high for her step through easily so Hunt lifted her over it and Lucien, gingerly, accepted her on the other side, lowering her to the floor as if she was a sack of potatoes.

‘I think if I blow the Horn again, it will close it.’

She lifted it near to her lips. ‘Don’t make me laugh this time.’

‘It’s my last chance. I have to,’ Hunt insisted, brown eyes sparkling with joy.

But when Nesta did press the Horn closer, the amusement drained from Hunt’s expression, accepting it was the end.

A single note emitted and the flames collapsed in on themselves, leaving Nesta with a view of the tall windows in the library. She dropped the Horn then sank to her knees and wept.

[yanphobia]

Athazagoraphobia - Chapter 8

Athazagoraphobia: The fear of forgetting, and being forgotten.

Pairing: Yandere Male Merman OC x Reader

Warnings (for the entire story): Yandere, Horror, Graphic Discriptions of Injury and Death, The Ocean, Body Horror, NonCon Touching, Dubcon, Female Reader, Extreme Dead Dove Do Not Eat

Chapter 7 Index Chapter 9

Author's Note: Yearly update ig @creepysweetie @my2phetaliaheadcanons @smolnuggie911 @spicylove4ever @acaribeau @mel-vaz

Lotan's grip on your arm tightened, pulling you deeper into the endless void of the ocean’s depths. His movements were erratic, driven by some darker emotion you couldn’t quite place. In the oppressive darkness, the silence between you stretched out, thick and suffocating. The sounds of your desperate breathing and the rush of the water around you were all that remained.

When he finally slowed his pace, you barely had the strength to keep your eyes open. The cold water seemed to settle in your bones, dragging you further into the numbness you’d come to rely on. You had been drifting for so long — physically, emotionally, mentally — trying to block out the horror of your situation. But now, it was impossible to ignore.

Lotan turned to face you. His eyes — such dark, fathomless depths — bore into you, and you were paralyzed in place. There was no escape from the tension, no more dissociation, no way to pull away from him in your mind.

“Why don’t you tell me what you did?” His voice was low, angry, but there was something else there — something raw. If you trusted your instincts, then you’d say it felt like the edge of panic.

You swallowed thickly, your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth. You were shaking.

“I-I didn’t mean any harm,” you managed to choke out, hating the lie as it left your mouth. “I just wanted to introduce myself. To- to the colony. I didn’t think—”

“Introduce yourself?” His laugh was sharp, cutting through the water like a blade. It made your stomach churn. “Did you think they’d just let you in like that? You think I’d let you just- swim up to them, all innocent and naïve? Did you really believe they wouldn’t see you for what you are?”

Each of his words felt like a punch to the stomach, with the lingering taste of bloody water in your mouth only amplifying the sensation. You closed your eyes, but there was no escape. Not from him, not from this. You couldn’t go back to the shore, couldn’t go back to Sammy, couldn’t go back to your mother. You couldn’t even close your eyes without seeing his face, his terrifying smile, his grip tightening around you.

He continued, his tone growing darker. “You thought you could just ask for help? That they’d listen to you? You’re not one of them. You never were… and you never will be!”

You flinched as his fingers dug into your skin. You tried to pull away, but there was nowhere to go. You were stranded out here, out in the wilderness… and Lotan was the only one who would ever give you a second thought. Such a dire realization made you so tired, too numb to fight. All you could do was listen as Lotan’s words began to unravel in a slow, suffocating cadence.

“I watched you for so long,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost reverent. “Back when you were… human. You were so different, so… free. So beautiful. I couldn’t stop watching you. I needed to see what it was like. To be close to you. To understand you. I thought that, maybe, if I could just be close enough, you’d finally see me. That you’d finally understand…"

The words hung in the water, swirling around you like a dark cloud.

“It was so awful, so you know… being the weakest one. Out here, they don’t care about how - how kind you are. They don’t… if you’re smaller, or weaker, than the other males… no one will want to mate with you. No matter what I would do, how affable I was, none of the females would have me…! I -”

He stopped for a minute to compose himself before returning his attention to you.

“I thought you were different. I knew you were! Humans are so much more - they’re - you -!”

He needed to catch his breath again. His claws dug into your forearms - even though your skin was much tougher now than it had been as a human, the pain was intense. You meekly uttered his name in an attempt to stop him, which seemed to snap him back to reality.

“You’re so much better than them,” he said, his gaze boring into you, “from the moment I saw you swimming, nearly a decade ago, I knew that you were my chance.”

His eyes softened, but there was a twisted, ill-concealed intensity in them, one that made your stomach churn. “You were the answer to my loneliness. You were the one thing that could save me. I could feel it in my bones. You’d make it all better. I was going to fix you. I thought that, maybe, everything would be okay. Everything would finally make sense.”

You shook your head, trying to grasp onto the fragments of your former self, trying to pull away from the words that were wrapping around you like seaweed, suffocating you. You wanted to run. You wanted to scream. But the fear had already rooted itself so deeply inside of you, it was hard to remember what it was like to feel free. You wanted to remember Sammy, to recall the warmth of the sun on your skin, the air in your lungs, the soft embrace of your mother, but it was slipping away. All of it was slipping away…!

His voice was growing louder, more frantic now. “Do you understand now? I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I saved you. I gave you a chance. Your friend wanted to let you die, to let you fade into nothingness… but I didn’t. I made you perfect. I made you mine.”

The words echoed in your head, rattling like bones in the dark. You had wanted to escape, hadn’t you? To escape from him, to escape from this underwater hell. But now, now there was nothing left. He had made sure of that. You were lost to the depths. How could you ever return to a life that was so foreign to you?

“And you know what?” He leaned in, his voice softer, almost tender, and he spoke as though he were telling you a fun anecdote, “Before I even knew your name, I started calling you Brizo! Do you remember? The goddess of calm seas? The one who watches over sailors and gives them peace? I thought that, maybe, if I could make you Brizo, if I could make you my goddess, and I would be your God... and everything would be perfect…!”

You felt a heaviness settle in your core, one that threatened to drag you into the bottomless pit below. Brizo. A name you hadn’t even known you had, but now it felt like a brand on your soul. He had seen you as an object to possess long before he ever truly knew you. This wasn’t love. It wasn’t even affection. It was something darker. Something so, so twisted.

His eyes searched yours, searching for something. His hand was on your cheek now, the touch almost gentle in its madness. “Can I still call you that, Brizo? …Please? Let me keep calling you that. You… you’re mine. You always have been.”

You wanted to say no. You wanted to scream that you were still human, still [Y/N], still you. But the words felt foreign in your mouth. You had tried to fight for so long, but now, in this cold abyss with only Lotan’s presence to anchor you, you realized that you were nothing. You weren’t Brizo, and you weren’t the girl who had once stood on the beach, so full of life and hope. You were just his.

And the last shred of your humanity, the last flickering light of your former self, slowly, agonizingly, began to fade.

“I—" The words caught in your throat, but when you finally spoke, your voice was hollow, broken. “Yes.”

Lotan smiled, and it was as if the entire ocean exhaled with him. For a brief moment, you almost thought you saw a tear in his eye, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. His smile stretched wider, and the suffocating pressure in your chest grew, but you couldn’t bring yourself to fight it anymore. Not when escape was so futile.

You no longer knew what you were, but it certainly wasn’t human.

[lisalamona]

𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 - IV

Chapter IV: Open Arms

. Summary: Despite your brother's insistence, you stubbornly decided to join him and his men in the war. Now, are you prepared to face the consequences of your actions? . Pairing: Various x Fem! Reader (platonic) . Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, death, trauma, and other sensitive content. . Notes: I'm starting to upload this story here on tumblr, I am really sorry for clogging the tags.

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Masterlist

The forest around you felt almost enchanted, the air rich with the scent of damp earth and something faintly sweet from the glowing fruits hanging from the trees. The dim rays of the setting sun filtered through the canopy, casting soft, golden light that danced with the faint bioluminescence of the undergrowth. Your torch, lit not long ago, flickered gently, its warm light blending with the natural glow of the forest. It was a scene that should have felt peaceful—almost dreamlike. But the tension in Odysseus's posture told an entirely different story.

The three of you walked in a comfortable silence, though even in the quiet, you could feel the weight pressing on him. He wasn't just tense because you were on an unknown island; his mind seemed to churn with burdens that had been piling up for years. The war—which he thanked the gods was won. What happened on that balcony back in Troy. The dwindling rations. The growing difficulty of managing his weary crew. And, though he never said it aloud, the constant, gnawing worry for your safety and wellbeing that hasn't left him since you'd all left Ithaca ten years ago.

The silence finally broke when Polites nudged a fallen branch out of the path with his foot. "Try to relax, my friend," he said, his tone light but deliberate.

Odysseus blinked, pulled abruptly from his thoughts. "Huh?"

Polites chuckled and shook his head. "I said, try to relax. I can tell you're getting nervous. Do yourself a favor and unclench before you scare the life out of the next poor animal that crosses our path."

