#i’m fine this is fine; the only other wedding i’ve been to was my sister’s and i was one of the bridesmaids so 🤷🏼‍��️

[threnodians]

operation do not cry at my irl bestie’s wedding: FAILED

[the-boy-meets-evil]

not according to plan | hjs

summary: your ex-fiance is getting married and everyone you know is going to be there. when he calls to ask if you're coming, you accidentally mention a boyfriend. which would be fine, if you weren't very single. thankfully your best friend comes through with the perfect solution when he sets you up with a friend of his. what could possibly go wrong?

pairing: joshua x f.reader genre: fake dating, strangers to friends to ?? | fluff, slight angst, smut rating: explicit, minors DNI word count: ~22.1k notes/warnings: johnny suh as the ex-fiancee (sorry, he's not great in this), other idols born in '95 used as background characters, mentions of past cheating, food & alcohol, lots of "dates", reader is referenced as coming from a rich family, mention of being an escort (minus the sex?) smut warnings: making out, multiple smut scenes (kind of, it could be a continuation), multiple orgasms, teasing, they're both v obsessed with each other's bodies, protected sex, fingering, nipple play, oral sex (f. receiving), scratching/marking, squirting, overstimulation, use of lube, i think that's it (but let me know if it's not)

author's note: this fic is dedicated to the lovely @shuadotcom, i'm so sorry it took me literal months to finish fake dating!joshua but here we are anyway. i'm not sure how this one got so away from me either lmao. banner credit to the beautiful @wongyuseokie who (again) did this very last minute. thank you to @wonwussy & @kwanisms for the mid-fic beta. thank you to @wooahaeproductions, @horanghater, @cheolism, & @hannieween for listening to me talk about this and helping with things like petnames & dates.

taglist at the end (& join my permanent taglist here)

“It’s fine, it’s been years and I’m over it. Plus, I’ve been seeing someone anyway and he’s great. So I wasn’t ignoring your invite,” you say without a second thought. 

It’s just a stream of consciousness. The lie comes flying out of your mouth faster than your brain can process it. That’s exactly what it is, too. A lie. You’re not seeing anyone and haven’t been in a serious relationship since the person on the other end of the call broke your heart. 

“Oh, wow, sorry, I didn’t mean to…well, I didn’t know. My mom didn’t say anything when she said she had spoken to your mom about whether or not you were coming to the wedding,” Johnny says with a little bit of ramble. 

“You know how my mom can be, I haven’t had the chance to tell her yet,” you deflect. 

“I’m happy for you, then,” Johnny says. 

“Thanks, I’m happy for you, too,” you force out. Somehow, it doesn’t sound like the lie you know that it is.

“So, it’s not weird, then? I mean our moms are best friends, so the rest of your family is all going to be there. A lot of your friends will be there. I know you haven’t RSVP’d yet, but…” Johnny starts.

“Nope! Not weird at all,” you utter, hoping that your voice sounds even. “It’d be weirder if I wasn’t there, right?” 

“Probably, yeah,” Johnny says. “That’s great, though. Do you want me to mark you down as a yes? I can even add a plus-one, if you want to bring your partner.” 

“That’s so thoughtful, but I wouldn’t want to put you out. I know how expensive weddings can be,” you say and try to sound sincere.

“No, it’s no issue, actually. We have a few extra seats that we left just in case we forgot someone or didn’t know about someone’s partner,” Johnny presses. “So we’ll see you both there?”

“Yeah, you will,” you hurry out. This conversation needs to be over. 

It’s only an hour after hanging up with your ex-fiancee that your mom calls to tell you she can’t believe she had to hear it from Mrs. Suh that you’re dating someone. Which includes a whole lot of deflecting and promises about when she can meet this mystery man. Another twenty minutes after you hang up with your mom, you get a pointed text from your younger sister. The two of you haven’t ever been all that close, so she shouldn’t be surprised that you haven’t mentioned him. She made her side pretty clear when she maintained her friendship with Johnny’s new fiancée. That new fiancee, a close friend of your sisters, also just so happened to be the girl he cheated on you with. So, she can hardly expect to have a close sister bond. Yet, she seems oddly suspicious that she didn’t know you were seeing someone seriously. 

Your quiet Saturday afternoon turns into a full blown headache all thanks to one call from the asshole that you really thought you left in the past. Of course, now is the perfect time for him to pop back up. Now, when you’re even between any sort of casual sex. Now, when you don’t even have someone that you can call up to pretend to date you. This is going to be one of the worst calls that you have to make when you have to admit you made it all up, that you will absolutely not be showing your face at the wedding, and you will also be changing your name before moving away.

For now, you do the only thing that you can think of doing. You call the only person that can give you any perspective on this whole fucking disaster. 

“Well hello,” your best friend answers. 

“Jeonghan, I fucked up,” you say without preamble. 

“This is gonna be good,” he responds. 

“I just got off the phone with my mom,” you begin.

“What did she want?” he asks, knowing that it won’t be anything good.

“Well, you know, to talk about this new boyfriend of mine,” you continue.

“You haven’t dated anyone in forever,” Jeonghan chuckles. 

“Thank you for that,” you snark. “And then, of course, I get a text from my perfect sister wondering why she’s also just hearing about this boyfriend of mine.” 

“Why do your sister and your mom think you’re dating someone?” Jeonghan asks.

“Oh, well, you know. Johnny called today,” you offer.

“Fuck that guy,” Jeonghan interjects.

“He wanted to know why I hadn’t responded to his wedding invite and assumed it was awkward because I was single, so I told him I was seeing someone,” you finally finish.

“For fuck’s sake,” Jeonghan says into the silence and you can imagine his face.

“Right? My life is a fucking mess and now Johnny thinks that I’m bringing my boyfriend,” you groan.

“I’ll start planning the story for why you suddenly left town,” Jeonghan says. 

“For real, my life is over,” you whine.

“What are you gonna do?” Jeonghan asks softly. 

This is really why you called him. Jeonghan is a shithead, sometimes, and he can be a bit of a chaos demon. He also can be a bit of a schemer, especially when it comes to winning a game. But, he’s unfailingly kind and caring to the people he holds dear. He absolutely hates getting into any kind of real conflict with his friends. There’s that whole side to him that honestly wouldn’t hurt a fly and always has a way to comfort. That’s the side that you get now. 

“I don’t know,” you answer, voice just as quiet. “I’m just…I don’t want to let him win, you know?”

And Jeonghan does know. You’ve been friends since before you started dating Johnny. Even though he never liked him, Jeonghan supported you in your relationship. When Johnny proposed, he called your other friends and set up the best engagement party anyone could ask for. From the outside, nobody would ever know that he hated your partner. Honestly, he’s the best friend anyone in the world could ask for. 

Before he got around to setting up the bridal shower, which he’d been quietly planning for months, your whole world turned upside down. Johnny cheated, had been cheating awhile, actually, and Jeonghan was there to pick up the pieces. Somehow, he was the only one that seemed to make it better, probably because he didn’t want to act like things were okay when they weren’t. It was easy to cry in front of him, easy to be vulnerable, easy to just let the process play out so you could heal. Even though he never liked Johnny, he also didn’t say he told you so. This had never been something that crossed his mind. 

“Okay, you’re gonna hate it, but I have an idea,” Jeonghan says.

“Those are never comforting words coming from you,” slips out of your mouth.

“Usually I’d yell at you, but…” he trails off. 

“I swear, if you’re about to say that we pretend to be dating like some romcom, I will hang up the phone,” you warn.

“First of all, that’s rude, I’m a great boyfriend,” Jeonghan says. 

“I never said you weren’t, Hannie, you know I think you’re gorgeous,” you sigh. 

“That’s true, I am,” Jeonghan says through a laugh.

“But, I also know you remember what an unmitigated disaster it was when we fucked,” you point out, earning an even louder laugh. 

“Wow, and here I thought that it was actually great sex,” he says. 

“I’m not gonna keep stroking your ego, I already admitted you were gorgeous. I don’t need to praise the sex, too,” you declare.

“Stroking my…come on, you’re making it too easy,” Jeonghan points out.

“Funny, because I remember you being the easy one that night,” you say, finally managing to get a shot in.

“I hate you,” Jeonghan snorts. 

“I know,” you answer. “Didn’t you say that you had an idea?” 

Jeonghan clears his throat. “Right, yeah. Well, I know this guy and maybe he can help you out.” 

“What is he, an escort?” you snort out.

“Do you want my help or not?” Jeonghan asks.

“Yoon Jeonghan, are you about to set me up with an escort?” you challenge.

“No, of course not, just trust me,” he says.

Just trust me might be the three most terrifying words that could come out of Jeonghan’s mouth, especially when you’re not usually on the receiving end of his schemes. It’s not like you have much choice, though. The wedding is in six weeks and you have to find a solution, fast. So, what choice do you have other than trusting your best friend? How could this go wrong? 

You still think this is a terrible idea, yet agree to meet Jeonghan’s friend, Joshua, anyway. Apparently, he’s somewhat new to the area, doesn’t know many people, and is incredibly easy to be around. There’s no mention of why Jeonghan thinks he might be willing to pretend to be your boyfriend. A part of you wonders if your friend even told him, but he’s not that cruel. So, whatever the case, Joshua must at least have some idea of what he’s walking into. 

Several days pass between the nightmare of a call from Johnny and you actually meeting Joshua, which only adds to your anxiety about whether or not this is going to work. Johnny is asking for a name for the seating chart and for dinner selections. Your mom wants to know when they’ll be able to meet this new boyfriend before the wedding (because “meeting him for the first time at a wedding is gauche” and we wouldn’t want that). Your sister is convinced that he doesn’t actually exist since you haven’t posted him on social media. That you can at least answer to say that not everyone posts their entire life online like she does. It doesn’t seem to allay her suspicions, though. 

Then, there’s the fact that you’re actually meeting Joshua for the first time at dinner. All you wanted was to go for coffee, yet he insisted. You couldn’t exactly press the point. Not when you’re planning to ask this stranger to pretend to date you just so that you can avoid the embarrassment at your ex’s wedding. On top of that, because Jeonghan really is a demon at his core, you don’t know what Joshua looks like. Don’t know who to look for. Which leads to you doing the only sensible thing and showing up 5 minutes late for dinner, hoping that he’ll already be at the table when you get there.

It works.

When you give the reservation name at the host stand, you’re immediately led back to a table. Without even thinking about it, you smooth your hands down the front of your dress, looking for a small amount of comfort in this situation. It’s not even that you struggle around new people, this is just…well, it’s a lot. It’s out of anyone’s comfort zone. Whatever you’re expecting, it’s not the man sitting at the table the host leads you to. He nearly stops you in your tracks. 

His black hair is perfectly styled down to the pieces on one side that come down over his forehead. The black dress shirt he wears is open at least one button too many, but he makes the exposed chest look work in a way models would envy. Even though his pants are black as well, he makes it look classic and effortless, rather than too dark. That’s all without even acknowledging the soft smile on his face. This man would break a thousand hearts without even saying a damn word. While you’re appreciating him, you miss the way his eyes rake over you appreciatively. Miss the way his eyes trace your curves and the way the dress clings to you. 

In one fluid motion, he’s standing up to greet you, a gentle kiss placed on your cheek. Is it weird if your knees are a little weak? Well, even if it is, there’s nothing you can do. You’re completely captivated. 

“You must be Joshua,” you say. Brilliant, you think. That’s obvious.

“It’s nice to meet you. Jeonghan had nothing but good things to say,” he answers with another smile as he pulls your seat out for you. 

“I feel like he hardly told me about you,” you respond. Joshua raises a perfect eyebrow at that.

“Then why did you agree to go out with me?” Joshua asks. 

“Go out with…is this a date?” The question comes tumbling out. 

Joshua’s eyes widen in genuine confusion. “Is it not?” 

“What, exactly, did Jeonghan say to you?” 

A lot and nothing at all, it turns out. Joshua tells you about how he’s somewhat new to the area, which you knew. About how he met Jeonghan through work, kind of. They work in the same building doing very different things and happened to run into each other getting coffee a handful of times before Jeonghan introduced himself. The two had hung out several times, something Jeonghan had not really mentioned, and gotten to know each other over drinks more than once. The very first time, Jeonghan had mentioned you and Joshua admits immediately being intrigued without pressing for more information. 

In any case, Jeonghan talked about you pretty freely, a fact that’s hardly surprising. Before Joshua texted you, Jeonghan had mentioned, in what Joshua calls an offhand way, that you were sick of dating the same people. According to Joshua, through Jeonghan, you were looking to possibly be set up. (Read: Jeonghan thinks he’s crafty and isn’t going to come out and tell this man what you’re really looking for. Typical Jeonghan, honestly. You know that “offhand comment” was anything but. And you had the audacity to think Jeonghan would have to tell Joshua what he’s getting into. Rookie move.)

Now you’re in a bit of an awkward situation because this man is honestly gorgeous, one of the prettiest humans you’ve ever met. And, already, he seems like he might be sweet with a pretty good sense of humor. It’s just…well, you’re absolutely not looking for a relationship and this is the last person you want to get involved in your mess. Thankfully, you get a moment to catch your breath when someone comes by to take a drink order and suggest an appetizer. It’s just enough time for you to talk yourself into telling Joshua the real story.

To his credit, he only looks mildly surprised as you outline your whole situation, inform him that yes, Jeonghan does know all of this, and clarify why you didn’t actually realize it was a date. It’s hard to miss the way his eyes seem to sparkle a bit when you also admit that he’s absolutely stunning in a way that hurts your feelings. Easier to miss is the way his face barely falls when you say that you’re not actually looking for something right now. Interesting. 

“So that’s the whole thing and now that I’ve embarrassed myself in front of you, I’m sure you’ll understand if we never see each other after tonight,” you finish.

“How am I supposed to go to a wedding as your boyfriend in a matter of weeks if we don’t see each other after tonight?” Joshua wonders.

“I…what?” you sputter out. 

“Well, sure, we need to work out a few details, but I’m game,” Joshua says with a shrug.

“I’m sorry, I think I’m just really confused?” You don’t even have food yet and this is already the most interesting date you’ve been on, possibly ever. 

“I, uh, may have left a part of my past out when I was sharing what Jeonghan knew about me,” Joshua says. “And honestly, I can’t believe I didn’t catch it or that he did this. I’d be mad if I wasn’t so impressed by how crafty it was.” 

“I’m going to need you to connect some dots for me,” you admit. “Oh and also never tell Jeonghan you appreciate him being crafty. His ego is too big as it is.”

“The first time Jeonghan and I hung out, we went out for drinks, got a little wasted, and I told him about how I got through my university studies without any debts,” Joshua says, pausing long enough for someone to set the appetizer down. “He’s observant, Jeonghan, I’ll give him that. He noticed I had designer clothes, shoes, that kind of thing. And he noticed I didn’t pay attention to the prices of the drinks. So I made a vague comment about being lucky to have found a way through my studies without taking out loans.”

“I’m sure he asked you about that, he loves it when he thinks there’s a scheme,” you note with a smile.

“You’re right about that,” Joshua agrees. “So I, well I told him. When I was in school, I met this woman out one night and she paid me to go to events with her. She wanted, and these were her words, ‘someone young and hot’ with her. And the next four years, that’s what I did. I let people pay for me to go to events with them. Never more than that. I was clear that I wasn’t selling sex or anything, just company.” 

You lean back in your seat with an appraising look. “An entrepreneur from the beginning.” 

“Hey, no judgment,” Joshua says. All you can do is smile.

“I’m not judging, that was really smart and you’re obviously attractive enough for it,” you acknowledge.

“Thank you,” Joshua says. It doesn’t have the air of cockiness Jeonghan’s answer would. He actually seems sincere in accepting the compliment. 

“But, I’m still not going to pay you to pretend to be my boyfriend,” you say, even if it’s a bit reluctant. 

“I wasn’t asking you to,” Joshua shrugs. “You don’t have to pay me.”

“Why would you offer to pretend to do something like this? You don’t even know me,” you point out.

“No, I don’t. But, you seem like a good person. And I like Jeonghan, he’s nice…” Joshua says, stopping when you try to cover a scoff. 

“Nice?” you question when you’re caught.

“Wrong word choice,” Joshua dismisses. “He seems like the kind of person that’s a loyal friend, like he would go into battle to protect you. Like someone you can actually trust.”

“He is all of those things, yeah,” you admit.

“And if those things are true, then him holding you out as his best friend means you’re probably all of those things too,” Joshua reasons. 

“I try to be,” you agree. 

“Plus, Jeonghan did mention you had seriously dated someone that was pretty rich, so I figure it’s probably the guy getting married and it’ll be a nice wedding,” Joshua says with a smile. The joke is obvious by the look in his eyes.

“It’s interesting that he mentioned Johnny, that’s my ex, being rich,” you idly comment.

“Is he not?” Joshua wonders.

“Jeonghan is a lot of things, but he’d never lie to his friends,” you answer first. “So, yeah, he is. Well, his family is at least. His mom and mine run a lot of events together, like galas and shit. That’s how we all know each other.”

“Are you rich, too?” Joshua wonders. There’s that little twinkle of something in his eyes again, but there’s also sincerity.

“I’m still not paying you,” you retort.

“Fine,” Joshua agrees. 

You roll your eyes. “Okay, so what’s the plan?” 

There’s a weird world’s colliding feeling to having both Jeonghan and Joshua in your apartment. But, Jeonghan doesn’t like to be left out of things. Once you told him that you and Joshua both knew about his scheming, he offered to help in any way he could. Which is likely just so he’s included. You’ll take what you can get. Now, it means that he and Joshua are sitting on your couch, scrolling through pictures on Joshua’s phone to decide what to include in an instagram post. That’s the first step you and Joshua agreed on. If you’re going to sell this whole fake relationship, then your sister actually is right. There has to be some sort of proof of it online. Which also means that your post has to talk about how you’ve been keeping it quiet and just enjoying getting to know each other without any pressure. Jeonghan takes credit for that, even if you got there on your own. 

“I think I like this one,” Jeonghan says and turns the phone around to show you. 

“Why that one?” you ask. 

“Why not? Don’t you like it?” Joshua worries.

“I don’t know, I feel like my hand is doing something weird,” you point out.

“You look great,” Joshua assures you.

“Oh, ew, you’re not really dating,” Jeonghan complains. 

“You do know you’re going to have to stop saying that, right?” you ask.

“Maybe I didn’t know either,” Jeonghan shrugs.

“No, I’m with her, you’re her best friend and you definitely would’ve known,” Joshua agrees. 

“Why are you on her side already?” Jeonghan whines.

“Because she’s cool and she’s not the one who knew what I did in college and set me up,” Joshua says with a laugh. 

This is how it’s been going for the last hour. You’re not really much for putting a lot of effort into your posts, so this all feels like too much. But, you know that it’s important for it to feel real and it’s important to get it right. You’re honestly pretty happy to just let the guys take the lead and go with the flow of it all. There are going to be plenty of opportunities for you to take the lead. You’re going to take your breaks where you can. 

(That had also meant not putting up too much of a fight when Jeonghan told you to bring multiple outfits with you. Or when you had to change your hairstyle and makeup between the photos so it looked like they hadn’t all been taken the same day. Honestly, this was so much easier for Joshua. Then again, he’s the one doing you a favor. So maybe you can let him have it.)

After you finally get your couple pictures posted, and get a flurry of messages ranging from surprise to congratulations, you move onto preparing Joshua to meet your parents, your sister, and her husband. Jeonghan is actually a lot of help with that because he’s been around them a lot. Well, he’s helpful after he tries to scare Joshua about how intimidating it’s going to be only to give up when Joshua is unbothered. He’s so calm about everything that it’s actually kind of nice to be around. And he has no problem firing back at Jeonghan, which is really fun to watch. 

You go through what your parents are like, what they do both for work and as hobbies. Joshua perks up at the mention of your dad loving music and sometimes spending his weekends just exploring new venues. It seems like there might be more to that, though you don’t press when he waves it off. It’s different when you talk about your sister, two years younger and already married. Not that you’re dying to be married or even care that she got married before you. That’s always seemed like a weird societal expectation, anyway. What does it matter when anyone gets married? If it’s their right person, then it makes sense. You being upset over your failed engagement really doesn’t have anything to do with your sister’s marriage, despite her instance it does. 

It becomes obvious that you’re losing Jeonghan’s attention when you turn down his request to start playing games or watch a movie. It’s not that you don’t want to do those things, it’s just that you have a lot to cover in far less time than you realized. Sure, the wedding is still weeks away. What’s not weeks away is your first dinner with your family. That’s going to be around the corner. The least you could do, you figured, was plan a time before posting pictures on instagram. So, Jeonghan asks if it’s okay to leave and you almost sigh in relief. This will be easier without an extra person.

“Not to pry, but what’s the deal with you and Jeonghan?” Joshua asks when you settle back on the couch with a glass of wine. 

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“I don’t know, I feel like I was picking up on something,” Joshua shrugs.

“We’re really just friends,” you assure him.

“Sometimes those are the best…” Joshua starts.

“Don’t,” you cut off. He worries for a second before he realizes you’re smiling. “We did try. Not so much a try, I guess, but we slept together maybe 6 months after Johnny and I broke it off and it just wasn’t it.” 

“You and him slept together?” Joshua questions.

“Is that weird for you?” you ask.

“No, it’s just interesting that you’re still so close,” Joshua observes.

“I guess,” you say with a shrug. “He’s great, obviously attractive, but we just, I don’t know. I didn’t feel anything. Neither did he. So, staying friends seemed like the right choice.”

“Interesting,” is all Joshua says. “Have you dated anyone seriously since Johnny?” 

“Not that seriously, no,” you admit. “I’ve gone on dates with different people and some of them stuck around for a bit, but nothing serious.” 

“Not finding the right people?” Joshua presses.

“I just haven’t found anyone that made me feel like Johnny did at the beginning or even like I did when he proposed,” you say. 

“I can understand that, even if I don’t really get it. You’re gorgeous, anyone would be lucky,” he says smoothly. You cover a blush with a slight eye roll. 

“I guess that’s why most of my close friends will also believe that I kept a new relationship on the low. They saw me post-Johnny and have seen me try to date,” you share.

“Yeah that’s good for us, at least,” Joshua agrees.

“What about you, though? When was your last relationship?” you ask.

“Ah, well it’s been a little over a year,” Joshua says. 

“Bad ending?” you wonder. You’re not sure why you press him on it.

“It wasn’t great,” Joshua says with a chuckle. “She, uh, well she decided that she just really would rather be with one of my friends than with me.”

“I’m so sorry you went through that,” you say, suddenly sorry.

“No, no, it’s fine,” he says. “She didn’t actually cheat on me, but she had started getting close to him and sharing everything with him.”

“Arguably worse, in my opinion. Emotional cheating is still a thing,” you say, trying to offer comfort. 

“Thank you,” Joshua says. His eyes are soft and full of care. “And, like you, I have dated since then, just nothing worth talking about.” 

It’s an easy transition from that into talking about your backgrounds. Like speed dating, except somehow more intense. You learn Joshua’s birthday, his parents names, that he’s an only child, and where he grew up. Nothing is too small and you joke about taking notes before you actually go to get a notebook. Joshua tells you his favorite color and his favorite food, tells you about his favorite memories, favorite places where he grew up, and favorite places he’s found since moving here. There’s a way that his face lights up when he talks about his friends that’s drawing you in. You tell him the same. That all feels a little surface level, which you point out. If this is going to work, it has to be deeper, more serious. 

That’s when something seems to almost break down. Joshua suggests that you tell each other the deep stuff, the things that you don’t always admit to someone you’re dating. Or, maybe you admit it and don’t get into the reasons why. When Joshua goes first and admits that he’s happiest when he’s playing his guitar, even if nobody else is listening, his whole face changes. It’s like a completely different version of him. He’s got an open face as it is, that hasn’t changed, but you realize maybe he’s a little guarded behind the smile as well. Maybe there really is more depth than he wants anyone to realize. Maybe this is going to be more interesting than you thought.

“Can I hear you play?” you ask. His face is adorable with his eyes full of surprise.

“You want to hear me play?” There’s an emotion you can’t place when he looks at you.

“I love music, too, Joshua,” you say softly. “I’d love to see what you’re passionate about.”

“Oh, well, I usually play at this acoustic night on Thursdays at a coffee shop downtown,” Joshua tells you.

“You do? That’s so cute!” you say before second guessing it. He looks away like he’s a little embarrassed and you worry for a split second.

“I’d love it if you came by,” he says.

“It’s a shame that we can’t say that’s where we met,” you admit.

“Wait, that would be a good idea, actually,” Joshua says and you smile. 

“It would be, but I also know events like that. It’s always a similar crowd so I’m sure someone will know that I’ve never been,” you reason. 

“Fair point,” Joshua concedes. 

“Why don’t we just say we met on a dating app?” you suggest and Joshua pulls up his face. “Okay, I know apps are lame and honestly, I don’t use them much. But, think about it. That’s the perfect reason why we didn’t bring it up until now, we didn’t want to answer the ‘where did you meet’ question by saying an app.” 

“Okay, yeah, I do actually like that because it’s easy and it doesn’t feel like a wild story,” Joshua says. 

“What about your parents?” you ask. “Do we need to make plans to meet them if you’re also posting about me?” 

“We can figure that out, but they live pretty far away so it would probably just be over FaceTime or something,” he says.

“I also understand if you don’t want to do that because we’re just pretending,” you suggest. 

“No, it’d be cool to have you meet them. Even if the relationship isn’t real, I’d like to be friends for real, so that’s not a total lie,” Joshua reasons. 

“I’d like to be friends too,” you agree. “How long have you been living here, now?” 

“Oh, um, like 8 months?” Joshua says like a question.

“I was figuring like a month or two with the way Jeonghan talks about you,” you laugh. 

“You’ve been friends with him for years, you’re not actually surprised,” Joshua points out. 

“Okay so now I guess we have to figure out when we started dating,” you comment.

“And everything else, but we can do it,” Joshua says. 

You’re a little nervous sitting on your couch waiting for Joshua to show up. Even though you offered to pick him up for dinner with your family tonight, he insisted on being the one to drive. Of course he’s right on time, which you’re already realizing is a trait of his. He’s even a gentleman when he opens the door for you, just like he pulled the chair out the first time you met for the date-not-date. As you put your seatbelt on, you notice that there are a few things in the backseat. 

“What’s all that?” you ask as he slides into the driver’s seat. 

“Flowers for your mom, a bottle of scotch for your dad, and a cheese board for your sister because you said they just moved and she likes to host,” Joshua lists off as if it’s nothing.

“You did not have to get things for all of them,” you point out. 

“Of course I did, but I also wanted to. I’m trying to make a good impression,” he says, making your heart a little light.

“That’s so kind,” you whisper out.

“Oh, I thought of something else,” Joshua shifts. You’re worried you made him uncomfortable until he speaks again. “Are you a pet name person in relationships?”

That makes you snort, something that would embarrass you in any other situation. It’s not the first time he’s heard it, though. “That depends on what you want to call me.”

“That’s a dangerous way to say that,” Joshua answers. His eyes are still on the road, yet you don’t miss the way he reacts.

“I don’t like overly cutesy names,” you say to diffuse a little bit of the moment. “Like, I don’t know, if you want to call me sugarplum or honeybunch or something like that, please don’t.”

“You’re just giving me ideas to take away my fun,” he pouts.

“Well, what were you thinking of calling me? Or are you even a pet name person?” you ask.

“I do like them,” Joshua says. “I’m not sure that I have a go-to or anything. For you, I might say angel or possibly darling.”

“I think I prefer angel, if I’m allowed to pick,” you say after a moment.

“Of course,” Joshua replies. Studying his face, you’re looking for a hint of mocking or insincerity, but there’s nothing to find. This is just him.

“Do you want me to use a pet name for you?” you wonder.

“I’d happily take one, no pressure, though,” he says. 

“I’ll have to think about it,” you tell him. “Something generic like babe doesn’t feel right.”

“Are you saying I’m special?” Now you can hear the light teasing in his voice. 

“I take it back, any more compliments are going to go to your head,” you huff out. 

As you get closer to your parents’ house, you start to bounce your knee with an excess of nervous energy. It’s not until Joshua reaches a hand out to take one of yours that you’re even sure you’re doing it. There’s something calming about it, though. Nothing about him reaching out feels like he’s trying to stop you, just show that you’re not alone in this. Which is more than welcome. The last person you brought to meet your parents was Johnny. Given how that ended and why Joshua is around in the first place, it’s not exactly the most comforting thought.

Once you pull up to their house, you take a deep breath. It’s only to settle your rising nerves, but it also serves to give Joshua enough time to come and open your door. Even though you’ve told him that he doesn’t need to be this sweet, he insists. Without saying a word, he holds out a hand to help you out of the car. Instead of dropping your hand once you’re out, he uses it to pull you into him and wraps his arms around you. There’s this immediate sense of comfort, like you have actually been dating for months. You inhale his cologne without meaning to, something warm and woodsy. 

“It’s going to be fine, parents love me,” he assures you when you pull away.

“I don’t doubt that,” you say, releasing the breath you were holding and your tension with it. 

“So come on, my little granola wrapper, let’s go,” Joshua says as he lets you go to get the gifts out of his backseat. 

It takes you a full few seconds to register what came out of his mouth. “I’m sorry, what did you just call me?” 

“Is that not the one?” he asks, eyes alight with some kind of mischief. 

“I’m not going to encourage this,” you huff.

“Whatever you say, jellybean,” he throws out casually. 

The second you step into the house, you see exactly what Joshua means. Your mother is fawning over him in a matter of seconds, your father is making plans to show him his records, your sister’s husband is asking when they can go out for drinks, and your sister even holds back the snark. All during the course of the pre-dinner drinks and largely, you think, due to the gifts that Joshua brought. He had a reason for the meaning behind the type of flowers for your mother, a favorite musician who swore by the scotch for your dad, and even bought the cheese board from a small business that customized things. 

Dinner comes along and you still feel like you’ve barely said anything with Joshua masterfully steering the conversation. He even makes it sound good that you met on an app, with his improvised story of wanting to meet people in a new city. According to him, he wasn’t expecting to meet someone like you and was done for the second he saw you sitting at dinner. It’s something real, that you met him for dinner the first time at a fancy downtown restaurant. And you realize you never actually asked what his impression was that first night. More than once, you catch yourself watching his profile as he talks to one of your family members. Everything about him is at ease and you wonder if it really is all fake. Not that you think anything about him is disingenuous, he’s just really good at making people like him. 

The only hiccup doesn’t come until your mother is pulling out dessert. According to your sister, she’s got an excellent pie in the refrigerator that you simply have to try. You’re about to say something when Joshua beats you to it. 

“I don’t think my little sugarplum likes fruit pies, but it sounds amazing and I’d love a piece,” Joshua interjects smoothly. 

Your sister nearly spits out her drink, whether it’s at the nickname or him speaking up for you, you’re not sure. In any other situation, you would scold him for the name, but you’re a little stunned he remembers you don’t like pie. It came up once in a rapid fire of likes and dislikes. 

“You’re right, she doesn’t,” your sister agrees. “I’d almost forgotten.” 

(That’s when you’re sure it was another of your sister’s tests. Trying to catch you in some kind of lie about your relationship. But, it doesn’t work and you feel a little victorious for that.)

The doorbell rings through the house and you look to your mother, silently asking if she’s expecting someone. It’s unusual for them to have company calling this late on a Friday night. It’s usually reserved for dinners with friends or family or galas. Unsurprisingly, your mother doesn’t seem to know who it could be, but disappears to answer the door all the same. When a voice drifts through from the hallway, you freeze on the spot.

“I really just came by to drop that off for my mom, I didn’t realize it was so late. I’d hate to intrude on dessert,” the guest says. 

“Nonsense, you’re not interrupting,” your mother insists. 

“I saw an unfamiliar car, so I figured you might have guests,” he says as they come through the doorway into the living area. 

Your heart stutters a little in your chest, feels heavier for seeing him. Somehow he looks taller and broader than the last time you saw him. He’s wearing his hair shorter and he looks more mature, somehow, like he’s seen so much more of the world than when you were together. Which is probably true, if you think about it. It’s been a couple years and that means he’s had more time working with his father. 

“That would be my car,” Joshua says, getting to his feet immediately and extending his hand. “I’m Joshua.” 

“Johnny,” he answers and shakes Joshua’s hand. Yet, his face looks a little tense and his eyes mostly stay on you. 

“It’s just family,” your mother shares, though Johnny can obviously see that himself, “since our darling daughter finally brought Joshua around to meet us.” 

“I’m glad she did, dinner was wonderful and the company was even better,” Joshua says with a smile at your mother. She nearly blushes at his compliment. 

“Oh, hush,” your mother says with a wave of her hand. “I was just getting some pie if you’d like to stay for a piece, Johnny. Although, I’d hate to keep you from home.”

Joshua sits back down next to you, a little closer than is strictly necessary, and puts his arm along the back of the couch behind you. You feel safe pressed up against his side like that. Johnny clears his throat when he looks away from the pair of you. “Gabby has been out of town all week, actually, so I’m going back to an empty home anyway. I’d love to stay for a piece of your famous cherry pie.” 

“Great!” your mother says and disappears off into the kitchen. 

“What’s got Gabby away?” your sister asks. 

“Just a conference,” Johnny answers. “There was a final banquet tonight and she’ll be home tomorrow.” 

“She’s busy, away this week, bachelorette next weekend,” she says offhand. 

“Keeping tabs on when everything is?” you ask of your sister. She looks at you like you’re crazy and Johnny looks awkward.

“No, I was invited to it,” your sister answers evenly. 

Before you can even answer, Joshua is speaking up. Probably sensing your discomfort. After all, you hadn’t gotten to tell him that Johnny’s fiance is friends with your younger sister. They had gone to school together and been close. Stealing her sister’s fiancée doesn’t seem to have impacted the friendship. 

“You must be excited with the big day getting so close,” Joshua says. He moves his arm from behind you so that he can take your hand on your thigh. It makes you look down at your hands before glancing at him, only to find his gaze on you already. It also means you miss the way Johnny follows the movement. 

“Uh, yeah, I mean, I’m definitely excited. It’s just been a lot of planning,” Johnny says. 

“I bet,” Joshua says. “Thank you so much for inviting me, I know how stressful changes can be.” 

“It’s no problem, I’m happy you’ll both be there,” Johnny says. 

With almost a practiced subtlety, Joshua squeezes your hand. There’s so much in that one movement. A reassurance, a reminder to breathe, a reminder that he’s there, a promise that everything is going to be okay. Your heart hurts seeing Johnny sitting in the living room so casually as if nothing happened, but it doesn’t hurt as much as you expected. Maybe that has something to do with this impossibly kind, completely idiotic person next to you. You also can’t help the way your gaze lands on him. Just in profile, at first, before he senses your look and turns to you with a dazzling smile. It’s like there’s nobody else in the world but the two of you.

The conversation shifts slightly when your mother comes back in with a tray full of pie slices and your father comes back with whatever record he was looking for to show Joshua. Just like that, you survive your first in-person interaction with Johnny. Actually come out of it feeling like you might be able to handle this. The smile you send Joshua while he’s eating his pie is so fond that you’re not even sure who you are. 

“I can’t believe you didn’t call me last night,” Jeonghan says in lieu of a hello.

“Hello to you too, I’m good, thanks for asking,” you retort.

“Greetings are for people who remember their best friends, not for people who send a single sentence recap after bringing their fake boyfriend home to meet the family,” Jeonghan states immediately.

“That’s a very long rule,” you note.

“Deserved, though,” Jeonghan says.

“I was tired, Han, it was a long night,” you explain.

“A long night where your ex showed up,” he reminds you.

“That actually wasn’t so bad,” you admit. “Joshua made it feel pretty easy.”

“Oh did he now?” 

You don’t have to be in the same room as Jeonghan to hear the expression on his face when he says that. “It was just easy, Jeonghan, nothing more than that.”

“What did your parents think?” he asks, switching gears.

“They loved him, like actually loved him. My mom was enamored and kept calling him handsome. My dad was talking about music with him and making plans to go check out some acoustic music venue. Even the ice queen couldn’t find anything to fault him for,” you share.

“She’s less of an ice queen and more of a mean girl and a bitch,” Jeonghan adds.

“You said it,” you mumble.

“I mean, come on, who thinks it’s okay for their friend to sleep with their sister’s fiancé? And then stays friends with the girl?” Jeonghan gets really defensive with this. He would ride for you to the ends of the world, which you do love. Just not today. 

“I don’t wanna relive that whole thing, it’s done and over. Nothing to do now,” you say, weariness seeping into your voice.

“Would you want to do anything about it?” Jeonghan asks.

“What do you mean?” You answer the question with a question.

“Like would you want to go back to when you were with Johnny?” Jeonghan asks.

You think about it for half a second. “No.” 

“That was fast,” Jeonghan comments.

“What’s there to go back to? He made his choice and I’m fine, honestly. It was weird seeing him and hearing him talk about his wedding, but it wasn’t as bad as I thought,” you say.

“Is that because of your Prince Charming?” Your best friend, always doing the most, puts this question into a sing-song voice. 

“He’s not a Prince Charming. You’re so annoying,” you scoff. 

“I don’t know, he sure seems to be saving you,” Jeonghan presses. 

“I can’t with…” you start, trailing off at the knock on your door.

“Who’s there?” Jeonghan asks. 

“No clue,” you answer, getting off your couch to go see. 

“I bet it’s Prince Charming,” Jeonghan laughs out.

“Would you fuck…” you begin as you open the door to find the very subject of your conversation on the other side, “off.”

“I’m right aren’t I?” Jeonghan is nearly shrieking with glee.

“Sorry, gotta go,” you say.

“Oh no, no, no,” Jeonghan tries.

You’re stepping aside to let Joshua into your apartment. “I’ll see you tomorrow for brunch.”

“Let me know if I need to add one more to the reservation,” Jeonghan says. 

“Goodbye,” you say with an eye roll Jeonghan can’t see, but will surely hear. You hang up as soon as he also says goodbye.

“Jeonghan?” Joshua guesses.

“Unfortunately,” you confirm. 

“I hope I wasn’t interrupting,” Joshua says. It’s nothing like when someone says it out of forced courtesy. He actually seems like he’s making sure he’s not intruding. 

“No, not at all, I just wasn’t expecting you,” you admit. 

“Sometimes that’s the best time to come over,” Joshua says with a shrug.

“Does that mean you have a plan?” you wonder.

“Yup,” Joshua says.

“Gonna tell me what it is?” you ask.

“Nope,” he says with a concerning smile, popping the end of nope. “Go put on something comfortable but with layers. And we’re not going hiking or anything like that.” 

An hour later, you’re pulling off the road in an area you’ve never been to, even with as long as you’ve lived here. The views are instantly enough to take your breath away. You can see the whole city below you, all the bustle of traffic and skyscrapers. Somewhere, you know there are people rushing to and fro, too busy to stop and appreciate what’s around them. Straight ahead, you can see the way the low clouds glide around, splitting around the very tops of the buildings. It’s beautiful and it also makes you realize just how small you are. 

While you’ve been appreciating the views in front of you, Joshua has been gathering his supplies from the trunk. By the time you turn around, he’s laying a blanket and basket down on the ground in front of the car. 

“Is this…did you set up a picnic?” you ask.

“I wanted to show you this place and figured some food might be nice,” he says with an easy smile. 

“That’s so sweet,” you say earnestly.

You settle on the blanket next to him and look through the food he’s pulling out. There are some of your favorite things and some things you’re not even sure you’ve seen before. Somehow, though, you feel like they might become some of your new favorites. He even brought plates and he sets about putting one together for you to pick at.

Joshua tells you about how this is his favorite place and he found it completely by accident. He loves being down in the city and around all the people, but there’s something nice about seeing things from this perspective too. It’s like he can just disconnect for a while. Turn off his phone. Read or listen to music. Just be totally alone. It’s how he works through a problem or gets the perspective he needs.

“I can’t believe you’re sharing it with me,” you admit and his eyes light up with his smile.

“I just thought, after last night, you might appreciate having a place to get away from it all,” Joshua says.

You want to say something, anything, really, to acknowledge what Joshua just said. Try to say something. Your throat doesn’t want to cooperate, it seems. Your brain, either. In fact, all you can manage to do is turn away to hide the tears. Joshua is observant, though. He doesn’t say anything, just pulls you into his chest and runs his hand along your back. He quietly soothes you as you cry out a lot of emotions you didn’t even realize you were experiencing. 

And something about him comforting you, this near stranger who doesn’t actually owe you anything, sets you off more. In the early days of your relationship with Johnny, you know it was good. It must have been. Surely, it was more than a relationship between two people who had known each other for years with families that were intertwined. You don’t remember it anymore. Don’t remember him ever holding you like this without even knowing what was wrong. Don’t remember him taking you on a date like this just because he thought you would enjoy it. Since you haven’t seriously dated anyone since the break-up, he also feels like your only frame of reference. That makes you sad for an entirely different reason. Who loses it over someone just being a little kind?

“I’m so sorry,” you finally say when you manage to pull yourself together. 

“For what?” he asks. 

“For just crying like that and being such a mess,” you say. 

Joshua shakes his head. Moves his hand up to your face and waits for confirmation that it’s okay. When you nod, he gently wipes the tears from under your eyes. “You have nothing to apologize for. What you’re going through with your ex, most of us could never even imagine that kind of pain.”

“But still, you barely know me and here you are trying to be kind and all I can do is cry,” you say. 

“First of all, I think last night and the food I put together show I’ve actually learned a lot about you in a short time,” he says and you have to laugh at that. He’s right. “Second, I’m just happy you feel safe enough with me to cry. It’s not healthy to hold all that in. You’re not in this alone.”

That brings you up short more than anything. He’s right, again (an annoying habit, if you’re being honest). You don’t feel any hesitation around him. Nothing to stop you from crying if you feel like crying. That’s unusual, to say the least. Normally, you’ll do anything to avoid anyone seeing you emotional. But, this man you just met is different. He’s safe. You’re not sure how or why, but you know you can trust him. 

“Are you free tomorrow for brunch?” you ask. Joshua gives you a quizzical look for a moment at the sudden topic change. 

“Yeah, why?” he asks. 

“I just need to send one quick text and then I want to do what you said you normally do here. Disconnect from the world and just appreciate the afternoon,” you say and find yourself smiling along with his smile. He really is so beautiful. 

You: add one to the reservation for brunch tomorrow and i’ll call you tonight when i’m home

You switch your phone into Do Not Disturb before the response comes and turn all your attention back to Joshua. 

Over the next couple weeks, Joshua slips seamlessly into your life and your existing friendships. Some of them, like those closest to you that come along to the Sunday brunches, know the whole story. It’s not like they would believe you had kept a relationship secret for that long, anyway. And it’s good to have a few extra sets of eyes and ears helping to sell the story. Other friends get the same story that your family and Johnny got. It’s not that you don’t trust them, you do. It’s more important to keep the circle of people who know the real story as small as possible, though, so that it actually succeeds. All your friends adore him from the second they meet him. The only surprise is how well Jeonghan seems to be adjusting to sharing your time. He wants to give you a hard time, yet he doesn’t. 

You meet all Joshua’s friends and coworkers, too. It feels way easier than it should the first time you join him and his coworkers after work for drinks. They spend most of the time giving Joshua a hard time that he’s kept you to himself for so long. It’s easy to fall into step and you find that you do know him a lot better than you think. So, it’s just as easy for you to jump in when they’re giving him a hard time. He pretends to be annoyed, but you can tell by the way he smiles that he likes it. It’s one of those genuine smiles that makes his eyes bigger and brighter. Everything just feels…easy. Like this whole thing wasn’t actually a bad idea after all. 

Your favorite part might be the first time you got with him to an Open Mic Night and get to see him play. He’s got that easy kind of confidence on the guitar. Like he knows he’s talented, but not in a cocky way. It’s his singing that catches you off guard. His voice moves over the notes with an ease that makes you wonder why this isn’t something he’s doing for a living. He’s got this way of pulling you into songs that you don’t even know. And he’s so kind with the people that show up just to see him play. They all seem just as happy to meet you and know that he’s happy. 

There’s only been one part that’s been difficult. Not difficult, exactly, but not as comfortable as some of the other things. While you and Joshua talked through anything and everything to prepare to start a fake relationship, you covered comfort levels with physical affection. You both say you’re comfortable with physical touch, though he seems to seek it out more than you do. That includes at least some level of PDA as a couple. You’ve never really been one to just randomly make out with a partner in public, but you’ve never been shy about expressing affection either. It was fine, when it was all theoretical. 

In actual practice, it’s been a little more difficult. The first time Joshua had pressed a kiss to the side of your head while you were out with people that didn’t know it was fake caught you off guard. It shouldn’t have, he asked before doing it and you confirmed it was fine. What you hadn’t been entirely prepared for was how it would feel when he did it. Or how it would feel that he was so casual about it, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like it wasn’t making you rethink everything in your life. 

Tonight, you’re hanging out with friends at Hyejin’s house. You and her have been friends since before you even started school. So, she knows what’s really going on with Joshua. Your other friends there, though, are mostly not in on it. Which is fine. You’re shockingly comfortable with the song and dance. 

It’s not actually fine. 

It starts the same as any other time you’ve been out somewhere with him. You’re sitting close together on the couch, thighs pressed together, with his arm behind you along the back of the couch. Periodically, his fingers play with the sleeve of your shirt. It’s an absentminded habit and you’re used to it. He’s usually keeping some sort of contact with you in a very subtle way. You learned right away that he did like physical touch, but it was rarely something obvious. One drink in and his affection got a little more obvious. Arm wrapped firmly around you. More kisses pressed to the side of your head. 

