#it may take more time to churn up more pieces

[robiinurheart33]

Soap knows Ghost is beautiful. He doesn’t need to see his real face to know. It’s in the way he carries himself, his thick British accent, the arrogant quirk of his eyebrow that shifted under his mask. He never had any urge to take a peek at his face under that mask, always respected his boundaries, always stayed fairly within line.

But during the mission in Las Almas, where Ghost had so unwaveringly pulled off his mask, Johnny felt like his whole world had been shaken. Maybe it was because Ghost was his whole world Soap had been obsessed ever since. The crooked curve of his nose, his clipped and messy dirty blonde hair, the slight curve of his Cupid’s bow on his upper lip, the jagged scar that had been carved into pale, almost sickly skin. It was all so utterly Simon. Soap felt unhealthily obsessed. Genuinely, he thought that he could not be any more head over heels, and he goes and does this.

It was stupid how eager Soap was to draw his face. It was like he was a puppet on a string, pulled by his untethered compulsiveness. He had to be cautious. He yearned rip off the mask Ghost has just put on again to kiss him stupid in front of everyone. 141, maybe. But not the Los Vaqueros. He does have that sliver of sanity to hold himself back. But god, if that doesn’t just open up a door of opportunities for him behind closed doors. The extra areas of skin that were now not so unreachable was like dangling a candy in front of a child and expecting them to not take it.

Simon is beautiful. Simon is so pretty. Simon is stunning. Pure Bonnie.

Soap wills himself to shut the fuck up and focus on the mission. He wants to see Simon again. Preferably, in a setting with more light. Soap feels like he’s rediscovering ghost all over again, he wants to see his smile, his annoyed expression, his huffs and grunts, everything on his face. Good lord, does he have dimples? Soap thinks he might just die.

The act of seeing ghost’s skin lights something in soap. He doesn’t know what it is, but he feels the impatience and desperation to find out what it is. He grapples and tries to identify it, but like his callsign, it slips away and he’s left with a frustratingly empty feeling he knows only ghost can fill. I’ll find out. I swear, I’ll find it out.

Soap has never been a patient man.

(CLICKS FOR PALESTINE)

[johnpriceslamb]

𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝐈 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐓 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐀𝐏?

❛ you ask the Van Der Linde boys if you could sit on their lap. ❜

BEFORE YOU PROCEED! ┊female ! reader . afab ! reader . reader is physically shorter than chars mentioned below . suggestive themes implied . wrds . not edited . not proof-read . Javier ver touchy . google translated Spanish . John is very drunk . 1.4k wrd-count

𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐍

You want to what?

You tinker your lashes multiple times innocently at his flabbergasted expression, unconsciously tilting your head at his dramatic approach. From your tone alone meant nothing but the most purest intentions, he knew well you mean no harm. But hearing those words made his cheeks burn a tad bit brighter.

“May I please— “No, no, I heard ya the first time- I just..” He abruptly cuts you. He narrows his eyes at you, sizing you up head-to-toe just to see if you were in a playful manner. You weren’t.

He grumbles softly, contemplating. He scratches behind his neck for a bit before a deep sigh escapes his mouth and he leans back on the wooden chair he sat upon.

“C’mere.”

He beckons you to come closer with two fingers lazily waving in the air. Immediately do you obey his simple commands like a lost pup, hands clasped prettily in-front of your chest as you easily plop yourself on his lap. Your back almost hits his chest, akin to a literal brick wall from all of the labour work he’s done. Unconsciously does his large hands come to your hips, positioning them slightly just so you’d be a tad bit more comfortable.

It’s easy to tilt your head upwards to see his face, the prickles of hair sticking out on his chin is the most prominent thing from your view. He feels your stare almost immediately and looks down at your beady eyes. He has to stop himself from grinning at your unawareness.

The cowpoke could only narrow his eyes at the soft giggle you produced from your mouth, a hand resting on your hip, “What?”

You look away with a tiny smile, “Nuthin’.”

He lets out another deep sigh, before pinching your cheek.

𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍

The bottle of beer in his hand almost slips to the ground after hearing your simple question.

He raises a hand to scratch at the stubble on his jaw, mindful to be aware of the deep claw-marks embedded on his skin. The bottle was placed on the table with a clumsy clatter, back supported by the edge of the table.

“..Watchu say?” He squints his dark eyes at you. He must’ve drunk too much, perhaps he heard you wrong. His tone was always raspy yet so demeaning playful even. You took it as if he didn’t want you to, and you shrink meekly.

You stutter shyly, “I’ll just go ask someone else—

He felt his guts squeeze and churn at the sight of you sitting on someone else’s lap. All sense of proper etiquette is thrown away from jealousy and alcoholic behaviour, his hand is very quick to grabbing yours as he roughly pulls you back. A tiny squeal escapes your lap as you clumsily fall on his chest and onto his hard thighs.

Your hands are clinging onto his opened top to balance yourself, the smirk on his face visible as he sees how shy you suddenly became.

The strong scent of alcohol makes your nose scrunch up. He rests his chin on the crook of your neck, stubble lightly tickling your sensitive skin. After a few minutes of making yourself comfy on his lap and finally staying still, his hand comes to grab his bottle to take another chug.

“John,” You almost whine at the way he unconsciously starts to bounce his knee up and down. A habit he’s not prone to ever since he started drinking. It was almost like he forgot you were sitting on his lap after a few minutes. Immediately does he stop his movement, a low slurr of babbles and a soft hiccup escapes his lips, “Whoops— sorry ‘bout that, sweetheart.”

Suddenly, he cheekily stares down at you.

“Y’know,” He hics.

“Yer behind feels kinda good on my-

“John.”

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐇

He’s a bit clueless at first, bless his heart.

He’s busy carving a small piece of wood with his knife, hunched over as his long hair falls, covering the sides of his face almost elegantly. He wasn’t bothered to tie his hair back, nor raise a finger to place it behind his ear. He stops re-shaping the small piece of wood as he hears a soft patter of footsteps from in-front.

“Hm?” He hums, his guard lowers significantly once realising it was you. The knife is lowered too, and the items were placed afar so it does not distract you nor come in your way.

“May I please sit on your lap?” You ask with those big beady eyes of yours, hands behind your back as your tone is light and sweet.

Of course, silence is ensured for a few seconds. His brooding figure straightens up from his spot. He quirks a dark, angular brow at your much smaller figure.

“Why?” He asks with a straight face.

Your cheeks burn, and your expression was alike of a kicked pup. He catches on quickly, and he immediately feels bad for seeming so nonchalant and blunt.

“U-Um.. I just, I wanted to.. N-nevermind. Sorry.” You shyly stammer, akin to a doe whom tries to stand up for the first time.

He easily suppresses the smile which almost etched onto his face at your stuttering. Cute.

“I didn’t say no, y’know.” He gestures you to come over with a simple pat on his thigh. You beam, eagerly toddling to him like a tiny tot wanting to get her stuffies. You sit yourself on his thighs, shoes quite literally lifting off of the ground because of how big he was. Even if he sat down, he still always towered over you.

He allows you to wiggle a bit on his lap, but a hand comes down to rest on your knee to squeeze it a bit as a gentle warning to not go any higher. You do obey, of course. Your back is to his chest, your hands positioned on your lap as you almost melt at how warm he was.

“Comfortable?” At each word he uttered to you, it was more toned down in pitch, a low hum always started. You nod lazily, a smile of satisfaction of how comfy he felt underneath. You don’t mind the way he snakes his arms around your waist. “Good.”

𝐉𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐔𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀

You regret asking.

Simply put, he’s handsy.

The smirk on his face is very visible. The log he rests upon feels even more smaller as he slowly starts to manspread right in front of you. The guitar in his hand is placed gently just to the side before he beckons you to come forth. You reluctantly sit on his lap, almost squirming at how close he was.

A hand on your hip, another squish to your thigh, a soft roll from his hip teasingly upwards, a touch here, a touch there..

“Javier!” You whine, swatting his hand off your curves. He could only teasingly grin, before shrugging. “..Tu pediste esto.” His voice serenades.

You try to swat his hands off again, but merely give up, knowing he won’t stop any time soon. You lay your cheek on his chest, lithe arms wrapped around his waist as your back arches a tad bit from not supporting your structure. His hands are on the small of your back, rubbing small circles on the softness of your clothed skin.

The embers from the mini camp-fire is light and descends off in the dark night, crackles of the wood calms your nerves down just a bit. He does tone his touch down just a tad bit for your sake, despite wanting to desperately grab at.. literally anything. He’s had ladies before, but by far was he the neediest when it came to you.

You can’t help but take a small peak from above, wispy lashes coming to tinker a bit when he tilts his gaze to fixate on you. A small smile on his face, as he greedily eats up all of the touch you gave to him.

“..hi.” You quietly mumble, a bit muffled because of the fact that half of your face is mushed against the fabrics of his clothes. A fox-like grin etches on his tan face as he presses a tiny kiss on your forehead, entertaining you by replying with a simple “hola.”

“You’re really clingy- and touchy. I hope you know that.” You grumble when his hand comes to cup your curves again.

He smiles lazily. “I know.”

[akuma-coffee]

may i request for !tattooartist geto :333 love your writingggg !!!

suguru geto x reader tattoo au!!

sfw, reader gets tattooed, totally a cute comfort scenario! geto and reader totally end up dating at some point after this >.<

geto suguru, an artist you've followed for a little while; a respected figure within tokyo's tattoo scene. after contacting him regarding a flash piece, he'd responded quickly to say his books were full, but as you're a friend of satoru's, he would fit you in after hours.

the date preoccupied you all week, a churning within the pits of your stomach when you envisioned the needle puncturing your skin. this isn't your first tattoo but it's your first with geto - someone you had only admired, never spoken to. satoru was usually the one to push ink under your skin, a friendship blossoming somewhere along the way when he'd invited you out for drinks.  "not, like a date - other people will be there..." the machine stops and he withdraws, and you laugh.  "yeah, alright." 

some years later and you're still reaping the perks of befriending the gojo satoru; discounted tattoos, and now, you're able to get inked by someone you've admired for a long while.  you've been in the shop after hours once or twice (day sessions running a little over schedule), though never with anyone other than satoru. 

it's odd seeing the shop from the outside while it's lingering into evening, streetlights brighter than the ebbing sun, the shop's florescent white peering through slats in the blinds. your fist rasps over the glass door, eyes lingering momentarily over the closed sign before geto's pushing keys under the handle and your lips are forced upward into a friendly smile. 

"hi, it's me..." you're a little awkward, but geto's already been briefed on your personality through satoru; he knew what to expect. he returns the smile and steps to one side, allowing you to pass through the doorway before it's closed behind you, locked again. 

there's the usual dividers in the shop, though at this time they're no longer housing artists and clients, instead darkened by the lack of headlamps or ring lights, the framed ink of each person's flash or prided art less vibrant by the missing luminosity. one station is still well lit, though. 

"mind just filling this one out?" geto picks up a clipboard from a seat in the waiting area, a pen latched between the metal teeth. you take it from his hands, pulling the biro out and glossing over the sheet of paper - nothing you haven't done before. "i'll just set up over here, take a seat." 

you do as he says, the small wooden bench by the door groaning as you allow yourself to perch upon it, legs bouncing a little from nerves. your handwriting scrawls over the white page, name, date of birth, allergies... a form you've filled out tens of times. there's the tearing of kitchen roll and you're pulled from your entrancement from the health declaration form and instead gazing at geto. the bed is out of your sight but you can see his height, occasionally dipping down as he leans, setting up clingfilm, pouring ink into the small pots. lastly, he removes his gloves and tugs at the loosened bun that'd been hanging at his neck, placing that little black elastic between his teeth and re-tying the bun much tighter than before.

"all done?" he asks as he glances over his shoulder, and you nod, taking your lips silently between your teeth. hopefully he hadn't noticed you staring. "i'll do the stencil now." he comes to the front desk's computer, and you hear the printer stutter. he takes the clipboard from you, glancing over your answers. "perfect. come on over."

the placement is over your left shoulder, a large spider lily beginning on the shoulder and ending over the collarbone. geto's gloves are on once more, black latex clinging to the skin, and he grabs a small bottle of gel, pouring it over his own fingertips to run over your shoulder. you sit in silence as he draws a small line in sharpie to figure out the central point, occasionally moving your arm. eventually, the stencil is on, and you're glancing in the mirror to check. it's beautiful, perfect.

laying down, you're forced to look at the ceiling tiles. you feel your throat tighten with anxiety, even with experience, getting a tattoo is nerve-wracking. there's that familiar hum of the machine, and your eyes glance to your side as geto's dipping the needle in the pot of ink, allowing black to collect in the tip. "ready?" he asks, flickering from his focus on the machine to you. you're a little lost in his eyes before you're responding, the deep brown hues mesmerising. they're mellow and friendly, relaxing to your anxious state. you nod.

the needle finally penetrates the skin, but despite your discomfort you remain still and loose, focusing on your breathing. in, out. the pain is only a stinging, a prickling that you've grown used to over the years. nothing that you can't handle.

"all okay?" geto asks, and you appreciate the check-in.  "yeah, good thanks." he stretches your skin with his left hand, steadying his right to control the needle. his touch is delicate, gentle as if to ease your nerves, hard focused on the artwork over your skin with a stoic but pointed expression; a furrowed brow. there was something about being tattooed by geto that was so different to satoru, he was so much calmer, almost timid. by now satoru would have to stop from laughing too hard, or offering you candies for the hundredth time. geto was mellow, and it was nice. not to mention the face of concentration he held was cute, his pretty features a match to the art he drew.

"how did you meet satoru?" geto's voice hangs in the air a few minutes after you'd been sat in silence, though his gaze is still transfixed on his work. you smile at the memory, a puff of air from your lips. "he was a regular at the cafe i used to work at, i started in winter and by spring he had buddied up with me. the first time i didn't wear a jumper to work he this god-awful tattoo i got on my 18th birthday, it was my star sign, but looked more like a blob. offered to cover it up at a discounted cost - or if i gave him free chocolates for the week." geto smiles and you don't miss it, peering through your peripheral. "what did you do?" he questions, and you raise your free arm. "i got tattooed."

the hum stops, silence enveloping your ears as geto's attention is diverted to your inner arm, covered in ink he'd recognised to be his close friend's. he squinted as he tried to spot the cover up, and when looking closely he could see the older, blown out ink hiding under more controlled lines. "wow, it looks great. looks like you came back, too."

you nod, relaxing your arm. the buzzing doesn't start straight away, and you peer back to him. "what about you?" you questioned - it felt like he'd been waiting for you to ask. he smiles now, shaking his head. "there's no fun story, we just went to school together. one day i didn't know satoru, the next he was my brother." he raises the machine a little, left hand meeting your skin once again. the thrumming returned, and he glances over your expression before the needle meets your flesh.

"he was a pain in the ass, but he was the reason i went to school every day." a small piece of hair has escaped from the bun, hanging over his forehead. "i almost dropped out, but he kept me in check." you picture satoru in your head, trying to place them together as highschool buddies. they're so different, you wouldn't believe they were so close if satoru hadn't already chewed your ear off over his best friend, and their history together. they've gone through a lot, though you're sure there's so much more you don't know.

"was he as high maintenance in school?" you ask, in attempts to continue the conversation. geto laughs, his teeth peeking through his lips. "worse, somehow. he mellowed out in his twenties." the machine is pulled away and placed on the table beside him, his gloved hand wrapping over a sheet of kitchen roll, a small squeezy bottle in the other. the paper is placed over your shoulder, the liquid poured over alleviating the hot stinging of your skin.

"gonna start on the shading now." geto's eyes bore into your own, and there's a fluttering in your chest.

"are you still working there?" the needle is different now, as is his technique, the machine dragging in faster sweeping motions as he uses a stippling effect. "at the cafe? no, after giving satoru his free chocolates i got fired." geto's expression widens. "it's fine, i work from home most of the time now, no more annoying customers." you inhale sharply as he works on a sensitive area, swallowing back any discontent and putting on a brave face. 

"you're doing really well." he comments on your easily discernible unease, and those words of affirmation go straight to your head. geto flickers up at you, then back down to his work. there's silence for a little while more, the hum of the machine growing to hypnotize you as your vision hangs over the white ceiling.

"want anything? water, or some music?" his voice almost makes you jump as you realise how heavy your eyes had been. they're torn from the tiles above you to meet his face, and the white noise stops. "music would be nice." you reply, and he peels back a glove, using the free skin to unlock his phone. a soft guitar tone meets the air, you vaguely recognise the melody and listen as the chugging continues. it's accompanied by buzzing only moments later.

"it's deftones." he explains, weight shifting on the pedal to gain the momentum the machine had previously held. "how long have you been tattooing?" you try and further converse. "coming onto ten years, got an apprenticeship at twenty. tried art school and dropped out - showed up to some shithole with my portfolio and worked for free until i got good enough. opened this place about six years ago with satoru."

"do you enjoy it?"  "of course, i get to do what i love as a job... that's everyone's dream, isn't it?" he pauses for a moment, wiping over the skin with a scrunched piece of kitchen roll before the needle is brought back.  "yeah." you're quieter as you picture your own dream job. admin certainly wasn't it, but it pays the bills and isn't too taxing. 

"okay, i think we're done." suguru speaks, and repeats the same steps as before, washing the ink with solution before wiping it over. the coolness causes goosebumps to prickle over your skin, a balm applied with gloved hand as you know this will be the last time his fingers linger over this part of your shoulder. you're glad the session has finished, though as you make your way over to the mirror to peer over geto's art, you feel a little heartbroken this is coming to an end.

"oh, it's perfect." the words leave your mouth as you stand in awe, admiring the new ink embedded in your skin. it's breath taking, and exactly what you'd needed to fill in that area. you flicker up to meet his gaze through the reflection, eyes jolting downward when they meet his to instead linger over his arms - you hadn't paid all too much attention to the black lines covering his skin until now. his sweater sleeves are rolled back to his elbows, allowing you to peek at his forearms. it looks like satoru tattoos geto too, his style clear in his work. 

"will i see you around?" geto asks, his demeanour shifting back into shyness. you allow yourself to meet his eye, butterflies coming to swarm within your belly as he awaits your answer.  "definitely." you smile - you're definitely going to be asking satoru more about geto once you're home, you can picture him sussing out your crush instantaneously, though.

pleeease let me know if you want more from this au cause i loved writing this omg!!

[lavenderrmidnightss]

Safe and Sound - Billy the Kid

Billy the Kid (tom blyth) x fem!reader 

Summary: While walking home one evening from the inn, a man comes across you and attempts to attack you. You are saved by Billy and he begins to grow very protective over you, right from the start.

Warnings: Attempted SA (not successful), cursing

Word Count: 1.9k

PART 2 IS HERE

The walk home felt like a near impossible task despite the reality of it being less than a mile walk. Working at the local inn was not lightwork as some may think. Taking care of others can be exhausting when you have so little to pour out of your cup. The sky’s hues were transitioning from its cerulean blue into shades of purples and pinks. Your eyes were trained on the varying colors that dared to come out as the day shifted into evening. The sunset resembled a masterpiece brushed on a canvas by a renowned artist. With each step, your eyes never failed to tear away from the beauty above you. Each step you took filled the air with echoes of crunching due to the diminutive pieces of gravel hidden in the dirt. Hard to see, but easy to feel through the sole of your shoe. Your commute home seemed to be working as a medium of decompressing until sudden movement out of your peripheral vision stole your attention. You caught a glimpse of a man stumbling towards you. Your instinct to move quickly kicked in, but you knew better. Acting afraid would only entice the man more. ‘Just keep your eyes forward. Just make it home,’ you thought to yourself. 

“Where’s a pretty lady like yourself headed?” a coarse voice entered the atmosphere, demanding your focus. You looked over my shoulder, looking at him. Just a couple inches above your own height, he held a gaze on you to imply his superiority. 

“And that’s your business, how?” you inquire, daring to stop in your tracks and face him. His complexion smeared with ash and hair slicked with sweat, your wonderings of who he was and why he was approaching you intensified. 

The man’s eyebrow’s furrowed, accentuating dense lines and creases in his forehead. He made his way up to you, closing you in. “Well ya sure do got a lot of nerve, don’t ya?” He diabolically chuckled. You began to internally squirm as he noticeably began to eye you.

 “Look at you. Exhausted. Looks like you’ve been on your feet for quite some time, haven’t ya?” He interrogated, allowing himself to continue looking you over. You could only imagine what he was envisioning as his eyes fixated on your chest.

 “Look like a hardworkin’ woman. I admire that. Ya know, everybody has to earn their keep in these parts..” his voice trailed off just as his body began waltzing closer to yours, entrapping you. Your back soon crashed against a raggedy, abandoned building you weren’t even aware you were passing. It’s astonishing how much your mind evaporates when your main focus is survival. You knew where this was leading. You’ve seen so many women be taken, raped. Even some of your own friends. Men don’t view women as a treasure, but rather an accessory designed to bring them pleasure. It had become an intrusive thought; when would it happen to you? Looks like reality finally caught up with your nightmares.

His calloused hand toyed with the hem of your dress before slipping under. The rough texture of his skin clashed with the silkiness of your own. You were frozen in fear. His face now hovered in front of yours. “Bet you could be a real good worker for me, couldn’t ya?” A condescending smirk decorated his face. 

Your stomach churned. “Get off of me. Right now.” The short demands came out urgently. Your hands moved to defend yourself, preparing to shove his stocky body off yours. However, you underestimated his strength and build. He grabbed your wrists and shoved your arms above your head, pinning them there. 

“Fiesty too? They say that manifests well in the bed,” his growl echoed in your ear, his face grazing yours. “Mm, you’ll fit right in. Just be good for me, would ya? Listen to what I say and do as you're told, and you’ll be treated well.”

“Fuck off,” you spat in his face, jabbing your knee up to jolt his gut. He stumbled back, releasing you. You took the opportunity to sprint away. The world moved in slow motion. Your feet couldn’t carry you fast enough. Time resumed when you felt two hands snatching your waist, slamming you to the ground. The husky body which entrapped you before immediately went for it again, but this time, pinning you into the dirt and gravel mixture where your feet once stood. The pain you once felt radiating from the sole of your shoe, walking on the road, now pierced deeply into your back. You squirmed, trying to loosen yourself from him. It was no use. 

“Gonna be a bitch? Then I’ll take you right here for free, show you what you’re missing,” he grumbled, beginning to unbuckle his pants. Continuously trying to make your way out, no amount of thrashing would free you. Looking around you, you tried to decide if screaming for help was even worth it. Who would hear you? You were alone with this man. Your eyes darted up to the sky only to find the pastel colors which once delicately danced above you had descended into darkness. 

