#if she did finally settle down it would be with him

[edenesth]

Do You Have Your Calvins On?

Pairing: boyfriend!Mingi x girlfriend!reader

AU: non-idol au

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: He was ready to be your personal Calvin Klein model. You just wanted snacks and anime. But when loyalty points turn into loyalty tests, it's clear—things aren't always as brief as they seem.

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"Babe, have you seen my—"

Mingi smirked, finally catching your attention as you stepped into the room, ready to grab your things before settling in for your weekend anime marathon. What you weren't expecting, though, was the sight of your clown of a boyfriend sprawled dramatically across the bed—posing like the star of a Calvin Klein campaign. The lower half of his shirt was unbuttoned, the waistband of his CK briefs proudly on display, abs subtly flexed as he struck his best model look.

He lay there, smug and eager, watching your expression. Surely this would blow your mind. Work had been brutal lately, and he hardly got to spend time with you, just brief moments half-asleep beside each other before you were up and gone again.

This weekend, he wanted your full, undivided attention. And what better way to grab it than by flaunting his new set of Calvin Kleins… and the results of those extra hours he'd been putting in at the gym?

He held his breath, waiting for your reaction.

"Get up," you said flatly, letting out a tired sigh as you walked over.

"Why?" he asked, arching a brow with a mischievous grin. "You wanna—"

You cut him off with a smack to the side, unable to hide the twitch of amusement pulling at your lips as he yelped dramatically. Leaning over him, you grabbed the item you'd been searching for—your hair clip, wedged just under his back by the pillows.

"You're laying on my hair clip, you fool," you deadpanned, clipping your hair up as you turned and casually left the room.

The man sat there on the bed, completely stunned, eyes fixed on your retreating figure.

Did you… not notice?

Your boyfriend remained on the bed, refusing to believe you weren't going to come running back into his arms. Not when he looked like this. There was no way. So he pouted, got right back into his pose, and gave you another chance.

But you never came.

Instead, he heard the unmistakable sound of the TV turning on in the living room… followed by the opening theme of The Apothecary Diaries Season 2.

Was he… losing to fictional men?

He scoffed. No way. Maybe you hadn't gotten a good enough look. Yeah, that must be it. Maybe your glance had been too quick, too distracted. Determined, he got up and strutted out into the living room, only to find you already curled up comfortably on the couch, wrapped in blankets like a cosy burrito, clutching his chick plush to your chest. Eyes glued to the screen. No acknowledgement.

He stood there in disbelief. Why would you need the damn plush when the real thing is literally right here?

Come on, Mingi. Be cool. You know you're her number one.

Feigning casual confidence, he reminded himself that no number of 2D men or adorable stuffed animals could ever replace this. That's right. With a subtle air of swagger, he sat down next to you, slouched into what he imagined was a very natural, very sexy position—abs slightly flexed, briefs peeking just enough, like some kind of lazy Adonis.

You glanced at him once. Briefly. Then held out your bag of snacks.

He blinked. Did she really just—

You offered no further comment, simply resumed watching, completely absorbed in the show. He declined the snacks with a shake of his head, slightly offended, but you just shrugged and pulled the bag closer to yourself.

Mingi tried watching the anime with you—really, he did—but how could he focus when your blanket and plush were occupying the spaces he was meant to fill? He glared at the chick plush like it had personally wronged him.

Clearing his throat, he leaned just a little closer and flexed his abs with practised ease. "You cold, baby?" he asked, his voice low and oh-so-casual. "Come here, it's warm."

You turned, offered him a sweet, appreciative smile. "Love you, Mangi. But I'm too lazy to move."

Too… lazy?

Why weren't you breaking your ankles running into his arms right now? Was he losing it? Had he peaked? He looked down at himself. Nah. He looked amazing. Even his friends had said CK would make him ambassador if he were famous. And yet… his girlfriend hadn't even spared him a second glance.

He sank deeper into the couch, sulking as his eyes drifted to the screen, just in time to see Jinshi struggling to win Maomao's attention. He frowned. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath, "is this how it feels?"

Mingi sulked for the better part of the day.

Eventually, he gave up on his antics and settled beside you, letting the anime marathon run its course. Somewhere between episodes, you shifted closer to him, head dipping in his direction, and he took that as his cue to scoot in. Your warmth pressed gently into his side, and to his surprise, he found himself smiling.

Nothing wild. No grand gestures. Just you, him, a shared blanket, and a few fictional characters running around solving medical mysteries in ancient China. And that was enough.

When he glanced down at you and noticed the faint dark circles under your eyes, guilt poked at him. He hadn't even considered whether you were in the mood for his nonsense. You'd had a long week. Hell, he was tired too.

Maybe this quiet kind of intimacy wasn't so bad.

By the time the credits rolled on the final episode, he had completely dropped the act. He gently pressed a kiss to your temple and tugged the chick plush from your grasp with all the stealth of a cartoon villain, replacing it with himself. You let him, arms wrapping around his torso without protest, cheek pressed to his chest.

Victory.

A smug little smirk tugged at his lips as he leaned back with you tucked against him. This… this was even better than what he'd imagined.

It wasn't until you both got up later to get ready for dinner that you noticed something odd: a sleek, unopened Calvin Klein box tucked neatly in the corner of his wardrobe. It looked… expensive. Not the kind of packaging you'd expect from a casual impulse buy.

You stepped closer, eyeing the box. It looked too pristine, too curated. Almost like… a gift?

But from who?

It wasn't his birthday, nor had there been any recent celebrations. And he wasn't exactly desperate for new underwear—at least, not that you knew of. Brow furrowing, you cracked open the box and spotted something tucked inside.

A card.

Curious, you slid it out. Your heart stuttered at the words written in clean print:

'Dear Mingi, do you have your Calvins on?'

Your jaw dropped.

What the hell—

You shoved the card back in the box like it burned, turning on your heel and marching straight to the bathroom, only to find your boyfriend shirtless, freshly cleaned and glowing with that post-shower confidence. The Calvin Kleins, of course, were still very much on display.

He turned, catching your reflection in the mirror. "Baby? What is it?"

You scoffed. "You've been working out?"

His eyes lit up like a child at Christmas. "Finally," he whispered under his breath, spinning around like he was about to pounce.

But you stopped him cold, holding up the box like it was evidence in court. "For who?" you asked, suspiciously calm.

He blinked, caught off guard. "For… you? Duh?"

You narrowed your eyes and shook the box lightly. "Don't lie. I know you didn't buy this yourself. So who gave it to you?"

Mingi looked utterly confused. "Babe… it's just Calvin Klein…"

You stared him down like he'd grown a second head. "Just Calvin Klein? Are you seriously telling me people are out here randomly gifting you luxury underwear for fun?"

Looking sheepish now, he raised a hand. "Okay, okay, not for no reason. I mean—do you know how many loyalty points I had to collect to get that gift? CK doesn't hand this stuff out like candy, babe. That's an earned gift."

You stared, processing, then slowly pulled the note out again, taking a better look this time. There it was. Small but clear, at the bottom of the card:

'x Your Friends at Calvin Klein.'

You stared at the signature, then at him. You felt like a clown.

His face slowly morphed into a full-blown grin, piecing it all together. This was what it took? A misunderstanding and a loyalty reward?

After everything he did today, all the sulking, the posing, the internal monologues about fictional competition—this was what finally made you crack?

He couldn't be happier.

You were still clutching the Calvin Klein box like it had personally betrayed you when Mingi stepped toward you, arms outstretched and that signature smirk playing at his lips.

"So," he drawled, tilting his head, "you do care about me after all?"

You tried to roll your eyes, but he looked way too smug. And unfortunately, also way too good.

"I've been trying to get your attention all day," he said with exaggerated hurt, gesturing vaguely to himself—to his abs, the briefs, the effort. "I thought you didn't even notice any of this."

You bit your lip without meaning to. His arms were still open, expectant. You stepped closer. And like a magnet, he pulled you right in, wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging you flush against him. His skin was warm and damp from the shower, his abs pressing perfectly against your front as you leaned in.

"Of course I noticed," you murmured, resting your hands against his bare chest. "I noticed the second I walked in. How could I not? You've been walking around here looking like a damn ad."

He raised a brow, delighted. "So why didn't you say anything?"

You sighed, shoulders slumping slightly. "Because I was distracted… I had a lot on my mind from work, and I guess I felt guilty for not giving you the attention you wanted, and then I saw the note and panicked and—"

You rambled, the words falling out like an unravelling ribbon.

"You're always the handsomest to me, Mingi. Always. Like, painfully attractive. I guess I just assumed you knew that already, and I didn't think I had to say it out loud, but now I feel like an idiot because—"

His grin stretched wider and wider with every word, eyes sparkling with so much fondness it made your cheeks burn.

"And—and also maybe I got a little jealous, because what if someone did send you those and they were trying to—"

He didn't let you finish.

Mingi leaned in and captured your lips with his, effectively shutting down your spiral with a kiss that was all warmth and mischief and just the tiniest bit of relief. You melted instantly, fingers curling against his skin as you kissed him back.

When he finally pulled away, breathless and grinning, he murmured against your lips, "You really think I'd wear fancy underwear for anyone else but you?"

You laughed, hiding your face in his neck. "Point taken."

"And for the record," he added, holding you a little tighter, "you can tell me I'm hot more often. I don't mind."

"Oh, I know you don't," you teased, poking at his side. "You live for it."

"You love it too," he grinned, leaning in to kiss you again—and this time, you didn't hold back. He pulled away just enough to hover, his breath warm against your lips as he murmured, "So… are we still going out for dinner, my queen?"

You bit your lip, cheeks flushed, and gave a small shake of your head. "I… think we're good right here."

Safe to say, dinner plans were officially off the table—no need for food when he was far too busy devouring you instead.

Sighs... just look at the damn CK pics. Need I say more? I wouldn't be edenesth if I didn't write anything after seeing them HAHA this and his fREAKING SOLO SONG ON THE NEW ALBUM WOOFWOOF hope y'all liked this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

General ATEEZ Tag list:

@blueberrychan @marievllr-abg @itsvxlentine @minghaoslatina @huachengsbestie01

@evidive @weedforthoughtz @minkiflwr @cheolliehugs @ho3-for-yunho

@the-kpop-simp @itstheghostofmypast @vantediary @green-agent @skzline

@sharksandminhos @writingwieny @heyitsmetonid @tinyteezer @hollxe1

@pandabur666 @vampzity @tournesol155 @lilactangerine @oddracha

@haven-cove @idfkeddieishot @vic0921 @vnessalau @apriecotte

@bangtannie7 @vtyb23 @khjoongie98 @scuzmunkie @anxiousskylar

@bunny4yungi @zl-world @quailbagutte @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @cixrosie

@cristy-101

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[laceyhearts]

✶ DATE NIGHT INSECURITIES ; JACK HUGHES !

➪ summary: jack's date night plans with his girl get changed when he finds out she hasn't been feeling like herself lately

➪ pairing: jack hughes x fem!reader

➪ warnings: insecurities, mentions of paparrazi and hate comments

➪ word count: 2.4k

➪ emma's notes: stop bc i forgot this is one of my favorite jack fics i've written

© laceyhearts ; do not copy, repost, translate, or put my work through ai generators. do not copy or remake my themes, graphics, or layouts.

It wasn’t all the time that Jack got to have two consecutive nights off during the season, especially between home games, so date nights out in New Jersey were a rare thing to come by for him and his girlfriend. In actuality, date nights like tonight were a rare occasion for the couple. 

Y/n wasn’t a fan of going out in public, and not in the sense that she didn’t want to be seen with Jack, because of course, she did. But the thought of having to showcase herself to the paparazzi had her stomach churning uncontrollably. 

With insecurities, there came good days where she would lounge on the couch in one of Jack’s hoodies eating a whole pizza if her body allowed, bad days where now and then throughout her day she would notice something “off” about her and let it plague her for the rest of the day no matter where she was or what she was doing, and down-in-the-dumps days where she would wake up already self-conscious of how she looked - her hair flying out of her ponytail, dark circles beneath her eyes, her breath smelling like she ate too many cloves of garlic - and as the hours passed, her thoughts multiplied. 

Today had been one of those down-in-the-dumps days, which only fueled her anxiety as the clock ticked closer and closer to when the two were supposed to leave. She’d woken up with this sinking feeling in her stomach, slowly crawling out of bed so as not to disturb Jack as he continued to sleep peacefully. She’d spent more time than normal in the shower, in front of the mirror, in the kitchen as she debated what to eat for breakfast. 

And once she got home from work, she sat on the floor of their shared closet, eyes darting around to the shirts and dresses that were hanging. She’d been through at least five different outfits, all of them now surrounding her on the ground. 

Almost an hour later, she finally settled on a black dress, one that she had worn plenty of times and never failed to make her feel comfortable. She’d only gotten it halfway on before she remembered the zipper in the back of the dress, groaning softly. And so she settled on the only thing she knew to do, “Jack!”

She could hear Jack’s footsteps as he came running down the hallway, catching himself on the door frame to prevent himself from continuing to slide, “What? What’s wrong?”

Y/n turned around, unable to stifle her giggles as her eyes raked over him; his shirt unbuttoned and wrinkled, his hair a mess, and his tie loose, almost as if he just came from a college party. She shook her head, walking over to him to run a hand through his hair and kiss his cheek, “Nothing, I just need your help zipping my dress up.”

It was only then that Jack looked at her up and down, grinning when he saw what she was wearing, “I love this dress on you.”

She flushed at his statement, walking back to the mirror to fix the dress, tugging at it slightly. Jack grinned even more when he noticed the color of her cheeks, “Good to know I can still make you blush this much after a year.”

He made his way to stand behind her, placing his hands on her hips, and leaning his head down so his chin was resting on her shoulder. He looked at her through the mirror, watching as she fixed her necklace and earrings, fiddled with her hair so it lay just how she wanted it to, straightened her dress, and tugged at the fabric against her stomach to stop it from clinging to her skin. 

He didn’t think much of it initially and just moved the hair away from the left side to the right and turned to kiss her lightly on the neck. The action caused her to shiver a little, but ultimately left her with a smile.

Jack’s hands worked carefully on zipping her dress up, every so often brushing her back gently and placing a kiss on her cheek or temple. When the zipper reached the top of the fabric, his hands slipped around to her front, arms circling her waist, “Baby.”

She hummed softly, but her eyes were trained on the mirror, letting herself be leveled with her own scrutiny, pointing out everything she thought was wrong; the way her hair fell flat, the way her dress highlighted her figure in all the wrong ways, the way her makeup looked caked on. 

When he heard nothing but her quiet sound of acknowledgement, he looked back up, locking on the frown on her face through the mirror. He furrowed his eyebrows, arms tightening their grasp, “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, plastering a fake smile on her face as she turned to face him, “Nothing, Jacky, I think I’m just gonna put on some tights underneath it and maybe some shorts.”

And usually, he would’ve let it slide, wouldn’t so much as bat an eye to her words because it was cold out, it was the middle of January. But the way she looked, the way her eyes narrowed whenever she’d see something new that she didn’t like, he knew there was something wrong.

He sighed, arms holding her in place, “Don’t.”

“Jacky, we’re gonna be late.”

“Don’t do this.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

She shied away from him, attempting to escape his grasp again, but he held her hips, turning her to face the mirror, which only made her shift uncomfortably. Jack rolled his eyes, leaning his chin down to rest on her shoulder, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“There’s nothing to tell, let's just go before they decide they don’t want to serve us.”

“We are not leaving this apartment, this room, until you tell me what’s going on, even though you know I know what you’re pretty little head is thinking about right now.”

She stopped fighting and looked down, causing Jack to spin her around once more, lifting her chin so her eyes were looking directly into his. “Talk to me.”

“It’s just one of those days, I guess.”

He knew there was more; he always knew. Jack knew about how she didn’t like going out for date nights because she didn’t want to have any unexpected pictures taken of her, how she hated posting on Instagram because she’s always scared that the only comments she’ll get are one’s commenting about how ‘ugly’ she looked, that she hated summer because she could never wear what all the others girls were wearing and feel good about it, and that she hated going to his games wearing his jersey because girls always made comments about him never wanting to be with her.

“I know that’s not all that’s bothering you, sweetheart. And you know that too,”

He backed up to sit on the chest in front of their bed. And just like Jack knew whenever she was lying, she knew that as soon as he sat down on the chest, he’d pat his left thigh, beckoning her over. She knew that if she stood there, not giving in to him, he’d sit and pout like she was personally offending him, giving her those puppy dog eyes. 

This time, however, she was determined to stand her ground, “No. I’m putting tights and shorts on, and then we’re leaving.”

Jack rolled his eyes but kept sitting. She stared at him, and he had no problem with staring right back, another one of their daily staring contests starting. He broke eye contact first, causing y/n to let out a little cheer before heading into the closet to change. Rules were rules, when someone won the staring contest, they won the argument, no matter the pettiness level.

He sat patiently on the trunk as he watched her close the door of the closet. He knew this was not a bad day; he knew it was a down-in-the-dumps-and-everything-that-can-go-wrong-manages-to-go-wrong kind of day. He knocked on the door and halted her actions, “Put your sweats on.”

“What?”

“I said, put your sweats on, my hoodie, and get your pretty ass out to the living room in five minutes. Take your makeup off, too, and put your hair up.”

She was confused, but she had no complaints about his words; wearing sweats definitely beats having to wear tights and shorts and a dress. And wearing his hoodie? That beat everything. 

She came out five minutes later and sat on the couch, crossing her legs, Jack having already ordered food and put her favorite TV show on. He wrapped one of his arms around her waist and pulled her into his side as close as he could without her being on top of him, not that he would have minded her in his lap in the slightest. 

“Talk to me, please.” His voice sounded like he was pleading, and he was. He wanted to make all of her insecurities go away, shower her with kisses, and make her feel loved. And if he accomplished that and was able to cuddle her, he would be more than okay to do this every day instead of going out. 

She sighed, and Jack gave her his hand so she could fiddle with her fingers, something she always did when she got anxious, “I wasn’t lying when I said it was one of those days.”

She took a deep breath before continuing, “It’s just- that dress was the dress I could always count on myself knowing I would look good in. I don’t usually have to think about it too hard; I could just put it on and go. When you zipped it up, I could tell it fit a little tighter than it usually did, and it just felt…” She couldn’t exactly describe what she felt, how she felt. If you knew the feeling, you knew the feeling.

Tears pricked at her eyes as she gripped his hand tighter, “I just want to feel pretty, Jack.”

That absolutely, utterly, broke, no shattered, his heart. He hated that his girl had to feel like this, hated that society had made it so not only her but every girl that didn’t look like the stereotypical one had to feel like they weren’t beautiful. All logical reasoning flew out of his head at that point, pulling her into his lap like it was the only place she was meant to be. She didn’t even have the energy to protest and dug her head into his shoulder.

His own tears welled up in his eyes as he listened to her cry, it was one of his least favorite sounds in the whole world, maybe the worst sound he’s ever heard. 

Minutes passed before she pulled her head away from his chest, and he reached out, cupping her cheeks, letting the coolness of his hands lessen the heat of her cheeks. She sniffled, reaching her hand up to wipe her nose, as Jack wiped the tears for her. 

“I want you to listen to me, y/n. And please, actually listen to me.”

She nodded, still trying to rid the remnants of tears off her face, “You are beautiful, no matter who tells you differently. I will always think you’re beautiful. I know that self-love is the most important kind of love there is, and it breaks my heart every time I see you look at yourself a little longer in the mirror in the mornings or when you pull at the fabric of your shirt while you’re working at the kitchen table. And I am more than willing to help you feel beautiful all day, every day.

“I know that you’re not going to feel pretty all of the time, everyone has those days. Even me, pretty boy Hughes.”

His comment made her laugh a little, and he smiled when he heard it. That was one of his favorite sounds in the world. He smiled a little more when he felt her hand run through his hair, “There’s my girl.”

This comment makes her blush instead, and that causes him to smile even more, “And there is the blush that I still cannot believe I make you do. Somehow, you just got ten times more gorgeous.”

Her cheeks reddened even more, and he chuckled a little at it this time. He moved his hands from her cheeks to her hips, his thumbs resting under her sweatshirt and rubbing soft circles into her skin, “There will always be someone to say something, trust me, and I wish I could take it all away so it wouldn’t hurt you. But, I want you to know that I love you for you, and I could never imagine myself loving anyone else. 

“Anyone could have a model as their girlfriend or their wife, but only I can have you. And that’s what makes me love you, y/n. Not the way you look, though I adore how you look, but instead the way you smile when you see me every time, the way you always cuddle me after a rough game, the way you know when something is wrong, the way you treat everyone like they hung the stars, and the way you moan-”

“Jack!”

He laughed, throwing his head back in the process, his hands subtly tightening on her hips, “My point is, before you so rudely interrupted me listing the things I love about you.” She slapped his arm before smiling at him, “You don’t need to live up to anyone else’s expectations of beautiful when you think you are. As long as you think you’re beautiful, that’s all that matters, as long as you do it for you and not for anyone else.”

Tears pricked at her eyes once more, this time out of love and happiness, “I love you.”

He kissed her cheek and then kissed her, making her jump in shock a little before melting into the kiss. His hands moved further up underneath her sweatshirt, and he moved to kiss her neck, causing her to let out a soft moan when he hit her sensitive spot right on the dot. That made him grin as he pulled away. That was his favorite sound in the world.

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[xobunni0]

‘𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒃𝒐𝒚’ Johnny storm x f!reader

finally telling Johnny you want to start a family. • fluff, pregnancy, implied sex

༘⋆✿ life is what happens to you

while you’re busy making other plans

Johnny sat at your tiny kitchen table, one arm thrown lazily over the back of another chair, legs spread comfortably. a half eaten box of cheerios in his other hand, tilted toward his mouth as he grinned through another story

“and then… that’s when how told us she was pregnant!” he said, his voice full of excitement. “sue just dropped it on us like it was nothing. you should’ve seen Reed’s face.”

you laughed, setting your mug down gently so it wouldn’t clink too loud and interrupt him. Johnny hadn’t even meant to stay long. he’d just come by to check in before heading off to deal with something ‘important,’ but the quick visit had turned into an hour of him lounging in your kitchen, gushing over his sister’s news

you loved watching him like this, open and full of light

“She’s going to be a great mom” he said quieter now as he munched on a few more dry cheerios from the box. “and I’m going to be the best uncle. i’ve already got ideas.”

you stepped up behind him with a soft smile, letting your hands rest gently on his shoulders before leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek. you felt his skin warm under your lips

“That’s sweet Johnny” you said softly

he tilted his head a little to look at you, eyes crinkling with that smile of his “It is” he said

and it was, it really was

as you stood behind him, your fingers brushing lightly over the fabric of his shirt, you couldn’t help the thought that settled quietly in your chest. what it would be like to start a family with him. you pictured little feet running through the apartment, tiny hands tugging at your dress, you imagined the soft curve of your belly under his warm palms, imagined Johnny laying his head there, talking to the bump with that same excitement he had in his voice now

you imagined babies with Johnny’s eyes. if there was one thing Johnny Storm had no shortage of, it was love to give

your heart swelled at the thought, but it ached too. because the truth was, you didn’t really know if that’s the kind of forever he wanted. you’d never talked about it, not seriously. your relationship was dreamy and sweet, but you didn’t know if those dreams were shared ones

and maybe you were just too scared to ask

still, you held onto that moment. the soft morning light, the sound of his voice, and the way he smiled when you kissed him

later that day when Johnny snuck in the same way he always did, through the creaky window you never got around to fixing, slipping into your bed like you were his home. tonight was no different

he had his arm under your head, curled in close. he smelled like smoke and clean soap. the room was dark except, you could hear the faint hum of a record you forgot to turn off downstairs

and your heart was pounding

the thought had been with you all day, weeks honestly. you’d felt it when he smiled at babies on the street, when he told you about sue and how proud he was. you felt it when you watched him brush your pin curls out gently with his fingers, when he held your hand like it was the most important thing in the world

and now it was too much to keep inside

“Johnny” you whispered, voice trembling just slightly as your fingers toyed with the hem of your sleep gown “I need to tell you something…”

you felt him shift beside you “What is it?” he murmured, his voice low and soft, a little sleepy. his hand came up to gently stroke your hair like he always did when you were nervous or shy. that only made the lump in your throat harder to swallow

you took a breath, you had to say it

“I want to start a family with you.”

it came out quieter than you expected, but it was soft, sweet, and true. you felt it in his body, the way he tensed slightly, the way his chest rose with a deeper breath, the way his heart began to beat a little faster against your back

you didn’t dare look at him, even though you knew he was staring at you now, searching for something. you kept your eyes on the sheets, waiting.

he didn’t speak. for a moment, it was just the tick of the old clock on your vanity

you blinked hard. maybe you shouldn’t have said anything

but then finally,with his hand in your hair, he moved. slowly, gently, he shifted so you were on your back and he was leaning over you, his face serious in a way you didn’t see often. you still couldn’t look him in the eye

“Hey…” he whispered, one hand cupping your cheek now, warm and tender “Look at me sweetheart.”

and you did

and the look in his eyes nearly made you cry they were soft, stunned, and big

“You really mean that?” he asked voice rough “with me? are you sure?”

Johnny’s voice was barely above a whisper, like the idea alone was too good to be real. his lips were parted, eyes wide and glossy in the dark, and you knew, knew he’d never had someone say those words to him like this before. not gently, not with love

you finally turned your head to look at him, to show him you meant it with everything inside you

you nodded “I think about it all the time” you admitted. “I see the way you are Johnny. how much love you have in you. I know you’d be the best dad. and I..” Your voice cracked just a little “I want to do it all with you..”

he blinked slowly, like he was trying to make sense of it. then he exhaled a shaky breath and leaned his forehead against yours

“Baby, I’ve never really thought of that…” he admitted vulnerably in a way that broke your heart a little “not for me, not really.”