Odysseus shot him an unamused glare. "I'm fine, Polites."

"Fine?" Polites raised an eyebrow. "If this is your version of fine, I'd hate to see you tense."

You couldn't help but smirk as you added, "Polites is right. You look like you're gearing up to fight a bear—or at least glare it into submission."

Though you couldn't exactly claim to be carefree yourself, walking alongside people you trusted with your life kept the worst of your worries at bay. The serene beauty of the forest helped, too. The shimmering plants and softly glowing fruits were a sight you'd never seen before, and you allowed yourself a moment to admire them.

Polites, however, was not letting Odysseus off the hook. "Aw, come on, Ody!" He slipped into a mock-serious tone, squaring his shoulders and furrowing his brow in exaggerated imitation. "'Hey, look at me! I'm the captain. Alright, listen up!'"

Odysseus stopped in his tracks and turned to glare at Polites. "What?"

Polites grinned. "That's what you sound like!"

Odysseus shook his head, muttering, "I don't sound like that."

You laughed, unable to resist joining in. "Oh, you absolutely do."

"I don't!" Odysseus insisted, looking genuinely offended now.

"You do," you said, smirking. "I've known you my whole life, brother. I believe I know what you sound like."

For a moment, Odysseus looked between the two of you, clearly debating whether to argue further. Then, with a dramatic sigh, he shook his head. "I'm starting to regret bringing you rwo along"

Polites clapped him on the shoulder with a grin. "You'll thank us when we make it home in one piece. And anyway, we should be celebrating! We're close, Ody. After everything we've been through, don't you think we deserve a moment to breathe?"

Odysseus glanced ahead, where the forest path seemed to open up into a clearing, the light growing brighter. For a moment, the corner of his mouth twitched upward—barely—but it was enough to hint at a smile. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" Polites groaned, throwing his hands in the air.

You couldn't help but laugh as the three of you pressed on.

Polites clapped Odysseus on the shoulder as they walked. "Come on, Ody, think about it—look at everything we've been through. We've survived worse than this, haven't we? We'll survive whatever comes next too."

Odysseus didn't answer immediately, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword as his eyes scanned the forest around them.

Polites sighed, his tone softening. "I get it. You're tired of the war and the bloodshed. We all are. But is this really how we're supposed to live? Always on edge, bracing for the next fight?" He gestured to Odysseus's hand. "The way you're gripping that sword... it's like you expect the trees to attack you." Odysseus's gaze flicked to his sword as if noticing it for the first time.

He gave him a sharp look, but Polites didn't back down. "What if, instead of taking, we focused on giving for a change? You know, showing people we trust them instead of expecting the worst all the time? Sometimes, lowering your guard is the strongest thing you can do."

You chimed in, catching onto Polites's attempt to lighten the mood. "He's right, you know. We've been given a chance to adjust, to breathe. Maybe we should take it."

Polites grinned, spreading his arms dramatically. "See? Even your sister agrees. Come on, Ody, give it a try—it's not that hard."

Odysseus huffed, shaking his head, but there was the faintest flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You two are impossible."

"And you're insufferable," you shot back with a grin.

Polites laughed. "Ah, but at least we're keeping you grounded. Admit it, Captain—you'd be lost without us."

"Sure," Odysseus muttered, but his tone had lightened just enough to make the forest feel a little less heavy.

The three of you fell into another comfortable silence, the rhythmic crunch of leaves and twigs underfoot the only sound accompanying your steps. But as the glowing forest around you shifted and swayed in the dimming light, memories stirred in your mind. You glanced around, the bioluminescent flora and the gentle rustle of the trees tugging at threads of your past.

"Do you know what this reminds me of?" you said suddenly, breaking the quiet. You gestured around with a sweep of your arm, inviting them to take in the forest as you did.

Both Polites and Odysseus turned their heads toward you, their curiosity piqued. That was your signal to continue.

"Do you remember, back home, when we'd run through the forest, looking for the biggest threat we could find? Well..." You smirked, tilting your head toward Odysseus. "You would run, and we'd follow."

Odysseus raised an eyebrow, already bracing himself for the jab he could sense coming.

You rolled your eyes, the memory vivid enough to draw a chuckle. "And by 'follow,' I mean you'd never let us get anywhere close to the action. You'd be charging ahead, all brave and daring, while we were stuck five paces behind, trying to keep up."

Your smile widened at the thought, but there was no denying the exasperation that lingered even after all these years. "You've always been like that—overprotective to a fault. Back then, it was all, 'Stay here, it's too dangerous.' And now? Well... not much has changed, has it?"

You cast him a teasing glance, but there was a warmth in your tone that softened the jab. As frustrating as it had been, you couldn't ignore the fact that his protectiveness had kept you safe more times than you could count. Not that you'd ever admit it to his face.

Odysseus let out a huff, somewhere between amusement and exasperation. "Someone had to make sure you didn't get into trouble."

Polites snorted, chiming in with a grin. "Trouble? You mean like the time you nearly fell off a cliff while we were the ones actually following orders?"

"That was one time," Odysseus shot back, his tone defensive but his lips twitching with a reluctant smile.

"Or that time you almost got obliterated by that giant boar?" You added on.

Odysseus gave a half-hearted glare, though the corner of his mouth twitched as if fighting a smile. "I wasn't about to let you two get hurt. Someone had to make sure you didn't get yourselves killed."

"Uh-ha"

Odysseus sighed, shaking his head as if resigning himself to your teasing. "Somebody has to keep you alive. Clearly, it's still me."

Polites grinned, chiming in. "Oh! don't forget the stories we'd make up to explain why we came back covered in mud and scratches. 'Oh, it was a mighty beast! Twice as tall as a man!'" He mimed a dramatic stance, making you laugh harder.

Odysseus finally cracked a smile, albeit a small one. "And mother didn't believe a word of it."

"She never did," you said, shaking your head fondly. "But she still let us tell our tales anyway. I think she liked hearing them, even if she pretended to be angry."

For a moment, the three of you walked on in silence, but this time, the quiet was filled with the warmth of shared memories rather than the weight of present worries. The forest seemed less ominous, its glow a little more welcoming, as if it, too, remembered simpler times.

After what felt like hours of weaving through the dense, glowing forest, you finally stepped into a clearing. The open space was a relief after the close, tangled pathways, but your purpose remained sharp in your mind. You had been searching for signs of life, for the people who were said to inhabit this mysterious island.

Cautiously, the three of you approached the edge of the clearing, each step deliberate, your eyes scanning every shadow and flicker of light. But as you drew closer, your hope began to waver. The space was eerily quiet—too quiet. There were no signs of movement, no voices carried on the breeze, no footprints in the soft soil.

Once you were fully in the clearing, the absence of life became undeniable. Nothing. Not a single soul, nor even the faintest hint that anyone had ever set foot here.

The three of you ventured toward the center, driven by a stubborn determination to uncover something—anything. You looked around, searching for a clue, a trace, a whisper of proof that this wasn't just another dead end. But no matter how hard you looked, your efforts were fruitless.

You broke the silence first, his voice low. "Well, this is... disappointing."

"Welcome."

The word echoed through the forest, but it wasn't one voice—it was a chorus, like a hundred tiny voices speaking in perfect unison. It sent a chill down your spine. The three of you whipped around in unison toward the source of the sound, your hearts pounding.

Odysseus was the first to react. Without a word, he stepped in front of you and Polites, his protective instincts kicking in like second nature. His hand flew to the hilt of his sword, and in one smooth motion, it was free form his side, the steel glinting faintly in the glow of the forest. He held the blade steady, pointing it toward the shadows from which the voices had come.

Out of the shadows emerged tiny creatures. At first, their shapes were hard to make out, but as they stepped into the faint glow of your torch, their features became clear. They looked remarkably like cats—except they walked upright on two legs and were slightly shorter than an average feline.

Their fur was a soft, brownish-gray, blending effortlessly with the forest's earthy tones. But what stood out the most—what truly caught and held your attention—were their eyes. Vibrant violet orbs gleamed in stark contrast to their muted coats, glowing faintly as if lit from within.

The creatures gazed up at the three of you, their faces seemingly locked in curious, almost playful smiles. They appeared utterly unfazed by the sword Odysseus was still pointing in their direction, either not understanding the gesture or not caring enough to react.

Polites broke the silence first, lowering his dagger slightly and tilting his head. "Uh...what are they?"

You stared, torn between disbelief and amusement. "I... have no idea."

Odysseus, however, wasn't lowering his guard. His grip on the sword remained firm, his sharp gaze darting between the strange creatures. "They certainly don't look like a threat," you ventured, though your voice carried more curiosity than certainty.

One of the creatures took a step forward, its tiny paw-like hand raised as if in greeting. It tilted its head and smiled wider, the violet of its eyes seeming to shimmer as it chirped, "Welcome."

"Stay back." The grip on Odysseus's sword tightened, if that was even possible. The small creatures echoed his demand.