“P-Please, no, I’ll go with you. I’ll listen. Just, please don’t. Not here, I-” you were a stuttering mess, hoping your pleads would be enough to convince him to get off you. You squeezed your eyes shut. If you didn’t see it, maybe it would be quick and over with? Maybe it would sting less? As soon as your eyes shut, the weight of his body completely lifted off of you. You thought you were dreaming it, that it wasn’t reality. However, the sound of a heavy thud crashing to the ground, along with groaning and pounding, you were assured you were safe. 

You open your eyes to find a significantly taller man had swept in. His messy, brunette ringlets dangled in front of his sculpted face as his feet consistently and harshly came in contact with the enemy’s stomach. You weren’t one for violence, but you admitted that seeing this mystery lifesaver relentlessly pounding into this bastard was a joy. You sat up, finding a pair of sapphire eyes lighting the darkness, striking you. 

“What’re you waiting for? Go, run,” he called out to you, before putting all his attention back on the attacker. You stumbled to your feet, backing up to guard your body behind a railing. However, your eyes stayed on the match. Really, just the one who swept in to save the day. You studied him closely. 

The stocky man who had attempted to pull at the one hovering over him. You were taken aback when in quick response, zero wait time, blue eyes drew out a gun, aiming it at him. “Try that again, and it’ll be the last damn thing you do,” he growled, cocking the gun. The man on the ground shrunk by tenfold. You watched as fear washed over him, the metal rim dangling in his face. Holy shit. 

“Get up,” blue eyes demanded him, watching as he slowly stood. The demand in his voice was filled with such hatred. The man who was once so confident now trembled in fear for his life, his hands going in the air. Blue eyes kept his aim on the man before him. “Get out of this town. Far away. Let me so far as see a glimpse of you around these parts, and you’re a dead man. Got it?” The trembling man nodded shakily and quickly, sprinting off without another word.

 Suddenly, the world got quiet. Finally. You emerged from your temporary hiding place just as the man who saved your life turned to face you. “Thank you,” you managed to get out. “I-I don’t know what I would’ve done, what would’ve happened if-” A drawn out, thick accent cut you off. 

“I’m sure of what would’ve happened, and it would’ve been awful. What’re you doin’ anyway, walking around here this time of evenin’ all by yourself?” He secured his gun into its holster as he made his way over to me. His demeanor was entirely different. He radiated protection, genuinity. Minutes prior, you were trying to escape a nightmare. Now, you were being drawn in by a stranger’s kind act and handsome features. You felt safe. How refreshing. 

“I was just heading home from the inn. What’s your name?” you asked, desperate to know the name of the one who guarded you. 

“Name’s Billy. And you?” Billy. His name etched into your mind, knowing it would now hold a priority in the forefront of your thoughts. You told him your name, to which he nodded. “How about I get you home?”

With that, Billy guided you on the path back home. The gravel didn’t seem so daunting against your soles now. Under the pitch black sky adorned with stars, you had Billy to protect you. The walk to your place wasn’t filled with much conversation, but when it was, you were fascinated by his thoughts and the sound of his voice. 

Once he had successfully guided you to your destination, you noted that his eyes scanned over the place almost as if he were attempting to memorize its design and build. Billy didn’t want to leave you. He couldn’t invite himself in, couldn’t insist you to leave with him. Not after what he had just saved you from. He knew if there was a shot in hell he was going to gain your trust, he had to demonstrate he was worthy of it. 

“He didn’t hurt you, right, darlin’?” Billy’s tone was now hushed, almost as if it solidified his authenticity. Billy’s eyes were a shade you had never seen before, but a shade you would quickly find filling your dreams. Your heart admittedly flipped at the sound of the pet name rolling off his tongue so effortlessly. 

“No, he didn’t. You got there just in time. Thank you, Billy. Again. Don’t know how I could ever return the favor for what you’ve done for me.” Billy’s smile lit up the night sky, melting you from head to toe. He shook his head, shrugging. 

“No greater pleasure than protecting ya. Now, get in and get some rest.” Billy watched you disappear into your house, the screen door creaking behind you. It felt wrong to leave you so abruptly. Never before had he felt a desire to stay up long hours of the night getting to know another before, but for you, he ached to. Billy couldn’t leave you. As you went in and laid down, wondering where Billy was headed off to and if you would ever even see him again, Billy sat down on the steps of your porch. Adjusting himself, his back aligned with the post. Leaning his head back, he pushed the strands of hair out of his face. He basked in the breeze of the night, listening to the harmony of varying late night insects. He also intently listened for any potential danger, looking to protect you at all costs. Maybe it was the innocence in your voice that enticed him. Maybe it was the way your hair flowed down, the way you were unafraid to fight that enthralled him. Regardless of how it happened, Billy had an instantaneous desire to keep you out of harm’s way, no matter what it cost. As you laid in bed, you thought of Billy. As he leaned against your porch that night, he knew he was doing his job. He was keeping you safe and sound.

______________________________________________________________

[haechanhues]

Is This Goodbye? (III)

pairing : brother's best friend! hyunjin x fem!reader (mentions other members x reader)

genre : smut. fluff. angst.

warnings : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. smut scene that's a bit....idk. Period brain wrote that. So sorry. Bit of a weird dynamic between characters (Minho and Y/N specifically but also another character we have yet to meet in the present timeline but you'll see what I mean). Jealousy. Someone being emotionally unfaithful. last scene and a few scenes in there is unedited but there may be mistakes throughout anyway.

word count : 19.1k

taglist : @jisungsdaydreamer @minnieprincess85 @notevenheretbh1 @iovecb97

AU masterlist

playlist : burn - USHER, come back to me again - byun jin sub, lust - felip ft cyra gwynth, hate that - key ft taeyeon, consume - chase atlantic ft goon des garcons)

"So," You start, feeling so jittery that the bones in your body could misplace themselves within the confines of your skin, "Run it by me again-"

The boy in front of you is always so patient (especially with you).

Though, you suppose at this age you should call him a man now. His features appear more fierce and sharp as the time passes, but his eyes are still the same. Always sweetened with affection when regarding you.

"They'll go through the legal processes and if all goes well-" The possibility that it couldn't go through makes your skin crawl, "Then...he's ours. He'll be my brother. Legally."

You smile, but it's a smile that's hard to pinpoint. Glossy and grateful, yet sad and helpless. But Lee Minho mirrors it to the exact detail. Like he always does. He just knows, because, he knows you.

"And you..." With a wobbly inhale, his eyes bore into yours with a strong intensity, "You'll be theirs."

You can feel his guilt fill every crevice of his heart and you hate that you can see it so clearly. Hate the way he finds fault in himself because of the situation and how you ended up. Forgetting that, it was always a possibility, just not one that was very likeable.

You place your hand on his thigh, using him as leverage to lift yourself against the strong muscle to bring him into a kiss he can't refuse. He freezes, breath rattling slightly before he begins to kiss you back.

Kissing Minho feels like love. It is love.

His fingers thread into your hair, and he presses deeper into you, mouth opening slowly. The twist of your scents embroiders the two of you in a sweet daze that neither of you can snap out of. Your shampoo and the flutter of your dress, a sweet tropical scent and then his the natural scents of his home long nurtured into all of Minho's being; his clothes, his skin, his soul.

You pull away when your lips are swollen and Minho takes the time to brush away the evidence, combing your hair out of your face and smoothing out any stray tear that escapes your eyes. When it comes to your lips and the smudged tint his mouth left behind, his thumb falters.

He swallows harshly, the action bringing your gazes together like a puzzle piece, "We have to go before I make a mess of you."

Your bite your lip at his urgency, feeling it churn in your stomach. You look back a last time, committing to memory that overgrowth of fruit treees and clean lines of care long abandoned.

Your second safe haven, left alone for the two next souls that find each other and bond so much they can't bear to let go of each other.

Your first...leading the way to the next chapter in your life.

Felix is the first person you see in the room. At that point in time, you don't know him. He doesn't know you. But with what your parents have said, this boy in front you can only be Felix and with what his parents, your parents now, have said... you're Y/N.

"Hey," Contrary to first impressions, his voice is rich and deep in tone. His hair, the colour of thunderstorm clouds and long enough to brush behind his ear.

"Hey."

Felix points to himself lamely, "Felix. Or Youngbok. Feel free to use either."

You laugh (because it's awkward and he joins you for the same reason). You lick your lips, nerves dissipating with every second despite the weird tension in the room.

Neither of you know how to act around the other.

"Y/N," You smile, "No other 'or' I can think of, sorry."

He smiles warmly, hints of familiarity in the curves of his lips and the brightness of his gaze. It's a familiarity that saddens you, but you can't fault Felix for it, not when he's being so open and so welcoming to the invader. At the sound of his name from down the hall, you're pulled from the depth of your thoughts, the remnants left leaving a permanent mark. You feel empty, just a little.

Without realising, he turns to look at you, freckles pronounced more clearly as he steps forward, reaching out with a welcoming hand to pat you awkwardly on the head.

He'll learn to despair over the moment, complaining countlessly to anyone that will listen, that he was so fucking awkward that it's a miracle in itself that you even want to breathe the same air as him, much less like him. Then he'll attempt to reclaim his likeness by recounting how he helped you for weeks on end, spending time with you and inviting you into shared spaces. Showing you around the house and indulging in well kept secrets that only home owners would know. He'll discuss that the kitchen is ruled by him, that the study room has your mother in a tight grip and the living room is a space that your father and the stray cat, Tom frequents.

But for you, the love you had for him began with that single head pat.

A single head pat and it felt like you'd do everything for him. It felt stupid, but in that moment, Felix had changed the constructions of 'home' and what it meant to you. And you, never wanted to let it go.

It took awhile to get used to everything. But you learnt. You learnt that your father tends to leave the bathroom window wide open and needs to be reminded often. to close it before he goes to bed. You learn that the walls used to be a blue colour until your family moved in early 2007 and replaced them with a creamra wallpaper in 2011. You also learn that Felix would play 'Follow The Dot' with his freckles when he was bored.

It was a house you needed to learn and at the early hour of two AM you discovered that the house was harder to navigate in the dark and the thought of meeting Minho when the moon wore the night sky like a cloak made your blood rush through your body unlike anytime before.

Felix even introduced you to his friends. Changbin was a loud soul, always ransacking the whole room with his volume level alone. It was easy to forgive that due to being handsome and his helping hand whenever your Mum needed help. It came naturally to him, no thoughts running through his head as he placed a gentle yet protective hand onto the small of your back in the middle of a busy street or as he shielded you from the sky with a cute little umbrella, ignoring the way the rain painted his back.

Hyunjin in comparison wasn't as outwardly helpful as Changbin but he really wasn't horrible either. He enjoyed the attention given to him and could sweet talk a young mother into giving up her child to him if he was that sort of person. Anything he did caused tingles to run up your spine. Sometimes he'd smooth your hair down if a strand came loose or how he'd tower over you to get something from the top shelf. He also seemed to really enjoy and appreciate everyone around him.

But Felix's girlfriend....man

This was the first time you were meeting Felix's girlfriend and you were excited. He never really shut up about her and you never really had any luck bonding with girls the same age as you, naturally gravitating towards mother figures or the boys you grew up with.

"Hey," Her smile was insane and when she brought you into a hug, you closed your eyes from the warmth of it. Her perfume and the shampoo she uses, it was so pleasant you were a little in love.

She was pretty, somewhat tall and even taller when she wore heels. She began to take you out on regular lunch dates and would ask you questions.

Only one of her questions was about Minho and it wasn't even really about Minho;

How were you liking the family?

How were you feeling?

Do you have a boyfriend? Girlfriend? Partner?

Questions that made you feel oddly joyful that you had trouble keeping your excitement tolerable when you reunited with Felix again.

"Fun, huh?" He giggled a little, taken aback.

You nodded.

You loved her like a sister, much like you had already accepted Felix, you accepted her. Though it wasn't because of her relationship with Felix, it was because she was kind, generous and always willing to share gossip with you.

You even bragged about her with Minho and he laughed and made a comment about the love hearts in your eyes.

You weren't shy when it came to sharing about your new home life, Minho becoming victim to the inner layouts of the family dynamic and how you fit in. Even indulging him in the story of the stray cat, Tom who snuck into the living room whilst your dad was absent.

He, sadly was a little less willing to share about his own home life, but you were excited and that was enough for the both of you.

Moments went by and life was good, made better on the nights Minho came to visit. The handsome boy like sprinkles or the cherry kiss at the end of a good day.

"So....the guy that visits you, is he a nice guy?" Changbin asks, his voice borderline protective. The three of them stand there, with their arms crossed and their frowns a hybrid of different emotions.

"Huh?"

"Your boyfriend?" Changbin raises his eyebrow, "He visits at night, doesn't he?"

"He's not my boyfriend," You deny, shaking your head before peering curiously at the three of them, "How did you know about him?"

"We saw you both, in that roof balcony thing," Hyunjin shrugs, "Not your boyfriend?"

"Just friends," You smile, "He's a good guy though."

It has the boys questioning how much of it is true, if at all.

"Wanna bring him around when it's not dark? Mum would love to meet him," Felix offers. You stare back, horrified.

"She knows about him?"

"No," Felix snorts, "But it'll be nice to have a friend you can bring through the front door and not bushwhack every night just to see him."

True.

And Mum absolutely did love Minho. It touched you. Your mother opened her arms and practically scooped him up into a cuddle and Minho, ever the sweetheart and shy boy, blushed and attempted his best to return her hug.

Attempted because nothing could ever match one of her hugs.

He ended up scoring points with your father too, something as simple as a habit that he picked up as a child - family chores - scoring brownie points.

Felix also loved the way you lit up around Minho in a way he wasn't quite familiar with. For the most part, both Hyunjin and Changbin both liked him too. But, Felix was going to take his first ever opportunity in playing protective brother and not even a green flag like Lee Minho would stop him.

Felix's girlfriend smiled at Minho, offering a quick side hug before parting shortly afterwards, excusing herself to get more cups and party decorations left in her car. Though, not without an approving look shot your way.

You led Minho by the arm to the patio, fairy lights decorating the area and college kids pouring into the party, eyes widening as he acknowledges his surroundings and the passing murmurs of hello.

Changbin holds out two plastic cups for the both of you, eyeing the way Minho levels him with a polite smile, not reaching out for the cup of free alcohol.

"Do you want something alcohol-free?"

"Please."

Changbin only grins, "Don't stress," before venturing to the section with unopened cans and a supply of fizzy drink and grape juice. Not without stopping by Hyunjin, handing him the cup that Minho didn't take. Hyunjin accepted it with a small show of thanks, returning to both Felix and his girlfriend who greedily listen to his words with rapt attention.

It was a nice sight.

Hyunjin's words seemed to create imagery behind their eyes and their lips and eyebrows could barely contain their own excitement. Fe;ix's girlfriend even sat there listening attentively as Felix's fingers were tracing patterns into the skin of her thigh.

Changbin returns with the non-alcoholic options, thrusting a glass of fizzy guava drink into your hand, encouraging you to drink up. Minho's arms slid around you naturally as you dawdled forward to join your brother and his people. The story was nice, but you found more comfort in the way Minho rhythmically tapped away at your waist.

The circle was full of laughter and affection, everyone's bodies close and the rules of personal space void. Changbin sat on the opposite side of you, leaning into the two of you and creating a blanket of serenity for the both of you.

Everything was so new to you, but at the same it felt familiar almost.

The rumbling of Minho's laughter against your back and the warmth of the fire licking the length of your legs. Felix's girlfriend's loud amusement to match Felix's show of agreement and Hyunjin's show of endless passion.

You never wanted it to change.

When the night gets colder and the huddle became the only thing standing between life and death, Felix went to fetch some more firewood and Changbin had already abandoned you both in hopes to find a girl to talk to, stating the two of you made him lonely.

Watching the night sky, your murmur lowly with words that didn't really make sense, fatigue stretching over you, "Is that cass-ca...that star constellation? There? Name?"

Minho huffed a small chuckle, amused before leaning his head affectionately on yours, "Yes. That's a star constellation."

"Do you think Jeongin will be okay?" You mutter, feeling a heavy weight creep into your throat, hurting you and stripping you bare. Minho's easygoingness pauses, tightening his hold around you.

"Yes. I promise."

"Has he called you hyung yet?" You whisper, feeling your eyes become glassier by the second.

"Not yet," Minho admits, though he doesn't make an effort to promise you anything this time.

And you can't even say anything more because then someone will just be wrong and right now, you just can't have anything like that. You can't risk it. Not when this is the literal best scenario that you hoped endlessly for.

And it appears neither can he because....

"Does Felix's girlfriend actually like him?"

It comes so out of nowhere, you almost fall off of him at the sheer intensity and your head immediately whips to look at said girlfriend, defence already on the top of your tongue, "Yeah? She-oh. She's just really affectionate I think. The first time she met me she hugged me as if we had been friends for ages. She even hugged you tonight after meeting you once!"

"True," Minho accepted.

But, if Minho had noticed something....the truth of it was a little bit more plausible. You studied the way Hyunjin and Felix's girlfriend was cocooned, closely but not so close that you could immediately determine anything. She was smiling and laughing, the sound endless and Hyunjin....enjoying her attention. At least, just a little.

You dismissed it, giving the benefit of the doubt and a looming feeling in your stomach.

Now slightly uncomfortable, you rest back into your comfort, linking your fingers with his and closing your eyes. Too busy wishing and hoping to even dream.

Unfortunately the feeling doesn't cease, it seems that whatever idea Minho had planted in your head had already started growing its roots because every single interaction between them seemed a little too loaded. In fact, it was actually starting to anger you a little.

Sometimes, Felix would have the two of them over. Felix would have the controller in his hand and headset over his ears and the two of them would talk. She would giggle and joke around with Hyunjin and Hyunjin would smile and always willing to joke back.

Sometimes, Felix would lose a round and she'd be there to snort and Hyunjin would wrap him up in a hug after letting out a little giggle.

Sometimes, Felix would be talking and she'd just...make fun of his nerdy little tendencies. Berate him even.

"Oh Felix, you're really too old to be into things like this."

Then she'd turn to Hyunjin and be oh so interested in whatever he was spouting. The types of wine he used to steal from his grandmother's cellar or parties he attended, or even the songs on his drawing playlist. She'd laugh and laugh and laugh it all up.

Frowning a little, you take a seat beside Felix, a cold smile plastered on your face at the way she brushes a hand against Hyunjin's stomach and you lean into Felix, "Can you teach me how to play?"

Your reward is Felix's smile, the only smile in the room you decide you really want.

"Absolutely," So he teaches you, a tad impatient and passionate but kind and so genuinely happy you're taking an interest. It takes a few hours before you actually have to force yourself away from the game, too involved that you're starting to scare yourself and everyone else.

"See, huh huh? What did I tell ya?" Felix's drawl is teasing as his avatar beats the ogre that has been relentlessly chasing you through that shitty pixelated jungle on the screen.

"Hey- Lix, Imma go," Hyunjin cheeses as he shakes Felix's hand. You freeze as he bends down to plant a chaste kiss on the top of your head, "See you Y/N."

He casts a quick look at Felix's girlfriend, who watches him like he's some heaven sent creature, "Bye."

A few minutes pass and when it's clear Hyunjin has really left, Felix's girlfriend lets out a breath, "I'm actually gonna go too, Lixie."

"What?"

"Well you're on your game and-"

"I'm on my game because you've been talking to Hyunjin-"

"Hold on, are you going to accuse me of cheating on you with Hyunjin?"

"No. But-"

"Look, I didn't think I would need to explain my actions to you, but I thought I should leave because you're bonding with your sister. Not because of Hyunjin. Can you just stop with the Hyunjin thing?" She bites at Felix before leaving the house with a slam of the front door.

Felix sighs before combing his hair back with his hands, game paused.

"That was-"

"Rough?" Felix offers with his eyebrows raised before his features even back out, "I know."

You were thinking more 'overreaction' but 'rough' works just as well.

"Hyunjin thing?" You ask instead, borderline dangerous territory you're venturing across. Wondering whether or not you really had the right to be here.

"I mentioned that maybe her favourite person was Hyunjin as a joke but she got defensive and now has been acting like this, "Felix explains, "It doesn't look great, I know."

"I'm sure it doesn't feel great either," You frown.

Felix leans in to knock his shoulder with mine, 'Don't worry about me. She's a sweet girl, really. We're just fighting a little."

"I'm allowed to worry about you," You mention, earlier insecurities catching up to you, "Right?"

His smile is slow and purposeful, perhaps even a touch sad, "Of course you're allowed to be worried and me with you, I'm allowed to be worried about you as well. It's only fair."

You sigh, "Fiiine."

"So, in saying that," He smiles and your groan is like music to him, "I like Minho but I like you more, stop meeting him so frequently in the early hours of the morning. Front door, always. Okay?"

It's nice. To be worried over like this. But you'll never be able to squash the fact your trump card is unwavering concern about those you love and how they fit into their own world.

Never in a million years.

So he may be forgiving when she makes little attempts to grab at Hyunjin's knee or paw at his arm whenever he talks. But not you. You watch like a hawk and you stalk towards the two of them, eyes jumping judgementally.

"Hey, can you help me?" You blurt out to Hyunjin, words tumbling out of you in an attempt to make sense, tone sweet, "Please?"

Hyunjin's eyebrows furrow in concern and her eyes, wide with curiosity and a tiny flicker of annoyance.

"I think Felix is at the mailbox."

You smile at her before you watch Hyunjin lift from his seat, following after you as you lead him away from the crowd and prying eyes. Lips pressing together in thought.

"You're good at braiding hair, right?"

Truthfully, nobody has ever said he was good at braiding hair and on second thought, maybe it wasn't the best distraction, considering....

"Uhh- I'm alright at it?" Hyunjin frowned, "Though why didn't you ask-?"

"In all honesty I don't know either," You shake your head, earning you a little laugh as he places both his hands onto your shoulder blades leading you to the bathroom.

"Tell me what you need then," Hyunjin smiled, watching as you pulled out two strands of hair clumsily in the front.

"I just don't like what's going on with this," You motion, a little frazzled. Though you were putting on an exaggerated act, it oddly didn't feel like it.

He smirked, rounding around your frame to make proper eye contact with you, "First things first, we'll have to fix your parting."

You startle a little, surprised by him. He's gentle, freeing bits of tied hair out of its elastic shackle and you're left to stare at him as he expertly threads your hair together in little elaborate braids, cleaning them up with a bit of water.

He really is handsome.

Though, there are a lot of handsome people in your life.

"There."

His smile slowly fades as he looks at you, swallowing harshly at the air caught in his throat. Your own smile mirroring the moment his drops. His finger strays to follow the skin of your lip, causing your whole body to tingle.

"He's lucky to have you," Hyunjin whispers, "You know."

"I'm lucky to have Felix," You whisper back and his back straightens. Eyes imploring into yours with something you can't quite decipher. His body frozen underneath the bathroom light and an evening tinted breeze.