“I know” you replied stroking his ribs with the tips of your fingers, because you did know. he was busy all the time, always saving someone, flying off to something important. he barely had time to breathe, let alone dream about a baby

but you also knew how tender he was, how protective, how full of love he was

“That’s why I wanted to tell you” you whispered “Because even if you haven’t thought about it… I have. and I see it when I look at you. I see you holding a baby, our baby.”

your fingertip kept moving slowly along his stomach, soothing circles, gentle patterns. he was silent for a second. the he let out a breathy, disbelieving laugh. soft, almost shy and dipped his chin a little, like he didn’t know what to do with how full his heart felt

“Would you… want to try?” you asked quietly

he didn’t answer right away. his eyes searched yours, there was fear, love, awe in them. he gulped, his throat bobbing and then he smiled

not that cocky smile he gave the press, not the flirtatious smirk he gave fans. this one was small, real, and full of warmth

“yeah..” he said at last “of course I want to try. if you want that with me… then I want it too. I want all of it. you, me, the whole thing”

you heart felt full, eyes blurry as you leaned in to kiss him slow, your fingers still brushing over his skin. he kissed you like you were something cherished. and when he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his hand curling around your hip, holding you close

“I don’t know what kind of dad I’d be” he whispered

“the best” you promised

after that night, something changed in Johnny. not just in the way he looked at you, but in the way he showed up for you

he never missed a day

he was at your apartment more than ever now, slipping in through the window with that same bright grin, but this time he didn’t leave after a few hours. he came straight to you after long missions, hair tousled and face flushed, hands already grabbing for your waist like he’d been thinking about you the whole time, and he had.

“You eat today baby?”

“Drink water?”

“Let me hold you for a second. Missed you.”

but more than anything, Johnny made sure you were full of him every single chance he got

“This one” he groaned against your lips one night, hips pressed flushed to yours “this one is it.”

“Yeah?” you breathed, hands cupping his cheeks gently as your thighs trembled around his waist

“Yeah” he panted, holding still as you both came down from it, his forehead dropping to yours, both of you smiling stupidly as you laid there tangled together

that became your routine. morning, afternoon, night. in the kitchen, in the shower, even once on the couch with a half eaten milkshake sitting forgotten on the coffee table. Johnny was determined. he’d whisper things like “going to give you my baby” and “we’re gonna get our little family. sweetheart just wait” as he held you close, soft kisses planted over your belly

and then just like that you missed your period

a few days turned into a week, and your heart started to race every time you checked the calendar. you didn’t say anything at first not until you were sure. you slipped out that morning and went straight to the clinic, heart pounding in your chest the entire time

and then the nurse smiled at you “You’re pregnant.”

you nearly burst into tears on the spot, overwhelmed with joy. the second you stepped out of the clinic, the only thing on your mind was Johnny. telling him, seeing the look on his face. your hand instinctively settled over your belly as you walked home

when Johnny finally came home that evening, you didn’t even wait you turned to him the second he kicked off his boots

“Johnny” you beamed, voice already shaky with emotion “I’m pregnant.”

for a moment, he just blinked at you. and then his whole face lit up

“no way… no way” he whispered, walking forward and scooping you up in his arms before you could say another word. he spun you around, laughing, breathless, kissing your face over and over

“We did it” he breathed into your hair, holding you tighter “We did it”

you could feel his heart hammering in his chest as he kissed you again, softer this time, his hand settling gently over your stomach

“You’re going to be the best mom” he said, his voice full of awe, like he couldn’t believe this was real

you giggled, burying your face into his neck

“Oh my god. I need to tell sue and Ben, and everyone” he said suddenly, pulling back just enough to look at you

“Johnny wait” you giggled, swatting at him gently, “maybe we should wait a little-”

“Nope. not a chance” he grinned wide

and just like that, your little dream wasn’t just yours anymore. it belonged to both of you

The months that followed your pregnancy felt like a dream, the kind you never wanted to wake up from

Johnny introduced you to sue and the rest of the family not even a week after you told him the news. you wore your prettiest doll dress, hair styled into pin curls, nervous but glowing. sue hugged you so tight, her own belly beginning to show

Ben lifted Johnny clean off the ground in excitement the second he heard the news

“Two babies on the way?” he grinned “Guess we’re going to need double the diapers.”

Reed, immediately offered to help with prenatal research, though Johnny quickly waved him off “She doesn’t need a lab Reed, she needs rest”

everyone was gushing over the news

but no one, not one single person was as devoted, obsessed, and hopelessly in love with your pregnancy as Johnny was

he didn’t miss a single appointment, not one. he came to every checkup, held your hand, asked the doctor too many questions, and always made sure you got your post visit milkshake after. if he ever had to miss something, it broke his heart and he’d whisper apologies against your stomach the minute he got home

“I’m sorry baby” he’d murmur as he kissed your bump “but I’m here now.”

and he always was

when your belly started to grow and your clothes didn’t fit quite right anymore, and you didn’t feel like a perfect dolled up version of yourself, Johnny was the first to fix that

“You’re still my doll” he’d whisper, kissing the stretch marks “Prettiest mama I’ve ever seen.”

you’d be brushing your teeth in the morning, hair a mess, nightgown riding up, and he’d still walk up behind you, wrap his arms around your waist and rest his chin on your shoulder “God, I love you.” he’d say, voice full of genuine awe

he talked to your belly constantly. it became part of his routine, resting his head on your stomach while you laid on the couch, telling your baby about his day, or humming a song softly into your skin. sometimes he’d fall asleep there, cheek pressed gently to your bump, arms circled around your waist

Johnny rubbed your back every night, without asking, without complaint. his hands were warm and strong and so, so gentle. he told you, you were amazing for carrying his child. he told you he loved you every day. sometimes in words. sometimes in how he looked at you

and then came the day of your routine check up the one that changed everything again

you were laying on the exam table, your hand in Johnny’s, watching the screen as the doctor moved the wand over your belly. you were used to it by now. but then the doctor tilted their head, smiled wide, and said “Well, looks like you’re in for a little surprise.”

Johnny blinked “What kind of surprise?”

the doctor chuckled, turned the screen just a little more toward you both “Two heartbeats.”

you blinked “Wait two?”

“Twins” the doctor confirmed with a bright grin

you gasped, a hand flying to your mouth and Johnny….

Johnny gasped louder

he stood up, nearly knocking the chair over, hand still holding yours

“TWO?!”

the joy in his face was clear as day. his eyes were wide, shining, lips parted in pure disbelief

“No way two?! oh my god baby, we’re having two? We’re having two babies?!”

he was grinning so wide it made your cheeks hurt just looking at him

you nodded, stunned and overwhelmed and completely in love “two, Johnny.”

and then he did it again. he kissed your forehead, your cheeks, your belly, still careful but so excited he was practically vibrating

“We did it” he whispered against your hair “Oh my god, we did it. we’re going to have two of ‘em.”

he turned to the doctor with a boyish grin “Can you see if they’ve got her nose already? please tell me they’ve got her nose.”

as you neared the end of your third trimester, Johnny went straight into nesting. he’d come home, arms full of bags, soft blankets, matching onesies, teeny booties, and the tiniest socks you’d ever seen. everything came in pairs, pink and blue, or yellow and green when he couldn’t decide

he built the cribs himself, even though Reed offered to design something high tech, Johnny insisted on putting them together by hand. he painted the nursery walls a soft, warm cream, and you covered them in hand drawn stars and clouds, he added a little sun with sunglasses that looked suspiciously like him

when it came to delivery day, Johnny made sure everything was perfect. the hospital bag had been packed and repacked a dozen times. he checked and rechecked every list. he’d barely slept the night before, too busy going over everything again just to make sure

and when the contractions hit hard and fast, he was at your side, helping you to the car, rubbing your back the entire way, whispering “I got you, I got you.”

at the hospital, when you cried out his name in pain, Johnny looked like he was feeling every bit of it with you. his jaw was tight, his eyes glossy, but he didn’t let go of your hand once. not even for a second

“You’re doing so good” he kept saying, pressing kiss after kiss to your forehead, brushing your sweaty hair back “I’m so proud of you. Just a little more, okay? I’m right here.”

you squeezed his hand so tightly your nails dug into his skin, but he didn’t even flinch. his hand stayed wrapped around yours

and then finally after hours, your cries were joined by the sweetest, tiniest sounds you’d ever heard

one then another

a perfect baby boy and a perfect baby girl

Johnny was speechless at first. his whole body stilled as the nurses cleaned the babies off and brought them over

“Oh my god” he whispered, his voice breaking as he looked down at both of them, then at you tired, glowing, eyes glassy with tears “Oh my god, baby. you did it.”

he leaned down, kissing you over and over again, hand trembling slightly as it cradled your cheek

“Thank you” he kept whispering between kisses “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

when you got home, Johnny’s devotion didn’t stop

he was up for every midnight feeding, every diaper change, every moment you needed help. he made sure you had food, sleep, water, warmth. he made sure you were taken care of just as much as the babies

and no matter how tired he was, he always made time to hold them

one in each arm

sometimes he’d just sit in the rocking chair for hours, shirt off so they could rest against his warm skin, humming little tunes and whispering promises to them both

“You’ve got the best mom in the whole world” he’d whisper “And I swear I’m going to love you both forever. longer, even.”

you’d catch him sometimes just staring at them in awe, brushing his thumb over their tiny lashes

he was so in love with them, with all three of you

and even through the exhaustion and newness of all of it, every time you looked over at Johnny holding both babies like they were the most precious thing in the world. you knew, without a doubt, your dream had come true

this was your forever

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 - 𓊆ྀི 𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐞𓊇ྀི

[hearttdesires]

every right - part 2

part 1

this is a loooong one.. or at least for me lol, I've never written so much please please please send any feedback , i’m soo glad you guys enjoyed part one 🤍 I think after this part, I'll start making little one shots so you can fully experience why the reader was so hurt thank you for readinggg 🫶🏽🫶🏽

p.s. this is no shade towards olivia; i wish I was living her life right about NOW 🫠

time skip - 1 year later

your drive home after a long weekend in the hamptons was nothing less but a drag. you didn’t care how long the drive was, you were still high on life after a weekend with your girls.

the weekend was full of drinks, the sun, and parties with rich hot men. as always the girls were always trying to pimp you out whether it be for more alcohol or just for you to have fun.

after last year’s fiasco with Joe, you sure as hell needed it. they say the best way to get over someone, is to get under someone else. you’ve maybe followed that rule a handful of times. you’ve come across maybe 2 good competitors against joe’s game in bed.

maybe you couldn’t find much competition because you had actual feelings for him.

after joe had left that morning, he had texted you. you couldn’t even see past the tears , but still somehow managed to block him. when he couldn’t reach you from his personal cell, he tried from his work phone, and you ended up having to block that number too.

you couldn’t ever fully let him go. if a news article or an interview of his came up, you watched or read a bit.

your entire weekend in the hamptons, the girls had set one rule: don’t check up on him at all.

you listened & somehow managed to miss the biggest article of them all.

star quarterback: back on the market, model: heartbroken in the hamptons

you arrived home and settled in on your couch. immediately you’re getting a call the second you sit down. you look at your phone and see it’s Gabby calling.

“miss me already?” you pick up the phone. “duh. just pack new clothes and come back. my pool boy is cleaning up for us now” she laughs as she talks about her husband. as a wedding gift, his parents bought them a house up in Montauk. he didn’t mind Gabby hosting a girls weekend.

“anyways the real reason i called. i know we banned you from checking anything related to mr. qb, but a big one came out during the weekend.” Gabby rambled.

“ugh. what, he proposed? or is she pregnant? cause that would be-“ Gabby was quick to cut you off. “he ended it, IN THE HAMPTONS” you sat up so quick.

“wait- they were there?” you were fully sat up now, going online to search for said article. “yeah there’s pictures of her literally leaving the hotel in tears”

how ironic that you, joe, and Barbie would be in the same area all at the same time.

“i wonder why. he’s had a good year, career wise.” you finally found the article, but it didn’t give you any good information. “maybe she’s just not want he wanted”

“apparently. anyways, i’ll call you later. i’m gonna head to the gym and sweat out all this alcohol” “okay, love ya.” “love you more” you hung up the phone and took a breath.

you couldn’t believe they were done. you couldn’t even remember if they ever made it ‘official’.

after changing, you gathered all your things you’d need for the gym and packed it into your duffel bag. you grabbed your keys and opened your door.

only find those bright blue eyes that brought you right back to a year ago..

his hand was in his mouth biting at his nails, which you hated. you used to always smack his hand away when you saw it.

you guys stood there for what felt like years before joe mustered up a simple “hey”.

joe’s POV:

there she was, in all her beauty and her glory.

i sat in a private, darker section of the restaurant with a couple of the guys.

we had Michael Ruben’s White Party yesterday and the guys weren’t ready to go back to reality yet. they wanted away from their girlfriends and their situationships as much as i did, so why not have a guys dinner.

the restaurant starts cleaning the plates off everyone’s tables and this is when it started turning into a club vibe. the music got louder, and all i can focus on is her.

we didn’t go down to the bar much, Ja’Marr and Tee went down because they wanted to talk and meet people. i stood near the edge of the upstairs section and sipped on my corona.

i watch as her friends keep bringing trays of shots to your table and you keep hammering it back. soon enough, other guys are coming up to you and sweet talking you.

it took every bit of restraint to not go over and drag you away from them. i had no right, you made that clear when you blocked me on everything a year ago.

you missed my burner account. i’d check up on your socials when olivia’s not around or if i was in a mood late at night..

other than that, i had no way of seeing anything you posted.

in the middle of my trance, i see Tee and Ja’Marr talking to girls at the table next to you. no doubt, you know they’re my friends, so i send a text to both of them to stay away from you. i didn’t want to alarm you or have you running away to god knows where.

i so badly wanted to go up to you and apologize for everything. doesn’t help you looked so good in a mini skirt and a tank top that had your entire back exposed.

the night carries on and i watched as you’re giggling at something a guy whispered in your ear. this one has been with you for over an hour, and keeps feeding you drinks on drinks. watching you with someone else, feels like someone just kept stabbing me in the stomach over and over.

Tee and Ja’Marr made their way back up with a girl on both of their sides. “Yo man, you ready?” I took one more look at you for good measure and nod. i place my now warm beer on the table. The security for upstairs led us out the back door and to our car services.

Olivia at this point was blowing up my phone because i told her i was going to be home way sooner.

how do i tell her that you distracted me all night? that i didn’t want to let you out of my sight.

i lock my phone and just stare out the window, dreading getting to the hotel room we’re sharing.

i walk through the door and see Olivia pouting while taking off her makeup. “finally. where have you been?” i had zero patience for anything she had to say right now.

“out” i walk in the bathroom and start undressing. “what’s your problem today?” i hear her voice getting closer to the bathroom.

“nothing, just leave it alone” at this point she’s standing at the door with her arms across her chest. “obvi it’s something, just say it” her voice was literally piercing my ears at this point.

“jesus christ, just leave me alone” i leave the bathroom with a huff and finish changing in the bedroom.

it’s not her fault I’m upset, everything is my own fault. losing you, getting into whatever olivia and i were, all of it.

she walks back into the bedroom and sits at the edge of the bed. i say in almost a whisper “i can’t do this anymore.”

“i can’t hear you joe, you’re mumbling” she rolls her eyes. “i’m done. i can’t do this anymore” i say pointing at the both of us.

“you can’t leave me” she says with tears welling up in her eyes. “it’s better for the both of us, if you need to stay here for the night, that’s fine. i’ll just -“ she starts packing all her things in a rush.

“olivia.. just stay. i’ll be gone by the morning” i say trying to reason with her. she’s shaking her head no, but isn’t saying anything.

she didn’t have much as this was only a weekend trip. most things got sent back with a stylist anyways. “if it’s worth anything, i’m sorry.” i say as she’s putting a sweater on.

“whoever she is, i hope she’s worth it” she said before walking out the door. i sat on the edge of the bed and let out a sigh of relief.

you're worth everything..

-

i slept hard for the first time in a long time. slept past 8 am even. i looked over at my phone and saw the articles pouring in already about olivia leaving last night.

ja’marr and tee had texted seeing if i wanted to go for a morning workout and maybe brunch after. we were set to leave tomorrow night back to cincinnati.

i sent a thumbs up and got up to go to the gym with them.

we all met in the hotel’s private gym for just the higher class celebrities. i found it to be quite pretentious, but it was good for what you guys were about to talk about.

i was the last to arrive. when the door shut behind me, they were already running up asking what happened.

“is this about that girl last night?” Tee said. “she was fine, you’re lucky you texted because she was next up and i wasn’t going to let her go easy” Ja’Marr said laughing.

i smiled and shoved his shoulder. “yeah we met about two years ago. she’s the most genuine, beautiful human being i know.. and seeing her last night.. i don’t know man.” i start stretching out my arms and legs.

“when you know, you know I guess” Tee chimed in. “so what’re you gonna do about it?” Ja’Marr asked abruptly.

“i don’t know..” i said staring into space, my mind running wild.

your pov:

“hi..” you said confused. your head was spinning really. you had just found out they broke up, and now he’s here on your doorstep.

"hey" you couldn't help but giggle a bit. "you said that already"

"right.. um can we talk? inside preferably.." he said rubbing at his neck. "I guess my gym session can wait" you step back and open the door wider for him to come in. “thanks” he mumbled walking through your threshold.

you put your stuff down by the door and follow him to your living room. you see him standing in the middle looking around. “something’s new..”

“i got new couches, and repainted.. but you didn’t come here to talk about my renovations joe..” you sat down on the couch and he walked over to sit next to you.

“i just wanted to start with i’m sorry. for last year and everything leading up to it. you definitely did not deserve what i did to you.” you could tell in his eyes that he was really sincere.

“i appreciate the apology joe, but it’s been a year.. don’t think that i’ve been waiting all this time for that..” you never held a grudge that he didn’t apologize. if anything you just wished that he was honest

“why are you really here joe?” you sat up straighter now. you decided to test him, say what really happened. his chance to be fully honest.

“i fucked up. i think i did- no, I still do have feelings for you. i’ve missed you every day since last year.. seeing you in the hamptons just screwed my head back into place.” his blue eyes were burning into your soul.

“i ended it with olivia the second i got back to my hotel, and i truly don’t regret it at all.” you shake your head in disbelief.

“but see that’s my problem. everyone is disposable to you. how do i know next year, you won’t switch up and go running to another model? even worse, back to olivia?” joe's quick to take your hand in his.

“trust me, I truly do not think I can live without you” you were ready to throw up from how dizzy this man is making you.

“so what do we do from here?” you say as he scoots closer to you. "we take it day by day." his arm goes behind you and he wraps you up in them.

"and what about paparazzi and all that?" you ask. Joe lays his head on your chest and sighs. "I'll never be able to escape them, but can we be.. you know.. private?"

you giggle at his statement. "baby I'm not no celebrity, I know when and where to speak. but there's a difference between secret and private; and I'm not going to be no secret" you run your hands through his hair as you guys lay there.

"I know you're too gorgeous not to share with the world; I promise you're not a secret. my boys already know about you." he laughs to himself, thinking how he had left the boys in the gym to get to your house as fast as possible.

Joe cuddled deeper into you and you all of a sudden felt a wave of sleep creep over.

"I think my lack of sleep from the Hamptons is catching up to me" you let out a big yawn. Joe followed suit. "Let's go nap" he stands up and holds his hand out for you to take.

Thinking he was just helping you up, he took your hand and basically tossed you over his shoulder to go to your room. "maybe we can get freaky after our nap" he says while walking up the stairs with an overjoyed woman on his shoulder.

"you're ridiculous, you know that?"

"oh, I know sweetheart" as he pats your butt walking into your room.

[charmnyu]

 ᘏᘏ seven times you and luke castellan almost kissed! (and the one time you actually did)

‿◞ ♡ word count — 6.0k i don’t have an explanation give it a chance bae 😞

‿◞ ♡ synopsis: you and luke castellan are enemies, (hence why you’re a child of athena an he’s the son of hermes)— but theres tension. heavy tension. thats why you almost kissed luke six times (and plus the one time you succeeded!)

lovequeue ୧ notes: fluff 2 angst again ?? kissing, blood, scars, injuries and thats all i know of 😞 lmk is theres more i’m so tired.. i love u lei be the mother 2 my kids u guys say ty to leilani for being a proofreader and the bringer of this idea 😛🤑 also u don’t now how many times i almsot got caught in my cabin writing ts i’m crying

the thing about being athena's kid is that you're supposed to be smart. strategic. you're supposed to see three moves ahead, anticipate every outcome, never get caught off guard. but luke castellan has this way of making all that wisdom feel useless, like he's playing a completely different game with rules you never learned.

you hate him with the kind of intensity that makes your siblings worry you're gonna to do something stupid. which, to be fair, you probably are. (can you blame them?)

— . INCIDENT #1

the first time it almost happens, it’s in the dead of knife, sharpening your knife because you can't sleep. again. insomnia runs in your family, along with the tendency to overthink everything until your brain feels like it's going to explode. you're sitting cross-legged on the floor, zoning out and letting your mind wander, when the door creaks open.

"figured i'd find you here," luke says, and you don't look up because you know that voice, know the way it sounds when he's tired and his guard is down just a little.

"go away, castellan."

but he doesn't. instead he settles down across from you, close enough that you can smell the shampoo and something else that's just him. and for a while you both just sit there in the dim light, taking care of your weapons in silence.

"you know," he says eventually, "most people would be asleep right now."

"most people aren't planning how to beat you in tomorrow's sparring match."

he laughs, soft and low. "is that what you're doing? because i hate to break it to you, but sharpening your knife isn't going to help when we're using practice swords."

you finally look up, ready to snap something back at him, but he's closer than you expected. close enough to see the scar that cuts through his eyebrow, close enough to count his eyelashes if you wanted to. which you don't. obviously.

"i have other plans," you say, but your voice comes out quieter than intended.

"yeah? like what?"

and suddenly you're leaning forward, drawn by something you can't name, and he's doing the same. the space between you shrinks to nothing, and you can feel his breath against your lips, warm and unsteady. your heart is doing something warm in your chest, and for a second you forget why you're supposed to hate him. (you can’t count how many times this has happened to you. gods, he’s so pretty it makes your brain all fuzzy and makes it feel like it’s going to explode…)

then the door slams open and clarisse walks in, looking for her spear, and you spring apart like you've been burned. luke clears his throat and goes back to polishing his sword, and you focus very hard on your knife, cheeks burning.

clarisse gives you both a weird look but doesn't say anything, just grabs her weapon and leaves. the moment is gone, shattered like glass, and you can't figure out if you're relieved or disappointed.

“y’guys are so weird,” she says without looking at the both of you. “too obvious.” and she slams the door, a hint of arrogance and bitterness in her tone of voice. embarrassing.

luke shifts awkwardly. "i should go," luke says after a minute, standing up and giving you a small, nervous smile.

you nod, not trusting yourself to say anything that would make him want to stay. it takes you another hour to finish with your knife, and you tell yourself it's because you want it perfect, not because your hands won't stop shaking and your mind keeps wandering, and you keep thinking what would’ve happened if clarisse didn’t walk in?

the second time is a couple of months later, during capture the flag. your team is currently winning, and you've been tracking luke through the woods for the better part of an hour. he's good – annoyingly good – but you're better at reading the signs. broken twigs, disturbed leaves— everything.

you find him by the creek, crouched behind a fallen log with the red team's flag in his hands. he hasn't seen you yet, too focused on the sounds of battle echoing through the trees, and you take a moment to study him. there's dirt smudged across his cheek and his hair is falling into his eyes, and something in your chest does this stupid fluttering thing that you absolutely refuse to acknowledge.

you step on a branch on purpose, loud enough to make him spin around, sword already in hand.

"hey there, castellan."

his face breaks into that grin that makes half the camp (specifically the aphrodite children) go weak in the knees. not you, though. definitely not you.

"should have known they'd send their best tracker after me."

"flattery won't save you." you draw your own sword, settling into a fighting stance. "drop the flag."

"come and take it."

the fight is brutal and beautiful, the kind of dance you've been perfecting for years. he's stronger but you're faster, and you know his tells – the way his left shoulder dips before he strikes, how he favors his right side when he's getting tired. you drive him back step by step, until he's pressed against a tree with nowhere to go.

your sword is at his throat, the flag forgotten on the ground between you, and you're both breathing hard. there's sweat beading on his forehead and his shirt is torn at the shoulder, and you realize with a start that you're standing between his legs, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin.

"give me the flag," you say, but it comes out breathless.

his eyes drop to your mouth. "make me."

and god, you want to. you want to close the distance between you and find out if he tastes like the strawberries he's always stealing from the dining pavilion. want to run your fingers through his hair and see if it's as soft as it looks. the want is so strong it makes you dizzy, makes you forget why you're supposed to be enemies.

you lean in, just a fraction, and his breath hitches. his free hand comes up to rest on your hip, thumb brushing against the strip of skin where your shirt has ridden up, and you're about to do something incredibly stupid when a horn blows in the distance.

game over. your team won.

you step back so fast you nearly trip, and luke's hand falls away from your hip like he's been burned. the flag is still on the ground between you, forgotten, and you can't quite meet his eyes.

"good game," he says finally, voice rough.

you nod and grab the flag, needing something to do with your hands. "yeah. good game."

you leave him there by the creek and try not to think about the way he said your name when you walked away, soft and wondering.

the third time happens during the summer solstice celebration. there's a bonfire and music and more alcohol than chiron would probably approve of if he knew about it. you're sitting on a log at the edge of the festivities, nursing a cup of something that burns going down and watching your siblings attempt to teach some of the younger campers new tricks and skills.

you're not much of a party person. too loud, too chaotic, too many variables you can't control. but annabeth had given you that look – the one that says she's worried about you spending too much time alone with your books – so here you are, making an appearance.

"not dancing?"

you don't have to look to know it's luke. he settles beside you on the log, close enough that his knee bumps against yours, and you take another sip of wine to steady yourself.

"not really my thing."

"come on, where's your camp spirit?"

you snort. "i think you've got enough for both of us."

he's quiet for a moment, watching the dancers spin around the fire. the light flickers across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth. you force yourself to look away.

"you know," he says eventually, "we don't have to hate each other."

"says who?"

"says me. says the fact that we're both going to be here for— forever. it might be nice to not want to strangle each other every time we're in the same room." "but where's the fun in that?"

he laughs, and the sound does something warm and dangerous to your insides. "you're impossible."