You couldn't help but crack a small smile, though you kept your distance. "They don't seem dangerous," you said, casting a quick glance at Odysseus.

His stance remained defensive. "They don't seem like anything yet," he replied. "But that doesn't mean we should trust them. We're only here for food."

"Food."

At the word, the small creatures froze, their wide, glowing eyes shimmering with a mix of wonder and recognition. Their tiny faces lit up.

You weren't sure if they fully understood what he meant, but there was no mistaking the reaction. They recognized the word, perhaps even its significance, though their excitement made it hard to discern if it was joy, curiosity, or something else entirely.

"Six hundred friends are waiting for us to show our faces," Odysseus said, his voice low and wary.

"Food," the creatures chanted in unison, their voices eerie, almost melodic. The sound echoed through the trees, sending a chill down your spine.

A few of them tried to inch closer, but they froze the moment your brother raised his sword in a clear warning. His stance was unyielding, the blade gleaming in the faint light. Odysseus's eyes darted between the creatures, his body a shield between them and you.

"Stay back," he barked, his voice sharp and commanding. "I'm warning you."

You weren't sure if Odysseus didn't understand that these creatures probably didn't comprehend a word he was saying, or if his nerves had gotten the better of him. Either way, he seemed determined to make himself clear, even if the threats fell on deaf ears.

"Food," they repeated, the word somehow more insistent this time, as though they were trying to communicate something. One of them—a smaller, fluffier one—tilted its head, its wide, glowing eyes fixed on Odysseus. Then it opened its mouth and made exaggerated chomping motions, adding a series of "num num num" sounds for emphasis.

You couldn't tell if it was mimicking some human habit or simply giving in to its own hunger at the mention of food. Either way, it was adorable.

"If we don't get back safely," Odysseus said, his voice cold and deliberate, "my men will turn this place into blazes."

"Friend, we just talked about this. Greet the words with open arms," Polites said with a smirk, nudging Odysseus, whose sword still hung tensely in his grip.

Before you could comment, you felt a soft tap against your leg. You jumped back instinctively, your heart skipping a beat, but the momentary panic gave way to relief when you looked down.

It was the fuzzy critters—small, wide-eyed, and undeniably strange, yet somehow endearing. They were holding as many fruits as their tiny paws could manage, the glowing produce piled precariously in their little arms.

One of them tilted its head up at you, its bright eyes sparkling as it chirped, "Here you go!" It extended its bundle of fruit toward you, wobbling slightly under the weight.

You crouched down, hesitating for a moment, then carefully took the fruit from its tiny paws. Its warmth and slight glow reminded you of fireflies on summer nights back in Ithaca. "Uh... thank you," you said, unsure if it understood you but hoping the gratitude came through.

"Welcome" It responded and smiled as if it was proud of itself.

Another critter shuffled forward, offering its own collection of fruit. Soon, they were all crowding around, chirping softly and depositing glowing fruit into your hands like an offering.

Polites crouched down beside you, his grin wide. "Well, would you look at that? Guess they're not so bad after all, huh?" He plucked a fruit from the pile, turning it over in his hands.

Odysseus remained tense, his sword still raised slightly. "Or they're trying to fatten us up for something worse," he muttered, though the edge in his voice was softer now.

You gave him a pointed look. "Ody, not everything in this world is out to kill us. Sometimes, a gift is just a gift."

One of the critters tugged lightly on Odysseus's tunic, holding up a single glowing fruit with tiny, insistent paws. It chirped, "Friend!"

For a moment, Odysseus stared at it, his expression unreadable. Then, with a sigh that bordered on exasperation, he lowered his sword and took the fruit gingerly from its hands. "Fine. Friend," he said, the word sounding both amused and resigned.

You smiled, holding one of the fruits up to examine it more closely. Despite everything you'd faced so far, this moment felt oddly comforting—a small, unexpected kindness in a world that had offered little of it lately.

"See? Life isn't so bad when you give it a chance," Polites said, gesturing to the glowing fruit in his hand. "Whatever comes our way, we'll get through it—just like always. It's not about where we are; it's about what we do with it. And maybe... just maybe... it starts with letting our guard down once in a while."

Odysseus didn't respond immediately. Instead, he studied the fruit in his hand, turning it over before tearing it in half. The glow from the inside was brighter now, revealing seeds that shimmered faintly, like tiny embers.

His jaw tightened. He knew this fruit.

It hit him like a blow to the chest: lotus.

His stomach sank as the weight of the realization settled over him. He glanced toward the critters, now scurrying about happily, their strange behavior suddenly making sense. If this fruit was their primary source of sustenance...

"Of course," he muttered under his breath, his voice heavy with both understanding and unease.

You noticed the change in his expression immediately. "Ody? What is it?"

"This isn't just any fruit," he said, holding up the glowing half. "It's lotus."

Polites furrowed his brow. "Lotus?"

Odysseus nodded grimly, casting another glance at the creatures, who were still blissfully unaware of the danger they posed. "The lotus will make you forget everything—your purpose, your will. You'll fall into a haze, one that never really ends. And it'll trap you here, in their world. That's what we'd get with open arms"

You looked down at the fruit now heavy in your hands. "What do we do then?"

Polites' voice cut through the silence, calm but firm. "Lotus-eaters, I'd like to show my friend that true kindness is in courage, not in surrender." He stepped forward, kneeling down once more to meet their gaze with steady eyes. "Could you show us where we might find other food? We cannot eat these. Still, we appreciate your generosity."

The Lotus-eaters' eyes flickered, unsure whether to press further or let go. You could feel the weight of their gaze, a mix of pity and curiosity. Polites' calm demeanor was a stark contrast to the wild beating of your heart.

"Cave," They said again, in perfect unison, their voices filled with a strange, almost childlike eagerness. It was as though your refusal had no weight at all to them.

But one of them, the same one that gave you the first fruit, small and trembling, clung to your leg once more. The creature looked up at you with wide, violet eyes—eyes that seemed to shimmer with a mix of fear and curiosity.

"Scary cave," It whispered, its voice barely a squeak, though the words were clear.

Polites smiled, grateful that he could show his friend that kindness still yielded results. "A cave! You're telling me there's a cave where we can feast? And where exactly do we sail to find this food-filled paradise?"

"East!" The lotus eaters pointed enthusiastically, their arms outstretched toward what you assumed was east. But one of them, still clinging to your leg, pointed in the opposite direction with surprising conviction.

"That way!" it declared, its voice a soft, almost sing-song quality. You opened your mouth, ready to correct it, but something made you pause. It was so earnest, so sure of itself, and a small part of you didn't want to burst its bubble.

For a moment, the little creature simply stared at you, its wide eyes filled with pleading innocence. Then, as if sensing your hesitation, it began to make grabby hands at you, reaching up with adorable urgency. A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

How could you possibly resist? You reached down, scooping it up despite your better judgment. Its giggle was almost musical, and for a fleeting moment, you forgot about the confusion of their directions.

"Thank you"

"Welcome!"

Polites placed a hand on Odysseus's shoulder, his grin speaking volumes. It was a playful 'see?' that he couldn't ignore. He looked amused but also exasperated, clearly not prepared for the teasing that had taken place within a few hours with the two of you.

"'Greet the world with open arms...'" he muttered, echoing Polites' earlier words. Maybe the philosophy wasn't so far off after all.

His musings were abruptly interrupted by the familiar sensation of his mind being pulled away from his body—a sensation he had grown far too accustomed to, thanks to a certain goddess.

Polites raised an eyebrow, watching Odysseus expectantly, waiting for him to respond, but all he got in return was silence. Odysseus was staring off into the distance, his gaze blank and distant.

"He's doing it again," Polites muttered, giving your arm a friendly pat. His gesture was meant to break your attention from the little critters that were now surrounding you, their tiny hands offering little flowers.

You waved him off, a faint smile playing on your lips. "It'll pass."

Polites glanced over at the creatures with a playful look in his eyes. "Should we take one of them to help us find the cave?"

You held up the lotus-eater in your hands, its soft, dewy eyes gazing up at Polites with a shy, almost innocent smile. "I say we take this one," you said, offering it to him as though it were some kind of precious trinket.

"What are we taking?" Odysseus's voice broke the stillness, and he seemed to have snapped back to the present.

"This little guy will guide us to the cave," you replied, now showing the lotus-eater to your brother. The creature smiled up at him, completely unaware of the skepticism in Odysseus's eyes.

"...That one?" Odysseus raised an eyebrow, looking around at the other lotus-eaters nearby. Many seemed just as eager, if not more so. The one you were holding, however, didn't exactly strike him as the sharpest tool in the shed.

"We're taking this one." you said firmly, not bothering to look at Odysseus as you cradled the little creature in your arms.

[applepiesupreme]

American Apple Pie

Pairing: Low/Mid Honor Arthur Morgan and female OC.