He hums, dropping his hand like an anchor and stepping away from you, "Yeah. Felix."

This time, it really gets to you and it becomes clearer than day. Fact. Felix's girlfriend has a crush on Hyunjin and not one that could just be battered away with time. One that is disrespectfully stuck and manipulative, with only Felix suffering as a result.

It's Friday night, student hour. Hyunjin and Felix's girlfriend are planning to meet a few of their other casual friends at the club. Felix is too sick and opted to stay home, his girlfriend only offering to stay home with him when Hyunjin did.

"I really wish you'd come, Bok," Hyunjin comments. Felix's girlfriend pouts and nods, as if she fully supports the idea and it makes you sick to your stomach.

"Cause getting refused at the door sounds like a good idea and not a total waste of time," Felix snorts sarcastically sending him into a spluttering fit. You grimace at the sound, finding it on par with the visual of his sickness but ultimately rejoicing in his snark.

He's right though, he'd definitely get turned away.

"You don't have to stay Y/N, I'm perfectly capable of being home by myself," Felix tells you, and your initial reaction is to refuse. You want to stay with Felix, you really do. But you don't want to see Hyunjin and Felix's girlfriend all over each other and flirting like nobody's at home waiting for them.

And if you go...

Perhaps, a plan would be able to be set in motion.

"I don't have anything to wear," You groan.

Hyunjin grins, nodding his head towards Felix's girlfriend, "She brought over plenty. Use one of hers."

Her face is pained.

Yours, is the complete opposite.

"I've got a suitcase upstairs, come down with whatever you find and I can do your makeup if you like," She offers and it's kind, but it's slathered in a lard like substance you feel she wants to smother you with.

You choose the clothes at random, not drawn to one over the other. You find a sparkly midnight blue shirt with long sleeves and a black skirt, a pairing you've never been lucky enough to wear without regret. You stare at them before quickly pulling them both on. It's a little tight in areas you feel they shouldn't be and loose in areas you want them to be tight.

But, admittedly, you do look like a dream.

Your hands run down the material, inspecting the roundness of your ass.

Hyunjin spots you first, and his reaction has you pausing. It feels like the moment in the bathroom all over again. Eyebrows raised and tension electrified. Though the moment is broken when Felix and his girlfriend turn to see you, her mouth dropping and Felix's grin turning brotherly.

"You're beautiful," She admits, to which the smile you show her is sincere, growing only when she turns to look at Felix with a fond look, regret building, "Isn't she?"

Destroyed only when Felix coughs, the appearance of her disgust in sync with your sincerity. Lost and brushed away by the wind. She smiles at you again, gentle with your skin as she rubs in some cream and gives your hair a little life.

"Shall we go?" She has the gall to grin at you then, her eyes landing nowhere near her actual boyfriend. Once again. Hyunjin nods and immediately smacks Felix's hand. She follows after him, giving Felix a non committed little side hug to which he accepts dutifully.

Ignoring his sickness, you embrace your brother wholeheartedly, the both of you falling into a heap, your eyes closing as he wheezes a hearty laugh into your ear, "What are you doing? What if you get sick?"

"I wish you were coming," You muse, eyes still closed and your body enjoying his brotherly warmth he eagerly shows you.

"We have plenty of time," He whispers back, before he is sent into another coughing fit.

"You really don't have to come with us if you don't want to," She comments, your expression tightening at her voice scraping the roof your ear. You rise from your position in denial and Hyunjin smiles, eyes meeting yours.

"I want to come," You say instead. This time, you miss her expression. But you see his. His eyes, they twinkle.

You pile into the Uber with a last goodbye, all three of you painfully sober that they missed the opportunity to pre-drink. Plans on how to get drunk fast pouring out of their mouths, "We down a couple of shots and have a beer or something."

You look out the window, letting yourself be ignored. But out of the corner of your eye, she's turned her back to him and she's brushing her hair out of her face, "Can you zip up my dress?"

Hyunjin nods, zipping up the dress without a fuss and you stare at him through the reflection. You can't seem to understand him.

"Did you draw that character I told you about?"

"Nope. But I did draw those flowers, so thanks."

A giggle, "You're welcome. Do you often listen to One Direction while you paint?"

"Only sometimes."

You get out of the Uber with Hyunjin's confident goodbye and your quiet farewell, both you girls following after Hyunjin. Her hand is on his shoulder and you've opted to brave the slight drizzle of rain that welcomes you to the night sky.

"Hey Hyunjin," A few greetings bid their hellos as you walk past them all. He's a bit of a nightclub celebrity with how many of them walk by. Even Felix's girlfriend gets a couple of girls to come up to her.

With her other hand, she twists towards you to link holding your hand, leading you through the throng of drunken party-goers.

The drinks pour in one after the other, every third drink a shot of hard liquor and the in between being a cheap RTD option or wine to get you just as drunk as everyone else in the club. It's also an opportunity to watch her as she starts to flirt more openly with him.

"Hey, would you fuck that blonde in front of me and Felix if I asked?" She mutters, which falls on his deaf ears.

Not yours though.

You notice she's also started to press her boobs together with her arms, puckering her lips as she leans in to tease him, "I haven't seen your type around here yet."

Hyunjin pauses, his eyelashes lifting as drinks at his drink, "I have."

"You have?" She questions with a flirty giggle "Where?"

"Around," He drops his now empty bottle onto the counter, leaning over to request another to the bartender, "You want one, Y/N?"

"Hey! What about me?"

"You don't need another," Hyunjin rolls his eyes before acknowledging you kindly, "Y/N?"

You hold up your bottle with half the drink still left over to which he accepts without so much of a fuss, "Just me then, thanks bro."

"Aww, are you worried about me?" She hiccups. She does look somewhat cute, though all that cute is buried under the huge pile of undeserving. Underserving of Felix and his time. His love.

"If you drink more than I have to take you home and I'm enjoying myself so I'd rather not," He explains to which she pouts but thankfully accepts without another attempt to pull at his heart strings.

"OH MY GOD," She shouts to which you wince, "There's Park Seonghwa, he's a partner at the firm, I'll be right back!"

The two of you watch as she stumbles through the crowd confidently, both your expressions grim. You turn to him, opening your mouth, "Hyunjin?"

He bends himself lower so he can you a little better without straining, "Yeah baby?"

Bleugh.

"I want to go home," You tell him, managing to keep a straight faced expression and you're a little grateful he agrees too easily, already opening the Uber app. It doesn't feel good leaving the two of them alone together though...

And with how drunk she is...

"I'll walk you, c'mon," Hyunjin says, his hand clasping yours as he walks you to the entrance, towards the neon lit stairs you ventured up in search of the bar. And when the ringing in your ears becomes only a memory of the crowd you just escaped from, he returns his hands to his pockets like a gentleman.

"I hope you had fun," He muses.

"I did," You grunt, which has his eyes furrowing briefly before he sees you're having trouble coming down the staircase on your own. His shoes clack against the floor as he travels upstairs to meet you, hands outstretched and a gorgeous smile on his face.

"That's good then."

"Come with me?" You offer. His mouth opens and closes, and the smile slowly falls off his face and is replaced with confusion. Head tilting a little.

He must've heard you wrong.

But you've made a decision, right then and there.

Morally a good one? Arguably.

But it's a decision.

With held breath, your hand wraps around the nape of his neck to pull him into a kiss that has his breath hitching. His hair, thick enough to curl your digits through, tickling at his skin over and over again until you get sick of it. But it's so addictive, the thought is impossible. Because his hair is as soft as his lips are plush. Time has stopped and everything is quiet.

You open your mouth experimentally, letting him fill the gaps if he so pleases. One of his hands grips at your hips to pull you closer so you're flushed against his front and the other at your neck and his thumb at the curve of your jaw, teasing you with the possibility that he might just squeeze.

He tastes of a mixed alcohol, but you don't mind it, oddly enjoying the feeling of his lips more because of it. His kiss breathing new life into you.

Your hands are everywhere on his taut and lithe frame, obsessively attached to his hair just as his is addicted to the curl of your hips.

He presses harder into you, tongue brushing along yours in a way that has you swooning. He makes a low groan into your mouth at your compliance. The sound of it zipping straight to your core, heating the energy between you.

You don't want to pull away.

But you do.

"Come with me," You say again, your hands resting on his shoulders, eyes half lidded staring into the eyes that have already melted into your own. He's heaving, thick swollen lips and a gaze like fire, and your core calls him prey for it.

"Okay."

As soon as you cross the threshold of the hotel room, your back is against the wall of the living room, your hands following blindy as yhe leads you throughout the predictable layout, leaning away from you only to rest his forehead against yours.

When he opens his eyes, his gaze is on you and your hands have minds of their own as they squeeze at his waist.

You think he's going to utter a word when you lean upwards to kiss him this time. A sweeter kiss that he does his best to follow after. His hands no longer wandering along your body but cupping both cheeks in his large hands.

"Tell me you don't want it," He murmurs dazedly.

You can see how the kiss has gotten to him, and you can feel it. A weight resting on your stomach, but you can feel his restraint as it sticks to his fingertips, rendering them completely white.

"Why would I?" You whisper back, and Hyunjin swallows.

"Sometimes I'm not gentle," Hyunjin warns, cocking his head and his voice so low it makes your own stomach drop in anticipation.

"Sometimes neither am I," You challenge him back, to which he lifts one of your legs to wrap around his torso and he pushes against your core. Your eyes fluttering shut at the brush of friction against your underwear clad pussy.

"Last chance," He enunciates, his hand splaying out at your spine, and the other twirling his hands in naughty little circles at your ankles, trailing upwards with every second he counts down in his head.

At your silence, he squeezes at the meat of your thigh, "I'll take this as permission then..."

He seizes your lips rough making you feel oh so delicious inside. His hands, although feather like along the swell of your breasts and the thin sensitive skin on the inside of your thigh, strong against your hips when he grips them, punishing your pussy with a thrust of his hips against the fabric.

His kisses begin to paint you possessively from your mouth, in between your tits and up your throat, sucking at the skin as he sees fit. Devouring you until you're squirming against him in search of exposed skin to grind on until you're completely spent.

It's like he's made to devour you.

Your hands are strangely cold against the heat of his stomach, and he tenses at the way your nails scratch along every ridge of his muscles, groaning into your ear like some wild animal.

He can't help it.

He can feel how wet you are between your thighs and it's started to coat the front of his pants.

Daring him to rut against you.

He ruts a little, indulging into his desires to feel you twitch against him, but the whine you let out ruins the thin layer of his self control, crumbling and trashing it like nothing.

"Hyunjin," You're even pleading and he loves it. Every attempt to extend your sentence purposefully drawn in an attempt to attain your regret is halted by every experimental thrust and every brain fog inducing kiss.

He's drunk of this new feeling.

"Yeah baby, tell me," He teases, the movement of his lips quiet and ticklish at the surface of your chest.

"Ah-" Your eyes squeeze shut at a particular roll of hips, his mouth sucking at your breast, "I-"

"You-?" Hyunjin cocks his head, watching the way the pleasure he gives you extracts your soul and every shed of your identity leaving something completely primitive.

"Want it," You stutter pathetically, your underwear completely soaked through. There's no doubt in your mind that you want him right now and even if you had a chance, you wouldn't, not when it feels this good, "Want you."

He doesn't speak, only watches as you make your hushed pleas, sadistically challenging you with his heated gaze. With his eyes on you, his fingers pick at your soiled underwear, hooking it to the side and you feel your body tensing with need.

Fuck.

He feels like he won't last just by looking at you, and with just a slight breeze on your clit you feel like you won't last either.

With eyes still on you, he presses an open hand against your core, enjoying the way you jerk underneath his touch and the feeling of your arousal dripping down his hand. Your hips move on their accord, impatient with his waiting game of tease.

He loves the way you clench at nothing, your core wanting nothing more but to swallow his load.

"Asshole," You growl.

You even have a bit of a mouth on you.

Who knew?

"Hot as fuck," He praises, pulling his hand away to kiss at your pussy, the sounds lewd enough and the pleasure unreal. You pull at his hair, and he groans at the pain, delving deeper into your core, tongue swirling at the bud of nerves.

You begin to coat his lips.

His chin.

He enjoys it to the point of delusion.

He wants it.

He wants nothing more.

He pulls away with a pucker, letting you feast your eyes on his need for you. He makes no effort to wipe at his mouth, his hands falling to his pants to free himself. He's long and pretty. Much like the rest of him.

He sucks his bottom lip, sliding between your spread legs and slathering his cock with your arousal like never ending lube. He taps at your clit, like he's born to tease you.

You go to curse him out.

"Be patient," He orders, and the octave of his voice has your instant obedience. And like an obedient little thing, you watch him. Expect of him. Hope for him.

He palms himself, and you follow the movement like you can't wait for him.

"There's a traffic light system, heard of it?" Tapping at your clit with the tip of his cock. One. Two. Three.

A hitch of breath.

A jerk of your hips.

An impatient whine.

"Red, orange, green....Pick one."

"Hyunjin-"

"I'm not going to do anything until you pick one," He smirks, "C'mon, it's not hard to understand. Red means this all stops and green means the complete op-"

"Green!" You yell.

You don't think you could shout it any louder.

"-Posite," He feels wolfish, sliding into you and losing all control as you clench around him, walls warm and wet. You exhale and Hyunjin thinks if it were a drink, it would sustain him for the rest of his life.

He presses his lips to yours, cushioning the sounds that escape past your lips and distracting himself from coming too early.

He eases in and out of you, teeth gritting as your face morphs into all forms of enjoyment.

"Fuck," You curse at a particular dangerous roll of his hips that send butterflies out of your aching core, dragging him into your body. You squeeze at his arms so harshly and he winces at the crescent moons you create on his biceps.

He huffs out a pleasurable laugh, eyes dropping to the marks with a greedy reverie.

He thrusts harder, aiming at the spot that has your moans wanton and uncontrollable. He bites his lips until they're tightly shut, wanting to listen to only your moans until you cry. Fuck. He wants nothing more to join your songs of pleasure but he wants to hear you more.

He wants to hear it.

Couldn't bear to move on from this moment with that kind of regret.

He wants you in his ear. Your dirty and your filthy, he wants to hear it all.

But you, you wanted nothing more to hear his. Unsatisfied, your hands paw at his back, desperately dragging them down in an attempt to break through his restraint, rewarded by an unrestrained and whiny moan of his own.

"That's better," You muse, letting his sounds wash against you.

"You're so fucking dirty," He swears, grunting into the blush of your skin, his waist snapping into yours relentlessly. But it seems like you won, because, when you made that mark down his back he couldn't stop all his moaning and heaving.

At the tell tale sign of your incoming orgasm, your arms thread behind his shoulders and your legs tense around his frame, all the while he takes you all the way to heaven. His thrusts becoming sloppy as his body tenses.

He pulls out of you, jerking himself off until hot spurts of his come paint your whole chest and stomach.

He collapses onto the bed next to you, his forehead and hair doused in sweat and sex. Tried, you feel the foreshadowing of pain in your tender thighs and the dents in which his fingers grabbed at you so desperately.

The buzz of his phone brings up the volume of the room, save for his breathing, "Your phone buzzed."

He makes a noise of acknowledgement, "What's it say?"

"Code?"

"5188."

Felix's girlfriend. Asking about the two of you and where you got off to. If he was coming back.

With a slight curve of your lips, you reply for him, 'Found a girl. Sorry.'

You giggle, "I said you had 'found a girl.'

Hyunjin snorts, casting you a teasing look, and you take a pause for how truly handsome he is, "Way to make me sound shifty.'

"It's not wrong though," You chortle, your hands pointing back at yourself in display, "You did."

Hyunjin raises his eyebrows, his lips boyishly tilting upwards, "I did."

You smirk back at him as he stares at you. His gaze is fire, but it's not. It's all melty, something in his gaze that has you a little confused.

A little scared.

You're not sure you like it.

But you're sure you don't quite dislike it either.

When you awake in the morning, alone, you're not saddened. The brief confusion of last night's events tumble away like a passing thought. He left no note. No nothing. You suppose you should leave and head back home, because if there is one thing you're desperate for right now, it's a shower.

You pull on your clothes that are clearly worn and torn from the night before, a brief look in the mirror to make sure you're presentable and your feet struggling to fit into each shoe. Your thighs are tender and your feet weirdly swollen. You’re fucking limping. Seriously?

"I hope you aren't in a rush?"

At the teasing and levelled question, you follow the sound, startled when you see Hyunjin, classically handsome as ever resting his forearms on the kitchen counter with a plastic bag of goodies next to him.

"You brought...breakfast?" You frown, slightly surprised.

"Well I did just fuck you until you couldn't walk properly," He smirks, his stare pointed, "Think of it as basic aftercare, baby."

"You like a good pet name," You notice, cocking your head in a beckoning challenge.

He mirrors the sentiment with his own, "If the situation calls for it, yeah."

You chortle, folding your arms, ready to hear what kind of line he's curating in his head about this situation, "And what is this situation, exactly?

"I want this to be a regular thing. I'm here hoping you'd let me take you out and you have all the power to decide what you do with me," Hyunjin smacks his lips together and his confidence is there, charismatically and respectfully waiting for your input.

"Do you have to take out girls for this to be a regular thing?" You ask and Hyunjin's lips shrivel at the question.

"Girls? No," Hyunjin admits, "You though? Yeah."

You frown at him, staring in silence. The lingering feeling of last night making an unwelcome return.

"Uh."

The eyes that stare back at you are warm, rippling along the delicate nerves of your skin with comfort instead of the burning uncertain fire that accompanied you last night.

He bites at his lip and tugging at the ring secured around his finger, the one you gave to him just short of two years ago.

You tuck a stray hair behind his ear, and zero in on the way his eyes flutter at your touch.

"Minho," You call, too concerned by the way he leans into you.

His eyes open wide, remembering himself. He straightens in his seat, clothes pristine and elegant a stark contrast to your simple t-shirt and shorts.

You wonder if Jeongin wears these types of clothes now.

"We text now," Minho admits, staring at you in a way that makes you believe he's expecting something from you. Worried about your reaction, almost. Either way.... "Jeongin and I."

"That's great," You reply, "Does he call you hyung yet?"

"Not yet," Minho cocks his head and you can't help the gentle smile on your face, the action making his expression soften, "What's with that grin? Huh?"

"My brother's hard to win over, isn't he?"

The smile on his face is still there, but you can see the dwindle of the light that graced his face before.

You swallow, "-You know what I mean."

"No," Minho shakes his head, "He's still your brother."

You're silent. Too silent.

"He is," Minho asserts, hand gripping at your hands more firmly. Stomach churning at the crossroads you've lived to confront. To admit he's your brother is to-

"I've got to tell you something," You blurt.

"Yeah?" He sips at his wine, relaxing a little in his seat. Welcoming the change with open arms.

"I have a date with Hwang Hyunjin."

The rigidness of his frame, sends you into a spiral. Nonsense was spouted and now there is the discomfort that you and Minho tried to ignore.

"Hyunjin asked me out I think," You ramble, hands rolling in defence, "I don't know. This might help Felix."

"And you want to use Hyunjin to..." His tone tilts, "Do what exactly?"

You swallow, "Well....Maybe this way, I can remove Hyunjin from the equation."

He doesn't let on whether he's impressed or not. Truth is, neither are you. It was a plan concocted when you left Hyunjin's place, promising him you'll think about it.

"Are you mad?" You question, needing to know. Begging him to look at you.

He pauses, digits playing with the wine glass charm at the bottom of his glass, "I have no control over who you date or don't, Y/N."

You harshly swallow, conversation weighing on you like an ultimatum, "I don't want to lose you."

Minho sighs, his knuckles creasing in the skin of his forehead briefly, as if he's pained to then face you, any expression wiped away, "You won't lose me, Y/N. You won't lose him. No matter what your decisions are."

He breathes deeply, excusing himself from the table to go to the bathroom.

He pays for the light meal and the wine you shared.

Then kisses you lightly on the lips goodbye.

And you cry for hours on the cold floor of your bathroom.

Love is just wonderful.

But sometimes, sometimes it feels like it's not for you, terrorising you at every corner with complications and obstacles. Offering a man you love and can technically have but won't. Offering another man that you only plan to use for the morally challenged greater good.

Your first date with Hyunjin isn't what you imagine it'd be. Nor does it end in sex or anything of the sort.

The farm is spring. The epitome of spring. Rows and rows of pretty pastel colours that belong on some influencer's social media account. The sun is hot and beams straight onto you both.

"Wow," You mutter, "It's so hot."

"Yup," He agrees, then, he's touching you and for a minute all you can remember is what happened. Your breathing hitches at how easily he touches you. Only to realise he's rubbing in sunscreen to your exposed skin. With a single finger, he paints a line down the expanse of your cheek, letting you rub the cream in yourself.

"What was that?"

"Can't have my date exposed to skin cancer on our first can I?" Hyunjin teases.

"And what about you?" You scoff, pointing out his pale skin, "You're more likely to burn, no?"

Hyunjin rolls his eyes, before slathering his own skin with a good dollop of sunscreen, letting it smooth all over. Smiling to yourself, you eagerly take the opportunity to paint a smiley face onto his rounded cheeks and exposed nape of his neck. He shudders at the feeling, stumbling clumsily away from the sensation.

"You're a cheek," Hyunjin calls, taking note of your teasing and rubbing in your art making you pout, "Hey can we get four punnets, please?"

"Absolutely. Our strawberry farms are in the greenhouse tents at the end, but apart from that every section will have the name of the berry on the sign. So just keep an eye out. The price is also determined by the weight."

"Thanks," He charms the worker before you follow him all while he shows you the empty containers with nothing other than joy.

The strawberry tent is slightly wet and the grass squelches as you walk on it, the sound bringing a grimace to your face. Strawberries are plentiful and the red bleeds onto the crevices of the green.

"You know the proper way to pick them?" You ask, the words causing him to lean a little further into you and your space.

"Teach me?" He says with a smile you can't quite trust.

You grip at the strawberry softly, forefinger and middle finger embracing the flesh with support from your thumb, "We want the chicken claw pose then lift it....you listening?"

He smiles, head falling onto the crown of your head, lips quirking, "I'm listening..."

"And then.." At the crisp sound of the stalk separating from the fruit, you smile in satisfaction. All the while Hyunjin smiles at how sweet you are.

He bites his lip when you watch him expectantly, eyes never leaving him as he reaches for a single juicy looking strawberry, his eye contact zig zagging continuously between you and the fruit, "Like this?"

You smile, pleased, "Yeah."

With that you fill the container, both of you sharing one of the biggest strawberries you've ever seen in your life. With the juice running down your fingers, Hyunjin smirks before leaning forward to take a bite of the strawberry, his bottom lip brushing against your thumb.