"so i've been told."

the music changes to something slower, more melodic, and couples start pairing off around the fire. luke stands and extends a hand to you, and you stare at it like it might bite you. you cringe at it— it’s exactly like those high school romance movies you were forced to watch with your siblings.

"dance with me."

"i told you— i don't dance."

"i'll teach you."

and maybe it's the wine, or maybe it's the way the firelight makes his eyes look gold instead of brown, but you find yourself taking his hand and letting him pull you to your feet. he leads you away from the crowd, to a secluded area with a fewer amount of people and where the music is softer and the shadows deeper.

his hand settles on your waist and yours goes to his shoulder, and suddenly you're swaying together in the darkness. you've never been this close to him for this long, never noticed the way he smells like leather and something clean and sharp that might be vanilla.

"see?" he murmurs, breath warm against your ear. "not so bad."

you're about to make some sarcastic comment when he spins you out and back in, and you end up pressed against his chest with his arms around you. your faces are inches apart, and you can see every detail – the flecks of gold in his eyes, the small scar on his chin, the way his lips part slightly when he looks at you.

the world narrows to just this: his hands on your back, your heart hammering against your ribs, the space between you that's getting smaller by the second. you're going to kiss him. you're actually going to do it this time, consequences be damned.

"luke! there you are!"

chris appears out of nowhere, slightly drunk and completely oblivious to what he's just interrupted. "we need you for the sing-along. connor bet travis he couldn't remember all the words to those american girl songs, and now they're arguing about it."

luke's arms drop from around you, and you step back, trying to look like you weren't just about to kiss your supposed enemy in front of half the camp.

"i should..." luke starts, looking between you and chris.

"just go," you say, proud of how steady your voice sounds. "they’re waiting for you"

he hesitates for a moment, like he wants to say something else, but then chris is dragging him away and you're left standing alone in the shadows, heart still racing and lips tingling with anticipation for something that didn't happen.

you go back to your cabin early that night and lie awake staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about the way luke's hands felt on your waist or how right it felt to be in his arms.

— . INCIDENT #4

the fourth time is during a thunderstorm in late july. you're in the big house library, researching something for a project annabeth assigned, when the power goes out. (how amazingly cliche…) the old building groans and settles around you, and rain lashes against the windows hard enough to make them rattle.

you're not afraid of storms – athena kids don't really do irrational fears – but there's something unsettling about being alone in the dark with nothing but the sound of thunder and your own breathing.

“ugh,” you groan, letting out sigh of annoyance. “damn it.”

you get up and (terribly) try and navigate yourself out of the big house using the dark light from outside. terrible idea. which—! is very rare for you; your ideas are always well-thought and planned.

"hello?" luke's voice echos, and then he appears in the doorway with a battery-powered lantern in his hand. "saw the light go out from the hermes cabin. figured someone might be stuck in here."

"what’s that supposed to mean?" you nearly wince at the sight of luke’s face go from smug to a frown. “…well. thanks, i guess. i’m fine.” you say automatically, even though you're clearly not fine, considering you're still groping around in the dark like an idiot.

he sets the lantern on the table, casting everything in a warm yellow glow. "what are you working on?"

you gesture to the books scattered across the table. "research. annabeth wants a full report on pre-classical greek military tactics by tomorrow."

"of course she does." he settles into the chair across from you, making no move to leave. "mind if i wait out the storm here? hermes cabin is basically a wind tunnel right now."

you shrug, trying to look indifferent. "free country."

but you're hyperaware of his presence as you go back to your books, the way he drums his fingers against the table when he's thinking, the soft sound of his breathing. the storm rages outside, and the library feels smaller somehow, more intimate in the flickering light.

"you know," he says after a while, "you don't have to prove anything to her."

you look up from your notes. "excuse me?"

"annabeth. you don't have to be perfect all the time. she's not going to love you any less if you turn in a report that's only mostly comprehensive instead of completely exhaustive."

the observation hits closer to home than you'd like to admit. "i don't know what you're talking about."

"sure you don't." his voice is gentle, understanding in a way that makes your chest tight. "it's okay, you know. to want people to be proud of you."

"what’s are you—"

"i do it too," he continues, like you haven't spoken. "i’m guilty of it. unfortunately.” he looks away from you, a visible frown on his face.

“try to be what everyone needs me to be. the perfect counselor, reliable brother, the guy who always has his shit together. it's exhausting."

you stare at him, this boy you've spent two years thinking you understood, and realize you don't know him at all. there's something vulnerable in his expression, something raw and honest that makes you want to reach across the table and touch his hand.

"luke..."

thunder crashes overhead, loud enough to make you both jump, and the moment breaks. but then the lights flicker back on and immediately go out again, plunging you back into darkness. the lantern has died too, leaving you in complete blackness.

"shit," luke mutters, and you hear him moving around. "hang on, i think there are more batteries in—"

there's a crash as he runs into something, followed by a string of creative curses that would make mr. d proud. you can't help it – you start laughing.

"it's not funny," he says, but you can hear the smile in his voice.

he can’t help but admire and savor your laugh— from out of all your siblings, they’re pretty stoic. a cold and uncaring facade on most of them. (your a victim) he almost forget that their human, sometimes. hearing your laugh made his heart stop for a moment and made his stomach turn.

"it's a little funny."

you're both moving toward each other in the dark, hands outstretched, and you collide somewhere in the middle of the room. his hands land on your shoulders and yours end up pressed against his chest, and suddenly you're not laughing anymore.

"woah," he whispers with an amused tone. “miss me already?”

his thumb traces along your collarbone, and you shiver. you can't see him but you can feel him everywhere – the warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart under your palms, the way his breathing has gone shallow and quick.

"we should find those batteries," you say, but you don't move away.

"probably."

neither of you moves. his hand slides up to cup your cheek, and you lean into the touch without thinking. this is dangerous territory, the kind of moment that changes everything, but you can't bring yourself to care.

"i can't see you," he murmurs, "but i bet you're beautiful right now."

your breath catches and you cover it up with a snarky remark. "your so corny."

he's leaning in, you can tell by the way his breath gets warmer against your lips, and you're tilting your face up to meet him when the lights suddenly blaze back to life. you spring apart, blinking in the harsh fluorescent glare, and the spell is broken.

luke runs a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at you. "i should... the storm's probably passing."

"yeah," you agree, even though you can still hear rain against the windows. "probably."

he leaves without another word, and you sink back into your chair, touching your cheek where his hand had been and wondering what might have happened if the power had stayed out just a little bit longer.

the fifth time is the worst one, because it happens right before everything goes to hades.

it's late august, just a few days before luke's supposed to leave on his quest. the whole camp is buzzing with excitement and nervous energy, and you've been avoiding him like the plague because something about the way he's been looking at you lately makes your chest feel a little too tight.

you're in the strawberry fields, helping with the late harvest because physical labor is sometimes the only thing that shuts your brain up. the sun is setting, painting everything golden, and most of the other campers have gone to dinner. you're reaching for a particularly stubborn berry when you hear footsteps behind you.

"you're missing dinner."

you don't turn around. "so are you."

luke settles beside you in the dirt, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours when he reaches for the berries. you work in silence for a while, the only sounds the rustle of leaves and the distant laughter from the dining pavilion.

"i leave tomorrow," he says eventually.

"i know."

"aren't you going to wish me luck?"

you finally look at him, this boy who's been driving you crazy for two years, and something in your chest cracks open. he looks older somehow, more serious, and there's something in his eyes that you can't quite read.

"you don't need luck," you say. "you're luke castellan. you'll be fine."

he's quiet for a long moment, turning a strawberry over in his hands. "and if i wasn’t?”

the question catches you off guard. luke doesn't do vulnerability, doesn't show weakness or doubt. he's always so sure of himself, so confident, and hearing him sound uncertain makes something protective flare up in your chest.

"you’d be fine either way," you say firmly. "you're the best swordsman camp has ever seen. you're smart and brave and—"

"and what?"

you realize you've been staring at him, cataloging the details of his face like you're trying to memorize them. the way his hair falls across his forehead, the scar that cuts through his eyebrow, the exact shade of blue his eyes turn in the golden hour light.

"and you're going to come back," you finish quietly. "you have to."

something shifts in his expression, goes soft and wondering. "would you miss me if i didn't?"

the question hangs between you like a challenge, and you know this is your chance to deflect, to make some sarcastic comment that will restore the careful balance you've maintained for two years. but looking at him now, with the sunset painting him in shades of gold and amber, you can't bring yourself to lie.

"yes," you whisper. "i would."

he reaches out slowly, giving you time to pull away, and cups your face in his hands. his palms are warm and slightly rough from sword work, and you lean into the touch like a flower turning toward the sun.

"i've wanted to do this for so long," he murmurs, thumb brushing across your cheekbone.

"then why haven't you?"

"because you hate me."

you laugh, soft and breathless. "i don't hate you, luke. i never hated you."

"no?"

"no. i hate that you make me feel things i don't want to feel. i hate that you're always in my head, that i can't stop thinking about you even when i try. i hate that you're leaving tomorrow and i don't know when you're coming back."

his eyes search your face like he's looking for something, and whatever he finds there makes him smile – not his usual cocky grin, but something smaller and more real.

"i'm going to kiss you," he says, "unless you tell me not to."

you should tell him not to. you should remind him that you're supposed to be enemies, that this is complicated and messy and probably a terrible idea.

“tell me to stop and i will.” he’s breathless, almost panting.

instead, you close your eyes and whisper, "fine."

he leans in slowly, so slowly it's almost torture, and you can feel your heart hammering against your ribs. his breath is warm against your lips, and you're just about to close the distance between you when—

"luke! there you are!"

annabeth's voice cuts through the moment like a knife, and you spring apart so fast you nearly fall over. she's standing at the edge of the strawberry field with her hands on her hips, looking annoyed.

"chiron's been looking for you everywhere. you're supposed to be getting ready for tomorrow, not—" she stops, taking in the scene, and her expression shifts to something you can't quite read. "oh."

luke clears his throat and stands up, brushing dirt off his jeans. "right. sorry, i was just—"

"helping with the harvest," you finish, proud of how normal your voice sounds. "we lost track of time."

annabeth looks between you and luke, and you can practically see the gears turning in her head. she's too smart not to know what she interrupted, but she doesn't say anything about it.

"well, come on," she says to luke. "chiron wants to go over the quest details one more time."

luke nods and starts to follow her, but then he turns back to you. for a moment you think he's going to say something, but then he just nods once and walks away.

you sit in the strawberry field until full dark, touching your lips and wondering what might have been.

luke comes back from his quest three weeks later, and everything is different.

he's different – quieter, more serious, with shadows in his eyes that weren't there before. the scar on his face is new, a jagged line that runs from his eye to his jaw, and he won't talk about how he got it. won't talk about much of anything, actually.

you try to approach him a few times, but he deflects every attempt at conversation with jokes or excuses or simply walking away. it's like the boy who almost kissed you in the strawberry field never existed, replaced by this stranger who looks like luke but acts like he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

the truth comes out two days later, when word gets out that he’s recruiting campers for kronos and betraying the gods.

he tries to burn down the camp.

you're in the big house when it happens, talking to chiron about some paperwork, when bloody and wounded kids come rushing into the place, babbling incoherent nonsense about ‘hermes kid tried to kill me!’

and you realize.

it’s luke they’re talking about.

you're already running, feet pounding against the wooden floors as you race outside. you're looking for annabeth, for your siblings, for anyone who can tell you what's happening, when you see him.

luke is standing at the edge of the woods, and even from a distance you can see that something is wrong. his posture is different, more rigid, and there's something in his hand that glints in the firelight. a sword, you realize. his sword.

you start toward him without thinking, pushing through the crowd of panicking campers. he sees you coming and his expression shifts, becomes something cold and unfamiliar.

"don't," he says when you're close enough to hear him over the chaos. "don't come any closer."

"luke, what did you do?”

he laughs, but there's no humor in it. "what happened? i'll tell you what happened. i went on a quest for my father, and you know what i found? nothing. absolutely nothing. the gods don't care about us. they never have."

"that's not true—"

"isn't it?" his eyes are wild, desperate. "when was the last time your mother talked to you, huh? when was the last time any of them bothered to acknowledge that we exist?"

you take a step closer, hands raised like you're approaching a wounded animal. "stop that— your talking stupid! what’s wrong with you?”

"i'm done pretending that this is okay, that we should be grateful for the scraps they throw us."

"what are you talking about?"

he's backing away from you now, toward the woods, and you realize with growing horror that he's leaving. actually leaving.

"i'm talking about revolution," he says. "i'm talking about making them pay for what they've done to us."

"luke, please—"

"come with me."

the words stop you cold. "what?"

"come with me," he repeats, and for a moment his mask slips and you can see the boy you almost kissed, desperate and pleading. "we could do this together. we could make them listen."

you stare at him, this person you thought you knew, and feel something breaking apart in your chest. "i can't."

"why not?"

"i… this isn’t you," your voice cracked, your hands slowly coming to rest at your sides sadly. “luke wouldn’t say that— he wouldn’t do this.”

his face hardens again. "you don't know who i am. you never did."

he's almost to the tree line now, and you know that if he disappears into those woods, you'll never see him again. not the real him, anyway.

"luke, wait—"

but he's already gone, swallowed up by the darkness between the trees. you stand there for a long moment, staring at the place where he disappeared, before turning back to help some of the injured people.

"are you okay?" she asks, and there's something in her voice that makes you look at her more closely.

"i'm fine. why?"

she hesitates, then pulls something out of her pocket. it's a piece of paper, folded small and slightly singed around the edges.

"i found this," she says quietly. "it has your name on it."

you take the paper with shaking hands and unfold it. luke's handwriting stares back at you, messy and hurried like he wrote it in a rush.

‘if only you knew, how much i really did love you deep down.’

it’s so vague, but you understand it completely. you knew deep down all those times he *did* want to kiss you— all the times the moment was stolen away and you’d ignore him for weeks— even months. you knew.

. — INCIDENT #7 (the time you did)

two years pass before you see luke again.

two years of nightmares and suffering in solitary, of jumping every time someone says his name, of wondering if you could have stopped him somehow. two years of telling yourself you hate him, that what you felt was just a stupid crush, that you're better off without him.

you hear someone call your name, and you turn to see luke standing twenty feet away with his sword drawn.

he looks older, harder, with new scars and a coldness in his eyes that makes your heart ache. but he's still luke, still the boy who taught you to dance and almost kissed you in a strawberry field, and seeing him again makes something in your chest flutter back to life.

"hey." he says, and his voice is different too – rougher, more controlled.

"luke." you raise your own sword, muscle memory taking over. "you shouldn't be here."

"probably not. but i needed to see you."

"why?"

he doesn't answer, just circles you slowly like a predator sizing up prey. but there's something else in his expression, something that looks almost like longing.

"you look good," he says finally. "older. stronger."

"you look like shit."

he laughs, and for a second he sounds like the old luke. "always so honest. i missed that about you."

"don't." the word comes out sharper than you intended. "you don't get to say things like that. not after what you did."

"what i did was necessary—"

"what you did was betray everyone who ever cared about you."

his jaw tightens. "they betrayed us first. all of us. you know that."

"that doesn't make this right."

you're still circling each other, swords raised but neither of you making a move to attack. around you the battle rages on, but it feels distant, unimportant compared to this moment.

"come with me," he says suddenly, echoing his words from two years ago. "it's not too late. you could still—"

"no."

"you don't even know what i'm offering."

"i don't care what you're offering—! the answer is no!”

something flickers across his face – hurt, maybe, or disappointment. "you always were stubborn."

"and you always were an idiot."

he suddenly stops, letting a deep breath out, one of realization yet stress.

"i dream about you," he says suddenly, voice rough with exertion. "every night. i dream about what might have happened if i'd stayed."

the confession hits you like a physical blow, and your grip on your sword wavers. he could take advantage, could end this right now, but he doesn't.

"luke..."

"i dream about kissing you in that strawberry field. about what would have happened if annabeth hadn't interrupted us."

"stop."

"i can't." his free hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing across your skin like he did all those years ago. "i've tried to forget you, tried to convince myself that what i felt wasn't real. but it was. it is."

you're staring at him, this boy who broke your heart and burned down your world, and you can feel yourself wavering. because underneath the coldness and the scars, he's still luke. still the person who danced with you in the firelight and made you laugh in the armory and looked at you like you were something precious.

"it doesn't matter," you whisper. "it's too late."

"is it?"

and then he's kissing you.

it's nothing like you imagined all those years ago. it's desperate and fierce and tastes like blood and regret, like all the words you never said and all the chances you never took. his hand tangles in your hair and you drop your sword, reaching up to grip his shirt like he might disappear if you let go.

for a moment – just a moment – you let yourself fall into it. let yourself remember what it felt like to want him, to believe that maybe you could have something good together. his lips are soft and warm and familiar, like coming home after a long journey.

but then reality crashes back in. the sounds of battle, the smell of smoke, the weight of everything that's happened between you. you push him away, hard enough that he stumbles backward.

"no," you say, and your voice is shaking. "you don't get to do this. you don't get to kiss me and expect it to fix everything."

he stares at you, chest heaving, and for a second he looks like the sixteen-year-old boy who used to sneak into the armory just to talk to you.

"i know i can't fix it," he says quietly. "i know i've ruined everything. but i needed you to know – i needed you to know that it was real. what we had, what we could have had. it was real."

tears are streaming down your face now, and you hate yourself for crying in front of him. "it doesn't matter anymore."

"it matters to me."

you pick up your sword with shaking hands. "you need to go. now. before i do something we'll both regret."

he nods slowly, like he expected this. "for what it's worth," he says, backing away, "i'm sorry. for all of it."

"so am i."

he disappears into the woods, and you sink to your knees in the dirt, touching your lips and tasting salt. the battle is winding down around you, but you can't bring yourself to move. you just kneel there in the aftermath, mourning the boy you loved and the future you'll never have.

later, when the monsters are gone and the wounded are being tended to, annabeth finds you still sitting in the woods.

"are you hurt?" she asks, settling beside you.

you shake your head, not trusting your voice.

"i saw him talking to you. what did he say?"

you're quiet for a long moment, trying to figure out how to explain. how do you tell someone that the person who betrayed everything you believe in just kissed you like his life depended on it? how do you explain that for one perfect, terrible moment, you kissed him back?

"he said goodbye," you finally manage.

annabeth nods like she understands, and maybe she does. maybe she knows what it's like to love someone who's chosen the wrong side, to have your heart broken by someone you trusted.

you sit together in the woods as the sun sets, and you try not to think about the way luke's lips felt against yours, or the look in his eyes when you pushed him away. try not to wonder if things could have been different, if you'd made different choices or said different words.

but deep down, you know the truth. you know that no matter how many times you almost kissed, no matter how real your feelings were, it was always going to end this way. because luke chose his path, and you chose yours, and sometimes love isn't enough to bridge that kind of divide.

the taste of him lingers on your lips for days afterward, a bittersweet reminder of what was and what might have been. and sometimes, late at night when you can't sleep, you let yourself remember the way he looked at you in that strawberry field, young and hopeful and full of possibility.

but then morning comes, and you get up and train and try to build something good from the ashes he left behind. because that's what you do. that's who you are.

and if sometimes you dream about a world where he stayed, where you got to find out what forever might have looked like with luke – well, that's between you and him, and no one else needs to know.

7/14 : did i cook with this chat

[the-artist-grimm]

Goodness, I came upon your work yesterday and got so fixated, god, I love it!! The characters!! The drama!! The characterization! Especially so with the twins, I can't help but gush

But now I'm kinda of curious, what are the bishops' thoughts on the twins and their relationship with the lamb and narinder?

Awww thank you so much!!!! I really appreciate it you're very sweet!

As for their view...ah now is that an interesting situation. They all KNEW the twins were sent to Narinder-Shamura obviously sent the boys and the others only learned about it once it was too late (which for the record had they known beforehand the three would've stopped Shamura since sending literal infants to hell was 'just older sibling what are you doing STOP')

But anyway they'd all thought they boys by Anthea's time had either A, died long ago from aging, or B had been sent to wherever the dead go after death. Like none of them ever considered Narinder would've kept them, especially when they thought his imprisonment was making him cold, violent, and angry. So imagine their surprise when they learn that not only were the boys still around, but that they were still children due to the gateway's stasis and had been basically adopted by their estranged brother who this whole time had just been a very loving father to the twins. (while also being super depressed)

Leshy

The first to arrive to the cult and also the only one there while the boys were still dead, meaning he saw-well, experienced both Narinder and Anthea without them. Anthea short-tempered and sorta bitter, Narinder just full-on depressed breaking down almost at any reminder of them. Once he learns of the situation he just feels really bad for the couple-considering how chaotic children can be I like to think Leshy has a soft-spot for them, and from the accounts of other cultists it's very clear to him how deeply the boys were loved and how much Narinder and Anthea cared about them. He's there when trying to cheer Narinder up and there the day the boys are finally resurrected, and the clear shift in the lamb and Narinder's behavior, Anthea softening and Narinder acting a little more alive again, is just a relief. Plus he likes seeing Narinder be a dad, it suits him.

Heket

She's kinda really uncomfortable mostly in the 'oh shoot they've been kids all this time/still alive' and 'wow I really mischaracterized my brother he's so SO gentle with those two this is awkward' way. Like Narinder with the boys really shows how wrong Shamura was about him before the betrayal, and how wrong the Bishops were to think Naridner's imprisonment would transform him into being violent and vengeful. It's more stabs of guilt. (and also guilt in knowing just who those boys should have been raised by instead) She also hates how it endears the lamb to her a little, like Anthea already gets under her skin with how un-godly they are, but seeing the lamb also as just a normal parent is really weird. Like THIS is the being who fell literal gods? The one gently scolding the boys for not finishing their veggies or being very affectionate/touchy via kissing their heads, holding their hands, or letting the boys hang off them? It's a weird contrast lol.

Kallamar

Anthea and Narinder are friends again for the most part by the time he arrives, and when the twins first run into the medical room he's in upon arriving at the cult to see Anthea who was helping him get briefed he honestly just thinks the twins are biologically the lamb and Narinder's at first. Like the boys run to Anthea shouting BABA!!!! and with Narinder standing in the door greeting them with this soft expression he just assumes more time passed than he realized and Narinder had settled down. Thus Kallamar LOUDLY asks Narinder 'WHEN THE HELL DID YOU GET MARRIED', then watches Anthea very uncomfortably leave and gets death glares from everyone in the room for the mistake. Afterwards though he's both endeared by the duo and frustrated because they're literally two people very clearly in love raising two kids together can they please just TALK already mans wants to plan his baby bro's wedding already.

Shamura

Guilt. Just guilt. Guilt for trapping the boys with Narinder, for kinda ruining any relationship they'd have with their 'real' mother, for putting two children in a traumatic situation and being so blind to it. They always thought Narinder would make a good father though, and they are somewhat comforted that the lamb has a family/seems happy, but they just wish it wasn't their mistakes that led to this.

[mysteriousxgirls]

Monica’s eyes went wide, a gasp escaping before she swatted Jayden’s chest with a laugh. “Oh my god, stop,” she said, biting back a grin. “You’re actually embarrassing me.” Her voice was half scold, half flirt, and all amused. She shook her head like she couldn’t quite believe him, then met his gaze again, this time softer, more deliberate. “Okay… maybe I lied,” she admitted, eyes flicking down for a second before returning to his with a spark. “Maybe you were the most attractive one in the bunch. Which does make you special.” Her voice dipped at the end, playful but genuine. “You’ve got this… thing about you. That kind of pull.” She smiled now, biting her lip like she regretted giving that much away, but not really. Before the tension could settle too deeply between them, Rhett’s voice rang out, loud and obnoxiously excited. “Karaoke? Finally! I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole life.” Monica perked up instantly, grinning as she stood. “Wait, karaoke? Oh, I’m so in.” She didn’t hesitate, already heading toward the action.

Harmony let out a soft laugh, her heart warming at how quickly the room shifted into excitement. “Looks like everyone’s on board,” she said, then turned to Nate and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Let’s head in.” Inside, guests followed her lead, settling into the cozy space where a small stage setup waited, complete with a mic & a speaker. Once everyone was seated, Harmony stepped to the front and clapped her hands for attention, a grin tugging at her lips. “Alright, so this is something of a family tradition,” she began. “We used to do it around Christmas. My papi would throw these huge holiday parties for everyone at his company, and he would invite their families too. We would have food, games, and karaoke battles.” She laughed, eyes twinkling with nostalgia. “Whoever won the most rounds got a surprise prize.” With a dramatic flair, she pulled an envelope from her purse and held it up. “Today’s prize? A full day at a luxury spa resort! massages, facials, the works.” Gasps and cheers erupted instantly. Ivy practically squealed. “Rhett, if you win this for me… I swear, you’re getting lucky tonight.” She winked shamelessly. Sara leaned forward in her seat, laughing. “Wait, what?! I want that so badly. Game on.” Harmony chuckled, patting her stomach lightly. “Don’t count me out. With this backache I’ve been carrying around? I need it badly, so i wont go easy on you guys.” The room buzzed with playful energy, but then Harmony’s expression softened. She tucked the envelope away and stepped forward, her eyes finding Nate’s. “But before we kick things off…” Her voice wavered for the first time, emotion catching just behind her words. “I… I have something for Nate.” She reached for his hands, her fingers threading through his gently. Her thumb brushed across his knuckles as she took a breath. “When we were apart… I started writing a song,” she said softly. “I didn’t know if you would ever hear it. I didn’t even know if I would ever finish it. But I did. A few nights ago. And… I want you to hear it now.” She leaned in, pressing a quiet kiss to his cheek, then slowly stepped away and made her way to the piano. The room stilled.

Harmony sat, her fingertips resting lightly on the keys for a moment, gathering herself. Then, she began to play, a soft, delicate melody blooming from the silence. Her voice joined slowly, vulnerable and raw:

“Is it me… is my intuition wrong? Or does it feel like coming home? ‘Cause it’s almost like you speak my language… Like we’ve been right here before…”

Her voice wavered slightly, but she pushed through, glancing up at Nate just as her hands glided into the chorus.

“Sunsets never looked so bright… When you look into my eyes. You gotta say it’s true… And I gotta say it too… I do. I can see my whole life with you.”