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Savigne Ricci is a temporary guest at the Van der Linde camp. Her path crosses with the enforcer of the gang, Arthur Morgan, and despite their differences, a relationship develops between them. Whole lot of smut and fluff, slow burn-ish.

Chapter 47

AO3 link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54945853/chapters/158135713

Things were going really well. She was eating breakfast, working less and everything else Polleux recommended. Then she had one bad day, there was some pain, some blood, and an emergency visit to the doctor.

Polleux assured a pale Savigne that the baby was fine. But then he proceeded to say that some women could plow fields, walk off to the side and drop a baby and go on with their day, and some women…well…couldn’t. And she was the latter. She didn’t take the news well and tried to explain how she was doing everything she was told but all Polleux did, in his usual no nonsense fashion, was to turn to Arthur who stood there grim faced and silent like a stone statue, and address only him for the rest of the conversation.

“The baby is not underdeveloped anymore. Well done on that front. But she needs more rest,” he said coolly.

“Yes, sir.” was the cowboy’s dry answer.

That’s when everything went to shit.

Next thing she knew, she didn’t have a job. Luther and Arthur made sure of that. Even her tears didn’t assuage their resolve. She begged and pleaded for at least one shift or two per week, but, just like Polleux, Luther didn’t even acknowledge her, just turned and gave Arthur a hard stare as if to say ‘do what’s necessary’, so Arthur just gently grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the steakhouse and that was that.

Savigne had worked all her life. Three days after she had aged out of the orphanage she had found her first job and she hadn’t stopped since. She had scrubbed floors and washed dishes until her skin bled and peeled mountains of potatoes and eaten the leftovers of diners before she had become a cook. The idea of not working for months, of not making money, of entirely depending on others terrified her because she was hardwired to think that not working meant not eating. She felt more vulnerable than ever in her current state and panicked over the prospect of not standing on her own feet. 

“I ain’t other people,” Arthur growled when she tried to explain the reason for her distress. He was visibly shaken by the events and annoyed at her resistance. “‘M yer husband. Ya sayin’ you married a man ya don’ trust, Savigne?”

“Of course not! But-”

“It’s temporary,” he interrupted, growing irritated. “Ya don’ have to like it, but ya heard Polio. He say if you don’ listen, ain’t just the kid yer riskin’, it’s yer own life.” The blue eyes that flicked at her were so hard, she was stunned into speechlessness. “Might be you don’ care ‘bout that bit, but believe me when I say, I do.”

He looked so angry (or worried - it was hard to tell with Arthur), she swallowed her arguments and decided to let his ire pass before she tried again. In her secret heart she thought all manner of dark things. Like What if he strays? What if he gets desperate and reverts to his old ways to make money and it blows up in his face? What if he tries to rob someone, gets recognized and is hunted down and hanged?. This led to more obscure fears like What if none of that happens but he slips and hits his head and dies? Snakebite? Bear attack? Terminal sickness? Her mind churned with the possibilities. For most women that would mean falling back on family. However for her, an orphan with a baby, it meant disaster.

Things only got worse from there. Because now the man who she had likened to water that sprawled and expanded in whatever room she allowed him, became a raging river and tore down all her barricades.

Even though Polleux had stopped short of strict bed rest, had underlined that she didn’t need to go that far, these nuances were lost on a man like Arthur.

First she was banned from carrying buckets from the well. Fine, that wasn’t anything she was going to miss. Secretly she celebrated that as restrictions went, that wasn’t so bad and she had gotten a mere slap on the wrist. 

But then soon after, he told her that running around in the farmers market was too exhausting, that from now on he was going to do the shopping and she should just make a list. This had stung as Savigne really liked going to the market and chatting with the different sellers and touching and smelling and tasting the wares.

Then he said he would do the cleaning and soon he said she shouldn’t be cooking either - too much time on her feet - and she should also just tell him what books she wants from the library because it had a million steps and tilling her little garden was out of the question, it was winter anyway, and so on and so forth until she felt like a fish that was frantically swimming in a puddle of water that was progressively getting smaller. 

She tried to fight him, but his anger and determination were enormous and impossible to scale, and even when she changed tactics and tried coaxing and pleading, it fell on deaf ears. She lost battle after battle and the more she lost, the more discouraged she became to try. So she did nothing all day and the less she did, the more she was exhausted and the less she wanted to do.

She missed getting up with a purpose and interacting with other people and feeling a sense of fullfilment when she took her double caps off at the end of the day. She became sad and cried (never when he was around because she didn’t want to listen to his endless yapping) because she felt like she was slowly being erased out of existence. She felt like her happiness only mattered as far as it benefited the baby. Her ambitions were unimportant if they didn’t serve the baby. Her worries needed to be discarded because it might hurt the baby. She felt like a carbon trace of herself and the next day, a carbon trace of that carbon trace and so on until Savigne Ricci was reduced to a bunch of squiggly random lines that didn’t even constitute a shape. The person who was, was no more and nobody cared because all that mattered now was the baby.

Polleux had told her that she should still walk about and exercise to remain healhty, but she lost her motivation to do that, became sullen and petty and withdrew to her bed and started to sleep longer and longer and only got up to eat or to use the bathroom (soon that too was banned and she was told to use the chamber pot), and she lost the will to read because what was the point of reading about places she would never go to or food she would never cook or things she could never experience? Then it was the beginning of December and she realized she had barely left the bed in three days, so she resigned and stayed until it was a week and longer still, until she didn’t even count anymore and the days became just the presence and absence of light.

There were days, shameful, unthinkable days when she found herself hating him for putting this baby inside her, hating herself for being dumb, hating Sister Rodriguez for being a liar, hating Luther for getting her fired, hating, hating, hating. At some point he sensed her drift off like a boat that had decoupled from its anchor and tried to swim to catch up, but she bristled with resentment and wouldn’t let him and embarked on a journey of solitude where all his playful jabbing, his gentle coaxing, his persistent nagging - none of it worked. She hardened a pupa around herself and shut him out and breathed her own rancor and fed on her own misery. On this still lake, she pondered on the grimness of life, on those short few years between the orphanage and pregnancy, on the loss of her dreams and aspirations.

One of those shapeless, blurry days when she was lying in bed and facing the cabin wall, trying to will time to go faster but also grappling with the depressing idea that maybe nothing would change if the baby was out of her, that her imprisonment would just continue in a different form, he entered the cabin with a gust of cold air as companion and said “Hey.”

“Hey,” she said from under her heap of covers.

She heard Arthur take off his jacket and hat, hang them up and come over. He carefully sat on the bed and dug around until he found her back.

“Ya cold?”

“No.”

He pushed the covers aside, leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Feelin’ okay?”

She nodded.

His hand, cool from the outside, glided over her big bump. “And the grub?”

“Fine.”

He caressed her belly for a while and watched her profile, then whispered “Ain’t too much longer now,” as if in consolation. “Few months. Maybe less.”

“Yeah,” she mumbled.

“Ya got up today?” he said after he kicked his boots off and stretched to lie down behind her.

“No.”

“Why darlin’?” was the careful question.

The nerve, she thought, her mood growing dimmer still. If I get up you’ll just chase me back to bed. His lack of self introspection was appaling. She shrugged. “What for?”

His palm drew circles on her bump as he kissed the back of her neck. “Fresh air? You wanna go for a walk?” 

“No.”

He looked at the book lying on the bed. “Read this yet?”

“A little.”

She felt him pause when he found the bookmark on the second page. Savigne was a voracious reader and he had checked this out from the library for her weeks ago.

“It’s about the desert,” he said, casually flipping through the pages. “Figured if ya like what you read, maybe we can go sometime.”

All she heard was lies. A carrot dangled to keep her stupidly hopeful. With men like Luther and Arthur and Polleux around her, there was no desert for her. There was nothing but motherhood, now and forever. “Probably not going to happen,” was her late mumble.

He placed the book on the floor as he peeled back the covers to find her face. He kissed her cheek again. 

“Why?”

“I’m not exactly in traveling shape.”

“I meant after,” he chuckled.

“After, there’ll be a baby.” How stupid did they think she was? This prison sentence was not going to end with birth. That was just the kind of nonsense they told you to keep you blissfully ignorant of the disappointments that were waiting for you.

“So? Those grow up, no?”

“Yeah. Takes years.”

He stilled again and she knew he worried but she also couldn’t make herself care. He worried all the time, enough for the both of them and every time he worried, the puddle shrank.

“‘M sure people travel with babies. Jack traveled with us since day one.”

“I’m sure I won’t be allowed,” was her bitter retort.

“Allowed? By who?”

She shrugged again. “Some doctor. You. Whoever. Someone.”

His palm over her stomach paused. “Polio recommend the rest for yer own good, Savigne.”

“I know,” she sighed.

“So that’s over when the grub comes.”

“Then it will be for recovery.”

“Okay,” he said carefully, getting back on an elbow to look down at her. “That temporary, too.”

Sure, she thought. Life is temporary after all. I’ll get probation when I’m old and bent. “It’s okay. No big deal.”