You intake a sharp breath, his whole body up against yours, leaning into you and you're worried about how much he'll see. How he'll immediately notice the way your heart pounds against your rib cage and how much your eyes struggle to make eye contact when he's so close and his gaze so heated.

That fire.

"It's really so good," Hyunjin murmurs, the words licking at you with lust and seduction. You swallow, afraid to look at him.

"Let's go to the blueberries," You demand, walking out of the tents at a faster pace than you would've originally.

You don't hear Hyunjin laugh, but you can almost see the smile that's brought to his face at the sheer fact that whatever game he was playing...you've lost.

You're a lot less gentle with the blueberries, your playful demeanour dormant underneath all the bashfulness you're parading. It's cute, the way you haven't stopped looking at him. So even if you haven't been speaking to him for almost twenty minutes now, he'll take it as a win.

"I'm sorry," He nudges you with his shoulder a little, secretly wanting to see you pout that whole time he's with you.

You furrow your eyebrows harder, harsh lines across your forehead like a failed attempt putting a screensaver on a phone. He's pretty sure your neck has veins with the severity of your 'anger'.

"Huh?" Hyunjin smacks his lips to attempt from smiling, "What do I have to do for you to forgive me?"

"Give me that jumper," You say at once, so fast he struggles to distinguish what it was you said exactly.

HIs gaze drops to his white Versace jumper, hesitantly turning toward you. A little confused but too curious.

Damnit.

His lips quirk, "Why the jumper?"

“I want it. I’ve never had Versace,” You hold your hand out like a spoiled little brat, beckoning him to move with the flick of a finger. 

Hyunjin exhales, looking around at the rows of shrubs and a cooling sky, before he looks at you. Again, “Except you’re looking at me, Y/N.” 

You open your mouth, only for his next words to completely blindside you, “And with the way you’re looking at me….I can’t be sure it’s the jumper you want…” 

He’s teasing you, with that little smirk he has. It’s almost like he’s taunting you. So try again. Better luck next time! 

Shit fucking- 

You turn back to the shrubs filling the blueberries with speed and precision and Hyunjin follows you, amusement painted on him like a second skin at your demise. He reaches for the containers out of your hands, leading you to the thick crowd of bush at a back section, adorned with blackberries. 

You join him, his eyes dancing with light as he swivels around slightly to face you, “Decided to join me?” 

“I’m just making sure you pick the good ones, Hyunjin,” You deny, face turning away to hide your smile. 

“How do you know I won’t?” Meanwhile Hyunjin wears his grin with glimmering pride. He picks at the blackberries, enjoying the taste of one. 

You don’t say anything, opting that silence is the best comeback you could have right now, only to fluster at his next words. 

“Glad to see you use my name,” He raises an eyebrow, “I didn’t think you knew it.” 

You snort, “Don’t be so dramatic. I’ve called you by name so many times. I’m not going to call you Philip, am I?” 

“More often than not you don’t say my name, you avoid it even,” He comments, his thoughts glossing his eyes over, “At least that’s what it feels like.” 

“...I don’t mean to? I don’t think I do that… You noticed?” 

“How couldn’t I?” Hyunjin shrugs again, feigning a neutral expression as he fills the container up, one by one. 

“I’m sorry,” You apologise, the silence is loud. So loud and awkward and gangly, sitting there at your table with twitchy joints. 

“So I like it,” Hyunjin glances at you meaningfully, “I’d like to hear it more from you.” 

“Okay,” 

You walk together with your three full containers to where the raspberries are planted. They’re all plump and a reddish purple colour and they look so good you’re tempted to just eat more than collect. 

“..Hyunjin?” 

Hyunjin’s head flickers to yours in surprise before a warm smile creeps onto his face. It’s so warm that your own look turns bashful and you almost forget the reason you wanted his attention entirely, “Yeah, Y/N?” 

“Uh- Do you like raspberries?” 

“Raspberries? I don’t mind them. I’m more of a strawberry guy.” 

You screw your face up in a little bit of judgement and quickly turn away from him, returning to the raspberries. 

“What? What’s wrong with strawberries?” Hyunjin snorts, unable to let go of your judgement but also not offended. Not at all. Anything to get you talking. 

“It’s just a bit basic, that’s all,” You shrug, and Hyunjin’s face is a  bit more offended now but it’s cooled just as quickly as it arrives because you’ve got a teasing look on your face. 

“Right well,” Hyunjin pouts, picking up his stuff to create distance. 

“Hey!” You plead, “It’s not a bad thing!” 

“Could’ve fooled me!” 

“Hyunjin,” You whine, “Come back, I need help getting up, my legs are dead.” 

“That’s just a bit basic, Y/N, love,” He drawls, appearing like the Cheshire Cat from Alice In Wonderland. 

“Hyunjin,” You whine back. 

He laughs, dawdling back in front of you, watching you pathetically reach both your arms out towards him. His hands grip at your forearms pulling you upwards and you stumble back into him. 

“You’ve gotta stop trying this method to get me to be into you, Y/N,” He baits, not even waiting for your reply. You scoff as he turns away from you, filling his container so fast it makes your own container look pathetic. 

Feeling competitive, you speed past him, filling your own with raspberries to the tune of his laughter and later his own competitiveness to the point of overflow. 

The two of you are heaving, comparing each other’s containers with a cautious eye, decidedly agreeing that the two of them are rather equal. Though personally you suspect that your own is a little more full. 

“Woah,” Hyunjin exhales a breath of surprise, eyeing at his fingers that are a deep red and purple. You giggle, eyeing your own. The marks don’t reach further than your fingers like he does but they are a lot darker with a lot more coverage. 

You line up your fingers near his hand so he can see. 

His eyebrows furrow a little, before he rummages into his pocket to pull out his phone. You drop your hand but he pulls it back, angling the phone to a better angle. He smiles as he takes the photo and you feel a little bit like you’re the victim of a spell. 

Inhale. 

Exhale. 

“Shall we go?” Hyunjin asks and you can’t help but agree quickly, squashing the feeling inside of you so deep you disassociate for the rest of the trip home. 

When you return home, a little tired that your eyes are fluttering close even before the door closes shut, you’re surprised by how quiet the house is, save for the quiet humming of the TV. 

“Felix!” Changbin yells from the room, “Felix!” 

You pause, deciding whether you should leave him and take the nap you want to indulge in or to tell- 

With a sigh, you follow the incessant calls of Felix’s name, until you’re in front of him, “Ah-not Felix. Where is….everyone?” 

“Oh shit sorry,” Changbin apologises, “Felix was gonna drop by to his missus to drop something off-” 

You roll your eyes. 

“-And your parents go out every so often to have a little time to themselves. Keep the romance alive. Gross, I know.” 

“It’s cute actually,” You muse, too used to older people ruining each other over and over again. 

“I thought you were with Minho?” Changbin inquired, turning down the volume for the TV. 

You lean against the wall, “Why’s that?” 

“I know you said he isn’t your boyfriend but you clearly have feelings for each other,” Changbin commented further. 

You laugh, “Are all these questions because you’re watching Love Island?” 

“And if I said yes?” 

“Then I’ll just assume that you’re projecting,” You huff out a little giggle, walking off to your own room and the confines of your space. 

“Y/N!” He yells after you, but doesn’t make an effort to follow. 

“Good night!” 

You fall asleep with a soft smile on your face, no tingles but a blanket of warmth to protect you. 

The second date you were actually genuinely excited for. Hyunjin picked you up, adoringly gazing upon your smile that lit the whole sky up. 

“That’s a pretty smile,” Hyunjin comments, pushing the handbrake down. 

“I’m excited,” You reply, practically bouncing in your seat. 

“Oh really? I couldn’t tell after you practically forced me to tell you what we were doing today,” Hyunjin recalls, mind rewinding back to the night before when he had sent a cute mysterious text. 

Dark coloured pants. Dark coloured jumper. Sneakers tomorrow. Trust me x

Unfortunately for him, it didn’t stay all that cute and mysterious, because you called him. 

“I want to know,” You demanded. 

“I’m not gonna tell you,” Hyunjin snorted. 

“Tell me or I’ll come tomorrow wearing a tutu and a bright ass top,” The sound of your threat put a smile on his face. 

“You can try if you want, Y/N,” Hyunjin laughed, “Either way you’re gonna look really pretty.” 

“Hyunjin, please.” 

He swallowed, momentarily caught in surprise. Shit. 

He’s reached a new level of low. 

He’s folding THIS early? 

“Hyunjiiiiiin,” You double down, catching quick onto his dilemma. His tongue prodded into his cheek, eyebrows furrowing at his resolve completely fading at two little words. 

“Paintballing,” He blurted, “....We’re going paintballing.” 

Suddenly, there was no sound. It was quiet and he felt his blood pressure drop. Did you hate the idea of paintballing? He hoped not because he had booked it spontaneously and- 

“Really?” The question came out like a summer fruit, so good and so energetic that it made his heart flutter. 

“Yeah,” He sighs, rubbing at the bridge of his nose self consciously. 

“I’m gonna go pack!” 

“Okay.” 

“Bye Hyunjin. Thank you.” 

He stared at his phone for five minutes after the call ended, the smile on his face never once dropping and his excitement for the next day at an all time high.

You were bouncing with excitement all the way to the hut, and Hyunjin places both hands on your shoulders when it seemed to reach heights that distracted him from hearing the rules. 

“You’re cute,” Hyunjin muses, whispering into your ear, “But I can’t hear the rules and I’d hate to accidentally shoot you.” 

You frown, muttering, “Not if I shoot you first.” 

Hyunjin smirks, letting his hands slightly drop from your shoulders but didn’t make an effort to back away from you. Neither did you move away from him, shivering pleasantly because of the warmth he provided in the wild breeze that ventured from every corner of the paintball course. 

“You’re green team,” The instructor says, handing you over two green bands to tie around your wrist. You peer around the area scanning both friend and foe, letting Hyunjin tie them. 

“Luckily we got green and not…” You enunciate, eyeing the yellow team with an almost cruel observation. 

“You’re competitive,” Hyunjin comments, fastening the band around your wrist. You fasten him with a look, which in turn has his own smile getting wider. 

“Hey,” Another couple sidles up to you, the girl leaning in to make a comment, “I noticed one of the couples has a limp so-” 

As you both add to the observations, the guy bundles up next to Hyunjin, watching the two of you discuss tips and thoughts. 

“First time here?” 

“Hmm?” Hyunjin whips his head towards him, smiling slightly, “Yeah. I didn’t know she’d be this into it.” 

“Neither,” The guy laughs, “Now we come here every month.” 

“Woah,” Hyunjin chuckles, “I’m Hyunjin.” 

“Soobin,” The guy introduces himself, stretching his back, “How long have you been a couple?” 

“Not dating,” Hyunjin sighs, “I’m grafting for it though.” 

“Good on you,” Soobin nods, smiling at his girlfriend as she drags you into the toilet, no doubt commenting that there will be no time for bathroom breaks in the middle of a war, “Good luck out there. I suggest going to the toilet while you can.” 

Hyunjin finds himself glad at the conversation. He likes talking about you, though brief and slightly irrelevant, he can’t help but think it’s the start of something. He loves the thought that you may be into him. He loves slow progress. The everything. The way your smile has begun to get bigger and how you’ve begun to lean on him and direct him. 

He’s into it. 

He’s into you. 

The first game he gets hounded by you. Scolded for having his head in the clouds. But he’s too busy being too whipped to care. He doesn’t think you notice how protective you get of him, escorting him across the course with the mentality of a bodyguard. 

The second game, he’s still being protected. All until you’re all out of pallets and you get a taste of how much paintball actually hurts. 

“Ow, fuck,” You curse, squeezing at the flesh of your stomach, only to then be shot in the hand and face, whipping you completely away of your focus and your protective gear loosening. 

“Woah, you alright?” Hyunjin angles his body in front of the line of fire, his hand raising upwards in concern. The shots cease temporarily, their shouts undetectable but the warning clear. 

“Yeah, I’m going to get this fixed,” You wince, your fingers acknowledging the disarray of your hair, before stepping away to raise both hands in the air. 

He watches you leave carefully, before he’s alone again and the game continues. He exhales, leaning against the thick crust of the bush before taking aim. 

“I severely underestimated you,” You observe, a bit of dirt lining the edges of your face and hands. 

His lips quirk upwards, “I only had to get revenge for my girl.” 

“Hwang,” You growl, though the laugh sticks to your throat. 

“Lee.” 

“I’ll be watching you,” You girls eye the line of men that are lined up on the other side before exchanging tactics. 

“My man, he’s big and can’t hide for shit.” 

“He’s got a limp, he’ll be out first. We even had a bet on it so please aim for him.” 

“My ma- guy, he looks pathetic but don’t be fooled. He’s pretty but he’s a good shot,” You comment to the expectant eyes. The teasing eyes of Arin cannot be missed. 

“Your ma-guy,” Arin giggles to which your eyes narrow. 

“Not falling for it,” You dismiss her, feeling bashful as her giggles shake at your fortitude of protection. 

It’s all fun and by the end of it, you feel you have new friends in Soobin and Arin and a couple of the other couples. You even opt to have lunch together that day, spontaneity in your blood as you order three servings of deliciously marbled meat. 

It’s even more worth it, that although Hyunjin drops you off down the street from your house, you smile like you never have before at him, “I had fun.” 

“Me too,” He looks at you with some sort of smile that has you smacking your lips, suddenly shy. 

“Bye,” You wave at him, trailing away from the car little by little, aware that he keeps an eye on you until he knows you made it home safely. 

You open the door with a massive sigh, pausing at the smirk on Changbin’s face as you step foot through the wide passageway. 

“You look happy,” Changbin comments, biting his lip teasingly. 

With a grin still on your face, you point a finger at him, “Keep your mouth shut, Seo Changbin.” 

“I didn’t say anything,” Changbin chortles, poking a finger into your side, the same side that had been victim of continuous paint abuse. 

You wince and giggle, as if your body is confused by how it should continue. Changbin raises his eyebrow, “What was that?” 

“Nothing,” You say, jerking away from his attempt at possibly pressing on another bruise. 

Changbin nods his head in faux agreement, before he doubles down, fingers slightly pressing on each shoulder. You shy away from him, stepping backwards, Changbin cornering you. 

“What the hell?” 

The two of you whip your heads to Felix, eyes widening at the sight of Changbin backing you up against the wall. A huge misunderstanding. Truly. 

“So…you two?” 

“No it’s not like that,” You shake your head. 

“It’s really not, dude, we were just playing around,” Changbin shrugged, “She’s ticklish.”

Felix pauses, hesitates and then accepts. Then goes to tell you something with his head cocked, and you worry he’ll be stuck like that, “Pizza’s ready.” 

You hurry past the two boys, heat flushing your skin. 

“So you really aren’t?” Felix leaned into Changbin when you were gone from view. 

“No, dude,” Changbin snorted. 

Felix accepted it and found he didn’t entirely hate it. Definitely didn’t like it, but hate it? Surprisingly he didn’t. 

Food for thought.

The third date was the most typical and the type of first date you'd expect from a teenager but you liked it all the same.

You'd love it if he hadn't won the first game...

And wasn't winning now.

"Wow, okay you're really not going easy on me," You comment as he receives another spare, walking away from the lane with a wicked smile on his face that tickles at the organ in your chest.

He chuckles, "After paintball? I won't make that mistake."

Your nose crinkles in displeasure, but for a moment it makes you grin. You like what he said. You like how he said it. Everything about it.

You throw the ball, hoping luck would be on your side, but the oil and grease that coats the lanes proved stronger, the ball led straight into the gutter. Gutter of the lane and the gutter in your stomach.

Shit.

Hair tickles against your chin as the smug handsome devil leans over you, "Honestly I thought you had that."

You hurl your shoulder back in defiance, only to hear his laughter, melodious in your ear. It should be annoying, and it is, but it also feels like the most fun you've ever had.

Every morning of a bowling alley in your memories felt loaded. The earliest involves that of your loosely attached adults, many after that where you and Jeongin grappled with grief and despair and a sense to right wrongs. The memories before containing Minho....

Now...

He's the first one that doesn't matter to you. Shouldn't matter to you. You had hoped to bring Felix here first, but Hyunjin brought you here instead, a small crinkling of fate sprinkled over the two of you.

And he's here and he's completely thrashing you at a game you had self-confessed expert level skills. In your bowling home.

However, a thought runs through your head so dark and rampant, the lights could have flickered at the sheer intensity.

Creeping behind him, you place a hand on his shoulder, only removing it when he turned around with a curious yet satisfied fat grin on his face.

You enjoy it more than you should.

He freezes underneath the feel of your lips on his, reminding him of the moment a couple of weeks ago when you first kissed him like this. His eyebrows furrowing in thought, he pushes gently at your shoulders.

"Do you always kiss guys to get what you want?" His mouth opens and his tongue licks at the corner of his mouth, displeasure dancing in his irises. You love it. You can't help it. You want to poke at his emotions with a stick, like he's your own personal Frankenstein's monster.

"And if i say an answer you don't want to hear?" You smirk, lips curling deviously at the snarl transforming his face.

He scoffs out a fake laugh, "Try it."

"Okay, I ki-" You're interrupted by the way his arms snake possessively around your waist, pulling you into a bruising kiss that leaves your lips swollen and your head all over the place. Your arms hanging loosely by your sides as you come to terms with it all.

He finishes the round with a double strike and a score that almost doubles yours.

"Yet," He whispers, lips brushing the shell of your ear, "I still won."

He straightens up, and you're left to watch him as he walks back to the car in which he dropped you off. You want nothing more than to wipe that look on his face, but you're also severely attracted to him at the minute and it feels dangerous.

"Are we exclusive?" He asks, tone back to the octave you could combat against. His fingers tap on the wheel of the car in a relaxed sort of way.

"Not yet," You deny him, watching to see if his face will change like it did inside or if he'd surprise you again.

But it doesn't happen.

He nods, fingers ghosting along his lips almost like he's rubbing the kiss you two shared right in your face. You narrow your eyes at him, staring at the smug look on his face.

He knows exactly what you're thinking of.

Where you're looking.

"I'll see you next time then, Y/N."

His hands are strong, but the way he holds your face is gentle, a contrast to the intensity of his kiss. You follow the best you can, his mouth drawing out the most pathetic whimpers from your throat.

His touch follows down the length of you arm, goosebumps spreading throughout your entire body that you feel like you're floating. He grounds you, placing his hand onto the flesh of your thigh and letting his lips and tongue paint you in tingles.

His frame slots in between your legs, the warmth of his body sending a shock straight to your core.

You're hungry for him.

Always.

But there's an incessant knock on the back of your head, your subconscious persistent.

"What's wrong?" You whisper, lips plump.

He doesn't say anything, breath heaving and body tensing in a way that implies that he heard you. That he doesn't feel comfortable. He licks at his lips and the change in him has you concerned. You cup his face with your hand, watching as he leans into your touch, basking in you.

"Minho," You call, now slightly worried. His eyes open and your heart softens. He's so beautiful.

He presses forward to capture you in a kiss again, eyes closing unconsciously as he pours every bit of passion from his heart into you. You kiss back as you feel your heart open to swallow him whole, thoughts forgotten at the familiarity.

Arousal pools in your underwear as he hands travel lower, gripping at your shirt to pull you closer. His body strong against you. Your hands collect in his hair, soft strands that you swear felt different-

You frown, rising to meet his pace with your own, willing to squash the thought and indulge fully in Minho. With a lewd smack, his mouth dips towards your exposed throat, sucking at the skin. A particularly bruising suck, and then he rips at your shirt with a quick promise to buy you a replacement, but you don’t care. 

Your eyes flutter shut at the feeling of his lips gravitating towards your chest, dipping down the valleys and small freckles you didn’t even know existed. With a shaky inhale, “Minho.” 

He pauses, left hand dug deep into the fabric of your clothes and the right hand twisting at the waistband of your underwear, desperate. 

It worries you as much as it does lick at your sex drive. 

His desperation. 

You want it. 

Minho’s eyes flicker upwards to meet yours in an intense stare. Biting at his lips, he straightens his posture, form looming over yours with barely restrained tension, “Jeongin…he’s never gonna be what he should….” 

His words and his eyes, they all feel so heavy all of a sudden, drooping from your heart like a fat teardrop. 

“But you-” He swallows, “You’re the only thing I’m sure of.” 

Your stare implores into his eyes, glazed with feeling and you’re the one to kiss him first. Soft and  sweet, until it isn’t and it’s just as hungry as it was before. This time, only more loaded. 

Everything is a team effort. 

You rip at his shirt as you try to remove it from his upper body, revealing a strong chest and a stomach that calls to be marked up by your nails and your lips and your arousal. His arms envelop you and your moan is guttural as your hands slip around his shoulder blade and feel his muscle thrum underneath your touch, his skin raising in anticipation. 

You lift your waist as he peels your underwear from your body, legs locking impatiently to which he has to hold down at your hungry waist. 

His eyes are the danger to your hunger, promising to feed you with his cock and growling at the way he slips past your swollen lips and down your aching throat. You suck him until his eyes start to droop and you wouldn’t have stopped. You didn’t want to. But he wanted a different story. 

He kisses at your pussy, admiring how it glistens with every lick and suck. Every kiss. How your thighs start to shake as he groans into your core, tongue fucking you just to see how unsettled you get. 

You’re wild, nameless and unashamed. Begging for him like a bitch in heat.

“Put it in,” You hear pleading, it’s you but it doesn’t feel like you. 

“I could,” Minho nods, “Or I do what I want.” 

His fingers sink into your pussy, almost moaning at how warm and wet you are. You moan, “Min-fuck.” 

He grins now, his lips latching onto your clit in order to bring you to orgasm. You tremble underneath his order, hips jerking uncontrollably at your orgasm. You’re moaning and whining and every word is now replaced with curse words. 

“Oh,” You cry as he brings you to climax, fireworks exploding and colours you can’t name attacking you like thunder, “Min….” 

With a final kiss he separates from you, watching your chest heave and attempt to return to normal. Skin blotchy with varying degrees of delicious heat across your legs and chest, looping around your heart and your ears. 

You smile and are rewarded by the type of sparkly grin only he can wear, mischief playing games in his dark brown pupils. 

He is beautiful and he is love. 

“Min-fuck, huh?” He chuckles to which you can’t help but attempt to bring him closer, wanting to feel his warmth. 

“You should legally change it,” You playfully suggest and you love that his laugh trinkles all parts of you, as if your body is wired to him. 

“Should I now?” He smiles, finger pointing playfully into your naked exposed chest, grin widening as you giggle in reply. You love it. 

You hate it when you can see the eventual grin fade into the hooded look that terrified you earlier. It terrifies you even more when he closes his eyes so you can’t see it. 

“Min-” 

“You ready to go again?” Minho looks at you, soft in the eyes but tense everywhere else. 