For a second, no one breathed. Then slowly, Harmony’s gaze lifted to Nate again, and everything in her expression said what the words hadn’t: this is yours. I’m yours.

Jayden let out a low chuckle, completely unbothered by her words—if anything, he looked amused. “You wound me, Monica,” he said with an easy grin, leaning back slightly as if her jab had rolled right off his shoulders. “Here I was thinking you’d been circling me like a hawk all night because you were intrigued, not because I was the last guy standing.” He glanced over to where Sam stood, chatting with someone by the drinks table, and lifted a hand to wave him over. “Sam!” he called, smirking. “You’re being summoned. Apparently, Monica here thinks she settled by flirting with me. Think you may have been her first option.” Then, dropping his voice just enough for her to hear, he added with a smirk, “Though I’ll warn you—he’s a good-looking boy, yeah, but I doubt he kisses half as well.” He turned his attention back to her, eyes locked on hers without flinching. “And for the record,” he said, voice low and steady, “I don’t generally make a habit of kissing strangers. Just the really attractive ones.”

Nate chuckled, his thumb gently brushing her arm as she leaned into him. That little smile of hers made his chest loosen, like some quiet part of him could finally breathe again. “I think that sounds like the perfect idea,” he said softly, then stood and reached down, offering his hand with a warm grin. “I’m curious about that surprise now though.” As he helped Harmony to her feet, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze, eyes flicking over her face like he was making sure she was really okay. That mischief in her tone—he lived for it. Just then, Rhett’s voice rang out from beside them, loud and full of that usual teasing energy.“Oh, hell yes, I was born ready for karaoke,” Rhett said, already rising from his seat with a mock stretch like he was preparing for a full performance. “I’ll start warming up for ‘I Want It That Way’ now then.”

[rafeslvbug]

CHAPTER 14 - maybank blues series

it’s stuck.

you keep replaying it over, and over in your head.

rafe kissing you. jj throwing the first punch. cameras recording.

you hadn’t checked your phone, although it had blown up since. messages from friends, random girls, from rafe.

rafe. the way jj had yelled at him for kissing you, and he’d yelled back “what? i can’t kiss my girlfriend now?”.

the shock. the gasps. jj’s evident horror. betrayal etched into his features. you couldn’t say anything.

sarah had dragged you out the moment the fight got worse, she’d pulled you when you were frozen to the ground and now you were curled in bed. small.

it hadn’t been anything– being friends with rafe. you hoped dating him would be okay, almost brushed over. forgiven. now you knew it wouldn’t be. it’d be the gossip plastered on preppy blogs for months, or the whispers when you served people at the country club. it’d be everywhere. and jj? your brother? might never speak to you the same again.

a knock at the door. “y/n, you okay?” sarah’s voice is soft, in a way she feels it’s her fault. she pushed you to befriend rafe, and now you were tangled in this mess. you nod, stuff yourself further into the blankets. “jj’s nearly home..” she says. you force your face into the pillow. “it’s okay..i’ll tell him to not to bother you.” then the door creaks shut. she’s gone, and you’re alone again.

the bed dips, and your eyes shoot open after taking hours to finally shut. you turn, blinking repeatedly. “hello?” your voice rasps, weak from the silent tears.

“hey y/n,” jj sighs, staring up at the cieling.

“jj..?” you squint. “why’re you here?” sarah must not have been very good at deterring jj, if he was here now.

“i beat rafe’s ass,” he says simply, then turns his head to the side. to you. “is he really your boyfriend?”

“does it matter?” your voice is broken because you know, after tonight, he’s not. even if he wants to be, the chaos, the lies, the way no one would support you. you can’t do it.

“yeah.”

“no..he’s not.”

“but he was?”

“yeah,” your voice cracks, filling with new tears. jj silently opens his arms, draws you into his chest. “it’ll be okay,” he tells you, no anger or annoyance.

“you’re not mad?” you sniffle, burying deeper into his chest. you had anticipated yelling. anger. rants of how hurt he was that you lied. again. and again. but nothing?

“nah..i punched him badly,” he chuckles. “got all my anger out.”

“is he okay?” you ask, and you’re sure you can hear jj mumble a “seriously?” but he doesn’t repeat it louder.

“all that money? he’ll be fine..it’s you i’m worried about. always getting in trouble with the wrong kinds of boys.”

“i’m sure that’s what moms tells their daughters about you,” you mumble, and jj holds you tighter.

“shh, you were just crying. where’d that go? why the attack?” you hiccough between a small giggle, brush a tear away though it comes right back. you settle your head back down on his chest, and jj lets out a soft sigh. he hates rafe, he really does. and if it were anyone else, jj would have told them to quit whining about him as their ex. but it was you, his little sister. he had never before sympathised with someone who liked rafe, now he did. only for you.

rapping at your window. insistent. annoying.

you groan, jj’s out like a lamp. sprawled over your bed, but one arm still hugged around you. you blink, adjust to the morning light.

tap tap!

tap tap!

you slip out of bed, stumble to the window and pull up the shutters. rafe. bruise on his jaw, cut on his upper cheek, hair ruffled like he came straight from the fight, but he hasn’t. it’s been hours. he signals for you to pull the window up, and you do so, hesitantly. “you shouldn’t be here..” is the first thing you say, quietly. trying not to wake up jj.

“i needed to see you, tell you i’m sorry, i–“

“it doesn’t matter, rafe.”

“what? of course it does, i was drunk! i made a mistake.”

“and the whole of kildare saw it! rafe i can’t do this.”

“what do you mean?” realisation dawns on him steadily and he he straightens. eyes widening, staggering away from the window, shaking his head. “you’re not doing this.”

“i am, rafe..”

“why– why?” you can see him breaking, you are too. “everyone knows now! we can be us, me and you, without the secrets or the lies, we can–“

“we can’t! i don’t..i don’t think i can do it. alright? i don’t need to be the talk of kildare, i’ve already seen the messages, the posts..”

“why do you care?”

jj groans in the background, your head snaps to him. “i’m sorry,” you whisper, shutting the window before rafe can beg you not to. he looks devastated, scoffing as it closes on him. then turning, walking to his car.

“why’re you at the window?” jj grumbles.

“fresh air i guess..” you say, swallowing the lump in your throat and sinking back into the bed. where you figure you might stay forever if it means avoiding rafe. because in truth, you don’t know why. why do you care so much?

taglist: @starkeyjoseph @rafesbabygirlx @slut-4-rafey @lanaslushworld @littlelamy @rain-likes-purple @sunny1616 @csturnioloswifey @silkylovey @supasolaa @octoberbxbyy @rafeobx @jamesbeaufortismylife @vanessa-rafesgirl @bambigirl10 @f4sh10n-m4v3n @amelialovesrafe @letstryagaintomorrow @athenabarnes @sapphichotmess @dumbbandpoetic @emma12345sworld @samwinchesterisawhore @arigoldsblog @yolgart @dreamyybabby @m1sche1fm4nag3d @my-diary1 @weirdowithnobeardo

[joooooniecore]

After all this time - Chapter 11

Your friends have been successful enough to drag you out of your workaholic routine for a vacation out of country.

The only problem? Your long term crush who actually used to be your best friend is also going there. And he is bringing his girlfriend, your ex-female best friend.

What could go wrong? Right?

✧˖* pairing: ex-bestfriend!mingyu x f!reader

✧˖* chapter count: master-list

✧˖* genre: ex-best friend mingyu, friends to strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, angst, slow-burn, smut.

✧˖* playlist: spotify playlist

✧˖* full work warnings: resurfaced old feelings, toxic relationship(not between the main characters), angst, confusions, resentments, past misunderstandings, a very slow burn

✧˖* explicit warnings: penetration, explicit language, cursing, bodily fluids, praising, body worship.

✧˖* author's note: oh no a cliffhanger! i had to okay. its not because i hate everyone who is reading this story but there has been a lot thats going on in my life currently. i have been planning a move out of my childhood home as y'all know and so i am unable to really sit down and write it properly. now i am not someone who puts half ass efforts in writing and calls it a day. i want the angst to really stand out so i will be writing it in the next chapter, in a better way because we all deserve an angsty passionate confession after the torture of 10 chapters. so please wait a little more. i might even post the final chanpter before the next monday. thank you for always supporting. i really love the comments you guys put under the stories. i love y'all so so much!!

--- love, artemis.

✧˖* tag-list: @ana-marais98 @chezsophie-blog @ppaia @mingyuisthevictimofsvt @tokitosun @iarayara @cheolliesvt @seungcheolsblackcard @alohacrispyrn @minhui896 @callmemadhatter @xxluvzrrrx

COMMENT TO BE IN THE TAG-LIST!<3

<< chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5 | chapter 6 | chapter 7 | chapter 8 | chapter 9 | chapter 10 | chapter 11 | chapter 12(finale)>>

You woke up from the constant ringing of your phone. The ringtone annoying you as you fumbled a bit before finally reaching your phone that was on the bedstand.

“Hello?”, you mumbled into the receiver, your eyes still closed.

“___? Are you still sleeping?”, came Jihyun’s voice.

“Yes. Why?”, you said as you slightly opened your eyes to check the time. It was almost afternoon.

“Oh my god! I overslept!”, you panicked a little before sitting up and then realizing that you don’t have office.

“Calm down young lady!”, came Jihyun’s voice with a giggle.

“Yeah. Sorry. What happened?”, you finally asked Jihyun.

“Just asking whether you would come to the party or not”, Jihyun finally said.

“Party? Seungcheol’s house?”, you asked, eyes widened by the news.

“Yes.”, Jihyun said.

“You guys have returned back, right?”, you asked, finally settling down.

“Yes, just returned.”, Jihyun said.

“Quite a bold picture you posted there by the way.”, Jihyun giggled a little as she teased you.

“Yeah. It was Jeonghan’s idea and Steven was mischievous enough to play along.”, you said with a sigh.

You weren’t really sure if you did a good thing by putting up a picture of your hand beside his on the dinner table but it was a great idea of proving to the world that you have moved on. You are not normally someone who goes around proving people things but the way Maya had reacted needed to be tamed so you did what you could do. Showed her that you don’t really need Mingyu anymore, which was an absolute lie.

“Mingyu was fuming when he saw it.”, Jihyun’s voice cut through the thoughts in your head.

“Huh? What?”, you asked dumbfoundedly.

“Yes. I saw him seeing the picture, grinding his teeth and then closing his phone before a frustrated sigh.”, Jihyun explained in such a casual voice that you almost beleieved she was joking.

“You are joking right?”, you asked.

“No. You can ask Jeonghan too. He was with me.”, she said.

“When did this happen?”, you were too curious to know.

“Today morning. When we were waiting for the flight at the airport. He sat a little away from everyone. Me and Jeonghan were loitering when we saw him check the picture.”, Jihyun explained the whole incident.

“So basically, you both were spying on him.”, you rolled your eyes but smiled fondly.

“Sort of but hey at least you got the information.”, Jihyun laughed which made you laugh too.

You both talked for another half an hour about what you both will wear and then decided to meet outside of Seungkwan’s house, before driving to Seungcheol’s house.

The rest of the afternoon went along fast, as you freshened up, and decided on which dress to wear.

Unbeknownst to you, a phone rang somewhere in another part of the same city you live in.

“Hello?”

“Seungcheol hyung, it’s me. Mingyu.”, Mingyu’s voice came out more strained than he tried.

“Yes Mingyu-ah, what’s up?”, asked Seungcheol as soon as he heard the difference in the younger’s voice.

“I-I broke up with her. I did it.”, his voice was shaking but he was determined to not cry.

“What? Oh. Are you okay?”, Seungcheol was now fully attentive of every exhale that came out of Mingyu’s mouth.

“Yes. I mean, can you meet me?”, Mingyu asked, the tremor in is voice evident.

“Yes of course. Where are you?”, asked Seungcheol as he grabbed his keys.

“Very close actually. I am in the ___ café, near your house.”, there was some shuffling on the other side.

“Yes, okay wait.”, Seungcheol dashed out of his door and within a few minutes was in front of the cozy café.

He quickly got in and searched around a bit before his eyes landed on the slouched figure at the farthest corner of the room. He passed through several rows in the busy café and was finally standing right in front of the younger.

“Mingyu.”, he finally said as he saw the younger raise his head in a slow manner.

“Hyung.”, his eyes were watery as he tried to control his tears.

“I did the correct thing, right?”, Mingyu asked as soon as Seungcheol settled down.

“Yes. She was cheating on you Gyu.”, Seungcheol softly mumbled as he tried to sooth the heartbroken boy.

“Even I know that. But we have been together for so long. I think I got used to her presence.”, Mingyu explained after taking a deep breath.

“I know. I understand that. It’s completely normal to feel this heartbroken even if the relationship meant nothing during the ends.”, hearing Seungcheol say that calmed Mingyu down a bit.

He really wanted to forget about this. All his life he has stopped himself from feeling guilty for never confessing to ___ and he used to make himself believe that Maya was the one for him but now seeing how she sucked the life out of him was tough to watch. He really wanted to scold his younger self for not choosing ___.

“I doesn’t matter anymore.”, Mingyu finally said in a small voice.

“What do you mean?”, Seungcheol asked, a little confused.

“Didn’t you see ___ Instagram story?”, Mingyu asked as he took out his phone and showed him the screenshot.

“I don’t think you should believe everything you see.”, Seungcheol tried to explain without giving away the fact that it was all a stunt.

“I will come off as desperate if I confess now.”, Mingyu’s shoulders slumped even lower if that was possible.

“What’s the worst that can happen? She says no. But at least you will be able to get over the thing.”, Seungcheol said.

“Are you sure? Should I really confess?”, asked Mingyu.

“Listen, your friendship with her is anyways ruined after the stunt Maya pulled. I just want you to get this over with. Talk with her. She is far more intelligent than all of us. I just know that she will understand.”, Seungcheol was trying so hard to not spill the truth but Jeonghan had warned him. He was in no way allowed to tell Mingyu that the date meant nothing to ___.

 “Okay. I will talk with her today at the party.”, Mingyu seemed to look determined. Seungcheol heaved a sigh of relief as he patter Mingyu’s back and ordered coffee for both of them.

The evening came earlier than intended. You were almost ready as you slipped into the sage green dress that you have saved for this occasion. Your cheeks burned red when you remembered how Mingyu had paid for this one. It was a bold move, to wear the dress someone else’s boyfriend bought for you but you were feeling rebellious today so you decided to show up in this one and make Mingyu regret every decision he has ever made.

The makeup was subtle, your bold red lips making a statement. You decided to leave your hair as it is, the soft waves cascading down up to your waist in a dramatic fashion. You wore your diamond earrings. You had the exact color heels to go with the dress which made you extremely excited. After finally getting all dolled up you decided to call Jihyun.

“Are you ready?”, you asked as soon as the call got connected.

“Yes. I am almost out of the door.”, Jihyun said as she screamed for Vernon to get moving.

You giggled as you ended the call and decided to head out too. The walk to Seungkwan’s place was short but it took you a bit more time since you were wearing pointed heels and the weather was cold.

You reached within fifteen minutes as you rung the bell to his apartment.

“Oh my god you look gorgeous.”, Seungkwan gasped as soon as he opened the door.

You laughed a bit as you entered the warm apartment.

“I am shivering.”, you confessed.

“That can’t be it. We need shots.”, Seungkwan dramatically commented as he rushed inside to bring out a shot glass and some vodka.

“What? Before the party?”, you laughed as you settled down on the couch.

“Yes. At least one shot. You will be warm and not that drunk.”, Seungkwan explained as he poured you a shot.

You chugged it in one go, your face crinkling from the strong taste as you laughed along with Seungkwan.

“Wow that was intense.”, you said as you kept the glass on the coffee table.

“Let me prepare one for Jihyun too.”, he excitedly commented.

After taking a few shots, you, Jihyun and Seungkwan were finally ready to go to the party.

Your heart was beating fast because you knew you were going to see Mingyu and Maya there. Every minute of it felt like running away, going to your home, lying in the cozy blankets and watching sappy romance movies till midnight.

Seungkwan might have noticed your discomfort as he pulled you right towards him in the cramped space of the hired car.

“Don’t plan on running away. This is a party of your close friend, not Maya’s.”, Seungkwan reminds as you huff a bit for you have been caught red handed.

Running away felt like the best option but all your life you have ran away from problems. Fights and quarrels have always scared you, as they give you panic attacks, so running away has always been your plan A. But now you have to be strong, and face the consequences. You can’t avoid Mingyu forever, even if that means making him realize what kind of shit person he has been dating.

“I won’t.”, you said with an assuring smile.

The party was going on in full swing. Seungcheol has invited some of his colleagues too and your group of friends. He has always been a very shy person when it came to making friends, so it makes you happy when you see him surrounded by friends that he has chosen.

“Happy New Year’s Eve Cheol!”, you screamed over the music as you hugged the man in front of you.

Seungcheol beamed, his dimples making an appearance as he engulfed you in a warm hug. The hug not only felt celebratory but also a gentle reminder that he is always here with you and that you can stop running away from your problems. You gently smiled as you detached yourself from him before stumbling into Jeonghan.

He was looking extra pretty with a shimmery top and white leather pants.

“Now you look like a piece of art sir.”, you smiled as you threw yourself into your office best friend’s arms.

“Don’t even start. You look gorgeous as fuck. If I were straight, I would have proposed you right here.”, Jeonghan giggled.

You enjoyed the compliments as it made you feel a little bit more comfortable in the way you were dressed. You have always been a little less comfortable in your skin whenever you dressed in something out of your comfort zone but your friends never failed to push away your insecurities.

You got introduced to some of Seungcheol’s colleagues including a man named Dokyeom and he was the bubbliest person you have ever met. He was all lame jokes and giggles which was entertaining to watch.

“Hyung has said a lot about you.”, he said.

“All good things I believe?”, you asked back with a smirk.

“Yeah mostly.”, he said with a wide smile.

“Are you enjoying the drinks?”, he asked again, leaning a little closer for you to hear clearly but maintaining a respectful distance.

“Yes, a little. I am not planning on getting drunk tonight.”, you mumbled.

“Planning to finally confess?”, Dokyeom said with a silly smirk.

“Even you know about that?! Great!”, you said with a huff as heat crawled up your neck because of embarrassment.

“I love talking about love. So, it’s kind of adorable.”, he laughed and you smiled along with him. It was easier to smile around him as he was just silly.

“I think the man of the hour is here.”, Dokyeom said as he rushed away from you before you could question his statement.

You turned around only to meet your eyes with Mingyu. He was looking extremely handsome. With a maroon red shirt, the first three buttons unbuttoned and jeans. His hair was shorter than you remember and was styled perfectly. His eyes met yours. You have known him for the longest time and you saw the flicker of something unknown in his eyes. You tried to avoid his gaze, acting like you haven’t noticed him but he was approaching you, with steady steps and a determined face.

“Happy new year’s eve, ____.”, he said as soon as he was right in front of you.

“Same to you.”, you said as you averted his eyes and tried to involuntarily search for Maya. You have no wish to again listen to her rude remarks.

“She isn’t here. We broke up.”, Mingyu said as he minimized the distance even more.

“What? Why?”, you asked, clearly shocked.

“For you.”, he whispered as he dipped his head right beside your right ear, a trail of goosebumps breaking out in the skin of your neck.

“You don’t get to say that now Mingyu!”, you could almost feel yourself getting enraged.

You have waited so many years for him to realize how toxic Maya is. You have waited for the response of your letters. You have waited for some kind of apology. You have waited for him for ages. And now, after you have decided to move on, he is standing here with that stupid smirk on his face as if he has done you a favour by breaking up with his long-term girlfriend.

“What?”, Mingyu dumbfoundedly looked at you and that made you even more angry.

“I need some air.”, you said as you yanked your hand off his grip and walked out into the balcony, unbeknownst to the fact that Mingyu was already following you.

click <<here>> to go to chapter 12(finale)!

✧˖* end notes: posting every monday! do suggest me ideas if you have any. also do like and comment!! it gives me motivation to write better.<3

[bunniesssstuff]

MAYBE IN OUR NEXT LIVES? -NRK

pairing Nishimura Riki x reader warnings none for this chapter. Maybe a but of angst, like a tiny bit. genre romance, slice of life, angst, unrequited love, word count 13.2k

CHAPTER FIVE-

Things That Stay Quiet

-

The clock on his desk reads 11:47 p.m., but Riki doesn’t care.

The house has finally gone quiet. His mom’s in her room. Sola fell asleep sideways on the couch with her socks still on. Konon hasn’t come back yet. His dad probably won’t get home until past midnight, as usual.

Riki lies sprawled on his bed, back against the headboard, controller in hand, headset resting slightly askew on his hair. His room is dim except for the bluish glow from the TV screen, and the click-click of his controller is steady, almost rhythmic—until—

“WHY WOULD YOU ATTACK NOW?!” Hayato’s voice blares through the headset like a siren.

Riki sighs. “Because your HP was sitting there like it wanted to die.”

“I was CHARGING—”

“You were crouching in a bush.”

“I was CHARGING—”

“You looked like you were hiding from middle schoolers.”

“I WAS LITERALLY ABOUT TO UNLEASH MY ULT, YOU GREMLIN—”

Riki snorts, not even trying to hide it. He throws a grenade in-game, watches Hayato’s character take friendly fire like a champ, and settles deeper into the pillows.

“You’re trash,” Hayato mutters.

“You love me,” Riki replies.

“Unfortunately,” Hayato groans. “But if you keep TK-ing me, I’m going to walk to your house and break your internet with a spoon.”

Riki doesn’t answer.

He’s too busy aiming down sights, casually getting a headshot on a random enemy NPC like it’s a reflex. Hayato is still yelling about betrayal and dumb respawn times when Riki finally asks—

There’s a pause.

“You left me! I thought friends don’t do that!,” Hayato says. “After Kenta almost murdered me in front of like, twelve of our classmates.”

“You deserved that.”

“I didn’t think he’d be that mad just ‘cause I forgot to lock the clue box.”

“You forgot to lock all of them.”

“Semantics.”

“You also left the cash drawer open.”

“THE IMPORTANT THING,” Hayato cuts in, “is that someone bailed and left me to defend the booth alone while he went off on his make-believe ice cream date.”

Riki blinks. Then calmly mutters, “Shut up.”

Hayato howls with laughter. “I knew it! You walked off like you had a mission from god!”

“I did have a mission.”

“Oh yeah?” Hayato asks. “What was it, exactly? Stare at her until she chokes and then pay her medical bills?”

“Shut. Up.”

“I’m sorry, am I lying?!”

Riki tosses a flash grenade in-game. Hayato’s character goes temporarily blind.

“OH MY GOD—”

“That was for the clue boxes,” Riki says.

“YOU’RE THE WORST TEAMMATE ALIVE.”

“And yet you’re still online.”

Hayato groans. “Yeah, because Kenta muted me on every app after I told the kid in line that the last clue was ‘hidden inside your soul.’”

“…You didn’t.”

“I did. It was beautiful. He cried.”

Riki shakes his head and half-smiles, eyes still on the screen.

They play in silence for a few more minutes—shooting, dying, reviving, dying again—before Hayato says, suddenly quieter:

“So.”

Riki already knows what’s coming. He can feel it.

“So,” Hayato repeats. “How’d it go?”

Riki pretends to be busy reloading.

Hayato doesn’t wait, “Did you feed her or fall in love?”

“Both,” Riki says flatly.

Hayato chokes on air. “Wait—what?!”

“She liked the hamster pot.”

“YOU GAVE HER THE POT?!”

“Yes.”

“THE HAMSTER ONE?!”

“Obviously.”

“OH MY GOD.”

Riki exhales slowly, watching his character crouch behind a crate. “She kept the bunny one too.”

Hayato scoffs. “So Kaoru’s still a threat. We’ll deal with him later.”

Riki snorts. “Shut up.”

“So? Tell me what happened. Real talk. You don’t just casually give someone a ceramic rodent and hold their hand like it’s a team-building exercise.”

Riki hesitates. Then, calmly, “She finished her ice cream. I almost touched her hair. A fortune teller yelled at us. She said she’d make me something.”

“…I’m sorry, rewind.”

Riki doesn’t repeat himself. Hayato whistles. “You’re gone. Like, emotionally destroyed.”

“I’m fine.”

“She said she’d make you something and you didn’t combust?!”

“I might’ve giggled later.”

Hayato drops his controller. “I’m calling Kenta. This is bigger than both of us.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am.”

“Hayato.”

“…Fine.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Hayato mumbles, “Wait… You like her.”

Riki doesn’t answer. Not immediately. Just stares at the screen. Not seeing it. Not really.

And then—

Click.

Call disconnected.

-

Hayato stares at the disconnected screen.

“Bro. Bro—” He yells into the void of their party chat, even though he knows Riki’s not listening anymore. “Did you seriously hang up on me?! YOU CAN’T JUST REVEAL YOUR FEELINGS AND LEAVE.”

But it’s too late.

Nishimura Riki has logged out.

-

It starts with Riki pacing.

Back and forth. One hand in his hoodie pocket, the other dragging through his hair for the sixth time in five minutes. His controller sits abandoned on the bed. The screen on his TV glows with the paused aftermath of their game. Hayato’s voice still echoes somewhere in his skull—“Wait… you like her?”

He walks to the bookshelf. Stares. Turns back. Stalks to his window.

Back again.

He’s about to commit to another lap of emotional cardio when his eyes land on the frame propped up at the edge of his shelf. It’s crooked.

He straightens it. And then he freezes. A photo.

He knows the one.

A group picture from one of the neighborhood summer gatherings. The one taken in front of their old picnic table, plastic chairs and mismatched juice cups in the background. There’s him, Konon (squinting at the sun), his mom and dad, baby Sola being held by someone else—and her.

Y/N, age nine.

Hair slightly messy. Shirt stained with orange popsicle. Standing beside him, holding up a peace sign with one hand and grabbing his wrist with the other like she thought he’d run away.

He didn’t.

You got sick the next day. Badly. And it wasn’t just a summer cold.

He remembers that day like it’s stitched into his brain. The rain. The stickiness. The way Konon pulled him out of bed like it was a hostage rescue.