Two drinks in and it changes again. He removes his arm from around you in favor of holding your hand. Playing with your fingers while he’s having other conversations, like he doesn’t even realize. Hand squeezing your thigh. Or tracing patterns into the material of your pants. Head dropping down on your shoulder when he’s not talking to someone else. And it’s definitely not fine. You’re nursing your drink, but even if you weren’t, his constant presence would sober you. Since you’ve just finally finished your first, you think maybe a second is a good idea.

It’s not. Joshua gets another drink, his third, and you decline. Instead, you stick with the water you’ve been drinking since you couldn’t even finish your second. You want to be able to respond, whatever happens. Respond to whatever new form of affection unlocks with this next drink. 

“I hope you stick around, you’re my favorite of the partners that we’ve met,” Mimi announces to Joshua when he plops back down next to you. 

You’re glad that you hadn’t taken a sip because it would’ve come out immediately. Mimi has been a friend for a long time as well, and you love her, but she doesn’t know the truth. 

“Don’t I know it,” Joshua agrees, earning a lot of laughter. 

“Have you met Johnny yet? I know you’re going to the wedding,” Taehyung wonders. 

“Yeah Johnny showed up magically the night I brought him by to meet my parents, sister, and brother-in-law,” you say, regaining some composure. 

“I think you traded up,” Joshua says, eyes laser focused on you. 

You’re not so lucky this time and you just took a sip. You nearly choke. “Do you?”

“Definitely,” Joshua insists. 

“I agree,” Jimin says and Mimi elbows him in the side. “What?”

“You’re going to the wedding,” she says. 

“So? He’s a fucking tool,” Jimin shrugs off. 

“Are you all going, then?” Joshua asks. 

“A good portion of us, yeah,” Hyejin says. “Family connections, you know?” 

“I wasn’t invited,” Mimi pouts. 

“Want to come?” Taehyung asks and Mimi laughs. 

“Tae, my love, you can’t just invite people,” Mimi says and shakes her head. 

“I have a plus-one,” Taehyung says with a shrug. “I think we all knew I wouldn’t make it to the wedding in my relationship. But, Johnny still thinks I’m bringing someone.”

“Damn, okay. I’m in,” Mimi says. 

“I’m not going either, my family ties weren’t enough to get an invite,” Jeonghan says without any sorrow in his eyes. 

“That’s because of what you said to him after the break up,” Hyejin interrupts with a laugh. 

“I don’t remember saying anything that bad,” Jeonghan shrugs, and examines his finger nails to show how little he cares. 

“Remind me to show you what he said some time, it was fucking gold,” Hyejin says to Joshua.

“Do you have it saved?” you ask.

“I should have it framed, honestly,” Hyejin says. “Get you a best friend like Jeonghan, for real, for real.” 

“Hey, that’s my best friend, get your own,” you joke. 

“That’s a shame you won’t be there though, Han, I could’ve used the familiar face,” Joshua says.

“Like you’re going to be paying attention to anyone but your date,” Hyejin teases. 

“Can you blame me? I still can’t believe how lucky I got,” Joshua says without any hint that he’s pretending. It makes your heart skip a couple beats as you try to catch your breath. 

“Ugh, I’m so single,” Mimi whines. 

“Maybe not after the wedding,” Hyejin teases. 

The conversations devolve from there into separate, smaller chats. Joshua is back to tracing patterns into your leg. Without warning, he pops his head up and places a quick peck on your lips before dropping his head onto your shoulder again. He’s so nonchalant about it that you’re not really sure it even happened. You’ve kissed a couple times like that, quick pecks in public. But, it’s always been when you’ve talked about it. It isn’t until you look up to meet Jeonghan’s eyes that you know it all really happened. 

Joshua, unaware that he’s just turned your world a little upside down, moves his head to look at you again. “You’re beautiful, you know.”

It’s barely a whisper and you know he’s not drunk. He’s not sober either, though. And you’ve had drinks around each other before. He’s just never been quite so glued to your side or free with the compliments. You’re also not usually so singularly focused on him. A fact that doesn’t go entirely unnoticed. 

“Thank you,” you whisper back. 

“I’m kinda hungry,” he continues in a bit of a whine. 

“Well you were the one who thought skipping dinner was smart,” you tease him. 

“But my little honeybunch,” he teases back. You snort and miss the way several of your friends watch the interaction because they know how you are about weird pet names. 

“Try again, sweetheart,” you answer. 

“Sweetheart, I like the way that sounds,” he says, distracted. 

“Just a little longer and we can leave and get something to eat,” you say and he sighs. 

“Fine,” he concedes and kisses your cheek, just barely a whisper away from the corner of your mouth. 

About half an hour later, you say your goodbyes. Despite your suggestions, Joshua continued drinking instead of switching to water. It’s as fine as it can be, though. He’s just an affectionate drinker. He wraps an arm around you, slipping a hand into your back pocket so that he can whisper thanks again. You do your best to shrug it off and let him drape his arms around your shoulder instead. 

The car ride is quiet, initially. You pick a playlist that he made for you after you first met. Something he seems to enjoy. You’re nearly back at his place when he says that he doesn’t have anything to eat. But, luckily, there’s a place around the corner that he loves that’s still open. He manages to place an order on the app, gets something for you as well, and pays before getting there. All you have to do is walk in. 

“I hope you’ll come in and eat with me,” he says when you get back into the car. 

You’re not really sure how to tell him that you don’t want to. Not because you don’t want to spend time with him. Or that you don’t appreciate him ordering something he knows you’ll like. No, it’s so much deeper than that. It’s that you don’t know if your heart can handle it. You’ve got a couple more weeks of this and your heart is taking a beating. All of this is fake. It’ll be over after the wedding. But, the compliments don’t feel fake. The kisses don’t feel fake. The affection doesn’t feel fake. Your heart racing is real, oh so real. You don’t need anyone to tell you that you’re in way too deep. 

None of that comes out, though. 

“Sure, sweetheart,” you say and hold your breath for a second. You hadn’t meant to say that when it was just you. 

Joshua smiles over at you. “Really do like that.” 

Does he know what he’s doing to you? Can he hear your heart hammering in your chest? Can he hear your breath catch? Does he know how insanely beautiful he is? Or that he’s all the more beautiful because he’s so unfailingly kind? 

Probably not, because he gets distracted and starts singing along as the song changes. It’s welcome, but also a little devastating. His voice cuts through you in a way you’re still very unprepared to handle.

After another few minutes, you’re at Joshua’s place. He springs back into action and tries to open your door for you, even though you’re the driver. He settles for taking hold of your hand as he walks to his door, only reluctantly dropping it when he gets to the door. 

His apartment is familiar to you, it has to be for this to be believable. So, he sets the food out and you grab plates. You grab a couple waters from the fridge while he takes the food over to the couch, bypassing the table. You sit next to him, leaving enough space between you that you’re not touching. Hoping he doesn’t think anything of it. 

It’s useless, apparently, because he slides over to press into your side.

What’s worse (not that you thought that was possible) is that he picks things off of your plate and gives you food off his plate. Tries to feed it to you, actually, and pouts when you don’t let him. It takes everything in you not to beg him to be gentle on your heart. He doesn’t even seem to realize what he’s doing to you as he smiles and jokes. Doesn’t seem to think twice about playing with your hands or his hand on your leg or any of the things he usually does when you have an audience. There’s nobody here to see and he’s not usually this touchy when you’re alone. Maybe it’s the drinks.

“I like your friends a lot, you know,” he says out of nowhere.

“They like you, too,” you assure him.

“What about you?” he asks.

“I’d assume they like me as well,” you laugh out.

“No, I meant me. Do you like me?” he asks, eyes big and vulnerable.

Please, Joshua, I’m begging you. Be gentle with me, you think so loud you’re worried he might hear.

“I’m actually a little sick of you,” you joke. 

“But, but,” he begins and dramatically throws himself in your lap. 

“You’re the worst,” you say without any bite. Your hands find their way into his hair, softly running through the strands.

“That feels nice,” he says softly. “Can I just stay like this? I’m tired.” 

“Of course,” you whisper.

“You’ll stay with me?” he asks, sounding like he’s about to drift off.

You’re sure he won’t remember any of this. Not because he’s drunk, but he’s on the edges of sleep. So, you answer in a whisper. “Always.” 

Maybe he’s not the one that needs to be careful with your heart. Maybe it’s you that needs to be careful. You know that you could walk away. That you could just remind him that this is all fake and there’s nobody around to see now. That’s not what you do. So, maybe you’re just as much to blame. 

Sunday Joshua: thanks for taking care of me last night Joshua: idk why the drinks hit me so hard Joshua: when did you leave?  Monday Joshua: is everything okay? Did i say something stupid? Tuesday Joshua: i don’t wanna sound clingy but are we still getting together at your place after work?

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you know that you need to respond. You know that what you’re doing isn’t fair to anyone. It’s not like Joshua can somehow read your mind to realize you’re spiraling. It just feels a little paralyzing. This is a weird limbo of knowing you might be in over your head, but still believing this is all fake. 

Jeonghan: hey dummy i know you’re ignoring joshua so i’m coming over tonight  Jeonghan: i told him you’ve been busy at work and i haven’t heard from you either but we have some talking to do

Leave it to Jeonghan. You had almost forgotten, with how well you’ve gotten to know Joshua, that it was Jeonghan who introduced you in the first place. Of course he would text your best friend when he couldn’t get a hold of you. Does that make you feel better? Not really, you think, because it feels like a real relationship in a way. Oh well, you can talk about it with Jeonghan. If he shows up, that is.

And he does, less than an hour later.

“I’m here,” he announces when he comes in the door.

“Thanks for knocking and giving me the chance to pretend I’m not here,” you call back.

“Your car is outside and you have your location turned on,” Jeonghan says. 

“Right,” you answer as he comes through the hall holding a bag from your favorite take out place.

“At least I come bearing gifts,” he says.

“You’re an angel, do you know that?” you ask and reach for the bag.

Jeonghan snorts. “I’m gonna remind you of that the next time you call me a demon.” 

“Well, Lucifer was a fallen angel,” you reason with a shrug. 

“I hate you,” he says.

“I know,” you answer. 

Jeonghan busies himself with taking out the food and making sure you have napkins. Tells you what he wants to drink when you get up to go into the kitchen. Calls for you to grab some utensils as well. By the time you sit back down with him, he’s flipping through a streaming service trying to find something to watch. It’s not at all what you’re expecting and you just let it happen. The two of you have been friends long enough to know you should just let things play out.

With some mindless show on in the background, Jeonghan talks about work and your friends and everything else that’s been going on the past few days. Like it’s been weeks since you last saw him. Mostly, he talks about how Taehyung has been blowing up his phone asking for advice about Mimi, which is actually news to you. Sure, you saw him ask her if she wanted to go with him to the wedding. What you had not expected was for him to actually be interested. Which he is, if his messages to Jeonghan are anything to go by. It’s been everything from advice about talking to her to what kinds of things she might like as a surprise. They would probably be cute, you think. 

“Yeah, well, sometimes feelings catch us off guard,” Jeonghan says when you admit your surprise.

Damn. Did you really walk right into that?

“True,” you admit, knowing that’s the best answer you can give.

“Talk to me,” Jeonghan urges. 

“About what?” you ask to buy more time.

“Joshua,” he says.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you state. That makes him fix you with a look.

“Clearly there is or you wouldn’t be ignoring him,” he says. 

“We’re not really dating so I don’t owe him constant updates. I’m not ignoring him. I just have other shit to do,” you say without looking at him.

“Would you like to be?” he asks. That does make you turn to him.

“Like to be what?” you ask, though you think you know.

“Really dating him,” Jeonghan says.

It’s a crossroads kind of moment. You could say that you don’t want that. That would be a lie, though, and Jeonghan doesn’t like it when you lie. Can always tell the second you say something that’s not true. The truth is that you’ve spent nearly every moment since that stupid night at Hyejin’s place thinking about what you actually feel for your fake boyfriend. 

“I don’t…know,” you say slowly and earn a smile because it’s not a lie.

“I was there the other night too, I saw the way it all played out,” he says.

“I mean, does it matter? This is all fake and soon, it’ll be over,” you say.

“Of course it matters and it’ll be over soon? Please,” Jeonghan scoffs. “I know he’s told you that he wants to keep you in his life after Johnny’s wedding. So, what? You’re just gonna be like okay, that was fun, let’s never talk again?”

“I don’t know, maybe,” you say quietly.

He rolls his eyes. “Try again, buttercup.” 

“It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t like me like that, he’s just nice,” you say, avoidant as ever. 

“He looks at you like he’d give you the moon if you asked for it,” Jeonghan snorts out.

“He’s just nice, Han,” you disagree.

“Maybe,” your closest friend concedes, a rare move for him. It feels weird all the same. “Whatever it is, text him back. He misses you and I don’t want to hear anymore about how he’s worrying he upset you.”

“He’s been worrying that he upset me?” you ask. Your heart constricts at that.

“Yeah, for some reason he actually likes your company,” he says. “Can’t relate.”

You smack Jeonghan on the arm. “Says the man who shows up at my place unannounced when I ignore him for a day.”

“No, I was just bored,” he argued. “And you’re way too stubborn to sort out your shit on your own.”

 “I’m not stubborn, but fine, I’ll text him,” you relent.

“Now,” he says.

“What?”

“Text him now so that I know you actually did it.”

You roll your eyes at him, but pull your phone out anyway. Angling it away from Jeonghan so that he can’t see your screen. He’s such a nosy brat sometimes.

You: hey, i’m sorry. It’s been really busy and i had a lot on my mind You: wanna do something tomorrow?

The response comes right away and you ignore the smug look on Jeonghan’s face as you quickly make plans. If Jeonghan was anyone else, he would probably just let you be since he ultimately got what he wanted. But, he’s not anyone else. And he’s as caring to his friends as he is calculating when he wants something. So, he’s not doing it to be cruel, not at all. He just wants you to consider what you’re actually feeling. 

You’ll never tell Jeonghan how much you appreciate him talking everything through with you. Never tell him how good it feels to get all the thoughts out of your head. To his credit, he’s not smug and he doesn’t tell you that he’s been right about your feelings all along. He just listens, supports you when you need it, and encourages you to keep thinking through everything that’s going on.

As a make-up for slightly ignoring Joshua (over your own internal freak out), you take him to dinner at your favorite restaurant. It’s this tiny little hole-in-the-wall that people seem to walk past. The kind of place where you couldn’t overspend even if you tried because the couple that owned it just wanted to share good food. The kind of place where they know everyone by name. It makes you feel instantly at ease. 

Joshua doesn’t say it, but he also kind of can’t believe you wanted to show him some place that meant so much to you. All he could do was watch, with so much fondness, as you spoke to the couple about everything under the sun. Watch as you turned slightly red when they scolded you for taking so long to bring Joshua by. Smile as you promised the both of you would be back. Despite trying to pay, you beat him to it. Even leaving a massive tip because you insisted the couple had undercharged you. They made a big show of not wanting to take the tip and you only reminded them the cash would stay sitting on the counter. You weren’t taking it back either. 

You don’t really think about it when you take a picture of you and Joshua to upload on Instagram. At least, you try not to. Later, when you’re home and winding down for the night, you pull the picture back up. It’s amazing just how happy both of you look. You don’t need to read the comments to know that you’ve never looked so happy in your life. Every part of you wants to pull back again. It’s overwhelming. But, Jeonghan’s voice plays in your head and instead you push past. Make more plans that could break your heart. You have to just trust that he won’t. 

It isn’t until the weekend that you’re able to see him again because your schedules didn’t quite match up. That doesn’t stop him from calling you at night, though. Insisting that he wants to know how your day was, even if you can only spare a few minutes for a call. (Which never ends up being the case. You fall asleep on the phone with him twice. His voice is just so soothing when it’s all deep and soft.) 

Again, Joshua tells you the date is a surprise. He can be a little bit of a demon, when it suits him. Sure, he likes to pretend he’s not. That he’s above the chaos. Then, he does something like this and he can’t really escape it. But, he’s so sure he knows what you like that he’s positive you’ll enjoy the date. You remember how that chat had gone, too. You were ready to go to sleep, but unable to say goodnight. 

(“I have our next date planned,” Joshua says, voice soft to match the calm of the night.

“What is it?” you wonder.

“A surprise,” he answers.

“What if I don’t like it?” you ask back.

“You will,” he assures you.

“You sure seem to think you know me,” you joke. 

“Yeah, I do. Don’t worry, you’ll like this too,” he says.

There was no point in denying it. That confidence sent a bit of a shiver through you.) 

It turns out that the date is at a winery where you’re painting with wine. You have to ask him to say it again because you’ve only ever heard of wine and paint classes. Painting with wine is entirely new to you. It sounds fun, though, and you know how crafty Joshua can be, have seen all the projects around his apartment. So, even though you’re definitely not that artistic, you’re excited to see this as well. 

Admittedly, by the end of the session, your painting isn’t bad. It was a bit weird to use wine in that way, but they let you drink as well. Which makes it a lot easier to just go along with the idea of painting. Joshua’s painting, on the other hand, is beautiful. Not for the first time, you think his talents might be wasted at an office job. You’ve seen the bracelets he makes and now you’ve seen him paint. You’ve heard him sing and play the guitar. He’s impossibly artistic in a way that should make you jealous. Instead, it just makes you more endeared to him. 

You snap a picture of him and his art when he’s not looking and upload it before he can even realize it. It’s only when a notification goes off on his phone that he realizes. He doesn’t even say anything, just gets a sparkle in his eyes that makes you weary immediately. He’s busy tapping away on his own phone before a notification sounds on yours. Maybe you weren’t the only one to steal a candid shot if the picture of you laughing with a glass of wine in one hand and a paintbrush in the other is anything to go by. It’s the caption that really ruins you, though. Just a simple “think I’m addicted to her light”. It’s so simple and also so much sweeter than yours. You fight through the urge to run away. 

Which lasts until you get home from dinner. It was the perfect date, truly. Joshua always seems to know exactly how to plan out a day so everything works. After sipping wine and painting, he took you to one of his favorite restaurants. Nothing too pretentious, just kind of unassuming. The kind of place where you get good food and even better conversation. It’s (mostly) easy to keep your mind off the way your heart keeps racing.

When you’re back home, you’re not so lucky.

Back home, alone in your apartment, there aren’t any distractions. Nothing to stop your mind from all the ways that it can sabotage your own happiness. Nothing to stop you from thinking about how nobody, not even Johnny, has ever planned out such thoughtful dates for you. Nobody has ever taken the time to really know you like Joshua. Even if you won’t admit it, he knows you better than anyone you’ve ever dated. Which is terrifying, since this is all fake. And he hasn’t even known you that long. 

So, you do the rational thing and you pull back again. Answer his texts so that he doesn’t send Jeonghan over to figure out what’s wrong, but don’t make solid plans. Talk a lot about a work project that you really need to get done ahead of schedule so that you’re not stressing leading up to the wedding. And you throw in some easy suggestions in the meantime so that it still seems like you’re making an effort. 

Lunch on a work day so that it has a set ending time. Which still tugs at your heartstrings a bit because he takes a longer lunch just to meet you closer to where you work. 

An event where your parents purchased a table for charity because he’s in high demand with your family around. And he can’t be as affectionate. 

His Open Mic Nights, but with the excuse that you can’t stay too late because of your project and he should stick around with his friends. You’ll get home safely.

Small little things that keep you around him and keep up your conversations while still giving you time to breathe. You’re sure that you’re pulling it all off. And then, the wedding is around the corner. The finish line is in sight. 

You: I’m not going to the wedding You: you don’t have to come pick me up Joshua: what are you talking about? You: i’m not going Joshua: but it’s literally in a few hours? You: yeah and i don’t wanna go, so you’re off the hook You: thanks for everything, but you don’t have to pretend anymore

Even if you know you’re being a little petulant, you don’t really care. This whole thing was supposed to be about protecting your heart. Protecting your pride. Not showing up to your cheating ex-fiance's wedding alone and looking like some kind of loser. It was not supposed to be about your heart getting clobbered anyway. So, you’re doing the only logical thing you can think of. Ignoring your problems. Avoiding both the wedding and Joshua. What you’re not prepared for, though you should be, is the knock that comes at your door half an hour later. 

Joshua is on the other side of the door and your heart actually stops. He’s got his tux on and his hair styled back off his face. His eyes are soft as they take you in, noting that you have your hair and make up done. Though, you’re still in your sweats. You got at least that far before you decided this was a stupid fucking decision. 

“Can I come in?” he asks when you don’t say anything.

“Sure,” you say and step aside. 

“You look like you’re getting ready,” he comments once he’s inside.

“I was, until I texted you,” you answer. “Speaking of, why are you here?”

“Because we had plans,” he says. 

“Yeah to go see my ex-fiance marry the girl he cheated on me with. Oh, and for you to pretend to be my boyfriend so I didn’t look pathetic,” you say with a huff. 

“You’re not pathetic. He’s an asshole,” Joshua says. He doesn’t swear often, so it catches you a little off guard. 

“Well, whatever, you don’t have to go. So, I’m not really sure why you’re here,” you say. 

“You’re being so cold. What’s going on?” Joshua asks and reaches out to you. Instead, you duck away from his touch. 

“Nothing is going on. It was stupid to care what Johnny thought or to try and save face somehow,” you say. 

“It’s not stupid. He hurt you and you didn’t deserve that,” Joshua urges.

“You really don’t know me that well. Maybe I did deserve it. Maybe I was awful to him and he had no choice,” you say.

“We both know that’s not true,” he says.

“Do we?” you challenge. 

“Yes, we do,” he presses. “There is nothing you could do that justifies cheating instead of just breaking it off. But, I also know you didn’t do anything wrong. Jeonghan and I talked about it.”

“You spoke to Jeonghan about my relationship behind my back?” you question. 

“What is going on? We’ve been hanging out for weeks and getting to know each other. I just wanted to know more about someone I was going to be helping. And I like knowing you,” Joshua says and you have to look away. You don’t need the reminder of how much time you’ve spent with him.

“Yeah, sorry about all that time we wasted. I’ll pay you back for the tux or anything else you had to buy to pretend to date me,” you say and he looks genuinely confused.

“I don’t…want you to pay me back for anything. It wasn’t a waste of time. I did this because I wanted to,” he says.

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to pretend anymore because I’m not going to the stupid fucking wedding. It was a really bad idea in the first place,” you say.

Joshua clenches his jaw and looks away. Like maybe he’s frustrated. “What is going on? Do you still have feelings for him?” 

“For who? Johnny?” you ask, so insanely caught off guard that you forget you’re mad.

“Yes,” Joshua says tightly.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you bark out.

“Well? You’re being really weird and now you don’t want to go to a wedding that we’ve been planning on,” he starts.

“Yeah, which should make you happy, since you don’t have to pretend to be my boyfriend anymore,” you say.

“Because you’re still in love with Johnny,” Joshua finishes like he hadn’t even heard you.

“Oh my god,” you nearly scream. “I’m not fucking in love with Johnny. This isn’t about him.”

“So, you don’t want to go to the wedding and it has nothing to do with him? That doesn’t make any sense,” he says. 

“No, I don’t want to keep doing this,” you say, gesturing between the two of you. “I don’t want to keep pretending to date you when I -”

You clamp your mouth shut. Unable to believe that you almost blurted out how you feel.

“When you what?” he challenges. “What? Is it that bad being around me? Is that it? Are you just sick of me? Ready to toss me aside?”

You laugh bitterly, not even able to appreciate the irony in the situation. “No, Joshua, I don’t want to toss you aside.” 

“Then, what? What am I supposed to think when you’ve been pushing me away for the last couple weeks? And I have to act like I haven’t noticed all the ways you’ve kept me at arm’s length since we went to the winery. Why did you just decide, literally today, that you don’t want to go to the wedding after all?” he asks, rambling. He’s pacing in front of you. “Why are you trying so hard to get rid of me?”

“Because I don’t want to get hurt!” you blurt out. “Because I don’t want to go to my fucking scumbag of an ex’s wedding where everyone is going to be giving me these looks of pity or focusing on my relationship with him when all I want is this.”

“This? What?” he asks, coming to a stop.

“This, Joshua, you and me. Having this just all be pretend is breaking my heart. I can’t keep doing it. It was supposed to keep me from getting my heart broken. It sucks and I hate it and I just wish it wasn’t pretend. I don’t want to go to the wedding and have you be so sweet and kind and caring when I’m going to know it has an expiration date. That it’s all just been for show,” you admit. You turn away, clutching your arms around your center because you’re so tired. And so exposed. So vulnerable. It’s awful.

The tears won’t stop, so you don’t notice how Joshua has closed the space between you until he wraps his arms around you from behind. Pulls you back against his chest and presses a kiss into your hair.

“So, let’s stop saying it’s pretend,” he whispers. 

“What?” you whisper back.

He turns you in his arms so that you’re facing him and gently brushes away the tears. “Let’s stop saying it’s fake. It doesn’t feel fake, does it?”

“No,” is all you can manage.

“So, it’s not fake and we’re not pretending,” he says.

“But,” you start to protest. 

“I knew I was in trouble, really deep trouble, as soon as we left your parents’ house. I was just waiting for you to catch up,” he says as he gently runs a thumb across your cheek to wipe away a tear . Your eyes go wide.

“That was barely a week in,” you say and he just shrugs. “And I’d dumped all my bullshit on you.”

“I think that’s actually what made me like you so much,” he says. “It was supposed to be fake and we were trying to get to know each other well enough to pull it off. But, instead, I just realized you were actually perfect.”

“Perfect? I was broken,” you joke and he shakes his head.

“No, you’ve been hurt. Who hasn’t? You’re also strong, kind, funny, a fiercely loyal friend, and one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever met, inside and out,” he says. 

“That’s so, you’re so sweet,” you say and try to hide your face. He doesn’t let you. “You like me?”

“I’ve liked you the whole time. I did think it was a date, after all,” he says. “And do you think I’m that affectionate with everyone?”

“We were pretending,” you argue.

“I wasn’t,” he argues back.

“Our closest friends thought you were,” you disagree.

“And was anyone else there in my apartment when I was still being affectionate?” he asks.

“Well, no, but…” you start.

“I heard you say always,” he tells you.

“You did?” you ask, sure that it’s been your secret this whole time.

“We don’t have to go to the wedding. But, if it’s just because you don’t want this to be over with me, then it’s not going to be over. I’m yours for as long as you want me,” he says so earnestly it nearly makes you blush.

“Careful, you might get sick of me,” you joke.

He puts a finger under your chin so he can look you in the eyes. “I’ll say it again. I’m yours as long as you want me. I won’t get sick of you.” 

“I…” you start and don’t know where to go. So you do the only thing you can think of and kiss him. It’s clear he’s a little caught off guard, but he recovers quickly. His arms wrap around you to hold you tight against him. It’s the first time you’ve really kissed him and you’re so screwed because he really is perfect at this too. 

“So, do I get you for the rest of today?” he asks.

You take in his tuxedo again, for real this time. Appreciating how well it’s tailored and how amazing he looks. With a sigh, you say, “you know, it’s a shame to waste such a nice tux.”

“Are you…I thought we weren’t going,” he stutters.

“I’m probably gonna have to fix my makeup in the car, but why not? I want to show off my super hot and very real boyfriend,” you say and watch him choke on air. 

“You can’t just say…” he starts.

“Damn, sick of me already?” you tease.

“You know I’m not,” he answers and moves to follow you.

“No, no. You don’t get to see me changing. I’ll be back out in a second,” you say. 

You’re in the middle of shimmying into your dress when you realize that you do still have a lot to talk about. A lot to figure out. This whole situation has been unusual, though, so it probably makes sense that there isn’t a template. Once you have your shoes on, you walk back into the living room, prepared to say something, only to find Joshua speechless.

“You look…” he starts.

“You’ve seen the dress already,” you say and smile.

“Not on you. Not in person. You look amazing,” he says and crosses to pull you into his arms. “Are you sure we have to go?”

“Yes,” you say and swat him. “But, I do know we have a lot to talk about.”

“I’m not in a rush,” he says and allows you to step away.

“We might need to be in a bit of a rush,” you say, checking the time and gathering all your things. 

“Let’s go, then,” Joshua says and offers his arm. 

The wedding passes in kind of a blur. In truth, you barely even register Johnny or what he’s doing beyond the actual ceremony. The reception is so massive that it’s easiest just to focus on the people around you. Especially when you’re at a table with your friends. Thankfully, you’re not at a table with your parents or your sister. It does mean, though, that you’re sitting next to Hyejin, who has definitely realized that something shifted between you and Joshua. So, she’s trying to sneak in a question any time she can. Which is hard, given that Joshua is more attached to you than ever. And Hyejin doesn’t want to draw unnecessary attention to you. All you manage to let her know is that it’s real now and that you’ll fill her in after the wedding. (You’re also thankful that people seem to be cooing over Taehyung and Mimi since they’re the shiny new topic.)

It’s also nice to have Joshua there because he’s a built in way to excuse yourself from any conversation that you don’t want to be part of. It’s easy to just say you’re going to go back to the table. Or, in the case of a good song coming on, he’ll be quick to drag you to the dance floor and away from whatever conversation you’re stuck in. He’s a good dancer, too. You don’t miss the way Hyejin catches your eye when the first slow song comes on and he pulls you close to him. But, that’s a conversation for another day. All you wanted was to appreciate the way his hand felt on your lower back or your hand felt in his. 

When it was finally time to leave, Joshua led you out of the event, arm around you to guide you. Neither of you were drunk, but you had still hired someone to take you to and from the wedding anyway. A gift from your parents to appreciate you “doing the right thing” and coming to the wedding. For the sake of the families. It made you roll your eyes at the time, yet you’re thankful now. It would be far better than having to take an Uber or trying to get a room at the hotel (and risking seeing everyone else staying there the next morning). The ride home also gave you the chance to talk. Really talk. Neither of you cared much that someone else was driving (and he had the partition up, anyway), as you talked about your feelings honestly for the first time. 

As it turned out, you had a lot to say. Both of you. You hadn’t been nearly as good at hiding your feelings from Joshua as you had been at hiding them from yourself. He had hoped you were going to admit them to him after that night at his apartment. Instead, you avoided him. Yes, he knew that you had been avoiding him. You also weren’t very good at picking up on the signs he dropped about his feelings for you. He admitted that he could have just said something, but he was trying to be subtle so he didn’t scare you off. Trying to let his actions speak through more affection. You admit you were scared to think it was anything more than it actually was. Scared of your feelings. Scared of getting hurt again. Joshua completely understands that and admits that he’s a little scared, too, because you’re definitely more important to him than he was anticipating. He’s also confident that you can work through it together. It gives you a feeling of hope. Makes everything about you feel lighter. You see that relief reflected in Joshua’s eyes when they scan yours. 

The car pulls to a stop and he gets out first. He holds his hand out to help you out of the car. You’re not really sure what comes over you.

“Come up with me,” you ask, but it’s more of a statement. 

He hesitates, conflicted. “I don’t know if I should.”

“Why?” you ask, clearly confused.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to leave,” he answers and you smile.

“Then stay,” you shrug, “at least for breakfast.” 

Without waiting for him to respond, you turn and head for the front door of the building. It means you miss the way he freezes in place, but you can guess at that by how long it takes before he catches up to you. He’s unusually quiet and still beside you as you go up the elevator and then behind you as you unlock the door. 

“I’m gonna go change,” you announce after you drop your keys by the door. You look back at Joshua, appreciating him in the tuxedo one last time. “I’ve got some clothes in the spare room that should fit. They’re Jeonghan’s ” 

You take the opportunity to breathe for a second, to let it settle in that you asked Joshua to come in with you and stay the night. Then, you set about changing out of your dress. Carefully clean your face free of the make-up. Brush through your hair and twist it back off of your face. Once you’re in comfy clothes and bare faced, you head back out into the living room. It’s odd that you don’t even feel self-conscious about Joshua seeing you like this, you’re instantly comfortable. 

Joshua’s back is to you in the kitchen. When he turns around, you see that he’s put together a little platter of snacks. You also were right, the t-shirt and shorts he picked out seem to fit him well. Jeonghan is a little slighter than Joshua, but he wears most of his clothes on the baggier side. 

“Thanks for the clothes,” he says when you both meet on the couch. “I was worried when you said you had spare clothes they were gonna be from an ex or Johnny or something.” 

Your laugh is sudden and clearly catches Joshua off guard. “I wouldn’t have kept any of Johnny’s clothes. I gave them all to charity.” 

“I’m sure he was thrilled with that,” Joshua laughs.

“They made a killing reselling them,” you laugh in response. “Wanna watch something?”

“Sure, you pick,” he says.

You start clicking through your saved list to find something that the two of you can watch. Once you settle on something, Joshua motions you over. Even if you want to pretend you’re considering it, you can’t. Every part of you wants to be close to him. When you slide over, he pulls you in tighter to his body and you fit like you always belonged there with him. 

If you thought he was physically affectionate when he was pretending, it’s nothing compared to now that he knows you’re both in this. He has one hand running along your arm or the other along your thigh. Sometimes he reaches out to take one of your hands. Other times he presses kisses into your hair. It’s pretty clear right away that he’s not paying much attention to the show. 

If you’re being honest, you’re not really either.

Everything is distracting. The way his fingers on the bare skin of your arm raises goosebumps. The way his kiss in your hair makes your eyes close in appreciation. The way he squeezes your thigh and short circuits your brain. 

You can’t help it. You turn your head so that you can look at him. He caresses your cheek, so gentle. Runs his thumb across your lip. You’re holding your breath, just waiting to see what he’s going to do. When you feel like you’re going to go a little bit insane, his hand moves to the back of your neck and pulls you in. It’s exactly like the first kiss before the wedding. At least, at first. It’s gentle, but full of so much desire. It’s also slow, like there’s no rush to any of it.

The position is really uncomfortable, though. You shift your legs so they’re draped over one of Joshua’s. He doesn’t miss a beat. It just allows him to pull you closer. There’s something incredibly intimate in kissing him like this. There’s this weird contrast of desire and comfort. It’s heated, but also a little lazy. Like you have all the time in the world. Which you do, you think, now that you’re being honest about your feelings.  When Joshua pulls back from the kiss, you chase his lips for a second before realizing that he’s pulled away. The way he looks at you nearly melts you into the couch.

“I don’t want to assume where this is headed, but maybe we should take it to the bedroom?” he asks. It’s cute, the way he’s a little shy. Like you didn’t invite him in to spend the night. Yeah, you’re in way over your head. At least it seems like he might be too. 

You pull your legs back so that you can stand up. His eyes track your movements as you reach your hand back to him. He accepts it without a word and lets you lead him to the bedroom. Even if he’s seen your bedroom before, this feels different. You’re waiting for him to look around, but his eyes are glued on you. Joshua even waits for you to lead him all the way to the bed, so you direct him to sit on the edge. 

Once Joshua is seated, you step between his legs and tilt your head down to kiss him. He wraps his arms around you so that he can pull you against him. There’s barely any space between you. It sends a little bit of a shiver as his hands run up your back and back down. The touch is gentle and caring. Like he’s trying to put everything he feels into it. Something about it just makes you feel so insanely safe. 

He’s the one to break the kiss again, but this time it’s to move back onto the bed and grab your hand to pull you along with him. It’s easy to just follow suit and get comfortable laying next to him, bodies facing each other. The kissing picks up when your lips meet again. Joshua kisses you breathless with a passion you’re eager to explore. One of his hands rests on your hip, casually sliding beneath your shirt and caressing up your side. You press your body further into his and capture his moan with a kiss. It feels like you’re a bit drunk off each other.

When Joshua’s hand moves back down, you take the chance to throw your leg over his hip, allowing you to press further into him and feel how this is turning him on. Part of you knows that he’s still waiting for you to set the pace. Or that he wants things to be a little slower. So, you help him out and roll the two of you over so that you’re straddled on top of him. Putting his hands on your hips, you lean over to kiss him again. In this position, you can also grind into his lap. You delight in how he’s already getting hard beneath you, enjoy the way his hands grip the soft flesh of your hips.

He pulls back and looks at you with blown pupils. “Baby, please don’t tease me.” 

“No silly pet name?” you tease him. 

“Not when you’re getting me this turned on like a horny teenager,” he whines. 

“You mean like this?” you ask, injecting as much innocence as you can when you slowly drag your clothed pussy across his dick again. 

Joshua throws his head back, eyes squeezed shut, and grips you tighter. “Yes.” 

“So you don’t like it?” you ask, grinding a little more. 

“Fuck,” he hisses out. And somehow that’s the thing that almost breaks you. Why is that one swear so hot on his lips? 

Without saying anything, you sit up a little bit, still making sure you’re straddling Joshua, so that you can pull his shirt off him. Your eyes go wide because you’ve never seen him shirtless. You’ve seen him in well fitted suits or shirts, but this is entirely different. His chest looks like it was sculpted by an artist. All your attention is on your fingers running along his chest and you don’t see the way it makes him a little shy. 

His hands reach for your own shirt, playing with the hem like he’s asking permission. So, you move his hands aside and pull it over your head, leaving your skin bare as well. You watch him drink you in, feeling almost empowered by the desire you see in his eyes. He pulls you back towards him so that he can get one of your breasts into his mouth. The way he teases your nipple with his tongue has you clenching around nothing. You can feel how wet it’s making you and try your best not to squirm when he moves from one breast to the other. 

“I need you,” you utter. 

“I need you, too,” he says against your skin. His hips buck up into you almost involuntarily. 

You slide off of him and pull your shorts down and he gasps that you don’t have any underwear on. It isn’t like you were expecting anything, you just wanted to be prepared. While he’s still a little drunk on the sight of you fully naked, you help him discard the rest of his clothing. The sight of his cock springing free, precum leaking out, has you wanting to get your mouth on him. 

But, you’re realizing, what you really want is to feel him inside you. After so much tension and wondering, you just want to have this moment together. You want to be as close as two people can possibly get. You want all the intimacy and to be able to see his face. It’s this thought that pushes you back to the bed to lay with him. 

Joshua repositions and runs a hand down your body. Lets his fingers run along your thighs and tease their way up to gather some of your wetness. Your eyes close as he runs a finger up your slit. It’s such a little amount of contact and it makes you moan anyway. 

“Damn, are you this wet just for me?” he asks and presses a kiss into the first bit of your skin he can reach.

“I want to feel you,” you admit. Joshua makes you press a finger into your pussy, but you stop him. Confusion takes over his features.

“I thought…do you not want this?” he asks. 

“I do, but I want…I want all of you,” you admit. “I want to feel you deep inside of me. I want to be completely ruined by you. I want to come together.” 

“Shit,” he hisses, hand stilling against your body. “On one condition.”

“What’s that?” you ask.

“I want to taste you soon,” he says, pressing a kiss into your shoulder.

The thought of him between your legs makes you shiver. It’s almost enough to forget that you want this first time to be together. “Deal.” 

“Do you have condoms? I wasn’t exactly expecting…” he says, trailing off.

“That drawer,” you say and point. 

He rolls himself off of the bed to open the drawer. You’re not sure why you expect his hands to be a little unsteady when he rips open the wrapper and rolls it onto himself, but he’s so calm. Maybe it’s just you that’s a little nervous. At least, that’s what you think until you catch the look on his face. It has to be the same as yours, naked want mixed with a little bit of uncertainty. Everything else has been so easy with you, what if this is where it goes wrong? 

“Just lay back,” he urges you, voice calming any lingering nerves. His voice drops to a whisper, like the next statement is just for him. “You’re so beautiful, every single inch of you.” 

It makes your heart constrict in a way that you’re not really prepared for. It would be nice if your feelings could stop flooding in all at once like a dam breaking. It’s overwhelming. You do as he says, though, and lean back against the pillow. Joshua gently spreads your legs apart and takes another moment to appreciate you. He can’t seem to help himself from running a finger along your entrance. 

Even though he would fully be within his rights to tease you, he doesn’t. He lines himself up at your entrance and looks to you for final confirmation. All you can manage is a nod. You know he wants to hear you, but you can’t bring yourself to form the words. So, he accepts the nods and slowly presses into you.

“Fuck,” you hiss as you adjust to him. 

“Are you okay?” he worries.

“Feels good,” you say with a slight whine. “It’s just been a bit.” 

He presses the rest of the way into you and then stills so you can get used to him. It’s really overwhelming. Not just because you’re finally feeling him inside of you. More so because he’s looking at you with more adoration than you’ve ever felt in your life. Like this is it for him. Like you’re it for him. It’s too early to be thinking of love, but you really don’t know if anyone has ever loved you so completely. You think he’s probably it for you too. 

Once he finally starts to move, you know it’s going to be over entirely too fast. He starts with slow thrusts, testing what you want. You dig your fingers into his arms as a way to ground yourself. To anchor yourself to him and in the moment. When he picks up the pace, your mind goes entirely blank. It’s just the right speed. While you love the hard and fast fucking, there’s something so much more intimate about this kind of in between speed. 

“God you feel so good,” he whines as he snaps into you again. “So tight and perfect.” 

“You’re so - oh my god,” you moan out, unable to finish the sentence as he hits you just right. 

Joshua moves one of your legs so that it’s over his shoulder and presses further into you, hitting deeper than you were prepared for.

“Fuck, Joshua, holy shit,” you scream out. 

“Love the sound of my name on your lips,” he manages as his thrusts pick up pace. 

You want to respond that you love saying it, want to say anything, but the thrusts are entirely too much. As if it wasn’t already too much, Joshua adjusts again so that he can press his thumb against your clit. He rubs circles in time with his thrusts and you think that you might see stars. You throw your head back, eyes pressed shut.

“Look at me, baby. I wanna see you when you come,” he urges, his own voice sounding ragged. 

Despite wanting to focus on the pressure building between you, you do as he asks. Your eyes meet his and it’s that look that makes that coil snap. You’re coming hard and digging your fingers into whatever you can find to release some of the tension in your body. This might be the best orgasm you’ve had. 

When you come back to this plane, Joshua has stilled inside of you. One of his hands gently caresses your face as he mumbles quiet praises. It’s so impossibly tender.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, you can move,” you assure him.

“Thank fuck,” he mumbles. 

His pace now picks up to something fast and hard with one of his large hands anchoring your thigh to his body. Your hands grip any part of his body that they can reach and you relish the way he hisses when your nails drag patterns down his skin. Marking him so that he belongs to you. Just as you belong so completely to him. 

It seems impossible but you can feel the tension building low in your stomach again. His thrusts are so hard that you feel like his cock might split you open and something about it just works for you. You hadn’t thought anything about him would translate to this kind of hard and fast sex, but it’s somehow better than you could have imagined. With him so focused on chasing his own high, you rub circles on your clit to bring yourself over the edge again. You tumble over the edge for a second time just as Joshua’s thrusts get erratic. You do your best to take over the rhythm before slowing down. 

Joshua collapses on top of you, cock still buried in your pussy, and sighs. His weight on top of you feels like the best security you’ve ever had. Your hands find their way into his hair, gently stroking and scratching his scalp. As he comes back around, he presses his head further into your hand. 

“Hey,” you say when he looks up at you.

“You’re perfect,” he responds and you can’t keep the smile off your face. 

“You were pretty perfect yourself,” you say. 

“Am I too heavy, I could…” he starts and you pull him tighter against you.

“Don’t you dare,” you warn. 

He doesn’t say anything, just nuzzles his face into your neck. But, you know that you can’t stay like this forever. So you don’t protest when he gently pulls himself up and gets out of the bed. You’re right behind him, leading him into the bathroom so that you can get both of you cleaned up. 

After getting cleaned up, dressed, and doing your respective night time routines, you and Joshua are settled back into your bed (on top of a fresh set of sheets). Although you’ve never been much for falling asleep cuddling, you can’t imagine leaving any space between you and him. When he wraps himself around you, all you can do is smile and settle deeper into his perfect chest. Honestly, every inch of this man is perfect and you’d be annoyed if you weren’t so helplessly attached to him. 

And it’s the best sleep you’ve gotten in a long time. You wake up with his chest pressed into your back and his arm still wrapped around you. It sounds like he’s still asleep based on his breathing and so you’re just considering slipping out of the bed. He moves in his sleep and pulls you tighter against him, making you feel that he’s semi-hard again. You press back against him, almost testing if he’s really asleep. 

He’s not. 

Joshua’s hand, already against the skin of your stomach and underneath your shirt, moves further up to your breast. His hand squeezes your breast and then he brushes his thumb over your nipple. Your body responds to his touch embarrassingly fast, which only seems to spur him on. He’s got your nipple between his fingers before you press back into him again, wiggling your ass against his dick without pretending you’re doing otherwise.

“Good morning beautiful,” Joshua says in a raspy voice into your ear. 

The warmth of his breath along with the pressure of him rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger has you suppressing a moan. In the quiet of the morning, he hears it anyway. He removes his hand from your breast and you want to pout at the loss of contact. That is, until his hand works down between your legs, roughly grabbing hold of your pussy through your shorts. He runs his middle finger through your folds, likely feeling the way your shorts are getting soaked through already. 

“Feels like someone might have woken up ready,” he says into your ear, voice sinfully low. His finger is still slowly teasing you through the damn material of your shorts. Somehow that makes it feel hotter. 

“I wonder why,” you retort, undermined by the way you squirm under his touch. 

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks and stops his movements. 

Your hand immediately moves to his. To guide him back to your cunt. “Please don’t. Want to see what those hands can do.” 

His mouth is still by your ear, so you hear the dark chuckle and feel the air tickle you. He moves your hand aside along with your shorts as he slips his hand inside the fabric. His middle finger resumes the previous pattern almost lazily. You’re about to ask him to stop teasing you when he presses a finger inside you suddenly.

“Fuck,” you nearly scream. 

“Is someone a little sensitive?” he teases. He’s a fucking demon and you would gladly sell your soul so he didn’t stop. 