You nod, letting his hands squeeze at your thighs, head tilting as he runs the tip of his cock along the thick paste of the highs he can take you to, body welcoming the familiar fullness as he sinks into you, thrusting experimentally. 

You whine, opening your legs wider to encourage him to take his own pleasure from you. But he doesn’t need it, not when he fucks you like he owns you and controls the rate of your pleasure. 

He thrusts forward, meeting your hips and mouth dropping in focus, breathing heavy as skin slaps against skin. 

You make eye contact with him, the connection between you a neon blue. Without a word, he buries his face into your neck and his cock into your core. Dragging you closer to the high once again, your pussy sopping. 

As you both are brought closer to orgasm, your bodies start to move in a frenzy, the decorum dropping as the both of you become more and more starved. His fingers curl into your hair harshly, simultaneously thrusting and rubbing against your clit. 

You come with a moan, followed three seconds later by the stutter of his hips and his sharp exhale. He’s hungry as he kisses you, unrecognisable as he devours you into a kiss that leaves you dumb, kissing as you both come down from your high. 

He sleeps beside you that night and you huddle to seek his warmth. Seek Minho. Escape the outside world like you have done so many times before. Feeling his love and your love. Your proper love. Feeling it in this room and despairingly begging not to feel it anywhere else.  

The face you see isn’t the one you’ve seen all week, but the one who has yearned to see you. That had passed on a girl trying to get in his pants last week and had aired a constant fuck without your knowledge. 

The car you see is also a new one. You pause, open mouthed as you study the sleek sports car in front of you, not being able to name it but appreciating it all the same. 

“Is this your car?” 

Hyunjin shakes his head, admitting with buried shame, “No.” 

“Then why are you in it?” You laugh, your eyes on him now, studying him like he’s some sort of enigma. 

“It’s not like I’m trying to date you or anything….” He bites his lip, staring at you with a look that flusters you to your core. 

His eyes don’t sparkle like you’re expecting, but they’re lined with something alluring and pull you in with promises that ring in your ears. Sharp in places that are soft, and soft in places that are sharp. A freckle in a place that’s new. 

He smiles, letting it grow as he puts the car into drive, following the road with his heart fluttering at an uncontrollable level. 

“So what are we doing today?” You ask when you just can’t handle his smile any longer. 

He peeks at the console in between you, pressing the button to reveal a single cardboard cut card. You raise an eyebrow, reaching greedily for it. You catch yourself, eyeing at the cute little drawing at the start. 

“Did you draw this?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You’re talented,” You smile at him before flicking the card over to read the contents, “Mini scavenger hunt must do ... .date is not over until all is completed. Sounds a bit…trappy.”

“Baby, my forte is sketching not writing,” He sasses, turning the steering wheel left, “Read on.” 

“Must pose in these four positions for a photo ... Try a food the colour of our outfits,” You peek at the abundance of green you’re wearing and his red jacket, “Oh thank god. Buy a present for each other….” 

Hyunjin watches as you read each sentence carefully, devising a game plan already, “Do you wanna do the photobooth first and finish with the present?” 

At the first instance that your face changes, he rushes to add, “There’s no timer or anything. It’s just a date between us two.. No secret other teams you need to worry about.” 

You kiss your teeth in displeasure, shoving at him with your hand lightly, “I wasn’t thinking that!” 

Hyunjin raises his eyebrows in defiance, “Mmm sure.” 

You pout, letting him lead you to the main collection of stores and cute little date stops, he holds your hand quick in comparison to the way your eyes dance between the little cute headbands and soft plushies at the wake of the photobooths. 

The photobooth is a lot more comfier than expected, tight enough you can feel the details of Hyunjin’s arms through the fabric of his blouse and the way his heart bleats in his chest. You school your face enough that Hyunjin won’t be able to tell it flusters you, to have him this close. 

But he’s not playing fair, because when his large hands wrap you within his hold and his chin rests on the crown of your head, it’s an embrace you associate with someone else. An embrace you associate with love and the fear overruns you. 

Hyunjin is beautiful. His lips are plush and always have you begging for them almost. An unseen power you’ve never felt before. Even with Minho. But Minho is also someone you can’t really have, morally, socially… 

Hyunjin is a game. You know that, and yet you don’t want to separate from him. It’s easy to be with him. Too easy. So easy you forget about Felix for more than one moment. You forget about Minho. 

You’re a girl with a boy that can. Can do all the things he’s doing with you. Who could probably kiss the shit out of you in this photo booth and take off running with the evidence. Could show Felix, and it wouldn’t be the same. 

So you let Hwang Hyunjin hold you. 

Hold you like he’s in love. 

Hold you like you’re in love. 

And perhaps a part of you is… in love with him, that is. Or in love with the feeling, all the more, you took those photos with new heat in your cheeks and enjoyment in the way your skin skimmed against his with every movement. The way his throat bobbed and his voice made the hair on the back of your neck shift. How the bones stiffened and rewired themselves to fit his frame against your back. 

He leads you through the mall, the abundance of the throng becoming more prominent as you get closer to the food court. A shoulder almost barging into you within a second, Hyunjin too occupied with his own obstacle to catch it early enough. 

“Woah,” He mutters, glaring at the harsh pull of someone barging into you a second time, “The fuck.” 

He’s half a second away from digging the jewel of his expensive ring into the dude’s gut with a thick slab of burning lava to embalm the pain when you pull him away from his anger. A coolness washing over him as you pull him closer to you. You wrap yourself around him like he’s your protector and it’s so cute. 

Too much, you’re too much. 

“Can we eat in the car?” You plead so quietly that Hyunjin almost misses what you say. But he agrees wordlessly as his eyes flick across every option for what looks the best or what has the smallest line. 

“What do you want? I can get it and you can go to the car if you want?” Hyunjin offers. 

You shake your head, digging further into his body and he almost forgets he’s in the middle of foot traffic, “Let’s get whatever.” 

He nods, pulling you towards a small snack shack in the corner run by a kind elderly woman and her middle-aged son. The pair greet you warmly and it instantly has you a lot calmer than the rest of the food court. Hyunjin is grateful as he orders, the son has you in a polite but distracting conversation and he gets to hold your hand whilst he does it. 

“I hope you get married!” The elderly woman cheers at the pair of you as soon as Hyunjin orders, her grin wide and toothy. 

“Mum! I’m so sorry!” Her son warns, before he apologetically smiles, “Sorry she’s a little traditional and nosy.” 

Hyunjin is a little flustered, eyes wide open but quick to play along, leaning forward, “Only time will tell, Halmeoni.” 

The lady’s mouth rounds into a teasing ‘O’ and he loves the way your expression drops in complete surprise, tripping over yourself as he leads the two of you away once again, “You’re insane.” 

“I’m aiming for exclusivity, baby, get used to it.” 

Even you can’t control the smirk that crosses your face at the teasing snark. 

You instantly let out a sigh as you sit in the quiet and calm car, the only noise being Hyunjin’s door as he closes it, enveloping the two of you in a world of brown paper bags filled with greasy salty and sweet snacks and a spicy bowl of tteokbokki. 

Hyunjin snorts, holding up the sad excuse of two baby toothpicks and one set of chopsticks, “I think that lady was really trying to raise the marriage rates.” 

“She wouldn’t have if you hadn’t been egging her on,” You assert, tone lowering in a faux sense of righteousness. 

“You had every opportunity to let go of my hand and you didn’t,” Hyunjin sassed, frowning as his mouth opened to let some of the good food in. 

“How did you even come up with the photobooth idea and the- wait, we didn't get anything green!” You grumble, looking at the lack of green with the severity of homicide. 

“We got something red, it’s fine,” Hyunjin laughs. 

“No but the note said-” 

“Forget the note, okay? It was a little fun and it was just an idea that I got from someone,” Hyunjin shrugs. 

“Oh who?” You cock your head. 

“Felix’s girlfriend,” Hyunjin adds, dipping the toothpick into another tteok greedily, missing the way your expression slightly changes for a fraction of a second. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah. Asked her for some ideas and she was so nosy about it too, asked if she knew you,” Hyunjin chewed, and pettily you made a note that he didn’t eat so pretty, “I said it was none of her business and she had a go at me.” 

“Had a go at you?” 

“Yeah,” Hyunjin nods, “I apologised, obviously.” 

You nod, silence filling the gap between you to a timescape that exceeds comfort. But Hyunjin, a dumb boy, of course suspects anything but the reason to be the problem. 

“If it bothers you so much I can go get something green,” Hyunjin offers, reading your face all wrong. 

You shake your head, unruly thoughts running amok between the two of you. The three of you. 

“Let’s just do the next one, what is it?” 

“Presents for each other.” 

You let it distract you and it does have a reasonable impact. You slowly but surely forget about what had transpired in the car. You had played with the idea of buying him something you’re pretty sure everybody likes generally but you couldn’t let the tin of water colour pencils out of your head. 

You picked it up, thumbing at the dips of the letters and the raised darkened lines that surround them, mouth puckered in thought. 

Sighing, you let the tin fall into the basket, buying the pencils with only a polite smile but overall a terrible mood. 

You sit at the meeting area first, mood sporadically increasing and decreasing in positivity all throughout, waiting for him to come meet you with a straight face, peering at the pencils indifferently. 

Indifferently. 

Easier said, harder to do when the guy you’re mad at with no right to, confidently strolls to meet you with a smile that lights up the world. So bright and kind and everything, you forget the reason you’re mad at him. He holds up the bag with a grin, and you hold back your bag. 

Surprisingly, when he sees you he can’t control his excitement, cupping your face in an attempt to withhold it, “Now…” 

You raise an eyebrow, “Now?” 

He furrows his eyebrows but his grin is too wide to hold any guilt, “I didn’t just buy it, okay. I thought about it. Carefully.” 

“What?” 

He pulls his bag around his frame, pulling the contents out in front of you, your eyes widening at the fucking camera he holds in front of you, “Woah, Hyunjin, huh? huh?” 

He smiles even wider than you thought was possible, his first impression completely dissipating the brighter it gets. 

“Hyunjin, I can’t- I can’t accept this,” You shake your head, making no attempts to grab it. 

“I told you, I picked it out carefully. You’ve got an eye for it but if you don’t want it you can give it to someone el-” 

“No but,” You dig your hands in your own bag to pull out the tin, “I brought you pencils… I even thought they were too expensive.” 

“And I love them,” Hyunjin fondly smiles at you, “Thank you.” 

So fucking sweet about it. 

“Here, you keep them both,” You decide, placing them back into your bag and holding them out to him. He reaches forward, picking at the present you got him, speeding into a fast walk and abandoning the expensive ass camera and its bag on the ground. 

“Hyunjin!” You exclaim, voice reaching a new octave you’ve never reached ever in your life. 

“Sorry, can’t hear you, if you don’t want it, just leave it there, I guess someone will accept my gift!”

“Hyunjin!”

Jeongin looks nothing like them, and you’re glad that the only thing you have left from that time of your life, the only thing you ever wanted from them is not tainted. He's lost a bit of weight in his face, and his features are a lot sharper than a couple of months ago. But he’s healthy. So incredibly healthy.

He’s smiling. 

Like he’s your baby again. 

“Noona,” His tone has a curl in it now, throaty in a way that puberty is caring for it by playing with it, nothing like the high tone he carried before, “I can’t accept this.” 

You smile, the similarities between you are bittersweet, “You can.” 

“I can’t. This looks expensive,” He observes, holding up the camera box to his eye level. 

“Don’t worry about that,” You huff, “It was a present.” 

“From Minho?” He asks, head tilting and you’re a little sad by it. 

“No.” 

He frowns, concern flashing in his eyes in a way it shouldn’t at seventeen, but one you’ve seen too many times from him to count, “You’re not doing anything stupid, are you noona?” 

“No,” You laugh, a cry caught in your cheeks, “No, I’m okay.” 

“Are you?” 

“Yes, Jeongin,” You laugh, “Ahh, look at you being all responsible for your older sister.” 

“You can’t stop me. You’re my sister, Y/N. Mine.” 

With tears in his eyes, you can’t help but join in, dragging him into your embrace, letting your whole body soak up the shit the two of you have gone through together. 

“Absolutely. Think about it as additions, Innie. Your parents. My parents. Felix…..Minho.” 

“But Minho-” 

“But nothing, they were the best fit for you, and I rather you be with people I know that are better than anywhere else.” 

“Well what about you?” He splutters, “How do you think I feel knowing you’re somewhere else? Why can’t we be together and you and Minho hyung can be-” 

Your face crumbles, your hands falling into his hair affectionately, “Because I know how much you love them and how much it would’ve hurt to leave them.” 

“But you were hurt as well-” 

“I know,” You nod, “But this is just the way it is now and my parents? They’re good people. Felix as well. You would like him.” 

“Felix.” 

“Felix.” 

“....Is he better than me?” 

“No. And you aren’t better than him either, Mister. But he’s my brother and yours too, if you like.” 

The sentence hangs between you like a bad smell. 

“No,” He shakes his head, “He’s just your brother and Minho is just mine.” 

“Jeongin…” 

“You love Minho,” His eyes implore into yours, holding your hands with a tight but not hurtful grip. There’s love in his hands and it’s a love you can trust. 

“I do….don’t I?” 

And the confusion on his face, breaks you all the same.

Hyunjin plated the pasta plentifully, generous with the serving. The mouth watering scent of garlic and oil with a hint of chilli and a bit of cheese for the cheese pull you'll be competing with him over later wafting throughout the room.

"I'll go put on a movie," You had said, leaving to choose a good movie from his collection of DVDs, humming thoughtfully and pleasantly.

Hyunjin seasons the pasta with a bit of salt and pepper, t after you with the pasta and smiling at the proud display in front of him.

While he had cooked, you were in charge of the table. You had put a spoon to twirl the pasta in and good fork and knives. You even found candles and an uneven number of red napkins.

The two of you sit across from each other, distracted by the conversation.

It's hard to say what you were talking about.

Neither of you can really remember. But you enjoyed it. You both did. You even talk a lot when you finish the meal, waiting for him to finish.

"There's a lot of chick flicks on the top of your DVD collection?" You trail off purposely.

"Ah, Felix's girlfriend. A couple of other girls. They like them and I enjoy them," He shrugs, "No big deal.'

"Oh," You nod, slightly quiet now before rising from your seat to start the clean up. Hyunjin, belatedly realising why and wanting to punch himself, "The girls or the movies?"

"The movies," Hyunjin pouts.

"Not both?" You sound jealous and petty and definitely not the girl you're supposed to be around him.

Hyunjin watches you with an open mouth, eyebrows furrowing when you wordlessly start to fill the wash basin with soapy detergent water. He stalks towards you with his mouth in a thin line, turning off the tap with a decisive motion.

You turn to him with your mouth all flat and your face all wrong.

"Hey," He says seriously, his hands cupping your face and he's so warm and gentle, "I'm really serious about you."

His thumbs circle the roundness of your cheeks, watching to see you realise how serious he is about you. Not just hearing him say it, but also understanding that whatever had happened with any girl before, happened. But that's over.

He's only interested in you now.

You leans forward to kiss you, his lips cushioning yours with a tinge of sweetness. Not being able to resist it, you squeeze at the fabric of his waist, bringing his body to you a little closer.

It's familiar. But it's not.

It could feel a little better than...

He pulls away, the two of you in some sort of daze. He smiles, his nose brushing and rubbing against yours almost playfully, letting himself giggle at how lame he is.

"You're cute jealous"

"I'm cuter when you're not flirting with my brother's girlfriend," You scowl, instantly pissed.

"I'm not," Hyunjin rolled his eyes, the two of you no longer wrapped up in some puppy loved up spell, now replaced with something darker.

"Hyunjin."

Hyunjin smiles, his tongue in the roof of his mouth, mimicking, "Hyunjin."

Your eyes zero in on his lips, swallowing at the way he traps you. His looming presence making your lower body crave him. You close your mouth, worried that anything you say may be paired with an unhealthy amount of drool.

"Jin-"

"You gonna give me a warning?” He raises his eyebrows, "Give me a warning. I obviously need it."

"Hyunjin," You growl.

He growls back with his gut, sounding a little too close to a moan. But he doesn't feel embarrassed, no. Something in him wants you to act on your jealousy and act in a way that'll have him buckle at the knee.

"Give it to me, baby," He croons.

You scowl, your hand wrapping around his neck. At his wince, you pull back, the cloud between you both dissolving.

He tsks disappointedly, a hand slipping to the nape of your neck and bringing you forward so you're right against his frame, "Maybe you just feel guilty."

"What would I feel guilty about?" You challenge, snorting. Head angled upwards to meet his eye.

"Because you know you have no room to stand on being jealous," Hyunjin tilts his head, "Yeah, I had girls before. But they're not here now, are they?"

"No?"

"No," He enunciates into your ear, just so you can hear him. Hear there's no hesitation. Hear there's no ounce of lie in what he's saying. Feel that he wants you, "No girls here. Ever. Felix's girlfriend included. That's your brother's girl. Not mine. Not now, not then, not ever.”

You don't say anything, hearing him hiss into your ear, his words and his voice heading straight to your core. The smell of his perfume spicy and so red. You can feel his heartbeat on your back, along your shoulders and wrapped in his arms, a heat.

A kind of heat that makes you uncontrollably charged, waiting for the perfect timing to attack.

"Understand?" He meets your eyes, blown the fuck out and he charges forward claiming your lips.

The scent he's wearing isn't just spice but the kind of musk that sets forth every kind of movement you're taking.

You feel at the way he traps your wrists with his tight grip against the bench, a slight hiss of pain against the waist of your back, soothed by the way his lips fall to your neck and fall down to your shoulders.

You push back, unable to withhold the need to lead him into the living room, the sexy sleek couch from your memory impossible to ignore.

He doesn't care.

Too enthralled by the way you taste under his tongue, the way your body moulds underneath his large hands like putty. The way control feels when you have it.

You kiss, a flurry of sounds that sound delicious and dirty and full of flesh.

He falls backwards, righting himself slightly as you slide over him, kissing him all over again. He uses his hands to pull your face closer to his, your tongues moving languidly before his hands fall to your waist, grinding your body against his.

You whine into the kiss, and he does it again, feeling your resolve crumble at the feeling of his hardening clothed cock against your pussy. The friction just right.

He lifts his pelvis upwards into your core, feeling the way you melt onto his body, letting yourself feel good. He's hard against your soft, and you wonder whether he can feel just how wet you are.

You plant your knees into the couch, rubbing yourself on him, feeling twitchy at the pleasure.

You mewl, listening to the way he grunts, holding your ass into him tightly, helping you slide against him.

Even through the layers of clothes the two of you are wearing, he makes you feel so good.

You make him feel so good.

The thought makes you scream, and whine and a rush of sounds that Hyunjin will commit to memory for the rest of his life.

He comes first, a slight grunt and groan escaping his mouth and his nails digging into the fabric of pants desperately, wanting to tear into it further with his teeth.

You follow after him, grinding desperately until you tighten your thighs around his frame.

"You're so cute coming like this," He comments with a tired smile, watching as you desperately chase after your orgasm as if it will run away from you.

Your core meets his pelvis harder and harder. Tightening and thrusting against him. He winces, overstimulated and throws his head back before his hands grip at your ass, helping you see the finale. Colours spill out of the two of you, rendering you blind and you have to rely on your muscle memory to find his mouth again.

You're kissing him the best you can, messily moving your lips against each other until the cloud that left you all hazy falls away completely.

He's beautiful, beads of sweat decorating his forehead and slicked in his hair. Eyes half lidded and ridden with the promise of sex and lust. Mouth swollen, pink and stamped with claim. Face pretty with your finger prints.

Skin deliciously begging to be decorated with your marks.

Kisses. Bites. Sucks.

The possibilities are endless.

Another cloud looms over you, darkly watching him like he's your prey. Dangerously waiting for the moment to pounce.

And he's nothing but a willing participant, teasing you with that sexy smirk of his.

You slide off him, lowering yourself off the couch and leaving a wet patch on his pants that has him momentarily captured, his hand falls into it to inspect it, circling his finger into the mess he made of you before tasting it.

It's when he feels you squeeze around the fabric of his pants by his waist, belt buckle clinking with the movement. You pause, staring at him, holding his attention and keeping it there just for a moment.

He exhales through his nose, feeling himself harden all over again. You're relentless, eyes swimming with lust, cloth bunched underneath your palm, ignoring his growing cock and taking his eyes as your own. He bites down of his lip restlessly.

You take pity on him, brazenly removing his pants and underwear from his waist all the way down to his calf at once. Instantly wrapping your hand around his shaft experimentally. You open your mouth to speak.

He swallows, waiting for you to speak the words you test within your mouth before you say them.

It's a game that he struggles in.

Every time you open your mouth, his focus has to be called upon. Analytically focused. Because as soon as he gets distracted, he's taken. Like a siren. Watching the way your lips form letters, and he's particularly drawn to the way you form the letters 'L', 'O' and 'U' specifically. How they would feel in the back of your throat with his cock in your mouth.

"You're mine now," You whisper, "Right?"

He inhales sharply, letting out a crass laugh, "Have been since you first kissed me-"

His smile is pretty, but the way it crumples is prettier. His eyes roll back at the feeling of your warm wet mouth around the tip of his cock, and the drag of your lips down his shaft all the way until he can feel those letters in the back of your throat.

He groans, loud and uncontrolled. Unable to help himself, his hands wrap around your head pushing you deeper. Feeling your breathing constrict slightly before he loosens his hold, letting oxygen rush back into your lungs as you lean back, cock removed with a pop.

"Naughty," You comment, hand wrapping tightly around him as punishment.

“Not gentle,” He corrects you, wincing at the stimulation shortly after, “Tried to warn yo- fuck."

If your kisses were dirty before, they're absolutely hellish now. The way your mouth fits on him, sucks at him. Feeling your cheeks hollow and his body twitch. Your tongue running across the nerves like some track athlete and feeling all control slip out of him.

He's a frantic mess trapped inside a frozen body that tenses, and exhales pleasure through tightly closed lips wanting to hear the way you gag around him.

He moans again, hands pulling at your hair to make a makeshift ponytail, watching the saliva dribble down your chin and then the way your eyes are cross faded.

Gorgeous.

"I'm going to come," He warns, pulling at the hold he has of you attempting to pull you off his cock to no success. You stay firmly where you are, breathing through your nose with a strong inhale and slow exhale.

He tenses and then you feel it, the thick spurts of cum that no doubt decorate that entirety of your insides by the end of the night will play in his head like no other. His mental wellbeing at risk.

You pull away with a massive grin on your face, wiping at your mouth like you've won the lottery and straddling his lap again, returning to your perch on top of him.

"You're crazy," Hyunjin chortles, thumb rubbing against your cheek fondly, and your lungs fill with pride.

His tongue dances around his cheek in thought, tapping at your skin and rubbing at your thigh, moving only if you give him a look. Voice out your wants and your needs to him like he needs you to.