-

Flashback

Riki was nine. And hated everyone. Mostly. He also hated mornings.

He especially hated mornings that started with his leg being yanked so hard he was dragged off the mattress and deposited face-first onto the wooden floor.

“Get up,” Konon barked, as if she hadn’t just nearly dislocated his hip.

Riki groaned. “I’m still asleep.”

“Not anymore,” she said cheerfully, grabbing a hairbrush off his desk and using it to flick his ear. “Get ready. The get-together’s today. You know. That thing Mom's been yelling about for two weeks?”

He mumbled something incomprehensible.

“Also, you drooled on your pillow. It’s disgusting.”

He sat up slowly, blinking blearily at the sun slicing through the curtains. His hair was a mess. His mouth was dry. His soul was at 4% battery.

“Manners,” Konon muttered like a curse word as she exited the room.

He dragged himself into the bathroom like a zombie escaping the apocalypse.

Toothbrush. Wrong hand.

Toothpaste. Everywhere.

By the time he spit and rinsed and reached for the faucet in the shower, he was already regretting life. The regret deepened when he turned the water on and—

“IT’S FREEZING!”

His yell echoed off the tile walls. He smacked the faucet three times. Nothing changed.

Of course Konon had used all the hot water. Of course she forgot to flip the water heater switch. Of course his life was misery. He took the shower anyway. Shivered violently for seven minutes. Came out with wet hair and vengeance in his heart.

And just as he stepped back into his room, towel over his head, his mother appeared.

“AWWWW, my little man is awake!”

He barely managed to groan before her hands were on his face, squishing his cheeks together.

“You’re so big now! Getting ready all by yourself! But,” she added, already turning toward his closet, “just in case—you’re wearing this.”

He stared at the outfit. Blue shirt Black shorts. Matching socks.

His face twisted in horror. “I look like I’m going to private school.”

“You look handsome.”

“I look like I do taxes.”

“Put it on.”

“I hate this.”

“You’re going to make such a good impression on the neighbors!”

“I don’t want to impress them—”

She was already pushing him toward the changing screen, humming to herself.

The next ten minutes were a blur of buttons and tragic accessorizing. By the time he shuffled downstairs, fully clothed, his spirit had almost left his body.

Then he saw Sola.

His dad was in the living room, bottle-feeding her while she kicked her tiny legs like she had somewhere to be. Her eyes lit up the second she saw him.

“Ree-kee!”

He blinked. Then smiled. Just a little. “Hey, monster.”

He sat down on the rug near her. She immediately launched herself sideways and nearly knocked over the bottle. Their dad caught it midair, laughing.

“Careful, Sola,” he said. “Your brother’s not a jungle gym.”

Sola paid him no mind. She was too busy shoving one of her stuffed animals into Riki’s lap. He took it without complaint.

And for a few minutes, the outfit, the cold water, the sibling aggression—all of it faded.

Until the doorbell rang.

His mother rushes to answer it, apron tied, sleeves rolled, yelling, “Riki, sit up straight! Don’t look like a sad noodle!” She also tosses a quick “Don’t spill anything on your shirt!” over her shoulder as she unlocks the door and pulls it open.

And for a second—just one fleeting, deceptive second—Riki thinks he sees it.

A shaft of golden light. That kind of glow that only happens when the rain pauses and the clouds split just enough for a soft sunbeam to pierce through the mist.

The silhouette standing in the doorway? Small. Compact. Radiating sunshine. Pink raincoat. Shiny hair.

His eyes widen. He sits up a little straighter. He doesn’t even realize he’s holding his breath.

Until the figure steps forward.

And it’s—

It’s—

It’s Mister L/N, its your father. The golden light dies immediately. So does any sense of awe.

The raincoat is, in fact, pink—but adult-sized and very waterproof. His arms are full—box of assorted snacks in one hand, another box of suspiciously cute juice boxes in the other. His face is flushed from either excitement or humidity. Probably both.

“Oi! Sorry we’re a bit late!” Mr. L/N shouts cheerfully, stepping inside with the subtlety of a marching band. “Had to stop by the convenience store. Y/N insisted on strawberry milk or she was gonna hold a grudge all week.”

Riki slumps back into his seat so hard he might as well sink through the floor. The imaginary theme music in his head cuts to static.

Behind him, his father stands and claps Mr. L/N on the back like they’re about to take over a ramen empire together. “Glad you made it! You always bring the good stuff.”

Mr. L/N grins. “You know me. If I don’t show up with sugar and salt, Y/N’ll revoke my parenting license.”

Riki’s eyes flicker up. No sign of you.

Yet.

His father uses the distraction to casually hand Sola over into Riki’s lap. Riki blinks, caught mid-existential collapse, as a baby flops into his arms like a jelly-stuffed backpack.

“She’s calm now,” his dad says. “Feed her before she turns into a gremlin.”

“I don’t know how—”

“You do. You just like to complain.”

Which is… fair.

Riki adjusts the baby spoon in one hand, the cup of blended something-or-other in the other, and stares down at Sola. She giggles, smacking her palms together like he just performed a magic trick.

He sighs. Offers her a bite.

She accepts it with a wide, toothless grin and immediately drops half of it on his shorts.

His shirt was supposed to be the sacrifice. Not the shorts.

He shifts in his seat, angling toward the window, resting Sola more securely in his lap.

Rain streaks softly down the glass.

Outside, people start arriving—umbrellas bobbing, sandals squeaking. Kids in neon raincoats hop over puddles. Folding tables are being carried across yards. Plastic chairs scatter like confetti.

Still no sign of you.

He tells himself he doesn’t care. It’s fine. Totally.

Fine.

He feeds Sola another spoonful. Watches the way she squints when it’s too cold. The way her nose scrunches. She’s warm in his lap. Her little hands keep trying to grab his sleeves. He doesn’t mind.

But he still glances at the door again. Still hears Mr. L/N’s voice echoing through the hall—loud, friendly, the kind of voice that fills up a room before anyone else can.

“I’m telling you, this year’s get-together is gonna be the best one yet! My wife made yakisoba! Y/N helped, too! She chopped all the cabbage and only cut her finger once!”

Riki blinks. Okay. That’s new.

You? Chopping cabbage?

The mental image makes him frown a little.

His mother laughs from the kitchen. “She’s growing up so fast!”

“I know,” Mr. L/N sighs dramatically. “I told her to stay tiny forever but she’s becoming an adult. Has opinions now.”

“Scary.”

Riki looks down at Sola. She sneezes into his shirt. Then burps. He wipes her face with the sleeve she didn’t sneeze on.

Outside, the rain keeps falling. A little heavier now.

He keeps feeding Sola. Waiting. Wondering.

When the doorbell rings again—

He doesn’t sit up right away.

But this time? His heartbeat does.

Sola falls asleep halfway through her second bottle.

Her eyelids flutter a bit, lashes still wet from blinking at the ceiling fan, her fingers going slack around the rim of the warm plastic. The bottle tips slightly, dribbling a few drops of milk onto her chin.

Riki sighs—soft, quiet. He sets the bottle aside and grabs a tissue from the table. Gently wipes the corners of her mouth like his mom showed him last time, making sure not to press too hard. “Messy baby,” he mutters.

Sola snuffles once and leans into him in her sleep, forehead pressed lightly against his chest. Her hair smells like baby shampoo and something sugary.

He holds her like that for a second longer. Then exhales. Stands.

She’s heavier than she looks. All limbs and sleep and unpredictable wiggles. He read somewhere that kids her age are basically jelly with a soul.

That checks out.

Carrying her up the stairs is harder than expected. But he doesn’t drop her. Not even once. He uses his shoulder to nudge open the door to her room, which is painted a light yellow with cartoon suns all over the walls—Konon called it “baby optimism overdose.” His mom called it “a warm start to life.”

He thinks it’s kind of loud. Still… it suits her.

The window’s cracked open slightly, letting in a faint breeze that still smells like rain. The room is quiet except for the soft sound of wind chimes.

Riki lowers Sola carefully into the cradle. Adjusts her tiny blanket. Tucks her favorite stuffed turtle next to her arm. “Sleep well,” he whispers, straight-faced.

She shifts a little but doesn’t wake. He watches her for a second longer.

Then leaves.

-

Back downstairs, he’s just about to go look for his mom—maybe sneak a second rice cracker now that Sola isn’t hogging them—when the doorbell rings again.

He pauses in the hallway. Doesn’t think much of it.

It’s probably more guests. Someone else with trays of food or those weird jellies Konon hates. It’s no one important. Definitely not.

Definitely not worth noticing.

His mother hurries past, apron fluttering behind her, and opens the door—

And the light returns. But this time… it’s not a trick.

This time, the sun slips through the clouds for real. The rain has stopped. The world outside is glowing in that post-rain way, where everything is clean and golden and slightly too bright. And standing there—

Hair damp from the drizzle. Cheeks flushed. Raincoat half-unzipped and slightly clinging to her arms. Pink dress underneath. A heavy grocery bag in one hand.

Is you.

“Good morning, Mrs. Nishimura!!” you say, far too chipper for someone carrying four kilos of vegetables.

Riki blinks. Actually blinks.

His mother laughs and immediately takes the bag from your arms. “You didn’t have to carry all this!”

“My dad forgot it!” you say, stepping out of your shoes on instinct. “And his phone too.”

You hold it up—some ancient, beat-up device with a worn-out keychain.

He watches you walk in.

Shoes off. Socks a little mismatched. Hair damp and clinging slightly to the side of your face. You’ve got a scratch on your knee and a little leaf stuck to your shoulder.

And you’re still smiling. Bright. Unbothered. Like this rain never touched you the way it touched him.

And Riki? Riki’s heart skips. Fast. Quieter than it should be, but real. Heavy in a way he doesn’t know how to explain.

And he doesn't know, not at that age—not yet—that the heartbeat that flutters in that moment will grow into something much louder in time. That one day, it’ll echo in theaters, thrum beneath red carpets, stir in the chest of audiences as they fall for the boy on screen.

But for now? It’s just one quiet thump. And one quiet thought:

She’s here.

-

The backyard looks like a party store exploded.

Plastic tables. Foldable chairs. Paper decorations hanging from the patio light fixtures like sleepy festival leftovers. A stack of spare umbrellas—those big ones that come with weighted bases and absolutely no pronunciation guide—stand in the corner like guards awaiting deployment.

The adults are in full chaos mode.

Mr. Nishimura is hammering something into the grass while muttering about “structural integrity” as if the wind might pick up a folding table and throw it across the prefecture. Your dad’s holding two chairs under one arm and pointing with the other like a general leading troops. And Riki’s dad is trying to untangle an extension cord with the patience of a monk and the facial expression of someone who deeply regrets volunteering for this.What used to be a simple patch of grass and patio bricks now looked like the aftermath of a very organized storm—tables with checkered cloths, chairs scattered like dominoes mid-fall, folding trays wobbling under their own weight, and a handful of umbrella stands that refused to stand no matter how hard the dads tried to argue with gravity.

“Are they called… parah-sol?” Riki’s dad muttered at one point, squinting at the metal arms of the stubborn contraption.

“No, parasols are the tiny decorative ones,” Mr. L/N replied, his sleeves rolled past his elbows as he balanced a bucket of ice in one arm. “These are… uh. Patio umbrellas?”

“You sound unsure.”

“I am unsure.”

Meanwhile, Riki and his dad had spent most of the last hour hauling chairs from the garage, stacking them, unstacking them, then restacking them because someone decided the table arrangement looked better “this way, not that way.”

Riki had long since entered his silent compliance phase. He was nine. He was sore. And he wanted to go back inside and finish the level he was on before breakfast ruined his life.

-

Meanwhile, the moms are inside, turning the kitchen into a high-efficiency buffet zone. Your mom had shown up an hour ago with a massive basket of food—homemade pizza, onigiri, three kinds of croquettes, and that weird mushroom salad only the adults pretend to like.

The pizza was already famous. Someone once said it could end arguments and maybe even wars.

You’re not interested in wars right now. You're interested in your lollipop.

Specifically, the giant swirly blue one shaped like a flat disc on a stick that you found in a mystery bag last week. It turns your tongue bright navy and your lips into something between cursed berry and sea monster.

You sit at the edge of the wooden steps that lead down to the backyard, heels kicking lazily in the air, watching the grown-ups sweat while you do nothing.

Beside you sat another girl from the neighborhood, Miu, who had come with her mom “to help,” though so far, her biggest contribution had been sitting beside you and pointing at things.

“Do you think those chairs are gonna fall?” she asked, biting into a rice cracker.

“Probably,” you said, not bothering to look.

“They put the tablecloths on before the plates.”

“That’s dumb.”

“Adults are weird.”

“Super weird.”

Miu leaned over slightly. “Your tongue’s blue.”

You opened your mouth wide and stuck it out like a monster. She shrieked with laughter and almost fell backward onto the grass.

“Do you think they will serve sour candies for lunch?” Miu asked with a thoughtful look.

“Ask Riki. Maybe he knows.”

You both look over.

Riki is sitting in a white plastic chair, legs stretched out, slouched so far he’s practically sliding off the seat. His Nintendo DS rests in his hands like it was built for them. The screen reflects a pixelated sky and tiny explosions. His thumbs move like he’s memorized the pattern years ago.

He’s not helping. He hasn’t moved in twenty minutes, except to tilt his head slightly when the sun hit his eyes wrong.

You look at him. He’s not looking at you.

Then he is. Briefly. Just a flick.

Then back to his game.

But you saw it.

-

You giggle without meaning to. Something Miu said about jellyfish-shaped balloons and how she wants one for her birthday. It wasn’t even that funny, but the lollipop made your teeth hurt and your head fuzzy and now everything feels a little extra funny.

You throw your head back laughing. And that’s when Riki looks again.

Just once.

Then pretends he didn’t.

He shifts slightly in his chair, tilting the DS screen to block the glare. His foot taps the ground once. You don’t notice. But he does.

You just keep laughing. And talking.

And eating your cursed sea monster lollipop like it’s the most important thing in the world.

-

From where he sits, Riki watches the grown-ups finish assembling the last table. Watches his father shake hands with yours like they just ended world hunger. Watches his mom yell through the screen door for someone to bring out the fruit punch.

And—every so often—he watches you. Just for a second. But it’s enough.

He doesn’t know why you’re laughing. He doesn’t know what you’re saying.

But your tongue is blue. Your cheeks are sun-warmed. Your laugh is loud.

And for some reason, he feels like he’s looking at the start of a story he’s not ready to be part of yet.

-

The backyard is no longer just a backyard.

It’s a carnival. A minefield. A social experiment gone wrong.

By late afternoon, the Nishimura household is full—too full.

Neighbors start trickling in like ants to a sugar spill. And not just the nice ones. Not just the ones you actually invite. No—this is a Japanese neighborhood. You know how it works. Once the folding chairs are out and someone lights the charcoal, people show up. Even the ones who absolutely weren’t on the list.

Mrs. Katagiri, who once yelled at a seven-year-old for walking too loudly, is now hovering over the food table like she owns it. Her teenage daughter has brought a ukulele. For what, no one knows. Some distant grandpa from two streets over is arguing with the grill. No one invited him either.

Riki sits on the steps now, slightly behind the plastic chairs, arms crossed, eyes squinting at the growing chaos. His DS is closed. Battery flashing red. Defeated.

You’re nowhere near the steps anymore. You’re running.

Full speed across the grass, dress flaring, your butterfly clip on display like a badge of honor. Three other kids are with you—some from your class, some from other blocks. You’re playing a game that has no rules and no name, just yelling and laughter and flailing limbs.

Riki watches for a while. Then looks away. Then looks back.

Then pretends he wasn’t looking. And then—someone calls his name. A voice he doesn’t know.

“Oi! You’re Nishimura’s kid, right?”

Riki turns toward the edge of the patio.

A teenager leans against the railing, tall and lanky, wearing a shirt with too many buttons and a haircut that screams cool cousin from the city. His grin is lazy, and there’s an unopened bottle of melon soda hanging from his fingers.

He raises an eyebrow. “You look like you hate fun.”

Riki stares. “…Who are you?”

The guy laughs. “Daiki. Seventeen. Legendary older cousin. Full-time high school student, part-time babysitter of that maniac over there.”

He jerks a thumb behind him. That’s when Riki notices a younger boy—maybe around seven—trying to climb a decorative tree with a skewer still in his mouth.

Riki squints. “He’s gonna fall.”

“He always does.”

“You’re not gonna stop him?”

“Nah. It’s funnier this way.”

The kid slips. Catches himself. Then grins up at them like gravity’s just a rumor.

“Hayato!” Daiki shouts. “If you break your legs, I’m not helping you do your homework!”

The boy flips him off with two fingers and a skewer.

Riki stares, then—just slightly—smiles. “Your cousin’s weird.”

“Painfully,” Daiki says. “You’ll love him.”

Turns out, Daiki lives in the house two blocks over, with his mother—Hayato’s aunt. Hayato’s family had only just moved to Okayama from Kyoto earlier that year. Something about a job transfer. Riki doesn’t ask. He doesn’t care. But apparently, their family’s a little more “fancy,” according to Daiki.

Which explains the polo shirts.

The indoor slippers.

The fact that Hayato said “may I have another juice box” in perfect keigo earlier.

Still—he’s not boring.

Riki finds himself lingering closer.

Eventually, Hayato jumps down from the tree, runs across the grass, and stops in front of Riki with a grin too wide for his small face.

“You,” he says, pointing. “You play Monster Hunter?”

Riki blinks. “Sometimes.”

“I brought my DS.”

Pause.

“…Me too.”

“Wanna team up?”

Another pause.

Then Riki shrugs.

“Okay.”

And that’s it.

A moment later, they’re sitting cross-legged in a corner of the patio, backs to the party, game consoles in their laps, occasionally yelling things like “NO DON’T USE THE BOW—!” and “YOU AGGROED THE BOSS, DUMBASS!”

Daiki shakes his head fondly from a distance.

And somewhere in the middle of all that noise—

Riki realizes something rare. He’s having fun. Real fun. The kind you don’t have to explain. The kind you don’t have to try for.

The kind that sneaks up on you in the middle of an overcrowded summer lawn and doesn’t ask permission before settling in.

-

Hayato is mid-rant.

“It’s literally rigged,” he hisses, mashing the button on his DS. “This boss is actually hacking.”

Riki doesn’t even look up. “It’s an offline game.”

“He’s still hacking.”

“You’re bad.”

“You’re mean.”

They’re cross-legged under the shade of a half-open umbrella, their consoles propped in their laps, backs leaning against the patio railing. The party has spilled into full summer madness behind them—adults refilling platters, kids sprinting through the lawn with wet popsicle sticks and watermelon rinds, someone blasting a playlist that shifts between festival drums and idol pop without warning.

Riki’s eyes are on the screen. Focused. Calm.

Hayato’s are twitching with rage.

And then—

Tiny footsteps. Soft. Barefoot. Unrushed.

Riki doesn’t hear them at first, but Hayato pauses.

Riki’s reaching to swap his stylus when something cold brushes his hand.

He grabs it automatically. Ice pop. Still wrapped. Slightly melting at the edges.

He starts to thank whoever handed it to him—probably his mom—

Then he looks. Sharp. Fast.

A single movement of his neck, like a trained reflex.

You’re sitting beside him. Cross-legged. A little breathless. Hair sticking to your cheek.

Your hands rest on your lap. Your knees are scraped—probably from jumping over something dumb—but you’re smiling faintly, eyes already focused on the screen in Riki’s lap.

Your voice is low, curious. “What level are you?”

Riki blinks.

Hayato blinks harder.

“Hello!” Hayato blurts. “I’m Hayato.”

You look at him. Smile wider. “I know. Your cousin told me you were the tree kid.”

Hayato puts a hand over his chest. “I feel famous.”

You giggle, scooting a little closer to Riki’s side without noticing.

He notices. He can’t stop noticing.

Your arm brushes his for one second too long. And suddenly, the heat of the summer has nothing to do with the sun.

He stares down at the ice pop in his hand. He hasn’t opened it. He’s still holding it like it might explode.

You’re watching the game again, lips slightly pursed, your finger pointing at the screen. “You should equip the shield charm. It’s better against dragon-types.”

He squints at you. “You know this game?”

“My cousin plays it.”

“Oh.”

A pause.

“…Thanks.”

You nod. Don’t say anything else. Riki doesn’t either. Hayato, for once, is silent.

It’s weird. Good-weird.

And then—

“Knew I’d find you here,” a familiar voice calls.

Konon. She walks up, hands on hips, expression smug.

“Y/N, mom’s asking for help with the veggies. Come inside before she hands me the carrots.”

You blink. “Oh—okay!”

You stand quickly, brushing off your skirt. Turn to Riki. Smile.

“Bye!”

And then you’re gone.

Racing back toward the patio with Konon calling after you about “don’t run with those sandals!”

Hayato waves. “You okay?” he asks, nudging Riki.

Riki blinks once. Twice. Then looks down at the unopened ice pop in his hand.

Very, very slowly—

He opens it.

-

Lunch arrives like a swarm—chaotic, loud, and suspiciously well-organized.

The buffet tables groan under the weight of food trays. Plastic plates pass from hand to hand like some kind of synchronized routine. Every table is full. Every chair is claimed. Adults hover near the drinks table while kids dart between knees and picnic mats. Someone is yelling about the croquettes. Someone else is asking where the spicy mayo came from. A baby is crying for a fork it’s absolutely not supposed to hold.

And at the center of it all, like royalty at a very chaotic feast, your mom, Riki’s mom, and your dad are being praised into the clouds.

“Did you make the pizza?” one lady gasps, fanning herself.

“Well, I helped with the crust,” your mom replies modestly.

“Helped?” your dad says, holding a can of juice. “She built it like a cathedral. I just grated cheese.”

Mrs. Nishimura beams, apron still smudged. “We’ll send you home with leftovers for sure.”

“You need to open a shop!” someone insists. “I’d pay for this.”

“Oh, we already did,” another laughs, biting into a rice ball.

You sit on the grass with your plate, trying to find the least spicy corner of your meal. A rogue chili pepper nearly took you out five minutes ago, and now you’re overcompensating by piling plain rice in the corner of your dish like a lifeline.

Mission: Unsuccessful.

Still, the food’s delicious. The sunlight has settled warm and golden on the back lawn, and everything smells like soy sauce, grilled meat, and summer.

You hear Konon laugh behind you. She’s saying something about how her mom won’t let her cook unless she learns to “cut cucumbers without looking like she’s attacking them.” You giggle without meaning to, nearly dropping a daikon slice.

After a few more bites—and the painful realization that the pickled radish was not mild—you set your plate aside and wipe your hands.

You stand up. And slip away. The upstairs hallway is quiet.The chaos of the backyard fades behind you as you pad softly toward the last room on the right. The door is ajar. You push it open gently. Warm yellow light spills into the hallway.

Inside, the room is still. Soft. Peaceful.

The curtains flutter in the late summer breeze, casting little moving shadows on the crib. The mobile above it turns slightly, tiny suns and moons drifting in lazy circles.

Sola is still asleep. Her thumb is in her mouth. One leg has wriggled free of her blanket. A stuffed elephant is drooping over her face like it gave up halfway through a nap.

You tiptoe inside and sit on the little cushion near her crib. The yogurt container is already on the side table, along with some sliced strawberries and a small bowl of steamed veggies cut into smiley shapes.

Mrs. Nishimura told you earlier you could feed her when she woke up.

So now you wait.

You hum something softly—an old commercial jingle that won’t leave your head.

Sola twitches. Then opens one eye. Tiny. Sleepy. Fuzzy.

“Hi, baby,” you whisper.

She blinks slowly. Then smiles.

Sola’s crib is getting too small for her.

You realize this as you watch her dangle one leg dramatically over the side like she’s plotting a slow-motion escape from baby jail. She’s just turned two, but her energy still registers at half-volume. Calm. Unbothered. Soft like a rice bun.

Most toddlers run around shrieking, arms flailing, wiping jam on things that aren’t food.

Sola?

She naps like it’s a spiritual calling. Eats without mess. Wakes up with eyelids still half-closed and voice so small you have to lean in to catch it.

When Mrs. Nishimura carried her out to the garden earlier, the aunties swarmed like pigeons to breadcrumbs. You watched them nearly fight for turns to squish her cheeks and compliment her outfit.

“She’s a queen,” one whispered. “Too cute.”

You agree.

The current Queen of Naps has just climbed out of her crib—unassisted—and is toddling away with silent determination.

“Sola!” you whisper, half-laughing. “Where are you going?”

She points toward the corner of the room. “Bird.”

“There’s no bird.”

“Dream bird,” she says, very serious.

You blink.

“Wait—did you dream about birds?”

Sola nods solemnly. “And broccoli. And turtle.”

You blink again.

“I have so many questions.”

She sits on the floor cushion with dramatic effort. You plop beside her, pulling the tray of food closer. Her little fork is still wrapped in a napkin. You unwrap it, scoop up some yogurt, and hold it out. She takes it with practiced grace.

“Did the turtle do anything?” you ask.

“He dancin’,” she says, kicking her sockless foot under the table.

You nod. “Naturally.”

You feed her a strawberry slice next. She hums. Eyes half-lidded. Royal. You’re mid-scoop of broccoli when the door opens behind you with a soft creak.

You don’t look up right away.

But then—

Footsteps. Slow. A pause.

You turn your head slightly.

It’s him.

Riki stands in the doorway like someone just tossed him into a dream sequence he didn’t ask to be part of. His eyes land on you—and the tray—and Sola—and then you again.

He looks… surprised. Like he didn’t expect this.

Maybe he didn’t.

“Hey,” you say, offering a small smile. “You’re back.”

He blinks. “Yeah.”

His hand lifts slightly—awkwardly. Holding a small bowl.

Boiled broccoli. Right.

Konon had promised she’d help with the veggies.

Apparently, Konon lied.

Riki steps into the room slowly, like the floor might move beneath him. He places the bowl gently on the tray without looking at you directly.

“She said I have to give her the green stuff or I’m grounded.”

“Konon said that?”

“Technically, she said I owe her a favor and this is it.”

You laugh quietly. “That’s still kind of sweet.”

He doesn't answer. Just sits cross-legged near the crib without saying anything else.