“What ain’t?”

“That I’ll never see the desert. Most people don’t.”

He nudged her to lie on her back and she did as he adjusted the covers over her. “Savigne, life don’ end when a kid comes.”

She frowned at the ceiling as he wiped the hair off her flushed face. “Yeah. I think it kind of ends before that.”

He gave a frustrated exhale and grabbed her chin to turn her face to lock eyes with her. “Woman…no. It’s a new beginning. Not end.”

“For you.”

“The hell that mean?”

A long moment passed. The paragraphs of explanations in her head were exhausting to think about, let alone say. “It’s the entire point of my existence now,” she said at last.

“The grub?” he scoffed in an effort to make light of the matter. “What ‘bout me?”

“Yeah,” she huffed, thanks for reminding me of my other purpose in life. She shuffled to lie on her side again, turning her back to him. “And that.”

“Was jokin’,” he muttered, taken aback.

There was a long bout of silence. “Savigne, talk to me. You haven’t talked to me in weeks. I can’t read what’s in yer head.”

She didn’t really want to, but he lied there perched up a good while so she spoke just to make him go away: “What did you do today?” 

“Fixed the cart. Hunted rabbit. Bought hay for the horses…”

“Sounds nice.”

She didn’t engage further so he pushed “You?”

“Just lied here and made more baby.”

He ruminated, seemingly unsure how to navigate that. “Kinda more important than all I did,” he tried.

“Sure,” was her listless response.

He brushed fingers through her hair. “Ya wanna dress up and come sit outside? I can make us tea.”

“No. I’m just going to sleep.”

He looked down at her profile, a silent ball of anxiety. She was actually surprised when, by some miracle, he suddenly asked “You wanna go to the market tomorrow?”

Normally she would jump at this offer, she loved going to the market. But she hated appeasement because appeasement meant he didn’t understand or accept her point of view, he was just making a one time offer to cheer her up. Like candy for a child.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Was told I shouldn’t.”

“You had an…,” was his frustrated huff. “Was tryin’ to-”

“Yes, I’m the first woman who ever had an incident. Must be my fault.”

“Listen here, I ain’t never said that.”

“But you’re punishing me for it.”

She felt him flinch behind her. “The hell ya sayin’?”

“I don’t want to argue,” was her listless response.

He perched above her a while longer in decision, then said “Okay,”, kissed her cheek again and got off the bed. 

He put his boots, jacket and hat back on and took the chamber pot to empty it on his way out. Then he walked to John’s tent. 

“Where’s everyone?” he asked Abigail who was mending a shirt.

“They rode to sell pelts, should be back soon.” He nodded and shifted on his feet, adjusting his gloves. “Savigne okay?”

He grimaced. “Don’ think so.”

“Why?”

“Don’ wanna get up. Or do nothin’. Talks weird.”

“Weird how?” Abigail said, pausing her stitching.

“Like…her life is over or some shit,” he said, rolling his shoulders.

Abigail gave him a long look. “In a way, it is, ain’t it?” she said carefully.

“No?” he huffed. “After the baby-”

“She gonna be in bed for weeks. Then she be feedin’ it every few hours. Then she gonna run after it a few years…Then…well that’s where ‘m now, so don’ know the rest.”

“Ain’t gotta be like that,” he mumbled.

“You told her she shouldn’t work,” Abigail drawled. “Or cook. Or do stuff around the cabin.”

“Doctor asked,” he said defensively. “Was tryin’ to help. This ain’t easy on her. She could…” he trailed, unwilling to say it.

“Don’ care what yer fancy doctor said. Told ya but ya wouldn’t listen. You stuffed her in there, ya can’t be upset if she stays there now.”

He clenched his jaw and looked away. “Told her ain’t forever.”

“Maybe she ain’t believin’ you. Maybe she think you gonna keep askin’.”

“Why would I ask if she was fine?” he said, exasperated.

“Yer doin’ too much. I get it, yer tryin’ to do it right…” she didn’t say it, but Arthur heard the ‘this time’ all the same, “…but she a person, too.”

“The hell that mean?”

Abigail took a deep breath and continued her stitching. “Me? ‘M happy bein’ a mom. Happy to be here, livin’ the simple life. Savigne wants more than bein’ a wife or mother.”

“That’s fine,” he leaned against the wagon. “I ain’t tryin’ to choke that outta her.”

“But y’are. Or she thinks baby will. She like a show horse hitched to a wagon to pull, feels all she good for now. Folks call that depressed.”

Arthur thought on that for a while. “She big. Worry that labor ain’t good for the baby.”

“This clearly ain’t good for her,” Abigail said pointedly. “And that mean it ain’t good for the baby, too.”

He bounced off the wagon, bid her goodnight and walked back to the cabin, picking up the chamber pot before he entered.

He sat by the fire for a while and had a cup of tea, watched the heap of covers on the bed. He remembered her excitement when they went treasure hunting and it was like she had been a different person. All that was gone. Was Abigail right, had he killed it? Had he chocked the spirit out of her? He grappled with the notion for a long while, drinking his tea and feeling an overwhelming sense of dread because this was supposed to be a happy time for them - mere weeks into their marriage and a child on the way - but she was miserable already, and as a consequence, so was he.

Next day he entered the cabin late afternoon and she was in bed again. 

“Hey,” he said, taking off his coat and hat.

“Hey,” came from the pile of covers.

He sighed, feeling stupid for being disappointed and idled around for a bit, not sure how to pull her out of this quicksand she had sunk into.

“Was thinkin’…what happened to that third map?”

There was a pause. “The treasure map?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s on the bookshelf. In my parents’ book.”

He went and retrieved 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, found the third map, unfolded it and brought it to the bed. “Ya find where this is?”

“Didn’t look.”

“Why?”

There was a rustling that indicated a shrug. “That second trip scared me I guess.”

“Sure could use that gold right now,” he teased.

Her dismissive “There is no gold,” stuttered his heart and wiped the grin off his face.

He knew of course that she was upset about the restrictions but he had thought she would get used to it in time, that she might even be pleased about it. All she had to do was rest and not worry, how was that hard? Instead, she was sad and withdrawn and for the first time he felt a sense of panic. Of course I fucked up everything again, he thought. I always fucking do. All I had to do was take good care of her and instead I broke her.

He sat on the edge and peeled the covers off. This time she was facing him. He leaned down and kissed her gently. “Savigne, you gonna get up?”

“I got up earlier, cleaned up, changed gowns, now I’m back to bed.”

“I mean come outside? Ya turnin’ into a bat in here.” Her broken smile didn’t elevate his mood; in fact, it intensified his trepidations. “Please come outside with me.”

“It’s cold outside.”

“That why we got coats.”

“What are we going to do? Waddle about and come back?”

“Please,” he insisted. In his desperation he told her what he had initially decided he wouldn’t: “Think Cricket misses you.” That gave her pause. “He ain’t eatin’ well.”

He had thought the horse would snap out of it - what animal starved itself? He gave it extra grooming and gentle exercise but the damn horse was as stubborn as his owner and wouldn’t even take the offered apple, just stared at him with those judgy dark eyes day after day.

“Really?” she whispered, face dropping.

“He fine,” he said quickly. “Just…misses you I think. Ain’t seen you in weeks now.”

She thought on this for a long moment before she finally whispered “Okay”.

He hastily folded the map and put it in his satchel, then came over and helped her before she could change her mind. “I’m not that bad,” she chuckled but the lying in bed for weeks had weakened her and she only managed with his help. She was a petite women and from behind, looked perfectly normal. But her bulge, while not enormous, was much bigger.

He helped her dress in a winter dress and then a thick coat and wool socks. Then he carefully slid the boots on. Her ankles and feet were swollen so they had been using some men’s boots the church had donated to accommodate the wool socks, too. She put on her gloves and her wool cap and said “God, I’m tired already.”

“Shush. We goin’.”

She groaned with disgust when he opened the door and a wave of cold blue sunlight hit her face.

“Out with ya,” he gently pushed her out the door. 

She stood on the porch and blinked around in the winter sun. In the distance, John raised his hand from where his tent was and she returned the greeting. “Aren’t they cold in that tent?” She said, a shiver running through her.

“Winter cover keeps it warm inside.”

Jack ran over with his half mitts and a little wool scarf flying around his neck. Nemo, the puppy he had found on one of his trips to Saint Denis and had asked Savigne to name to cheer her up, was yapping at his heels.

“Hey, my clever little friend,” she said and ruffled his hair when he arrived, cheeks rosy. He lifted the puppy so she can pet him, too.

“How is she?” The boy panted.

“She?” Savigne asked, surprised. “How do you know it’s a she?”

“I dreamed of her. We’re going to be good friends.”

“Nice,” Savigne ambled to step down the porch. “You can teach her how to read.”

His eyes sparked up at that. “And you can teach her how to cook. And Uncle Arthur how to shoot.”