The way he pumps his finger inside of you is entirely too slow. But, when you try to meet his rhythm, he stops. Just when you think you might actually die, he inserts a second finger. It makes your back arch, pressing your ass further against his now very hard cock. He hisses and pulls his fingers out from you. As you’re turning over to adjust your position, you see him insert his fingers into his mouth. Holy shit. He really is the hottest man you’ve ever met. 

Instead of letting you carry on in any way, he pushes himself up and repositions. You’re not really sure what he’s doing until he reaches for your shorts to pull them off. His focus is on you, silently asking for permission again. All you can do is nod. 

“Told you that I wanted to taste you,” he reminds you once your shorts are off. 

“Are you sure…” you start to ask before he cuts you off.

His head snaps up so he can meet your eyes. “I’ve been waiting to taste you for weeks.”

That shuts you up pretty effectively. What can you really say in response to that? Anything you might have said dies in your throat as he licks a messy stripe up your folds. He quickly settles, using one hand to keep you spread open for him, and licks into you. It’s all you can do to keep your eyes on him as his head bobs between your legs. You thread your fingers through his hair to keep him in place even though you know he’s not going anywhere. (And okay, maybe it’s more to ground yourself to him than anything else.) 

It shouldn’t be surprising that his attentiveness translates this well, but it is a little surprising how well he seems to know your body. The way he knows just when to switch from licking into your cunt to flicking his tongue over your clit. The way he knows when he needs to add a finger and then a second. The way he can tell everything your body needs before you even realize it. 

By the time he pulls himself up your body, he’s got you nearly panting from the build up. The kiss he presses to your lips is sloppy and a little desperate. Like you’re both totally fucked out. His fingers inside you keep a relentless pace as he hooks them, hitting that perfect spot. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you yell out, breaking the kiss. Your whole body feels like it’s on fire in an entirely different way from the night before. 

There’s nothing in the world but Joshua and the way he coaxes everything out of you. The way he has you squirting on his fingers. You’re not even sure if the praise coming out of your mouth makes any sense and you’re definitely not sure what he says in return. It’s all you can do just to appreciate the moment. 

You think that you’re going to get the chance to get your mouth around his cock now that he’s given you another mind blowing orgasm. But, by the time you get your breathing under control, you see that he’s rolling a condom from your drawer onto himself. He pulls you to the edge of the bed so that your legs are hanging off. It’s instantly stronger than you’re expecting from him and pulls a gasp from you. 

Without even thinking, your legs fall open. Joshua seems to have found a bottle of lube, too, and spreads it over his cock. When he lines himself up at your entrance, you expect him to ease in like the night before. He doesn’t. He snaps his full length inside of you in one motion and you’re so overstimulated, but it feels so good.

“Fuck me, Joshua, oh my fucking god,” you say and clench down around his dick. 

“Shit, that feels so good,” he hisses. 

“You feel so good,” you moan. 

“You have no idea,” he answers and starts thrusting. 

It’s a complete haze from the moment you hear his skin slap against your own. Every coherent thought leaves your head. There is nothing in the world but you and him and the way you make each other feel. He leans over your body, crowds your space. Steals sloppy, desperate kisses. Praises you constantly and in broken sentences. It’s all you can do just to hold on, so sore and so unable to stop.

Your hands grip into the sheets around you that are completely rumpled. You try everything to keep your eyes on Joshua’s face. Memorize the way he looks when he’s concentrating. Appreciate how totally gone he is because you’re sure it’s the same look you have. Delight in the way his eyes get even wider when you clench your pussy around him. 

It feels a little like he’s using your body to chase his own high, except there’s total comfort in that. All you want is for him to feel as good as you do. All you want is for him to get that release, especially since you haven’t been able to get your mouth on his cock yet. 

“Harder Joshua, please. I know you’re close,”  you beg and he obliges immediately. 

Even though you’re trying to meet the rhythm, you can’t. It’s too erratic and too unpredictable. So you pull him down to you again and kiss him. Slip your tongue inside his mouth and let the kisses get as sloppy as they need to. You feel how close he is and only kiss him harder. He breaks the kiss for the last few thrusts, groaning as he comes. You’re right there with him. 

(Later, he tells you that he’s never seen anyone hotter than you when you come. It would make you embarrassed in any other situation. But, you realize that you’ve never been with anyone that’s come close to him, so maybe it’s okay to accept his praise. Maybe you deserve it. Maybe this is the person that you’ve been waiting for.)

Now, you really do have to get up and clean up. As tempting as Joshua’s offer to shower together is, you don’t want it to turn into shower sex because that’s just not sexy (or practical). Neither one of you can seem to guarantee keeping their hands off the other. Instead, you tell him that he can use the shower in your guest room. It’s fully stocked and there are still more spare clothes in there. He insists that he should get some laundry going because you must be running out of clean sheets and you definitely made a mess. 

With Joshua cleaning up some around the house, you’re the first out of the shower and dressed. Pleasantly sore in the kind of way you really enjoy. You’re sitting on the couch and scrolling through your phone, trying to decide if you want to order food or just cook what you already have. Before you can make a decision, there’s a knock at the door. It’s impossible to guess who it could be. Even Jeonghan wouldn’t bother you like this. Although he’s been texting asking for an update after you told him you finally got your shit together, he wouldn’t show up like this. 

When you open the door, you’d give anything for it to just be Jeonghan. Instead, you see a face that you’ve been seeing entirely too much lately.

“What are you doing here, Johnny?” you ask with a heavy sigh. 

“I need to talk to you,” he says.

“Why?” you ask.

“Come on, don’t be like that,” he pleads.

“Johnny, it’s the day after your wedding. What the fuck are you doing on my doorstep?” you ask, arms crossed. 

“Are you really going to make me do this in the hallway?” he asks. 

“I don’t see any reason to invite you inside,” you retort. 

“It’s about your, uh, boyfriend,” Johnny says a little awkwardly.

“Joshua?” you ask because that actually piques your interest a bit.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

“No. What about Joshua?” you ask.

“This is really awkward. It would be better if we were sitting down…” Johnny starts.

“My little honeybun, is everything okay?” Joshua asks from inside the apartment. He must be out of the shower. 

“Babe, we talked about the pet names,” you remind him as he joins you at the door.

“Oh, uh, I wasn’t expecting him to be here,” Johnny says.

“I’m her boyfriend, so I know why I’m here. What are you doing here?” Joshua says without hiding any disdain.  "Are you really her boyfriend, though?" Johnny challenges. You stiffen almost imperceptibly, but Joshua must notice it because he wraps an arm around you protectively. "Of course I am. Why are you here?"

“I needed to talk to her,” Johnny says stiffly.

“About you, apparently,” you say with your eyes on Joshua. 

“Right, so can you give us a minute?” Johnny asks with his eyes on Joshua.

“No, he can’t. If you have something to say, just say it. Then you can leave us alone,” you say.

“Fine, if you really want it to be like this, fine,” Johnny says. “I knew he looked familiar when I saw him at your parents’ house with you. It just took me a while. I ran into him at a couple of functions back when I was in college and traveling all around for my dad.” 

“Okay? And? I’m sorry, but I’m not sure why I care,” you say even though you know where he’s going.

“He was always with older women,” Johnny presses. 

“Can you just make your point so we can get back to our day?” Joshua asks.

“Fine,” Johnny says, irritated. “The whispers were that women paid him to come to the events with them. That he was selling himself to them.” 

You actually snort at the phrasing. It takes you several seconds to compose yourself. You wonder what the point of Johnny doing this and if it’s his way of trying to keep you on the hook. Then you realize that you don’t really care what he does. For the first time in forever, you’re genuinely happy. 

“I’m glad you think this is funny,” Johnny says. 

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I know how Joshua helped pay for his education. And like why am I going to give him a hard time over seizing an opportunity? There’s nothing wrong with profiting off of someone wanting his company platonically,” you say. 

“You���re assuming he wasn’t also sleeping with them,” Johnny says, a little stubborn.

“No, I’m not assuming. I know he wasn’t because we’ve talked about this. He told me all about it without even being prompted. And unlike certain people in my life, I have absolutely no reason to doubt him. I know I can actually trust him,” you say. “It was also years before we met. We’ve all got history.”

“Nice dig,” he says. 

“It’s not a dig, Johnny. Not everything is a slight,” you say with a sigh. “Where does Gabby think you are?”

“What?” Johnny asks. 

“Your wife,” you clarify. “Where does she think you are?”

“Oh, well, that’s not important. I just said I had some errands to take care of,” Johnny says and you roll your eyes.

“We’re done, Johnny,” you say.

“Wait,” he says as you’re moving to shut the door. “I know I fucked up, but…”

“There’s no buts. Not anymore,” you say. “Maybe there was a point where I’d want to hear the buts and the apologies and all that. I’m happy now, though, and you can’t even tell your wife that you came to see your ex-fiancee the day after your wedding.” 

“It’s not like…” he starts and you start to close the door at the same time.

“It’s exactly like that. Goodbye, Johnny,” you say. 

The second you close the door, you feel a giant weight lifted off you. You just feel tired. It’s obvious that there aren’t any feelings there anymore, so him pretending he cares as a pretense to see you just feels irritating.

“Are you okay?” Joshua asks, eyes raking over you.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you say.

“You sure?” he asks.

“Yeah, really. I think I knew when I saw him at my parents’ house that time you came over for dinner that I was completely over it,” you say. “I’m sorry he tried to bring something like that up or make it a big deal.” 

“I don’t care. It’s like you said, I did it and I’m not ashamed of that,” he says. “But, uh, I really wanted to thank you.”

“For what?” you ask.

“For defending me and for saying you trust me,” he says. It makes you a little shy for a second, so you look down.

“Oh, well, it’s not a big deal,” you say. 

Joshua closes the space and tilts your chin up to look at him. “It’s a huge deal to me. I know we started pretending, but trusting me means the absolute world.” 

“You make it easy,” you admit. 

That seems to render him a little speechless as well because all he does is pull you into him in the tightest hug he’s ever given you. Your body fits into his like a puzzle piece. Which sounds sappy, even if in your head, and you don’t actually care. It’s the safest and the happiest you’ve ever felt.

“What?” he asks when you pull away.

“Nothing, I just think this is going to work,” you say. 

Joshua smiles at you, that genuine smile he saves for when he’s at his happiest. “Yeah, I think so too.” 

i hope you enjoyed this fic! let me know your thoughts 💕

tag list: @aaniag, @gyuminusone, @crepecakeu, @tinyelfperson, @dokyeomkyeom, @amoryeonjun, @miriamxsworld, @hongrizoon, @klecksstorys, @sunflowergyeomie, @straykidswhoo789, @holistic, @vanishingboots, @babybae-shisui, @matchahyuck, @sonybear40, @kimseokgen, @hyneyedfiz, @miujunhui, @graybaeismytae, @hyucksrealm, @livixxn, @sharonxdevi, @coupsystar8, @sana-is-ms-rmty, @pyeonghongrie-main, @naajaeminsgf, @beomesbabe, @magicshop913, @deletingthekisses, @lissiesykes (strikethrough means i couldn't tag, check your settings!)

[aemondapologistfrfr]

Era of Kings

vampire!viserys iii x vampire!twin!sister!reader

Summary: Viserys thinks he’s found an answer to win him the Iron Throne. He takes you across Essos to an unlikely city to find what he seeks. 

Warnings: 18+ viserys iii has dialogue and when that man opens his mouth 🫣, threats, blood, death(not mc), time skips, bathing, loss of virginity, oral(f), p in v

Authors Note: mans gets put in his place fr 🤗 literally asked my friend to give me a hotd man to write a vampire ff thinking he was going to tell me maegor but instead we got viserys iii - we still may get a vampire!maegor too like idk just something about him bathing in the blood of his enemies while drinking a chalice of blood 🧎🏼‍♀️ n e ways it’s halloween time and i wanted a vampire ff so this is what i got for rn :) 

Word Count: 7.5k idk sry

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I clench my jaw shut as I’m tugged out of the red door as he seals Dany inside. I hate that he’s having us leave her behind while we travel across Essos. I tried to ask him many times if we could just bring her with and his only response was to not anger him. I left her whatever coin I had left and promised her I would return. I’ve always tried to protect her from our brother but when he gets in his moods no one is safe. 

“Viserys-“ 

“I’ll hear no more of Dany on this trip.” he cuts me off waving his hand. He lifts me up onto a large black stallion and takes his place behind me, trapping me between his arms. “If I do hear another word, I’ll throw you off this horse and leave you.” he whispers in my ear. 

“Must you always be so mean, brother?” I murmur. 

“You know I would never.” his voice is unusually soft. “You’re to be my wife soon and rule over the seven kingdoms with me.” his words make my heart beat faster. He’s talked about wedding me for years and he says after he gets what he’s seeking he’ll have me after. 

“You’ve been saying that for-“ 

“Do you think I will not rule? Do you think I will not be king?” his voice is back to having its bite. 

“I know you will rule.” I keep my voice docile as I nod my head. I don’t know what we’re traveling to seek but I know it will change everything. 

“I wish Dany could understand like you do.” he sighs brushing my hair back. 

“She’s just a child, Viserys.” he pulls my hair at my words.

“Then she should heed my words.” I simply nod my head knowing fighting with him will get me nowhere.

“I’m surprised you didn’t ask for a larger company to attend to us on our travels.” I hum trying not to think about the sun beating against my face. The only other companions we have are two white mares carrying packs with supplies. 

“Illyrio said that I need to prove myself on this journey or I won’t be able to have what I seek.” he starts to slowly braid my hair allowing my neck to feel the soft breeze. He’ll never let anyone see this side of him. Not even our younger sister. He’s always so harsh and strict. 

“Do you wish for me to braid your hair as well?” I turn back to look at him and he shakes his head. 

“No, sweet sister. I’ll be fine.” he places a kiss on the back of my neck and we keep looking at the endless sea of grasses and sand.

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First Week of Travel

There’s been no reprieve of shade or even a breeze in the past two days. My thighs are aching from the constant riding and the sheer fabric of my dress is sticking to my skin. Viserys only allows us to stop at night for a couple of hours before we’re back on the horse. I don’t know if it’s heat sickness but I think I can see a city on the horizon and I will do anything to get us to stop there. 

“My brother,” my voice is scratchy and dry from the heat. “My king, please.” I turn to Viserys. “Please can we stop in the city. Just for the night.” I hear him sigh from behind me. “Please Viserys, please.” if I had more water in my body I would surely be crying at this point. 

“Hush now, there’s no need to get so worked up. We have to get more supplies and we can stay for one night. That’s it.” he rubs my back in an attempt to soothe me but all it does is make me hotter. 

“Thank you.” my voice cracks as the city starts to come closer to us. The sands know how to play mind games. The city which should’ve only been thirty minutes away was actually three hours of travel. My legs have been screaming at me and the moment Viserys helps me off the horse I collapse to the ground. 

“Get up. People are staring and you’re embarrassing me.” he hauls me up by my arm and I lean on him for support. “Gods must I do everything for you?” he grits out through his teeth. 

“I’m sorry.” I look up to him with defeated eyes. He leads us and our horses to the nearest inn and ties them up outside before starting towards the door with a remark of saying he should tie me up outside with them. At this point any place I can lay down will be like the soft embrace of our mother. He gets us a room and brings us up the stairs before pushing the old wooden door open. 

“Then go lay down while I go get us supplies.” I know I should go with him but my legs won’t allow it. I collapse on the bed and I hear him scoff as he sets some bags down. “I don’t even know why I brought you with.” he slams the door behind him and I pay no mind to his hurtful words. I sit up on the bed long enough to remove my dress from my still heated skin and collapse back onto the bed and allow sleep to take me for however long Viserys will allow. 

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“Wake up.” I jolt awake by Viserys’ harsh tone. “You couldn’t even unpack a bit before you just went to bed? While you slept I was out collecting supplies for us.” I wipe my eyes trying to wake up but my body is begging to lay back down. “Are you even listening?” he storms over to me on the bed. 

“I’m sorry, Viserys. I’m just so tired.” my eyes are focused on the cup of water in his hands. 

“Is this what you want?” he taunts shaking the cup in front of me and I look up to him pleading. 

“Please,” my voice cracks as I reach out for the cup. 

“What have you done to deserve this? Hm?” he tilts my chin up to him. 

“My king,” using his preferred title has always softened him. “Please, I beg.” my chest heaves just wanting a sip. 

“What kind of king would I be if I didn’t give my queen what she wanted?” his smile is serpentine as he puts the cup into my outstretched hands. “After you’re done, put your dress back on. It’s indecent, anyone could walk in.” he looks around the grungy room unimpressed. “Men here would just take you and not care about your protests and I won’t have a sullied bride.” I ignore his words and drink the water down. 

I nod my head at him and set the empty cup on the rickety table. I pull the sheer fabric back over my body and start to walk over to the bags he left. I don’t see why I must unpack if we’re leaving on the morrow but I’m not interested in facing his wrath. He watches me set out a fresh pair of clothes for him to change into in the morning and I begin to try and make the room to his liking as he sits on a chair and watches me. I look around and let out a small sigh that I’ve done all I could and make my way back to the bed. I fall back wishing the fabric wasn’t again sticking to my skin but I don’t want to anger him. 

“What are you so upset about now?” he shakes his head watching me as he sets out bread and cheese. 

“I’m so hot, Viserys.” I turn on my side to look at him. 

“We are the blood of the dragon. The heat shouldn’t bother you.” his eyes linger on my body before looking at my eyes. “Do you just want to flaunt yourself in front of me, is that it?” his lilac eyes darken as a smirk forms on his lips. 

“No, I would never.” I shake my head sitting up. “I didn’t mean-“ 

“Enough,” he waves his hand at me. “Come eat and then we’ll go to bed. We’re leaving at first light.” I sulk out of the bed and come sit at the small table with him. We eat in silence and pretend we don’t hear each other's stomachs roaring. The bread and cheese are quickly gone and he’s pulling me to the bed and I’m thankful for the reprieve of sleep. 

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Third Week of Travel 

The insides of my thighs hurt so terribly I cry myself to sleep most nights. Viserys turns his back to me under the stars and I try to cover my mouth so he doesn’t hear me. I dread the sunrise everyday. When the sun rises so does his temper as he sets me back on the horse and ignores my pleas of us taking another day of rest. 

“If you keep up this crying I’ll have you walk behind the horses.” he turns my head to look at him. “You think your legs hurt now sister, it can be so much worse.” a muffled sob leaves my lips and he stops the horse. He dismounts and holds his hands out for me. 

“Viserys, please.” I shake my head trying to steady my voice. 

“Get off. Now.” he pulls me down and I fall into his arms. 

“I’ll be quiet.” I look up to him pleading. “I’m sorry, Viserys. Please.” I jut my lip out and hold on to his arms. 

“Go get the blanket. We will rest for the rest of the day.” I pull him into a hug and he pulls my arms off. “Go before I change my mind.” 

“Thank you, my king.” I place a kiss on his cheek. I run and grab the supplies off our mares and he begins to erect our makeshift tent. It’s small and flimsy but it shades us from the sun. I crawl into the shade and spread our blanket down. I lay back on it and sigh with a smile. 

“And I’m sure you want for water and food and to take your dress off..” he trails off, tossing a skin of water and some dried meat into the tent. He crawls in through the flaps and starts to lift off my dress. I lay back once I’m bare and freed from the sticky fabric. “You’re absolutely indecent.” his fingers dance up my side making me squirm. 

“I’m sorry.” my words breathy. 

“Are you?” he leans over and brings the water skin to my lips. His moods change so quickly and as of late it’s been even worse. I just let them run their course and hope for the best. The water trickles down my neck and he chuckles, setting the water skin aside. He brings the meat to my mouth and begins to feed me and I chew slowly watching him. “Do you like when your king dotes on you?” he brings another piece of meat to my lips and I nod. 

“I do. Thank you, my king.” I hum looking up at him. 

“Shall I fan you off? You’re still so flushed.” he smirks as his fingers trail across my heated skin. 

“Viserys,” I whine squirming under his touch. 

“You tempt me every night.” his words low as his eyes devour my body. “In the middle of the night you press yourself against me.” he hovers above me. “You let out the softest whimpers and pleas.” he groans as his hand brushes under my breast.

“I’m sorry, I’ll try to be quiet.” my chest heaves as his fingers continue to dance along my skin. His hand engulfs my breast and his deft fingers roll my nipple pulling a whine from me. 

“You can’t even be quiet when you’re awake.” his voice taunting as he continues to pinch and tease my hardened peak. He releases my nipple and trails down my navel and I shut my thighs quickly. “Not yet, sweet sister.” he hums rolling off of me. “Get some rest. I want to be back on the road before dawn.” he grabs the water and meat for himself and starts to eat while I drift off. 

I turn my back to him and shut my eyes dreaming of our feather bed back in Pentos. The abundance of food and water we had. The servants who would fan us off or let us sit in a chilled pool when we got too hot. I try not to think of Dany or I'll get too sad. I’m thankful she’s not with us because this is no easy journey and our guide is no easy companion. 

“How long until we’re there?” I sigh, keeping my eyes closed. 

“If you don’t keep making us stop every other day then we can be there by the end of the week.” his words clipped. 

“I’m sorry.” I mumble before cuddling more into the blanket. 

“I’m sure you’ll have us stop again anyways.” I can feel his eyes on my back as I keep it turned to him. His words are harsh but his touch is soft and he gently kneads his fingers into my muscles. “Go to sleep.” he hums as he continues to massage me as I drift off. 

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Arrival in Valyria 

I look upon the ruined city of our ancestors and gape. I would give anything to have seen this in all its glory before the doom. I’ve heard all sorts of stories of why no one can travel here but Viserys has uncovered the truth for us. As we make our way to the heart of the city I start to see things out of the corner of my eye and turn my head quickly. 

“Stop jumping so much.” he scolds and I mutter out an apology. I crane my neck looking at the crumbling stone in complete awe of the architecture. I hear fast approaching steps and turn my head but no one is there. “What did I say?” he whispers into my ear and my spine goes straight as we approach the building. I can feel eyes watching us but make no attempt to try and find the owner of those eyes. He jumps off the horse and helps me down. We walk up the ruined steps hand in hand and as we go to push open the doors they groan open on their own. Viserys looks in and doesn’t see anyone and turns to me. 

“How strange.” he shrugs, pulling me along with him.  

“Viserys, I’m scared.” I whisper looking up at the great ceiling. 

“There's no need to be afraid, child.” my spine straightens at the voice in high valyrian. 

“Show yourself and bring to me what is owed to me.” Viserys’ voice echoes throughout the hall. 

“Viserys-“

“What is owed to you?” the voice laughs. “Tell me your name.” it demands. 

“Viserys, third of his name, rightful-“ 

“No, not you. Her.” I see a silhouette whisk in front of the giant stone hearth. I offer my name barely above a whisper. 

“Never mind her. I’m the one who has traveled all this way for you. She is merely here for my pleasure.” he walks up to the ghostly woman in front of the flame. 

“Viserys, wait.” he grabs my hand and pulls me along with him. 

 “Both of you kneel.” I kneel down on the stone that licks through the fabric of my dress. I keep my head down and steal glances at Viserys who is squinting trying to figure out who stands before us. “Are you ready?” I see the bare feet in front of us and I go completely still. 

“Oh yes,” I see Viserys tilt his head up and I look over to him in horror. 

“The era of kings has passed, we now enter the era of queens.” the voice caresses my ears and before I know it she breaks a vial over my mouth and its contents spill down my throat. 

“What have you done?” Viserys shouts into the now empty hall. The person before us has disappeared and I feel.. I feel. I can’t explain it. “Get up.” Viserys drags me up from the floor and looks at me. 

“Come to me, my child.” I jump as the voice speaks directly into my mind. 

“He won’t let me.” I shake my head as Viserys looks at me like I’ve gone mad and maybe I have.

“You’re faster than he is now. Run up the stairs and come through the third door on your left.” she instructs me. 

“I don’t want him to be harmed in my absence.” the voice chuckles in my mind and goes silent. I open my mouth to say something to Viserys but the smell of him floods my senses and I feel my gums splitting open. 

“Come upstairs or you’ll be the one to harm your brother.” I feel the tears start to pour over my face as my mind races. 

“Viserys, I’m so scared.” I step back from him as he stares at me in a trance. “Viserys?” he just stares at me so I dash up the stairs. I shake my head trying to figure out how I got to this door so quickly. It creaks open and I look inside before entering. 

“You’re safe, my child.” the voice doesn’t offer me any semblance of comfort but I’m thankful it’s out loud and not in my head. “Ask the questions floating around your head.” the woman comes out of the shadows. 

“Am I going to die?” she brushes her silver hair over her shoulders as she chuckles and I’m rendered speechless at her beauty. 

“You will never have to fear death again.” she hums lounging across a chaise. 

“What happened to my teeth?” she chuckles and points to the mirror. I’m in front of the cloudy glass the next second. I open my mouth as gasp when I see the two fangs jutting out of my gum line. I look over my features and see that they’re more defined and prominent. I turn back to her and she’s smiling. “I’m..” I grab my throat. 

“Mm, I almost forgot.” she claps her hands twice and another like her comes out with a young man in tow. “Have a taste.” she gestures to the man and the other person lingers by the door watching. 

“How?” I look at the woman with worry. She’s next to the stunned boy and tilting his head to the side bearing his neck. She nods to me as her fangs press out and she sinks them into his neck. She releases him just as fast as she bit him and gestures for me to come. 

“You can kill him if you wish. You don’t have to stop.” I’m taken aback by her words but I ignore them unlike my thirst. I press my teeth into his sink and the second his blood hits my tongue I’m lost. The boy goes limp in my arms as I continue to drain him. I pull back panting heavily as I watch him collapse to the ground. “Feeling better?” she smiles at me. 

“Who are you?” I ask tilting my head. 

“No one of importance.” she waves me off. “Ask your other questions so we can return to your brother.” Viserys. He completely slipped my mind. 

“I didn’t want this. My brother did.” I shake my head stepping back from her suddenly too aware of the blood dripping down my neck. “Can I share this gift with him and my sister?” I look to her hopeful. 

“You can, but I’d suggest making your brother prove himself first.” she hums with a slight frown. “All he needs is your blood and for you to will it so.” I'm relieved that there’s a way for me to keep them safe and with me forever. 

“So we can’t die?” I watch her walk over to me. 

“You can, but no one knows how.” she links her arm with mine and we begin to walk down the hall. As we descend the steps it’s like I’m in a brand new hall as I take in all the detail I missed before. I sigh in relief when I spot Viserys in the same spot I left him, unharmed. 

“There’s another gift that you received. It’s mainly used in the common tongue to help settle your meal, but can be used whenever you deem fit.” she smiles wickedly. “Come, Viserys.” he walks over to us as we get off the last step. 

“You speak the common tongue?” I furrow my brows. 

“Of course, child.” she laughs, throwing her head back. “But we’re in our homeland, why would we speak the tongue of those lesser than us?” 

“Can this other gift be used on people like us?” I tilt my head. 

“Only by the person who made you.” my anxiety spikes at her words. “Worry not. I never leave this place and have no intention to do so or use it against you.” she offers me the first reassuring smile I’ve had in years. “It takes a little more strength to get it across but you can.” she nods at my brother before us.

“Did you make him stay down here? Why is he like this?” his silence is deafening. I’m waiting for him to yell, to throw something, or to drag me out of here. 

“I did. Try to undo it.” she smiles while watching me. 

“Break free of her words brother.” he has the same look on his face and I frown. 

“Try again.” she nods at me. 

“Viserys, please hear me.” my voice threatens to break. “Break free of her words.” I plead and his face instantly crumples. 

“How dare you take what is mine?” his eyes narrow on me. 

“I didn’t.” I shake my head stepping back. The woman next to me watches us with an amused expression. 

“After all I’ve done for you?” he slowly starts to walk towards me and I stay where I am finally realizing I have the upper hand. 

“And I have done a lot for you.” he offers me a wicked smile. 

“Is that so?” he tilts his head studying me. 

“I’ll be around,” the woman sighs as if she’s bored. “There’s some more food for you out in the back stables.” she offers me a nod and disappears. 

“How does it feel then?” he stalks around me and I feel his gaze on every inch of me. 

“Intense, overwhelming, freeing,” I shake my head trying to pick the most prominent emotion. “Powerful.” I nod. 

“Will you change me, sweet sister?” he stands in front of me once more and I purse my lips studying him. 

“We can discuss it.” I reply feigning a yawn. “For now I’d like to rest. It’s been a long journey.” I start down a hall and hear him trailing behind me. 

“You want to rest here?” he looks at the castle that is slowly being reclaimed by the elements. 

“I’m sure there’s a feather bed that’s not in use.” I crack open the first set of doors and find the kitchen. I shut the doors with a groan. “Do you know of the being that I am?” I glance over my shoulder at Viserys. 

“I know everything there is to know.” I hear his heartbeat accelerate and scrunch my brows. 

“Liar.” I fully turn toward him. I study his face as his heart races. I glance at his neck listening to his blood flow. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” his voice wavers and I think this might be the first time I’ve seen him frightened. 

“Not even just a taste?” my nose is against his neck before his next breath. I should be embarrassed at being so crass but I can’t help it. The smell of him and how fast his heart is beating pull me in. 

“Let’s go find you a bed.” he nods at me pulling out of my reach. “I could even go fetch some of your food.” he offers and I smile revealing my fangs. 

“I would like that very much.” I hum and turn to continue on my search. Viserys finds me suitable chambers with a large dusty featherbed that he’s been spending the past ten minutes cleaning off for me. I look around and see that everything has been left untouched since it was abandoned. I make my way over to the window to look upon the bones of the once great city that have been left. 

“I wish to try something.” I hum and turn to him. 

“What?” he stands up quickly. 

“Come here.” he walks over to me instantly and his brows furrow. “Back to the bed.” I lift my chin and watch him walk back. 

“What is this?” his anger makes a slight breakthrough. 

“Come back over here.” I softly smile. 

“Enough of this.” he says through his teeth. “I will-“ 

“Kneel.” he goes to his knees before me. 

“Sister.” his tone is bold for his position. I dip down and cup his cheeks and look him in the eyes. 

“I want you to know that even if I do change you I will still be able to do that, because I made you. You will never hold that kind of power over me again.” his heart skips. 

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One Week Later

I was thankful to see that our horses were well cared for and are ready to make the journey. She was kind enough to have a covered carriage repaired for us and has our horses linked up to it. I gathered more information from our host and she told me I will always be welcome back. She was kind enough to offer me a couple skins of blood until I could make it to the next city. I watch as Viserys packs our bags and supplies. Once he’s done he helps me in and closes the door behind himself and sits with his back to me as he holds the reins and the carriage jumps into action. 

“Are you nervous to leave?” he turns back to me as we trail through the city. 

“No. I want to see what it’s like out there now.” I feel such a sense of safety knowing I’m no longer the prey.

“Do you think you’ll change me?” I watch his hands tighten on the reins. 

“We can discuss it on the road.” I smile to myself hearing him groan. Leaving the city is completely different than I thought it would be. “I’m thankful we have shade on the journey back.” I sigh lounging back in the seat watching as we pass through the last of the stone gates.

“Let me know when you need to stop and refill your skins.” he looks over his shoulder. 

“Do you think I look different, brother?” he hooks the reins to the carriage and turns to me with a smile. 

“What do you mean?” he tilts his head letting his eyes trail over me the same as they always have. 

“Do you think Dany will be able to tell?” I nibble on my lip. 

“If she does, we can just blame it on the journey.” he reaches across and cups my cheek. “Sister you were beautiful before but now.. Gods.” his voice soft as he shakes his head. 

“Viserys..” I watch him study every inch of me. 

“That woman was right saying we were in the era of queens.” his eyes find mine. “Everyone who sees you will bow to you.” I have no idea what’s gotten into him. Maybe he’s genuinely scared of me now or is just doing everything he can to make me want to change him. 

“You’re never this soft with me.” I search his eyes. 

“Do not start with that.” he waves me off. “I was always the kindest to you.” a laugh bubbles out of my mouth at his words. 

“On the journey here you threatened me at least ten times a day.” he winces as my voice raises. 

“I will make up for it. I promise.” he nods his head. 

“Trust that you will.” I hum and settle back into my seat. 

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First Week of Travel

I smile as our carriage comes to a stop outside a cities walls. I slowly stretch out as Viserys starts to take some of our bags out. He opens the door for me and offers me his hand as I step out. He’s been uncharacteristically polite over the past week and I know it’s because he wants me to change him sooner rather than later. I like the idea of making him wait but I’m selfish enough to want to look at his beauty forever. 

“Your friend didn’t happen to give you any coin, did she?” he whispers in my ear and I chuckle. 

“We won’t need coin anymore.” I pull him in the direction of a nice inn. As we step through the front door we’re greeted by smells of hot food and ale. I walk us up to the innkeeper and offer him a simpering smile. 

“What are you doing?” I brush off Viserys words. 

“We require the best room you have. Along with a hot meal and clean water to bathe.” the innkeeper looks us up and down and clears his throat. 

“And how are you paying for this?” his voice weathered from too many years. 

“We are your honored guests for the night. We won’t be paying for anything.” I keep my voice steady hoping this will work or we’re going to be kicked out of this city. 

“Of course.” the man nods his head and calls a small child over. “Take them to the room at the top of the stairs and see to it that all their needs are met.” the boy furrows his brows. 

“Aren’t you staying in that room already?” the child tilts his head. 

“Not tonight. Freshen up the room for our honored guests.” he smiles at me and Viserys. 

“Thank you.” I hum. 

“No, thank you.” he offers us to sit at a table and dine while our room is prepared. I pick at the food on the plate and push it around so it looks like I’m eating but I’m looking around trying to find an unsuspecting victim. 

“Your room is ready and the bath is currently being filled.” the boy comes up to our table glancing at me. He escorts us to our room and comes back a moment later with soaps and oils for the bath and disappears. I look around at the small room and I’m just thankful it’s clean. 

“Do you wish for me to bathe you?” Viserys asks from the bed. 

“I will never tire of you doting on me.” I sigh as I start to untie my dress. 

“Allow me.” he comes behind me and slowly pulls the strings undone. His heartbeat is steady as his fingers trail across my skin. As the dress pools at my feet I can hear his uneven breath. 

“Do I still tempt you?” I turn and face him with a smile and watch as his eyes travel over every inch of my body. 

“Very much.” he swallows as his eyes linger at my breasts. “My queen.” his eyes snap up to mine and I study him. 

“Mm, I quite like the sound of that.” I hum, turning and walking to the bath. I dip in the steaming water and let out a moan as it engulfs me. I watch with low lids as he walks o e froth the soaps and oils. He stops to grab a cloth before kneeling beside the tub. He adds in the floral smelling soaps and oils and I relax further back into the tub. 

“May I?” I nod watching him wet the cloth. He starts with one of my arms and his touch is gentle and unhurried. I let my eyes close as he starts on my other arm. He prompts me to sit up and starts to wash my hair. I let out soft sighs as his works the soap into my hair before letting the warm water wash it out. His fingers linger on my skin and I smile to myself at his tantalizing touch. 

“I wish to get out now.” I rise and look down at him still on the floor. His gaze is hungry as he stays on the floor looking up at me. I step out of the tub and stand in front of him. He reaches out for my dripping body and I step back with a smirk. Ever since I was changed I’ve had this new sense of confidence and an insatiable desire. “Will you help me dress?” he nods quickly before rushing to the bed to retrieve my dress. 

“Do you wish to go find food?” he helps me lift my dress up and begins to tie it. 

“Unless you’re offering yourself?” his heartbeat quickens as he stills. 

“Could you eat without killing me?” I can hear the slight shake in his voice as he finishes tying my dress.

“I could. You could be my personal source for the rest of our journey.” my fangs split through my gums at the thought. “You smell divine, Viserys.” I turn to him.

“Try it.” he nods at me. I walk over to him as slow as my hunger will allow and I inhale deeply at his neck. I trail my tongue across his skin and I feel my fangs throb in anticipation. I slowly sink my teeth into him and we groan in unison. As his blood flows down my throat I hold him closer. The taste of him is overwhelming. I have to coax myself to let go of him and lap against the marks. “Was that okay?” he pants looking me over still in his arms.

“Perfect.” I lick my lips and watch his eyes darken. “I want my dress off, I'm hot.” I look up at him and he glances at my lips. He makes quick work of my dress and he brings me to the bed. 

“I’ll find something I can use to fan you off.” he starts to walk away but I grab his wrist. 

“Lay with me?” I tilt my head pulling him back over to the bed.

“I want to- I need to touch you.” his eyes search mine and I raise an eyebrow at him. 

“What happened to not wanting a sullied bride?” his nostrils flare at my words.

“You’re to be my bride. My queen.” I chuckle at his words. They help me remember that I’m still making him prove himself after everything. 

“Mm, never mind.” I wave him off. “Go find something to fan me off with.” I crawl into the bed and lay back. I hear his slight scoff as he rummages around until there’s silence, followed by a cool breeze. A shiver trails through my body and I rub my hands against my chest and I hear his heart race. “It’s gotten chilly.” I graze my fingers against my nipples and squirm. My legs squeeze shut as he looks down at me. 

“Do you want me to stop?” his voice low as he watches me. 

“No.” I shake my head as I let my hands trail down my torso. “Viserys,” I whine as my hand dips lower until his fingers wrap around my wrist. 

“Enough. Go to bed.” he tosses a blanket over me and slips into bed next to me fully clothed. 

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

One Week Away From Pentos

We lay out under the stars and I listen to his steady heartbeat. I turn to him and admire his beauty in the pale moonlight. We still have stopped at a couple cities so I could fill my skins. He’s been eager to offer himself to me but with the high temperatures I don’t want to risk him as my only source. Tonight all I can think about is how sweet he tastes. 

“Viserys,” I hum rolling over onto his chest.

“Yes, my sweet sister?” he smirks at me as his fingers dance up the skin of my back. 

“Can I have a taste?” I scoot up his body to rest my mouth near his neck. 

“Of course,” he tilts his neck and holds my waist. 

“Viserys?” I murmur against his skin. 

“Hm?” he helps me settle more comfortably atop him. 

“Why do you sleep fully clothed?” he chuckles at my question. 

“Do you wish to see me?” I hear the smile in his tone. 

“I do.” I purse my lips sitting up. I start to lift off his tunic while he looks at me in amusement. I unlace his trousers and yank them down his legs and take in his lean form. “Mm, you are quite handsome.. well endowed.” I tilt my head as my eyes roam over his body. 

“And what would you know of that?” he props himself up on his elbows. 

“Talk among the ladies and staff is quite scandalous, brother.” I chuckle crawling back on top of him. “I’d still like my taste.” I lick against his neck and he pulls my body flush against his. 

“Quit teasing,” he growls, digging his fingers into me. 

“You are in no position to make demands.” I sink my teeth into his neck and he jerks his hips into me. I press myself closer against him as my tongue lashes against his neck. I pull off of him letting my tongue trail against his skin. I press soft kisses across his throat as he holds me tightly. I lean back and look down at him. We’re both breathing heavily and he searches my eyes before pulling me back down against him. 

“You are divine.” his words and eyes are filled with devotion as his hands travel up my sides. 

“Let me change you and wed you at the same time.” he furrows his brow. “We have dragon glass in one of our bags.” I push off of him and walk over to the carriage. I come back with the small blade and see him sitting up. I sit across from him and offer him the blade. 

“There’s no maester or witness.” his words hushed. 

“We’ll know.” I nod my head. He presses the blade against his lip and his palm before handing it to me. I mimic his movements and clasp our hands together. We repeat the vows and he presses his lips to mine. I taste our blood mix and it sends my senses into a frenzy. 

“Change and stay with me. Forever.” I don’t know if the words flooded from my mouth or directly into his mind but I felt the shift. His hands dig into me harder. I feel his fangs scrap against my lips as blood smears across our face. Our hands roam across each other leaving trails of pink from our cuts. 

“Can I taste you?” his voice strained as he waits at my neck. I nod and a moan tears through me when he sinks his teeth in. I shutter in his arms as he gently lays me down. He hovers above me still lapping at my neck. He rolls his hips into me and small gasps spill from my lips at the friction. 

“Viserys,” I whine as he stays attached to my neck. His hand slides between my thighs as I gasp as he drags a finger up my slit. He finally lifts his head up and I see my blood dripping down his chin. His lips crash to mine while his fingers continue to brush against my wetness. 

“Shh shh,” he shushes against my lips as he swirls his fingers around my bud. “Let me take care of you.” he kisses back down my neck. “My queen.” he kisses across my chest. His soft words and touches have me squirming in his arms. 

“Viserys, please,” I whine as he kisses across my chest. 

“Mm, what are you begging for? What did those scandalous talks tell you to beg for?” he taunts sliding his fingers down to circle my core. 

“A kiss between my thighs.” my cheeks flush as he grins. 

“Then that’s what you shall have.” he snakes down my body and I look down at him between my legs. He places a soft kiss against my bud and looks up to me. “Like that?” I shake my head. 

“More.” I furrow my brows. His lips encase my bud as his tongue starts to swirl against it and I gasp and whine above him. He holds my legs open as his tongue lashes against me. “Yes, I-“ my stomach tightens as my fingers dig into the blanket. His tongue moves even faster and I begin to roll my hips against him. “Vis-“ my voice breaks as I burst across his face. He continues to lick at me as my hips jerk against him. 

“Can I try something else?” his fingers slide through my wetness brush against my sensitive bud. 

“Yes.” I nod my head watching him with pleasure filled eyes. He dips a single finger into me and I let out quick gasps as he pumps. I quickly get used to the intrusion but it doesn’t stop my squeak when he presses a second long finger into me. “Viserys,” I cry out as he starts a slow rhythm. My hips roll into his hand as he continues to push his fingers into me. 

“Gods you are so wet.” he groans, starting to move his fingers faster. Moans pour from my mouth as he curls his fingers and I try to squeeze my thighs shut. “Does that feel good?” he chuckles, leaning down to whisper against my neck. I nod my head as I chase my approaching high. His teeth sink into me and I combust around his fingers chanting his name. “The sounds you make are so beautiful, my wife.” he hums, pressing his lips against my neck, removing his fingers. 

“Please,” I whine as he moves its tip through my wetness. I tremble as he presses against my bud before coating himself in my pleasure. He slowly presses into me watching my face. With every inch I think it’s the last but he keeps filling me. “Viserys,” my voice a breathy plea. His hips finally rest flush against mine as he stills inside of me. 

“Hold still.” his fingers dig into my hips to stop my squirming. I start to relax around him and he starts to move. My breath is stolen from me as his pace quickens. He wraps my legs around his waist and I raise my hips to meet his. He leans down and our lips clash as our tongues push against one another. We take and give pleasure to one another and right as I feel myself about to explode I sink my teeth into his neck and my eyes roll to the back of my head. He fills me as my name falls from his lips before he collapses next to me on the blanket. 

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

Back in Pentos

When we walk back through the red door Dany is sitting on the couch with the same bright smile so remembered. When she sees us she runs over to us and pulls us into a hug. I was so nervous she would notice we were different than before. She eyes Viserys skeptically as his attitude and demeanor are much more different than before. 

“What has gotten into you?” Dany looks up at Viserys as he places a kiss on her head. 

“Your sister and I finally wed over our journey.” he smiles at me. Dany looks to me alarmed but I give her a reassuring nod. We’ve decided to tell her of our marriage but we don’t wish to tell her about eternity yet. She’s only ten and we want to protect her for as long as we can before offering her to pause in time as a child. 

“I’ve found a way to keep us all safe.” I pull her into my embrace. “When you’re older I’ll explain everything but for now just know that you are safe. Your brother and I will protect you.” I hum and she hugs me tighter. 

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

masterlist 🔌 

every time i want to write a chill one shot it’s not chill

in a vampire mood rn so im so down to write more actual hotd men as vamps just lmk fr pls

taglist ✍️ 

@clarityisnofun @gabriella-aesthetic @callsignwidow @llynx7 @violetiss3lfish @ka1afbr @akiko-oo @papichulo120627 @lizzylovebooks280501 @thatgirl101blog @ 1-fuzzy-squirrels @arya-brooke @ashovertheriver r @zanygot7straykidsbonk @hueanhdang @malfoycassimalfoy @april-notthemonth69 @anaviieiraaa @p45510n4f4shi0n @neocockthotology @thereaderwitch @hardkiddonut @faenyra @hiimava11 @daintylittlesunflower @primroseluna @fiction-fanfic-reader @povofjustme @multilover19 @alexxavicry @cedstars @fuckalrighty @mrsmunson-harrington

[localplaguenurse]

Falling Head over Heels (Pantalone x Male Reader) pt 8

WE ARE FUCKING BACK! (I immediately started hacking my lungs after typing this, I'm sick :P)

To make a long story short, for the past few months I've either been really busy, really depressed, and usually both. Also for some reason chapter 8 was already hard to write and I don't know why.

ALSO before we get into the fic, @your-local-furby drew some absolutely lovely fanart of MC apologizing and seeing the library from the previous two chapters. I think it finally kicked my brain back into gear lmao.

Without further ado, please enjoy!

@thedeimoshimself @eli-chris

It feels like the ground beneath me is sucking me in.

I feel myself sinking,

I wish the ground would swallow me whole.

Embarrassment washes over me and swallows me whole. I feel the air leave my chest I want to break free but I feel like I’m drowning. 

You take the page you’re scribbling your notes on and crumple it into a ball. You’ve reread your rough draft and decided the arranged wedding scene you had planned wasn’t tragic enough. The blind musician is tasked with performing for the prince’s wedding, but his heartbreak causes him to mess up his performance, which causes everyone to notice he’s crying, including the prince. You’re trying to convey the feeling of knowing every single person in the room is watching you during the lowest point in your life, but it’s just not coming together in a way you like. You’ll run it by Alik later.