You glance at him, a bit confused. But he’s already watching Sola again. Like maybe she’s easier to focus on than you.

Maybe she is.

Because she takes another bite of broccoli, turns to Riki, and says very seriously—

“The turtle also had a hat.”

Riki’s expression doesn’t change. He just nods.

And replies, with the straightest face in the world:

“Hope it matched the broccoli.”

-

Sola is a good baby.

No—she’s a great baby. A famously sleepy, peaceful, soft-cheeked toddler who rarely cries, rarely screams, and, until now, has never declared war on steamed vegetables.

You’re midway through feeding her a very reasonable bite of broccoli—one that you even dipped in yogurt to make it friendlier—when she suddenly freezes.

Eyes on the tray. Then Riki’s bowl. Then back to the tray.

She looks at the broccoli like it just insulted her ancestors. And then—with the flair of a silent movie actress—Sola gasps dramatically and throws herself back onto the cushion.

“Too much broccolis,” she whispers.

You blink. “What—?”

“Too much,” she repeats, hand draped over her eyes like a Victorian widow fainting on a chaise lounge.

You blink again. “There are literally five pieces.”

“I saw six,” she says darkly.

You look to Riki, who is—of course—leaning against the windowsill, pretending not to laugh. His eyes are fixed on the sky outside, the way the sunlight is slipping toward gold now, dipping below the rooftops like it’s playing hide and seek with the horizon. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches.

You’re about to return your attention to Sola when—

CLINK.

You look down. She has picked up her spoon. And she is winding up.

“Sola, no—”

Too late. Spoon cocked like a catapult.

You lunge. She shrieks. And chaos ensues.

Across the room, Riki finally turns.

He sees you—half-tangled in a baby blanket, one hand gripping Sola’s flailing wrist like a bomb defuser. Your other hand is still holding the yogurt cup, slightly tilted, dangerously close to spilling all over your lap.

Sola is not yelling. She’s whining—this high, endless hum of protest that has no real volume but all the emotional weight of a Shakespearean monologue.

“Too mu-u-u-ch!” she whines again.

“She has to eat it!” you huff, struggling.

“You know,” Riki says, very calmly, “there’s a reason mom feeds her in a high chair.”

“I didn’t choose the floor cushion,” you snap. “It was preexisting!”

Sola jerks again. The spoon wobbles in her hand.

You gasp. “She’s going to throw it.”

“She is going to throw it,” Riki agrees, not moving.

“Aren’t you gonna help?”

He shrugs.

“I want to see what happens.”

“Riki—!”

“Okay, okay.” He pushes off the wall finally, crouches next to Sola, and gently takes the spoon from her hand.

She huffs but allows it. Then points at him and says, with full toddler judgment:

“You give me too much green.”

“I gave you two pieces.”

“Too green,” she says, narrowing her eyes.

Riki tilts his head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You exhale dramatically and flop back on the cushion beside her. Sola immediately crawls into your lap like nothing happened.

Riki sits cross-legged again, arms resting on his knees, looking at the half-empty tray like it might attack next.

Outside, the sky continues turning gold. Inside, the queen resumes her yogurt like a war never happened. And somewhere in the middle of that ordinary, broccoli-scented moment, the three of you share a quiet pause.

And no one says anything about how strange—and nice—it feels.

-

It happens fast. One second, Sola is calmly chewing a strawberry. The next—

Yank.

She grabs the yogurt bowl with the full force of someone fed up with society.

You freeze. She lifts it. You reach. She launches.

“Oh god—!”

The bowl flips into the air in a perfect, slow-motion arc.

You’re mid-scream—

And then—

Catch.

Riki’s hand snatches it out of the air like a pro baseball catcher with a part-time job as a superhero. The yogurt wobbles dangerously inside the rim, a blob of it escaping and plopping to the floor with a soft, wet splat.

Silence.

You stare at Sola. She doesn’t look guilty. In fact—she looks tired.

She lets out a long, dramatic sigh, patting her knees like a grandmother who’s seen too much. “I had enough of this life,” she says with the wisdom of someone who still can’t pronounce “strawberry.”

You blink. “What?”

Sola curls into your lap like a much older, much sadder creature. “Better to sleep,” she says, closing her eyes.

You glance helplessly at Riki. “She’s… okay?”

“She’s been alive two years,” he replies dryly. “She’s seen things.”

You giggle softly despite yourself, brushing a crumb off her cheek.

Riki straightens, sets the yogurt back down with the grace of someone who does not want to try that again, then walks to the side table. A small pile of picture books sits beside a spare burp cloth and a sippy cup full of diluted juice. He grabs the top book without a word and hands it to you. Then sits back down beside you.

Close. Not touching, but closer than before.

“Read,” he says, almost too casually. “Might keep her awake long enough to eat.”

You look at the book. Bright colors, simple sentences. You’ve read it before, to your cousins. A talking mushroom goes on an adventure. There’s a moral about honesty. You take a breath and open it to the first page.

“…Once upon a time, in a tiny forest behind the rice fields, there lived a mushroom who could talk.”

Sola stirs, still curled in your lap. Then giggles.

Riki leans over, spears a piece of broccoli with her fork, and holds it out.

She opens her mouth like a baby bird. Eats it. Chews slowly.

Smiles.

You pause. Then look at Riki, suspicious.

“She didn’t eat that when I gave it to her.”

“She knows loyalty,” he mutters.

You roll your eyes. “She has no loyalty. She launched yogurt.”

He doesn’t deny it. Just feeds her another piece. And she eats again.

You go back to reading, trying to ignore the quiet warmth in your chest.

“She can sleep after this,” Riki says softly. “Broccoli peace treaty.”

You snort-laugh, and he glances at you from the corner of his eye, a small smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth.

You keep reading. Sola keeps chewing.

Riki keeps feeding her—gently, patiently, like this is something he’s always done, even if he won’t admit he’s good at it.

The sun dips lower outside the window, bathing the room in golden light. The breeze pushes the curtains just enough to shift the shadows.

It’s quiet now. Still.

And somehow—perfect.

Turns out, at the end of the day, Sola will only eat from her brother.

And you?

You’re okay with that. You’ve got the story.

-

Sola finishes the last bite of strawberry with a sigh.

It’s not a dramatic sigh this time. Not the kind that says “I’m over this life” or “broccoli has personally betrayed me.” No. This sigh is the soft kind. The kind that comes when your belly’s warm, your eyelids heavy, and the room smells like people who love you.

She leans deeper into your lap. Then curls. Tucks herself so tightly into the crook of your legs that she becomes a little warm bundle of cotton and curls and contentment.

You freeze, mid-page of the storybook. Her tiny fingers twitch against your shirt. Her cheek presses into your knee. One foot dangles off the edge of the cushion. And just like that—she’s asleep again.

You giggle softly to yourself. A real one.

“She’s so cute,” you whisper.

Riki doesn’t answer at first. He just reaches forward with a tissue and gently, so gently, wipes the yogurt off the corner of her mouth. His fingers are quick, practiced, careful. Like this is something he’s done before. Like he knows exactly how to move around her without waking her up.

Then, wordlessly, he stands. Scoops up the tray. Gathers the empty bowl, the baby fork, the napkin Sola crumpled and dropped halfway through her rebellion. He moves slowly, not lazily—intentionally. You can hear the faint clink of the dishes being stacked, the whisper of the paper towel as he wipes the floor spot where yogurt tried to win.

He places everything neatly on the table near the door. Then exhales. Loudly.

Like a man three times his age.

“Oh my god,” he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How do adults do this every day?”

You bite your lip. Hold back the laugh. Fail.

“She gets her dramatic genes from you,” you say under your breath.

He glances over his shoulder. But doesn’t argue.

You gently shift Sola, one hand behind her back, the other cradling her legs. She doesn’t stir. Just lets herself be lifted like a plush toy—trusting, weightless. You stand slowly, careful not to knock her against your chin, and step across the room.

The crib waits. Still too small. Still too sun-drenched. Still glowing with the last gold light of the afternoon.

You lower her down gently. Tuck the blanket over her tiny legs. Watch her thumb wander back to her mouth on instinct.

Riki doesn’t say anything. He just watches from the doorway.

And when you finally turn around—

You find him smiling. Only slightly. Only for a second. And only when he thinks you’re not looking.

The first raindrop hits the window like a whisper. You blink, looking up from the crib.

Another drop. Then another.

And then—soft, steady tapping against the glass. A hush falls over the sun-yellow room. The kind of hush that feels almost too perfect, like it was placed there by someone who wanted the world to slow down.

You glance toward the window. And walk to it without a word.

The sky outside is grey-blue and heavy, but beautiful. The kind of late afternoon rain that doesn’t crash or pour—just falls. Even, quiet, constant. It paints the trees in richer greens and leaves little shimmering trails on the railings outside.

Riki watches you move. He doesn’t say anything.

But something about the way your back straightens—your fingers brushing lightly against the edge of the windowpane—makes the whole room feel smaller. Softer. Like he suddenly doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

You place your palm lightly against the glass.

“The neighbors probably already left,” you murmur, like you’re thinking out loud. “Guess they didn’t want to get caught in the rain.”

Riki takes a small step closer. The rain continues to fall.

“The night celebration will still happen,” you add. “They’ll just meet at the field like always.”

He nods, but you’re not looking at him.

You’re still watching the rain. The quiet stretches.

And in that silence, Riki takes another step.

Not loud. Not obvious. Just closer.

Your shoulders are just a few inches from touching.

He opens his mouth—

The door slams open.

“Y/N!”

You both flinch.

Konon bursts into the room like a character who definitely didn’t read the room first.

Riki’s expression darkens instantly, his body stiffening like someone just slapped him with a broom.

Konon marches forward, barefoot, hair pinned up with a pencil. She’s holding a dish towel in one hand and a piece of mochi in the other.

“We need you downstairs. Stat.”

You blink. “Huh?”

“Mom said the kitchen’s a mess and we have to start food prep for the night stuff—obviously. There’s gonna be grilled stuff, steamed stuff, dessert stuff—come on.”

You turn from the window. Glance once—just once—at Riki.

Who looks like he’s this close to committing a felony.

“I can help,” he says, deadpan.

Konon doesn’t even look at him. “We don’t need you.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Then why ask?”

“I didn’t.”

“…Then why did you even—”

She cuts him off, voice sing-songy. “Unless you wanna help Dad clean up the entire backyard before the second round of guests come?”

Silence. Rain.

Riki sighs dramatically, dragging a hand down his face like an old man.

“Fine.”

Konon grins. “There’s the spirit, Little Bro.”

She grabs your wrist—not roughly, but urgently—and tugs you toward the door. “Chop-chop! Literally!” You let her pull you, feet scrambling slightly on the wood.

And as you step out, you glance back one last time.

Riki is still standing by the window. Hands in his pockets.

Scowling.

But the second you giggle—just quietly, to yourself—

His scowl softens.

And that warmth in your chest? It lingers.

Even through the kitchen noise, the slicing sounds, the prep trays and party chaos—

It stays.

The downstairs kitchen is a battlefield. Flour in the air. Plastic lids clattering.

Something sticky bubbling in a pot that looks vaguely threatening.

Your mom and Mrs. Nishimura are standing at opposite ends of the counter, moving like synchronized robots, each one packing bento boxes and covered dishes like the survival of the planet depends on distributing rice balls and mini puddings before sundown.

“Oh, Y/N—great, come here, sweetie!” Mrs. Nishimura calls out, apron dusted in powdered sugar, hair pinned up in a loose knot.

“Perfect timing,” your mom adds. “Konon, show her what to do.”

You don’t even get to nod before Konon’s shoving a tray of neatly sliced castella cake into your hands and handing you a roll of cling wrap like a sword.

“Desert team. You and me. Let’s go.”

You stare at her. “I just got here—”

“Time is fake. Dessert is real. Wrap faster.”

You sigh and sit at the table, adjusting the hem of your pink dress, which is still a little rumpled from babysitting duty earlier. There are pre-folded paper boxes in front of you, each labeled with little tags: castella, fruit jelly, sweet bean bun. The smell is amazing. Like sugar and vanilla and something warm and gooey.

It should be nice. But your back already hurts. You stretch dramatically and sigh again. “Why do 9-year-olds have to work?”

Konon doesn’t even look up. “Because 9-year-olds have nimble hands. And you’re short enough to reach the bottom shelf.”

“Great. My tragic origin story.”

“You’re doing amazing, sweetie.”

“I should be allowed to just curl up in my bed like Sola and sleep for ten hours.”

Konon snorts. “Sola threw a spoon at me last week.”

“Okay, but like, imagine: No homework. No chores. No cooking prep. Just bottles and naps and free forehead kisses.”

“Yeah, and also zero personal agency.”

You pause mid-wrap. “Wait, what does that mean?”

“Never mind.”

You return to wrapping the castella, trying to center the cling film like Konon showed you. The kitchen is full of motion—scooping, slicing, stacking, stirring. Pots hiss. Lids clink. The scent of sweet red bean paste wafts up from the steamer.

It’s the kind of chaos that should be overwhelming, but somehow... it’s nice.

The adults don’t yell. They laugh. They joke. There’s a rhythm to it. You almost feel like part of something. Until fate decides to attack you personally.

You stand to pass the tray of wrapped jellies to your mom. It’s a perfect handoff. You’ve done it beautifully. You even smile a little at how smooth it was.

And then—

Your foot catches. On nothing. Absolutely nothing.Your foot catches on the air itself.

And the next thing you know, you’re on the floor.

Back-first.

Like a pancake.

The tray clatters beside you with an explosion of plastic lids and crushed dignity. A nearby bowl of flour—resting way too close to the edge of the counter for some reason—tips just a little.

Just enough.

PFFFFFFT.

A white cloud erupts like a mushroom bomb of culinary shame.And lands squarely on your pink dress. You sit up slowly, eyes wide, lower lip trembling. The flour slides dramatically down your shoulder in soft plumes.

“WHAT THE—” you start to yell—

—and stop.

No. No. No bad words. You bite your tongue. Hard.

Instead, you make a sound. A strangled, emotional sound of pure betrayal.

Konon looks up, mid-bun-wrap, and blinks.

“Did you just fall on the floor by yourself?”

“I tripped on nothing!”

“There was literally nothing there.”

“I KNOW.” You pout. Loudly. Visibly. In a way that requires your entire face and your posture to scream I have suffered.

Your mother is there a second later. She kneels in front of you, gently wiping at the flour with a kitchen towel, trying not to laugh but absolutely laughing in her eyes. “Oh, sweetheart…”

“She attacked me,” you mumble, gesturing vaguely at the flour bowl.

Mrs. Nishimura chuckles from the stove. “That bowl’s been hanging on the edge all day. I told it someone would knock it.”

You cross your arms. This is not justice. This is not the way a baby-feeder and broccoli diplomat should be treated.

Your mother gently pats your head, brushing back some flour-dusted hair behind your ear. “Let’s clean you up before you turn into a mochi.”

You groan. “Can I sit down first? I think my soul cracked.”

Konon tosses you a damp towel. “Come on, soldier. We’ve got dessert to defend.”

You sit cross-legged on the floor for a moment longer, towel draped over your lap like a war survivor.

But in truth? You’re kind of smiling. Even as you wipe flour from your knees. Even as the cling wrap tries to stick to your elbows. Even as Konon pokes your cheek and tells you you’ve got sugar in your hair.

There’s something about this chaos that’s… warm.

Maybe being nine isn’t so bad after all.

It’s fine.

It’s so fine.

Sure, you’re sitting on the kitchen floor, covered in flour like someone rolled you in a pastry. Your dress—which was very cute earlier—is now dusted in white powder, and a piece of cling film is somehow stuck to your elbow like a passive-aggressive ghost.

But you’re fine.

Totally. Fine.

Your mom patted your head and wiped most of the mess. Konon called you a tragic war hero and gave you a jelly snack. And Mrs. Nishimura said it happens to everyone, which is both comforting and statistically suspicious.

You’ve decided to be strong. Dignified. Mature.

And then the kitchen door creaks open. You glance up. And freeze.

Riki walks in. Like nothing’s wrong.

Like he wasn’t just upstairs wiping yogurt off a baby’s face like a gentle older brother angel. Like he doesn’t have that way of entering a room like the air has to adjust to make space for him.

He’s holding two empty water bottles—one in each hand—mumbling something about “getting refills for your dad and mine,” and—

He sees you. On the floor. Covered in flour. Still holding the sticky towel of shame.

And for a long, horrible moment, you think he’s going to laugh.

You brace for it. Prepare for the smirk. The teasing. The “what happened to you?” or “did you lose a battle with a bakery?”

But he doesn’t laugh. He just stares. With the flattest. Most expressionless. Face.

Ever.

Like he’s trying to calculate something. Or like he’s buffering. Loading.

You want to disappear into the linoleum.

“I—I tripped,” you say quickly. Too quickly. “It was flour. Not like, a situation. I just—floor. Foot. And—yeah.”

He blinks. Still unreadable.

You scramble to your feet and brush at your dress with increasingly aggressive panic. “I’m going to change later anyway, so—like—it’s not a big deal. It’s fine.”

He steps closer to the table, reaching for the full water bottles lined up on the counter. Doesn’t say anything.

Not at first.

Just grabs both bottles. Turns slightly.

And—

“White looks good on you,” he says.

Flat. Emotionless. Like he’s reciting a weather report. Like he’s commenting on rice texture. Then he turns back around—

And walks out.

Just like that.

No reaction. No explanation. No opportunity for your brain to catch up.

You stand there, stunned. Konon drops a spoon into a bento box and mutters, “He did not just—”

Your mom coughs gently into her fist like she’s trying not to react but is 1000% reacting.

Mrs. Nishimura smothers a laugh behind a rice ball.

And you? You’re frozen. One hand mid-swipe across your dress. One jelly box still clutched in your palm.

What just happened?

What just happened?

Was that… was that a compliment?

From Riki?

You blink hard. Then harder. Then feel heat creep up the back of your neck like a betrayal.

Konon doesn’t help. “You’re blushing.”

“I’M NOT.”

“You look like a mochi that got microwaved.”

“SHUT UP.”

Your mom coos softly. “He is very quiet, but sometimes—”

“NOPE. I’m going to the hallway.”

“You’re still covered in flour.”

“DON’T CARE.”

You flee. Back straight. Head high. Dignity approximately at 14%.

And all the while, your heart won’t stop thudding. Like it’s trying to remind you that those five syllables were in fact real.

-

The screen door creaks behind him.

Riki steps out onto the back porch, water bottles clutched in one hand, the other tucked into his hoodie pocket. The air smells like wet grass and charcoal smoke from a neighbor’s still-warm grill. The light rain from earlier has stopped, but the clouds are still painting everything silver and soft.

He sets the bottles down on the picnic table, shoulders stiff. Tries to focus. Thinks about… anything else.

The food.

The chairs.

Hayato yelling at him about something earlier. Anything.

But then—

He chuckles . Just once.

Quiet. Quick. Like it slipped out by accident.

He covers it immediately with the back of his hand.

Eyes widen slightly.

Wait—

Did he just…?

He freezes. Straightens his back like someone caught him doing something illegal.

“No,” he mumbles. “I didn’t.”

He clears his throat. Looks toward the garden. Blames the humidity. Blames the flour.

Blames your dress.

“Nope. That wasn’t—nope.”

Shakes his head. Hard. Like that’ll delete it. Like he didn’t just say white looks good on you and then giggle like an idiot about it four seconds later.

He sits down hard on a lawn chair and mutters something about brain parasites. And across the yard, the kitchen light glows.

He doesn’t look back. He can’t.

-

The field looks completely different at night.

Earlier, it was just grass and dirt and some old playground equipment half-swallowed by weeds. But now? It glows. Rows of string lights stretch between lamp posts and tree trunks, casting golden halos across picnic mats and fold-out tables. Paper lanterns bob gently in the summer breeze. Someone lit a citronella candle in a mason jar and tried to pass it off as decorative. It doesn’t matter. The glow makes everything prettier.

There’s food everywhere. Bentos. Sweets. Skewers. A pot of yakisoba that’s somehow half gone even though you never saw anyone serve it. There’s a speaker someone rigged up with an old karaoke mic. Mr. Sugiyama, the neighborhood’s beloved chaotic uncle, has been singing Showa-era songs from the 80s for the past fifteen minutes. No one has dared to stop him.

You sit on a picnic mat near the edge of the field, legs tucked under you, holding a strawberry jelly muffin with both hands. Your new white dress rustles softly when you shift. It’s clean. It’s simple. It looks kind of… floaty in the light.

You didn’t wear it for any reason. None at all. You just wanted to. Totally random.

No specific voice echoing in your brain saying “White looks good on you.”

Nope. None.

Konon sits beside you, chewing something with deep concentration.

“He’s butchering that song,” she says, squinting toward the mic stand.

You shrug. “I think he’s kind of good.”

Konon stares at you.

You look down at your muffin. “I mean, he’s trying.”

The uncle belts a note so sharp your ears actually fold.

Konon holds her hands up like she’s praying for mercy. “If this becomes an annual thing, I’m transferring schools.”

You laugh, small and muffled.

A few kids are dancing near the playground. A girl in glittery sandals is trying to twirl like a ballerina and keeps spinning into strangers. Someone dropped a box of sparklers, and now two toddlers are dragging them around like magic wands.

The whole field smells like soy sauce and cake frosting and faintly burnt popcorn.

You tear off a bit of your muffin and chew thoughtfully. It’s sweet. Soft in the center.

Perfect.

You almost forget to look for him. Almost.

But then—

Your eyes flick across the field.

And there he is.

Riki.

Sitting in a lawn chair about ten meters away, near the edge of the older boys' circle. His hoodie is too big, sleeves half covering his hands. His DS is open in his lap, and three neighborhood kids are crowded around him like worshippers at an altar.

One of them is pointing and saying “I pressed B!” while another keeps yelling “Let me try!” and Riki—oh, poor Riki—is staring at his screen with the kind of expression reserved for spiritual torment.

Hayato’s gone. Went home earlier with his family, apparently. And now Riki is stuck.

Alone. With gremlins.

You watch one of the kids reach for his DS buttons.

He flinches.

You giggle softly, holding your muffin like a microphone.

“He looks like he’s about to explode,” you whisper.

Konon raises an eyebrow. “He’s lasted longer than I expected.”

“He’s just trying to be nice.”

“He’s not nice,” she says casually, reaching for another mochi. “He’s tolerating.”

You hum to yourself, still looking his way.

The fairy lights hit him gently—just enough to make his eyes look less sharp than usual. Less stormy. He’s chewing something, but he’s not enjoying it. He’s half-watching the kids ruin his game and half-scanning the crowd like maybe—maybe—he’s waiting for someone.

You look away.

And stuff another bite of muffin in your mouth. The muffin was good.

So good, actually, that for a brief second, you forgot your dress was white. You forgot the flour incident, the compliment, the very emotionally confusing compliment, and the way your chest did that weird warm pop thing earlier.

The uncle’s voice is starting to grow on you. Like a background track in a slice-of-life anime. Slightly cursed. A little endearing. He’s waving one arm like a conductor now, dragging the final syllables of a love song as if the mic is possessed.

You’re smiling, holding the last piece of muffin in your hand, when someone steps in front of you.

A boy. Your age. Maybe a little taller.

Black shirt. Long shorts. Hair slightly spiky, like he combed it with his fingers and hoped for the best.

He’s new. You’ve seen him once, maybe twice, walking past your house with a parent. His family moved in a few doors down a couple weeks ago. Konon mentioned them. Something about “the new house with the red mailbox and too many hydrangeas.”

“Hey,” the boy says.

You blink. “Hi?”

“Can I—um. Would you wanna sit with me for a bit?” The question comes out rushed. Shy. Awkward.

You pause.

Konon chokes on her mochi beside you.

“Just for a little while,” the boy adds quickly, hands behind his back. “If you want. Not, like… forever.”

You glance at Konon. She’s blinking like someone just got slapped mid-nap. You glance across the field.

Riki, mid-glare at the kid pressing all the wrong buttons on his DS, flinches so violently it looks like someone threw cold water on him. His head whips around. His chair wobbles.

He stares.

At you. At the boy. At the invisible rope pulling the two of you together.

You panic. Just a little.

But then you nod, because… it’s polite.

“Sure,” you say, standing. “I guess I can sit with you for a few minutes.”

The boy lights up. “Cool!”

Konon is now staring at Riki with a look of grim knowing.

And Riki? He blinks. Then closes his DS. Hands it wordlessly to the kid beside him, who lets out a scream of joy.

And then—without a single word—he gets up.

Walks across the field. And drops down onto the mat next to Konon.

Right where you were sitting thirty seconds ago. His arms fold across his chest. He glares into the grass like it insulted him.

Konon raises one eyebrow.

“You good?”

Riki doesn’t answer.

Konon’s gaze drifts back toward you.

You're now seated across the field, politely listening as the boy next door talks about his dog and how he once saw a shooting star while camping in Nara. You're smiling. Nodding. Not glowing, but open.

That’s all it takes.

Riki turns to Konon, eyes narrow. “Why’s she sitting with him?”

Konon doesn’t blink. “Because you didn’t ask her to sit with you.”

He stares. Jaw tense. “What?”

Konon shrugs. “Just like the playground incident,” she says.

His brow furrows. “What playground—?”

“Second grade. You wanted to sit with her, but you waited too long. Some other kid took the spot. You sulked for twenty minutes and threw a pebble at the back of his head.”

Riki turns his face away. “I didn’t—”

“You did,” Konon cuts in.

Riki doesn't respond.

He’s too busy watching from the side of his eye as you laugh at something the new boy says. Not a big laugh. Just a smile, tilted head, a soft sound. But it burns all the same.

Konon hums. “She's not yours to keep, you know,” she says gently.

“I know.”

“You don’t act like it.”

He doesn’t answer. Just keeps staring.

And somewhere in the middle of the lights, the noise, the food, the old songs, and the new faces—

He feels something quiet unravel. Not loudly. Just… enough.

The grass is damp.

Not soaked—just the kind of damp that sneaks into your pants and makes you itch, but only after you've sat down and committed to the discomfort. Riki knows this. He knows it's a bad idea. Knows his socks are gonna be weird and gross and his mom's gonna sigh and Konon will say something like "consequences, dummy."