He'll return the favour.

"If you want something, ask," You whisper, your tone innocent but the way you look at him at war with that image. The implication underneath the surface, preying on him, "Hmm?"

He likes to follow your words and he follows them unconsciously abiding.

"I want to lick the shit out of your pussy," He murmurs, in a trance. Mouth watering at the invitation that is sealed within your lips and hidden underneath cloth.

"Lick the shit out of my pussy?" You giggle.

"Yeah."

"How?" You muse, tilting your head, "Do you know where the clit is, baby?"

"You know I do," He growls back in challenge, teeth gritted at the idea. He knows you're winding him up but he plays into it.

"You want to prove it to me?" You smile, eyes lingering on his mouth.

"Absolutely."

No hesitation.

"You didn't answer my question before," You comment instead, purposely keeping your eyes trained on the wall behind him, "How will you lick the shit out of my pussy?"

"It's an answer that doesn't involve as many words as you're thinking..." Hyunjin smiles, "Just actions."

You like that answer.

You like it a lot.

Your pussy craves it, in fact.

"Let me show how I'll ruin other men for you," Hyunjin provokes in a daring manner and your mind briefly flashes before it returns to the moment.

"I hope not," You mutter under your breath, pausing to wait for any inclination that Hyunjin heard it. But all there is him correcting himself.

He looks at you then. With his eyes glittering like they're yours and mouth all claimed with bites and kisses. Possessiveness like a trap that hooks you in like a fatal flaw.

"Okay."

He doesn't smile, sliding himself out from underneath you, and your legs spread naturally open to accomodate him. Your eyes flutter shut briefly at the feeling of his soft hair tickling the skin of your inner thigh.

He kisses there.

Everywhere.

Below your navel, the ends of his hair reaching underneath your tits. The feeling filling you with sky blue air and mountain clouds, only to be grounded with the assertive kiss on your mound.

The force of pleasure from your core reaching out to him like old lovers.

His head is in between your thighs and he doesn't hold back. He's kissing you, moaning into you. Whining and the sounds he makes covers the sound of your squirming.

He clasps down on your thighs so hard they'll bruise the next morning, but for now all you can focus on is how easy he's making you come purely with his mouth.

He alternates between licking and sucking at your clit, the nerves surely spent but hungry in their need to be stimulated by him. You bunch his hair underneath your fist, feeling the power that people boast about online.

And then his tongue is in you. Thrusting in and out of you and you can see his whole body is involved in your pleasure.

It's the first time you've ever experienced it.

Tongue buried in your core like this. Wriggling around in there. It's not like cock, pleasurable but predictable. You know what that feels like.

You thought you knew what a tongue could do.

How a tongue could do.

But you realise quickly you don't, because Hyunjin's tongue makes you come in a minute and Hyunjin's tongue doesn't waste a single fucking moment to not only taste you, but to swallow you like you did him.

He pulls away, face covered in you and he's an absolute mess, you want to do things to him.

"Fuck you," You snarl, kissing him immediately. He tastes like you and you taste like him, the both of you mix together with your tongues and you can't find anything in you to dislike it.

Or pretend.

He kisses you harshly back, pulling at his pants hurriedly and you rush to remove your top and your bra from your body, his hand quickly replacing it.

You moan, loving the feeling of his hand. Sometimes his grip is soft and other times it's a bit harder, especially when he grounds against you, no longer restricted by clothing.

You lift your leg, as he lines himself up at your entrance, all to then watch as he sinks himself into you.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

Holy fuck.

Oh.

"Oh fuck," You breathe, feeling the delicious burn as his cock slowly drags along your walls. He feels so fucking good inside of you. More so than last time.

You don't know what changed.

Where you make all these curses of pleasure, Hyunjin is trying not to come on the spot. Your walls are warm and wet, swallowing him like your mouth but even better. Your words are in his ear and he thinks that maybe if he got you pregnant-

"You're so fucking good," Hyunjin hisses, hand grabbing desperately at your face now, clumsily grappling for a grip that won't hurt you but add to the pleasure the two of you are experiencing at this moment.

"Move, Hyunjin," You command and he's so good at following orders...

He thrusts into you, letting your moans fuel his fire. Letting the rivers of his heart fill with you, his brain changing its way for you with every single drive of his hips. Every time his skin slaps against yours, your hands in a stupor tensing and morphing in what he believes is art.

You're art.

His tongue prods at his cheek, art is something he hasn't thought about in a long time.

But you-

You.

He can't help but stare at you, the tears welling in your eyes and he focuses on that one angle. The one where your mouth drops, your throat exposed to him and a scream choked.

He snaps his hips, over and over again.

Feeling himself get to that moment too.

He really thinks this is love. And it should scare him, but it doesn't because he's never been more sure.

Art. You. The two aren't very separate, art is you. You are art. Hyunjin comes with you and when you look at him with eyes like you do, a softness. A reflection. Soul.

Poetry in a glance.

And yet when you speak, it's not so poetic, "I actually did want to watch the movie."

You cuddle into him, hair all static and messy. Threaded and dented with his fingers. Restarting the movie at once.

But he can't stop thinking about the poetry.

About the love.

His love.

It's you.

author's note : my my i have finally updated this bad boy and sorry it still took awhile. it's so long and editing was difficult so i apologise if there's mistakes, i'm just happy to finish. i hope you enjoyed it and it doesn't suck, i also hope it answered a few questions you might've had. this chapter was also supposed to be a lot longer but i decided that i wanted to upload a lot sooner and quite frankly the word count would've crashed my computer. so this insight chapter will get a part two <3 so hope you stick around for that.

[puck-luck]

new beginnings | june 17 - june 23

note: this chapter contains NSFW content. it also contains references to (tw) nudes being leaked (spoiler alert), so if that bothers you or triggers you in any way, you may want to skip over that part. unfortunately, it is pivotal to the story. this chapter is 24.2k, so strap in. it will also be the last chapter for a little while (maybe two-three weeks) because i want to work on some requests and churn those out for my followers who aren't as passionate about this project as i am and some of you are. i need to feed everyone in our community, not just the STG Truthers!!

22:90 – HONEY

“So what happened while you were in the closet with Cole?” Honey asks, biting into a peach slice and gesturing with the remaining food. “We never had the time to discuss it.”

Bea blushes, the apples of her cheeks dusted in a sweet pink. She starts to giggle– the same reaction she has every time that Honey brings Cole up since the events of Seven Minutes in Heaven the day before. 

“Okay, it can’t have been that good,” Honey scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Quit your giggling and tell me what happened.”

“Okay, okay,” Bea says, taking a few deep breaths and calming down. She wipes under her eyes like she’s wiping away tears, but it’s an over exaggeration. Honey is unimpressed by the dramatics from her friend. “I’m only laughing because I severely underestimated him.”

“Severely,” Honey repeats, mouth wide open in surprise. “What happened?”

“So we go in the closet and I’m expecting to talk about Jack and his dick, like I told Cole I would if he spun and landed on me,” Bea says. She’s talking with her hands, waving her own peach slice at Honey. “But I get, like, two words out before Cole interrupts me and asks if I’m actually trying to sleep with everyone this summer.”

“Which you are,” Honey confirms. “So Jack told him?”

“I’m sure he did. I told Cole I was, and then he asked if I wanted him to make things easier for me.”

“What?”

“Then he kissed me and fingered me against the closet door and he made me come before our time was even up,” Bea reveals, counting off on her first three fingers and waving them in Honey’s face.

Honey gasps. “You’re kidding.”

“I am not. He just moved my panties to the side and fucked me with two fingers until I came. All the while, he was telling me about how badly he wanted to get his mouth on me,” Bea sighs, a faraway look in her eyes. “Then we went upstairs and he ate me out until I came three more times. Like, what the fuck?”

“Cole did all this?” Honey asks, barely able to believe it. 

“Dude, Cole,” Bea confirms, nodding vehemently. “I told you. I underestimated him.”

“Has Quinn even made you–”

“No.” Bea shakes her head, cutting Honey off. “Quinn has only made me come twice in a night. Cole made me come four times and we didn’t even fuck.”

Honey’s mouth forms an ‘o,’ but she doesn’t say anything.

Bea nods, holding eye contact with Honey.

“That’s wild,” Honey says.

“Dude, I know,” Bea replies. “I adore Quinn and he’s still my favorite of the guys, but, like… holy shit.”

“Well, you didn’t even fuck,” Honey points out. “Maybe he’s bad in bed and he gives head to make up for it.”

“I don’t give a fuck. If I want head, I’m going to Cole,” Bea states.

“That’s lofty,” Honey says. 

“I’m serious.” 

Honey feels a little stunned, blinking to clear her head. She can’t believe that Cole– Cole Caufield, the giddiest and goofiest man that Honey has met in years– is secretly a master munch.

“Rank them,” Honey suggests. “Of the three that you’ve hooked up with, who’s the best? What are their scores?”

Bea pops the rest of her piece of fruit into her mouth, chewing emphatically. “Great question,” she says. “But also, why do you want to know? Are you interested in joining me this summer? You can’t have Quinn, but I’ll share the other ones.”

“Well, I don’t really want to mess around with any of them, but especially not Jack,” Honey replies.

Bea hums, frowning. “You’re right. I think I’ve committed to the timer idea we had, but it might be too mean as is. I might have to sweeten the deal so I don't feel like a bitch. I have an idea about how, but I’m not sure about it yet.”

“What is it?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute. Let me think about this ranking thing.” 

The girls fall into silence. Honey snacks on the rest of her peach slices, sucking the juice off of her fingertips. She cleans up her plate, walking into her kitchen and loading up the dishwasher. 

“Can you get me a pencil and paper?” Bea calls. “I’ll love you forever.”

“You already do,” Honey responds with a roll of her eyes. “Are you actually giving it this much thought?”

“There are a lot of factors!” Bea defends herself, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. She cocoons herself in the blanket and seems to enter a conversation with herself in her mind.

Honey would laugh if she didn’t do the exact same thing in the car after her kiss with Jamie on the hike. She had actually spoken out loud to herself, weighing her options before eventually deciding that she needed to indulge Trevor at least once, just to see how she felt after.

The thing is, Honey was attracted to Jamie. She thought he was cute, she wanted to kiss him, and she enjoyed hanging out with him.

On the other hand: he wasn’t Trevor. Honey was drawn to Trevor inherently. That fact is still true after their rushed blowjob in the closet. It’s still true after Trevor’s desperate kiss. Honey hasn’t been able to shake the image of Trevor sinking to his knees and reaching for her. Honey knows she, like Cole, is good at giving head, but she hadn’t expected a reaction like that. 

Trevor was boneless and easy, agreeing not to tell the boys. He was eying her mouth almost constantly after she made him come, leaning into her space and putting his hands all over her. He whined when she stepped away, a sound that Honey can pull from her memory and replay over and over. It was a carnal sound, drawn from the depths of Trevor’s chest, and she swears he hadn’t even made the sound on purpose.

Truthfully, Honey wants to see how far she can go with this. Trevor is frustratingly annoying, filled with jealousy that’s boiling over each time Honey starts to bond with the other guys, and he’s hard to get through to. He’s a challenge.

Honey wanted something easy, she really did, but Trevor bore his soul to her in the closet and it won her over. She couldn’t deny that she wanted him any longer and what happened, happened.

She hasn’t told Bea. 

She really needs to tell Bea.

Honey’s just not sure how to broach the subject. 

As she opens her mouth to blurt out a quick “I sucked Trevor off in the closet while you were upstairs and no one knows but me and him and I don’t know what came over me!,” Bea claps her hands and announces that she’s ready to reveal her ranking.

Honey snaps her mouth shut and gives Bea her full attention.

“I need to seduce Luke if I want to make this a comprehensive list,” Bea clarifies. “So it’s incomplete until I get with him.”

“Okay,” Honey acknowledges, gesturing for Bea to get on with it.

“Jack is on the bottom, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Honey agrees. She and Bea had had an intense discussion the previous day before going to the boys’ house about Bea’s experience with Jack. They had meant to talk about the encounter briefly, but Bea and Honey had started laughing and making jokes about how quickly it was over, and they accidentally lost track of time. They were almost two hours late to the boys’ house last night, but at least Quinn cooked dinner for the girls.

“I’m giving him a five and a half because I feel bad going lower,” Bea decides. “He’s got room for improvement and it was fine. I didn’t come, but he was good at kissing and he made the prettiest little noises.”

“Hmm.” Honey nods her head, keeping silent about her own opinions about a boy making ‘the prettiest little noises.’ She hasn’t heard Jack’s moans, nor does she want to, but there’s no way that Jack sounded prettier than Trevor did while Honey blew him last night.

“Next is Cole,” Bea says. “I’m giving him an eight-point-eight.” 

Honey blinks in surprise. “Shit,” she says, impressed. “Without even fucking you, he’s almost at a nine?”

Bea reminds Honey that Cole made her come four times the previous night, dropping the detail that he never even took her dress off once they were upstairs. All he did was slide her panties down her legs and flip up the hem of her skirt, going down on her like it was the last night on Earth and he couldn’t be bothered to remove her clothes.

It’s appealing, to be honest. Honey might have to dig out one of her own sundresses and see if Trevor has a similar response.

Hmm. She hadn’t planned to hook up with Trevor again after that first time, but he was like a drug. Honey wants to see him be that soft and desperate for affection again. He’s sweet, so sweet, and Honey fears that she might like him a lot more than she wants to. She might even dare to hook up with him again.

She resents that fact. She can barely admit it to herself– nor will she admit it to Bea when she eventually tells her about Trevor. She sure as hell will not admit it to Trevor. He doesn’t need a bigger head.

“Quinn is number one, always,” Bea finishes. 

Honey nods. There was no question about it.

“I give him a nine point seven. He loses part of a point because Cole made me come more times in one night than Quinn has.”

“Are you going to tell him that’s why he’s not a perfect ten?” Honey asks.

Bea thinks about it, tapping her chin. “I’d say no, but he’s so competitive that I think he’d really try to beat Cole’s record. I know that would be such a good night for me, so… honestly? I might tell him.” Bea pauses, then she barks out a laugh. “Should I reveal the scores to them? We could do, like, a PowerPoint night.”

“That could be funny.” Honey drinks from her water bottle, then swallows quickly when an idea pops into her head. She snorts. “What about the chalkboard that they use for pool scores?”

“What, you want me to erase it? I think Luke’ll get mad at me,” Bea laughs.

“No, I want you to recreate it,” Honey replies. “Dude, you don’t even have to tell them what it means. We could see how long it takes for them to notice that you’re rating them based on sex.”

“That’s so funny,” Bea agrees. She raises a finger, tilting her head. “But do you think they’ll feel objectified?”

“Great question,” Honey replies in the same tone. “What if you give them a reward at the end? The winner gets… something. Sex tape for when they go home?”

Bea hums, intrigued by the idea. “We’ll workshop that. I could be down, but what if the boys aren’t?”

Honey shrugs. “We’ll think of something. Wanna go to the fruit stand and the grocery store and buy a board?”

“Yeah, sure,” Bea says. “Let me just text Quinn and tell him that I can meet up with him when we’re done. Do you want to drop me off after?” She’s already pulling her phone out and tapping out a message, a text that seems way longer than just an ‘I’ll see you when we’re done.’

She’s been texting a lot lately. Honey cannot believe that Quinn enjoys receiving all these messages.

“What do you guys even talk about?” Honey asks, grabbing a threadbare cardigan that Sacha knitted for her a few years back. 

“What do you mean?”

“You and Quinn,” Honey clarifies. “What do you guys talk about?”

They walk out of Honey’s house and to her car. Bea turns on the stereo, turning on her favorite music like she always does.

“We talk about a lot of things,” Bea says. “We talk a lot about hockey and his family. He told me about his ex-girlfriend the other day. It’s over between them, for good, but he misses her.”

Bea pauses, looking down at her lap. 

“He misses her?” Honey repeats, incredulous. “And he told you that?”

Bea sighs, rolling her neck back to stretch her muscles. She’s stalling. 

“Bea,” Honey insists.

“It’s not a big deal,” Bea says quietly, shaking her head. “We’re not exclusive, I’m not dating him.” She scoffs out a laugh. “I’m fucking his brothers and his friends. I think he’s allowed to miss his girlfriend.”

“Ex-girlfriend,” Honey corrects. 

“Ex-girlfriend,” Bea amends. She sighs again. “It’s fine, really. I want him to be open with me. I want to talk to him about everything. Unfortunately, that includes his exes.”

“You want to talk to him about everything?” Honey teases.

“He’s a great guy,” Bea says simply. She purses her lips and sucks her teeth before adding, “I think if I wasn’t having a Slut Summer, and I didn’t live in Litchton, I would want something more. But we’re having fun, and he’s leaving at the end of the summer, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Baby-Bea, you don’t actually believe that,” Honey says.

“I do. It’s just a summer.” Bea holds her hands up in surrender. “And he’s just a guy.”

Honey doesn’t reply. She just hums out a little tune along with Bea’s music, patting the steering wheel. They pull into the grocery parking lot and make their way across the parking lot. Bea is still singing the last song that played on their drive, and she and Honey are holding hands, swinging their interlocked fingers back and forth in big waves. Bea is skipping.

He’s there.

Honey stops dead in her tracks, right in front of powdery blue minivan. Her sudden stop yanks Bea’s arm back and she whirls to face Honey. 

“What?” She asks, her song dying out with a giggle that fades into a concerned frown.

“I blew Trevor in the closet last night,” Honey rushes out, entirely at a normal volume. 

A mother and her teenage daughter make a face when they pass Honey and Bea, certainly overhearing the sentence.

“What?” Bea repeats.

Honey clears her throat, borderline gagging on her breath. “He’s sitting at the fruit stand with a bouquet of flowers.”

“What?” Bea raises her voice, eyes widening as she twists. She squeezes Honey’s hand, clutching it tightly. When she spots the boy, she claps a hand over her mouth. 

“Oh my God,” Honey breathes out, feeling sick. She covers her own mouth. “I’m going to throw up.”

“Oh my God,” Bea repeats, a smile splitting her face. 

“You cannot talk to him,” Honey hisses. She holds Bea’s hand with a vice grip, keeping her from running towards him. “Bea, you can’t.”

“I have to,” Bea says, pulling Honey along. They struggle forward bit by bit until Trevor notices them and stands, smiling like a dope.

His eyes are on Honey’s. He doesn’t even look at Bea until she speaks.

“Trevor, those flowers are gorgeous!” Bea chirps, sounding extra bubbly. “What are they for?”

Trevor’s smile turns to a sharp glare when Bea snatches at them. He pulls them out of her reach and scowls. He keeps his mouth shut, but Honey knows there’s something crossing his mind.

“Go inside,” Honey growls, pushing Bea away. 

Bea practically goes limp, smug and gigging about having caused Honey’s struggle. Eventually, Honey tips her weight and she goes, stumbling into the store with a cackle. 

Then, Honey turns back to Trevor.

He thrusts the bouquet at her and bites his lip in a tiny smile. 

Honey brushes them away with the back of her hand. “What are you doing?”

“I didn’t know what time you were coming to the stand today, and I didn’t want to miss it like last week, so I showed up when they opened, and bought these flowers around lunchtime because I needed to do something… or else I’d go crazy…” He speeds through the lengthy sentence, trailing off at the end. “I already sound crazy.” He looks down, bouquet drooping.

Honey feels lightheaded. She’s burning up. She presses the back of her hand against her forehead, staring at the boy. “Yeah,” she agrees. She nods. “You sound fucking crazy.”

Joan clicks her tongue at Honey, but returns to her magazine when Honey’s eyes flicker over to her. 

“We are in public,” Honey says to Trevor, speaking through her teeth. “I told you that you couldn’t tell anyone.”

“I didn’t,” Trevor denies, tone combative. 

Honey almost bursts out in laughter. “What part of showing up in public with flowers for me is not telling anyone?”

“Well I didn’t– I didn’t say it,” Trevor stammers out, defending himself desperately. He shuffles back, waving the flowers between them.

Honey stomps over a few petals that fell from the bouquet when Trevor used it like a sword to keep her back. “I could strangle you.”

“Please don’t,” Trevor pleads. 

Honey takes a deep breath. She clenches and unclenches her fists at her sides. “What were you thinking?”

“I didn’t want to make you mad by not showing up,” Trevor explains. He nods, drops his gaze to the flowers in his hand and offers them again to Honey. “And the flowers are ‘cause I like you.”

Honey gasps, covering her face with her hands. “Trevor, we hooked up once,” Honey whimpers out, unable to believe it. “I don’t like you!” She chokes a little from the panic. 

Oh, my God, he assumed that Honey wanted more. 

“Trevor, I’m not looking for a relationship,” she whisper-shouts.

She sneaks a peek at him, and he’s blinking stupidly, back pressed against the wall of the building behind the stand. The flowers are pulled up against his chest, crushed beneath her own. She hadn’t realized they were so close. She steps away.

“You– you’re not?” Trevor asks, staying still. “But you said you were thinking about me–”

“Yes, I was thinking about you. I’m ovulating, Trevor!” Honey feels faint again and turns away from him, back to the edge of the road.

Trevor follows after her, reaching for her hand. “That’s fine,” he says. He catches her fingers and slides the bouquet into her hand, closing Honey’s fingers around the stems. “Honey, we can do whatever you want. I will take anything you give me.”

Honey lurches forward like he just slapped her on the back. She presses a hand to her chest. “Trevor, it was one blowjob. You know that, right?”

He pales a little, letting his fingers fall from her hand. Her fingers are slack around the stems. It’s a grouping of pink azaleas. The stems are a little stick-like against her skin. “You don’t want to go again?” Trevor asks. 

“I don’t know,” Honey drawls. She brings the bouquet to her other hand, holding her hands together like a prayer. “...maybe?”

“Scruffy’s has live music on Wednesdays, I looked it up,” Trevor says. 

The abrupt change of subject makes Honey blink in surprise. “I know,” she says. She loves Scruffy’s, but she usually only goes in the winter, when it gets dark early in the night. 

“I thought you would like it. Go with me.” Trevor ducks his head to capture Honey’s gaze. “All the boys can come, and Bea too.”

“Bea can do what?” The girl asks, returning with a large whiteboard in her hands. A bag with a pack of dry erase markers dangles from her wrist. 

“Come dancing with us at Scruffy’s,” Trevor explains in a rush to the deviant girl, just as Honey says, “Nothing, Bea, this doesn’t involve you.”

Bea’s eyes slide from Trevor to Honey. “I love Scruffy’s,” she says, nodding with a smug smile. “We’ll absolutely be there on Wednesday, Trevor. I will make sure of it.”

“Bea, I’m going to fucking kill you,” Honey hisses, her eyes narrow and full of fire. “I will not be driving you to see Quinn anymore.”