Technically, Alik is no longer your editor as a result of your deal with the Yae Publishing House. Still, they’re one of your few friends, and their workload has lightened since your previous publisher terminated all of those other book deals. Now they’re acting as your beta reader before you send off the next draft to the editor at the Yae Publishing House. It’s actually making progress go a lot faster, so much so you might only need one final draft of the whole story before it’s finally published, as opposed to multiple drafts. 

I do not need sight to know everyone in the room is looking at me. I feel it in my broken notes that trail into nothingness. I feel it in the resulting silence. I feel it in the quiet murmur spreading through the room.

I feel tears in my eyes as I drop my head down, praying no one sees me crying. If I could, I would sprint out of the room, out of the palace, so no one is witness to my heartbroken embarrassment. I’d run so fast, the prince would have no time to chase after me. It would be for the best anyways. He deserves his perfect and beautiful bride, and I am no bride, I cannot verify if I am beautiful, and in this moment, I could not feel anymore flawed as a person and human. 

A knock on your door breaks your concentration. You’re dreading whatever is on the other side, but know it’s better to get this over with. 

“Yes?”

The door opens, and your mother pokes her head in through the gap. She offers a smile. “We have company. Come say hi, please.”

“I’m… kind of in the middle of something,” you reply, “and I’ve told you that I’m going to see Alik when I’m done writing.”

“How is she, by the way?”

“They’re fine.”

“And Maria? How’s she?”

“She’s alright, I think. I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“Well, tell them both I say hello. Anyways, if you have a minute, I would like you to come downstairs. There’s someone I’d like you to talk to.”

It takes you a moment to recognize what this is, mostly because it’s been a while since she tried pulling this off. When you realize what’s happening, you just shake your head and look at your mother. “Which family friend is this?”

She gives you a very unconvincing look of confusion. “My dear, what do you mean?”

“Mother, please.”

“... Ana. Anastasia.”

Anastasia is your younger sister Adéla’s friend. Much like your sister, she’s only a year younger than you, but unlike your sister, she actually likes you. Adéla and you have butted heads throughout your lives, as siblings tend to do and especially with such a small age gap, but Adéla has taken it a step further saying that it’s your fault her childhood was so “miserable” as she puts it. She claims that your diagnosis made you the centre of your parents’ attention until your youngest sister was born, and then they focused more on her than Adéla. Conveniently, she’s never had any sisterly drama with her, only you. You feel for her, but there was only so much you could do at the time, seeing as you were eight years old.

“Absolutely not,” you tell your mother.

“But you two got along so well when she would visit,” your mother insists, “and she’s become a fine young lady since the two of you last spoke! Don’t you remember reading together when you two were little?”

“I’m sure she’s beautiful,” you say, “but Adéla will throw a fit if she finds out you set me up with one of her friends.”

“You don’t know that.”

“And I don’t want to find out,” you tell her, “and I told you I don’t like being set up on dates.”

Your mother lets out an exasperated sigh. “I’m just worried about you, okay? I want to make sure my son is happy, healthy, and I want him to find someone he can settle down with. Your brother was already married at your age, and Adéla’s going to be having another baby soon.”

“Yes, but I’m not Pavel or Adéla,” you say, “the dating scene is different for me, and playing matchmaker isn’t going to make me feel any better or help me.”

Your mother just looks at you. That sad, pitiful look you know all too well. It stopped pulling on your heartstrings long ago, but sometimes it’s just easier to indulge her than it is to fight her on it. Besides, she means well, you think, it just can’t be helped that she doesn’t know her son has no interest in women.

You sigh, and stand up, much to your mother’s delight. “I’ll say hi, and that’s it.”

She grins, and she motions for you to follow her.

----

“... and she just happens to be single, too.”

Alik sets their glass down. “Interesting. So when’s the wedding?”

“It’s not happening,” you reply, “thank the Tsaritsa for that.”

“I’m honestly surprised your parents haven’t put you in an arranged marriage yet,” Alik comments.

“How many viable marriage candidates do you think there are that would be thrilled to marry someone who’s not only going blind, but could pass it on to their children as well?”

“Depends on how much the family is getting paid.”

“And it would not be much.”

The tavern is surprisingly quiet tonight. You chalk it up to it being the middle of the work week, not as many patrons willing to get drunk if they have work early in the morning. Currently, you and Alik are sitting at a table in the corner of the room while a few older patrons mill about, chattering on about their own lives at the bar. It’s actually rather nice, you think.

“What would they try to sell your bride to be on?” Alik asks.

“Um…” You look into your half drunk glass, trying to think of something funny. You clear your throat, straighten your posture, and put on your best business smile. “Here’s a fine young man who has no real work skills, and it’s not like they would do him any good since he’s considered legally blind and has between thirteen and fifteen years before he is fully blind. His only profitable skill is writing, though he doesn’t make enough to support a household. His blindness is also genetic!”

“By the Archons, at least say one nice thing about yourself,” Alik teases, though there’s a subtle sincerity to their words.

“I think I’m decent,” you say, “I think I might even make an okay husband, but I don’t think I’d be the kind of husband Pavel or my father are.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” Alik replies, “there are plenty of families and couples where the husband isn’t always a provider. Besides, you’re not really a ladies man to begin with.”

You shake your head. “It’s not even that, it’s just… you know I try not to make a big deal of me going blind, but it’d be naïve of me to pretend that it’s not, and especially if I was in a relationship. Whether I like it or not, whoever I marry is going to inevitably become my caretaker. There will come a day where I’m going to need help, and I’ll rarely be able to return that favour.”

“That’s why it’s in sickness and in health,” Alik comments. They reach across the table and take your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “For what it’s worth, I think you’d make a good house husband, before and after you start seeing the world how Maria does.”

Maria is Alik’s cousin, and one of your few very close friends. She has been a big help to you in writing your book as her blindness is similar to the main character’s. While he was born blind, she actually had vision when she was born. Unfortunately, she suffered a very severe head injury when she was very young. She has little to no memory of her life before she lost her sight as a result, as well as having some developmental problems growing up. These days she’s doing much better, though her eyesight is still gone. At most, she can detect if there’s light, but that’s the extent of it. 

“Do you have permission to make jokes about her being blind?” you ask.

“I not only have permission, but that’s not even the worst joke I’ve gotten away with.”

“I don’t want to know.”

“For the best.”

Your table goes quiet as you and Alik take a moment to drink. You try not to cringe at the taste of whatever the hell Alik recommended you try. It’s a beer, and you can taste that, but it’s a lot more bitter than you like. Still, they bought it for you, it would be rude to spit it out.

“You don’t have to drink that, you know.”

“It’s an acquired taste, I’ll get used to it.”

You see a smile twitch onto Alik’s lips, and even if they try to hide it, you can see a shit eating grin from miles away. 

“Okay,” you say, “out with it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You thought of something terrible, I want to hear it.”

Alik glances around the room, assessing how audible their comment would be. You take a sip of your drink, and they grin.

They lean in. “I’m sure Pantalone would be happy to hear that.”

You immediately sputter, spraying Alik in the face. They yell, swiping at their face as if they were sprayed with acid. You cough as what was left in your mouth goes down the wrong pipe. “Fuck, w-why’d I take a drink–”

“Did you have to spit that in my face?” Alik asks.

“Shut up,” you wheeze out. You give one more hearty cough, your throat and chest burning, and you can breathe again. You sit up, rubbing your chest through your shirt while Alik wipes their face and the table with napkins. You look around, and see the few patrons staring at your table. You painfully chuckle, and turn back to your friend. “S-Sorry, I should know better by now.”

Alik shrugs. “I’m not wrong, am I?”

“I told you that in confidence,” you whisper.

“You actually told me before the tea party,” Alik tells you. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it’s starting to show in your book.”

You feel your face flush, and you narrow your eyes. “I think I would know if I was writing about him, thank you.”

“The prince was a lot more arrogant in your first drafts,” Alik explains, “but in more recent iterations, it’s been toned down a lot. He’s also a lot more understanding of the musician’s blindness.”

You’re confused. “Well, yes. My first drafts are years old, so I’ve had to make some adjustments to better fit my writing style now. Besides, I’ve read too many stories about asshole love interests that don’t really learn anything, they just get tragic backstories that authors think justify their shitty behaviour. I’m not adding my characters to that pile.”

“No, I agree on that,” Alik says, “but even then, he was still a solid character, arrogance aside. He was just a spoiled prince who had to actually think about other people for the first time in his life. Like he’s never had to deal with someone with a disability, and doesn’t know how else to feel other than annoyed. In the more recent drafts, he still doesn’t know how to deal with it, but he’s a lot more willing to make up for the disrespect, where the old version did it, but complained the whole time. It just so happens that this change happened right when you met him for the first time.”

“That’s… hm.” You take a sip and don’t spit it in Alik’s face. “You’re on the right track, but I don’t think I was writing all of that because of a crush.” You feel your face flush warmer again. “He was a bit of an ass at the party, but since then he’s become one of…” You take a moment to count names on your finger. “... six or seven people that aren’t patronizing about me going blind. I’d just been putting up with most of my family either coddling me or being inconvenienced by me, but he’s a rare instance of someone making accommodations, but not making a big show of it. That’s why the book was like that until I met Pantalone.”

You stare into your glass. “And… a-and it’s why I enjoy his company so much…”

Alik doesn’t say anything. You look up, and you see their expression has softened a little bit. They lift their drink up to you, and you smile and lift yours up.

“Cheers.”

You both take a swig, and somehow the disgusting drink tastes sweeter going down. Your face feels warm, and you wonder why you’re still blushing when you see you’re already halfway through your drink. Alik has a similar glow in their cheeks. 

“That’s really sweet and cute,” Alik says, “but I do have to ask you something.”

You feel whatever warm feelings you’re feeling lessen when Alik’s softened expression gains a hint of concern. Their smile looks awkward by comparison, before they sigh and lose it altogether. You’re already dreading what they’re about to say.

They hesitate for a moment, and when they speak, it’s in a whisper. “Do you like him, or do you like what he’s done for you?”

“W-What?”

“I wouldn’t ask that if we were talking about anyone else,” Alik clarifies, “but I have to ask when it’s him. I don’t want to rain on your parade, I’m happy you like someone, but… he’s a harbinger. One of the more likeable ones, but not without flaws.”

“I know…”

Alik sighs. “Look, if it were some other handsome rich man, I’d say go for it. The fact it’s a harbinger specifically makes me a little worried, I won’t lie.”

You sound like my mother. “It’s a crush, not an engagement,” you tell them. “We enjoy each other’s company while he works with my father and sister. I just enjoy it differently than he does.”

“Still, even as friends, I’d be cautious. If not for what he’d have planned, then for what others might have in store for him.”

You take a swig. “You want to know what’s funny? You’re the first person to bring up his enemies as a point for why I shouldn’t get near him.”

“I am not.”

“No, seriously. My mother doesn’t want me near him because he’ll probably, I don’t know, kill me or sell me or steal my ideas, depends on the day. My father thinks I’ll ruin everything those two have built together, which I still don’t know why Pantalone is working with him.”

“Maybe your dad’s indebted to him or something.”

“...”

Alik notices your silence. They say your name in a soft voice, seeming worried by your expression. Your father’s not in debt, is he? The business isn’t as prosperous as it was when you were little, but job markets change all the time, and the economy is ever fluctuating. It’s purely the result of what happens when a business runs for as long as it does. Sometimes an empire doesn’t crumble, but rather dies slowly.

“Hey, are you okay?”

You snap out of it. “I’m, uh, I’m fine.” You push your seat back and stand. “I’m just, um, I’m going to go to the washroom for a second.”

“... Okay? Just watch yourself.”

“I’ll be fine,” you call out over your shoulder before immediately bumping into someone. Unlike with Pantalone, you actually manage to catch yourself before you fall. You know that Alik is holding their head in their hands, possibly stifling laughter too for a little extra salt in the wound.

“Archons, sorry,” you immediately blurt out, “I didn’t see you there.”

The ginger haired man laughs. “Oh, no worries comrade! Just be more careful next time!”

You stare at the man, eyes widening. His smile grows, almost reaching the dull blue of his eyes.

“Why the surprised face?” he asks jovially.

You sigh and shake your head. “I have got to stop meeting harbingers like this.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Crushed 13

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, manipulation, cheating, sleazy behaviour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your next door neighbours hook up, bringing to surface deep-seated feelings.

Characters: Colin Shea, Jonathan Pine

Note: Have a wonderful day!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like my dog loves belly rubs (that’s a lot). Take care. 💖

You hear Jonathan stirring before you leave your room. You carry your clothes into the bathroom and get ready quickly. You are almost excited to get back to work, to get back to routine, if only to have a distraction from the chaos.

As you enter the kitchen, you smell coffee. Jonathan is dressed already, his suit clean and pressed. You hope he didn’t have too much trouble with your cheap iron and tiny board. 

“Morning,” he greets with a smile.

“Morning,” you return as you go to the machine. He’s there before you, sliding over an empty mug for you. You fill it and smile sheepishly at the countertop, “thanks.”

“Not at all,” he lingers close to you, “I should apologise. For waking you up so early. My mother never has good timing.”

“It’s fine. Really. That’s… nice that she called,” you rub your neck and back away with your mug in hand, “you must miss her.”

“Certainly,” he takes his own cup and sips between words, “but I dare think my parents are better off without me. They do enjoy an empty nest.”

“Ah,” you nod, cradling the cup as you bask in the warmth. 

“And your parents? Do they live far from here?”

“A few towns over,” you answer, “they’re swept up in my sister’s wedding though. I don’t hear from them.”

“Pity for them,” he says, “they are missing out on a wonderful daughter.”

You chuckle dryly, “sometimes…”

“What? Sometimes… what?” He prompts.

“Nothing, just… you’re too nice. That’s all.”

“If that is my greatest flaw, then I think I’m doing just fine,” he kids.

“Be careful or you might end up like me. If you’re nice to the wrong person, they might just kick in your door,” you scoff and take a reviving sip of coffee.

He doesn’t laugh. You look up at him and swallow tightly, “I was joking.”

“I know. I just don’t think it’s very funny what he’s done,” Jonathan says, “forgive my lack of humour, but it worries me. To think if I hadn’t come in to return your lip balm, what he could’ve done.”

A cold wash flows over you and your face falls. You are suddenly very sober with fear. You nod and back away.

“I know, but he’ll forget about me. He’s that sort, you know? Always on to the next girl.”

“Hmm, perhaps,” Jonathan utters doubtfully.

“Well, lots to catch up on today,” you change the subject as you sit at the small round table by the wall, “I should enjoy these few spreadsheet-free moments.”

“Uh huh,” he nears and sits across from you, concern furrowing in his forehead, “it will be quite the day,” he checks his watch before planting his elbow and cradling his chin, “I’ve a meeting in Carline. I’ll have to drop you at the office and go.”

“Oh, that’s… I could catch the bus–”

“Nonsense, it is on my way out of town,” he insists as he sits back and lets his arm fall over, “I should be back before the end of the day but…” he turns his head, peeking from the corner of his eyes towards the door behind him, “if I am not…”

“I’ll be okay,” you say, not fully convinced.

“I could always leave you my spare key–”

“Really, that’s too much. How about… I’ll text you and let you know when I get in?”

He sighs and swirls his fingers on the tabletop, “he is a very aggressive man and you are…”

“I’m an adult,” you say, “I’ll have to go off on my own sooner than later.”

“Yes, yes, suppose you are right, but I can’t help it. It is only you don’t deserve all this stress,” he brings his hand to the handle of his mug, “perhaps, however, I did set him straight and he knows better.” He lifts his cup, “Still, I will be certain to keep my phone close.”

“Alright,” you agree, pushing away your trepidation. You’ll just have to be sure to be quick and quiet when you get in.

🌼

Jonathan lets you off outside the building and you look up at the corporate brick front with a sense of relief. Not just to be away from your apartment, but to have some time away from your overly attentive boss. He's nice enough but you're starting to feel a bit crowded. A day apart would do you well and hopefully dispel any errant suspicions of unprofessionalism.

Your desk awaits you in its simple tedium. You brew a pot at the shared machine in the break room and wait for the slow trickle to spew out enough for a cup. You take your coffee to your computer and watch it boot, the buffering circle spinning as the old hardware chuffs.

Shari arrives and claims a cup of her own. She gives a hum as she settles in at her desk and yawns. She looks at her mug and doffs it in your direction.

"I can always tell when you've made the coffee," she chimes.

"Right, you only like it when you don't have to do it yourself," you scoff as you wiggle your mouse and open up your browser.

"Not gonna deny that," she chuckles, "feelin' better?"

You look at her, hesitating. Oh yeah, you suppose everyone thought you were off sick. You suppose you were as good as.

"Yeah, vaguely," you shrug, "migraine."

"Ah," she takes a loud swig, "and where's that handsome boss of ours today?"

You don't look at her, focusing on your screen, "hm, I think he has a meeting. Says so in the calendar."

"Sure, the calendar says so," she snorts, "he also had a personal day..."

"Really?" You let your pinky edge over your lower lip and bite down on it.

"Hey," she lowers her voice to a whisper and wheels around the side of her cubicle, "I won't tell anyone. I just wanna hear how it was. Is he as good as I imagine?"

"Shari," you gasp, "really, it's not like that--"

"Anyone with eyes can see he's into you," she smirks, "a man like that knows how to keep his cool but around you..."

You growl her name again and give a sharp look, "he's my boss."

"What no one knows, can't hurt you. You know I can keep a secret. The hubby still doesn't know my book club is a bowling club," she smirks.

"Right," you shake your head and turn your attention back to your computer, "well, there's nothing to keep secret so it should be easy."

🌼

Lunch rolls around as you find yourself bogged down in all the work you have to catch up. As is stands, you were already working from behind. You skip the tuna sandwich you stuffed in your bag and opt instead for another cup of coffee. You sit with your chin in hand, going crossed eye at the excel sheets.

The monotony of the office lulls you, making it hard to keep your eyes open. You long for your apartment and a nice hot bath. That yearning doesn't last as the dread returns. Right, you don't even know if you'll come home to a front door.

Your phone buzzes and you check the notifications, swiveling slightly to read the screen. Jonathan checking in unexpectedly, confirming his arrival in Carline and his intention to be back in town around three. You have another message that gives you pause. The name over it matches the several missed calls you didn't notice in your mindless trance of expense reports and monthly budgets.

Colin. He only ever texted before to see if you were in so he could bum on your couch or mooch a meal from you. That's clear now. You can't believe you were ever giddy to see his name on your phone.

You hit the voicemail icon and put the phone to your ear. You listen to the automated voice that declares you have five new messages. The speaker scuffs before the first starts. It's him.

"Hey, buttercup. I guess you went out with that idiot wanker. I can't seem to find you..." you hear something bang, "nope, not hiding in the closet..." You hit seven to delete and the next message starts. "You better answer before I get real fucking pissed. I just wanna talk, buttercup. And I know you want me. So let's meet halfway--" Delete. "I'm about to break something, sweetheart--" Seven, delete. "PICK UP THE FUCKING PHONE!" 

You delete all the messages as a new text pops up. Your thumb hits it without a thought and you see the endless scroll of caps lock floating in bubble up the chat. Every one is just an echo of what was in your voicemail. And pictures. Of your apartment, of your shelf overturned and the contents tossed over the floor. Your pillows shredded as feathers litter the carpet.

You black out your phone and push it deep into your bag. Not right now. You'll have to deal with it later. Maybe you'll wait around for Jonathan after all. Or maybe... maybe you can sort this out without troubling him any further.

You keep a hold of your phone and pull it back out. You ignore the urgent buzzing and search your contacts. You get up and leave your desk, going into the staircase to hide behind the heavy metal door. You hit Ally's name and let out a shaky breath. You wait for her to answer as you chew your thumb.

"Hey!" She chirps through the speaker, "what's up?"

"Hi, Ally, uh...." you don't know what you were thinking. What was you plan here? "Are you, er, with Colin?"

"Nah, I'm working unlike his lazy ass," she laughs, "why, what's up?"

"Well, um, I don't know how to say this... Ally, I'm going to send you some stuff, one second..."

You pull the phone away from your cheek and minimize the call. You bring up the chat and scroll, swiping your hand to screencap the litany of messages, barely able to catch them all as more spew in. You hold your breath as you go into Ally's chat and attach the images. You close your eyes and tap the send arrow.

You put the cell back to your ear and clear your throat, "Ally, please... just read what I sent you."

"Huh, alright," she giggles, "you're always so ser--" her voice cuts off as you sense the audio change as she puts you on speaker. "What the fuck?"

Silence as you sway, pacing on the leveled plain above the flight of stairs, waiting.

"Why-- did you fuck my boyfriend?"

"What? No. Ally. He-- He's the one who broke into my apartment. He's-- he's terrorizing me--"

"And why would he do that unless you were sneaking behind me back? I'm not stupid, I've seen you drooling over him."

"Al, no, I wouldn't--"

"Sure you would. I just can't believe he would," she snarls, "you're so pathetic. You fuck my boyfriend and now you think you can break us up?"

"No!"

"Go fuck yourself, you sad old spinster," she barks and the line dies.

You stare at the phone, stunned. What did you just do?

🌼

You find it hard to shake the uneasiness cast by Colin's message and Ally's reaction. You suspect you've lost two friends in less than a week. All because you were stupid enough to like someone. Because you, an adult, had a dumb crush. Ugh.

You keep your nerves at ease through your work. The numbers are easier than emotions. Around two, your eyes flit back and forth between your spreadsheet and the time in the corner. You wonder when Jonathan will be back or even what you'll tell him. Should you tell him any of it?

You hear the elevator doors swish open and hit save on the file. You pivot, expecting your boss to be striding in early, instead finding a very much unexpected and unwelcome face.

You gape at Colin as he scowls around the office at the dronish workers, many of whom are too caffeine addled or underslept to notice him. You get up, hoping to get him out before he can start anything. You know by the tension in his neck that he's up to no good.

"I wanna talk to the fucking boss," he demands, jolting several people from their waking comas as other pop their heads over their cubicle walls. Shari lets out a strange noise and mops up coffee from her chin as it dribbles down.

"Who's this?" She hisses as you take a step forward.

"Boss isn't here," Ed snorts from his desk, "and we're not hiring."

"I'm not here--" Colin starts, "fuck your fucking jobs." He sneers, "who the fuck is in charge here?"

"Colin, please," you put your hands up pleadingly, "please, just go. We can talk after work--"

"No, no, you had your chance so I'll say what I came here to say and I want everyone in this office to hear it," he snaps, "so tell me where that British douchebag is."

"He's not here," you croak, "Colin--"

"Fine, who needs him," he stomps his foot, "hey, everyone, guess who's fucking her boss?"

"I-- I'm not," you exclaim, voice squeaking, "I swear-- he's crazy. He's just my neighbour, he doesn't--"

"Why else would he be hanging out at her apartment? He was there all night. I have proof," Colin waves his phone around, "so someone tell me who I send it to because I think HR will be real interested in this--"

"Colin, get out! Go away! Why are you doing this?"

"Ah, come on, you," he points to Monica and shoves his phone towards, her, "they looks real cozy, don't they?"

"Colin," you beg as you follow him, "please--"

The elevator doors part again but you barely notice as you try to snatch Colin's cell away. He holds it above his head and nudges you away. He snickers in your face.

"What is the meaning of this?" Jonathan's timbre rips through the babble of your coworkers and Colin's laughter, "Shari, call security."

"Ah, there he is. The star of the show. I was just coming to file a complaint," Colin face Jonathan, "you've been shitting where you eat, big guy and I have it all right here--"

Jonathan stands stoically across from Colin. It's like a Great Dane staring down and uppity chihuahua. He tilts his head slightly and peers past the intruder.

"Shari, put the phone down," Jonathan waves her hand down, "I shall deal with this myself."

Jonathan steps forward, coming chest to chest, or just above Colin's chest, as he glares down his adversary.

"I suggest you leave or I may just have to escort you out. I'm certain you don't wish to repeat last night," he warns.

"Nah, I'll stay--"

Colin barely keeps a grip on his phone as he grunts. Jonathan grabs him by the front of his hoodie and drags him away from the bullpen. Colin struggles with him, stomping around, trying to crush the other man's sleek leather shoes. 

Jonathan spins as Colin's fist glances past the instinctive turn of his head. Your boss keeps a hold of your neighbour with one hand and presses the elevator button. The belts grind, and the doors open. He dodges another fist as he throws Colin into the box.

"Good day, sir," He taps the down button as Colin lands on his ass. The doors open and leaves the office in deafening silence.  Jonathan turns to face his audience and raises his chin, "back to work."

He strides past you and between the cubicles. He swings his office door shut behind him, punctuating the tension. You gulp and go back to your desk, sitting numbly as your eyes haze with tears.

"I knew it," Shari trills.

[likecanyoujustnot]

Cardan’s letters pov

Part 3: games

A/n: I wrote it pretty quickly. This is so much easier than the feysand one. Hm. Shouldn’t take me long to do the others

Part 2. Part 4

I was positively miserable. Another week had passed, making it 25 days she’d been gone for. I had never cared this much about time before now.

The court had noticed I wasn’t the same. Many rumours I’d been injured, or fallen ill. I supposed I was ill. Heartbreak or as close to it as I could get at the moment.

Never thought I’d feel something like this. Ever. Never thought I’d care so much about someone I’d yearn for their presence so much. To hear their voice, see their face and smile. Care so much that they could come so close to breaking my heart.

I’d come so close to just asking Taryn for help, but after all she’d done to Jude, I wasn’t inclined to speak to her.

But I knew who I would be.

“I know you’ve been seeing Jude.”

The roach looked up at me from where he sat looking at spy reports.

“What makes you say that?” The fact he didn’t deny it told me all I needed to know.

“You’re not the only one with sources.” It was a guess, but I knew him well enough to know he cared for Jude. He wasn’t likely to just ignore her.

“I am your sources.”

“That’s beside the point.” I sat at the small table across from him.

“Remind me again of the point since you already know I’ve seen her.”

Is she safe? Angry? Does she use her every breath to declare how much she hates me? I go for a less desperate question. “How is she?”

“She’s fine.” He went back to his report.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

He sighed and set down the pen. “She’s mentioned you maybe twice.”

My stomach dropped. Maybe she didn’t even see me as important enough to return to. “Is she angry?”

“As angry as someone who’s been exiled by one they trusted can be.”

“So very angry?”

“Not quite. She seems to be more… distant. Cold. She’s been using her time as a mercenary for the folk living in her area, getting paid just enough to help her sister, killing and dealing with their issues.”

She was queen now. Anything I owned now belonged to the both of us. And vice versa. She now had access to the entire royal coffers, all the gold and valuables Mab and my father collected.

Now hers.

“That news disturbs you.” He was very observant, I’d give him that.

I didn’t answer him for a while. Keeping quiet in thought.

“Does she want to come back?”

“I’m not sure, she hasn’t mentioned it.” His gaze hardened. “Besides, you exiled her, said that if she came back she’d be killed. Jude is many things, foolish is not one of them, she wouldn’t come back to a death trap.”

He didn’t know about the loophole, so I couldn’t have him relay the message.

“I spoke to Vivienne once while she was out.”

Vivi and I had been friendly. Her closeness to Rhyia caused us to interact on occasion.

“What’d she say?”

“Not much, she’s distrustful of the fae. Said Jude barely spoke to her, that she was jittery, would spend a couple minutes every day just staring at space, playing with the ring on her finger.”

The wedding ring. The one I’d used my lessons of slight hand to take as she’d worn it. Given back to her as we exchanged vows. The far didn’t do wedding rings. But I’d thought Jude would appreciate it.

She’d probably told Vivi we were married. I doubt either would’ve told the roach.

My heart ached. I’d been an idiot. Marry her and exile her in the space of a couple hours. What could go wrong?

Clearly everything.

I put my head in my hands and rested my elbows on the table. “I just want her back.”

“Maybe you should tell her that.”

“I can’t.” My voice cracked.

“Well then, not much I can do I’m afraid.”

I looked up at the roach. “Can you tell her?”

“No.”

I glared at him. “I am your king-”

He stared back at me with just as much will. “Yes, but you are also my friend, Cardan. And I will not fix your mistakes for you. I will not be your go between in this weird relationship you two have going on. You want her back you tell her that, you fight for her back.”

“I’m not a fighter.” Balekin had felt the need to remind me of that every time I failed.

“Not all fighting is done with a sword.”

The roach stood up and left.

I grabbed a piece of blank paper from where he had been working and grabbed the quill.

The words came much easier to me today that they had the past times I’d tried writing to her.

Jude,

You are in no mood for games. Very well. I am in no mood for them either.

Let me write it outright. You are pardoned. I revoke your banishment. I rescind my words. Come home.

Come home and shout at me. Come home and fight with me. Come home and break my heart, if you must.

Just come home.

Cardan

I stared at the words on the page. No room for misinterpretation. I told her she wouldn’t be killed, that she would be safe, that I wanted her to come home. To me.

I needed her to come home.

My wife,

My queen,

My Jude.

Tags:

@magicstrengthandcourage

[fauxdette]

In celebration of The Wedding chapter 3 being done, here is chapter 2 for my non-AO3-users:

The Wedding

Chapter 2: Switzerland

•••

1 year ago

“Are you going to take it?” Nesta asked, slipping another bobby pin into the bun twisted at the nape of her neck.

Elain chewed her lip thoughtfully.

“It’s not exactly what I imagined doing, but the money is really good, and I like the science aspect of it,” she answered. “And I love the idea that a little girl might see me on TV and know STEM could be an option for her too.”

“Then I think you should do it, Lainey.”

“You don’t think it’s silly to leave my research internship to become a weather girl?”

Nesta smiled.

“I don’t think anything you do is silly.”

It was such a simple notion, but Elain felt moved by it all the same.

“When did you start being so nice?” she laughed.

“I’ve always been nice.”

“You’ve always been nice to me. But lately you’ve been, I don’t know, different.”

Her sister reddened.

She looked particularly beautiful today; the gauzy sleeves of her bridesmaid dress were fitted from wrist to shoulder where the neckline cut abruptly across her chest, elongating her long neck and high cheekbones. But there was something else there too—a new warmth and softness.

“You know, I don’t think you’ve ever called me Lainey before,” Elain said slowly.

“Haven’t I?”

“Nope.”

“Well, lots of people call you Lainey; it’s hardly unusual.”

“Cassian calls me Lainey. And now you… apparently.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes.

“Stop projecting.”

“I’m not projecting.”

“You are projecting. Just because you and groomsman number two can’t stop making love eyes at each other doesn’t mean we’re all gonna start pairing up.”

Elain scoffed, even as her heart leapt wildly in her chest. “You’re ridiculous. Azriel and I are just friends.”

“I’m ridiculous? There are grooves in the floor from all the chairs he pulls out for you.”

“He’s polite.”

“Sure, and it’s just a coincidence that he always ends up sitting next to you, standing next to you, doing that sexy brooding thing next to you. Looking at you like he would beg on his knees to—“

“—Nesta!” She snapped. “Azriel doesn’t look at me like anything. He doesn’t—he doesn’t see me that way.”

There was a pause.

“Is this about Mor?”

Elain glanced at the closed door, suddenly aware of who was on the other side of it.

As if on cue, there was a soft knock and a moment later it slid open.

Mor tucked her head around the frame.

She wore a tailored tuxedo; the jacket cinched to the small of her waist with matching trousers that tapered at her ankles. Underneath the jacket, a white shirt was buttoned to her neck, finished with a black bowtie. Her blonde hair had been slicked back and tied into a ponytail, leaving a pair of diamond earrings as the only thing framing her face, which beamed at them as she said, “You two look amazing!”

It had been a compromise when, in lieu of being Rhysand’s best (wo)man, he had asked his cousin to officiate the wedding instead. Cassian had joked that it would’ve been cruel to stand her next to two beautiful specimens like himself and Azriel anyway, and Mor had bet that not only would she look better than the both of them, she would do it wearing the exact same suit. Elain didn’t think it was a bet she was going to lose.

“So do you,” she smiled, grateful for the interruption. “How is our girl?”

“She’s fine,” Mor replied, just as Feyre’s voice floated in from the adjoining room; “I think I’m going to be sick!”

“I’ll check on her.” Nesta offered, standing up before anyone could argue.

Mor settled into an armchair, resting a heeled foot on her knee. “So, what do you think of Switzerland?”

“It’s stunning,” Elain admitted. “I can’t believe your family own a hotel here. It’s so…”

“…classist?”

“I was going to say… different. From how we grew up, I mean.”

Mor’s brown eyes softened.

“Of course. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. I just— the family thing is complicated.”

Elain nodded. “Is that why you started the community centre?”

“Rhys and I grew up with the most wealthy and privileged families in Velaris and all it did was make us realise how miserable those people are,” Mor laughed. “We decided we would use whatever influence we inherited to help those who needed it most. So yes, in a way, it is.”

It made sense then, why Azriel would be in love someone like this. Mor was beautiful and selfless and kind. Elain’s heart sank a little, even as she realised she really did want them both to be happy.

“…and it is helpful to have a beautiful Swiss hotel available for when your cousin gets married and his friends and family need somewhere to stay.”

It was Elain who laughed then. “And how arethings going in the community? Feyre said you had a few interviews for the literacy role?”

Literacy and numeracy tutoring were two of the centres more regular programmes; aimed at students who needed additional help in those areas. Literacy was being taught by Helion Kazah, an English professor who was an old friend of Rhysand’s and, despite the age difference, an ex-flame of Mor— not that either of them seemed particularly bothered by that fact. It helped that he was an excellent teacher, a favourite among students, and indecently handsome.

“I went into it pretty skeptical, and it’s not like Helion gave us a lot of notice...”

Her younger sister had told her as much: that the gorgeous professor had arrived at his usual class on Monday and announced he would be finishing at the end of the week. After a hushed conversation with Rhys and Mor, Feyre had only learned it was “a family emergency” and left it at that.

“…but one of the singers from the Wednesday night choir saw our poster in the rec room and reached out to us last week. It turns out she has a background in library studies, she’d be perfect!”

“That’s amazing.”

“It is! I’m really excited. Speaking of classes, how have Friday nights been?”

“Really good, thanks. We’ve had a mix of new folk and regulars attending, which is nice.”

It was more than nice, really. The gardening and baking courses Elain taught were often the highlight of her week. Knowing that a full-time job outside the city would mean giving them up broke her heart.

“And Azriel’s been helping you?”

“Um, sometimes… yeah. He has his drop-in clinic before my baking class, so if he has time, he’ll stay to help me set up.”

She wondered if this was an appropriate thing to be saying— but Mor didn’t look concerned or jealous; if anything she seemed… pleased.

“That’s wonderful.”

“It is?”

“It is. It took me months to convince him to start the family tracing service. I mean, I know how demanding his job is and how much he values his down time so I guess I’m just glad to hear he isn’t running to get out of the building.”

Before Elain could ask any more, Nesta reappeared in the doorway.

“Brace yourselves.”

A moment later, the youngest of the Archerons stepped in behind her.

“Feyre…” Elain’s breath caught in her chest.

“Don’t start. Because if you cry then I’ll cry.”

But there was no stopping it, the emotion that shot through her body.

“You look like mother.”

She truly did; even if her wedding dress, with its plunging neckline and hand-sewn crystal adornments, was more expensive than anything their mother had ever owned.

“I wish they were here.”

Feyre blinked away her tears as Elain went to her, rubbing the sides of her arms. “They would be so proud of you.”

Nesta huddled into them next, a hand wrapping around each of their shoulders.

It reminded Elain of when they were children in the throes of poverty, clinging to each other for warmth in the night.

“We will just have to do I’m afraid,” she whispered.

Feyre smiled. “That’s plenty. That’s all I could ever want.”

“Then we’ll be with you every step of the way,” Nesta promised. “Even if you decide you don’t want to marry Mr. Trust Fund at all and beg us to help you escape.”

“Why does that sound like your preferred option?”

“Is it your preferred option? Blink twice for yes.”

“I’m marrying Rhys,” Feyre scowled. “Trust me, he’s it. When it happens to you, Nes, you’ll know.”

Nesta’s face fell slightly, and Elain was surprised at the emotion she saw there; understanding and… hurt.

“Shall we get you married then?” Mor grinned, and there were no objections as she led them out of the room.

•••

The ceremony had been set up in the hotel courtyard. Despite the crisp mountain air and weeks of fresh snow, it was the one thing Feyre would not budge on: saying “I do” under a vast and open sky.

Mor had gone ahead to notify the guests of their arrival while the sisters waited inside the large wooden doors that would open right onto the aisle.

Instinctively, they stood in the order they would walk: Nesta out front, Elain behind her, and Feyre at the back, clutching her bouquet as if she could burst with happiness at any second. But it was the eldest Archeron that Elain focused on. She couldn’t shake the hurt she had seen on Nesta’s face earlier, and she couldn’t help but notice her sisters sudden interest in readjusting her skirt—fluffing the tulle layers one way, then shaking her head and tugging them to the other side.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” was the curt reply.

Elain shuffled forward, craning her neck over Nesta’s shoulder and lowering her voice so Feyre wouldn’t hear.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“It doesn’t seem like nothing. Talk to me.”

Nesta groaned, spinning around. She glanced over Elain’s shoulder as if to confirm they were a safe distance from the bride.

“Okay. I’m going to tell you something, and you can’t comment on it or react.”

“Okaaay…”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“I’m having sex with Cassian, and it was meant to be just a physical thing, but I think…” She swallowed, stealing another quick glance at Feyre. “…I think there are some feelings.”

“Okay.”

“You’re reacting.”

“I’m not.”

“Fuck. I am so stupid. How did I allow this to happen?”

“The sex or the feelings?”

“Both!”

“What are you two whispering about?” Feyre inquired from her spot in line.

“Nothing!” they crowed in unison.

“Permission to comment?”

Nesta nodded.

“He’s wonderful. Cassian, I mean. There is nothing stupid about having feelings for someone like that.”

Outside, the background murmurs faded, replaced by the sound of violins—their entrance song.

Elain stepped back into place.

“I’m sorry for what I said before, about you and Azriel,” Nesta said after a beat. “I was being defensive.”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Always.”

Elain exhaled. “You weren’t wrong—about my side, at least. But I’m pretty sure he likes someone else.”

Nesta laughed under her breath.

“Then you’re right; I’m not stupid.” She angled her head over her shoulder as the doors swung open. “You are.”

Without another word, she stepped out into the courtyard.

[miryum]

Foundling Villa- Chapter 4

Royal!Charles Leclerc x Reader. Princess Y/n is arranged to marry Prince Charles. There will be many ups and downs that the author hasn’t planned out yet, but read along to find out more! (Yes, I know that sounds super cheesy) Warnings per chapter. Hope you guys enjoy!

Warnings: mentions of sex, mentions of misogyny, swearing

ao3 link  next chapter>>

You woke to a loud knocking on the door. What the hell? you thought. Sara and Elena usually gave a soft knock before coming in to gently wake you. Who was making such a racket? 

“Y/n! Future princess of Enzaaaaaaa! Wake the fuck up!” You bolted upright, recognising the voice.

“Brenda!” you shrieked. The door banged open and your sister appeared. Two of your brothers walked in behind her. Sara and Elena rushed past them.

“My Lady, we are so sorry!” Sara apologised.

“Never apologise for my sister!” You hugged Brenda tightly. “Otherwise you would be apologising forever.”

“Shush!” Brenda laughed loudly. “I missed you so much!”

“How’ve you been, Y/n?” Your oldest brother, Robert, pulled you in for a hug. He ruffled your hair and said, “put on some clothes, why don’t you?”

“God, I hate you.” Sara handed you a robe and you threw it on. “I’ve been… dealing. It’s been fine.”

“Come here,” your younger brother, Ralph, consoled you. “You were always terrible at hiding emotions. Really, how are you?”

At those words, you broke down crying. “I miss you so much!” Robert and Brenda joined in the sibling hug and held you as you sniffled. 

“Sweetie,” Brenda cooed. “It’s okay. I promise you’ll feel better soon. And no crying while we’re here.”

“How are Marie and Kaitlyn?” You asked about your other sisters.

“I last wrote them a month ago,” Brenda said. “They seemed great! Marie held a ball a while ago.”

Is this what your life would be reduced to? Holding occasional balls and writing to family members every other month? Your future never seemed more boring. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked, though you didn’t want to tempt the fates. 

“Do you honestly think Brenda would let us miss your wedding?” Robert asked, chuckling.

“Right,” you sighed. “That’s tomorrow. But where are mother and father?”

Ralph rolled his eyes. “Completing boring royal procedures. They’ll come by tonight or tomorrow. Meanwhile, we got to see our sister!”

“And where’s the future husband?” Brenda asked in a teasing tone. 

As if I’m cue, a knock sounded on the open door. “Excuse me?” You whipped around to find Prince Charles grinning timidly. 

“Prince Charles,” your brothers bowed. 

Brenda giggled and said, “hello future brother-in-law! We shouldn’t need to bow to you, should we? It’s nice to meet you!” 

“No, you don’t need to bow.” Charles laughed with Brenda, adjusting to her vigor. He shook her hand. “You’re Brenda, correct?”

“Yes! I hope Y/n hasn’t bad-mouthed me too much. This is Robert and Ralph.” Charles shook hands with your brothers. 

“Nice to meet you,” Charles greeted politely. “I’m glad that you’re visiting us.”

“We couldn’t miss Y/n’s wedding.” Ralph said, “she’s done so much for us over the years.” 

“And we couldn’t pass up the free food!” Brenda joked.

“You and my brother Arthur would get along fabulously,” Charles stated to your sister.

“Unfortunately, I’m a happily married woman,” Brenda said. “But I wouldn’t mind having a new best friend. Ever since this one ditched me,” she pointed at you. “I’ve been so lonely.”

“I only got your letter yesterday!” You defended, “you have to expect communication to take longer.”

While you and your sister bickered, Charles said to your brothers, “she’s a completely different person. Usually, Princess Y/n is apprehensive and timid. She doesn’t speak at all; when she does, it’s very quiet.”

“Y/n? Timid? Quiet?” Ralph laughed. “Wait until she opens up. That’s not the Y/n we know and love.”

“Have you thought about getting her away from the palace?” Robert suggested. “When we were growing up, she didn’t love being around the court. She used to complain about it being uptight and superficial. And yes, as a seven year old, she used the word ‘superficial’. Bizarre, isn’t it? Yet, when we would visit our grandmother’s estate in the country, she would open up. Become more lively and active. She loved the barn, though our mother always worried she would scrape her knee or muddy her dress.”

“Didn’t she name all of the newborn piglets?” Ralph asked. “There was Poe, Garth, Bean, Tassel, and… oh, what was the other one?”

“Corn,” Robert recalled. 

“That was it!” Ralph clapped his hands. “I knew I was forgetting one.”

Charles was enamoured by your brothers’ stories. The tales they told sounded implausible. It was unbelievable to hear all of the mischief you had gotten into when you were young. Charles made it his mission to make you feel comfortable enough to open up. He wanted to get to know you- not the one who was shielding away from him. It wouldn’t be a true marriage if the bride was a shell of herself, right? 

“Tell me more,” Charles prompted Ralph and Robert. “What other adventures did Princess Y/n get into as a child?”

*

“Don’t be scared, sweetie,” Brenda pulled at a strand of your hair. “Everything is okay. Take a deep breath.”

“Where’s mama?” you asked. 

Brenda opened her mouth, took a moment, and said, “she’s waiting in the church.”

You nodded slowly. Apparently, your mother and father were more concerned with meeting new allies than their daughter on her wedding day. 

“Princess Y/n?” A knock sounded on the door and you vaguely recognized Queen Pascale’s voice. “May I come in?”

“Yes, your Majesty.” You had only seen your sister bow to her husband, so you were shocked when she did it to the queen of Enza.

“You don’t have to do that,” Pascale smiled and reached out to lift Brenda into a standing position. “Princesses, how are you?”

“I’m splendid. Are you splendid? I am perfectly splendid!” You worried you had said the word ‘splendid’ too much. 

You couldn’t stop running your hands over your dress. The fabric felt odd against your sweaty hands. “Do you know what else is today? It’s the reception, where I have to talk to dignitaries and monarchs who I can’t remember the names of. And then there’s the dinner and the dance- Oh, Brenda! What if I forget the dance?! And after I forget the dance and mess up in front of everyone, then it’s the…” You swallowed and looked around for a glass of water. Or better yet, wine. 

“The wedding night?” Brenda guessed. You nodded.

“Your Highness, I am so sorry,” you said to Pascale. “I’m trying to be composed, but it’s proving very difficult. Your son seems incredibly thoughtful and considerate, but can you understand why I’m frightened?”

“Yes. I understand perfectly. It can be nerve wracking going into a marriage and not having connected with them.” Queen Pascale sat down on a sofa.

Brenda added on, “and don’t worry about tonight. I’m sure Prince Charles will take care of you.” She grimaced awkwardly at the Queen, feeling uncomfortable talking about Pascale’s son right in front of her.

Pascale snickered in a very un-queen-like way. “Dear, I don’t care what you say about my son. I’ve changed his dirty diapers. I’ve seen it all.”

You smiled, wanting to laugh at her words. A sense of longing suddenly washed over you, a small part of you wanting it to be your own mother who was comforting you. 

Nonetheless, you were still grateful for Queen Pascale’s words. You wondered if she would be open to visiting you at the Foundling Villa. You had already told your siblings all about it, and Brenda was scheduled to visit you two weeks from now.