Still, he sits. A few feet behind you.

You and the boy.

The new boy.

The one with the nervy voice and shiny sneakers and the lack of shame asking you to sit with him in front of everyone.Like it was easy. Like you didn’t already have someone.

Except—no.

You don’t. Not really.

He never said anything. And you didn’t ask. So maybe you never knew.

And maybe that’s the problem.

Riki doesn’t say a word.

He just takes back his DS from the sticky-handed kid who nearly dropped it, tucks it under his arm, and wanders—slowly, casually, like he’s not doing it on purpose—across the field. Toward you.

He doesn’t walk fast.

Doesn’t even make a sound.

He stops a few feet behind the mat where you’re sitting. Just outside your peripheral vision. Just close enough to hear your voice when you laugh politely at something the boy says. Not close enough to be in the conversation.

He lowers himself to the grass. Cross-legged. Quiet. The DS stays closed. The screen is off. He holds it in his lap like a shield.

And says nothing.

It feels pathetic. He feels pathetic.

His heart is heavy and clumsy in his chest, like it’s too full of something that has nowhere to go.

You don’t notice him at first. Or maybe you do. But you don’t look back.

Which somehow hurts more.

He doesn't know what to call the feeling.

It’s not anger. It’s not even jealousy, exactly.

It’s something quieter. Duller. Like when you lose something you never officially owned, but you loved it anyway. Like you thought there was a place you belonged, and then someone else filled it before you could even walk over.

So he doesn’t speak.

Because if he speaks, maybe he’ll sound mad. Or worse—scared. And he’s not scared.

Right?

No. He’s just…

Tired.

Tired of being the quiet one.

Tired of not knowing what to say when it matters.

Tired of having all the words stuck in his throat like they're scared of the air.

He watches you. Listens to your voice—your polite, sweet voice—and hates how good you are at being nice.

Because that’s what did it. That’s what got you asked. Not because you wanted to. Just because you didn’t say no.

The boy says something else. Something dumb about his cousin’s dog learning tricks.

You giggle again. Soft. Not fake. But not quite real either.

And Riki’s hand tightens slightly around the DS. He wants to say something. Anything.

But the second he tries to imagine the words—"Do you wanna sit with me instead?" or "That dress looks even nicer now" or "I didn’t like him asking"—his chest gets tight.

Too tight. So he says nothing. Again.

You notice him. You don’t have to look.

You can feel it—the way someone’s watching you gently, like they don’t want you to know but sort of hope you will. His presence settles behind you like a blanket someone draped quietly across your shoulders.

He’s sitting. Not next to you. Just behind. You don’t turn around.

But you could.

You could say something.

Hey, Riki. Wanna sit here instead?

But… he won’t say anything.

Not even a “hey.”

Not even a “can I sit here?”

Not even a sound.

And you're just a kid. Just a nine-year-old girl in a white dress with jelly on her fingers and a soft ache in her chest that feels too big for someone your age.

You want him to say something. Anything.

Just one word.

But he doesn't. So neither do you.

Because if he doesn't care, then… you shouldn’t either.

Right? It’s just a field. Just a boy. Just a crush.

And childhood crushes never turn into anything real anyway.

So you stay still. Keep laughing at the new boy’s dumb story. Even though your eyes keep drifting toward the edge of your mat. Even though your ears are waiting.

And the worst part?

So are his.

-

The music slows.

Not stops—just softens. Like someone turned the world’s volume dial down to half.

The old uncle with the microphone hands it off to someone younger, who fumbles with the aux cord. Whatever tune they settle on next is instrumental—calm, almost sleepy. A guitar maybe. Something jazzy and soft that makes the string lights feel warmer somehow.

People begin to settle.

The air smells like noodles and grilled meat and oden broth warming in foil trays. Mothers are circling back to the serving tables, stacking plates and encouraging kids to “get food now or don’t complain later.” Dads carry disposable cups and chat in half-circles. Laughter floats around like pollen.

You sit at a picnic mat near the center of the field with a full plate of food: a few pieces of karaage, some tamagoyaki your mom made, a scoop of potato salad, one lonely cherry tomato rolling to the side—

—and one unforgivable item.

Vanilla pudding. You stare at it like it betrayed you in a past life.

You’ve never liked it.

Never will.

The texture is weird. The smell too sweet. The vanilla always tastes like disappointment. But your mom made this one.

She had smiled so proudly when she handed it to you earlier. “I used fresh milk and real vanilla!” she beamed. “Tell me how it tastes later, okay?”

You’d nodded. Smiled. Took it. Walked away.

And now?

Now it sits on your plate like a guilt-flavored landmine.You check your surroundings.

Left: Konon is still talking to someone near the dessert station.

Right: A group of kids is arguing about who gets the last piece of fried shrimp.

Behind: Your mom is helping someone refill the oolong tea.

You reach out casually. Pick up the little pudding cup. Scoot back.

And in one smooth, practiced move, return it to the tray it came from.

Right back where it was. Perfectly untouched.

You sit down again and resume eating like nothing happened. The tomato finally stays in place.

Peace.

Then—

A shadow falls across your mat.

You glance up. Konon is back.

“Room for two more?” she asks, already plopping down with the grace of a queen holding court.

Before you can answer—

Another figure appears.

Dragging his feet. Looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Sit,” Konon orders.

Riki lowers himself beside you without a word.

You blink. He’s close.

Not just “same mat” close—but close close.

Like your elbows might brush if you move the wrong way. Like you can see the pattern of lint on his sleeves. Like you can hear him breathe.

Konon sighs and begins unwrapping her chopsticks.

“Sola fell asleep,” she announces. “Mid-banana. I didn’t know that was possible. She was literally chewing. I walked away to get a paper napkin, came back, and she was half on the bench, half on the table, asleep like someone unplugged her.”

You laugh softly. “She’s too powerful.”

“She’s a banana-scented menace.”

Riki doesn’t say anything at first. Then—

“She drooled on the pillow.”

You and Konon both turn to him.

He’s staring down at his plate like he didn’t just speak.

“She drooled,” he repeats. “Like… a puddle.”

You laugh again. So does Konon.

The music drifts softly through the air. Plates clink in the distance. You pick at your karaage, still smiling.

This moment… is nice. Not perfect. Not dramatic. Not romantic or sad or sparkly.

Just—nice.

Like sitting in warm sun after getting out of the pool. Like old blankets and clean socks and staying up later than you’re supposed to.

Riki shifts slightly beside you. You glance at him. He doesn’t look at you.

But his knee taps lightly against yours when he moves.

He doesn’t pull away.

And neither do you.

-

The sky has turned almost indigo by the time someone brings out the sparklers.

They appear all at once—bright boxes and crinkled paper, clutched in the arms of a teenage cousin or an uncle who’d disappeared for most of the party. Within minutes, they’re being passed around in handfuls, like candy. Kids flock to the center of the field, arms raised, squealing before the first sparks even begin to fly. Laughter follows. Bare feet slap against grass. Parents call halfhearted warnings from their seats, but no one listens.

You’re standing near the edge of the chaos, holding four sparklers in your hands—two pink, two green. You picked them intentionally. The pinks sparkle brighter. The greens fizzle slower. Together, they look like twin glow sticks from a concert you’ve never been to. You hold them both out, one in each hand, twirling gently, drawing invisible shapes in the air. The sparks trail behind your fingers like fireflies caught mid-laugh. For a moment, the night belongs to you entirely.

You don’t know when he got there. But you know he’s there.

Riki stands next to you, one sparkler lit in his hand, unmoving. The light bounces against the side of his face, catching in his lashes, along the hem of his sleeve, over the curve of his knuckles. He isn’t saying anything. Not a sound. He’s not even looking directly at the sparks. He’s looking somewhere just to the side of them—like they’re too bright to face straight on.

You twirl again. Just a little. Your dress fans around your knees. The green sparks leap toward the pink ones, then scatter like they’re racing each other. You lift your arms slightly, turn your wrists, and draw slow loops in the air. Circles. Hearts. Stars that disappear before they form.

He still doesn’t speak. But he doesn’t leave either. And maybe that’s something.

A few steps away, Konon stands beside a blanket, holding Sola in one arm and a half-lit sparkler in the other. Sola, wide-eyed and dressed in sleepy pink overalls, stares at the light with the kind of drool-heavy wonder only a toddler can manage. She reaches once—then again—toward the sparks, her fingers curling in slow-motion, her mouth parted in fascination or hunger. It’s hard to tell. Konon keeps pulling her hand gently back, muttering something about “no grilled baby fingers tonight.”

You laugh under your breath and twirl again, higher this time. The sparks crackle upward and burn in a sharp, brief fan of color. A kid near the swing set squeals and tries to jump through his own sparkler arc. Another lies on the grass, spelling their name in the dark over and over, watching the letters vanish before they’re ever finished.

You exhale. A long, slow breath. And finally, finally—he speaks. “…You’re good at that.”

You blink. Turn slightly. “Huh?”

He nods at your hands. “The… twirling thing.”

“Oh,” you say. “It���s not that hard.”

“I’d probably burn my sleeves off.”

You almost smile. You want to. But instead, you just lift one hand and flick your wrist gently, the sparks turning a tight loop.

“You could try,” you offer.

He glances at you. Then at his hand. Then at the space between you. “I’d rather not,” he says.

You look back at the sparklers. “Suit yourself.”

The silence returns—but it’s different now. It’s not awkward. It’s not heavy. It’s just quiet.

Like the space between waves.

You shift slightly, not realizing until it’s already happened that your shoulder has bumped his. Just barely. But he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t even breathe different.

Your sparks dim slowly. One by one, the crackles fade. The light dies.

And still, you stay standing there, shoulder to shoulder, eyes on the dying sparks.

And still, he stays beside you.

Saying nothing.

But meaning everything.

-

The field emptied slowly.

People lingered, but only in the soft, reluctant way people do when something warm is ending. Blankets were folded. Plates collected. Someone yawned. Someone else complained gently about sore legs. The uncle with the microphone finally packed it away. The lanterns came down one by one.

The Nishimura and L/N families were among the last to leave. Of course they were. The hosts, the helpers, the hands behind every bowl and sparkler and cling-wrapped dessert. The kids packed up leftover jelly muffins and carted folding chairs toward the community shed while the adults finished their goodbyes.

And just as the final trash bag was tied, the sky opened.

It didn’t pour all at once. Not with thunder or warning. Just a soft mist at first—then a sudden weight, warm and steady.

Rain.

You giggled. Of course you did.

Your dress clung immediately to your legs as you dashed across the short walk to your house, arms slightly out, head tilted to the sky. The droplets kissed your cheeks, your forehead, the tip of your nose. Your mother called out—"Y/N! Not in your new dress!"—but it was too late. You were already twirling. Already soaked. Already sparkling all over again.

Your father laughed.

Konon yelled something about catching pneumonia.

Riki stood still. He watched from above.

The balcony attached to his room wasn’t big—just a narrow strip of painted wood and a short railing. It overlooked the side of the yard, and more importantly, your house. Not your room, not directly—but the path to your front door, the puddle just outside, the little corner where the lights of your porch always looked golden.

He’d walked out onto the balcony for air, for quiet, after the packing and the folding and the endless adults.

And then he’d seen you.

Soaked. Laughing. Free.

And that’s when the ache returned. That quiet ache he always got when you smiled without him.

You got sick, of course.

He knew you would.

The next morning, he woke up early. Stared at his ceiling. Got dressed slowly. Waited for the usual knock on the door—your dad asking if you were going with them to school that day. Sometimes, you rode together in the car when the timing lined up.

But that morning, the knock never came.

He didn’t ask why.

He already knew.

When he stepped outside, Konon was already holding an umbrella, yelling about wet shoes. His father tossed him a protein bar and asked if he packed his kanji workbook. Typical Tuesday noise. But Riki’s eyes drifted, almost without meaning to, to the house next door.

Your curtains were drawn.

No sound. No movement. No you.

After school, he didn’t say anything to Konon. Just walked a little slower. Let his bag hang lower. Waited until she was already upstairs before walking next door.

Your mother answered. Still in her apron. Still smiling.

He didn’t ask formally. He didn’t say much.

Just stood awkwardly at the bottom of the porch steps, one hand still holding his bag, and mumbled, “How’s… Y/N?”

Your mother tilted her head. Then giggled. “She’s alright. Just a little fever. Probably from all that rain last night.”

He didn’t answer.

She leaned a bit closer, her smile knowing.

“Don’t worry too much,” she said. “She’ll be back annoying you in no time.”

He nodded once. Still didn’t smile. Just turned and walked back to his house.

But he did worry. He always worried. Even if he never said it out loud.

-

Present

The room is quiet now.

The kind of quiet that feels like it’s listening to you breathe.

Riki lies on his back, one arm over his eyes, the other cradling the same old photo in his hand. You smiling. Him not.

He shifts slightly. Breathes.

The rain is falling again outside. A soft reminder.

He closes his eyes. And holds the photo tighter.

-

[h-l-v-kennedy-blog]

Unaccustomed (to someone successfully bewitching your parents)

pairing: robert kennedy x oc (ava worthing) synopsis: a sweet moment after a long night, a dinner with Bobby's parents (the future in-laws?) and holding cold hands. warnings: nothing aside from spelling errors and such, this is just pretty much pure and utter fluff with little conflict, bobby's just being a cutie for most of this word count: 2,213 (i don't know how it went over 2k words, but i just got in the mood for love) notes: thanks to the posts from @strryhaze, @melancholicstation and queen @unmarlou, and an ask from @dillusionalarteest I finally finished a new chapter for a fic of mine. like every time, I hope it's not too bad, since I haven't written for Bobby for a LONG time and had a bit of a hard time coming back to writing... but hope remains.

1960 - 9th of November, Hyannis Port, MA

The election had been a close one, but Jack had won the presidency, evident by the secret service cars and agents pouring out of them in the early hours of November 9th, after a long and grueling election night. The president-elect had gone to bed around 4 a.m, while Bobby had stayed vigilant and near the television and multiple phones, set up in a makeshift war room in his rented cottage.

Now he was free to rest. He had been peeking through the curtains to see the Secret Service cars drive up to his brother's house, letting out a sigh of relief and ran a hand through his hair before turning to look over his shoulder to see Ava settled in an armchair, feet strewn over an arm and body curled up in a way that, Bobby was sure, wasn't very comfortable. He softly strolled over to her, kneeling beside her and gazing at her, debating whether or not to wake her. Her eyes were closed and a lock of hair had fallen over her left cheek, he wearily tucked the lock behind her ear. She had stayed all this time, even with the fog of exhaustion thick in his head, one thing was clear as day. Ava. The pad of his thumb careful touched the skin of cheek, soft and smooth to the touch. She stirred slightly, muttering something incoherent, head burrowing further into the chair cushion.

"Ava?" His voice was low, whisper-like and a bit hoarse.

She only hummed in answer and he knew she wasn't about to wake up. But she also couldn't sleep in a chair, her neck crooked like that, she would be in pain when she would eventually wake up. So, he did what any honorable and good boyfriend would do. Cautiously, he put his arms around her body, picking her up, not minding her not being feather light in his arms and carrying her upstairs to his bedroom, setting her on the plush covers. He collapsed next to her after only taking off his shoes, sleep invading his senses in an instant.

---

1961 - 15th of January, Washington D.C

With the election behind them, Ava and Bobby could refocus on their relationship, when plans were changed again. Bobby would be the Attorney General, as per his father's request, which Jack reluctantly agreed with. Bobby didn't see a world where he could've said no, even if Ava saw that Bobby needed a break after putting his all into his brother's campaign. But who had ever said "no" to the patriarch of the Kennedy clan? Very few. Bobby, at one point, however, not this time.

Still, time was ripe enough for Ava to officially meet his parents (even if she had been their orbit for months during the campaign, this would be a proper meeting). Dinner in Washington, a few days before the inaguration. Bobby was more anxious about the meeting than Ava, fidgeting with his tie and cufflinks in the back of the taxi as they were driven to a fancy French restaurant.

"Bobby." Ava prompted, looking at him. She was dressed in a black shift dress and a string of pearls. Simple, stylish with a hint of glamour, matching well with Bobby's dark suit.

He eyes were unfocused as he was looking down at his cuffs.

"Bobby." She reached out to his unsteady fingers, weaving their hands together. "Hey, Robert, come back from Wonderland."

"I'm here." His voice was quiet and his eyes were still downcast.

"Good, now, look at me." She leaned her head closer. "I want to see those pretty blues."

Blue met grey, a shy smile on his lips at her compliment.

"Perfect, what's on your mind? You've said very little tonight." She nudged his shoulder, making him squirm.

"I'm terrific." He tried to keep it in. Yet her gaze had a way of delving into his soul and unlocking anything kept submerged from her. Damn her.

"Yes, but that doesn't answer by question, dear."

"I know." Once again eyes shifting away.

"I've actually met your parents before, so this is a formality, no?"

"Well…I guess…" He knew his parents weren't exactly… easy people to be around, and he'd kept Ava away from his father intentionally.

"So, they already have some idea of and, in conclusion, there's no need to put more pressure to make a great first impression, since they've met me before, during the campaign, even if in passing?"

"I…I guess so…" He squeezed her fingers, still seeking assurance. He glanced at her again, and got what he was seeking, her expression was calm, sure of herself and he was still speechless whenever she displayed so much confidence in her… and in his character. "You know… you've been so composed and calm, about all of this."

"All of…what?" He could see, surprisingly in the darkness of the car, her eyebrow perk up.

"My choosing to take on ... the attorney generalship, my family and… and my brother becoming the President. The… the fact our relationship will be under the media's scrutiny because of who I am. It's… a lot. And you're bearing it so well."

Now it was her turn to avert her eyes. "I… I suppose I have. It's all been quite whirlwind, so I don't think I've had much time to panic or overthink anything." She didn't know how to better explain it and silence fell between them until Bobby said.

"Either way you're strong... to put up with all of it." His voice came in a whisper and a squeeze of her fingers. "…to put up with me…"

On arrival at the restaurant, they gave their coats away at coat check and were escorted to their table where Father Joe and Rose were already at their assigned table, but Eva checked her small silver wrist watch and checked– they were not late, since Bobby had told her what a stickler to punctuality both his parents were.

Joe Senior rose from his chair and gave his son a quick embrace in greeting while Rose gave simple nod in greeting to her son, as she remained seated. Joe then turned to Bobby's young companion. "Ava, yes? My Bobby's girl?" Bobby tried not to flush at the way his father called Ava.

"Yes, sir, Ava Worthing. And I suppose that title does fall to me." Ava extended her hand to the older man who grinned at her confident reply and shook her hand.

"Nice firm grip, good. And wit." Joe said as Ava then shook briefly Rose's hand with a polite smile.

The young couple took their seats and Joe ordered for the table and after short silence, Bobby's father shot right to the point, but in a semi-meandering route. "I must say, Bobby has not told us much about you, Ava, aside from the fact you were a student of literature and your brother went to law school with our son. You do look like a girl my son would go out with. He does like 'pretty girls', and you are surely one. And young."

"Well, thank you, sir." Ava gave a small smile while feeling Bobby's hand reach for hers under the table, tyeing their fingers together. "And I'd say my youth doesn't make me any less capable."

"And you're a smart one too. You attended Vassar College, correct?"

"Yes, sir, it was my first choice, keeping me near my home."

"So, you value family and being close with them?" Rose opened her mouth, speaking in a regal, almost transatlantic tone of voice that was the New England accent.

"I do. I'm very close to my parents, and my brother Alec, whose groomsman Bobby was at his wedding." Ava gave quick wink to Bobby, as he seemed flush more at what topics his parents seemed to cover so easily

"Ah, yes, I read about that wedding, quite party. But not quite as glamorous as my son Jack's wedding to Jackie. You know the papers called it the wedding of the decade."

"Dad-" Bobby tried to protested, but shut his mouth at the pointed look from his father.

"Indeed, I saw the pictures in a newspaper. It seemed like a very beautiful wedding." Ava nodded, leaning forward at the table, resting her elbows on the table which seemed to irk Rose slightly. She looked to be questioning the girl's manners, but Joe continued while Bobby tried to keep an unbothered look on his face as the subject remained on weddings and… marriage. Nothing directly was asked of her, but Bobby felt a strong hint from his father after a passing glance in his direction before returning to Ava's keen grey eyes.

Talking well about his sons and praising them, seemed to come with ease to Joe Senior and Ava didn't mind looking interest (and even sincerely at times) in what he said while Rose was content in observing this girl Bobby had kept close for nearly three years and who she had seen little of to the exception of election night when she noticed Ava was always in Bobby's orbit or he was in hers, whichever way it happened.

Bobby was almost surprised at how well Ava could work his father into being the longest speaker at the table while not giving up too much of herself or talking too much about herself, but dropping in her opinion at times when their meal came and talk would cross from familiar interests to the world around them, politics and culture etc. Bobby saw how gleam of interest grew in his father's eyes as he saw how capable Ava was and how for a girl only a short while out of college kept up with a man of the world like him, doing so with a quick wit and humor. And his mother seemed to also ease up when Ava would, when she had the chance, asked about her interests and hobbies, adding how she admired Rose's devotion to the church and how well she had raised her children, that if Bobby was to be taken as an example of a well taught gentleman, she should be very proud of him. That brought something into Rose's features, like some ice melting in that posh and well-kept exterior.

The evening ended up being a success in Ava's book, as she shook the hands of Bobby's parents and walked them to their car with Bobby walking behind her, keeping a steady hand on her upper back. When the car drove off, they were alone, under the glowing streetlamps and snow covered streets edge where they stood, some neon lights of the restaurant setting rather atmosphere as Bobby turned Ava in his arm, snaking a second hand to her back. Her gloveless hands came to rest on his black coats lapels, her eyes carrying a question as they looked at into his.

"I…" Bobby wasn't sure where to begin as those piercing eyes searched his for answers to a question she hadn't asked yet but didn't need to. "Thank you."

Her eyes squint and her brows knit together. "'Thank you'? What for?"

Bobby's teeth gnawed at his bottom lip as he couldn't look away from her. "I-you… You impressed my parents, they liked you and I was so proud to be yours… and… you're just…"

A smile pulled at her lips and she nodded along as his voice trailed off, and she felt a tight squeeze on her waist through her coat where Bobby gripped her, hearing him whisper another 'thank you' before pressing his forehead against hers as his eyes fluttered shut. He was proud of being hers, there was something so satisfying in hearing him say that while becoming an adorable bumbling mess before her very eyes. Yes, satisfying was the right word.

"Bobby, I'm cold, can you take me home." She spoke in soft tones to coax him back to the present moment. The wind had picked up around them and it had been a rather cold January so far, the air especially cool in the dark evenings and nights.

Her words awoke him in an instant the second the words 'I'm cold' passed her lightly rose tinted lips. His hands moved from her waist and pulled off his coat in a swift motion, draping it over her shoulders even if she had on a coat of her own. And he hailed them a cab while taking one her gloveless hands in his, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles, skin on skin feeling her skin warm up under his.

Ava tucked her other hand in one of her pockets, but didn't hide her amusement at how quickly he had sprung into action and attentively took care of her, even if it meant making himself freeze by putting a coat on top of hers.

A cab finally swerved into a parking spot by where they were standing. Bobby opened the door for her with his free hand, and helped her in first before sliding into the seat next to hers in the back, saying her address to the driver before resuming his gentle massage on both her hands (he had taken both in his after they were seated) while Ava just looked at him with an adoring sparkle.

///

Taglist: @jackiesgirl, @theverystrangegirl27, @fortheloveofjos, @kennediva, @stargiirl27, @melancholicstation , @bleatngheart , @rocker-chick-7 , @kimcrystal123, @raspberryknees

[gelus-ugs]

Snoggletog and Something More

↯

Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Female Reader

Timeline: Sometime during the RTTE series

Prompt: Snoggletog is here and the people of Berk and Aarhus gather together to celebrate. Hiccup, [Y/n], and the rest of the dragon riders return to Berk to join in on the celebration. As [Y/n] catches up with an old friend from her home village, something arises in Hiccup and causes unseen feelings to finally show.

☆彡

Background: [Y/n] is from a village called Aarhus. Aarhus has been allies with Berk for generations; the two villages accompanying each other through every war and change in tradition. [Y/n]’s father is the chief of Aarhus, making her the second resort to rule the village if something were to happen to its current chief - after it’s first successor: [Y/n]’s older brother. When she was a young teenager, [Y/n] began to accompany her father and her older brother whenever they visited Berk for business matters. During her first visit to Berk, [Y/n] met Hiccup, and the two immediately bonded over multiple shared struggles (The fact that they were considered outcasts, the fact that they were the chief’s children, and the heavy expectations that weighed on their shoulders). Hiccup and [Y/n] grew close, writing letters back and forth and spending as much time together as they could whenever [Y/n] visited Berk. When Berk transitioned from being dragon hunters to dragon riders, Aarhus did the same. Business between the two villages became a lot easier since they could rely on dragons for transportation. Hiccup went from writing letters to simply visiting [Y/n] whenever he pleased (Thanks to Toothless). The two would constantly travel with each other, disappearing for days at a time to explore new areas of the archipelago or simply visit their favorite ones. Hiccup eventually helped [Y/n] find her own dragon: a whispering death that she named [Dragon’s name]. When the dragon riders were established and they found and settled on the Edge, Hiccup was quick to invite [Y/n] onto the Edge with them, allowing her to build her own hut. [Y/n] accepted, moving onto the Edge and becoming apart of the Dragon Riders.

The fluorescent glow of torchlights settled across Berk’s snow-covered rooftops as the scent of cooked meat and pine needles filled the air. After a stressful week of planning and preparing, Snoggletog had finally arrived in full force.

With its long awaited arrival came the bustling hum of laughter, music, and the grinding of wooden carts dragging in barrels of mead and gifts.

This year, Berk was fuller than ever; not only because of the return of the dragon riders, but also because of the arrival of their longtime allies from Aarhus.

Hiccup hardly had a moment to breathe between prepping last minute plans and ensuring that the dragons didn’t burn down the decorations. Although, even amid the chaos, his eyes always seemed to find her:

[Y/n].