Bea snorts out a laugh, a look of delight on her face. “Trevor,” Bea calls, her eyes still glinting at Honey. “Will you drive me to your place right now so I can fuck Quinn in exchange for bringing Honey to Scruffy’s on Wednesday?”

“Absolutely I will,” Trevor agrees with a beam. 

“This is kidnapping,” Honey hisses at Bea. “I’ll have you arrested.”

Bea giggles, then leans into Honey’s face. Her nose nearly touches Honey’s, scrunching with pride. “Quinn will bail me out,” she brags, teasing Honey. 

She reaches up, taps Honey on the nose, then steps away. She loops her arm with Trevor’s and begins to walk off, taking the boy with her. 

Trevor waves a goodbye at Honey, grinning like a fool. “See you Wednesday, Honey,” he bids, his mouth wide in a laugh and eyes squinted shut.

She’s left standing there, bouquet in hand. She watches them retreat, blinking and unable to identify how she feels. 

There’s a tap on her shoulder. 

When Honey turns, Joan hands her a bag of peaches, filled to the brim. “Your friend bought you some peaches, too. He said you’d like them more than his silly flowers.”

23:90 – TREVOR

Trevor is taking a break. 

He just finished showering after a long training session outside with the boys. Before that, he and the guys had gone to Winston to find a tailor that could fit the Hughes boys for their NHL Awards suits. Ellen had been pestering the boys for a few days about the suits, wanting her sons to look sharp and handsome for the event. The excuse that the event was over a week away meant nothing to the boys’ mother, and Trevor decided a long time ago that he wasn’t going to disagree with Ellen. 

He deserves a break, and today, he wants to sit on his balcony and watch the sunset.

The sun has just sunk below the mountains, leaving the sky a dark orange. The clouds reflect the color, painted across the horizon in swirling strokes. The air is thick with the smell of impending rain and the sounds of cicadas in the trees. There’s a bullfrog in the distance, always croaking when Trevor least expects it, and it sounds a lot like Trevor’s father’s snores.

They’ve been in Litchton for almost a month. Bedford has always been Trevor’s home, and Anaheim is the place where Trevor really learned how to be on his own, but Litchton is special. It’s a fixed place, as silly as that sounds– Trevor feels like nothing from the outside world can affect him here. He feels free.

“Can I join you?” 

Jamie’s voice sounds from the balcony door behind Trevor. He’s soft-spoken, still treading lightly even though Trevor apologized for his behavior and tried to make things go back to normal.

Staying true to his promise, Trevor hasn’t told Jamie about the blowjob in the closet. 

It’s killing him. He needs to talk it out with someone– especially after what happened yesterday. Honey doesn’t want a relationship. Trevor doesn’t know what he wants, just that he wants her. Honey can’t seem to figure out how she really feels about Trevor. Trevor knows exactly what he feels. He doesn’t want to let her go when he leaves at the end of the summer.

“Yeah, come sit,” Trevor agrees. He pulls one of the rocking chairs on the balcony closer to his own.

Jamie takes a seat.

They rock together, staring out at the mountains and woods in front of them. Breaking the silence, Jamie speaks first.

“You know, Honey says if you can count ten rows of mountains back, you’re in Tennessee.”

Trevor finds himself counting the rows in his minds immediately. The clouds are heavy today. The orange is already fading and he can’t see that far. Five rows, maybe the shadow of a sixth if he squints. “That’s cool,” Trevor replies.

Another silence washes over the space between them, but it’s shorter than the previous one. Trevor breaks it this time.

“What happened on the hike?” He asks. Trevor’s been dying to know about the hike since Jamie left with Honey on Saturday, especially considering how close the two seemed after going on the hike together. He knows that something happened, as if driven by his gut, and Trevor knows that he’s not going to be happy about it.

“We hiked, ate lunch. She asked questions about me and I asked questions about her while we walked. She’s a really cool girl, Z.” Jamie stares straight forward, one foot up on the railing in front of them.

“What kind of questions?” Trevor presses.

Jamie snorts and shakes his head, looking down at his lap then up at Trevor. “You wanna know?”

“Obviously, or else I wouldn’t have asked,” Trevor sasses, narrowing his eyes at Jamie.

“I asked her how long you two had been fucking,” Jamie reveals without hesitation. He laughs when Trevor’s jaw drops, then continues. “Then I asked her why she wasn’t fucking you yet.”

“Oh,” Trevor says. It’s all he can think to say. There’s nothing else he could say.

“And then we conspired against you to make you jealous, so that you would make a fucking move. She was going to play Seven Minutes in Heaven until she got to go into that closet with you, even if it took all night.” Jamie nods when Trevor tilts his head at him, flabbergasted. “Z. Honey and I don’t want each other. Sure, we kissed, but she wants you. She wants you.”

“You kissed?” Trevor demands, all of his surprise turning to rage. “You kissed her?”

Jamie rolls his eyes. “Relax.”

“Relax? You kissed my fucking girl, dude,” Trevor snaps, shifting forward in his chair and facing Jamie. 

Jamie takes a deep breath and shakes his head, closing his eyes in annoyance. “Jesus-fuck, Trevor. It is a miracle that the other boys haven’t caught onto this thing that’s happening between you and Honey. You’re even luckier that Quinn’s keeping your secret.”

“Quinn knows?” Trevor asks, taken aback. He knows that he gets on the older boy’s nerves and, usually, Quinn uses any ammunition he has to take Trevor down. 

Jamie stares at Trevor for a minute, amused yet baffled by Trevor’s ignorance. “Bea knows,” Jamie tells Trevor. He runs a hand over the back of his neck, then gestures at Trevor. “And if Bea knows…”

Trevor feels stupid for assuming otherwise. “That makes sense,” he concedes, pressing his lips into a thin line out of frustration for not realizing that on his own sooner. He reverts to anger. “You still kissed my girl.”

“Okay,” Jamie says. “Let me put it like this: I show up here, you guys tell me that there’s a girl hooking up with everyone, then a beautiful girl shows up at our door and drops a book off for you. She checks me out, blushes when I talk, even stutters a little bit, so I assume she’s the one who’s having her Slut Summer. When she comes back the following night, I learn that she’s not the one who’s hooking up with everyone, but she’s still gorgeous and not tied down. You hadn’t told me that you wanted her yet. I take a body shot off of her, and it’s hot, and we hang for the rest of the night. Then, she invites me on a date the following morning. You wouldn’t kiss her?”

Trevor scowls, wanting to grow talons and sink them into Jamie’s neck. Part of it is that he’s still pissed Jamie touched Honey at all, but the other reason is that Jamie is being logical and reasonable. Trevor absolutely would have kissed Honey if he was in Jamie’s position. He resents it.

“No, I wouldn’t,” Trevor lies.

Jamie blinks at him, unimpressed. 

“Okay, yeah, I would’ve kissed her,” Trevor amends. He sighs. “I still hate it.”

“I expected no less,” Jamie says. “You never really learned how to share, did you? Puck hog, girl hog… someone needs to put you back in preschool, buddy.” 

“I’m not going to share her,” Trevor declares. “Honey is mine. I’ve never felt like this before, Jim.”

Jamie hums, acknowledging Trevor’s words. “Are you sick?”

“What? No.”

“This is new for you,” Jamie says. “You’ve never been the most… committed guy.”

“Okay, I’m not a fucking cheater, dude,” Trevor snaps, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, but you’re not exactly someone who wants to be with a girl long-term,” Jamie replies.

Trevor knows he’s right, but he doesn’t like the way Jamie says it. He refuses to respond, falling into silence with the boy next to him. The sky is turning navy and they can hear the boys yelling at the TV in the game room. They’re probably watching game five of the Cup final– Trevor hopes that it’s closer than the last game was. 

“How was the blowjob?” Jamie asks.

Trevor jolts to face him again. “You know about that?”

“She told me that you’ve gone crazy because of it,” Jamie replies, digging his phone out of his pocket and clicking around for a second before handing his phone to Trevor. “She also said you were freaking out and that you bought her flowers. What were you thinking?”

Trevor takes Jamie’s phone and scrolls through the messages. Jamie and Honey have been chatting consistently since Honey dropped the boy off on Saturday. The final message is from about an hour ago and it’s Honey telling Jamie to go talk to Trevor about ‘the blowjob in the closet that made him lose his fucking marbles.’

“So what happened?” Jamie asks, taking his phone back from Trevor.

Trevor thinks about what to say. There are so many explanations that he could give Jamie, but they all boil down to one thing. 

“She’s so beautiful,” Trevor sighs. He shakes his head, unable to believe the words that are about to come out of his mouth. “I need her like I need to breathe.”

Jamie is silent, speechless from the shock of Trevor’s statement. “What the fuck?” He asks, laughing nervously.

Trevor continues, explaining himself. “I know I just met her, J, but she’s so special. I need her in my life and I will take whatever she gives me.”

“What if she only wants to hook up?” 

“Then we’ll hook up.”

“What if she only wanted to do it this one time?”

“Then I’ll keep trying to convince her to give me another chance.”

“What if she refuses you and hooks up with Jack instead?”

“I’ll kill him.”

A smile breaks over Jamie’s face and he nods slowly. “You’ve got this all thought out.” He slaps his hands over his knees, then stands. The chair rocks behind him from the force of his movement. “I’ll report this exchange back to my boss.”

“Tell Honey that I’m excited to see her again tomorrow and that she needs to save me a dance,” Trevor says.

Jamie sucks in a breath between gritted teeth. “Oof,” he breathes out. “She already declared that I was her dance partner for the whole night.”

“Don’t make me pull your shoulder out of its socket,” Trevor threatens with a chilly smile.

Jamie just raises his eyebrows subtly and smirks, walking back inside the house and leaving Trevor alone.

The stars are starting to twinkle above Trevor’s head, and he tilts back in his rocking chair to search the sky. He’s nearing the end of his book and he’s been challenging himself to find the constellations he’s been reading about. 

He wishes Honey was sitting next to him and staring at the same stars. Although imaginary, he can almost feel her fingers intertwined with his.

24:90 – HONEY

Hiding from Bea was never actually an option. Honey knows that in her heart of hearts, but she’d be damned if she didn’t try. Her best bet was somewhere around The Reading Nook, since Scruffy’s is just down the road and they’re leaving directly from work. 

Bea actually brought clothes for Honey to change into when she showed up to work before lunch– a cute denim maxidress that has tiers of different washes on the skirt. It’s exactly something Honey would wear to Scruffy’s in the winter, with a little cardigan to keep her warm enough while dancing. This is the outfit that Honey’s wearing now, having been forced to change during her break by a watchful Bea. 

Honey is tucked between two of the stacks and a beanbag chair, hoping that her corner of refuge will be enough for Bea to leave the store without her. Then, Honey will sneak to her car and drive home, effectively avoiding Trevor for another day. She can’t avoid him forever, but she might be able to make it a little while longer before she’s forced to face him.

She decided that Trevor’s a lunatic who is looking too much into the relationship he and Honey share. She gave him one blowjob and he bought her flowers– a disproportionate response that left Honey reeling on Monday. She might’ve watered the flowers and thrown them in a vase on her bedside table, but that doesn’t mean she wanted to accept the bouquet. Accepting the bouquet is too real– it would give Trevor too much hope.

He forced it into her hand and offered her anything she wanted, so Honey thought about it. She wants him to not be so fucking obvious. 

Honey has lived in Litchton for a long time. In that time, she’s gone on two dates: one, with Gillian’s grandson while he was visiting for Christmas that went okay. The second was with some guy from a dating app that Bea made Honey download, and that date ended in tears because Honey was overwhelmed by the boy’s cologne– the same one that she used to know all too well when she and Bea were still living in Charlotte.

The townies know Honey as an independent girl. They know her as a person who won’t stand for nonsense, a person who isn’t interested in frivolous things. She likes what she likes and her routine stays the same. 

Trevor has completely overthrown her routine.

In a normal summer, Honey goes through book after book, reading and writing and having fun. She creates terrible art that never sells in the town-side yard sale in August. Bea drags her to Winston or Boone one or two weekends a month and they talk to guys their age until Bea finds someone to flirt with. Then, Honey heads back to Litchton to her own bed and usually has to wake up early to pick Bea up from her conquest’s house.

Now, they’re spending every weekend with the boys. Bea is even spending non-weekend days with the boys. Honey walked herself into a trap by declaring that the fruit stand was her and Trevor’s “thing,” whereas it’s supposed to just be hers. They’re going to the lake not to tan, but to boat with the guys. Bea is satiated and happy, giggling and glowing the way she does when she’s seeing a guy she really likes. 

This is Bea’s ideal summer and it’s quickly turning into Honey’s hell.

She’s not a relationship girl. She hasn’t been for years, opting to be independent and satisfied with herself, refusing to worry about being alone. That life, that stress, was left in Charlotte when she moved away. She’s determined to keep it that way.

Which means that she cannot, under any circumstances, hook up with Trevor again. She cannot give him a reason to believe that this was more than a one-night thing. It was just a moment of weakness and it can’t happen again.

Honey has taken some necessary precautions. She texted Jamie the previous day and begged him to dance with her all night, get drinks with her at the bar, sit at the table when she’s sitting at the table, and never leave her side. He swore he would, even pinky-promised over the thread of messages. 

It’s that fact that helps Honey remain calm when Bea finds her and rips the beanbag out of her clutches, pulling her up from where she’s curled up on the floor. 

“I can’t believe you tried to hide from me and made me close the entire store alone,” Bea complains, dragging Honey to the back room to grab their purses before heading out. She steals Honey’s keys rather than using her own to lock the bookstore, effectively taking away Honey’s only means of escape– her car. Had Honey bolted, like she considered, there would be no way to get into her vehicle and outrun Bea fast enough without her keys. 

Damn Bea. She thinks of everything.

They walk down the street, arm in arm. Bea’s brown cowboy boots click against the sidewalk with each step and the ruffled sleeves of her romper sway with the summer wind. The romper is a pastel yellow with white daisies dotting the fabric. It’s short, short enough that Jack will probably drool over her and Quinn will make sure his hand stays on Bea’s waist all night. 

The walk to Scruffy’s takes less than five minutes. They don’t even have to cross the street. Scruffy’s is the building on the corner of the main road, the last thing you see before you drive past the town of Litchton and head further up the mountain. Past Scruffy’s, there are only ranches, farm life, and Honey’s little abode. Scruffy’s is like the end of civilization.

It’s been in business for generations. Scruffy’s is where Earl and Vera met, funnily enough, more than half a century ago. Last year, their anniversary fell on a Tuesday, and Vera came into The Reading Nook gushing about how they’d been married for fifty-three years officially. Honey had asked and she had gotten the full story– that Vera and her girls (the same knitting group) went dancing in Scruffy’s after their senior prom ended and it was there that she was asked to dance by the most handsome man in the joint. That man was Earl, who won Vera over with just once dance, and they were dating by the end of the night. He was sent to Vietnam less than two months later, but they were married in a short ceremony the night before he was shipped off. Earl was 21. Vera was 17.

It’s a little gross to Honey, but she’s impressed that they stuck it out this long. She’s impressed that Vera and Earl still love each other, even after fifty years. They had multiple kids, lived in the same small town their whole life except for Earl’s stint in ‘Nam, and they’re still happy. Part of the reason why Honey came to Litchton after leaving Charlotte is because of relationships like Vera and Earl’s– they stand the test of time up in the mountains. Everybody finds their person.

Honey loves Scruffy’s because it represents the culture of Litchton. It’s one of the longest-running businesses in the area. It’s a place where people go to meet, dance, and have fun. There aren’t many places like it anymore. Honey would much rather go to Scruffy’s than join Bea on a night out in Winston-Salem– it’s where she first learned to play pool.

Selfishly, Honey wonders to herself about the odds of stealing Quinn away from Bea for a night of pool. It would frustrate Bea to no end– and it might be the perfect revenge.

“Before we get in there, I want you to know that you’re not playing pool tonight,” Bea says as if she can read Honey’s thoughts. “And if I see you by the pool table, I’m telling the boys that you blew Trevor in the closet.”

Honey’s jaw drops. “First kidnapping, now blackmail? Who are you? What have the boys turned you into, a villain?”

Bea laughs, a twinkling sound that has her whole body rolling. “Baby, I was always a villain,” Bea says with a wink. “The boys are just encouraging me to be the worst version of myself.”

“Yeah, at my expense,” Honey shoots back.

Bea just grins. “Exactly!”

With that, Bea swings open the door and the girls step into the bar. It’s shabby and dive bar-esque, but the music spilling from the speakers near the stage transforms the place. 

The band is made up of a group of local dads who have been playing in the area since they were teens, having abandoned their big dream of becoming rock stars to settle down in their hometown with their wives and families. Honey has hustled most of these guys before at the pool table, although she’s never been quite able to beat Andrew, who plays bass for the band. 

Whereas the wood floor seems creaky when there’s silence in the halls, now it seems to glimmer beneath the dancing feet that adorn it. The exposed brick walls echo the laughter of drinkers in the booths, reflecting the cheers of when a new round appears as if by a miracle.

Bea leads Honey to the back of the bar, where they find the boys in one of the bigger booths. Quinn is sat on the edge of the booth next to his brothers and he easily pulls Bea onto his lap, perching her on his thigh. Honey stands at the end of the booth, her palms flat against the table separating the groups of boys.

“You can sit right here, Honey.” Cole offers his own thigh, gesturing to the “seat” like Vanna White. 

Honey forces a smile onto her face. “I’ll stand.”

“No, you don’t have to stand,” Trevor jumps in, trapped between the wall and Jamie on Cole’s side of the booth. “We can find you a chair.”

“It doesn’t look like you’ll be escaping anytime soon to find me one,” Honey retorts. She’s pleased that he’s stuck in the booth, but she’s still itching to put some distance between them. “Jimmy-Jam, want to go dance?”

“Sure, Honey,” Jamie says with a smile, nudging Cole so the boy can let him out of the booth.

“Oh, that’s too cute,” Bea coos. “Honey and Jam. You’re like a little kindergartener’s lunchtime sandwich.”

Honey and Jamie, now standing next to each other, turn and make eye contact. They evaluate each other briefly, then Jamie shrugs. “I guess it is like that.”

Honey sees Trevor frown, but puts the image out of her mind. Focusing on Trevor leads to disaster (like in the closet), which leads to even more disasters (the bouquet of flowers and Trevor tripping over himself to date Honey), so Honey really ought to avoid him altogether. She drags Jamie off, across the bar and towards the dance floor, finding a place near the stage. They’re dancing with the music on one side and the old, 1950s pinball machine on the other.

Honey loses track of time, spinning with Jamie under the dim light of the bar. The spotlights are all trained on the lead singer of the band, a man named Arn who is still desperately clinging to the hair left on his head. 

She and Jamie laugh and talk as they dance, having the best time. It’s Jamie’s last night in town, he reveals during one of the slower songs of the set. He’s driving back to Charlotte tomorrow with Trevor, flying out of North Carolina and back to Toronto around two in the afternoon. The men are singing ‘Amarillo By Morning’ by George Strait and Honey is overcome with a brief feeling of sadness.

“You’re really leaving?” Honey asks. “So soon?”

Jamie smiles, sympathetic and sad. He nods gently, squeezing Honey’s hand in his own. “Z only booked me for a week.”

“Cancel your flight.” Honey pouts, resting her forehead on Jamie’s shoulder, pulling him closer with the hand on his shoulderblades. “You should stay.”

Jamie drops a kiss on the crown of her head, then rests his chin on top of where he laid his lips. “I’ll text you all the time.”

Honey wishes she could stomp her foot and put a petulant glare on her face until Jamie relents, but she knows it’s just not realistic. 

“I should warn you,” Jamie whispers into Honey’s hair. “Trevor’s coming over here and he’s not going to take no for an answer.”

Honey looks over her shoulder and catches Trevor’s eyes as he approaches. He’s determined, staring directly at Honey.

“May I?” Trevor asks when he makes it to the pair, nodding to Jamie in a dismissal. 

Honey feels betrayed the moment Jamie lifts her hand to his lips and plants a kiss on her knuckles. He’s got a hint of laughter glimmering in his eyes and if she weren’t so sad he’s leaving tomorrow, she would pop him on the noggin for abandoning her. 

Jamie hands her off to Trevor, placing her palm in his, and Honey suddenly feels shy.

Trevor pulls her close, reaching his arm around her waist and clutching at her opposing ribs. Her hand rests in his, just inches away from their bodies. Her other hand slides across his back and her fingertips brush the hair at the nape of his neck. She peeks over Trevor’s shoulder, watching Jamie walk away. 

The band is playing something more upbeat now, a modern country song that Honey vaguely recognizes. 

Jack and Bea are dancing off to their left, halfway across the dance floor in the direct middle, and Jack is trying to spin himself under Bea’s arm. She’s giggling and Jack tumbles against her, crowding her space. His hands find Bea’s hips and he sways against her, leaning in to touch his nose to Bea’s own. She throws her arms around his neck and allows him to dip her, pecking his lips on the way back up. 

Trevor’s not as energetic. He sways with Honey, but his touch is more like a grasp than a lead. Honey aches.

“Why didn’t you ask Jamie to stay longer?” Honey asks quietly. She’s embarrassed to ask the question at all, embarrassed to admit that she’d grown so fond of the boy. She knows that they’re all just visiting, but saying goodbye to Jamie is a daunting task that makes Honey think of why she left Charlotte. 

“I did,” Trevor replies, surprising her. “I asked him if he would stay for another week, but he’s anxious to get back to his buddies and training. He’s got his own summer routine.” Trevor’s temple presses against Honey’s own, his mouth hovering right next to her ear. “He only came because I was desperate.”

Honey fails to respond to his statement with anything more than a hum. She’s distracted, watching the remaining boys at the table polish off a pitcher of beer. Quinn stands to get more and brushes off Bea’s invitation to come dance with a good-natured wave. 

The band starts to play a cover of one of Bea’s favorite songs, a duet between a man and a woman that Honey only remembers because of how anguished the couple sounds. The lyrics of the song are something about begging for time to come back and Honey grimaces at how real the song feels.

“I wish he didn’t have to leave,” Honey admits, the pout on her face feeling permanent. 

“Me too,” Trevor says. It’s reassuring. “I’ll miss him.”

“Yeah.”

Trevor steps away, raising his hand and guiding Honey underneath it. He guides her through a series of steps, surprising Honey with his sureness and precision. She ends up facing the stage, her back pressed against Trevor’s chest. 

“How do you know how to dance?” Honey asks, a little laugh affecting her words.

“Cotillion and lots of weddings in the summers,” Trevor replies, spinning Honey away and then pulling her back into their original position. He smiles, inches from her face. “I know my way around the floor, just never really had a partner to dance with.”