Speaking of the Foundling Villa, you had Sara and Elena visit it two days ago. They had met with the housekeeper and her small staff. With the housekeeper’s suggestions, they had vetted and hired a stable master- someone by the name Lando Norris- and a cook that went by Chef Yuki. You had asked Sara and Elena to start packing during the wedding so the moment the sun came up tomorrow, you could leave. 

“Are you ready?” Brenda asked.

“Do you want the truth?” you replied. 

Queen Pascale shook her head. “Never tell them the truth. Only tell them what they want to know.”

Robert appeared at the door. “It’s time.” He sucked in a breath, wondering if it was better to feel excited for you, or nervous. He wasn’t naïve. He wanted to talk to Prince Charles about not messing with his younger sister, but he also knew that Enza was a much more powerful state than Williams. Robert couldn’t threaten their prince, even if he was trying to protect you.

As Robert walked you to the church entrance, you whispered, “I’m glad you’re the one walking me down the aisle.”

“As am I,” Robert admitted. “Father would be too uptight.”

You sunk into his side. “I missed you so much. You’ll come visit?”

“Yes! I want to see the Foundling Villa.” The doors opened to a room filled with nobles. They all stood to stare at you. An organ started. There were so many people. “Ralph might visit with me,” Robert kept talking, even though you were currently marching towards Prince Charles and a priest that was ready to seal your future. A long, inconvenient veil fell from your head and two little girls were holding up the ends. “Okay, wow, that’s an impressive grip!” Robert chuckled nervously, wanting to remove your hand from his arm. “Right now, I am going to keep talking so you can listen to my voice and have something to ground yourself on. You look beautiful today. Sara did a wonderful job on your hair. Look, there’s Brenda and mother and father,” his voice slipped away. The only sound you could focus on was your quickening heartbeat. “Breathe,” Robert gave you one last instruction before placing your hand in Prince Charles’s. You registered his outfit- the royal mantle Este had commissioned for him. He looked good. His hair was slicked away from his green eyes which kicked onto yours.

Prince Charles took your hand and turned to face the priest. The organ came to the end of its song and the girls behind you set down your veil. 

Internally, Charles was freaking out. Yes, you were beautiful and he wanted to cultivate a relationship with you, but that didn’t mean he wanted to marry you! Lorenzo had motioned to him multiple times to loosen up. Before the wedding, Arthur had reminded him to stop clenching his jaw and hands. King Hervé gently told Charles to smile at you. 

He didn’t remember any of their advice.

The priest started talking, “dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the joining of these two unions.”

Charles remembered seeing your mother and father before the wedding. They had been conversing with the monarchs of Redull before the rulers of Wolff swept them away to talk. The priest, who was still talking, had been implanted in Charles’ memories since the beginning. The priest had been the one to baptise all of the Leclerc brothers. Charles had seen your maids running about this morning. He wondered what they were preparing for. It couldn’t have been the wedding; you had been whisked away early in the morning to get prepared. 

“Prince Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc of Enza,” the priest turned towards Charles. Was the man already done with the speech? Charles hadn’t realised. “Do you take Princess Y/n M/n L/n of Williams to be your lawfully wedded wife? For better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part, and according to God’s holy law?”

“I do,” Charles said. He noticed the word ‘love’ didn’t come up in the vows.

“And Princess Y/n M/n L/n of Williams,” the priest’s eyes never left the page. You stiffened and Charles gripped your hand. “Do you take Prince Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc of Enza, to be your lawfully wedded husband?” You paled at the word. “For better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part, and according to God’s holy law? Do you pledge yourself to both him and his kingdom?” 

You exhaled and said, “I do.” 

“I pronounce Prince and Princess Leclerc of Enza! You may now kiss the bride.”

Prince Charles faced you, quirked a brow in silent question, and when you gave a sharp nod, he pressed a quick kiss to your lips.

[firstdivisiongirl]

Emma x Draken: Love Story Part 11

The Wedding Day

It was finally the day.  The day of Draken and Emma’s wedding was here.  It was a beautiful spring day.  The sun was shining, the air wasn’t too warm but not too cold, and the sky was blue and clear.  It was everything the couple could have asked for.  Draken was currently getting ready with Mikey, Takemitchi and Mitsuya.  “You nervous Draken,” Mitsuya asked as he tied his tie.

“No,” Draken answered, “it just feels real.  We aren’t the same delinquents anymore.”

“You know you said the same thing at Pah’s wedding.”

“Shut up,”  Draken said, tightening his fist.

“No need to throw punches on your own wedding day.  Just relax.  I don’t think Emma would be happy if I let punch someone on your wedding day.”

The two dragon tattooed boys laughed.  Mitsuya and Takemitchi left the room, leaving Mikey and Draken in the room.

“Well Ken-chin, it’s been a long time coming,” Mikey said as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Draken nodded, “it has.  You gonna miss Emma?”

“No, because I’ll be coming over to your house all the time.”

“Lucky us.”

Meanwhile, Emma, Hina, Yuzuha and Senju were getting ready.  The girls were laughing and talking about what married life was going to be like.  Once everyone was ready and Emma was the only one left, Shinichiro walked in.

“You look great Emma,” he said as he engulfed her in a hug, “it feels like just yesterday you came to the house to stay.”

“Are you and Mikey going to be okay without me,” she said looking up at her older brother.

“I’ll be fine.  Mikey already told me he’ll be at your house all the time.”

Emma laughed, “lucky us.”

Draken waited at the front of the gazebo.  As usual, he was calm and didn’t show much emotion.  The moment he saw Emma as Shinichiro walked her down the aisle, he started to smirk.  She looked beautiful.  She wasn’t super made up, she looked like she was just fancier.  

When she reached the end and Shinichiro left to sit down, Draken mouthed to Emma, “you look beautiful.”  The ceremony was like any other ceremony, but they kept it short and sweet.  Then the time came.  “You may kiss the bride,” the officiant said.  Draken leaned down while Emma stood on her tip toes.  They kiss was passionate, and both felt the sparks they felt all those years ago.  Shinichiro was on the verge of crying.  He was going to miss his little sister.  Takemitchi was crying.  Hina gave him a look to pull himself together.

Once the reception started, that’s when the fun began.  The food was amazing, thanks to Taiju.  The dancing was fun.  Even Draken danced.  In all honesty, Emma forced him to.  But the best moment of the night was Mikey’s speech.  Mikey stood up and grabbed the microphone.

“There is so much to say about these two,” Mikey started, “Kenny, you’ve been one of my best friends for a long time.  And Emma, you’ve been my support system for even longer.  To see you two happy makes me happy.  I know I’ve done a lot to annoy you.  I kind of forced you two to confess, I meddled in your first date.  But it was only because I knew you two were soulmates.  I’m really happy you two ended up together.  However, I am unhappy that there is no taiyaki here, but I'll let it slide.”

Everyone laughed.  Of course, Mikey would say something like that during the most heart warming speech.

The wedding went into the late hours of the night.  Emma and Draken exited the reception and left on the Zephyr.  Emma held on tight to Draken.  She never rode a motorcycle with anyone but Draken.  No matter how scared she was and how tight she held onto him, he never complained she was holding on too tight and he made her feel safe.

“Hey Draken,” she said as they continued to head to their home, “did you enjoy the wedding?”

“Yeah,” he answered, “but I think I’ll enjoy every day after today more.”

She raised her eyebrows, “what does that mean?”

“The wedding doesn’t mean much.  I’m happier that we get to spend the rest of our lives together.”

“Look who’s being romantic.”

“Shut up, don’t,” Draken was interrupted when a raindrop hit his hand.  He was annoyed at the rain.

“Don’t worry,” Emma reassured him, “rain on your wedding day is good luck.”

“Whatever,” he said under his breath as he drove a little faster.

Thankfully, they were almost home.  Their house was just like her family home.  It wasn’t very big and very simplistic.  There was a garage attached to it so Draken could work on his own motorcycle as well as their friends’.  They had bought the house a few months before the wedding.  Draken loved the ladies at the brothel but the last thing he needed was them trying to recruit Emma. 

Once they both got off the motorcycle, he picked Emma up bridal style and carried her inside.   He had all he ever wanted and so did she.

Please do not copy, modify, translate or repost my writing on other platforms. Comments, reblogs and likes are highly appreciated!

[blueshistorysims]

September 1920, Harlem, Manhattan, New York, New York

“Byron?” Stella asked one morning in her bed, laying on his bare chest.

“Yes?”

“Have you ever thought about being married?”

“Truthfully, I’ve never had a girl long enough to even consider it. You’re the first woman I’ve been with that’s lasted this long.” 

“Hmm. Are you against it?”

“No. It has its economic and social advantages. Not just for love. Any good marriage I think should be built on friendship, not romance. Those tend to be happier.”

“Would you want to get married?”

He sat up, perplexed. “Are you proposing to me?”

She shrugged. “Why not?”

“Why not? Your father would murder me. And I thought interracial marriage was illegal in America.”

“Not in New York. It’s just severely frowned upon. There’s no laws against it. What about your England?”

“The same,” he mumbled, still stunned by her question. “Why should we be married?”

“Why not? Like you said, economic reasons. And truthfully, I like a good scandal.”

“You’re playing with fire, Stella.”

“We’re friends. We already practically live together with all the sex we have. And Toussant likes you. He likes no one.”

“I don’t love you. Well, not in the way I should.”

“We could learn to.” She smiled. “What? You’re not interested?”

“I didn’t say that.” He sighed. “Let me put clothes on first.”

Byron sighed. “You really want to get married?”

“I’m feeling spontaneous. You’re graduating from Columbia in the spring regardless. I’d like you to have a reason to stay.” 

“When would you want to do this?”

“This Saturday.”

“We would need a marriage license. No judge in their right mind would give it to us.”

She chuckled. “Byron, darling. There is this amazing method called bribery. Works like charm involving anything government-related.”

He sighed. “If we are to be married. I want to make a personal contract. Between ourselves. Not anything legal. More like a promise. Or a vow.”

“What are your demands?”

“This would be monogamous. You’re not only the only person I see, but if we marry, then I’d stop that.”

“Like that?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“I agree. You’re not my only lover either.”

“And I’d like to help with paying rent. I won’t freeload.”

“You can’t afford to pay half of my monthly rent.”

“I can pay a quarter.”

“Can you?”

“...a fifth then.” He swallowed. “And what are we to wear?”

She smirked. “Leave that to me.”

“You’re really eloping with Stella?”

“It seems so,” Byron muttered. “She’s a hard woman to say no to.”

“I suppose that’s the end of our fling.”

“Yeah.” He frowned. “I’ll miss it. But we’ll always be friends?”

“Of course.”

He swallowed. “Did you tell her that you sleep with men too?”

Byron shook his head. “No. I’m afraid that I’ll reveal you if I do. Besides, I don’t need to worry about that if we were to be married.

Samson looked wary. “I don’t think that’s something to keep secret, Byron.”

“It’ll be fine,” he insisted, though he was trying to convince himself more than his friend.

The other man clearly didn’t believe him. 

“You would like a marriage license?” The judge asked, glancing at the pair. “For this Saturday?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you making this marriage to get a hold into the United States, young man?”

“No, not at all. I’m dearly in love with my girl, and we see no reason to wait,” he lied, giving the judge an innocent smile.

He turned to Samson. “And what’s your business in all this?”

“I’ll be one of the witnesses. He’s marrying my cousin.”

The judge began to laugh. “...You’re serious?”

“Extremely.”

“And what makes you think I’ll give you a license?”

Byron slid over the fifty dollars Stella had given him. “Another fifty once you marry us. My girl father’s is Jedidiah Gardenhouse. This here is Samson Gardenhouse, son of Tobias Gardenhouse.”

He stared at the two young men before pocketing the cash. “...Saturday morning. Nine o’clock. No later, no sooner. Understand?”

“Yes.”

Saturday

Thaddeus walked his sister down the aisle as Campbell and Samson stood as witnesses. Campbell didn’t look too happy about the wedding, but he said nothing. Thaddeus didn’t like the idea, but it didn’t surprise him. Stella liked making statements. And what better than to marry a white middle-class Englishman?

[di-daynamic]

@hinnymicrofic May Prompts Day 17: Lessons

TW: A kind of teacher and student relationship. Both are of age, Harry is only a temporary instructor and this is pre-relationship but it's there.

Ginny had never loved lessons more.

Auror Harry Potter – temporary Duelling Instructor, but she felt calling him Professor would be contradictory to her efforts to seduce him – had been suspended for not obeying orders in the field. Unfortunately for him, and fortunately for her, his superiors and Dumbledore had cajoled him into teaching at Hogwarts.

She’d heard him grumbling about it to Ron plenty of times.

Ginny was really glad she’d opted to take Duelling lessons during her Charms mastery.

She’d known Harry for ages, of course, but being four years younger than him had not inspired him to see her as anything other than his best friend’s little sister, the seven-year-old who had had a debilitating crush on him in their childhood.

The one triumph she’d had had been last year, when at Christmas at the Burrow Sirius had hung enchanted mistletoe and Harry had had to kiss her. The way he’d stared at her after their brief kiss had given her a spark of thrill right down to her toes.

Now she was twenty-one, three years into her five-year Mastery. She had no desire to see him kicked out of his job, of course, so her seduction master plan was very subtle.

But she thought it was working.

His suspension was for six months – half of which had already passed, so he wouldn’t be her Professor for much longer anyway.

He didn’t act as much of a Professor to her either. She’d stayed back after the lesson to tease him about his duties as best man in Ron and Hermione’s upcoming wedding. He’d gotten some chocolate biscuits out for them to share.

She munched as they discussed the temporal translation theory. Neither of them were experts, not being Hermione, but it was relevant to both Aurors and Charms, so they were knowledgeable enough to debate it.

“You’re coming to the Burrow for Christmas, right?” She asked.

“Yeah, most likely. I don’t think Sirius has anything special planned.” He answered.

Ginny laughed. “Mum might kill him if he does without giving her any notice.”

“You have a point; I’ll have to warn him.” He watched her, and Ginny licked the tips of her fingers as she finished her share of the biscuits. She felt his eyes on her and the sensation made her heart flip. “You know, I don’t get why you picked duelling as one of your classes.”

She shrugged. “It was one of the electives, it’s pretty relevant to my focus, and I’m fairly good at it.”

Harry smiled faintly. “I’d say more than just fairly good.”

Something inside her buzzed at the compliment. She ignored it, and tried to make him feel as he had her. “Well, I had an excellent teacher.”

Harry stilled. “Miss Weasley—Ginny,” he started. “I know what you’re doing.”

Ginny inclined an eyebrow, leaning back against the wall. “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.”

He considered her. “You’re trying to seduce me. Your Professor.”

A heady mix of fear and thrill passed through her. “How in Merlin’s name did you get that idea? I’m not trying to seduce anyone.” She was succeeding at seducing, so that was true.

“Don’t lie to me.” Harry sounded very unimpressed.

She sighed and made a show of giving up. “Fine. But not you. There’s this guy in class – Gareth Overcliffe. He’s—”

“A Herbology mastery student. I know,” Harry growled, and Ginny observed with delight the – was that jealousy? – that leaked into his voice and eyes. He gathered himself impressively quickly, but he was an Auror after all.

“Right, I suppose you would,” she said blithely. “Anyway, I’ve been trying to gauge if he’s interested in me.”

If you’re interested in me.

Harry looked amused now. “I feel I need to remind you that I’m a trained Auror and can detect feelings and lies pretty well.” Their eyes met, and he broke the gaze a few seconds later. “And what if he isn’t interested in you? Will you stop the … seduction?”

There was a tone change. He seemed slightly uncertain, poised for disappointment.

Well, may as well set him straight.

Ginny looked up at him cockily. “Oh, I can assure you, there’s no chance of that.”

[wafflesinthe504]

Can I be him? (it’s all I’ve been thinking about)

March Fluff Monthly

Rating: Teen

Pairing: Chenford

Prompt Fill: Secret Drawer/Butterflies

Title from Can I be him by James Arthur

___________________________________________________________

Most times when Tim and Lucy’s shifts don’t match up Tim finds himself disappointed at the fact they won’t get to spend their down time with each other for the next few days, but today is an exception. So, unless the jewelry store that him and Angela are at get robbed and Lucy is needed on scene as a supervising officer the probability of him running into Lucy today is pretty low.

Tim and Lucy have been dating for just over three years now with a lot changing over those few years, professionally and personally.

 Lucy had been a UC detective for two years before deciding that she didn’t want to continue down that path and decided to go back to patrol while she figured her next move. It was only a few months before she decided to take the sergeant’s exam. As soon as she passed the exam Grey, now a captain, tapped her to become Watch Commander for patrol. Tim on the other hand was comfortable with staying as a sergeant despite multiple attempts from higher ups that he was being looked at for becoming the lieutenant over the metro division.

When it came to their personal lives, they both agreed to move in together to a new house since they knew they would need the extra space for expanding their family one day. Tamara decided to stay at the apartment even though they offered to let her move in with them since the apartment ended being closer to her job that she has now that she’s moved on from babysitting. When Lucy and Tim announced that Lucy was moving in with Tim, Celina asked if she thought Tamara would be open to having another roommate. Tamara ended up agreeing and now she and Celina are sharing the apartment. 

Tim is snapped out of his thoughts when he hears Angela call him over to the display she’s at.

“Hey, what do you think of these?” Angela says pointing to a silver tension ring with a cushion cut diamond.

“Uh, its fine but its not really the style that I’m looking for. I think that Lucy would appreciate something a little more unique.”

“Alright, so what do you have in mind?”

“Well, I’m actually having me and Lucy’s bands custom made. Hers is going to be a rose gold band that looks like an actual rose and well I know a guy so it seemed easier than trying to come here to-“

“Wait, you’re having you and Lucy’s ring custom made?” Angela says cutting off Tim in surprise.

“Yeah, why? Wait do you think that’s too much?” Tim says worry etched all over his face.

“No, no.” She says quickly waving off Tim’s worry. “I think that’s incredibly thoughtful and amazing, but Tim if you’re having you’re rings custom made why are we here?”

“Well, I do still need a diamond to go in Lucy’s band and I need to figure what type of cut I want so I can give it to my guy so he can create the right shape on the band and inlay the diamond. I was thinking of a cushion or round cut but I’m open to other cuts.”

“When did you learn so much about diamond cuts and shapes?”

“Ang, I think you’ve forgotten that I was married before and I helped you and my sister during your weddings. A process that included a lot of looking at and talking about wedding bands and diamonds and everything else in- between.”

“Good point.” Angela spots a display showcasing the different types of diamond cuts and what they look like on different ring designs. “Hey what do you think of these?” She asks leading Tim over to display.

In the display there are a variety of diamonds in different cuts and colors. Tim scans the case until his eyes fall onto a one and a half carat green round cut diamond. Originally, he hadn’t considered getting anything but a regular clear diamond the Lucy’s ring but now that he’s seen this diamond he knows it’s the right one for Lucy.

“So, that’s the one huh?” Angela says over Tim’s shoulder. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, it is. You think Lucy will like it?”

“Tim you could probably propose to Lucy with a ring pop and she would like it, but to answer your question I think she would love this Tim. 100% percent without a doubt. Now the real question is how much does it cost?”

“I’ve been saving up for a ring for over a year now. As long as it doesn’t cost as much as my truck I should be able to afford it.”

“Okay, then. I’ll go get one of the sales guys let’s get your girl a proper diamond.”

After Angela brings the sales representative over to where Tim is still standing at the display it only takes a few minutes for Tim to finalize the sale of the diamond. On their way out of the jewelry store Tim thanks Angela for coming with him.

“No problem as much as I love my boys I needed a break from them. I’m really happy Wesley has weekends off and was able to watch the boys today. What do you think about picking up some lunch before you drop me off?”

“Okay, as long as you don’t interrogate me about my plans for the proposal.”

Angela laughs. “No promises there, but I’ll pay for lunch.”

“Deal.”

_______________________________

Nearly a month after Tim ordered the rings he’s finally ready to propose to Lucy. The rings had come in a week ago and have been sitting in a secret drawer in his desk at home for the time being. Since then with the help of Angela, Tamara, and Wade he’s been preparing for the proposal. Most of the help came in the form of hiding away certain decorations at their houses and asking them for help with refining any ideas that he had. 

Now him and Tamara are setting up the backyard with string lights, rose petals, and candles as quickly as they can before Lucy arrives back home from her girl’s day out with Angela, Nyla, and a couple of friends from UC school. Tim decides to add a couple of blankets on the lounge chairs just in case him and Lucy end up enjoying the night spring weather cuddled in each other’s arms. As Tim is putting on some of the finishing touches on the backyard he sees Tamara putting Kojo in a grey hoodie and placing a green bow tie around Kojo’s neck.

“Now that is one handsome dog.” Tamara says as she pets Kojo.

“Yes, he is. Let’s just hope that he doesn’t try to eat his bow tie before Lucy gets here.”

Tim and Tamara’s phones both ding. Tamara takes her phone out first and looks at the text message.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s something we’re going to have to worry about Angela just texted. They’re only fifteen minutes away. Which means you need to hurry up and go change.” Tamara says as she gestures toward the t-shirt and sweatpants that Tim is wearing.

“Sh*t, you’re right. Okay, so how does the backyard look? Do you think Lucy is going to like?” Tim asks, the words practically flying out of his mouth as he the fact that he’s about to propose to Lucy Chen sinks in.

“Tim the backyard looks great and Lucy is going to love everything about this okay. I’m pretty sure she’s shown me the same Pinterest idea boards as you so trust me when I say she is going to be amazed so take a deep breath and relax. Remember all of this was technically the hard part, now all you have to do is ask Lucy to marry you.”

“Right, all I have to do is ask her to marry me. Four simple words. I’m going to change what are you going to do?”

“Probably sit down for a few minutes, order some food, and watch TV. Now go before you’re stuck proposing in sweats.” Tamara says, shooing Tim away. 

Tim rushes to his room and quickly changes into a green dress shirt, a black bow tie and black pants. He gives himself a quick look over in his mirror, running a hand through his hair in a vain attempt to calm his nerves.

He’s excited and nervous at the same time and he can feel a serious bout of butterflies fluttering in his stomach and chest. He can’t believe that he’s about to ask Lucy to marry him, to finally start the rest of their lives together.

Tim looks at Lucy’s favorite green dress that’s laying on their bed with a note next to it telling her to put it on before coming outside to the back yard. He takes one last look at himself before going to his office to pick up the rings. He goes over to Kojo and places the silicone rings in the pocket of Kojo’s hoodie before he heads back out to the back yard to wait for Lucy.

Tim unconsciously flips the ring box open and close as he waits for Lucy to arrive back with Angela and Nyla. It’s only a few minutes later when he hears Angela’s car pull up to the driveway. Even though he can’t make out what the three women are saying as they say their goodbyes to each other he feels his body relax as listens to Lucy’s voice. The nerves he felt earlier begin to melt away because even though taking this step again is terrifying, he knows without a shadow of doubt that him and Lucy are made for each other. There are butterflies still in his stomach but this time it’s only due to the anticipation of seeing Lucy being able to hold her in his arms again because she’s been his home for a while now and he can’t see his life without her in it.

When Tim sees Lucy start to walk outside, he shoves the ring in his back pocket before standing up from his seat and meeting her at the doorway.

“Wow, you look amazing.” Tim says breathlessly as he takes in Lucy’s simple beauty in the green dress.

Lucy blushes and brushes a 

how as your day out?” Tim asks as he takes Lucy hand in his leading her over to the middle of the back yard.

“It was great. Angela, Nyla, and I had a great time today. I think we all needed some time out together away from work. By the way everything looks amazing when did you have time do all of this?” Lucy says excitedly as she looks around at all of the decorations in the backyard.

“Uh, Tamara and I decorated everything while you were out. I really wanted to surprise you for tonight.”

“Well consider me surprised. So, what’s the special occasion?”

“We are actually.” Tim takes Lucy’s hand and kneels down on one knee. He hears Lucy’s gasp of surprise and sees tears spring to her eyes when he meets her gaze. Tim takes a deep breath to steady his nerves before he speaks. “Lucy Chen, every day that I’ve known you, you have helped to make become a better man. I know that this is where you usually say that I put in the work, but it was you that gave me the continuous push I needed to start making real changes in my life. You became someone that I knew I could lean on and trust with even my deepest fears and worries and every day you accepted me for who I was and helped me become the man I am today. Soon you became the person I love more than anyone in the world and my home. Every single day I fall more in love with you, and I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you. Lucy Chen, will you marry me?” Tim pulls the box from his pocket and opens it showcasing the emerald ring that lay inside.

By the time Tim finishes his speech Lucy is smiling despite the tears running down her face.

“Yes.”

“Yeah?” Tim says in slight disbelief.

“Yes, Tim I’ll marry you.”

Tim stands and wraps Lucy in his arms kissing her passionately. Tim reluctantly breaks the kiss to place the ring on Lucy’s finger. He gently wipes away Lucy’s happy tears and places a kiss on her cheek.

Tim hears clapping coming from the backyard door. When he looks up he sees Tamara, holding her phone with the recording light on, along with Kojo standing on the patio.

“That was the most beautiful proposal I’ve seen.”

“Isn’t this the only proposal you’ve seen?” Lucy asks, turning in Tim’s arms to look at Tamara.

“I would like to think the proposals I’ve seen in Tv shows and movies count as well.”

Tim snorts. “Yeah, okay fair enough. I’m guessing you captured everything on your phone?”

“Oh, yeah. I can’t wait to show everyone.”

“Well, do you think you can hold off on sending it to everyone for a few days. I think Tim and I would like a few days of being engaged without everyone calling and asking about details about our engagement and plans for our wedding.” Lucy says.

“Yeah, no problem. But hey if you want to use the video for your wedding I know just the guy to ask about editing it for you.”

“Thanks, T.”

The doorbell rings and Tim gets an alert on his phone. When he looks at his phone he sees a young delivery man standing outside with a few bags of food.

“It looks like your food arrived Tamara.”

“Yes, let me go it. And don’t worry I got enough tacos for all of us.” Tamara says as she rushes inside to pay for the food.

“Mmm, tacos do sound good right about now. Come on, let’s go inside before Tam eats everything.” Lucy says as she grabs Tim’s hand and begins to lead him inside.

“Oh, wait. There’s one more thing.” Tim says stopping Lucy from continuing. He calls Kojo over and stoops down to pet Kojo before reaching inside the dog’s hoodie and grabbing another ring box and hands it to Lucy. “Here, I know that we can’t exactly wear our normal engagement rings on the job so I thought this might be a good substitute for when we’re out in the field.” 

 When Lucy opens the box it reveals a rose gold silicone ring with a green stripe going around the middle.

“Tim this is perfect I love it. Also Kojo looks so cute dressed up in his little bow tie and hoodie. Whose idea was it to dress him up for tonight?” 

“I was originally only going to have him in the bow tie, but Tamara suggested we give him his own hoodie.”

Lucy laughs. “Of course she did. It was a really cute idea. Remind me to take some pictures of him before the night is over.”

“Okay, Luce.” Tim presses a gentle kiss to the top of Lucy’s head before letting her lead him inside with Kojo following behind them.

When they enter the kitchen Tamara already has all of the food and drinks laid out. Once Tamara notices them she starts to explain everything she got for everyone before they all settle in to eat. They end up eating in the living room and watching a movie together. After they finish eating and watching the movie together the three of them work together to clean up and put everything up. It’s only when Tamara takes Kojo out for his last walk of the night that Tim and Lucy are alone again.

Tim places his hands on Lucy’s waist as she wraps her arms around his shoulders as they stand in the kitchen.

“You know today is easily one of the best days I’ve ever had and I think its time we celebrate.” Lucy says.

“Yeah, and what did you have in mind?”

“Something that’s going to put all that fuel to good use and maybe make a mess of that suit while we’re at it.” Lucy says, pulling on Tim’s tie. 

Their celebrations starts off slow and sensual before turning hot and passionate. Lucy makes good on her promise to make a mess of Tim’s suit and well Tim makes a mess of Lucy in return.

It’s not until the late afternoon the next day that they leave the room. After a long hot shower to wash off the night Tim and Lucy get dressed in lounge clothes. Tim tackles breakfast while Lucy handles the morning laundry. Later on when they’re sitting down eating Tim’s breath is knocked out of him when he sees Lucy wearing her engagement ring. Even though he saw her wearing it yesterday after his accepted proposal seeing her wear it everyday solidifies that they really are going to spend forever with each other. He can’t wait to do forever with her.

______________________________________________________________

[yurayura-kurage]

A3! Troupe Event: MY WORST WEDDING | Event Story Translation (8/11)

Neither Japanese nor English is my first language so please forgive me if I made mistake. However, feel free to point me out, I’d love to hear your feedbacks on the translation ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

Translation under the cut

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Sakyo’s mother: ––Oh my, so this is what the bride’s makeup room looks like. It’s princess-like.

Azami: I’m sorry for being selfish. The one who stirred Sakyo up is me.

Sakyo’s mother: It’s alright. Because there is no doubt that you guys will never be able to persuade me unless doing this way, Sakyo said this just then, right.

Sakyo is also a stubborn child, isn’t he? He really inherited my personality traits well.

…I’m sorry. Now that you guys have had things done for me, maybe I should just honestly and happily receive it…

Azami: I know. Look at this first.

Sakyo’s mother: ––

Azami: This dress was made by Yuki-san, our theater troupe’s costume designer after asking Sakyo’s younger sister to check your size. 

Sakyo’s mother: Eh, you guys went out of your way just to do this for me…?

Azami: When I asked, he was excited to prepare the dress.

Sakyo is always stingy to pay for the fabric for our theater troupe’s costume, but when he asked Yuki-san to make the dress with the highest quality clothing materials, Yuki-san was pumped up. 

Sakyo was the one who paid for all the materials to make the dress. He also said that he’d pay for the designing and tailoring cost too, but Yuki-san told him he enjoyed making the dress, and it was for Sakyo’s mother so he’s gonna make it for free.

Sakyo’s mother: So that’s it… This dress is so beautiful.

Azami: Sakyo also said “If she doesn’t want to wear it, then that’s fine. It’s just the same as the hair tie I gave her back then.”

Sakyo’s mother: That child… He still remembers that story.

Azami: This is the dress that Yuki-san made only for you, so it’ll definitely look good on you. And I’ll make sure that you can wear it with confidence after I do the makeup and style your hair.

So why don't you give it a try and then decide what to do? Please, I beg you.

Sakyo’s mother: …If you insist, then I guess I can’t say no anymore. I’m counting on you.

But why does Azami-kun have to go this far?

Azami: It’s gonna be a quite long story, so I’ll tell you ‘bout it while putting on the makeup.

*Short timeskip*

Azami: I grew interested in makeup when helping my sick mother with her makeup.

Sakyo’s mother: Your mother is…

Azami: She passed away when I was still a kid.

Sakyo’s mother: I see…

Azami: After my mother passed away, Sakyo came to my house. My dad was busy, so Sakyo has been taking care of me for a long time…

*Flashback*

Dad brought Sakyo to my house when I was 6 years old.

“Sakyo?” “Right. From now on, this guy will take care of you.”

Ever since I was a baby, there were lots of young folks (*) coming in and out of my house frequently, so it’s not strange to see newcomers in my house, but among them, Sakyo was very young.

Until then, it was the young folks taking turns to pick me up and drop me off at the nursery school. But since that day, Sakyo has been in charge of all those duties.

“Oi, Sakyo. I’m thirsty." “What did you just call me… Here, drink some water.”  “I want orange juice.”  “If you only drink sweet things, you’ll get cavities in your teeth.”  “Orange juice!”  “You can drink it only when you eat snacks.”

“Then, I’ll have some snacks.” “Only after you’re done learning how to use the abacus.” “Annoying.” “It’s gonna be useful if you can memorize it.” “No one does that.”

“Then what are your pals doing?" “Don’t know. I’ve never hung out with them.” “...Do you want to play with bubble wrap.” “That’s boring!”

He’s naggy, and looked like a cold person at first, but he kept following me because it was his responsibility to watch over me.

I even spent more time together with him than with my dad, we started to open up with each other gradually, and it slowly became more fun playing with him.

When my mom passed away, I pretended to look fine in front of my dad, but deep down in my heart, that was a huge shock to me.

It was undoubtedly thanks to Sakyo that I was able to truly get over my mom’s death at that time. 

*Back to present*

Azami: Our relationship is different now, but we used to be close in the past. Thanks to Sakyo, I was able to pull myself together and regain my energy, even when I was in elementary school––.

That’s right. Actually I wanted to say thanks to you for this when we met last time.

Sakyo’s mother: These cards are…

Azami: When my dad banned me from playing the popular card game when I was in elementary school, Sakyo made these cards for me and played with me.

You’re the one who originally created this right?

Sakyo’s mother: That’s right… So that’s it… Sakyo gave them to you… 

Fufu. How nostalgic.

When I was making these cards while waiting for Sakyo to return home, I was disappointed with myself that I couldn’t buy him a popular toy. 

But that child looked really happy playing my handmade cards, and I was saved by that. It was hard to make a living back then, but thanks to his presence, I was able to overcome many hardships.

He has grown up now, but he’s still a little shy and cute, isn’t he.

Fufu. This is nostalgic. I wish I could hug that small child again… There’s no way he will let me hug him now.

Azami: Speaking of hugs… People seem to do wedding hugs these days.

The thing you do after taking the oath, t-that’s too shameless but… it’s okay if it’s just a hug right?

Sakyo’s mother: That’s right… Then maybe I wouldn’t feel embarrassed even in front of my children.

…But that child and Azami-kun are pretty similar. His father also passed away because of illness when he was little…

Azami: Perhaps Sakyo is doing his best to support my dad because he can’t show filial piety to his father anymore.

I’m also the same. I want to do something for you, and for the part I couldn’t do for my mom. It’s completely my own self-satisfaction though…

Here, it’s done.

Sakyo’s mother: It’s not your self-satisfaction. I’m pleased, too.

…I don’t look like myself. It’s like Cinderella’s magic, isn’t it.

It would be a waste if I don’t take photos when putting on this wonderful makeup and wearing this special dress that you guys prepared for me. 

If I don’t keep this as a commemoration, I may regret it for the rest of my life.

Azami: That means––.

Sakyo’s mother: I wonder if I can fit into this dress though.

Azami: It seems that it was made to be easy to adjust the waist and so on.

Sakyo’s mother: As expected of costume designer-san.

Azami: I’ll call someone to help you change costumes.

Sakyo’s mother: Ah, wait a minute––

Azami-kun, thank you for always taking care of that child.

Azami: ––No, as I told you earlier, it was me who has been taken care of for a long time…

Sakyo’s mother: Even this time too, I now understand Sakyo’s recent place to belong is–– I realize how important and precious the theater troupe and your house are to Sakyo.

He sometimes told me that he was looking after you when you were a kid… That child, he seemed to be having a lot of fun while complaining all the time, didn’t he.

Ever since he became your caretaker, the atmosphere around Sakyo has changed, he even became softer.

He worried about you so much that he couldn’t put his mind at ease as if he had a child of his own.

…That’s why you are like a grandchild to me.

From now on, please continue taking care of that child.

Azami: …Yeah.

Translator’s note:

(*) He was using the word “若い連中” here, which literally means young folks, and as far as I understand, this also refers to the young people who don’t have a certain rank in a yakuza group.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Previous || Next

[hyunnieshannie]

EX | HJ

PREVIOUS ꕀ❀ꕀ SERIES MASTER LIST ꕀ❀ꕀ NEXT

Chapter 6: Dating Apps

Pairing: Han Jisung x AFAB. Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

General Synopsis: Your ex? Shitty. Your family? Worse. Your best friend? Left for a tour in the middle of one of the worst times of your life. How are you meant to deal with planning what should have been your wedding, dealing with your family, and pretending like you're not falling apart all on your own?

General Warnings: Idol!Jisung, mentions of other Idols (P1Harmony/Seventeen), all views on these idols are purely fictional. Idol AU. Mentions of cheating, mentions of smoking and drug use (weed and cigarettes), Mentions of drinking, angst, self esteem issues, depression. Y/N is older than Jisung. (I'm sorry for the jokes that come out of this) (any tags I missed please feel free to let me know! More tags to be added as the story goes on.)

A/N: Smaller chapter again <3

“So Y/N, I got your rsvp but I didn’t see a name for your date,” Leah smugly says through the phone. You had sent out your response to the save-the-date, opting to simply check the box off that you’d be bringing someone with you, leaving the name box empty. It was honestly better to leave it blank, than to have written a name only for you to show up with no one. 

“Ah, I figured it’d be a surprise. Didn’t want dad looking into him or anything.” You lied. It was a situation that both Leah and yourself knew could happen. It wouldn’t have been the first time your father had gone ahead and looked into someone you were seeing. The first time you had brought a boy's name up he had ended up finding out everything about him in two days. Only for your father to disapprove of him instantly, warning you that if you continued to see someone of such a ‘low income household’ that you’d be destined to end up just like him. ‘Poor,’ and ‘Living in a one floor home in some shitty part of the city.’. 

“I see,” Leah responded disapprovingly, “Well then what should I have placed on the nameplate?” You could practically hear the grin she was one hundred percent wearing. Once more, Leah felt that she had the upper hand. “Shall I set your names as Miss. Y/N & Mr. No name?” she chuckles, 

“Just write it down as Y/N and Guest.” You sighed, 

“As you wish, sister.” The silence between the two of you was heavy, you know exactly what she’s thinking. “Ah,” Leah sighs, “Y/N it’s okay if you’re coming alone, honestly no one would be surprised or anything.” 

Not today. Today you wouldn’t let her get under your skin more than she already has. Today you’ll just be amicable, and hope she’ll just leave the topic be. “Anyways Leah I have to go, I promised my friends I’d go out with them.” 

“Mmm,” she hummed, “Avoiding your problems is never good but you should know that by now.” 

“Alright Leah, I’ll talk to you later.” You didn’t give her the chance to respond before hanging up the phone, falling back on to your bed and letting out a loud sigh. 

ꕀ❀ꕀ

“You look out of it.” Maddy sighs, as she sets her fork down. Autumn gives her a concerned look. You haven’t been fully there, physically sure. Mentally you’d been spaced out the entire time, missing conversation queues or just completely zoning out and missing the whole conversation itself. 

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine,” you say, shaking your head at them, attempting to shake the cobwebs from your mind and focus on your friends.

“Yeah see, no you’re not.” Autumn chirped, “I don’t think I’ve seen you this silent since the first time we met.” 

“Since you first moved in actually.” Mini sighs, “Is it still the wedding thing?” 

“Wait, you’re still going to that?” Maddy whipped her head in your direction, staring at you with wide eyes, 

“She’s my sister, I kind of have to go. And I’m still the maid of honour..” you sigh, wringing your fingers together.

“You don’t ‘kind of have to go’. If you don’t want to go, don’t go,” Mini huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting.

“My family would have a shit-fit if I don’t show up,” you sigh loudly and flop back into your chair, “my sister just said some shit that- I don’t know, I guess it got to me.” 

“When isn’t she saying shit to get to you though?” Maddy questioned, 

“Fair point, but everything’s just getting to me a bit more than usual,” you pick up your fork and start tapping it across your plate, poking and moving your food around in front of you.

“Well, what’d she say this time to set you off?” Mini asked, noticing your foot anxiously bouncing up and down.

“Something along the lines of me still being in love with Jeonghan, and how I have refused to date anyone else because I’m too busy being in love with him and working on my ‘Music’ as she put it; let alone earlier she called to talk about my rsvp, and she said it was fine if I didn’t have a date, that no one expected for me to even have one. All in all she’s just calling me lonely.” You let out in one breath, everything that had accumulated finally falling out. 

“Wow, ok what the fuck,” Maddy’s jaw was slightly ajar in shock, shaking her head in disbelief.

“That’s a lot to unpack.” Autumn sighed, “Well real question, and I hope you don’t mind me asking but are you still in love with Jeonghan?” the minute the question fell from Autumn’s lips, Mini almost choked on her drink. Looking at Autumn with a face which read ‘We don’t ask that’.

“No, I’m not in love with him. He broke my heart so that ship has long sailed,”

“You deserve better than him honestly, good for you.” Autumn smiled, 

“Well then, are you taking up my idea on taking the leebits to the wedding?” Mini laughed, 

“Leebits? To a wedding?” Maddy coughed, 

“Can we be serious for just a second, Min?” Autumn sighed,

“I mean if a leebit could magically turn into a fully grown man then I would 100% take one with me,”

“Too much chaos, that rabbit is the incarnation of pure evil. I’d bring PuppyM.” Mini laughed, 

“Shouldn't you be bringing a Jiniret?” 

“Jinnie might be my boyfriend, but puppyM is my favourite skzoo so, no.” Mini shook her head, “Anyways,Y/N you still have about three months until the wedding; I’m not even sure why she made the deadline so soon for the rsvp but you have exactly three months and one week until the event, that is enough time to figure out the date situation.” You looked down to your phone, opening the calendar app. Three months, and one week until the wedding. Leah had really rushed it. Weddings take so much time to plan, so much preparation and yet she chose the soonest possible date she could. Leave it to her to absolutely need to rush everything. 

Leah has always been impulsive. The sooner she gets what she wants the better. In this case, maybe it was just the want to have the wedding; or it could be something else. Leah had successfully taken your man. Who’s to say someone else wouldn’t be able to do the exact same? Would someone swoop in and take him from her? Was that something she worried about? Was that something that plagued her mind? Was he always so easily swayed?

“You know,” Maddy smiled, “you could always let me set you up on some blind dates.” 

“Blind…dates?” 

“Or she could just suck it up and ask one of the boys.” Mini shrugged, 

“I’m not cursing them.” You sighed, “maybe a blind date wouldn’t be bad.” The idea of meeting new people was never one you quite enjoyed, but being set up on a blind date might be a better idea than going through the pain of downloading those dating apps that never seemed to work. Swiping into oblivion only to find maybe one or two matches. None of which could ever hold a proper conversation, without instantly thinking with their dick. 

Men on online apps cannot be trusted. They want nothing more than someone to spend a night with. They have expectations. Crude expectations that usually result in him buying dinner, and you being expected to provide some sort of ‘service’ to ‘repay’ said ‘kindness’.  Only once has a dating app proven itself useful to you, and still in the end. He left you for your sister. 

So yeah, how much worse could it get than that? Perhaps being set up on a blind date would be best, at least then the person arranging the date knows what both parties are looking for. Right?

Tag List

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[roosterbruiser]

𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐞 ☾☽ 𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐈𝐕.𝐈𝐈

☾☽ 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 "𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫" 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰 𝐱 𝐅𝐚𝐲𝐞 "𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫" 𝐋𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫

☾☽ 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: It’s been almost three years since the accident that took half of her, and Faye “Clover” Ledger seems fine, really. She loves her old house, she has a perpetually expanding vinyl collection, she’s got a job she likes on base, and she is only a short drive from the beach. She’s grounded--literally. Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw feels like he’s been homesick his entire life. He’s always on the move;  jumping from one squadron to another, living one mission to the next. Somewhere in between losing both his parents and carving a successful career as a Naval aviator, he’s never found himself a home. When a call to serve on a high-priority mission with an elite squadron brings Rooster back to Miramar, he finds that home. Except it’s not a house that he finds--it’s the former backseater that observes and records the mission for the Official Navy Record. 

☾☽ 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

☾☽ 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

☾☽ 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫.𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝟑𝟎𝐭𝐡, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟏

I can feel myself nodding, even with this heaviness in my head, even with this numbness in my fingers. And just this little confirmation, even just something as small as a nod, sends our friends into a frenzy. Everyone’s cameras are shaking as they break out in laughter, in cheers. Everyone’s asking a million questions, whistling and clapping, sending celebratory emojis in the chat. 

It makes me giddy--makes my neck red and my cheeks wet with happy, happy tears. It makes my chest tight with happiness, makes my cheeks ache with a grin. And Bradley is pulling me against him, proudly soaking in that praise, pressing his lips to my forehead. It’s good--we’re good, we’re happy. Thank God.  

I’ve done another thing without my sister that I never thought I would, never thought I could. I didn’t float away, I didn’t throw up--I’m alive and nodding, grinning, being celebrated by our friends. And she’s not here, but I think she’s close--I think she’s just out of reach, that I can ghost my fingertips over her hair, her smile. I can almost smell her, almost feel her. 

“How far along are you?” Phoenix asks, a grin splitting her face. 

“How are you feeling?” Bob follows closely, hand raking through his hair.

Bradley squeezes me tight, humming. He’s happy--so happy that it’s flooding from his body to mine. 

“Fifteen weeks today,” I say softly, my voice thin, “and more tired than I’ve ever been in my life. But happy--excited!”

Bob still looks like he’s shocked--his eyes are wide and watery, his cheeks pale. He’s shaking his head lightly, raking his fingers through his cropped hair. His lips are parted and grinning. My heart squeezes in that familiar fist just looking at him--my best friend, my confidante, my man of honor. He will be the godfather of the baby in my belly.  

“Fifteen weeks,” Payback says suddenly, eyebrows knit, “that’s--what, that’s four months? Four months--yeah.” 

And I know exactly where this is going, can feel it on the tip of their tongues. 

“Yes, the wedding,” Bradley answers before anyone can beat him to it, cheeks ruddy, “let’s get that out of the way now.”

There’s soft laughter from a few of the others. 

“When are you due?” Fanboy asks. 

“November 21st,” I say, “right before Thanksgiving.”

“Hey,” Bob suddenly says, “I’ll bet Nix and I can take leave that week!”

My heart swells at the prospect--but a strange overwhelming emotion swallows me before I can even answer. Suddenly, my eyes are prickled with heavy tears and my lips are swollen and hot. There’s a knot in my chest and a lump in my throat. God, this has happened a few times so far in my second trimester, but it hasn’t been as overwhelming as it is right now. I have to blink rapidly--which is a dead giveaway of my emotions in and of itself--but even then, it is fruitless. I’m bawling suddenly, drawing in a deep breath and nodding.