“Damn, she’s going to be formidable,” she groaned, stretching her back. 

“That means dangerous, right?” 

“Yes.” She grabbed Arthur’s offered arm and walked towards the stable. When they entered, Cricket danced in place and threw his head back in his stall to neigh with excitement. Her breath hitched. “I’m sorry,” she said, voice wavering. “I missed you, too.” She hugged his neck and he stood there, snorting with happiness and enjoying her affection. He sniffed her bump and she kissed his forehead. “I’m sorry. You okay, my precious?” She turned around: “Can you bring me some apples, Jack?”

He ran to the barrel in the corner and retrieved two. She cried softly as she fed one to Cricket, and he fed his to Frost. Arthur had extended the stable and John’s horses were here too and she told Jack to feed them too, because you can’t just feed one horse and not the others. 

After that was done Arthur broke a stack of hay and scattered it across all the stalls and Cricket immediately began to eat. 

“Look at that,” was his disgruntled rumble. “Eatin’ now, ain’t ya? Mommy’s boy.”

She watched him for a while. “Aren’t they cold in here?”

“Nah, they okay.”

She brushed Cricket’s neck. “You think he will be alright now?”

“Ain’t sure,” was his careful answer. “Think he eatin’ cause yer here.”

She thought on this and he didn’t push, waiting for her to make the offer herself. He didn’t have to wait long.

“Maybe I need to come out to make sure he eats?” she muttered, kissing the snout.

This made him very happy but he masked his pleasure with a gruff protest: “You gonna spoil this asshole?”

“Of course I will,” she shot back with some heat, gave the horse more kisses and pats, then went around petting the other horses as Jack followed in tow, watching and mimicking her behavior.

Then they exited the stall and Arthur swung an arm around her shoulder to turn her to the path that led to the main road. “Might as well walk a bit. Dressin’ you took an hour.”

“It wasn’t an hour,” she snorted but placed her hand in the crook of his arm and complied.

“Gonna be Christmas soon,” he said as Jack ran ahead. She hummed, squinting up at the winter sky. “Was thinkin’…” he scratched his beard, “…maybe we can have a tree.” He shrugged when her eyebrows rose. “Why not? Maybe we celebrate a little.” He gave her a side eye. “Make some food…” When she pursed her lips and refused to jump at the idea as he had hoped, he added “But you gotta do the decoratin’.”

“Why?”

“Don’ think yer pullin’ yer weight ‘round here no more,” he grunted. “If ‘m gonna chop a tree, least you can do.”

She gave him a startled look. “What bullshit is this?! You told me to stay in bed!”

“I ain’t say melt into the damn thing,” he grumbled. “Almost had to peel ya off today.”

“Just stop!” she tsked with disgust and he tried but failed to hide his grin. At least she was getting a little riled up now, that was progress.

The sky turned burnt amber but sunsets this season were brief and it dimmed quickly. It didn’t snow here, but the air was chilly and their breaths frosted as they walked to the main road, slow and easy. Except for Jack, who did everything in bursts of energy. He brought them pretty leaves and snail shells and bird feathers and Savigne told him to collect them so he can draw them. She said then he could date it and remember the day.

“‘M tryin’ to help but ain’t sure if ‘m helpin’,” he said quietly when Jack ran off again. “Wish you would talk to me. Why ya so upset?”

She didn’t say anything for a while as they walked, the dry and stiff leaves crunching under their feet. “Nobody cares what I want,” she sniffed finally.

He was taken aback by that. “Course I care.”

“No you don’t. You care what’s best for me but you don’t care what I want.”

He thought on this for a long time. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want to do things that make me happy.”

“Thing is,” he tried carefully, “grub’s inside ya. Once it’s out, you gonna be yer own person again and do what you want, no?”

“Don’t think so,” she said, eyes misting over. Her hand in the crook of his arm stiffened a little.

“Why?”

“That’s when it really needs care. So it just gets worse.”

“How so?”

“Then it’ll be like, ‘you can’t do this, the baby needs care. You shouldn’t do that, baby needs its mother’.”

“Listen here,” he sighed. “Y’aint gonna do all that alone. I can help. Can’t help with this.”

“Let’s say you do,” she sighed, kicking at sticks and chestnuts. “That still means you will take care of the baby and nobody will care about me again.”

It was one of those things he had a hard time wrapping his head around: what women went through not just physically but also emotionally at a time like this. It was like a land border he wasn’t allowed to cross and he could only make assumptions about what was beyond. He had precious few intimate experiences with women and even fewer healthy ones with pregnant women and felt like she was drifting beyond his reach. Everything he did was common sense, but resulted in bizarrely unpredictable consequences. Taking chores off her hand made her unhappy. Bed rest made her tired. Trying to talk made her withdraw.

“Explain it to me plain,” he said at last. When she grimaced as if it was too much work he added “Please.”

She took a shuddering breath. “You won’t understand.”

“Might be. But ‘m gonna try.”

“I’ve been saying it but you won’t listen, it’s pointless,” she waved dismissively.

“Promise I will today,” he pushed. She was running again and these days, wherever she went, he couldn’t follow. He had the stark feeling that despite being physically right next to her day after day, he was slowly being walled off and it scared him; scared him even more that he had done this. Somehow, somewhere he had used a sledge hammer instead of a gentle tap and now what he was trying to mend had cracked.

She huffed in disbelief and looked away. A long time passed, Jack and Nemo came and ran off again but he didn’t push. He was distressed. He felt like she was swaying at the edge of an abyss and he had hearded her there somehow. Something was percolating in her, something she had been wrestling with and he had failed to see it coming. He liked to think that he knew Savigne pretty well at this point, that he could read her better than most. The idea that she had arrived at the edge of this abyss, in danger of tumbling off without him even noticing terrified him.

“I feel like…” she started, hesitant, “…our lives - you and me - was just six months and just when we were supposed to enjoy our time together, it’s all about the grub now forever.” She gave him a side eye, trying to gauge his reaction. When he didn’t react how she feared, she continued: “I thought we’d do all these things together. And have a full life. I would work and you would do whatever you want and then we’d be together to talk about it and have nice quiet baths and long dinners. We would travel and see things. I’ve barely been outside a city.” She fell silent, ruminating miserably.

“Go on.”

“Now there’s a kid and…it can never be like that.”

He nodded. “I can see what you mean.”

“You think I’m terrible for thinking it?”

“No,” he grinned at her. “‘M a bit flattered that yer worried ‘bout sharin’ me.”

“I don’t want to disappear,” she whispered as they reached the main road and turned around to head back. “I don’t want us to disappear. I know things will be different. And maybe better, even. But I also want some things to stay the same, because I liked them the way they were.”

“Okay,” he sighed. “‘M with ya on that.”

“Right,” was her dry comment.

“Course I am,” he huffed, a bit offended. “I want the grub. But not just the grub.” She grimaced like she didn’t believe him. “Timin’ ain’t great, I give ya that. But didn’ think I was ever gonna be so lucky to have a kid again, so I’ll take it. We can make it work.”

“I don’t know,” she mumbled, unconvinced. “I don’t see how. The kid will need so much time and attention and work. And before we know it it’ll be ten years and then twenty and well… I guess that was my life.”

“I know yer…upset ‘bout this bed rest thing. Think ya can’t see beyond that.”

“I’ve seen people raise kids, Arthur. I’ve seen the mayhem and exhaustion.”

“That’s just the poor folk.”

“We are poor folk,” she laughed.

He was quiet for a while. “I will work when we settle, we ain’t gotta be poor.”

“Sure. You go work, so I can do house chores all day,” she grumbled. “All I’m good for anyway.”

He remembered his conversation with Abigail. “I know you wanna work, too. You can if you wanna.” She gave him a dubious look. “What?” he said defensively. “I ain’t never said you shouldn’ work.”

“Except you did,” was her sour reply.

“Savigne, that’s temporary.”

“Everything is temporary, Arthur!” was her heated retort. “A month is temporary and so is a year and so is ten years.”

“Listen here, nobody askin’ you to lie in bed for a year. Or not work or do nothin’ else for ten.”

“Yet.”

He stopped walking. “‘M startin’ to feel insulted you trust me so little. What kinda man ya think I am?” She didn’t answer and he tried hard to not be offended. “Think ‘m gonna put you in a cage and lock the door? I care that little for what you want?”

“I think,” she repeated pointedly, “you care about what’s best for me and not what I want.”

“Woman,” he growled, voice tight, “I ain’t yer master. And y’ain’t the kind to take one.”

“Could have fooled me,” she muttered under her breath.

“Why? Cause this nonsense?” he said, waving his arm towards the cabin, meaning their current arrangement.

She didn’t say anything for a long while, seemingly having made her point and seeing no reason to talk in circles.

“Doctor said…” he tried.

“Doctor only cares about the baby,” she scoffed. “He thinks I should, too. He can’t even fathom that I might feel otherwise. And if he knew, he’d think there’s something wrong with me as a woman.”