She gracefully moved through the crowd, covered in a thick fur-lined cloak that brushed her knees. Her dragon, [D/n], silently flew behind her from a distance, coiled and content in the shadows beside the Mead Hall.

To put in simply: [Y/n] looked different. Not in a negative or dramatic way, but in the way people typically do when they’re surrounded by the familiarity of home. She was smiling more, laughing freely, and tonight, her father and siblings were nearby.

They told stories and exchanged gifts with Stoick and Gobber, making Berk’s and Aarhus’s alliance feel tighter, louder, and warmer; something more than just a business relationship.

“Careful, Toothless.”

Hiccup muttered, giving Toothles a gentle nudge as he took a fish from a platter meant for the feast.

“This is a formal celebration, not a buffet.”

Toothless huffed through his nose in the sassy way he usually did, nosing Hiccup’s hand in protest before turning away with the fish he stole. Hiccup watched him go, rolling his eyes as he did so, when his attention shifted at the sound of a familiar laugh.

[Y/n], again.

Except this time, she wasn’t alone. A tall man, around her age, with shaggy blond hair and a fur-lined tunic was standing beside her, leaning in close as he grinned at her.

His hand brushed her elbow lightly as he spoke, and [Y/n] threw her head back with a melodic laugh that made something in Hiccup’s stomach churn.

“Who’s that?”

Astrid questioned, walking to Hiccup’s side with a plate of warm rolls in her hand. Hiccup didn’t bother to look at her, his gazed still fixated on the two in the distance.

“No one.”

Astrid raised a brow, shifting her gaze towards the man with [Y/n] before bringing it back to Hiccup,

“You’ve been glaring at ‘no one’ for five minutes.”

“He’s from Aarhus.”

Hiccup muttered, his tone sharp and displeased as his eyes narrowed at the sight of the man saying something presumedly amusing, causing [Y/n] to lightly swat his arm.

“One of her old friends, I think.”

“Looks like more than a friend to me.”

Astrid pointed out with a knowing smirk.

“You jealous?”

“I’m not…”

Hiccup trailed off, his jaw tightening with his lips curling into a frown.

“I’m just…wondering why he’s still touching her when he’s already made his point.”

Astrid chuckled and walked away with a shake of her head, but the thought replayed in Hiccup’s mind as he refused to tear his gaze away from the two. Why was she letting him touch her like that?

Hiccup paused; it’s not like he had a claim, after all. They were simply friends. Best friends; if that word held the same meaning when your heart jumped every time someone made her laugh.

He shook his head, quickly dismissing his thoughts as he walked toward the center of the area, trying to focus on anything else. After all, there was still a speech to give, gifts to distribute, and something to build…maybe. Just something that didn’t involve watching [Y/n] smile at someone else like that.

⎈

The bonfire crackled as a new log was added, people gathering around with mugs of warm cider. [Y/n] stood beside her older brother, who was catching up with Stoick about some trade goods, when an arm suddenly wrapped around her shoulders.

“[Y/n]!”

The same friend from earlier grinned.

“Don’t pretend you don’t see me~”

[Y/n] laughed, leaning into the gesture.

“For Thor’s sake, Aki; you’re worse than a Timberjack with boundary issues.”

Aki beamed, clearly proud of - what he took to be - the compliment.

“You’re the one who disappeared to an island full of dragon riders. You didn’t even tell me you had a whispering death!”

[Y/n] rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips,

“You would’ve sent a letter requesting - no, demanding - to fight her.”

“Of course I would’ve!”

He stated proudly, dramatically puffing out his chest.

“It’s the Aarhus way! Fight first, then celebrate.”

She nudged him playfully.

“That’s exactly why I left.”

He chuckled, but soon turned serious for a moment, eyes lingering on her.

“Still…everyone back home talks about you. Especially the boys.”

Her expression faltered, her gaze showing her interest as she raised a brow.

“Oh?”

“You’ve got a dozen suitors waiting for your return!”

He teased.

“Even heard my brother was working on some kind of carved ring-”

“Aki.”

[Y/n] warned while laughing, though, there was a hint of annoyance in her tone. He grinned wider, unaffected by it.

“Just saying…If you’re not careful, you’ll end up married before Berk’s next thaw.”

Behind them, Hiccup froze. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop…okay, he had…but only because he’d come to find her, not because he was listening like some rando. But, now that he had heard, he couldn’t stop the way his stomach turned.

Married? Suitors? Since when did she have a dozen people lining up for her back in Aarhus? Without thinking, Hiccup stepped forward, making his presence known.

“Hey, [Y/n].”

He greeted, forcing his voice to sound casual. She turned to him, her expression immediately lighting up,

“Hiccup!”

Aki’s arm - finally - slid off her shoulder.

“Aki.”

Hiccup greeted with a stiff nod, then turned to [Y/n].

“Can I steal you for a second?”

She blinked, ever so slightly tilting her head.

“Uh, sure. Is something wrong?”

“No, I just need your help with Toothless. He’s…misbehaving.”

[Y/n] gave a knowing smile, clearly amused,

“Toothless doesn’t misbehave. He chooses chaos.”

“Exactly.”

Hiccup said quickly.

“Come on.”

⎈

The two walked through the snow-covered path toward the lower cliffs, away from the glow of the bonfire and the liveliness of the villagers. Her breath fogged in the cold, visible between them, but Hiccup kept walking until they were far enough from the crowd for his liking.

[Y/n] looked around, quickly noticing that Toothless wasn’t even there. Turning to face Hiccup, [Y/n] frowned,

“Hiccup, is something going on?”

He turned to face her, his jaw tensing as he crossed his arms tightly over his chest.

“I just wanted to talk…”

He said, but the tenseness in his tone was obvious.

“Okay…”

[Y/n] slowly nodded, brushing a curl from her cheek.

“You don’t sound like you want to talk, though. You sound like you want to fight.”

“I don’t…”

He muttered,

“But I am wondering what exactly is going on with that guy, Aki?”

[Y/n] blinked, clearly taken aback.

“Aki? He’s an old friend. We grew up together.”

“He seemed pretty friendly.”

Her brow furrowed as she took a step closer,

“Are you upset?”

“No…”

Hiccup lied.

“I just…he was talking about suitors, and marriage, and he was touching your shoulder like he had some kind of right to-”

He stopped himself, sighing in frustration as he chose his next words carefully.

“It just…it didn’t sit right…”

[Y/n] simply stared at him, her expression reflecting her confusion.

“Why does it matter?”

“I don’t know!”

Hiccup snapped, louder than he intended. When he saw [Y/n] flinch from his sudden outburst, he repeated the same statement, but softer.

“I don’t know…”

[Y/n] crossed her arms, her voice quiet, as she spoke her next words carefully.

“I’ve known Aki my whole life. That’s just…how he is.”

“But you don’t act like that with me.”

Hiccup said bitterly, adverting his gaze to the side.

“You don’t touch me like that, or laugh with me like that, or look at me like-”

He stopped, and suddenly the air between them felt a little too still. [Y/n] stepped forward, her gaze fixated on Hiccup.

“Like what?”

Hiccup took a deep breath, the air from his mouth fogging into the space between them. A small silence fell between them before he spoke again.

“Like I matter more than anyone else in the room.”

[Y/n]’s lips parted, but she let him continue.

“I guess…I always assumed that I did matter. That I wasn’t just some friend you wrote letters to, or a boy who took you on dragon rides when you were lonely. I thought…”

His voice cracked a little, the disappointment and sadness evident in the way he spoke.

“I thought I was different.”

[Y/n]’s gaze grew softer, letting a beat pass by before she spoke.

“You are different, Hiccup-”

“Then why does he get to touch you like that? Why do they get to wait for you like you belong to them, when I-”

He stopped mid sentence, frustration building in his chest as he swallowed hard. With his voice barely above a whisper, he finally admitted what he was trying to convey the entire time.

“I think I’ve been in love with you longer than I realized.”

[Y/n] stepped closer, her voice low and trembling, as she hesitantly placed her hand on Hiccup’s arm.

“You think…?”

“I know.”

He clarified, his eyes finally meeting hers.

“I just didn’t want to ruin things. But tonight, watching you with him…it felt like I already had.”

[Y/n] didn’t speak; but instead, she moved her hand from his arm and reached higher, gently caressing his cheek. Her fingers were cold, but her touch made him feel warm.

“You didn’t ruin anything…”

She whispered, her gaze remaining on his.

“You just said what I’ve been too scared to admit first this entire time.”

Hiccup blinked, the words she spoke rendering him speechless.

“You..?”

[Y/n] smiled, gently and warm.

“I’ve loved you since before I knew what that meant…since the first time you let me ride Toothless, and since you treated me like I mattered, even when my own village didn’t.”

Hiccup let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding as they stood in the stillness of snowfall, the world stilling around them.

“Come back to the fire with me.”

[Y/n] said softly.

“Before Aki comes hunting me down and thinks you’ve stolen me away.”

Hiccup grinned, snaking his arm around her waist.

“Maybe I have.”

☟︎

Sorry that I re-uploaded this,, I just noticed some of the errors I made after writing this at 1 in the morning last night and decided to fix them LMAO

Erm, chat…so I started catching up on my requests so I can post them on a specific schedule BUT my HTTYD hyperfixation has come back and now I’m back on my childhood crush on Hiccup 🥀🥀 No one asked for this,, but I wrote it anyways cause FREE WILL 🫦🫦 If yall want any other HiccupxReader oneshots or headcannons or anything,, PLSPLSPLS REQUEST 🙏🏾🙏🏾

[storytimefromthecreed]

Habits

Disappearing for days or weeks at a time was regular and expected for Toji, every Thursday he’d pack up a bag and head out only to return a copy hours later. In the beginning, it didn’t bother you, but when you started noticing the lack of weapons and blood, the hair on the back of your neck rose. Gojo said it wasn’t a mission. Nanami had no clue.

Toji might have been a womanizer before you, but he wouldn’t cheat, so it couldn’t be drugs or alcohol. Gambling? Rent was paid and he didn’t have that empty look in his eye. Something was up and he wasn’t telling you. It couldn’t be cheating, could it? What else could it be? That thought broke your heart.

Not Toji who listened about your books and threatened to jump into the page and beat up the characters that made you cry, who bought you flowers every month because you did that before you started dating and now that he was your man deemed it his job, or did faces masks with you and pretended he wasn’t the one who asked for it.

“Did I offend you or something?” A raven brow rose.

Heat flushed over your cheeks and you looked away. “Uh, nothing.” A weak lie.

He huffed, “You’re not thinking about your other hoes, are you?”

Projecting? You head whipped so fast, he put his coffee mug down and his hands up.

“Kidding. Are you good?”

You spat, “Fine.”

Backpack slung over his shoulder, he kissed your temple, “Still love you even if you’re a little weird.” Then he left again.

You weren’t going to do it, shouldn’t do it, but you did. Abusing your training to follow him into an unlabeled building. Too pristine for any form of illegal fighting event and too many kids to be a gambling event.

“Ma’am?” The young woman at the receptionist desk looked away from the computer to greet you with a warm smile. “Is there anything I can help you with? Are you looking to schedule?”

“Schedule?” Your brows furrowed. People filled the waiting room either reading or scrolling on their phones, the paintings of nature hung on the walls, and the smell of disinfectant filled the air. ���A doctor’s office?”

He was sick. Could he even get sick? The wall caught you and the receptionist balked. “Ma’am?” But you couldn’t hear her.

This was why he was acting weird and didn’t explain to you. After what happened with his first wife, he knew the pain of losing someone you love…he was protecting you.

“I think she’s going to faint.”

“Is she having a panic attack?”

“Are there any doctors in the building?”

“(Y/N)?” His concern-filled voice cut through the noise. The whites of his eyes could be seen as he maneuvered through the room and caught your shoulders. “Babe, are you ok?” Tears blurred his paling face, “What’s going on? What do you need me to do?”

“Mr. Fushiguro? He’s ready.”

The call was shot down by his glare.

“(Y/N) just tell me what you need and I’ll do it. I’m trying, I promise. Am I stressing you out so badly you’re fainting and having panic attacks? Babe, I’m sorry. Please tell me I didn’t send you to therapy.”

The tears slowed, the room stopped spinning, and he came into view. Concerned. Scared. You’d never seen him scared before.

Understanding finally reached you. “Therapy?”

Red flushed down his neck and to his ears. “How about we get you settled first before we talk about me?”

Therapy. Toji was going to therapy. And you stalked him here.

His therapist was definitely going to ask about this.

The rest of the room avoided the conversation. “I should…” You straightened, humiliated for the both of you. “I’ll see you at home?”

He slowly nodded and brushed his lips against your temple. “Love ya,” he whispered, “even when you’re weird.”

“Love you too.” Back straight and head down, you ducked out of the office and waited for him at home.

A part of you wished time would slow down so he wouldn’t tell you what a complete lunatic you were, but another part of you wanted to get it over with. You groaned into your hands. Therapy.

The click of the lock made your blood freeze. He kicked off his shoes, dropped his backpack on the counter, and jumped on top of you on the couch. Covering you with his body, but propping himself up on his arms to not squish you. A wicked grin stretched across his face, “You follow me now?”

Another groan and your hands covered your face.

His stronger ones pried them off, his laughter shaking the both of you. “No, no, don’t hide from me since apparently I can’t hide from you. What’s going on, babe? Don’t trust me or something?”

“Toji…” His eyes widened then narrowed as he studied yours. All playfulness wiped from his face.

“That was it, wasn’t it? You don’t trust me.” Hurt. He was utterly hurt.

“I’m an idiot.” You said, “I thought…”

“What? That I was cheating on you or something?” His breathing hitched. The shatter of his heart could be heard. “You really thought I was cheating on you?”

The excuses sounded so weak now that he was looking at you like that. You hurt him. You’d gotten past all his defenses and wounded him. “I’m sorry.”

His eyes hardened. “I thought we trusted each other. I thought you trusted me? We were partners, a team, that’s what you,” he pointed at your chest, “said. Your words, and they meant nothing? I did this for you, for us, and-”

“I’m sorry, ok! You have every right to be mad at me.” You groaned, allowing his rage because hey, he was right. “I’m always saying you should talk to me, and I didn’t even talk to you first! I should’ve known better. You were acting weird, and I got scared. You hate being in one place for too long and commitment, and I didn’t want to scare you and lose you, and, and,....”

His lips found yours and every nerve ignited. Warmth radiated from your chest, burning out every other emotion, until there was only him. Toji drew back with a pant, his bangs hanging over his forehead. “Does that feel like I’m not committed to you?”

You numbly shook your head.

“Damn, I know I wasn’t easy to deal with in the past, but that’s the past. I’m a changed man, you changed me. Got at job at that damn high school, deal with that blue eyed freak of a friend for you, and you didn’t think…didn’t know?” He sighed, and focused his breathing. “You said you were going to consider forever with me when I got more emotionally mature, right? I listened to you. I’m trying.”

“When did I…?” You scanned your mind and couldn’t figure out when you’d said that.

“I must have rocked your world too hard that night for you not to remember,” and he added under his breath, “and every night in between probably didn’t help,” then he continued, “but you said that that one time when I was being gentle-”

“Oh my god!” You gasped in his face.

Sitting on his lap gave you the perfect view of his post-orgasmic face. The subtle pink tinting his cheeks ran red down his neck and at his ears. His eyes traced you, his fingers slowly mapping out your arms then up your shoulders before down your back. You shivered. Pseudo-innocence pulled his brows together. “Like that?”

Pressing your lips together did nothing to stop your smile. “Like when you’re gentle.”

His gaze softened and he looked away. “Thought you liked it rough.”

“I like however you touch me.”

“Hm.” He said absently. Then he stilled, focused, and pressed his lips gently against your neck. “Like that?”

Another shiver.

The smile could be heard and he pressed a kiss on your shoulder. “How about this?” Another shiver and he rewarded you with kisses trailing up your neck, lining your jaw, and finally on your lips. Blazing eyes bored into yours. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you wanted me to be yours forever.”

A tiny laugh escaped you, your fingers burying into his hair and massaging his scalp. “I’m glad you said it. If you’re emotionally mature, you can have me forever.”

Toji rolled his eyes like you knew he would, which is why you never brought up the direction of your relationship. You knew he loved you in his own way, but you also knew better than to ask for commitment from him. Even though he moved in, paid the rent, took care of the groceries, stopped gambling, and was utterly loyal and devoted to you; commitment would send him running and even if there was no label on it, you didn’t want a future without him.

“Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.” He laughed at his own joke.

“I’ve always been a bad influence.” Your lips found his. “That’s why you like me so much.”

“I like you so, so much.” His breathless words were lost in the rest of the night.

You were half joking, you didn’t think he’d actually do it! You were going to stay with him anyway, but now didn’t seem the best time to say that. He peered down expectantly, “I remember that.” You said.

He nodded firmly, “That’s what I thought.” Kissing you quickly, he rose with a groan. “I forgive you. See? All this therapy stuff is really helping. See why Nanami recommended the guy. He knows about our world, so I don’t have to hide stuff.” He scoffed, “Not that I tell him everything. Anyway, I can’t believe my dear little girlfriend would hunt me down because she thought I was with someone else.” His eyes darkened. “Kinda hot.”

You rolled your eyes and left the couch. If he wanted to make fun of you for a little bit, he got to. “Not jealous,” you massaged his shoulders, “territorial.”

He hissed, his arms snaking around you. “Don’t think you’ll seduce me into forgetting this.”

“Guess we’re both picking up habits from each other.”

You were over his shoulder and heading to the bedroom before your sentence was through. “Then you should show me what you’ve learned.”

[honorforged]

Zuko watched her go with a quiet, dazed sort of awe, his lips still tingling from the goodbye kiss she’d just stolen. It was dizzying how fast she could undo him with something as simple as a smile or the press of her lips. He exhaled slowly, head dropping back onto the pillow with a soft grunt.

“I’m so in love with her,” he murmured to the ceiling, almost disbelieving.

Just then, Jiro came in carrying a bowl of warm water, clean bandages, and a much-needed dose of laudanum. He set everything down on the small table beside Zuko’s bed and gave him a familiar, teasing grin. “Looks like you’re finally starting to come back to life, friend.”

Zuko let out a quiet snort, the corner of his mouth twitching upward despite the pain. “I might look better, but I still feel like I got trampled by a komodo rhino.” He exhaled slowly, the stiffness in his body clear in every movement. “Can’t move much yet. Feels like my body forgot how to work.”

Jiro chuckled softly as he moved to help him sit up a little. “Well, we better remind it —gently, though. The Fire Lord can’t show up to his own coronation as a limp noodle.”

Zuko shook his head with a faint smile, the weight of the coming day heavy in his eyes. “I just want to get through tonight before even thinking about tomorrow.”

Jiro’s tone softened, his gaze flicking toward the door for a moment. “I still don’t know how Katara saved your life, but I’m glad she did. I wasn’t sure you’d make it through the night. What she did is a miracle.”

Zuko’s gaze softened, and for his childhood friend, he let down his walls. “I told Katara I love her,” he admitted quietly. “And she loves me back.” A small, almost shy smile tugged at his lips. “We kissed. More than once.” He glanced toward the door as if expecting her to walk back in any moment. “And… she’s staying.”

He met Jiro’s eyes, the weight of his words hanging between them. “It feels right. Like finally, after everything I've been through, there’s something worth holding onto.”

Jiro blinked once, then broke into a slow grin. “Spirits,” he muttered, shaking his head with a soft chuckle. “I was starting to think I imagined the way you two looked at each other.” He moved to adjust the edge of the bandage, but the fond amusement never left his face. “About time, honestly. You deserve some happiness.” Jiro paused, giving him a knowing look. “And she’s fierce enough to keep you in line, too. I like her already.” Then, with a raised brow, he added teasingly, “Just try not to give the palace staff a heart attack when they realize the waterbender isn’t leaving after the coronation. Or when they find her curled up in your bed.”

Zuko’s smile faltered slightly, and he exhaled through his nose, letting his head tip back against the headboard as he stared up at the ceiling. “You’re right,” he said quietly. “It’s going to be… a lot.”

The Fire Nation palace was a place where every servant, noble, and general would have an opinion, and some of those opinions would be dangerous. Especially when it came to her.

“She’s the girl I chased across the world. The one who fought me. Beat me. Some people already think she’s a threat. If they knew how much she means to me… what we are now…” His jaw tensed for a moment, but his voice was steady when he spoke again. “Part of going slow means protecting her. Letting things settle before anyone starts asking questions. I won’t risk her getting hurt over this.” He looked back at Jiro then, and something in his eyes had hardened. “We’ll keep it private. For now.”

Jiro gave a slow nod while he continued his work, dipping the cloth into the bowl again, wringing it out with practiced ease, and gently setting it aside.

“You’re not a kid anymore. You’re the Fire Lord. Every move you make ripples. And Katara…” His brow furrowed slightly, but there was no judgment in his voice, only care. “She’s walking into a place that’s not built to be kind to her.” He leaned back a little, arms loosely crossed. “Take your time. Let them get used to seeing her as the woman helping you rebuild the world before they ever realize she’s the one who’s rebuilding you, too.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’ve got the right idea, Zuko. Just… enjoy it in the quiet, private moments for now.” He stood and stretched, his joints popping audibly. “And when the time comes, when it’s safe you don’t hide her. Not from them. Not from anyone.”

“…Thanks, Jiro, for everything. Not just the bandages.”

Jiro gave him a small, knowing smile and a playful salute before quietly excusing himself.

Once he was gone, Zuko summoned one of the attendants waiting discreetly outside the door. “Bring in a mattress,” he instructed. “Set it up by the window —make sure it’s comfortable. Extra blankets, warm ones. She’ll want soft things.”

The servant nodded, already heading off to fulfill the request.

“And food,” Zuko added. “Juk for me, scrambled eggs… dumplings and fruit for her. She likes mangos, if we have them.”

He found himself glancing toward the door every few moments, eager for Katara to return. The memory of her kiss still burned softly on his lips, and the thought of seeing her again was the only thing steadying him right now.

● — || 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐍'𝐓 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐄𝐓 , in fact , Zuko hadn't even [ [ asked ] ] her to be something more to him than a friend . Yes , they confessed to each other , and then they skipped to the part where he [ [ kissed ] ] her now multiple times , and he painted their whole future together in words more beautiful than [ [ sunsets ] ] ; but , there was something in Katara's heart that was now saying she would be more than happy to skip to the part where they [ [ had ] ] that future that he talked about . Maybe that was rushing things , and they had [ [ just ] ] promised not to do that . But when he kissed her , and made her see sunrises that glistened off oceans , Katara realized one thing -- she was [ [ sick ] ] of waiting for love like this .

Call me by your name . . .

She let him guide her down into a bed more plush than Appa's leg , following his lead without hesitation . In no time at all , she was lying down beside him as he held her . Her hair fanned out around her and down her shoulders , while her heart continued to play sweet melodies that only she could hear . When she finally opened her sweet , ocean blues , there was so much [ [ love ] ] within them . Her right hand carefully toyed with the strands of hair that littered across his forehead before she tucked it under her head .

❝ Home is a big word , Zuko . ❞ She smiled gently , nearly sighing the words . Yet , she didn't shy away from it . [ [ He ] ] wasn't shying away from anything , right now . . . Why should she ? Perhaps , nearly dying made him bold ? Or , had he always [ [ been ] ] bold , and she was just now seeing this side of him ? He was bending rules , bringing about a sun - like warmth that her seas hadn't seen for a long , long time , and she was cherishing every moment of it .

. . . And I'll be ever by your side .

When his fingers brushed her cheek -- [ [ soft ] ] , like the sea brushes the shore -- Katara's eyes closed again . She sank into the pillows beneath her head , exhaustion from a lifetime of running was [ [ finally ] ] starting to catch up to her . ❝ You . . . want to take care of us ? ❞ She said quietly before opening her eyes to find his again , ❝ I'm supposed to be taking care of you . That's why I stayed here in the first place . ❞

Who would have thought that [ [ kissing Zuko ] ] wasn't on Katara's list of priorities ? Her list included : saving Zuko's life , making sure Aang was happy , keeping Toph's feet safe , healing Zuko so he wasn't in pain , and making sure Sokka didn't eat something strange . However , kissing Zuko was slowly starting to climb that list .

Her smile grew fond at the mention of a bath . It had been a long , long time since she'd had an actual bath that wasn't in an ocean or river . She kind of missed it , and it sounded really nice right now , given the things that she had been [ [ dragged ] ] through in the last two days . Her eyes fell down to their hands , looking at the way his hand steadily held her much smaller , scarred one . Even when the rest of him was trembling in pain , his hand was steady . It was warm . It was [ [ safe ] ] .

His lips brushed against her forehead , drawing her eyes to fall one last time . They were too young to fall in love , not like this -- not as [ [ strong ] ] as this -- but he made it feel [ [ ease ] ] .

❝ Thank you , Zuko . . . ❞ Katara whispered . Eyes opened now , she studied his smile and saved it to memory . Carefully , she untangled herself from him so that she could scoot her way out of his bed . It was like trying to claw out of cloud . When she reached the edge , she kicked her feet a little to give her momentum before she slid off completely . Now free , Katara looked down at him and smiled , ❝ I'll be back , okay ? ❞ And , on that note , the exhausted little Waterbender made her way to the door .

. . . Or , did she ? She stopped at the doorframe , hand resting on the door . She started to smile to herself , light and bright . In a flurry of curls , Katara turned over her shoulder , then ran on her toes back over to Zuko . Her right knee rested on the bed , left foot barely scraped the ground . Her left hand held his cheek , using her hold to guide their lips back together in one last kiss . She smiled into it , feeling a little [ [ crazy ] ] , all because of [ [ him ] ] . It was short , sweet , and it helped confirm in her mind that all of this was [ [ real ] ] .

❝ I can't wait . ❞

Then , before she could hear another word he said , Katara was already out of his room and down the hall in a typhoon of untamed curls , tattered blue fabric , and a smile Sokka would think had her hyped on cactus juice .

[frankenbuggee]

Maybe … maaaaybe I’ll also give young adult Devious long scruffy hair. Short, well groomed hair is Devious’ middle aged villain ere I think. 🥹

[cathymee]

ok. i guess