“Don’t cry,” Bob frowns, “you know it makes me cry, Faye.”

Coyote snickers. 

“Didn’t know the pansy parade was in town,” he says softly, dropping his eye in a playful wink.

“Can it, Coyote,” Phoenix bites, “or should I bring up the La La Land incident of 2019?”

Coyote cans it. 

“I’d love it if you guys came for Thanksgiving,” I say through my tears, voice pitched, “ignore the-the tears. Just something that happens now, I guess.”

Bradley kisses my shoulder, moves closer to me to hold a warm hand over my knee. 

“You know,” Payback starts, “I bet we could all get leave. This far in advance, I’m sure not a lot of people have formally requested time off yet, right?”

There’s a murmur of agreements and I’m palming my tears, trying to pull myself together. 

“We could probably find a hotel if it’s too much--!”

“No,” Bradley and I say simultaneously, “no hotels.”

“Jeez,” Fanboy laughs, “you two know each other or something?” 

“We have more than enough room,” I say softly, “we’d love to host everyone.”

Bob tuts--he’s growing tearful as he watches me palm my own tears, watches me sniffle.

“There’s gonna be a little baby at Thanksgiving,” Bob says softly, his voice dripping with affection and awe, “a little Bradshaw baby.”

It makes me laugh--a pitiful, crackly sound. A little Bradshaw baby. A little olive.

“Ain’t that something,” Coyote hoots, “a little baby Bradshaw!” 

“So, what are you gonna do about work, Faye?”

Of course it’s Phoenix who asks this--I think she is the only person here that understands that this is a very applicable question, the only person here besides maybe Bradley or Bob. It’s something I’ve thought about, something I’ve discussed in-depth with Bradley over candlelit dinners and whistling kettles. It almost makes me cry again, just the notion of speaking it out loud to my friends. 

My fingers are cold--like I know what everyone is going to say, what everyone is going to think before I even say it. If there is a time for word vomit, it is now, right now--but my lips feel heavy. 

“Well,” I start shakily, “I’ve applied for--well, I’ve officially applied for, um, discharge.”

I think everyone’s eyebrows shoot up in tandem--I’m trying not to cringe, trying not to retreat into myself. 

“Discharge, kid?” 

It’s the first time I’ve heard Hangman say anything since he asked why we were wanting to move in September. He sounds incredulous, shocked. He’s looking at me like he’s waiting for me to say something that will push him over the edge, waiting for something that will justify this sudden attitude of his. He’s moved--he’s inside somewhere now, bringing a glass of amber liquid to his lips, phone propped up against a stack of books or bowl of fruit. He looks perhaps most shocked out of anyone, his eyes narrowed but swimming, his eyebrows furrowed deeply. 

There’s a pit in my belly again. There’s always a pit in my belly when I talk about this. This is what I want--Bradley has even been apprehensive about my desire to discharge, has reminded me endlessly that he doesn’t expect me to discharge or stay home. But I want to do this. I want to have olive and then stay home with them, want to buy some chickens and a cow and work around Chateau Bradshaw with a baby on my hip instead of in a stuffy office with a bunch of uniformed men. But there’s that look on everyone’s face that I don’t like--like I’m just blending myself into the background, like I’m fading into the faceless, nameless crowd of motherhood. It’s been a grueling decision--one that I genuinely have to breathe through sometimes, counting to ten in my head before I allow myself to move on with my day. But there is that warmth in my chest when I think about it--when I think about how badly I want it.  

“Yes,” I confirm, “um, I wanna stay home for a while after the baby’s here. Plus with all the packing and unpacking, I think I’d rather just…focus on that.”

I’m growing hot in everyone’s gaze. I’m trying to keep my heartbeat steady, silently counting to ten in my head as I pinch some blood back into my fingers. 

“Well, I’m sure Cyclone’ll give you a most honorable discharge,” Payback says finally, smiling warmly.

Thank God someone is speaking again.  

“Shooting for Good,” I add softly. 

Phoenix guffaws. 

“Oh, you’ll get Excellent and we all know it,” she says, “can’t fool us.”

“Yeah, don’t be humble,” Fanboy adds, grinning. 

A small sense of peace invades my chest--stilling my heart, warming my fingertips.

“I keep telling her that,” Bradley says.

Bradley kisses my cheek again, his mustache tickling my blushed cheek. 

“Hey, do you know the gender yet?” Payback asks. 

Bradley shakes his head. 

“Someone wants it to be a surprise,” he answers, grinning teasingly as he shoves his thumb in my direction, “but I won’t name names.”

“It’s one of life’s only true surprises today,” I answer plainly, leaning on Bradley’s shoulder and playfully batting his thumb away.

As if we don’t already know that we’re going to have a daughter.  

He presses a warm kiss to the top of my head, letting his lips linger there. 

“So, what you’re saying is that we can put money down on the gender?” Coyote grins. 

Phoenix groans. 

“This is the engagement fiasco all over again,” she moans, “aren’t you idiots tired of going broke betting on Bradshaw’s life?” 

“I’m all in on boy,” Fanboy interjects, “fifty bucks.”

“Oh, you’re so on,” Coyote very nearly sneers, “a hundred says it’s a girl!”

“Boy,” Payback adds with a cheeky smile, “one-fifty.”

Bradley presses his lips against my temple, chuckling softly. He kisses me there tenderly and it makes the lump in my throat thin ever so slightly. We have good friends--they love us, will love our baby. I won’t disappear into a nameless, faceless crowd of mother’s. I’m their friend. I have to tell myself this, whisper to myself as I lie down to sleep, as my belly swells. 

“Idiots,” he whispers to me, before turning back to the screen with a grin.

I bite my lip hard before I lean forward, closer to the camera. The skin of my cheeks is taut when I smile, dried salt water cracking.  

“Girl,” I add, “two hundred.”

A loud laugh rips from Bradley--a beautiful, sweet one. I hope olive laughs like him, with their mouth wide open and their head tipped back, with their eyes half shut and their throat flushed. 

“Oh, shit,” Fanboy whines, “can I change my answer?”

Payback shoots him a questionable glance and Fanboy shrugs incredulously. 

“She has maternal instinct,” Fanboy explains, eyebrows knit.

It makes my heart flutter--maternal instinct. I have maternal instinct. 

Payback bites his lip, facing the camera again. 

“No take-backs,” Coyote insists, endlessly pleased with himself and his answer, “sorry, gentlemen!”

Payback and Fanboy groan in unison--Bradley is still laughing. 

“Are you showing yet, Faye?” Bob asks curiously, smiling. 

It makes roses dust my cheeks. Makes that giddiness climb my chest and invade my neck and face until I’m grinning. 

“A little,” I nod, “popped a bit early.”

“Well,” Phoenix says, gesturing to me, “get on with it, then, lady! Show us!”

This is my first time really getting to show my bump off to anyone besides Rooster. I’m still wearing loose shirts and elastic pants to the office, not exactly concealing my pregnancy, but not broadcasting it either. I’m not pregnant enough for people to approach me in grocery stores or the farmer’s markets, not pregnant enough for people to come lay their hands on my belly yet or ask me when I’m due. So letting my hand fall over the incline of my belly, pulling my shirt flush against my swollen skin--it’s usually reserved for Rooster and myself or sometimes his camera. Sometimes I do it as soon as we wake up, looking at myself in the bathroom mirror and straining to see if anything changed overnight while he brushes his teeth with a lazy smile. Other times I’ll do it in his office, careful to lock the door before I straddle his lap, pulling my shirt up and letting his hands smooth over my skin--asking him if I looked any different than I did before lunch. There are a few shots of me cradling my belly--on the couch with yarn spilled over my lap and mug set on my knee, in the kitchen as I scramble a pan of eggs, at the beach with sand caking my thighs, at The Hard Deck with a glass of water settled before me at the bar--but otherwise, this has stayed between us. It’s been our special little secret. 

I stand up carefully, Bradley’s hands pressed to my thighs as he smiles affectionately. He angles the camera towards me and I step back, closer to Stevie on her ottoman, before turning so they’re facing my profile. 

“Don’t get too excited,” I warn, laughing quietly, “s’not much.”

I’m wearing a big t-shirt, one of Bradley’s, and a pair of biker shorts--one of my only pairs of pajama pants that don’t bite into my skin now. 

“The suspense is killing me,” Bob insists. 

Carefully, I hold the hem of the tee and encourage it up and over my belly, letting it rest just below my breasts. My skin gooses at the gust of air conditioning that it's suddenly exposed to. 

I send a smile to the camera before my eyes fall down--and there it is, slightly bigger than it was before dinner. My belly is curving, pressing out of my body more than it did sixteen weeks ago before I was pregnant. It isn’t much, could maybe even be mistaken by the untrained eye, but it’s there--it’s definitely there. 

Coyote whistles, impressed. 

“Would you look at that,” Bob says excitedly, “my best friend is having a baby!”

“Our best friend is having a baby,” Phoenix corrects.

Coyote laughs. 

“Your best friend is having your best friend’s baby,” Coyote says, “I think that makes you cousins or something, doesn’t it?”

Everyone laughs--it makes me pink in the face, in the heart.

“Can’t believe our niece is in there,” Fanboy says softly. 

Bradley chuckles. 

“Still not letting you change your answer,” Coyote says. 

Payback and Fanboy groan. They will be out a significant amount of money come November--I think they know this now as they run their hands over their faces. 

Fanboy is right--their niece is right here beneath my fingertips, big as an apple, used to be as big as an olive. Their niece. Olive will not have an Aunt Maggie to hold them in a brightly lit hospital room when they’re first born, slow-blinking up at that familiar face as they try to take in the world around them. They won’t have Maggie there to spoil them, buying any stuffed animal they get their grubby little hands on in a department store and sneaking them candy before dinner. Maggie won’t be here to take olive on the weekends whenever Bradley and I desperately need sleep. Maggie won’t be here for sunlit picnics in the backyard, peach juice and drool dripping down olive’s chin as they grin toothlessly. She won’t be here for bedtime dance parties, turning a record up too loud and wrapping olive up in a muslin blanket, the room full of giggles and love. 

But everyone on this call will be there. Bob will hold olive when they’re brand-spanking-new in that brightly lit hospital room, inhaling the scent of a fresh newborn while carefully stroking his lotioned finger across their pudgy cheek. Phoenix will be there to buy them whatever they can get their hands on, will be there to say okay, maybe, yes whenever Bradley says no. Payback and Fanboy will be there on the weekends, excited to take olive to a hockey game or to the park for a friendly game of soccer, when Bradley and I desperately need a full night of rest. Coyote will be there to carry them on his shoulders through the zoo or in a museum whenever mine grow tired. Hangman will be there to hold them by their belly and fly them though the air like a jet, making animated yet realistic engine noises with a grin. Bradley and I will host backyard picnics and bedtime dance parties, always turning the music up a little bit too loud, holding sliced fruit to their gummy little mouths, falling all over each other with sweetness.  

 We’re all laughing--I’m cupping my belly, smoothing my fingers over my skin, watching my friends dissolve into grins. It feels good to be here right now--good to watch everyone celebrate us. 

Oh, olive. You’ll never be without arms to hold you.

“Rooster--you think it’s a girl?” Phoenix asks. 

Bradley grins, gaze lingering on the exposed belly. It makes me shiver, makes me want his lips there now. 

“I sure do,” he says, winking at me. 

“Rooster’s gonna have a little chickadee,” Bob coos. 

Everyone groans in unison. Phoenix nudges him, laughing.  

I’m happy--stupidly, vapidly happy.   

I’m alone in the bedroom when Hangman calls later that night.

Bradley is in the kitchen, humming along to the Talking Heads album he turned on, washing the few dishes that have accumulated in the sink the past few days. After our Zoom call, he’d peppered my face with kisses before gathering all the remnants of dinner, nodding towards the bedroom. 

“I’ve got it,” he told me, “go get ready for bed, mama.”

So I had very happily--almost a dizzying kind of happiness--carried myself and olive into the bedroom. I lit candles, discarded my clothing, hummed myself through a warm shower, lathered myself in willow bark-scented lotion, and had just slipped into my pajamas when my phone rang. 

On some level--I knew the call was coming. He was quiet during our Zoom call with everyone, which only dawned on me after we had signed off. After I showed my little bump, that tiny blip, he didn’t say much more. And everyone else was busy placing bets and asking questions--being good friends. I’d let myself get distracted by it, all that sticky sweetness, all that pride.

“Hey, cowboy,” I answer softly, tucking the phone between my shoulder and ear as I sit on the end of the bed, “figured you’d call.”

He’s quiet on the other end for a moment--there’s ice clinking, liquid pouring. I think I’m on speaker, can hear my voice echoing in whatever bare-bones kitchen he’s in right now. 

“Ain’t you a smart cookie?”

He sounds tired--flat. But his voice is also thick with Texas, dripping Southern affect. I’m imagining him raking a hand over his face, palm flat against his stubble.

I think about walking him to his rental truck after my wedding--when I’d been so blinded by glee that I forgot all about him, forgot all about the night before when he’d admitted to being in love with me. It happened again--I am so happy, so content, so immersed in my domesticity with Bradley that I’ve forgotten about Jake, about the swell in his heart, about his lingering gaze. 

“So I’ve been told,” I say quietly.

Guilt tickles the tips of my fingers, hot as an open flame. 

“You happy?”

Of course he cuts to the chase.

“You always ask,” I start softly, “and I always give the same answer, don’t I?”

What I really mean is: of course I’m happy.

He is always asking questions that he does not want to know the answer to, always pushing me just a little bit further, always bringing himself to the edge. 

He grunts--it’s a harsh noise, a bitter noise.

“You’re right,” he says pointedly, “guess we’re just chasing our own tails here, huh, sugar plum? Creatures of habit or whatever the fuckin’ phrase is.” 

This nickname of mine--he does not say it with affection. It is less of a term of endearment now and more of a passive aggressive title. It’s like when a Southern woman says Oh, bless your heart! which really means: Did someone drop you on your head as an infant? 

The skin on the back of my neck prickles.

“Is that what you think,” I murmur, “you think we’re just going in circles?”

He sighs--long and deep. There’s the sound of ice clinking, then swallowing. I know he’s taken a big drink--one that is probably making his pulse quicken, making his chest warm. 

“‘Course that’s what I think,” he says, “don’t you?”

No. No, I don’t. But I don’t say anything. I just let us sit in a moment of silence. 

It’s less than a minute later when he speaks again.  

“D’you really think it’s gonna be enough?”

My saliva feels thick. 

The sink is still running in the kitchen, the record is still turning, Bradley is still humming along. Jake seems to have a strange sense for this--always calling me when I’m alone somehow, out of earshot.  

“What?”

He sighs again--another harsh sound, his voice pitched like he’s annoyed with me.

There’s a staticky kind of shuffling--I think he’s picking up his phone, pressing it against his face, moving through that stale kitchen to his living room, settling on his couch with another glass of bourbon. I adjust, too--leaning back on my palms, stretching so my belly is not squished, carefully rubbing my thumbs along the duvet.

I am going to make him say it--I am going to wait for him to fire this loaded gun, wait for that buckshot to slice through me and explode my skin. I’m not going to make this easier on him, not going to take his hand and guide him through this conversation. I have no more olive branches to extend--not right now, no.  

“Staying home with a baby, fixing Bradshaw a martini when he gets home from work, prancing around that big ole house in some fuckin’ apron,” he says finally, “you really think that’s gonna be enough for you?” 

Oh--there it is. And I know, can hear it clearly now, that he is a couple glasses of bourbon in. Maybe if this was any other night, he would have called just to ask me about my day, sounding like the Southern gentleman I know he really is. But no--now he’s upset, bitter.

And these words he’s saying--God, they’re not true. They’re fucking hurtful, sizzling across his lips like a stubby, lit cigarette. This vision of me--wearing a frilly white apron and fixing Bradley a drink after his 9-5 and having a baby on my hip as I vacuum in heels and always having some ridiculous hunk of meat in my trusty crockpot--it is fictitious. It isn’t me, of course it isn’t me, of course it won’t be me. But it’s what I’m afraid people will think of me when I tell them that I’m staying home to be a mother. It is the version of myself that I am afraid to become--so blinded by the labor of love, so consumed with the very notion of motherhood that I just bend over and give in. 

I realize, with the vein across my nose throbbing profusely, that my fingers were stiff with cold before announcing my departure from the Navy not because of everyone’s reaction--but because of Jake’s reaction. Subconsciously, I knew--knew that he would be the one to challenge me, to judge me. I knew that he would be the one to zero in on my insecurities, honing in on those little wounds sprinkling my chest, jamming a finger into my bullet hole. 

It’s happening right now and I’m trying to catch my breath, gripping the duvet.  

“Jake,” I say in warning--but my voice is thin, crumbling. 

“It’s like, you’re this Goddamn force of nature,” he rambles, voice hard, “and you fight tooth and nail to get to where you are, right? And then you just decided--oh, never mind, no thanks! You’re done with the Navy as soon as you become someone’s wife, huh? That’s what it’s like, sugar plum?” 

It feels like he’s lashing me with a cable, like he’s bringing his arm up and swinging it with a fervor I’ve never known him to possess--it’s stinging my skin, burning my lungs. I feel like there will be red welts all over my body after this conversation, like he’s bruising me already. 

He’s punishing me. He’s done it before and he’s doing it now.

I can’t even say anything--my mouth is dry, my throat is empty.

“You marry Bradshaw and suddenly you’re not even you anymore, you’re just his wife,” he spits, “and that’s what it’s like, right? Y’get married and you don’t even care about being your own person anymore. Sellin’ your house that you renovated, movin’ to another state into his childhood home, leavin’ your career, shit--losing your rank, Faye! To just-just be a wife? Really? That’s it for you? Party’s over, everyone can go on home now?”

 He doesn’t think I’m me anymore--it sends a chill down my spine, one that settles in a cold heap in my thighs. 

“I’m still me,” I say softly, but it falls on deaf ears.

He continues without pause. 

“And now you’re just gonna be someone’s mama and that’s it,” he muses angrily, “you’re just gonna be barefoot and pregnant in Virginia and everythin’s gonna be sunshine and rainbows, right?”

My tongue is thick with anger. I’m trying very hard to keep my heartbeat steady, trying very hard to blink away the salt in my eyes, trying very hard to unfurrow my brow. 

But his words--God, they’re eating me. I can feel myself growing smaller and smaller.

“You know,” I start, a little louder now, “is this what you said to Rooster when he took his instructor position, Jake?”

Jake scoffs on the other end. 

“Don’t even try and pull the fuckin’ feminism card right now,” he says, “you know damn well it ain’t like that, Faye.”

Right--because he’s such a purveyor of women’s rights. 

 “Okay,” I say calmly, trying to collect myself, trying to erase the flush in my face, “then what’s it like?”

“S’like--God, s’like this is it for you? Really?”

A tear rolls down my cheek--I don’t move to wipe it, can hardly speak without my voice quivering. Fuck.  

“I’m not fucking dying,” I say, “I’m just having a baby.”

“Right--and that’s what you wanted? Or that’s what he wanted?”

Sometimes he gets like this when he’s drunk. I know that he and Rooster have a tumultuous relationship, have had their issues for a long time. But after the uranium detachment, things have been much smoother--rarely does Jake speak ill of Rooster. But if he does, it’s times like this; when he’s drunk and lovesick and bitter and letting his wound fester. 

“Don’t talk about him like that,” I say, voice thick with upset, “you act like you don’t know that I want this, Jake.” 

“How would I know what you want, Faye? How would anyone know?”

I’m not even sure what he means. 

“I told you what I wanted,” I say, sucking in a deep breath, “the first time you ever came to my house--the first time we were ever alone together. I told you exactly what I wanted. I told you I wanted to get married and have kids and buy Goddamn project houses, Jake. Hell, I even told you I didn’t want to be in the Navy forever. Don’t you remember that?”

I’m pleading, really. Pleading for him to still see me as a person and not a wife, a mother. Pleading for him to remember me as his friend--his equal. I don’t want to just be someone’s wife and someone’s mama. I want to be me--Faye. 

“That was a long time ago,” he tries. 

My mouth is dry. 

“Is this what you’d be saying if I was having your baby? Or is this how you feel because I’m not having your baby? I mean, really, Jake. Just see outside of yourself for one second.”

A beat passes. 

“Dunno,” he says, “never stood a chance. Remember?”

He spits it out like it’s a hair in his hamburger, spewing his words through the receiver until I’m sure that my ear is wet.

“You’re punishing me,” I say finally, eyebrows raised, “that’s what this is.” 

“I’m just having a conversation here, sweetheart,” he says, laughing dryly. 

“Listen to yourself,” I murmur, “acting like you don’t know the truth. You’re better than this.”

I mean it, too--I do think he’s better than this. In fact, I think he is above all of this. I know, in my heart and soul, that he is a good man. He knows right from wrong. When it counts, he is always standing on the right side of whatever divide threatens us.

“Well, aren’t you Miss High and Mighty,” he sneers. 

I don’t dignify him with a response for a long moment. 

“We know each other,” I say finally, trying very hard to keep my voice composed and measured, “I know you’re better than this.”  

He’s quiet for a moment. I can hear him swallowing, can hear him swishing the bourbon around in his glass as he blinks with glazed eyes. He’s probably resting his head against his fist now, shaking his head softly. 

“Well,” he sighs, “maybe I don’t know who you are, sweetheart. Maybe I never did.”

White-hot pain radiates across my chest, chokes me, wraps its fingers around my jaw and pulls my face towards my belly. There it is--that little physical reminder that I am going to be someone’s mama soon. And maybe that will officially mark the end of my friendship with Jake because he can’t stand for me to be just be someone’s mama. 

“And maybe you don’t know me either,” he continues after a beat, “if you’re so gung-ho about me being above all of this.”

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, unable to stop myself, “I thought we were fine, Jake.” 

He swallows harshly, sighing into the receiver. 

“Don’t think we’ve ever been on the same page about us, sugar plum,” Jake says dryly.

“You’re just being cruel now,” I tell him, my voice quiet, “and I think you should hang up before you say something you can’t come back from.” 

He scoffs. 

“So’re you,” he answers bitterly, “beggin’ me to be your friend, beggin’ me to stick around and watch you love him, flauntin’ your bump on camera with that fuckin’ grin. You know damn well that you’re bein’ cruel to me, sugar plum.”

Begging. He thinks that I begged him to be my friend. I never knew that I had to beg him--I thought it’s what he wanted, too. I thought he wanted this friendship.

He hasn’t ever spoken to me like this before--I’ve never even heard him this angry before. I know he’s drunk. I know he’s not thinking straight. But I’m not drunk. I’m sober and I’m married and I’m pregnant and he isn’t allowed to talk to me like this. He can’t keep sulking around and licking the wounds he thinks my choices have torn into his flesh. It’s not fair to me--it’s not fair to Bradley. It’s not fair to Jake either.

But there’s a softness in my chest for him--one that is bigger than the bitterness and the anger in my belly and numbing my fingers. He is a good man and he has been a good friend. He came and got me when I was folded into myself with grief. He pinned Carole’s wedding broach on me. He stood at the end of the aisle beside the man I was marrying and didn’t object--even cheered, even celebrated. He listens to my advice and calls me on his bad days. That Jake is in there somewhere, crouching behind whatever beast was on the beach that night of the bonfire, taking cover when his jaw flexes with venom. 

But despite that softness--the frustration simmering at the bottom of my belly suddenly shoots up, flames bursting through my chest and licking my tongue.  

“What is it you think I owe you,” I ask bitterly, “I mean, really--I’d love to know. You want me to pretend to be miserable when you’re around so you feel better about not fucking me? Is that it?”

It’s the first time I’ve sounded angry during this conversation, the first time I’ve boiled over. God, I sound like a mother. I sound like my mother.

He snorts--I can practically feel the blood rushing to his face. He’s riled me up, he’s raised the hair on my heckles and he knows it. He’s not like Bradley--he doesn’t want to diffuse tension, doesn’t want to snuff the fire in my chest. He wants to spit bourbon on it and tend to it all night long. He stokes the flame, keeps it hot. 

He can keep doing this forever--I can’t. 

“Y’know what’s funny about that is maybe we did fuck, but you were too high to remember it.”

My ears are ringing like someone lit a firework right beside my head. I think my vision even tunnels for a moment, too--I think I feel my heart drop down to my belly, can imagine olive scrambling out of the way. I might even throw up, might even faint.

“What?” 

My voice even surprises me--it’s calm, very calm. Lethally calm. Now I really, really sound like my mother. 

Jake scoffs--he’s doubling down.  

“Did I stutter, sweetheart?”

He sucks in a sharp breath.

 Saliva pools under my tongue. 

Now there is just a numbness holding me--a cold, hard numbness.

He’s saying it to hurt me, I know--not saying it because he thinks it might be true. No, he knows exactly what he’s doing right now. 

“You know, I’m sad for you, sugar plum,” he says softly.

And I know right away that this is a different kind of tone he’s taking with me. He sounds less angry, less bitter. God, he sounds like he’s pitying me, like I’m a skittering mouse with my tail caught in a trap. It makes me feel puny. He’s making me feel like a singular fucking molecule right now.

“Stop it,” I say quietly.

But he doesn’t hear me, not when he’s taking a long swig of bourbon. He sucks his teeth before continuing--I think I can even hear him shrugging, tilting his chin. 

He’s going in for the kill.

“Couldn’t wait to throw in the towel. So desperate to belong to somebody,” he says, “fillin’ yourself up anyway you can, huh? Ain’t that the human condition.”

He doesn’t just mean now that I’m married and having a baby. He means before, too--whenever I was filling myself up the only way I knew how, whenever I was shattered and mumbling along. And there’s a passment of judgment there, too--talking about my addiction, talking about all the people that fucked me before I got sober. 

This is another moment that I wish Maggie was here. She was ferocious enough to rip him to shreds, ferocious enough to make him retreat with his tail tucked between his legs. But I am not. I’m just not. And more than anything--right now I feel like I’m a slowly deflating balloon, releasing stolen breaths into the atmosphere with fallen vigor.

He got the kill. I’m maimed.    

“I hope you feel better now that you’ve gotten that off your chest,” I say, cheeks hot and chest achingly hollow, “it must’ve been exhausting carrying that around, huh?”

I don’t know where we’re supposed to go from here. 

He sighs. 

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” he answers.

It’s quiet now. I’m crying in that silent way of mine, chewing on my bottom lip.

I think I can feel it--the scab forming over my soft spot for him, my skin healing and hardening. I will have a new callous over my heart, one in the shape of Jake. It’s for the best, I think--should’ve happened a long time ago.   

“Jake,” I say softly, cupping my belly as if it will shield olive of this venom on between my teeth, “fuck you.”

I’m calm when I say it--won’t let my heart rate rise right now, not with olive, not over Jake, not over something as consequential as our relationship.  

He’s surprised--I can hear the gasp that catches in his throat, that little stutter of air. I’ve never spoken to him so brazenly before. I have never been anything but graceful and kind to him. And what was it all for? For it to be thrown right back in my face every time a major life event surfaces? To be strung along and punished forever? 

He can hear the tears in my voice--I know he can. I’m reeling, really--can’t stop the pitch in my throat. My ears are ringing, my palms are itching, my belly is aching, my temple is throbbing. I’m sure he hears all of it, even from North Carolina.  

He groans softly. I think he’s pushed himself up from his couch, think he’s pressing his hands against his eyes, think he’s registering all the words he’s said to me. There’s a long beat, some shuffling. I imagine that he’s sitting at the end of his bed now, just like me, a paleness holding his face as his ceiling fan churns warm air around the bedroom.  

“Didn’t mean it,” he finally says, voice soft, “you know I didn’t mean it.”

“Sure you did,” I whisper, “I’m sure you meant all of it, actually.”

I can hear his jaw tensing. It’s all dawning on him now, like someone flipped a switch and he’s heading towards achingly sober, achingly sorry. 

“I’m an ass,” he tries, voice tight. 

He says this because he cannot argue with me. He knows better than to bullshit me. And he says it because he is bad at saying that he’s sorry--he’s expecting me to read between the lines, to understand that he is sorry even if he can’t say it. 

But no--no more olive branches. Not now. Not tonight. I have nothing to give him right now. He has shredded every branch I’ve given him and used the remnants to pick his perfect fucking teeth.

I don’t even know why I’m still on the phone with him. I should be asleep already. I should be in the kitchen with Bradley. I should be rubbing coconut oil on my belly. I should be doing anything else in the world other than stay on this phone call and be insulted by him. 

“Call me an ass,” he tries, “or a dick, or a piece of shit, or a motherfucker, or a son of a bitch. Call me whatever you want, okay?”

“I don’t want to call you anything,” I say, shaking my head. 

He groans--sounding more desperate, more sober. 

“C’mon,” he says, “do it. Insult me, Faye. Please.” 

He thinks this is what he deserves. I do not--I couldn’t call him a name, wouldn’t call him a name. And it’s because I’m a truth-teller, too. He isn’t any of those things, not really. He’s just hurt, which is less of an excuse and more a part of his anthropology. He says shitty things when he’s angry, when he drinks--but he isn’t a shitty person. Not a dick or an asshole or a son of a bitch. Not really, no.  

“No,” I tell him.

He sighs like he’s losing his resolve, like he’s deteriorating, crumbling.

“You know I get like this when I drink,” he mumbles, a half-hearted attempt at excusing his behavior, “I’m an asshole when I drink.”

I say nothing. Bradley is still humming in the kitchen.

“Say somethin’,” he pleads, “c’mon. Tell me to fuck off. Say fuck you again.”

I don’t. Can’t.  

“Shit, sweetheart,” he sighs, “really dug myself deep this time, didn’t I?”

I think he knows how good he is at hurting people--he can pinpoint someone’s weakness across ten acres of sprawling land, trailing the scent of their open wound like some sort of predator. I think for others to cry around him, it’s like chumming the waters--inviting him in for the kill, effectively diminishing one’s self to prey. 

It’s different with me, I know--which is why he’s suddenly soft. 

This is usually where I’ll take his hand, lead him into forgiveness, guide him to my good graces. But I can’t do that right now. I can’t keep nudging him in the right direction. If not because he needs to understand the brevity of his words, then because I know--deep down--everything he said to me is the unadulterated way he feels.  

“Yes,” I answer quietly. 

I don’t know what else to say to him.

“Isn’t this when you tell me to sober up and call back tomorrow?”

“Usually,” I respond. 

But not this time. 

He swallows hard--I can practically see his Adam’s apple bobbing.

I can’t be caught doe-eyed in his venomous gaze again. Maybe this is the circle he was talking about before; maybe we are just dogs chasing our own tails, creatures of habit. Maybe it’s best if I sever the tail all together.

“Faye,” he tries, “please don’t leave it like this.”

I don’t owe him anything--not even a response.

He is still so uncomfortable with silence--still gets fidgety and twitchy, can’t stop the turning of his belly or the shake in his leg when it’s this quiet. 

“I didn’t mean it,” he says, “you know I didn’t mean it. C’mon, you know me.”

What a change of heart he’s suddenly had.

I clear my throat, sniffling.   

“Don’t call me,” I say finally, “okay?” 

“Faye,” he sighs dejectedly, “fuck.”

Yeah. Fuck is right.

I know he feels it--this new thing between us. Whatever docile agreement we had before, which we locked into place the day of my wedding in my bedroom, he has shredded it. It is gone and now we are back to before--unsure how to regard each other, uncomfortable with separation and with closeness.

“Rip me a new one,” he all but groans, “c’mon, sugar plum. Faye, just tell me what to do. I’m sorry--okay? I really am sorry. It’s just--fuck, it’s so…”

He is no doubt raking his hands through his hair now, squeezing his eyes shut.

I say nothing again. 

“Faye?” He finally tries, voice hollow.  

“Goodnight, Jake,” I breathe. 

I don’t wait for him to say anything back--I end the call right after his name leaves my lips, right before a decrepit sob tears from my throat. I can’t help it, really--can’t help that I have to hold my face in my hands as I bawl, can’t help that my throat is aching from holding back my emotion for our entire conversation. 

It’s the hormones. Everything makes me cry these days. 

But really, I know the truth. I know that it is because of that weak spot Jake catapulted himself into, that purple bruise he pressed his thumb against--unrelenting even when I winced. I know that it’s because of those words that wrapped themselves around me like coiled rope, pulling tighter and tighter until I combusted. And there’s no taking it back--everything he said, every word he uttered so bitterly. They’re just going to live here now.

Fuck--we were friends, I thought. Good friends. The kind of friends that could skirt around petty feelings and past rejections and just fall into place beside each other. But now we’re here. We’re here and he is making me cry the day I announce my pregnancy to our friends and he made me cry the night before my wedding, too. And he didn’t say it explicitly, but he made me feel like a druggie and a whore--which are words I don’t even believe in, words I vehemently exclude from my vocabulary. But those are the right words for the way he made me feel. Yes, that’s what I feel like now--that kind of dirty that is inside and outside.  

I don’t even hear Bradley turn the record off after drying his hands on a dish towel, the kitchen sink empty and free of stains. I don’t hear him coax Stevie off her ottoman and down the hall. I don’t hear him open the door. 

But he’s here now, right in front of me, his fingers wrapped around my wrists. I can feel his warmth, that sweet comforting warmth, as he crouches before me and softly says my name, thumbs soothingly rubbing my wrists. 

“What’s going on?” He asks softly, “are you okay? Are you hurt, baby?”

I pull my hands away from my face, shaking my head. 

God, he looks beautiful. He’s wearing an old sweatshirt and a pair of shorts, oozing a sort of casualness that I crave with him. His eyebrows are knit and his hair is soft and clean, shining in the low light. His eyes are swimming--maybe even glassy themselves. He moves his hold from my wrists to my cheeks, cupping my face with a softness no one has ever possessed with me before. 

He’s examining me despite the shake of my head, eyes drifting from my runny nose to my bloodshot eyes. He moves my head between his hands, angling my chin this way and that so he can give me a once-over. Then his hands fall to my belly--he holds me securely, straining to feel something that he can’t yet. 

“I’m not hurt,” I tell him, unable to stop the quiver in my voice, “olive’s fine, I’m fine.”

He isn’t relieved--he doesn’t let go of me, doesn’t move away. Instead, he just reaches up and thumbs some tears from under my eyes. And before I can stop him, he swipes his thumb under my nose, too. 

“Oh, baby,” I complain softly, “don’t.”

He’s very serious about it, though. It is just something he does, not a hint of a teasing smile or even a grimace on his face. It is just in his nature to do it--wipe the tears from my cheeks and the snot from my nose. It’s all the same to him. 

“What’s going on, baby?” 

He murmurs this quietly--careful not to push me. 

I could try and lie to him--tell him that everything makes me cry and that I’m just emotional these days and that I’m being ridiculous. But he would know immediately. More than that, though, wouldn’t I be diminishing myself the way Jake diminished me if I lied? Wouldn’t I be morphing myself into that nameless, faceless beast if I shrugged my valid emotions off for petty tears? 

“Jake called,” I say, sighing, “he was not sober. And he was not very nice.”

 He grunts softly, nodding. Then he reaches up again and thumbs the snot from my nose more thoroughly, ignoring the wrinkle in my nose and holding me still with a pat against olive. Stay put. I’ve got you. If I was in a better mood, if I was not crying, if I had not just been so deeply wounded--I would tease him about what a dad he’s already becoming. Human tissue.  

“What’d he say?”

There’s not even the hint of bitterness in his tone. It is all honesty and sincerity as he stares up at me, softly rubbing the skin of my belly. I could cry all over again just because of the way he’s looking at me, just because of the honey-hue of his eyes. 

Y’know what’s funny about that is maybe we did fuck, but you were too high to remember it.

“Shitty things,” I answer, “don’t know if I have it in me to repeat them right now.”

My lip trembles just at the prospect.  

“You don’t have to repeat them,” he says softly, tucking my wet hair behind my ears, “just give me the word if you want me to say something to him. I will--you know that I will, baby.”

I know that he will. Even if it’s uncomfortable, I know he will. And I know the conversation would be a lot of Bradley talking, using that harsh tone he uses with his students, and a lot of Jake silently nodding along like a chastised child. What good would that do me? It would make Bradley feel better to punish Jake on my behalf, sure. And maybe it would even make Jake feel better to be called out. But wouldn’t it prove his point, too? He thinks I’m not a person anymore, but a wife and mother. Must I send my husband to defend whatever honor he thinks I have? 

“No, no,” I whisper, “you don’t have to get involved. I told him to stop calling for a while.”

He’s surprised--his eyes widen, his mouth parts slightly. Because he knows how close we are--knows that we have certain things we call each other for, knows how devoted Jake is to me most of the time. He knows that I can’t help but forgive, forgive, forgive. So he must understand, especially as the love of my life, the brevity of what Jake did if I told him to take a step back. 

“You did?” He asks softly, eyebrows raised. 

I nod, biting my lip. I’m going to cry again if I speak.  

“Not an easy choice.”

I nod again. 

“Baby, are you sure you don’t want me to talk to him?”

I know that it will make things worse if I tell Bradley what Jake said to me. There will be no chance of reconciliation if I tattle, if I bring the others in on this conversation. Then things would feel pointless--people would take sides, our friend group would be divided, people would get vicious. There is no point in telling anyone else what he said to me--and besides, it makes my chest ache to think about repeating his words. I hate that it embarrasses me, hate that I’m truly gripping onto the fear that what he said is true or will be true soon. 

Fuck.

Bradley is nothing if not protective--especially now, right now. I’m not sure Bradley would ever forgive Jake if I told him what he said, either. I’m not sure I’ll ever even forgive Jake for what he said, which is a revelation that spreads goosebumps down my arms. 

Fuck, fuck. 

“I’m totally sure,” I tell him, “I think I got my point across.”

“How’d you do that?” He asks, a lightness invading his tone as he draws little shapes over my bump. 

“You won’t believe me,” I murmur. 

He bites a smile. 

“Try me,” he says softly. 

I inhale--inflate my lungs, try to keep my heart steady for olive’s sake. 

“Jake, fuck you,” I repeat, biting my lip, “that’s what I said to him.”

He does believe me--I know that he does, even though his mouth is ajar and his jaw is slack. He believes me entirely and I think it scares him suddenly--it must be dawning on him all over again how south our conversation must’ve gone for me to resort to that. 

“Baby,” he starts softly, “I know you don’t need me to be your bodyguard or anything, but I feel like maybe there’s a conversation I should be having with him.”

“No,” I say, throat warm, “it’s fine.”

“You’re my wife,” he says softly, “and you’re carrying my baby. More than that, you’re my best friend, okay? I don’t wanna let shit slide, baby, not if it hurts your feelings enough to say what you did.”

Swallowing hard, I shift closer to him, hold his hands tighter. 

“Trust me,” I whisper, “trust me, baby.”

He releases a bated breath, shaking his head softly. 

“You’re sure?”

He’s looking up at me, searching my eyes, my cheeks, my nose. I put my hands on his cheeks, carefully lean down and press a kiss to his mouth, nuzzling my nose against his. 

“Thank you, anyway,” I tell him, “you take such good care of me.”

He kisses me once, twice. Sighs against my lips, rubs my belly.

“Hate it when you cry,” he says softly, frowning. 

I make a show of wiping my face free of tears that he’s missed, pinching my cheeks to bring a blush back to the, sniffling hard, wiping any mascara from under my eyes with my shirtsleeve. He watches me, shaking his head, biting his lip. 

“There,” I whisper, “no crying in the Navy, right?”

“Oh, you’re real cute,” he tells me, squeezing my cheek as he chews his lip, “aren’t you?”

I’m biting my lip, too--trying to lessen this pit in my belly, trying to swallow this lump in my throat, trying to calm myself enough to breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth. It’s easier to do when he’s looking up at me, holding me close, holding me down. 

“Isn’t that why you married me?”

Now he beams at me. I know he feels better about my tears, about what Jake said to me, now that I’m teasing him. 

“Yes,” he hums, “among other reasons.”

“Like…” I prompt. 

He’s humming now. I’m sure it made his heart race--walking into our bedroom after a peaceful night, seeing me on the edge of the bed with my hands over my wet face, my shoulders shaking as I sobbed. Maybe he thought the worst--maybe he thought I was bleeding or cramping or that I’d gotten a terrible phone call. But he’s okay now because I’m okay now, softly brushing his hair away from his face. 

“Well, you’re quite the dancer,” he lists, “and you can hold your tequila, too. I like that in a lady.” 

He pats my belly--a silent acknowledgment between the two of us. No tequila--not these days.

“You always smell good. You’re the kind of person that would shut down traffic to help a turtle cross the road. And you have great taste in music,” he continues, “not to mention--you’re smokin’ hot, baby. Fictitiously hot. Sacrilegious-ly hot.”

I laugh.  

He grins--reaches up to pinch my cheek. I lean into his touch, craving that warm pit of his palm against my salty skin. 

“There’s my pretty girl,” he whispers affectionately, “my pretty, snotty girl.”

I laugh, my voice still thin and teary. He’s beaming now, pushing my shoulders until I’m laying flat on the covers. He’s hovering over me, standing between my knees as my legs dangle off the bed. 

He’s gazing down at me, very soft and fond. 

I know what’s coming next; let my arms drift up and over my head, giving him silent permission. Yes, go ahead, it’s okay. And not a moment later does he softly hook his fingers on the hem of my t-shirt, pulling it up to expose my belly.

“Love this,” he whispers, hands roaming the little peak of skin, “y’look so good growin’ our baby.”

My throat is warm.

He says this often, always looking to press his skin against my skin, always eager to be closer to me and olive. It’s endearing, really--how involved he is, how fervently he wants to be beside the two of us. 

“Thank you,” I whisper back, eyes fluttering shut. 

I’m trying to let go of all thoughts of Jake right now--trying to just feel the bed beneath my back and his hands on my belly. I’m trying to give in, give it all away. 

I’ll be okay. I’m going to be okay right now. I’m me. I’ll keep on being me.

But what if I lose it--my independence, my agency, myself? What if I don’t even feel it dissipating until it is gone entirely? What if one day I’m so busy between diaper changes and breast pumping and grocery shopping and sleep training that I forget to think about myself even once? What if I am so used to scrambling for meals in between naps that I forget how much I like a glass of prosecco at dinnertime? What if I am so busy driving to practices and doctor’s appointments and dance recitals that I forget to brush my own hair or clip my nails? What if I just wake up one day and I don’t have a favorite color or song anymore? What if someone asks me my name one day and I accidentally say, “Mom,” because that’s what I’m being called every single day for the rest of my life?

“Hey,” Bradley whispers, carefully reaching up to soothe the crinkle between my brows, “shhh, baby.”

He’s right. Shhh. I need to let go. I need to move forward. What does Jake know, anyway? I should just lay here and feel his skin and soak in his touch and be adored by my husband and take this one day at a time. 

But I suddenly feel like I need him to say it to me--that I won’t be forgotten the way I’m scared to be. I suddenly feel like I need him to coo, lull me. I want him to confirm it, promise it, swear on it. 

“Bradley,” I start, my voice wavering. 

He’s peppering kisses across my belly, bracketing his arms on either side of my body, humming against my skin as his warm lips leave a trail of blush across my skin. 

“Yes, baby,” he returns quietly.

A beat passes. I swallow, trying to keep my eyes fixed on the ceiling, trying to keep my body pliant and still.  

“I’m scared,” I admit. 

His kisses cease--he stills over me, eyes attaching to the underside of my jaw. 

“Me too,” he admits after a moment. 

That makes the vein across my nose pulse--but it is a good kind of ache, a good kind of pulsing. Good. He’s scared, too--scared of what’s happening now and of what’s coming next and how we are going to do all of it. 

“I don’t want to lose myself,” I say softly, “like, I don’t want our friends to just-just think of me as your wife or olive’s mom. I want to be--well, I just…I want to be me still.”

He makes a noise in acknowledgment, something between a grunt and a hum, holding me tight against him. 

“Nobody thinks you’re just those things, baby,” he says softly. 

When I bite my lip, when my eyes flutter closed, when he can feel the pain pulsing through my chest--he inhales sharply.

He knows--knows without me having to say anything at all--why I’m bringing it up.  

“Oh,” he whispers, “oh, honey.”

Fuck. I am going to weep if I say another word. He knows this, I think--he doesn’t push. Instead, he sighs gently, adjusting his weight on his knees.  

“You know, I don’t know how to be a dad,” he says after a moment, shaking his head, “and that scares me.”

I have to sit up in my elbows, have to look into his brown eyes. So he’s said it now, the confession lingering between his mouth and my bump as he absently strokes it with his left thumb. 

“Bradley,” I whisper, “no one knows how to be a dad before they have a baby.”

He nods, eyes narrowing slightly, but then shrugs. 

“Yeah, but I don’t even really know what it’s like to have a dad, Faye,” he continues, “not the real thing, anyway. And that scares me, too. Because who the Hell am I gonna call when that baby hits their head on the coffee table for the first time? Or when they fall off the monkey bars and bust their lip? Or when they ask me where babies come from?”

I understand. I really, really do. I have a mother to model myself after, have an inkling of what mother’s do and how to be one. But Bradley doesn’t--doesn’t know anything about having a father past the age of two.

But he is not alone--will never be alone. 

“Me,” I answer, “you’re gonna call me. And I’ll tell you to check them for a concussion and we’ll put those horrible bumpers on the coffee table. I’ll tell you to ice their lip and put some Neosporin on it. And we’ll tell them that babies come from an itty bitty seed and grow in backyard gardens, okay? And I’m certain that won’t ever backfire on us.”