“That ain’t true,” he said, although in all honesty, he wasn’t so sure anymore. He thought back on their recent appointments and how all the doctor had asked her was how she felt physically. Was she tired? Was she in pain? Was she eating well? How he had rattled off the things she needs to do to make the baby comfortable and things to avoid to make it uncomfortable. And he hadn’t even addressed her, but him. He didn’t think that odd, but in the state she was in, Savigne obviously regarded it as an insult.

He wondered if she was just the odd duck out or if a lot of women felt this way and never said it because they got talked over. He made a mental note to ask Abigail.

“Look,” he tried. “Maybe I got carried away. I feel…useless. Wanna help. Maybe thought I was helpin’.” He gave her a side eye but she gazed ahead, lips sealed. He ran a palm over his beard. “Thought you’d be happy if you do less.”

“That’s because you don’t listen to me. You just…squeeze,” she flustered, waving an arm, “…always squeeze and I have nothing that brings me joy anymore! And I’m tired of fighting you, I just don’t fucking care.”

He recoiled at this, flabbergasted. The resentment in her voice and bewildered him.

A long while passed and he slowed their steps so they had more time to talk before they arrived back. 

“Okay,” he resumed. “I can see we took a wrong turn somewhere. ‘Spose we can meet in the middle?”

“What does that look like?” was the skeptical question.

“Don’ think ya should go back to things as they was…” He ignored her chuff of ‘I knew it’ and pressed on: “…but, we can do’em together? We can cook together. Go shoppin’ together?”

She turned this over in her head. “Is this like a one time offer so I shut up or…?”

“No?”

“Feels like appeasement.”

“Woman, ‘m sayin’ I might have overdone it,” was his frustrated sigh. “‘M tryin’ to find a middle road.”

“How often?”

“What?”

“How often? Like once a year or what?”

“Ya know, yer really makin’ me out like a brute.”

“You are a brute.”

“Listen here, I wanna do this right. I ain’t gonna let ya do it all like before. But we do it together, less work, no?”

She gave him a sullen shrug. “What about my job?”

“Ain’t gonna happen,” he nipped the idea in the bud. “‘Sides, we go back now, Luther gonna stab me with that stupid fork.”

As much as she tried to hold a serious face, the idea forced her to crack a smile which softened things between them.

“You want yer husband stabbed, Savigne?” he teased.

“Let’s just say right about now, I wouldn’t shed too many tears over it,” she mused, but there was no rancor in it.

He stopped and she stopped with him. He cupped her cheek. “But I need you honest. You can’t hide shit and push on cause you want it too much, ya hear?” She gave him a side-eye. He could tell she was enthusiastic about the idea, but cautious with her trust. “Deal?”

She chewed her lip and watched Jack chase Nemo for a bit. “If you promise,” was her haughty response.

“I promise,” he said quickly.

“Okay,” was her quiet sigh. For the first time in weeks there was a glimmer of life in her eyes and cool relief washed through his heart. “Then I promise, too.”

“Okay then,” he exhaled. Before they could resume their walk she abruptly threw her arms around his neck, pulled him down and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Her bump pushed into his ribs as he carefully hugged her shoulders. “Don’ smush the grub,” he grunted into her neck but enjoyed the embrace too much to break it.

He took a shudder of a breath, grateful that she wasn’t dead after all, that he hadn’t irreparably broken her and she was still in there somewhere and could still be who she had been before. Most of his life, he had done things that he was comfortable doing, practiced in doing, experienced in doing. Now he was doing something he had no idea how to do and more often than not it terrified him. He just hoped that he would be afforded grace for his mistakes and the chance to reverse out of them.

“So we’re going to cook those rabbits together?” she asked as she took his arm again and they started walking again. “Share the work? And the meal?”

“Honest truth…” he looked around to make sure Jack wasn’t nearby. “…Abigail’s cookin’ makes me miss Pearson.”

“It’s pretty bad,” she said, then cupped her mouth, embarrassed by her own chuckle.

“Vile is the word you lookin’ for. Been starvin’,” he agreed and enjoyed her muffled peals of laughter. “Gotta say, I pity Marston.”

“We can finally cook that kouneli stifado?” she grinned when she recovered. Her eyes flicked up at him mischievously and he thought she had never looked more beautiful than she did at that moment with rosy cheeks, hair bursting out full and dark from under the cap Abigail had knitted for her. Pregnancy had softened her features, just like rubbing his fingertips on a pencil drawing softened them.

“Sounds damn fine t’me.”

They did a detour to the tent on the way back. 

“How ya feelin’?” Abigail said and dropped her work. 

“Like I’m walking on stints,” Savigne sighed. “My center is all off.” She dropped into the chair John pulled out. Arthur was boyishly pleased by the enthusiasm in her voice when she chirped up “We’re thinking of putting up a Christmas tree!”

“Oh how nice!” Abigail clasped her hands. “Haven’t done that in so long!”

“Try never. Most I ‘member was Karen carryin’ a pine branch ‘round,” John scoffed. 

“And drinkin’. Not like she needed reason for that,” Abigail laughed.

“Do you miss the gang?” Savigne asked a while later, leaning back in her chair.

“I miss some things ‘bout it. Sometimes.” The other woman sighed. “But then I remember the chores…and always bein’ on the run…and you never knew if folks was gonna come back from wherever they went…So no, not really.”

“It’s quiet here,” John shrugged when she looked at him as if that explained his opinion.

“Too quiet?”

“Sometimes.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Just wanna…do somethin’.”

“Yeah, I get that,” she said, hands running over her bump. “This spring, I hope.” She looked up at Arthur who was standing by her chair. “Do you miss the gang?”

“No,” was his simple answer. When that didn’t satisfy her, he added “I like quiet. I like simple.”

There was a certain tranquility that he had enjoyed when he used to camp away, alone. A kind of limbo where all mayhem was suspended. He used to wonder if that was how folks felt when they went on vacation. His life now reminded him of that, only better, because he had excellent company.

They chatted a bit longer, then Arthur helped her rise up and amble back to the cabin. 

She told him to bring her the rabbits and some turnips, carrots and potatoes. Then she sat at the table and cut some vegetables and guided him on how to cut the meat and asked him for the spices in the upper shelves. He hung a cast iron pot on the fire and she added and stirred and roasted the ingredients in batches, explaining why she was doing what she was doing while he cleaned up and prepared the table. The stew cooked for about an hour as they talked about his day and what they could do for Christmas and his heart felt twice as big in his chest because she looked healthier and livelier than she had in weeks and so much more like her old self who he had feared he lost forever. 

After that he cleaned up and she changed into her nightgown and he came over to stack the pillows behind her so she can sit up against the headboard.

“That was nice,” she sighed as he dried the dishes. “But…I’m jealous.”

“Of?”

“Your girlfriend.”

He clicked his tongue and glared at her over his shoulder. 

“What? I can’t help it.”

“Thinkin’ ya got a dirty mind, Savigne.” She laughed and he thought how much he had missed her laughter. “Real filthy,” he added as he stacked the dishes away. “‘M talkin’ nasty.”

“Stop,” she chuckled. “I know it’s pathetic. But she looks like a goddess next to me now. Hurts my vanity.”

He scoffed at that. “No, she don’. I think ya look great. Soft and plush.” He hung up the towel and undressed to pull up his cotton pants for bed. Then he brought over the lantern and came to sit next to her with his journal and the map. He flapped it open and inspected it again.

“Why are you curious about that now? You said there’s never any gold.”

He shrugged. “Wanna see it through before we leave these parts. This the final piece.” That was only partially true. He wanted to do it because he knew she would enjoy it, even if all they would probably find was a joke like a quarter or a note that laughed at their folly. He thought on their earlier conversation about doing things together and decided that at the very least, it would create a memory and he wanted as many of those with her as life would spare him.

She rested her head on his shoulder and inspected the map with him. “That horizon line looks familiar,” she said, running her finger over it.

“Does, don’ it?”

“I can’t place it but I’m sure I’ve seen it.”

He hummed, eyes locked to the map. Then she abruptly gasped. “Bastard’s kicking my insides around again! Ow, god damn!”

She peeled up her nightgown and they watched a small bulge appear and fall back on the dome of her belly. Surprised, he looked up at her stunned face, then back down. Another bump, this time in the clear shape of a foot rose like bubble in water, stood suspended for a moment and withdrew.

“Holy shit!” she whispered, “Did you see that?”

”Did.” Something squeezed his heart and he grinned from ear to ear. “You think she dreamin’?” was his quiet question.

“So it’s a she now?”

“Jack said so,” he shrugged. “I kinda like it.”

“Why?”

“Girls are nice.”

She watched his face, curious. “Could be a hellcat. Could be like Sadie?” she countered.

He was never going to say it in case it turned out to be a boy, but deep down inside he liked the idea of a daughter. For one thing, as embarrassing as it sounded, he was less likely to compare her to Isaac and he was more afraid of doing that than he cared to admit.