He laughs--it’s a soft, dry laugh. But I know that it makes him feel a little bit better, makes him ache for more. So that is what I give him. 

“I think that you’re gonna hold this baby for the first time,” I start softly, putting my hands over his, “and it’s just gonna click into place, okay?”

He bites his lip, shrugging very softly. 

“And if it doesn’t?” He asks quietly, his voice thin. 

I hum, shaking my head.

“It will,” I assure him, “I’ll see to it, okay?”

It’s enough for right now. He nods softly, chewing on his bottom lip again. 

Then he sighs, pressing a final kiss to my belly, before climbing in bed beside me. He’s warm, solid--pulling my shirt back down over my belly and hooking an arm around me to pull my legs up on the bed. He comes behind me, molds his body against mine, burying his nose in my hair and securing his arm over my waist. 

We lay together in silence for a little while, the room perfumed with salt and maple. He’s gently stroking my belly, like he always is, and I’m mirroring every breath that he takes. I imagine olive matching their breaths with us, too--inhaling and exhaling in complete tandem. The three of us are here, lying in bed, molding together. 

“Baby,” he starts, chest vibrating against my back, “you’re larger than life. Nobody could box you in if they tried.”

But I have been boxed in before--since birth, really. I was born one half of a whole; the quieter, meeker, gentler one. And then after the fact, I was the girl with a dead sister. It almost makes my head spin to think about, an overwhelming kind of pressure against my skull: have I ever really been just Faye outside of what I have with Bradley? 

“I feel like they already have sometimes,” I whisper. 

He nods, sighing. 

“And by they, you mean Jake,” he says. 

I just nod.

Silence holds us for a few minutes. I know he’s trying to think of what to say next, how to comfort me.  

“I’ll make you a promise,” he whispers, “you’ll always be Faye first, okay? I won’t forget that. I won’t let other people forget that.”

Faye first. I’ll always be Faye first to him. 

“So, you won’t buy me a set of pots and pans for my birthday,” I ask quietly, “or a vacuum cleaner?”

He laughs--it makes me smile. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says. 

He kisses my head, his breaths warm, his grip tight. 

“No one’s gonna forget you, Faye,” he reiterates because he knows that I need to hear it again, “you’re always gonna be you. S’long as I’m here, I’ll see to it. That’s a promise, now, baby.”

My heart swells in my chest. 

“You sound like Maggie,” I tell him, which is true.

She protected me so vehemently, ready to brawl at the drop of a dime. She gave me a sense of self, grounded me, reminded me exactly who I was and precisely who I was not. Maybe that is why I feel it might be easy for me to fade into the background--because as much as I am sad that my baby will not have an Aunt Maggie, I will not have my sister here when I become a mother. My sister will not be here, the one who knew me before anyone else, the one that would always know me so thoroughly. She won’t be here to hold my head above water when the waves grow ten feet tall and threaten to swallow me, when sand whips across my belly and covers my throat, when I lose my footing. 

But he sounds like her right now. And for just a moment, as he quietly hums behind me and holds me close, I wonder if she is still using handsome men as her hosts. I wonder if she’s telling him what to say, how to fill that little hole in my heart, how to push me towards a revelation. 

What I wouldn’t give for her to lay quietly behind me, holding me the way she used to when we were still little enough to share a bed, and listen to her dream. What I wouldn’t give for even just one more moment with her on this earth with me--even if I could only see her across a crowded room. Just to even know that she is there and alive--it would be enough for me. 

Maybe it’s because he’s not saying anything right now, or maybe it’s because I am tired and I’m confused and I feel like I have lost a friend, but I let myself do it: I close my eyes and I take a deep breath and then I imagine that it’s my sister holding me right now. I keep my eyes closed, can’t catch a glimpse of his broad hand or tan arm and let this facade crumble. I have to keep still and keep quiet, keep her here, keep her close, let her hold me. Even if her time here is fleeting, measured, numbered.

“Miss you,” I squeak finally. 

It isn’t loud enough for anyone to hear.

Stay. Hold me. I’ll be quiet. 

I don’t know that I’ve fallen asleep until movement wakes me up.

I’m beneath the covers now, my cheek pressed into the middle of my pillow, and all the lights are off. The candles have been blown out, too--dammit. I still like to sleep with them lit when I can get away with it. 

Bradley is carefully settling in beside me, holding his breath, willing his body to be smaller as he tucks himself in. He’s just wearing his briefs now, his body a solid plane of muscle and skin and beauty shimmering in the moonlight streaming in through the window.

I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep, but my eyes are heavy and my chest feels hot. 

“Baby,” I whisper. 

Bradley hums, tangling his legs in mine, meeting my tired eyes. 

“M’sorry, mama,” he whispers, “tried not to wake you.”

I shake my head. I’m dizzy almost--dizzy from feeling so close to Maggie one moment than suddenly waking up in bed with Bradley beside me the next. 

“S’fine,” I breathe, “sorry I fell asleep.”

His eyes are swimming with softness. He just furrows his brows, shakes his head. Nothing to be sorry for. 

“You’re growin’ my baby,” he tells me, pressing his lips to my forehead, “you can sleep whenever you want.”

I laugh quietly, moving closer to him, pressing myself against his chest. 

“Thanks for permission,” I tease. 

He chuckles, nuzzling his nose in my hair. 

“How ‘bout this,” he starts lowly, “I’ll give you whatever you want, baby.”

That’s a good deal. 

 “Trying to get into my pants or something, Bradshaw?”

 His gaze flickers to mine--there’s a playful glint in his eyes, one that makes my pulse quicken. Beneath the tangle of sheets around our entwined bodies, his hand drifts across my navel to the band of my shorts. 

“And if I am?”

I bite my lip hard, shrugging. 

“I’d say that you don’t have to try so hard,” I whisper, “and to get on with it then.”

July 23rd, 2021

It’s bitter sweet, really. We all know that it is even though nobody has said it aloud yet. We’re all very carefully dancing around voicing it, this sad-and-happy thing between all of us, because a fragile peace has found all of us here this evening at The Hard Deck. 

We’re sitting outside now--which we very rarely did before. And I wish that we had capitalized more on this area because it is perfect out here. The sky is painted a most exuberant shade of pink, casting a blush over everyone’s smiling face. The sun, a burning orange thing, is sinking into the ocean mightily. And the waves are reaching up to meet the sun, blue and salty, before they race towards the shimmering seashells nestled in the sand. There are seagulls calling in the distance, their song morose and impaling. Besides the birds and the low conversation within our group and the ruckus from inside the bar and the crashing waves, the only other sound is the music playing lowly on Coyote’s speaker.

Lisa Sawyer by Leon Bridges is playing now.  

It was hot today, unreasonably hot, but it feels good now--the sand has cooled, the air has chilled, and the sun has dimmed. Even as I rake my fingers absently through the sand, slowly sifting it, the grains grow freezing the deeper I press. 

Somehow, between the chaos of ordering drinks and queuing songs and fielding old coworkers, we have all ended up in a half-circle in the sand; we’re facing the ocean, watching the sunset, everyone’s shoes lazily tossed into a pile by the picnic tables. There’s a bottle or glass half-buried in the sand beside everyone’s knees which are swigged carelessly and frequently between silence and sound.

I am sitting in between Bradley and Bob, the way I like it, and they’re both close enough to me that I can smell Bob’s soft scent retreating beneath the assault of Bradley’s sharp one. I’m reclining with my palms behind me, my legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles. Bradley is mirroring me, except his ankles are not hooked and his right hand is planted in the sand behind me so that I can brace some of my weight against his arm. Bob is sitting cross-legged, drawing his name in the sand before swiping it clean a moment later then beginning again. Phoenix is nestled beside Bob, her face tipped toward the fading sky and her expression slacked with peace. Beside Phoenix is Payback, who’s lying on his belly with his cheek resting on his clasped hands. Fanboy is beside him, sitting cross-legged and looking out over the beach with an appeared sense of wonder. Jake is seated beside him, legs outstretched before him and wide open, mouth stained with a permanent sort of flatness. And at the end is Coyote, who’s reclining on his side, propped up on his elbow.

We’ve been here for a few hours now--everyone is a few drinks in, growing smiley and giggly as the air grows more pleasant and calm. I’ve already had to wade through the khaki crowd to pee five times, dutifully wiping the sand off my legs beside a tipsy and blushing Phoenix before entering the bar. Even as pregnant as I am and as frequently as that makes me have to pee, even as drunk as Phoenix is, she has never let me go to the bathroom alone tonight. It’s that Maggie streak in her--unspokenly sticking by me, keeping me close, keeping me safe.

“So, who’s sleeping in the nursery?”

I’m smiling when I ask, the wind tickling the hair that frames my face, the sun warming my sand-covered toes. Bradley grunts in agreement, looking out across our group of friends with a raised eyebrow and grin. 

Bob takes a swig of beer and then shrugs, wiping his sandy finger against his leg. 

“I figured it would be first come, first served,” he explains. 

Phoenix nods from beside him, not opening her eyes, just humming along with her WSO. 

“Says the one getting there two days before everyone else,” Coyote laughs. 

Bob shrugs. 

“If you ain’t first,” Phoenix starts, sporting a faux-Southern accent. 

“You’re last,” Bob finishes, just as lewdly faux-Southern. 

Payback catches my eyes, exasperation covering his face, little specks of sand pressed into his mustache. 

“You’re not gonna banish them to the nursery for that?”

I shrug, nudging Bob. 

“Bob’s already agreed to diaper duty,” I say as Bob proudly nods, pushing his glasses up his nose, “and Phoenix agreed to make the green bean casserole. As far as I’m concerned, they can take our room.”

Payback and Coyote groan, but Bob and Phoenix just smile their lazy smiles. 

“Diaper duty and Thanksgiving sides,” Phoenix laughs, exhaling with a smirk, “it’s like pregnant person kryptonite.”

Fanboy raises his hand. 

“I’ll sleep in the nursery,” he shrugs, “we’ll probably be the last ones in, anyway.”

“Time’s your flight get in?” Bradley asks, taking a sip of beer.

Payback frowns. 

“0200 on the 21st is the best we could do. You know how it is around the holidays.”

There’s a hum of agreement. 

It’s making my heart swell just talking about this. Here we are sitting at The Hard Deck the night before Bradley and I are sent off to Virginia, effectively removing the last of our group from San Diego. It’s the last time we will see each other in person until November, when everyone flies in for Thanksgiving at Chateau Bradshaw. By then, I will have given birth--Bradley and I will be parents officially. It’s a mirage in the distance that is becoming less and less hazy as we approach. 

“I won’t get in until early on the 22nd.”

My heart stutters in my chest, a sudden pang bursting through my temple. I wish it didn’t hurt still, but it does--it does hurt to hear Hangman talk. Even right now, I can’t look at him, even though I know his gaze is fixed on the sand crowding my feet. Maybe it is not as hard for him to look at me as it is for me to look at him--I have felt the burn of his stare a few times today, on my cheek or on my belly. 

We haven’t said much to each other at all since he landed in San Diego just after noon today. Really, we haven’t said much to each other at all since our phone call in May. We remain in the same circle, texting in the same group chats and attending monthly Zoom calls, showing up to the same events. But that is the extent of our interactions right now--which is not for lack of trying on Jake’s part. He called twice the next morning, not bothering to leave voicemails. He called a few more times after that, but quit whenever his messages were left unread and his calls unreturned.   

Bob leans against my arm, not hard enough to move me but not soft enough to be accidental. He’s humming, looking at me from the corner of his glassy eyes, not drawing attention to me. You okay?

I very softly nudge him back. Yeah, I’m okay. 

“Wait,” Fanboy says, eyebrows knit, “isn’t North Carolina closest to Virginia?”

From my peripheral vision, I see Hangman nod. 

“Then why are you getting there later than the rest of us?”

A lull falls over the group. The sky is beginning to fade into the color of a violet. Leon Bridges is still singing but the seagulls have hushed.  

I’m not sure what Fanboy knows--I’m not really sure what anyone knows aside from Bob, Bradley, and Phoenix. And I know that they only know what I’ve told them, which is essentially nothing besides the facts: Hangman hurt my feelings. We’re not on speaking terms. That’s all. But I know right now, with this stiffness in my fingers, that Fanboy must know less than that. 

Hangman doesn’t have an answer--so he just shrugs, doesn’t respond. He doesn’t move his eyes from the sand around my legs, doesn’t say anything more. He just raises his glass to his lips and takes a long drink.  

Fanboy turns to me and Bradley, but I say nothing. I just wash the waves crash against the sand and keep my heartbeat steady for olive. 

Nobody says anything for a moment, a certain stiffness in everyone’s neck. Everyone’s tipsy--but no one’s drunk enough to chip away at whatever strange tension has settled between Jake and I. 

“Feels good out here,” Phoenix finally says, “I miss California heat.”

God, I love her. 

There’s another beat, but it does not feel nearly as oppressive as the first. Bradley presses a wet kiss to my temple, squeezes my wrist. Just a little touch, a little reminder. Everything’s okay.  

“Why haven’t we always done this,” Fanboy starts with a small smile, shaking his head softly, “God, it’s so much better out here. No Top Gun tikes tugging on our sleeves or Coast Guard captains singing. It’s just…quiet.” 

There’s a sort of unanimous hum--yes, everyone agrees with him.

Coyote wrinkles his nose, sucking on his teeth before gesturing to the group with his misty bottle clutched in his hand. 

“Does this mean we’re getting old?” He asks, his gaze sweeping across our group.

This makes me laugh--a quiet, breathy sound. 

“I feel old,” I say, pressing my cheek into the shoulder of my dress.

Bob nudges me, quirking his brow, scoffing. He’s still smiling, though, like he always does whenever he looks at me.  

“You’re the youngest person here,” he argues, chuckling. 

He’s right--even precious Bob has a few months on me. But it doesn’t feel that way to me now. Perhaps it’s because I’m sitting beside my husband here in the sand with my cotton dress straining over my swollen belly and our olive is pressing a hand or elbow against the front of my belly, kicking. Or maybe it is because I have been officially discharged from the Navy, which feels like a feverish dream to me even just after two weeks. Or maybe it is because I’m at an age where my friends fly in to help back up my home--my first home--and send my expanding family off to Virginia, where I know I will give birth to my children and bring them up.  

“Not if you count Natty Lite,” Phoenix says, a mischievous smile gracing her lips as she nods towards my belly.

A short laugh flows through the group. It’s a sound that makes olive twitch.  

“Not sure I’ll forgive you for nicknaming my firstborn after the worst beer ever made,” Bradley sighs, shaking his head with a frown tugging at his lips.  

Phoenix just grins at this.

“Better than Chickadee,” Jake quips, shooting Bob a quick wink. 

Bob sighs in exasperation, throwing his hands up in defense as his glasses fall down his nose. 

“That was one time! And I was emotional. My best friend had just told me she was having a baby! I’m not made of stone! You know what, I think I blacked out, I can’t even remember saying it.”

Jake tuts, wrinkling his nose and shooting another wink at Bob. 

“We remember, Bob,” he says, “don’t worry.” 

Everyone is in stitches now, laughing out loud, laughing until the muscles in their necks are straining and there are tears in the corners of their eyes. Bob is chuckling good-naturedly, narrowing his eyes at everyone and grumbling softly as he shakes his head. Phoenix coos, chewing a grin as she pinches his cheek. 

Olive likes the sound of people laughing--there’s stirring, a fluttering of heels and toes and fingers. I cup my belly--the thin cotton is soft beneath my palm, the heat of my skin pressing against my fingers. My belly is hard to the touch--like my muscles are tense all the time. But I can feel her in there, adjusting, responding to the laughter of these people that will love her very much. 

What’s Going On by Marvin Gaye is playing now. 

“How’s the soccer star,” Bradley whispers, pressing his lips to my temple. 

He leans on my shoulder, nuzzling closer to me, cradling my bump. It still makes me dizzy--his broad hand pressed against my taut skin, cradling the baby we made together. It still makes me blush. 

“Might be a comedian,” I tell him quietly, “really responding to laughter.”

Bradley chuckles, his cheek warm against my shoulder. He’s canvasing my belly now, searching for movement like he always does, pressing his palm into my body.

“Here,” I whisper, guiding his hand to the bottom of my belly where the movement is steady and strong, “right there.”

A content sigh falls from his parted lips when olive presses against his hands. He shakes his head slightly, biting his bottom lip, lovingly stroking my skin--so achingly close to our daughter. It amazes him still--he has not had as much time with her yet, not as much as I’ve had. He’s pleased now, pressing a few kisses to my shoulder as warm beer-scented breath tickles my throat. 

“You feel old, Bradshaw?” Payback asks when the laughter has died down, grinning with his beer bottle set against his bottom lip, “husband, expectant father. And forty’s creeping up on you, man!”

Bradley laughs, giving a final pat to my bump before he returns to his upright position. His bicep presses into my back as he silently gives me permission to rest against him, his neck flexing perfectly in this most golden hour as that melodic sound surrounds us. He’s tipsy Bradley--which means that he is perpetually in a good mood, not that closing in on forty bothers him anyway.  

“Nah,” Bradley answers, “I’m in my prime.”

His sunglasses are low on his nose, brown eyes peering over the top to catch my gaze. He winks with a wet grin, giddy and flirty. I love tipsy Bradley. He is always saying gimme some sugar and suggesting In N Out. He likes to wear his shirts unbuttoned and go barefoot everywhere to be closer to the earth. And he never takes his sunglasses off, even if we’re home watching a movie. 

“Baby Bradshaw raising Hell yet?” Coyote asks. 

As if in response, there’s a swift movement right beneath my palm. It’s private, just between me and olive. But it makes me smile. Great comedic timing, baby. 

“They’ve been sweet so far,” I say softly, “no complaints here. Yet, at least.”

Bradley beams beside me--prideful. 

“Give it time,” Phoenix teases, finishing her beer and then pointing to the bar, “who’s gonna do a drink run with me?”

Jake, Phoenix, and Bradley leave to refill everyone’s drinks, disappearing in the chattering crowd when the door closes behind them. Payback, Fanboy, and Coyote are suddenly immersed in a conversation about sports--shaking their heads and muttering about playoffs and referees. Bob is still sitting beside me quietly, sipping the rest of his beer slowly, watching the sun sink into the ocean. 

“Wanna take a walk with me?” He asks, smiling softly at me. 

His blue eyes are shining now--he’s tipsy, too. Bob is happy when he’s tipsy, just like Bradley. But unlike Bradley, Bob gets sentimental. It’s when he’s tipsy that he recounts stories of Maggie or our days at Temple, choked with emotion, cheeks pink. 

“Of course I do,” I say in a whispered voice, grazing the stubble across his cheek with a careful knuckle, “who could say no to that face?”

Bob is beaming--his pink lips wrapped around pearly whites, his eyes mere slivers, his cheeks round and plush. 

“C’mon,” he says, standing and wiping his hands free of sand before extending a hand to me, “upsy daisy, Faye!”

The sun is almost gone now--a blazing, glorious thing reduced to a half-circle above the glittering water. The wind is billowing very gently, a pleasant breeze carrying the scent of sand and grass and wildflowers.  

We stand with our feet in the water, the waves licking our ankles when the tide rushes in and spraying salt in the direction of our slacked faces. It’s warm--warm like bath water. The sand is thick, our feet sinking when we move. Out here, this far away from the bar, all we can hear is the small sounds of each other breathing and the waves rolling in. 

Bob’s arm is secured around my shoulders, his hand resting peacefully on my bicep. I’m holding him around the waist, thumbing the worn yellow cotton of his Aerosmith t-shirt, careful not to graze his ticklish sides. 

We used to come out here sometimes; me, Maggie, and Bob. We’d get too hot in the bar after dancing, tequila throbbing in our veins and exhaustion thrumming through our muscles after a grueling flight training. So we would meander outside, hooking our shoes on our bent fingers, stumbling to the edge of the water. It would be still for a little bit, each of us catching our breath through giggles and hiccups. Inevitably, Bob would get sentimental and my heart would swell and Maggie would resort to splashing us. 

It feels like a long time ago that we did that. Even if I can count the years one one hand and some change, it feels like it was a lifetime and a half ago. Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four seems so small to me now. We were just little things then--even if we didn’t feel like it. So much of life hadn’t happened to us yet. 

“I really miss you,” Bob says finally, softly bumping his hip into mine. 

He doesn’t look away from the setting sun, but there’s a small smile gracing his lips, a bit of blush on his cheeks. 

“I really miss you, too,” I tell him, “I even miss you right now.”

We laugh. He squeezes my shoulder. 

“Last night in the house,” he says, inhaling and narrowing his eyes at the horizon, “I still can’t believe you’re moving.”

I know. I can’t believe that I’m moving either. I can’t believe that I am about to spend my last night in that sweet little house on Mulberry Street. 

“Me neither,” I say. 

A beat passes. The water pools at our ankles, wetting our skin and giving us salty kisses before retreating. 

“What do you think she’d make of all this?” I ask. 

He doesn’t need me to say her name to know who I’m talking about. He knows instantaneously, like he has been waiting for her to be mentioned.

Bob must be thinking about her, just like I am. How could he not be thinking about her when we are standing at the edge of the ocean, the same one from that time that feels like a lifetime ago, where we used to cool off and sober up? How could he not think about her when the sun is setting so perfectly, casting everything in a gold as deep and rich as her eyes? Everything that is beautiful reminds me of her--I feel this must be true for Bob, too. He will sometimes text me late at night and tell me to look at the moon or send me a picture of a rainbow. We don’t say her name, no, but we both know. It’s that silent language of ours. 

“She wouldn’t want you to move,” he says finally, chewing on his bottom lip, “but that’s only because she loves you so much.”

He’s right. I’ve thought about it, too. She would want me to stay more than anything--and I would stay. Couldn’t leave her behind, not if she was living and breathing and a tangible thing in my life. 

“She’d like Bradley,” he continues, chuckling, “but I think she’d give him a hard time.”

“He’d give it right back, too,” I breathe, chuckling. 

He nods profusely. 

“Oh, yeah,” he says, “big time.”

I lay my head on his shoulder--breathe in that clean smell of his, sigh at the soft cotton beneath my cheek, at his warm skin just beneath it. 

“She’d be excited, you know,” he tells me, “about the baby.”

There is a lump in my throat--a stone in my belly. It hurts very good to hear him confirm this, to know that what I think must be the honest truth of the matter. Yes, she would be excited to be an aunt--she would be all in, totally devoted, googly-eyed after seeing the first sonogram. 

“Yeah,” I breathe, nodding, “yeah, she would.”

A quiet moment passes. He’s stroking my shoulder fervently now and I’m carefully holding his waist, my grip firm but not aggressive.

“Are you okay?”

What a question. 

“Now or in general?” I ask, swallowing the thick saliva clouding my tongue with much effort, trying to sound light and teasing. 

“Both,” he answers. 

He lost her, too--he understands how gaping, how overwhelming a Maggie-shaped hole is. 

“Right now, I’m okay,” I say quietly, “and in general, I’m a little bit of everything. Excited. Nervous. Happy. Sad. It comes and goes.”

He pulls me closer to him, lets his head rest on mine. 

“Are you okay?” I ask him, “I should ask you that more.” 

There’s a sound in his throat--something between a grunt of acknowledgement and a whimper. I don’t have to look up to know that his Adam’s apple is bobbing rapidly as he tries to swallow that lump. 

“I’m always okay,” he says softly, “but I’ll never be as okay as I was before.”

“Me neither,” I whisper, “and she’d hate that.”

We sniffle in unison, laughing dryly. It’s true and we both know it. Maggie would hate so much that we cannot push forward fully--not without her here with us. 

“Do you ever think about something or see something and it just knocks the wind out of you?”

Yes. Yes, all the time. Almost every single day. 

I just nod. 

“I logged into Instagram for the first time since, like, 2015 the other day,” he starts, voice steady but strained, “and I had an unread direct message from her. March 28th, 2015. ‘Bout fainted when I saw the notification.”

A pang of envy thrums across my chest. I wish there was still a message from her that I’d left unread--one I can have now. 

“It was that dress--that black-and-blue or gold-and-white thing--remember that?” Bob laughs, sighing, “she sent it to me and said, and I’m quoting directly here, ‘this is the fucking death of culture, i’ve never hated anything more than this stupid fucking dress! wanna go grab a smoothie?’.”

The envy fades and is instantly replaced with laughter--it makes me laugh out loud, right there as we hold onto each other and watch the sunset and inhale the saltwater. He’s laughing too, shoulders shaking, chest rumbling. 

“Oh, God,” I say, shaking my head, “it’s so her.”

He hums, nodding.

“Your turn,” he prompts. 

I fill my lungs, biting my lip. Olive settles within, adjusting and stretching. I settle a hand there, right where the movement was, and exhale.

What knocks the breath out of my lungs?   

“Every time I remember that she never got to be the age that I am right now,” I tell him softly, “It’s weird to be born with someone and have this, like, understanding that you’re going to live parallel lives. And it’s even weirder when that just stops one day when you’re twenty-four.”

I don’t tell him about the night Jake and I fought, when I was so wounded and desperate for her that I basked in Bradley’s silence and pretended like he was my sister. I don’t tell him that I fell asleep imagining that she was holding me and that I was bewildered when I woke up, entirely disoriented.

Bob doesn’t respond directly to this. Who could respond directly to something as grueling as this confession? It isn’t that he’s tipsy or that he’s uncaring--he’s just smart enough to squeeze me again and digest what I said.

Maybe because he is tipsy, he presses a short kiss to my hair, his yeasty breath warm and soft. Then he lays his cheek down on my head again. 

“Do you think the baby’ll look like her?”

A fist squeezes my heart. 

“I haven’t thought about that,” I admit quietly before pausing, “I really hope they do.”

He doesn’t say anything about the fact that we’re identical twins--he knew the differences between us and didn’t give the time of day to anyone who didn’t. We will both know, when the baby is born, if they look like me or like Maggie. 

“If it’s a girl, are you gonna name her Maggie?”

Bradley and I have spoken about this over lunches and dinners, in between shampoo and cream rinse, or with our mouths full of toothpaste. There are two names that are very important to us, two names we intend to press forward, pass on. 

“It’ll be a middle name,” I say, “we decided to ixnay legacy names. Bit too Wuthering Heights for us. Plus that would mean our first, like, three kids would come pre-named.”

 Bob laughs. We read Wuthering Heights in tandem during undergrad. 

“What names have you thrown around? Besides Robert, of course.”

He bumps my hip again. 

“Nothing’s concrete, but we’ve been talking about Greer for a girl and Merritt for a boy.”

He laughs. 

“Merritt Bradshaw,” he says, “sounds like a politician.”

I gasp softly--he’s right. 

“A crooked politician,” I sigh, shaking my head, “well, there goes Merritt.”

Dusk has taken hold when we wander back over to the group, trudging through the sand together. He’s holding the small of my back protectively, keeping me secure and upright, which makes my throat very warm. 

The noise of our friends crescendo as we approach--laughter and chatter and shouting and gulping and sighing and clinking glass. Everyone’s sitting in the sand still, drunker than they were when we left, but everyone’s posture is more relaxed now. Everyone is looser now, I think.

Olive reacts to the noise instantly--a sweeping motion across my belly, a twitching and pressing. Humming, I press my hand against my belly. 

“Kicking?” Bob asks softly, gaze drifting to my hand. 

I nod. 

“Wanna feel?”

Bob finds my eyes--his lashes bat for a moment in surprise but then he’s nodding, a giddy smile creeping onto his lips. We stop where we are, only a few strides from the rest of the group. He moves to face me now, his breaths dragging nervously across his chest as I grab his left wrist. 

“They were kicking here just a second ago,” I mumble, placing his hand on the top of my belly. 

His touch is very ginger, like he is afraid to press down very hard, like he doesn’t want to be presumptuous. He’s looking at my face still, an anticipatory blush coloring his cheeks, as his lips part. 

It’s still, though, like olive has just closed her eyes and gone to sleep. 

Bob and I wait with bated breath and he keeps his hand very still like he’s afraid to move it. His eyebrows knit slightly when I cover his hand again and nudge his fingers into my skin. 

“Poking them,” I explain, chuckling, “it helps sometimes.”

Bob wrinkles his nose, shaking his head softly. 

There is no movement still, even when Bob pushes down on his own accord, nudging olive. Nothing, though. Not even a stir. 

“They’re shy,” Bob says with a small smile. 

But not a moment later, it happens--right there beneath his palm, there’s that unmistakable movement. That little nestling and wriggling. 

Bob all but gasps, mouth falling open before he brings his other hand to hold against my belly. There is a tremble in his hands--a very slight one, but it is there. He’s nervous. 

“They like your voice,” I tell Bob, nudging his glasses back up his nose as he stares down at his hands over my dress, “say something else.”

Bob thinks for a moment--because of course he does. Sentimental. 

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he says softly. 

Then it happens again--an elbow or knee right there against his palm. 

He’s dithered, laughing in disbelief and throwing wide-eyed glances in the direction of my gaze, beaming as his hands press against me. 

It overwhelms me, really--just how suddenly I want to wrap my arms around him. He’s one of the first people besides Bradley and myself that have felt olive--it feels like he’s one of the first people to ever touch her, even if it is through the thin barrier of my own body. Pride swells up in me, clogging my throat, because how lucky a child they will be to have been touched by someone so thoroughly good and gentle. And how lucky I am to live in a universe where he is my best friend. 

“Faye, I’ve gotta tell you something,” Bob sighs, shaking his head as he carefully presses into another kick, “I-I think I already love them. That’s weird, right?”

That’s when I wrap my arms around him--when I accidentally make him stumble in his step before he wraps his arms around me, too. He is laughing, grinning. He squeezes me--very careful with olive between us--and sighs in contentment. 

 “It’s not weird,” I tell him, voice muffled by his shoulder, “it’s lovely.”

July 24th, 2021

I love this bathroom--I have always loved this bathroom. It’s the bathroom that my father and I tiled together, painstakingly sitting on our knees as grout and spackle splattered across our clothing. It was the last time my father ever did something as my father, the last time he ever came to my home, the last time he ever came to San Diego. This bathroom is the last thing of mine he touched, really. This is the bathroom where I first let Bradley touch me--after we danced at The Hard Deck, after I made sure not to get sand in the Bronco, after Bruce Springsteen played on the ride home. This is where he made me cum for the first time--which is a memory I regard fondly in terms of intimacy instead of gratification. We had sex here for the first time, too--just before we boarded the carrier, just after Admiral Kazansky passed, just after Phoenix and Bob burned in. It was the most human thing we could’ve done--tying ourselves together, attaching our anchors to the other. It was all we could do to get closer, get by, come together. It was the only thing we knew how to do--the only way we knew how to get closer to each other. I got ready for my wedding in this bathroom, standing still and sucking in as Penny buttoned my dress. I held onto Phoenix’s shoulders as Penny helped me step into my heels, all of us blushing and laughing. This is the bathroom I’ve shared with Bradley for two years, where he’s held me in place and rubbed shaving cream against my face as I tried fruitlessly to flee, where I sit on the counter and trim the precious hair of his mustache. It’s where we hurriedly comb our hair on mornings our alarm didn’t go off and where we gargle mouthwash in tandem. We’ve sat in this bath together, heads lulled against each other, mouths parted in short ecstasy as he rocked his hips into mine. 

Really, I think this bathroom has only ever known love--which is silly, an utterly ridiculous notion. But I think it is true--this bathroom that I love has only ever been given love. It chokes me up, waters my eyes, makes my throat ache. But I’m also pregnant; pregnant enough to cry thinking about what rooms in this house have seen.  

Now this bathroom is almost entirely empty. 

The bamboo magazine rack, the clay soap holders, the patterned towels, the wicker hamper, the shampoos and conditioners, the faux plants, the razors, the nail polish, the leather toiletry bags, my willow bark lotion, my perfume bottles, Bradley’s aftershave, my hair brush, his shaving cream--every item that used to be housed in this room is wrapped up in tissue paper, packed away in cardboard boxes, and sitting in the back of a moving truck bound for 78 East Black Willow Lane, Richmond, VA 23219. 

It even smells empty in here--like bleach and grout cleaner, like that terrible citrus-scented disinfectant Bradley uses on everything around the house. Everything is clean now--the emerald tiles, the gleaming white grout, the gold shower head, the porcelain basin. Everything glows cream and gold--everything glows warm in here. 

I’m alone now--kind of. I still haven’t decided if I’m ever really alone with olive here, haven’t made up my mind. This is probably the last time I’ll ever be by myself in this bathroom--our time here is ticking to a permanent end.

But for right now I’m standing with my hips against the sink, the porcelain cool against my aching muscles as it braces itself against my weight. This mirror mounted on the wall, the one I decided to leave behind, doesn’t have a speck of dust or single streak on it. It’s sparkling as I examine it, soaking in the quiet here, the coolness here.

Bob takes mirror cleaning very seriously.

It’s hot outside again today--that insatiable July heat that is cast upon California with an utmost vigor. The sun is high and bright in the sky, sizzling concrete and wilting wildflowers. It’s a heat no pregnant person should be subjected to--a fact that I frequently remind Bradley of when we’re making the short walk from our air conditioned car to the air conditioned doctor’s office or when we’re driving down the 405 with the windows down and the radio up. He is sympathetic to my qualms, pressing cool washrags to the back of my neck or taking me swimming or coming home with ice cream. He’s good like that. 

My belly is bigger today than it was yesterday, I think. I’ve looked pregnant for a while, but today, I think I look more pregnant than ever. There’s an unmistakable, irrefutable swelling that has taken over my belly. I’m probably big enough now that people ask me when I’m due, itching for the invitation to touch my belly, which I very rarely give out. Even though I’ve officially invested in bigger sizes of everything, I cling to worn cotton and elastic waistbands. Even then, my belly swells visibly in everything I wear. Like now, I am wearing the Steely Dan shirt my father left behind years ago--the one Bradley had borrowed when he spent the night for the first time--beneath a pair of true-blue dungarees. But my midsection swells against the worn fabric of this authentic shirt, of this loose denim. 

It makes me giddy--watching my belly expand, seeing olive suck their thumb during sonograms, the days ticking closer and closer to November 21st. It pleases Bradley endlessly each week that passes, marking another successful week in my healthy pregnancy. I am almost never without his touch now, even more so than before--which I didn’t think possible. There’s always a cheek pressed against the highest peak of my belly early in the morning, always a pair of open lips pressed against my belly at the end of the day, always a flat palm rubbing soothing circles when the opportunity arises. 

I cup my belly, watching my hands move across the denim in the mirror. I’m more round today, too, I think. And my belly is bigger--really, I feel like it is. Maybe it is even slightly heavier, too. I can’t be sure, though--the scale is already packed. 

A few soft knocks vibrate the bathroom door. 

“Yeah,” I call gently, looking away from my plush reflection with roses coloring my cheeks, “just a sec!”

It’s Phoenix on the other side of the door. She’s grinning, her face sprinkled with droplets of perspiration and her dark hair slicked back into an expert ponytail. She holds her hands on her hips, leaning against the open door. 

“Can I hide with you?” she asks, panting.  

I nod, taking her hand in mine and tugging her into the room with me, biting my lip. 

“Did anybody follow you?” I whisper teasingly, closing the bathroom door behind her.

She laughs, shaking her head. 

“No, I bustered,” she explains, a teasing lilt in her tired voice, “grapes!” 

She sighs, basking in the coolness in the bathroom, tipping her head back in ecstacy. She’s been working very hard despite her hangover--unflinching as she packs up books and records, moving boxes from the garage to the moving truck, even sorting through the fridge with me after lunch. And Bob is right beside her, taking a box that’s a tad too heavy for her without calling attention to it, spotting her when she balances on the edge of the moving truck, refilling her water bottle. They woke up ready to get some grease on their elbows, pushing the sleeves up--even without the Floyd Family Hangover Cure, which we lacked precisely all the ingredients for.

“I’d say it must be nice being pregnant so you don’t have to lift boxes,” she starts, smiling softly at me as she leans against the sink, “but God--can’t imagine being pregnant in this heat.”

We laugh together, just happy to be out of the heat, happy to have our hands empty of furniture and boxes. She’s right--as the resident pregnant person, I’ve mainly served as an oversee-er. I tape boxes shut and label them with sharpies (in well-ventilated areas) and refill water bottles and cut up apples for everyone. But that is about all I am condoned to do. 

I nod, sighing melodramatically as I cradle my bump--which is definitely bigger today. It feels bigger today. It is, I know it is. 

“I’m melting all the time,” I tell her, “I take two cold showers a day. S’like boot camp.”

She laughs, wiping a few beads of sweat off her forehead before slicking her already-smooth hair back. 

“God, don’t say cold shower,” she exhales, “I could cry.”

Holding my hands up in surrender, I rest against the tub, balancing carefully on the edge. It’s cold beneath the seat of my pants, cold enough to make my skin goose. 

“Everything going okay?” I ask. 

I’ve been here, alone in the bathroom,  for a little bit over twenty minutes. Not that my presence out in the living room and kitchen has been anything except purely ornamental.

“They’re moving the kitchen table now,” she tells me, nodding in the direction of where I know the boys must be pivoting and clamoring, “that’ll pretty much do it, I think.”

Oh--I didn’t know we were so close to being finished. The vein across my nose throbs a few times, a pulsing reminder of the emotion that is lying in wait. 

It’s quiet for a moment. Phoenix as still trying to cool off, fanning herself softly with her eyes fixed on the porcelain tub beneath me. 

“Hey,” I say, smoothing my hands over my belly, “do you think I look bigger today?”

She smiles now--a pretty pink thing. She examines my belly from afar, craning her neck to look at it this way and narrowing her eyes to look at it that way. But then she hums with a pitched eyebrow. 

“Maybe a bit,” she says, probably indulging me, “but I might be the wrong person to ask.”

What she means by this is nothing I don’t already know about her. Phoenix does not want children and is not particularly fond of them either, preferring to stick on the adult side of things in social situations and life alike. Bob privately explained to me, shortly after their plane landed yesterday morning, that she probably wouldn’t want to feel the baby kicking--pregnancy weirds her out, too. Still, though--she has not pressed her hands against my belly the way everyone else has, hasn’t felt the movement beneath her palms. And that is entirely okay. She hasn’t said it, but I know that olive is an exception for her because of her love for me and Rooster. She doesn’t have to feel their movement to prove affection for them.

“Bet Bob could tell you,” she says, playfully rolling her eyes, “he still hasn’t stopped bragging about it. The baby recognizes my voice! I made the baby kick! If he weren’t so precious, it would be really, really annoying.”

We’re both smiling fondly now at the mention of our Bob. 

“He’s precious,” I sigh, “have things been good with him in Florida?”

I can’t help the sincerity in my tone--it is only in my nature to love Bob and Phoenix, to care so deeply about them. I know she won’t be able to tell me much, don’t expect her to give me any details she isn’t supposed to. But I am officially out of the Navy now as of two weeks ago--I am a civilian again. I no longer have the resources at my fingertips to check in on my friends stationed all over the country. I have to depend on them to tell me things--and that makes my tongue burn.  

She nods immediately, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Of course,” she tells me, “I never get tired of him. It kinda grosses me out sometimes how much I adore him.”

“You’re a good team,” I tell her, nodding, “he’s the best friend a lady could ask for, you know?”

She hums in agreement. 

We’re still basking in this coolness, in this aloneness. No one needs us right now--we can just be alone together in this bathroom, me and her and the baby. 

Oh, we are alone. This is as good a time as any for her to bring it up, what I know she’s wanted to bring up since yesterday, what she’s been aching to talk to me about since May. We are out of earshot--no one will hear this conversation, this one that is overdue and bloated.  

I am just about to open my mouth, just about to initiate the conversation, when she beats me to it by a moment. 

“Faye,” she says softly, smile softening, “can we talk about something?”

Aren’t we on the same wavelength? It’s another one of her Maggie moments. 

My lungs suddenly feel too big for my body, squeezing everything else out of the way, filling me up until I feel ready to pop. Olive twitches a few times and I settle my hand over my belly. It’s silly, sweet--she can feel my touch now and I can feel hers. And because I have grown so used to her being touched through my belly, settling a hand there soothes me too.

It’s okay, baby.

And it instantly makes her settle, makes my lungs deflate. I’m ready--I’m okay.

Smiling softly, I nod at Phoenix.    

“Of course,” I say, “shall we go to my office?”

We are both laughing as we climb into the empty, clean clawfoot tub. She holds my arms to steady me as I straddle the edge and then we both ease ourselves to our bottoms, her head by the faucet and mine on the opposite ledge. Her feet are nestled against my hip and mine are resting beside hers. 

Her laugh is melodic--it echoes off the porcelain tub as she attempts to get comfortable, crossing her ankles and pressing her hands between her thighs. She sighs softly in contentment; I know the porcelain must feel good against her heated skin, know that a certain relief must be flooding her to be out of the heat and in here with me.  

“You know what I want to talk about,” she starts softly, eyes slightly narrowed, “right?”

I nod. 

“Yeah,” I say, “Jake, right?”

She nods, biting her lip. 

“Right,” she answers, “what’s going on there now?”

Not much right now. Not much at all. 

We both send messages in our group text, neither of us willing to make a scene by leaving it, neither of us willing to sacrifice our group of friends. And honestly--neither one of us wishing exile on the other one. I’ll acknowledge him when it is necessary--inviting him to everything that we do as a group if I’m the one organizing. But I don’t text him back when he messages me privately. I don’t call him when the Cowboys win and he doesn’t tell me Crimson and Clover stories anymore. I don’t tell him what flowers to buy for a third date and he’s stopped asking me which Kate Hudson movie he should watch with whatever girl he has in rotation. He doesn’t try to text much anymore, his messages moving further and further down in my phone. We still attend every monthly Zoom call, just quieter than before. I am not outwardly mean to him--I don’t think I ever could be--but I do not speak to him unless it is vital. I try not to look at him even; just a glance at the toothpick between his smirking lips, the glimmer in his narrowed eyes--it sends a shockwave of pain down my throat and straight into my heart. 

Every time I see him now, I hear it. 

 Y’know what’s funny about that is maybe we did fuck, but you were too high to remember it.

“Not a lot,” I answer finally, dragging my fingers across my bump, “things are still weird.”

She nods, sucking in a breath and raising her eyebrows. 

“He won’t talk to anyone about it,” she says after a beat, “like not even Javy.”

Oh. It makes my palms sweat to think about our friends watching us with bated breath, freezing in their spots whenever we are forced to interact. I’m sure, to an extent, that everybody knows something is going on. Even if they’re still mostly in the dark about it--surely everyone has noticed this tangible distance between him and I. Surely they’ve noticed that he isn’t sitting beside me when the chance arises or asking to feel the baby kick or telling me how pretty I am on Zoom calls.    

“I didn’t know that,” I breathe, tilting my head back, “how does that read to you?”

I’m really asking her. I want to know what she thinks because I just don’t. 

She hums for a moment, bringing her hand to her mouth so she can chew on her left thumbnail. Her eyes unfocus, trained on the shiny porcelain behind my head. 

“Like he knows he fucked up,” she answers, “bad.”

I hum in agreement. 

“That about sums it up,” I tell her. 

Even after all this time, all these weeks that we have not been friends, all these days where he has texted and without response, all these restless evenings when I replay our argument until it genuinely exhausts me--I still feel a strange sense of loyalty towards him. I do not want to turn the friends we share against him. I do not want to utter what he said to me to them in secret, crossing my fingers that they’ll take my side. I don’t want him to be without friends. I don’t want him to be alone.

“You ever gonna tell me what he said?” 

She asks this very softly, catching my gaze, smiling carefully. 

“Probably not,” I breathe, “but I’ll tell you that it still stings.”

Phoenix is not surprised--she purses her lips, nods profusely. 

“No one’s surprised you’re the one that took a step back,” she says, “but I’m shocked that you haven’t already made up. It seemed like that’s how you guys operated. He says something shitty, you forgive him, he worships you. Right?”

Maybe this is how we used to operate--but not now, not anymore.

I chew on my lip. I have to tell her what I have only told Rooster, just so she understands the brevity of it all, just so she gets it.

“Nix,” I start, sighing, “I told him to fuck himself.”

Her lips part. 

“You did?”

I nod.

“More or less.”

She just watches me for a moment, absently biting her fingernail, trying to read that glassy look in my eyes. Then she sighs softly, hand falling onto her lap. 

“Why’d he come?”

She’s asking me this now the same way I asked her before: she doesn’t know, she wants to know what I gather from the peculiarity of it. 

That makes my tongue dry. 

“We’re all friends. I don’t want him to feel excluded because we’re not on good terms right now,” I explain, “and I don’t--don’t, like, hate him or anything. Despite his best efforts.”

She nods, leaning back against the faucet. 

“Well, this is complicated,” she breathes. 

You’re telling me. 

After a moment, I ask, “Why do you think he came?”

I don’t know. I don’t know why he’s here. But he flew in from North Carolina and sat on the beach with us and tried not to look at my face and slept on my living room floor and sat across from me at the diner this morning and now he’s packing up pictures of my sister and wrapping my furniture in bubble wrap.

“Not sure,” she tells me, “but I know he misses you.”

I know he does, too--I feel his eyes, feel the words between his clenched teeth when I pass him. I miss him, too--which I’m not sure he can feel. I’m not sure if I want him to feel how much I miss him. 

“I miss him,” I say, “but I’m not ready to forgive him.” 

She’s shocked--I know she is. It’s the reaction Bradley had when I told him the same thing. I’m not ready to forgive him yet. Yes, me--Faye Ledger-Bradshaw--I am not ready to forgive Jake for what he said to me and it’s been over two months.

“Good for you,” she says after she clears the shocked expression from her face, “he needs to sit in it.”

He’s been sitting in it since May.