“Good,” he drawled. “Fierce is good.”

She tensed suddenly and his eyes dropped to her belly again, expecting another kick. But instead came her low whisper: “I know where I’ve seen it.”

“Seen what?”

Her hand shot out to the map on his lap, finger pointing to the line of mountains. “This! You’ve seen it, too!” She sputtered, kicking the covers off to sit up. “It’s on the way to Valentine. We must have passed it a hundred times!”

He inspected it, trying to recall the geography. “Ya sure?” It was such a nondescript horizon line, it could be anywhere. No unique boulders or trees that stood out.

“I’m sure!” she yelped and he couldn’t help but chuckle at her enthusiasm. “These three low peaks flanked by the higher ones….We just have to find this stream!” Her eyes, frantic with excitement locked to his. “Can we go tomorrow? Please, please, please!!”

“Calm down,” he laughed. “That don’ even look right.”

“It does, I swear, it has to be!”

He hummed and gave her a calculating look. “If ya feel up t-”

“I do!” she scrambled up to her knees. “I do, I swear!”

“Simmer down, I mean if ya feel up to it tom-”

“I will!”

“Christ,” he sighed and shook his head. “Serves me right.”

He was surprised when she crushed her lips against his and gave him a passionate kiss. He cupped her cheek and kissed her back. She hadn’t kissed him in what felt a very long time and in that moment he fully grasped how barren the absence of her joy had been, because it flooded back in now and his heart thrummed with pleasure.

“I’ll prove to you that I’m fine,” she grinned against his lips. He grunted with surprise when her small hand ran up his leg and brushed over his cock.

“Woman, ya tryin’ to…bribe me?” he managed as heat pooled into his gut with shocking ferocity. His breath stuttered and a moan fell from his lips as she gently caressed him.

“Why, I would never!” she grinned as her hand disengaged, slipped under his cotton pants and started to stroke him properly.

His hips twitched and he groaned a low sigh as his cock stiffened immediately and tented his pants. The journal and the map slid from his lap and clattered onto the floor. His eyes fluttered and his toes curled as that small cool hand pumped him with expertise, fingers tightening and relaxing with a cruel rhythm. 

“What do you think?” was the sultry whisper into his ear, followed by a suckle of his lobe.

Lust exploded in his chest, pushing his lungs aside as he panted with a sweltering desire. Her fingers curled tighter and a thumb brushed over his slit and his hips bucked again. When her other hand peeled his cotton pants down, his cock was red and swollen and already wet with precum. In the back of his head he was appalled by how aroused he was already but it was a dim thought, weak and distant and dwarfed by severe hunger.

“Yes,” he exhaled. She smiled and threw back her hair, then slowly, ever so slowly leaned down. Her hot breath over his skin made his legs tremble with anticipation. “Yes,” he moaned when her tongue licked his cum and twirled on the tip. “Yes,” he hissed when her lips glided playfully around the head, then slid back off, then did it again. His hand shot down to tangle her hair. “Yes,” he groaned when she slowly, so torturously slowly took him deeper all the while stroking him downwards so she had more access to the sensitive spot under the head. “Jesus, woman,” he panted, hips reaching up into her mouth, his desire swelling like delirium. “You’re too…fuck…good…oh…good at…at…” she hummed around hi shaft and the reverberation would have made him cum if she didn’t tighten her grip just then around the base. His fingers involuntarily gripped her hair by the roots. He hissed with unfulfilled need and couldn’t help but gently buck up to urge her on. She took mercy on him then and released her grip and pushed down her lips. The tightness of her throat drove him into a frenzy and he didn’t say much else for the rest of it.

The next morning, after hours of riding around, aiming for the mountains in the distance that Arthur still insisted didn’t look like a match to the drawing, she spotted the dry stream bed and almost tumbled off the wagon with excitement.

Arthur’s hand shot out to grab her arm. “Settle down or ‘m turnin’ ‘round!” he barked.

“Okay, sorry,” was her quick whisper. 

He stopped the cart and gave the stream bed a skeptical look. “That don’ mean nothing, there a number of dry streams here in the winter.”

“Okay, I understand,” she said calmly, all the while thinking he must be fucking blind because this was obviously THE river bed. Lucky for them it was winter and the bed was dry except for a trickle. “We have to find a bend around a hill.” She pointed upriver, at the smudge of a hill. “Like that one.”

He hummed, squinting in the direction. He turned the cart that way and he gave her tapping foot a pointed look, so she stopped.

“Savigne calm down or we gonna gave the grub in the back of this cart,” he grumbled.

“I’m calm,” she said but it took all her willpower not to start tapping her foot again. He mumbled something about how stupid he was for digging this nonsense back up again, but she ignored him. The hill grew bigger and bigger as late afternoon approached. There was nobody around for miles and it felt like they were the only two people in the world.

He grunted with surprise when they arrived because there indeed was what looked like a slim opening on the bank across. He gave her a sharp head to toe as if to assess how well she was keeping her promise and she sat stock still with baited breath, hands fisting her skirt, back straight as a board, the way she would sit when a Sister sauntered her way in class.

Satisfied, he pressed one of his guns into her hand. “Listen here, ya see someone ‘proachin’, ya shoot.”

“But what if it’s just someone who thinks I need help?” she asked, bewildered.

He coughed an amused huff. “Don’ shoot the guy, Savigne. Shoot up. So I hear.”

“Oh. Right. Okay.”

He gave her a long look and she almost flustered with impatience. “You can do that, right?”

“Even I can do that,” she scoffed defensively. “Are you going to check today or what?”

There was a deflated sigh, he dropped his hat into her lap, took the lantern, jumped down and proceeded to climb down the boulders to walk across the stream bed. He stuck his head into the opening, lighted the lantern and held it in, looking around.

“Will you fit?” she called.

“Barely,” he yelled back. “It goin’ up, into the hill.”

She shifted with excitement, then carefully placed the gun beside her so she wouldn’t grip it wrong and pull the trigger by mistake.

He gave her a final look, pushed in the lantern, then slithered after and disappeared from sight.

Silence descended.

Savigne tapped her foot again, looked around to see if anyone was coming their way, twitched a little with paranoia and fished out the binoculars to scan the horizon. There were no birds chirping and no insects buzzing and she marveled again how quiet and unpopulated the wide expanses of this country were. Then she thought of their previous trip and the Murfrees and a spark of fear ignited in her as she pulled up the binoculars again. 

He was gone for what felt like a long while. Too long to scramble around in a hill of this size and a grim idea occurred to her: ‘What if he’s stuck?’. She leveled the binoculars at the opening and it looked small, especially for someone of Arthur’s size. 

“Stop!” she muttered. “Relax. He’s fine.”

She pulled out her pocket watch. It was a quarter after three but she hadn’t marked the time when he entered, so that didn’t mean anything. The light shifted and a breeze came up, rustling the dry grass around her as she watched the horizon again. Then she couldn't contain herself anymore and despite knowing he would be angry with her for climbing down by herself, shifted to do just that when she looked up and he was at the entrance, covered in dirt and dust.

She sighed with relief and plopped her butt back down. “Did you find anything?”

He gave her a long, weird look and worry vibrated in her. His Adam’s apple bobbed, he blinked and glanced around as if confused and distracted, then looked back at her. 

“Yeah,” was his quiet statement that she only heard because it was so silent here.

“You okay?” she called, her uncertainty growing. He looked dazed, like he had hit his head. She rose up again, nervous now, trying to see if there was blood on his head. It was impossible to tell from this distance and with all the caked dust.

He nodded, then looked at his hands and thoughtfully wiped them on his jeans.

Oh my god, he must have hit his head, she thought, panic stirring in her. Or maybe something bit him. Maybe it was poisonous. She scrambled down the cart and hurried around and her panic grew when he didn’t even yell at her for that.

“What is it?!” she yelled, voice breaking with terror. “Did you hit your head? Did you…”

He waved his arm, sluggish, almost as if he couldn’t speak.

“I swear if you’re being silly, you better stop, Arthur! It’s not funny!” she called, breath hitching as she felt at the verge of tears.

He waved his arm again and placed his hands on his knees to double over, huffing to get air into his lungs. She eyed the boulders, calculating her route down, but before she could climb down, he spoke: “Stay. ‘M fine.”

He sounded winded, so she stayed, but barely.

“Are you bullshitting again? I’m going to be so mad if you’re bullshitting!”

He took a deep breath and straightened, then took another.

“Stay,” he said, firmer now, so she did. Then he gave her a look as if he wasn’t sure what he could tell her without risking her spinning off the handle. He took another deep breath. A conciliatory small smile bloomed on his lips as his hands rose to placate her. “‘M okay, promise.”

She shifted on her feet with indecision. The breeze clattered the empty husks of grass around her again.

“This gonna take a while,” was his huff of a statement. He shook his head with disbelief before he waved her back and disappeared in the crag again, leaving the trail of a chuckle and a confused woman behind.