It’s quiet for a moment--I almost let my eyes slip shut, almost let the quietness in here lull me to a conscious slumber. But then I feel it; something stronger than a flutter but weaker than a blow, an almost twitchy motion that swipes across the front of my belly. It’s an arm, I think--or maybe a leg. It's still hard to tell. 

Phoenix smiles when my hand falls to that spot on my belly, biting her lip. 

“They’re awake,” I tell her softly, smiling.

They usually wake up whenever I’m still. The life going on all around me, all my movements, all these sounds I subject them to--it’s as good as white noise to olive. They are lulled by the steady beat of my heart, by a record cranked all the way up, by the rumble of the Bronco’s engine, by the motion of my strides.

“Freaky,” she softly shakes her head, “You can tell when they’re sleeping and when they’re awake?”

I nod, humming. 

“I’m basically a human rocking chair,” I say, “she’s more active when I’m still.”

She wrinkles her nose, but still smiles. Good--she is not totally grossed out, not totally disinterested in being around me and olive. I will consider this a step in the right direction. I don’t want to push her or make a pit grow in her throat. 

Her eyes follow my hand as I rub across my belly, a few more movements confirming my suspicions. Yes, they’re definitely awake now. It’s like their little ears are burning.

“Still think it’s a girl, huh?”

I nod with a grin. 

“We do,” I say, “well, I do and Bradley’s going with it.”

“A little girl,” she echoes quietly, “that’ll be fun, won’t it?”

It will be fun. Tiny bows and tiny socks. Little blonde ringlets and precious eyelashes curtaining baby blue eyes. Sweet, milk-drunk smiles and tiny linen onesies. Bradley holding me in one arm and her in the other, calling us his little ladies. 

“Do you mind if I…?”

I have to bite my lip to keep my jaw from falling open.

This is her first time asking since arriving.  

She looks scared almost--her eyebrows knit slightly and her eyes widened as she chews on her bottom lip, relentlessly smoothing her ponytail. 

“Nix, you don’t have to,” I tell her. 

 I know it must be difficult for her to keep a certain distance from me; we are usually falling all over each other with Bob somewhere in between. This is the closest we’ve been to each other since she came yesterday.

But here she is--a hesitant, hopeful smile on her lips. 

“No, I think I want to,” she says carefully, “hurry up before I change my mind.”  

I’m already leaning into the space between us and reaching for her hand. She straightens her shoulders, pushes herself off the tub. She smells like perfumed sweat, like a pretty girl doing a dirty job.

Carefully, I guide her flat palm to rest against the front of my belly. Her hand is tense, but her touch is very soft. She barely presses into me--certainly not enough to feel anything.

No funny business, olive.

She breathes softly, wrinkling her nose.  

“S’okay, you can push down a little harder,” I tell her, pressing my hands over hers, “you’re not hurting me.”

She nods, a blush racing across her cheeks. 

“Okay,” she says softly, “you sure?”

I nod, laughing. 

“Rooster practically smothers me every night,” I assure her, “you’re perfectly fine.”

We wait together with bated breath. For now, olive is still. Phoenix pulls her eyebrows together like she’s straining to feel something, like she’s afraid she’s gonna miss it.

Then it happens again--a kick, a nudge.  

“Oh,” I whisper, “try here.”

I guide her hand to the left side of my belly, which is where the feet are, I think. I press her hands into my skin and in response--there’s a few more kicks, very soft ones. 

She makes a noise--one of pleasure, one of surprise. Her eyes are wide and her lips are parted. Without another moment of hesitation, she brings her other hand to my belly and presses into me again. 

“Oh, my God,” she laughs when a foot presses against her hand, “There’s really a baby in there, huh?”

She has an eager smile on her lips as she holds my belly with both hands, hesitantly pressing harder against my skin. She gasps softly then dissolves into giggles when olive grazes a hand or foot across her palm once more. 

“They like you,” I tell her softly, grinning. 

A certain pride swells in her when I say this.

“God, it kind of grosses me out--no offense or anything,” she says gleefully, “but I kind of love it, too? Is it so weird having a human inside you?”

I nod, cheeks pink. 

It is a strange feeling, but one I’ve grown used to, comfortable with. It happened for the first time in June, right after Bradley turned on Blue by Joni Mitchell, just as I was sitting down at the breakfast table with a half-peeled orange. It happened twice, right in a row, before I realized what it was. The movements were light as a feather, almost akin to the docile flap of a sparrow’s wing. But they were there--those little movements that started suddenly and have yet to cease, will not cease. 

And the first time Rooster had been able to feel it was only at the beginning of July, whenever we were lying beside each other on the warm sand, basking in the shade of our umbrella. I was reading as Bradley rested his head over my bump, his arms wrapped around my midsection. His eyes were closed and he was humming as I carefully raked my fingers through his hair, trying to keep my eyes trained on the pages instead of the endless blue sky and flock of seagulls flying high overhead. I was already used to feeling movement by then, had been feeling the squirming and adjusting of olive for a few weeks. Rooster had been anxious to feel it--almost envious that I was experiencing it without him--and tried fruitlessly to interact. But there, on the beach, he suddenly shot up like my skin had burned him. I set my book down, started to sit up, but then he shook his head lightly, hand coming up in a gesture that meant ‘stop, hold on’. Then he apprehensively pressed his cheek against me again and I understood what had happened--he’d felt that little foot or elbow or hand drag across his cheek from within my belly. 

We hadn’t said anything for a long time. I just watched him, adoration capturing my heart, as he beamed against my skin. He was laughing and I was laughing, a certain joy finding us there. We were slicked in sunscreen and sand, hot and happy. He had felt our baby for the first time right there on the beach. 

“Took me a minute to get used to it,” I tell Phoenix, “but it’s normal now.”

Phoenix nods, pressing down on my belly again. She’s endlessly pleased that olive is interacting with her, pressing against her palm, beaming at me.

“Weird,” she mumbles, “so weird.”   

Then she moves her hands to her hips again, a smile still lingering on her lips, a laugh still caught between her teeth. Her face is still flushed from touching me, from olive touching her. I know she’s pleased, know she’s happy. She’s practically humming now.

“I don’t like babies,” she says after a moment, “but I bet she’s cute.”

Olive should be honored to hear her say this. 

“She doesn’t have pigment in her hair yet,” I say, “so she’s like a little Santa baby.”

“Don’t ruin the moment,” Phoenix says, wrinkling her nose.

We laugh--it’s soft and easy here. But my palms are itching.

“Should we get back out there?”

When we walk out of the bathroom a few minutes later, my heart is in my throat. Phoenix has her arm around me, pulling me into her side, pressing her soft cheek against mine as we walk in tandem. She doesn’t make me say that I’m choked up, doesn’t draw attention to it at all when I get glassy-eyed reaching to close the bathroom door. She just puts an arm around me and guides me out of the bathroom for the last time, humming quietly. 

It’s what Maggie would’ve done if she were here now. She wouldn’t embarrass me, wouldn’t point out any emotion on my face. She would take it in stride, wrap an arm around me, and propel me forward through whatever threshold needs crossing. 

And in the bedroom, which looks as bare as it ever has before, I almost weep. Here is the room I love so much, the one I tailored to myself exactly--and now it’s empty. The wallpaper is still intact and a fist squeezes my heart when I think of the new owners tearing it from the walls, throwing it in a lazy pile in the middle of the room. All my furniture is gone, all the frames are packed away, even the curtains are gone now. This will always be my first bedroom in the first house that I owned. It is where I used to fall into bed beside Maggie at the end of a romp at The Hard Deck, not bothering to get under the covers. It is where I laid beneath warm bodies, watching myself from the outside. It is where I first realized that I wanted to marry Bradley, when we were both stark naked and flushed with agitation in the midst of an argument. It’s where Jake pinned Carole Bradshaw’s pearl brooch on my wedding dress, right here in front of the bathroom. It’s where I lost Jake--that little red button on my phone as good as any ending before. I conceived a child in this room, the one that is settling in my womb now because I am standing so still. This is the room where I lied in my grief and bathed in love. This is the room where I was filled and sequestered, where I was opened and closed, where I slept and didn’t sleep at all. 

But now it is void of anything that even hints at my years in this house--save for that sweet wallpaper. Soon, it will be someone else’s room to do with what they want. I’m glad for them, really, I am. This room should be filled with light and love, even if it is not mine anymore. 

“Y’alright?” Phoenix asks softly when I graze the wallpaper a final time, my touch gentle but lingering. 

Biting my lip, I just nod.  

“I’m okay.”

She turns the light off behind us. I think it is one of the last times that light switch will be touched by someone I know, someone I love. I’m glad it is her that is touching it, glad that I do not have to be the one to do it. I don’t know if I could get my hand to raise, if I could get my fingers to bend. But Phoenix is here--she does it for me. 

I have to bite my lip hard to keep from weeping.

The hallway is very empty now, too--all those picture frames gone, even the nail holes are gone. There is not even evidence that they were ever here, covering the walls and guiding guests to my bedroom. This hallway doesn’t even look like mine anymore; it just looks like a hallway in a house. 

The air in here is warmer--noticeably warmer--even from here. The front door has been propped open all day, the men filtering in and out of the house with their shirts in varying states of wetness or just completely discarded. Not even the window units can keep up with the oppressive San Diego heat, freezing pools of sweat dripping under them. 

“There you two are,” Coyote sighs from his spot by the window unit, “we’ve been looking for you!” 

Phoenix nods to my belly. 

“It’s two and a half to you, buddy,” she corrects, “and we were powdering our noses.”

A grin spreads across his face--which is absolutely glowing with sweat. Even without his shirt on as he stands by the lame air conditioning, it is impossible for him to cool off it seems. His cheeks are ruddy, eyelashes even drenched in sweat. 

“Need us for something?” 

Coyote shakes his head, sighing as the cool air puffs pathetically across his bare chest. 

“Nah,” he answers, “we’re done now. Thanks for all the help, Phoenix!”

Phoenix smiles sweetly. 

“Anytime!”

There’s a ruckus in the foyer, a tumbling of tennis shoes on tile, of exasperated sighs, of mild irritation, of feet on stairs--and then the rest of the men are rounding the steps, coming into the living room with red cheeks and sweat-stained shorts. All of them are draining puny plastic water bottles down their throats, gulping the warm air in the living room, blinking rapidly at the dimmer lights in here.  

“You found them,” Fanboy says to Coyote, smiling at us tiredly, “just in the knick of time, I see.”

Phoenix detaches herself from me finally, giving my belly a final affectionate tap before she crosses the room towards Bob, who’s fervently cleaning sweat off his glasses with his trusty velvet wipe. Payback is leaning against the stairs, his cheeks flushed, his eyes fallen shut. Hangman is right beside him, eyes trained on something behind Coyote, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

Then Bradley is falling in step beside me, broad and lean and tan, sporting half-shut eyes and a tired grin. He smells overwhelmingly like him: like pepper and sweat and earth and leather and soap and detergent and skin. It’s a scent that makes my chest grow warm, especially when he carefully leans down to peck my forehead and belly in greeting. 

“Ladies,” he murmurs quietly, still panting.

Biting my lip, I kiss him again--his lips are salty with sweat, full of heat from the sun.

“We’ve had a breakthrough,” I whisper to him, raising my eyebrows, “Phoenix felt the baby kick.” 

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, grin still sweet and wide. 

“Well,” he sighs, still hushed, “it’s a half-Christmas miracle!”

Everyone is talking, looking around the house in a sly way to see if there is anything left to do, trying to catch their breaths and cool off. It smells like human in here--sweat and salt and breath and denim. 

“So, that’s pretty much it, then?”

It’s Payback who asks, leaning against the wall with his water bottle crumpled in his fist. 

Goosebumps prickle my spine. I look at Bradley and Bradley is slowly nodding, glancing around the very empty living room, squeezing my waist. 

“Yeah,” Bradley breathes. “I guess so.”

I almost start to weep again, swallowing the lump in my throat with great effort, blinking at the light whenever Bradley glances down at me again. This is pretty much it, then. But I don’t feel quite ready to go. Not yet, no.

“Don’t have to hand the keys over for another hour,” Bradley says, like he knows that I’m not ready to leave, “so how’s ice cream sound?”

Bradley’s Bronco is crowded when he leaves--Bob, Phoenix, and Fanboy are all piled into the car, braving the heat of the day again. My belly is still warm from all their hands pressing against it before they left, Bradley guiding Fanboy’s palms this way and that, smiling proudly. 

“I’m gonna get some air,” I tell the boys, slipping my tennis shoes on and bracing myself against the kitchen door, “make yourselves at home.”

Payback and Coyote playfully roll their eyes from their spot on the floor where the couch used to be, each nursing another water bottle. Hangman is standing beside them, wringing his shirt in his left hand, eyes fixed on the floor by my feet.

Slipping outside the door and into the July heat feels like slipping into a hot tub--instantly inspiring a catch in my lungs and perspiration on my hairline. God, it’s hot--hot enough that my fingers would burn if I touched the metal door handle without my dungarees acting as a barrier. 

But it’s peaceful out here--quaint and quiet.  

The patio furniture is gone now, which I sold to a neighbor for a few bucks after a friendly conversation. The patio we extended has been power washed, the bricks deep red and clean. The eucalyptus trees in the corners of the yard are trimmed and swaying gently in the breeze, carrying a sweet and minty scent to me as I stand at the edge of the yard. Wildflowers still cover the lawn, even more vibrant and expansive than they were in February. The grass is green and sweet-smelling, cut and fertilized.

 I will never come into this backyard ever again. This is my last time standing here, my last time letting my feet fall in the grass, my last time listening to the bees buzz in the Indian paintbrushes. How strange that I will never again stand in the spot where Bradley first told me how he likes his coffee, that careful grin biting his lips, our plates full of egg yolk and sourdough. Strange that I will never again have another early morning with Hangman, inadvertently meeting each other out here and resorting to comforting each other as the sun rises. Strange that I will not be able to show my children where I married their father; this sweet little backyard that always smells like flowers.

I’m just about to slip my shoes off and step into the grass when the backdoor swings open then quietly falls shut. I don’t need to turn around to know that Jake is standing behind me, hesitantly lingering by the door in case the urge to flee becomes overwhelming. I know that it is him because my spine prickles, my chest tightens. The vein across my nose throbs, whines. 

If things were the way I wished them to be, I would’ve sent a cautious grin over my shoulder, would’ve squinted at him. Then I would’ve said, “Hey, cowboy.”

Now I don’t turn around--not yet, at least. I will wait for him to come to me. 

A few moments tick by, the wind suffocatingly warm as it pushes through my hair, kisses my exposed calves. Olive stirs--can’t stand to be still. Sweet thing. But Jake cannot stand silence, no, not for more than a couple moments.

So he inhales, taking a careful step closer to me. I can hear the soft thud of his tennis shoes on the bricks, how gingerly he is moving towards me. 

“Faye?”

It nearly knocks the wind out of me--just hearing my name fall off his lips for the first time in what feels like an eternity. Not sugar plum, not sweetheart, not kid. Just Faye. And it strikes me as almost comical, really, that he’s calling me by my first name instead of Bradley’s wife or someone’s mama--since, really, that’s all that I am to him.

“Jake,” I return, quieter than him, quieter than the wind kissing my cheeks.  

Another soft sound of rubber against brick. Then another and another--now he’s standing beside me on the left side of my body. He’s not close to touching me, knows better than that. But he’s not very far away either. He’s not looking at me and I’m not looking at him, not directly at least. We’re just standing with this space between us, looking out over the backyard that will not be mine in an hour. 

“If I talk, will you listen?” Jake finally asks, his voice thin.

My heart stutters, eyelids throb. 

He’s being earnest--genuinely asking me this question without an ounce of bitterness or distaste. He’s apprehensive, smaller than he’s ever been before. And maybe it is because of the skin that’s grown over my soft spot for him, the scabs I had to stop myself from picking so they’d harden and heal, but I nod. It’s happening before I even process what I’m saying yes to--but I am, I am saying yes. 

“I think I’d do just about anything to go back and change the way things happened,” he starts, exhaling softly, “but I can’t do that. And I’ve said that I’m sorry and I’ve reached out to you and you haven’t said anything back. You’re punishing me at this point, and I get that, but I think it’s kind of hypocritical of you since this is all about punishment in the first place. I don’t know what you want me to do, I don’t know what you want me to say. I feel like nothing I say is gonna make it better now. What’s worse is that you’re just totally fine and I’m not--okay? I’m just not. Because we were friends. We were really, really good friends. Did it mean nothing to you that we stopped talking?”

A bitter noise leaves my lips--one that is thick on my tongue. It makes my belly pulse, makes olive stir, makes my chest ache. 

“Are you serious?”

I am looking at him now--looking at him dead-on for the first time in months. He’s looking at me, too, his green eyes wide and swimming. His eyebrows are knit slightly and his jaw is set like he’s angry, like he’s biting his tongue right now. There’s a spray of stubble across his cheeks--not much, just from skipping his regular morning shave. There’s little pieces of sand in the corners of his eyes and his cheeks are still red from carrying boxes down the stairs. Undeniably, he looks tired right now--but there is something that presses into my temple, something that whispers to me that it isn’t just because of the move today. 

“Yeah, I’m serious,” he says, his voice low but firm.

My mouth is full of cotton. 

Does he really not understand? Does he not remember what he spewed at me? Does he not realize that there is a little stain on his thumb from where he pressed it into the bullethole he gave me?

I’m just looking at him--my cheeks are burning. He’s staring back at me with a strange sort of brazen confidence--like he thinks he suddenly has the upperhand, like he thinks I should be the one groveling.

“I’m not punishing you because I want to,” I say quietly, shaking my head, “I’m punishing you because I can’t figure out how to forgive you.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows harshly, gaze flickering from my eyes to my lips. 

“But you are punishing me, right?”

My spine prickles. He’s right, I think. I am punishing him in a way. It is not the big, meticulous way he punished me. I’m punishing him by accident, turning my cheek and leaving things stagnant and stale between us. 

“I guess I am,” I confirm softly. 

He’s shaking his head, biting his bottom lip. 

“I said I was sorry,” he says lowly.

Sure, he did--he said sorry after he’d brought the whip down on my skin. He tried to put a band-aid over my gaping chest, cramming in his puny apologies amidst insistences and groans.

“Do you think that’s all it takes?”

His eyes widen just a little bit, like he’s trying to get a more complete look at me. 

“You won’t answer my calls,” he argues, a frown dragging his lips towards his shoes, “what am I supposed to do?”

I blink at him. 

“I don’t know what you’re supposed to do now,” I say honestly, blowing a wispy piece of hair from over my eye, “but I know that you weren’t supposed to say what you did.”

He scoffs now--an ugly, bitter sound. He at least does me the favor of looking away from me when he does it, his ruddy cheek beneath my gaze now. He crosses his arms over his chest, shaking his head as he stares at the house. 

“Don’t suppose you have a time machine, do you?”

I shake my head, exhaling. Fuck.  

“Right,” he says flatly. “Didn’t think so.”

Olive stirs, stretches. I press my hand against her and imagine that she’s pressing her hand against mine too. I imagine that we’re holding each other right now, her and I. And it is enough to fade the blush on my cheeks, flatten the lump in my throat. 

“You do this thing where you wait until big moments in my life to get things off your chest,” I start, still looking at his ruddy cheeks, his flexing jaw, “And I’ve played my part, I know that I have. But what you said, Jake--it feels bigger than that. It feels bigger than me.”

He meets my eyes again. His are softer now, sadder. His whole face looks softer and pinker now. I know he’s going to be honest with me, I can feel it in the way he is deflating, in the way he is anchoring his eyes to mine to steady himself.  

“S’the worst thing I’ve ever said to anyone,” he admits. 

It is vindicating to hear him say this to me in my backyard, beneath the California sun. I knew that already--distantly, I knew. But to hear it uttered from his lips and fallen into the air between us thins the skin that’s grown over my soft spot for him. 

“It’s the worst thing anyone’s ever said to me,” I whisper to him. 

I spare him the ugly details: the sleepless nights and wakeless morning’s, the heat that dances across my chest when I think about his tone, the ache in my fingers when I remember his words. 

“I fuckin’ hate not being your friend,” he tells me seriously. 

That nearly chokes me up. 

Now I’m the one turning my cheek, looking out across the yard. 

“I miss you, too,” I say, laughing humorlessly, “but I don’t know what I want from you. I get it--I know you said it and I know it sucked. I know that you can’t take it back and I know that you were drunk and you were hurting. God, I know you said sorry and really--I know you are sorry. But I just can’t move forward. I’m just--I’m just stuck here right now. I don’t know what I’m waiting for, like--I don’t know if I’m waiting for you to just fall on your knees and grovel or if I’m waiting for a fucking bouquet of roses. I’m trying. I’m trying to push forward.”

If Bradley was here right now, he would tut quietly and smooth his thumb across the crinkle between my brows. He would keep his finger there, stroking softly, murmuring to me while pressing kisses to my face. But Jake is standing before me, stare intense and jaw severe. 

“I’ll get on my knees right now,” he says after a long, quiet moment, “if that’s what it takes.”

He’s being honest and serious. 

“I don’t want that,” I say, shaking my head. 

“Faye,” he says, holding his arms up in surrender, “please don’t hate me. Please, please don’t hate me.”

Saliva is thick on my tongue. 

“Couldn’t,” I say softly and that is all I can say. 

There are calling birds soaring high up above us, grasping tree branches and scouting insects in the manicured lawn. Besides their song, it is entirely silent out here now. It’s so quiet that I can hear every time Jake swallows, can hear the throbbing of his pulse. 

I’m going to leave him alone out here. I’m going to let him stand in this backyard by himself and I’m going to wait for Bradley inside the house, watching the hour tick by in this house that will not be mine for much longer. 

But before I do this, before I leave him, I meet his eyes one more time. 

“It didn’t mean nothing to me when we stopped talking,” I say quietly, shaking my head.

I’m alone when I walk through the house a final time.

It’s strange, really--how empty the living room is now. I feel like I’ve never seen it empty before, which I know is not really true. But it feels true.

Our chartreuse sofa, Stevie’s marmalade ottoman, my coffee table, my record player, every vinyl album, the shelves I housed the vinyls on, all my houseplants, the curtains, the window unit, the television, the vases, the candles, the incense holders, the frames on the walls, the posters, the bowls of change and keys--all of it is gone from this room, safely bubble wrapped and packed into the cardboard boxes stacked in the back of the moving truck. It feels like the room is smaller somehow--like if this room was alive, we’d be able to see the impression of its ribs and the spikes of their spine. Skinny, bony--that’s how it feels. Naked. Bare-bones. 

Even though I can stand in the center of this empty room on this rugless floor and remember the precise location of every piece of precious furniture in the room, there’s no evidence of where any of it resided. There’s no squares of dust on the walls where a poster hung, no indents on the wood where my coffee table settled, no stain on the window where a suncatcher used to lay, no nail holes in the walls even.

And everything is painted white now--all my walls spackled, sanded, then coated in a thick and pristine white that makes my eyes hurt to look at for too long. Just from memory, I could trace these walls and recite every photograph that lived in each spot, could say the color and shape of the frame that was mounted there. No one else could do that, no, not even Bradley. 

This home has been mine longer than it's been ours. 

Nobody in the world could walk into this very empty house and look around and know that I lived here. Nobody in the world could walk up those creaky wooden steps and emerge in this white living room and know that the walls used to be cluttered with snapshots of my life. They couldn’t know that my sister and I watched Dirty Dancing in this living room on our last birthday together or that my sister frequently crashed on my sofa, her mouth wide open and her hair fanning around her like knotted pampas grass. They couldn’t know how much prosecco this floor has seen or how much sound has echoed in this air or how near my shelves came to collapse under the weight of my record collection. 

It looks like I was never even here. 

But I was here--I was painstakingly, achingly here, just like I am now for the very last time. 

I’m leaning against the kitchen door, the one I’ve opened with my hip when my hands are full with bowls of popcorn on movie nights, and trying to remember the sweet, maple scent of this house. Olive is fluttering because I am being so very still. I think she will be pleased with the car ride ahead of us, lulled to slumber from the rumblings of tires and clicking blinkers and purring engines. 

If Maggie was here now, she’d be standing silently beside me. Her eyes would wash over this unfamiliar room, this room that should never be this white and this empty, and she would be fidgeting with the skin around her thumbnail nervously. Maybe she would whisper something about her buying the house at the last minute, keeping it in the family. Maybe we would even laugh for a brief moment despite ourselves. She would bump me with her hip when she noticed my tears and pretend like she wasn’t crying, too. And then we would lean against each other wordlessly, identical knots in our throats.  

This house felt like hers too, even if she never formally lived here. Pieces of her must exist here still, just like they exist in her childhood bedroom in Topeka. Even between the heavy paint and the disinfectant and the years since she died, there has to be parts of her here. This is it, I think: I am saying goodbye to my last tangible pieces of her.

So I close my eyes, let the sunlight kiss my wet cheeks through the curtainless windows, and take my final breath of this air she breathed. And I imagine that she is standing before me, her freckles glowing orange in the afternoon sun, her chipped teeth on display as she grins with an open mouth. She’s just out of reach, like she always is. I don’t try to reach out and touch her. I just think of her watching me with my eyes closed. 

“Bye,” I whisper, my voice echoing off the empty walls, “be good.”

My cheeks are dried when I step out onto the porch. The moving truck is gone, already en route to Virginia. The Bronco is gone now, too, riding on the back of a trailer to our new home with a PRECIOUS CARGO tag. 

Everyone is milling around in the driveway waiting for me, I think. Payback, Coyote, and Phoenix are leaning against my car as they converse quietly. Phoenix is chewing on the fingernail of her left thumb. Payback is absently stroking his mustache. Coyote is stretching his neck, eyes closed as his head tips back. Bob and Bradley are standing closest to the brick stairs. They’re talking with their arms crossed over their chests, smiling and laughing about something as the sun dances across their pink cheeks. Bob’s glasses are slightly askew. Bradley is chewing on his bottom lip. Hangman is standing between the two groups, hands stuffed deeply in his pockets as he toes a rock on the driveway. 

Bob sees me first, casually glancing in my direction before doubling back with a pitiful sort of smile. And then Bradley turns towards me, his smile soft as he uncrosses his arms. After a moment, after I step down the first stair towards the driveway, everyone is looking up at me with a kind expression. 

It’s what I need, really--all my friends here, bunched together, still trying to cool down. Smiling, pink, patient. They are the best people I know and it is not even close. 

No one says anything for a long moment, gauging my emotions carefully as we huddle up in the middle of the driveway. Bradley wraps his arms around me from behind, cradling my bump and kissing the tip of my right ear. Everyone comes in, comes close. Bob gives a familiar pat to my belly, too, squeezing my hand. And now we’re all looking at my house, the very empty one before us. 

“Bye, house,” Fanboy says. 

I laugh softly. 

“Bye, house,” I say, too. 

Then everyone is saying it, playing along to please me. It’s a sweet sound--sweeter than the sparrows in the eucalyptus trees, sweeter than the buzzing bees in the Indian paintbrushes, sweeter than heavy footfalls on old wood floors, sweeter than the crackle at the beginning of a record.

☾☽ 𝐚/𝐧: ugh trust me that the Chateau Bradshaw will be like the sweetest place on earth and they will be like so fucking happy there, but damn if I am not emotional saying goodbye to this completely fictional house I made up in my brain!!!!!

☾☽ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

[the-lonelybarricade]

As the River Flows - Acotar Gift Exchange (3/8)

Summary: As Feyre lamented quietly over the misfortune of her life, there, in the marketplace, she heard a merchant instruct to its patron: Place a butterfly wing under your tongue before you sleep, and you will dream of your true love.

Or a Feysand magical regency AU. This is part three of my @acotargiftexchange for the lovely @sideralwriting. This chapter was also supposed to loosely be for the @unofficialfeysandmonth2022 wedding prompt, but the plot's moving a bit slower than anticipated.

Read on AO3・Feysand Month Masterlist・Series Masterlist

-

“What’s happened to your fingers?”

Feyre jolted up from where she’d been half falling asleep in her chair. Across the table, Nesta was scowling over her copy of Letters to Young Ladies on Their Entrance Into the World. Their Father and governess had insisted they each read the marriage manual cover to cover before they made their societal debut.

The sentiment of love will be found to take its colourings from the imagination of the person by whom it is cherished. Virtuous and amiable young women do not often fix their affections on base and unworthy objects; but they may, and most frequently do, fancy perfections and fine qualities in their lovers which no one else perceives, and which too frequently they do not possess.

From the way Nesta had narrowed her eyes at the bandages littered along Feyre’s fingers, it seemed that Feyre wasn’t the only one having difficulty staying engaged with the reading material.

Feyre set down the book so she could duck her hands into her lap, away from Nesta’s scrutiny. “I was sewing.”

“Oh?” Nesta thrummed her fingers against the table, assessing her coolly. “I’ve never seen you sew a thing in your freetime. I was under the impression you weren’t capable.”

Swallowing her outrage, Feyre lifted a hand from her skirt and waggled her fingers with more belligerence than was owed. “Evidently, I’m still honing the skill.”

“What were you sewing?” Nesta pressed.

“Buttons,” she said smoothly. “One of the buttons on my cloak had fallen off.”

“Odd, that you attempted to mend it yourself.”

“I mended it perfectly fine,” Feyre said, crossing her arms. “The only thing odd is your surveillance.”

Nesta shut her book. Feyre stiffened at the flame she saw burning, cold as a winter frost, in Nesta’s eyes. “You know what else is odd?” Her eldest sister raised an assessing brow. “That you’d be wearing a cloak at all, when you’ve never seen a winter chill in your life.”

Her heartbeat amplified, until Feyre could feel each pulse lodge in her throat. Nesta knew. Perhaps not the specifics, but from the way Nesta’s lips thinned into a grimace, she surely guessed that Feyre had been up to something impermissible. The three of them were all allies with each other before they were allies with their father—and if Feyre had done something she feared admitting even to Nesta and Elain, it could only truly relate to one thing.

Magic.

“Girls.” They both fell quiet at the sharp reprimand of their governess, from where she sat in the corner of the library, stiff-backed as always. Even in her leisure. “I hope your conversation isn’t distracting from your preparations for entering society.”

It was perhaps the first time Feyre had ever been relieved to be scolded by her governess. She quickly diverted her attention back to the marriage manual, ignoring the way Nesta glowered in her periphery. She could stare all she liked—it was a secret that would only ever exist between Feyre and her true love.

While the love-sick maiden avoids a clandestine engagement, and continues to employ the greater part of her time in elegant and useful occupations, there is but little danger of her sacrificing either her happiness or her duty to a hopeless passion or an impudent attachment.

Love—in the abstract, imaginative, and romantic sense of the word—is a chimerical passion of which but few young women can form any corresponding or adequate idea, and of which still fewer are in the least danger of ever experiencing…

Feyre suffered through 20 more pages which outlined precisely what a sensible woman should take into consideration when seeking matrimonial engagement. Love, apparently, took minimal precedence. It stuck with Feyre through the remainder of the day, until the sun touched the ground and she couldn't help writing out her thoughts in a letter.

-

My newly acquainted rake,

As the Winter Solstice draws near, my Father’s marriage preparations become more and more extreme. I’ve been made to read a host of manuals to help me achieve a successful married life with my father’s hand picked suitor. Did you know that Elizabeth Lanfear discourages seeking a love match? She asserts that ‘Love Matches, at least those which are generally so called, do not always prove the happiest’. Tell me, for I trust as my true love you will speak plainly, why in a world where finding your true love is as simple as catching a butterfly, we are discouraged from pursuing them as our match? I can understand why my father would discourage such a thing, when he has his own motives for securing me a husband. But Elizabeth’s interests claim to align with the women she advises, and she certainly doesn’t know my Father. Why would she advise against something that is so easily within reach?

It has occurred to me that your interests ought to be considered. As we may potentially be entering a courtship, your insights about my future matches are likely far from objective, regardless of my asking you to remain so. Perhaps I’m seeking your counsel, knowing you will assure me that I’m wise in sneaking behind my father’s back, breaking his strictest rule, and risking severe punishment. All to speak to someone I have been discouraged from pursuing by an alleged expert in marriage. I do not understand why everything I’ve ever been told directs me opposite to you. Why is love such a deplorable thing to desire?

I have always been one for taking risks, you see. I am not daunted by the idea of betraying my upbringing. I only wish to know if you also believe that love is, as Elizabeth puts it, “chimerical”.

Yours, despite the judgment of my Father and Elizabeth,

Feyre Archeron

-

Feyre. My darling, Feyre.

I admit, my opinion on the matter is swayed in knowing that you are the woman I wish to one day call my wife. Yet, I like to believe that I am a man whose heart and mind frequently agree. I can say with sincerity that in advising a woman who was not my true love nor future wife, I would be inclined to disagree with Elizabeth.

Love is not chimerical. I believe Elizabeth errs too heavily on the side of caution. You would be surprised by how easily love is given beyond the confines of your father’s manor. The greater challenge is finding love that agrees with high society’s rigid rules and harsher judgements. I’m certain Elizabeth fears that if she advises young women to pursue love above compatible means, she’ll be held responsible for all the esteemed ladies that suddenly run off with their farmboys. Love is easy to find, yes, but the circumstances for which it is encountered are not always convenient.

Regardless, I believe that when love is found—even outside of the “appropriate” societal bounds—it is worth pursuing at any cost. I hope when we eventually meet, you will find our match worth pursuing. As your husband, it would be my utmost endeavor to prove to Elizabeth that a love match can prove indisputably happy.

With my deepest affections,

Your rake

-

Rake,

Just as I expected, your quill is as honeyed as your tongue. Still, I agree with your observations, and I’ve always found myself exhausted by the endless restrictions of High Society. Though Elizabeth, my Father, and my eldest sister would all deem me a fool in love, I would gladly run away with you, if it came to it.

On a less romantic note, I fear I cannot continue sending these letters. Nesta suspects my bandaged fingers are the product of more than sewing and I fear that if my fingers continue to remain in this state, her investigation will transcend idle curiosity. It’s the fault of a foolish lie, since I claimed I was attempting to sew a button to my cloak. We live in perpetual spring, and to my governess’s behest, I have never taken much to sewing as a hobby.

This will be our last written correspondence before the Solstice Ball. Please, if there is anything I might use to identify you, tell me now so that I can ensure you are chosen as a potential suitor.

Foolishly yours,

Feyre

-

Feyre,

When we we meet, I will look into your eyes, and I will tell you that they are the most beautiful color I have ever seen.

That is how you will know it’s me.

-

Feyre’s true love did not visit in her dreams.

In some ways, she was relieved. The marriage manuals emphasized the importance of modesty, and Feyre didn’t trust that if her rake requested another kiss, or something more, she wouldn’t indulge him.

Still, as the days passed to weeks, she found herself thinking about him often. Imagining what he might look like. Trying to recall the sound of his voice, since it was the only thing she could use to identify him.

The longer the silence lingered between them, the feinter the memory became. Feyre became increasingly nervous that she wouldn’t be able to identify her true love at all by the time the Solstice Ball arrived. If he even came at all.

On the eve of the ball, she caved and caught another butterfly.

“Couldn’t wait to see me?” Teased a voice out of the darkness.

Feyre try to savor the sound, a sommelier searching for every hidden note.

Deep. Sensual. Decadent. Like velvet, or a rich chocolate cake.

Or a warm evening beneath a starry sky.

“Will you be there?” Feyre asked, knowing she was betraying her anxiety. She hoped he would find it flattering. And if he didn’t, well… he wasn’t the one about to be married off for the remainder of his life.

A gentle hand wrapped around the fingers she’d rested in her lap. She couldn’t fathom how he was able to find them so seamlessly in the dark. He lifted her hand into the air, laying a gentleman’s kiss against the back of her hand.

“I will be there, Feyre. I wouldn’t miss your birthday for the world.”

“What will you—”

“Go to sleep,” he chided with a soft laugh. “I’m sure your body will need the rest.”

“I am asleep,” she argued.

He lowered her hand, and she nearly jumped when his lips found her forehead next. “Happy birthday, Feyre darling. I will see you in the evening.”

-

“Remember Feyre—”

“Yes, yes,” she snapped, pushing away her governess’s fussing hands. “Don’t take my gloves off, I heard you the last dozen times.”

“Feyre!” She rolled her eyes at Elain’s feigned outrage. They all shared a mutual contempt for their governess, but Elain, at least, encouraged civility. Their governess bristled, brushing her hands roughly on her skirts, before she turned to fuss over the pins in Elain’s hair instead.

Fine. At least Elain enjoyed being fussed over. Feyre pulled at the hem of her gloves again. Her palms were so sweaty that the fabric was slipping more so than usual. If it were Nesta or Elain, it wouldn’t have been an issue. But Feyre’s tattoo crawled all the way to her elbow, black as spilled ink on a fresh winter’s snow.

“I told Father you needed a long sleeved dress,” Nesta complained, irritation so sharp in her voice that Feyre straightened her back.

They were perhaps all a little high strung that evening.

“The glove covers it fine, Nesta.”

Outside Nesta’s open window, they could hear the guests assembling in the garden. It was the perfect evening for a ball. A warm, cloudless night, bathed in silver moonlight that shone nearly as bright as day. The servants had strung up lanterns alone the stone path that circled their great marble fountain. It made for a pleasant area to take a breath of fresh air between the dancing that was set to take place in the ballroom.

Already, Feyre could hear the drifting sound of violins.

With a long, shaky breath, Feyre pulled the elastic of her delicate mask over her head. Next was the dance card, which Feyre had to hold out her wrist for Nesta to tie. Once Nesta was finished, she held out her wrist wordlessly for Feyre to return the favor. Except wrapping the ribbon around her sister’s wrist felt like slipping a noose around her neck. They stared at one another through masks of swirling gold and silver, words just out of reach to express the emotions they were never quite capable of sharing with one another. She squeezed Nesta’s fingers once the dance card was secure, and that said enough.

If they could depend on no one else tonight, they could depend on each other. Elain managed to escape their governess to loop her arm through Feyre’s and then Nesta’s.

“Shall we?” She asked, with none of the excitement that had been in her voice when she’d talked about this evening as a little girl. Then, their mother had been alive, and talks of suitors and romance had been exciting.

Had their father truly warped this occasion, or had the veil just been lifted from their eyes? Suddenly, Feyre felt guilty for not having encouraged her sisters to try their own hand at magic, to ensure their true loves would be here, too. She had been nervous of the repercussions, and that it was a step of defiance too far even for Nesta, but now Feyre wondered if she had doomed them by withholding this secret.

Not that there was anything she could say or do now, as the three of them descended the steps and the ballroom doors opened, enveloping them in layers of sound—the softly playing orchestra, the idle chatter of the attendees, the sound of glass flutes filled with sparkling liquid. It all quieted the moment they entered the room.

That was when their Father stepped forward from the heart of the crowd. “Ladies and gentleman, may I introduce to you all my three beautiful daughters.” They dropped arms, forcing pleasant smiles toward the curious, near predatory crowd.

“My eldest daughter, Nesta Archeron.”

Chin held high, eyes as cool and unyielding as a winter storm, Nesta curtsied to the room.

“My dearest, Elain Archeron.”

Elain smiled so brilliantly, no one would ever have believed she was standing at the front of the ballroom unwillingly. Feyre could already see the way some of the men’s eyes glazed as they watched her gracefully bow her body. All she could see was a pack of wolves eying a fawn.

Her eyes scanned the crowd. Searching for him. Surely, he would not look like a wolf.

“And my youngest. Here to celebrate her debut into society and her 21st birthday. Feyre Archeron.”

For a moment, Feyre considered standing her ground. It would be delicious to stare her father in the eyes as she refused to bow. But knowingly it would reflect poorly on her sisters, Feyre lowered her body towards the ground and spread her arms just as her governess had made them practice. Again and again and again.

“They’re all staring,” she said under her breath, trying her best not to fidget as they walked with each other through the parted crowd. Their governess said that tonight she needed to emulate perfect, poised Elain.

Feyre noted, with some measure of satisfaction, that perfect, poised Elain was looking fairly pale herself.

“Let them stare,” Nesta said. “They’re to come to us.”

Indeed, they hadn’t made it to the refreshments table before the first bachelor stepped into their path, eager eyes fixed on Elain as he bowed. “Lord Graysen,” he said. A lovely voice, but it wasn’t deep enough. Not at all like being caressed by moonlight.

Soon Elain was sequestered to the dance floor, followed by a brave, darked haired man who dared weather Nesta’s icy demeanor. Handsome, even through his mask, but there was something about the way his eyes wavered over Nesta’s body that made Feyre’s stomach drop into her chest. Lord Tomas. Not her true love.

If he was here, as he had promised Feyre he would be, she liked to believe that he would be the first to approach her. If only to ensure that he could secure a place on her dance card.

“Lady Feyre,” someone said at her back.

She turned, and was met with an exquisite golden mask embedded with emeralds and shaped like whorls of leaves. Jade green eyes shone beneath the twisted metal and his lips were curled into a friendly smile.

She hadn’t imagined the shoulder length blonde hair. But he was certainly handsome.

“Pardon me, Lord…”

“Tamlin,” he supplied with a small, charming laugh. “Duke of Carterhaugh. Please excuse my terrible manners. I was momentarily blindsided.”

His voice was… different. Deep. A bit rougher, less like velvet and more like corduroy. “Blindsided by what, your grace?”

“Your eyes,” he answered. “They’re the most beautiful color I’ve ever seen.”

For a moment, the room swam and all the sound fizzled into a muted buzz. She searched Tamlin’s face, assessing his intention. He was smiling. Smiling knowingly. And truly, what were the chances that any other suitor would be so forward. So shameless?

“That’s an awfully rakish thing to say,” she said, studying every muscle on his face.

Tamlin grinned. “Maybe so, lady.” It was him. It had to be. “But I am only speaking the truth.” Feyre might as well have been floating as he held out his hand and asked, “May I have the first dance?”

He was here. And he was a duke. Surely, her father would be ecstatic at such a match.

“Tell me more about yourself, your grace.”

“Please,” he said, his touch light as he guided her towards the dance floor. “Call me Tamlin.”

Feyre withheld a giggle. Over a month now, she’d agonized over what his name might be. Tamlin. They moved among the other couples, searching for a space in the waltz. His hand was on her forearm, so warm. This close, she could smell him, and it wasn’t quite the same as she remembered. It reminded her of opening the window after a fresh rain. What had he smelled of before? Magic is fickle, and perhaps her dream of him hadn’t been a perfect mirror to reality.

“Tell me Tamlin,” Feyre said as he drew her into his arms. “What do you think of the stars?”

He placed a hand on her shoulder blade, the other clasped hers firmly. “The stars?” He asked as he led them into the flow of dancing couples, graceful as any debutante could have hoped to find in a dance partner. “I think the stars are beautiful. Though I—”

Feyre watched those jade eyes widen. His attention snapped over her shoulder and Feyre whirled in time to watch the doors blow open on a gust of night-kissed wind. The candles nearest the entrance guttered, bathing half of the room in shadow before they flared back to life.

The crowd gasped,some even screamed, as they all scrambled to part way for a figure that strolled in on long, even steps, straightening the lapels of his black jacket as though there wasn’t a single soul watching.

Shadow leaked from him like ink in water. Magic. Magic unlike she had ever seen it. Raw. Powerful. Even across the room, she could taste it in the air.

The masked stranger angled his head, blue-black hair shifting with the movement. Candlelight glowed against his face adoringly, illuminating a pair of bright violet eyes that swept over the room and landed directly on her Father.

“Lord Archeron,” he greeted. “What a charming soiree. A shame my invitation was misplaced.”

Tamlin’s hand moved up until he was gripping her shoulder, pushing her towards the back of the crowed. “What’s going on?” She whispered to him. “Do you know who that is?”

“Prince Rhysand,” he said darkly. “From the Northern Kingdom.”

She’d heard very little of the cold, merciless North. But she’d heard enough to go stiff, watching with horror as the dark prince approached her father, walking almost past him, before he placed a hand on his shoulder and said something into his ear.

Something that made Feyre’s father stumble backward. His face had drained of all color, but she could see him fighting to maintain composure as he said, “My family is honored to have you in attendance, your highness.”

Coward. But she could forgive him for it, on this occasion.

Rhysand was picking a fleck of dust off his shoulder as he said. “I wish to dance with your loveliest daughter.”

There was a moment of silence where Feyre could feel her father panicking. Something gnarled and twisted inside of her couldn’t help revel in it. For once, he understood how it felt to have control taken from him. Her gratification faltered the minute he began stuttering, “E-Elain, darling, come dance with the Prince.”

Sweet, gentle Elain. It was no secret that she was the loveliest of the sisters. Not just in beauty, but in nature. Her heart was good, kind in a way their Father had always declared was rare.

“No that one,” Rhysand said, not even glancing in the direction from where Elain had hesitantly stepped out of the crowd.

“Nesta, then,” her Father said.

Feyre tried not to feel insulted at being declared the least lovely—it was such a vain thing to focus on. At least Nesta, with her steel heart and iron will, would be most likely to weather the conditions of the North. Should it come to that.

“No.” The Prince’s tone was almost mocking. “Not that one, either.”

“Feyre,” her father called, sweeping his eyes over the crowd in search of her.

Tamlin’s hand tightened on her shoulder, but it fell away as she stepped forward. The ballroom was so quiet, the click of her shoes resounded through the room with each step. The world’s most resentful death knell.

The prince turned, violet eyes assessing her approvingly. “Feyre Archeron,” he purred. Her cheeks burned in humiliation at the knowledge that every single person was watching, holding their breaths so they could hear each word in perfect clarity. “The rumors are true, then, that you have eyes like stars.” He leaned in close, so that the next words were but a private secret between the two of them: “They are the most beautiful color I have ever seen.”