Honey’s smile fades as he reaches the end of his sentence. She pulls away from him, dipping her head to avoid his eyes. Her hands fall to her sides, then she hugs herself, shaking her head. “We’re not partners, Trevor,” Honey says. “That isn’t what this is.”

Trevor’s own hands fall to his pockets. He’s got jeans on, and some creased white sneakers, and it’s the most dressed up Honey has ever seen him. He looks normal, like any other guy that she would dance with in another bar– in another life. 

“What is it, then?” Trevor asks. He’s not pushy. He doesn’t sound curious. He just sounds resigned. 

“A mistake,” Honey whispers, rubbing over the goosebumps on her arms to try and soothe them away. “We hooked up once, Trevor.”

“Honey.” Trevor’s face falls and it’s a sight that makes Honey want to run for the hills. “It wasn’t a mistake.”

Honey bites the inside of her cheek, thinking over her next words carefully. “You’re reading too much into it.”

“And you’re running away from it. Give me a chance, Honey,” Trevor implores, reaching for her hand again. “I promise, I’ll do whatever you want me to do. I just want you to give me a chance.”

Honey pulls away. “I can’t do this again, Trevor.”

“I need you,” Trevor says.

The words settle in Honey’s stomach like a cinderblock at the bottom of the lake. He’s telling the truth– Honey does not see an ounce of doubt in his eyes. 

“Honey, I have not been able to think about anything except you for weeks,” Trevor continues. “Please.”

Honey steps back, her throat tight. Her eyes are darting every which way, just trying to avoid Trevor. She can’t hold his eyes for longer than a second, but a second is long enough to shake her head. 

She leaves him on the dance floor, joining the boys at the booth. She squeezes herself between Jamie and Luke, leaning into her friend’s figure. Jamie wraps his arm around Honey’s shoulders and she buries her face in his chest, squeezing her eyes shut. 

She’s right. She can’t do this again. She left her hometown after her last real relationship soured and rotted. Honey cannot let the same thing happen to her life in Litchton, especially not when Trevor’s going to leave at the end of the summer anyway. She’ll never see him again once he’s gone and things will go back to normal. It’s better this way.

25:90 – TREVOR

“I can’t believe you have to go,” Trevor says. He and Jamie are parked in the daily garage outside of Charlotte’s airport. 

“You’re the one who booked the ticket,” Jamie replies, the same excuse he’s used every time Trevor has brought up the end of his stay in Litchton. He’s got half of a smile on his face as he looks at Trevor.

“You could’ve changed it,” Trevor argues.

Jamie scoffs, laughing. “Dude.” He opens the passenger door and starts to climb out of the car. “You’re never going to make any moves on Honey while I’m still here.” He slams the door shut and rounds the car, pressing the button so that the trunk starts to open.

Trevor gets out of the car and joins Jamie in the back. He hops up and sits on the edge of the trunk, letting his feet dangle. “Was she serious about what she said to me last night?”

Jamie furrows his eyebrows. “What did she say? She didn’t tell me anything.”

Now it’s Trevor’s turn to be confused. “She didn’t say anything when she went back to the table?”

“No,” Jamie says. “Should she have?”

“I mean…” Trevor trails off.

“What did you do?” Jamie groans, rubbing a hand over his face. He grabs his carry on and sets it on the ground next to him.

“I didn’t do anything, really,” Trevor replies. He looks at his nails, then brings his index finger to his mouth to bite off a hangnail. “She just… shut down.”

“What did Honey say?” Jamie repeats, voice hard. He’s staring at Trevor now, eyes full of disdain. 

“That hooking up with me was a mistake and she can’t do it again,” Trevor says begrudgingly, a sarcastic smile on his face. 

“That’s… weird. I’m going to call her when I get through security.” Jamie extends the handle of his carry on, then kicks the bag so it’s perched on two of its wheels, ready to roll out. “You should go to the store when you get back. You finished that book today, right?”

“Yeah, this morning,” Trevor confirms.

“Return it. Buy it, I don’t care. Just talk to her– you can win her over.” Jamie shrugs. “I know she’s got some baggage that she doesn’t really like to talk about, but you could always ask. That’s how I won her over.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you got to kiss her,” Trevor grumbles.

Jamie takes a deep breath. “On that note, I’m out.” He reaches out to pull Trevor onto his feet and into a hug, clapping him on the back. “Thanks for the week, Trev. Don’t let her push you away, really. She likes you, I can tell. She’s just not ready to admit it yet.”

Trevor pulls away, dapping Jamie up as he does so. “I’ll try.”

“Just be yourself,” Jamie corrects. “Don’t try too hard.”

“Yeah, you’re right, she’d hate that,” Trevor says, chuckling to himself a bit.

“She’d hate that,” Jamie confirms at the same time. 

They stand in the parking garage for a moment longer, chuckling until their laughter dies in the wind. Trevor clears his throat and smiles, pulling Jamie in for another hug.

“Have a safe flight, Jim,” Trevor says. 

“Have a safe drive, Z.” Jamie begins to walk away, raising his hand over his head in a wave. “See you when the Ducks play the Flyers.”

“Yeah, if neither of us gets traded– again– before that,” Trevor adds. He closes the trunk of the car and climbs back behind the steering wheel. 

“Get over it!” Jamie’s voice is distant, echoing off the cars. 

Trevor responds by slamming his door and laying on the horn. 

He pulls out of the garage, paying the toll, and finds his way to the highway. He’s heading north to Litchton and he’s got about an hour of interstate time before he pulls off and takes the winding mountain roads the rest of the way. 

Trevor spends all of that time trying to stop thinking about Honey. He plays his music and sings out loud. He rolls his windows down and lets the wind wash over his face, messing up his hair in every direction. He even tries out an audiobook, which he hates, and turns it off within five minutes of starting it. 

The drive goes by faster than he thinks it will, or maybe it’s just getting easier each time he does it. 

Trevor feels a little bit like he does every time he heads back to Anaheim after the summer now that Jamie’s gone. The feeling never changes, even though he’s gotten better at managing it. It’s pure melancholy– knowing that he won’t see Jamie again for so long. It’s like when he leaves the Hughes boys or Cole, or even worse, when he visits home for a while and has to leave his family behind.

Trevor pulls into the driveway of the rental house, leaving the car running while he heads inside to grab his book. 

He knows just the cure for this weird mood that he’s found himself in.

Honey.

From the kitchen, Luke asks Trevor what he’s doing, but Trevor pays him no mind. He’s busy. Once he’s got his book in his hand, he’s walking back out the door and taking off in the car. 

He plows past Quinn, who is pulling back into the driveway after spending the night with Bea. That’s the best news yet for Trevor– if Quinn is only just now getting home from Bea’s place, then Bea is still getting ready to go to The Reading Nook. There’s a good chance that Honey is alone. 

Trevor has to get there first– he has to talk to Honey without a crutch. He’s going to convince her that he’s worth it. He just has to be less… direct. The commitment to Trevor is what’s scaring Honey, he can tell, and her fear is the one thing that’s really holding them back.

After almost a month on the mountaintop, Trevor feels comfortable enough to take the curves up the mountain the same way Honey does, loose and fast. He makes it up the mountain in record time and pulls into the grocery store parking lot, but walks the opposite way. 

He approaches The Reading Nook and finds the front of the store mostly empty. There are a few adults wandering around, but he doesn’t see Honey. 

Trevor follows the echo of voices to the back of the store, through the stacks to the cozy children’s reading area, where Honey is perched on a stool with a short picture book in hand. There are about fifteen kids of different ages crowded around her, all giving her their rapt attention as she reads the story. 

The book is familiar to Trevor– he was about the same age as these kids when his teacher read this book to his class for the first time. He doesn’t remember the name of the book, or the message, but he remembers the image of the dark-haired girl’s skin turning into rainbow stripes. Trevor’s face twists at the mention of lima beans, but he quickly realizes that he just forgot about that very important (and absurd) detail.

Honey hasn’t noticed him yet– she’s making faces at the children and doing different voices for each character. She’s making the toddlers giggle and the school-aged kids howl. Her nose is almost constantly scrunched up, accompanying a smile, and it’s infectious.

Trevor crosses his arms against his chest and leans on the edge of one of the stacks, admiring Honey. He’s hidden among the parents, smiling a little at the anonymity. In his mind, he’s acting out a movie scene where he’s waiting to pick his girlfriend up for a date and she’s running late because she’s nurturing the youth of the town. Trevor imagines Honey’s face lighting up when she spots him. He imagines Honey wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss when he approaches.

The real thing is not quite as romantic. 

As Honey is closing the book, wiggling her eyebrows at the kids and laughing a little when they whine and beg for another story, she scans the faces of the parents around Trevor. When she spots him, he gives her a little wave, and her mouth straightens into a thin line. It’s the only indication that she’s seen him because she just keeps looking around the room.

There’s a little boy kneeling in front of her, pulling at her skirt and pouting when she waves him off. 

“Luca, I’m not Bea,” Honey teases. “I’m a one story kind of girl and you got a long one today.” She taps his nose with a smile, which causes the little boy to giggle and grab at her fingers.

“It’s a shame, you know,” the mom next to Trevor says. “He loves it when she reads.”

“She’s entertaining,” Trevor agrees, not sure why she’s talking to him.

“Is this your first time at Story Time? I don’t think I’ve met you before. I’m Jessie,” the woman says, sticking her hand out for Trevor to shake. “Luca is mine. Which one is yours?”

Trevor shakes her hand, but lets out a relieved breath. “Trevor. I’m not a dad. I’m just here to drop my book off and I didn’t see Honey up at the counter.”

Jessie laughs. “Is Bea still not here? She used to be so much better about being here on time. It’s not like her to miss Story Time.”

“I think something came up,” Trevor covers, knowing full well that Bea and Quinn were tied up in the sheets until the early hours of the morning. 

��I was 22 once,” Jessie says, a smile curving her lips. 

“Mmm, and I heard rumors that you and Tyler used to drink at the water tower when you were 16,” Honey interrupts, sidling up next to Jessie and Trevor. The little boy, Luca, is attached to her side, hugging her thigh with one arm and sucking his thumb with the other. “So I can’t imagine the trouble you got up to at 22, Jessie.”

“A lady never kisses and tells,” Jessie replies, leaning in to press a kiss on Honey’s cheek. “Thank you for the amazing performance, as always. Luca wishes you would read more often. He misses you.”

“He barely has time to miss me now that his Mommy stays at home with him,” Honey says fondly. She reaches down to ruffle Luca’s hair and puts her hands under his armpits to lift him up. She sets the boy on her hip and presses a kiss to his forehead before handing him off to Jessie. 

Jessie takes her son and sets him on her own hip. Luca wiggles in her grasp, reaching for Honey. He whines, lower lip wobbling when his mom won’t let him go back to Honey. “Maybe Honey can come hang out with you sometime soon,” Jessie soothes her son. She looks to Honey. “Mommy and Dad can go out to dinner.”

Honey giggles, cooing as she reaches to wipe the fat tears from the corners of Luca’s eyes. “I’d be happy to babysit my favorite little man. Just call me when you decide on a date night and I’ll be there.”

“Thanks, Honey.” Jessie bounces Luca on her hip. “Say bye to Honey, baby.”

Still pouting, Luca raises his hand and waves. It’s less of a wave and more just the toddler flopping his wrist around so his hand moves, but Honey returns the wave nonetheless.

“Nice meeting you, Trevor,” Jessie calls as she walks away. Luca turns in her arms and his big eyes peer at Honey for as long as they can. She’s smiling at the boy until he and his mother are out of eyesight, then she turns to Trevor.

“What do you want?” Honey asks, crossing her arms over her chest. 

It never fails to impress Trevor how quickly she can turn on and turn off her charm. Not that he’s not charmed by this. He’s always charmed by Honey, even when she’s being mean.

“I’m here to return my book,” Trevor explains, lifting the item so she can see the cover. “Or buy it, I haven’t decided yet.”

“You can’t buy it,” Honey says in a monotone voice. 

“Why not?”

“Because I said so.” She walks off toward the counter and Trevor follows.

“That’s a stupid reason.”

“Well, it’s a stupid reason for a stupid person. Fitting.”

“Hey,” Trevor laments. 

Honey looks up at him, sliding onto her stool behind the counter. She holds her palm out, ready for Trevor to balance the book on the surface. “Give me the book.”

Trevor holds onto the book with both of his hands, frowning at Honey. “No,” he replies. “Ask nicely. You’re being mean.”

“I could be a lot meaner,” Honey says, pointedly glaring at Trevor as she snatches the book from his grasp. She types something on the computer, then slides the book onto a cart behind her. When she turns around, she folds her hands on the counter and stares at Trevor. “Do you want your receipt?”

Trevor makes a face. “No, I don’t want my receipt. What–”

“Good. Get out.”

Trevor’s mouth is agape. He’s staring at Honey in bewilderment. “I thought Jamie talked to you.”

“He did.”

Trevor flounders, trying to think of a response for her curt, two-word sentence. It’s barely even a sentence! It doesn’t even have a predicate! He fails to think of an answer and stands uselessly at the counter, unmoving in front of Honey. 

Honey waits. She watches him. They’re still for a good minute, just looking at each other until Honey pulls a book out from under the counter and opens it. She flips to a page about a quarter of the way through and begins to read.

Trevor is still standing in front of her.

The store has cleared out for the most part. A few children and parents are still in the kids section and an older woman is sitting at one of the tables near the back room, flipping through her own book. 

Trevor leans down, crossing his arms and leveling himself against the counter. He sets his chin on his hands and waits for Honey to look at him.

“What are you doing?” She asks, barely glancing at him before turning the page and cocking her head to the side, paying extra attention to the new words on the left side of her book. 

“I’m hanging out with you.”

“Why?” Honey’s lip curls in judgment and she scoffs. 

“Because you cheer me up, and the boys wouldn’t get it.”

“The boys wouldn’t get what?” Her eyes linger on him a little longer this time before returning to her book.

“They won’t be sad that Jamie left, but I know you are. We can be miserable together,” Trevor says, batting his eyelashes at Honey. 

She just looks him up and down, then pushes his arms off the counter.

Trevor straightens up. “C’mon, Honey. It’s hard to be apart from your friends, especially if they’re more like family. I was just hoping to see you.”

“Because seeing me makes you feel better,” Honey adds, unimpressed. She glares at Trevor for a moment, then turns to the next page of her book.

“I like hanging out with you. It’s easy to forget my problems when you’re around.”

“Good line.”

“It’s not a line, it’s actually how I feel.”

“Wow, I didn’t realize you were so in tune with your emotions.”

“You, of all people, should know that I’m a big fan of following the heart.”

“I couldn’t possibly care less about your heart, Trev–”

There’s a rustle of paper and a thud as the older lady sets her book down. “Honey,” she snaps.

Honey lights up at the interruption, looking over to the woman. “Yes, Ada?”

“Put the poor boy out of his misery,” Ada scolds, a tilted frown on her face. “You’re not helping him.”

“Ada–” Honey tries.

The woman raises her hand. “I don’t want to hear it. One of your friends is upset and you’re being rude to him.”

“I promise you, he’s not–” Honey says, but she’s interrupted again.

“I want you to take the day off tomorrow and spend it with him.” Ada nods at Trevor, then continues. “Because we spread kindness in this town. We do not perpetuate another person’s misery.”

Honey ducks her head. “Yes, ma’am,” she grumbles.

Ada picks her book back up and flips through the pages. “Now I’ve lost my page,” she complains. “Consider how Christ would view your actions, Honey, and how they affect others around you.”

Honey gawks at the woman, affronted and angry, shown by the tilt of her eyebrows. She snaps her jaw shut and looks up to the sky, thoughts racing behind her eyes and through her mind. 

Trevor’s got an amused little smile on his face, but he wipes it from his expression before Honey can spot it.

“Well, you got what you wanted,” Honey snaps. “Bea will text you the directions. We’re hiking up Stone Mountain. It’s an hour drive from here. I’ll meet you there at ten. Don’t be late, or else I’m starting the hike without you.”

“Do you want me to bring a sandwich for you?” Trevor asks, careful not to argue with Honey. He remembers Jamie packing a lunch for Honey and he wants to do the same– maybe if he recreates Jamie’s hike, then he’ll have the same success.

Honey looks at him with disdain. “I’ll pack my own. Thanks. Go away.”

Ada hums, but doesn’t look up. 

Honey cuts her eyes at the older woman, but plasters a smile on her face when her eyes return to Trevor’s. She turns her charm on, just for appearances. “Thank you for visiting The Reading Nook. Feel free to come back anytime.”

Her voice is sweet, customer service-y, but she’s glaring at Trevor and shaking her head ‘no’ as she says the words. She does not want him to return. 

Trevor most certainly will be back, if only to plant a smacker on Honey’s boss and thank her for the set-up. “See you tomorrow, Honey.”

“Yep.”

Trevor walks away, but he catches another scolding from Ada to Honey as he walks away. It sounds like Ada wants Honey to attend church this Sunday.

Maybe he can convince Bea to bring him and the other boys along.

26:90 – HONEY

She’s standing at the trailhead, next to the information board. Honey’s been here a thousand times, the view at the top of the mountain being one of her favorites in all of western North Carolina, and Trevor is late. It’s 10:11 and she told him to be on time or else she would start without him. It was an empty threat, but now she’s really considering it.

Honey’s phone rings in her bag and she has to scramble to dig it out.

“Hello?” She asks, not glancing at the screen. There are only a few people that have her number and would know that she’s off work today. Those people are Ada and Bea– and Honey is pretty sure Ada isn’t calling her.

“Trevor wants to know where you are.” Bea’s voice is choppy due to the service being so finicky in this area. 

“What? I’m at the trailhead. Right next to the sign. He doesn’t see me?” Honey asks, searching the parking lot. She raises a hand above her hand and waves. “I’m waving. Tell him to look for the girl who’s waving.”

“I don’t have two phones,” Bea snaps. “How am I meant to talk to you both at the same time?”

“Yes, you do,” Honey scoffs. Of course Bea has two phones– she’s at work right now. She can use the store phone to call Trevor and relay the message. “Use the phone at the Nook.”

Bea groans into the phone. “That’s so much work. Are you sure I can’t just give him your number?”

“Absolutely, I’m sure! What the fuck?” Honey exclaims, covering her eyes with her hand. “I told you no.”

“Okay, well, I didn’t listen. I already gave it to him, but he wanted me to call you first.”

Honey opens her mouth, a snarl rising up her throat.

“Have fun with your loverboy!” Bea laughs a little as she hangs up, the dial tone ringing in Honey’s ear. 

Honey pulls the phone away from her ear and scowls to herself, closing her eyes and looking up to the sky to calm herself. Bea has been on her nerves lately. Honey understands that the girl wants what’s best for Honey, but good God– does she have to meddle so much?

The phone starts to ring in her hand, a (914) number flashing across the screen. Honey stares at it, letting the phone ring a few times before she answers it.

“Hello?” She asks as she answers, annoyed.

“Honey? It’s Trevor.”

“I figured.”

“Where are you? I’m at the trailhead.”

Honey blinks, then looks around her. “No, you’re not. I’m at the trailhead.”

“No, you’re not? I don’t see you.”

Honey looks at the information sign next to her. She reads the location in her head, then it dawns on her. She winces, covering her eyes with her hand again. “Are you in the upper parking lot?” She wipes her face, then her hand drops to her hip. “Look at the sign next to you.”

Trevor is silent on the other end of the call. After a moment, his sheepish voice fills Honey’s ear. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Honey sighs. “This is Bea’s fault. I’ll come to you.”

“No, I’ll come to you!” Trevor corrects, sounding like he’s already jogging back to his car. “Don’t move an inch. I’ll be there soon.”

He hangs up, leaving Honey standing next to the lower trailhead. She’s lucky that no one really wants to hike the five-mile loop that Honey chose, especially not in the summer, otherwise there would be a constant stream of people passing her while she waits for her date.

Not that it’s a date. She’s being forced.

Trevor is racing across the parking lot towards Honey before she knows it, catching her hand in his as he approaches and panting out an apology. “I didn’t know there were two different trailheads,” he says. 

Honey pulls her hand away. “It’s okay. Bea should’ve told you.”

Unable to take a hint, Trevor just grins. “Well, now you have my number. We can just talk directly.”

“I already had your number. I don’t want to talk to you directly. That’s why I made you go through Bea,” Honey tells him, turning her back and starting up the trail. 

Trevor follows after her, quickly falling into step next to Honey. “You already had my number?”

Honey hums, nodding. “Bea gave it to me.”

“Why didn’t you use it?” Trevor wonders.

“Because I didn’t want to.” Honey adjusts her bag on her shoulders. She keeps her fingers wrapped around the straps as she walks, just in case Trevor does something stupid like try to hold Honey’s hand. 

“Honey, I really think you should just give me a chance–”

“Do you run, Trevor?” Honey asks, cutting him off.

“Not really. I’ll do sprints and stuff on the ice, but I’m not really a runner,” Trevor replies, making a confused face at Honey. “I broke my–”

“Cool.” Honey tightens the straps of her bag and looks down to make sure her shoelaces are double-knotted. “Race you to the peak. Just follow the trail.”

She takes off, putting distance between herself and Trevor. Honey hasn’t run consistently in a while, but she’s able to manage her breath well enough to run the two miles to the stone top of the mountain. Trevor plods along after her, but she loses him about a mile into the run.

Honey catches her breath once she breaks through the trees and steps onto the clearing of the peak. The stone is ashy and dry, but the different shades of stone across the face of the mountain give off the appearance of a waterfall. 

Honey reaches into her bag and takes out her camera, looking through the viewfinder to capture the skyline. She takes a few pictures, even balances her camera on a rock to set up her own timer picture. Finally, she hears the pounding of feet against ground coming up the trail and she turns her camera on the entrance to the clearing.

She captures Trevor’s final moments in quick succession– the relief that the run is finally over, the way his breath continues to run away from him even as his feet slow, and the annoyance washing over his face at the sound of Honey’s laughter.

He stalks toward her, grimacing noticeably when he steps out with his left foot. Honey dances away from him, evading his grasp and snapping pictures as she goes, giggling at his annoyance. The more Honey steps away from Trevor, the harder he tries to catch her, and the harder it is for him to keep a smile from making its way onto his face. 

Honey documents the whole thing– the transformation of his gaze from irritated to playful, the growing curve of his lips into a fuckass smile and a laugh, and the final moment when he snatches the camera out of her hand. 

Trevor turns the lens on her, snapping away and getting all up in her face. She pushes him, and the camera, away when she notices him trying to zoom in up her nostrils. He’s so fucking weird. 

Honey takes the camera back from him and tucks it into her bag, swapping the item for her lunch. It’s a little crumpled up from the time in her bag, but the food is still good. She reaches for her peach, looking to snack on the sweet fruit. She pauses when her hand brushes against the second peach she packed– the peach that she packed for Trevor.

“You know, you were right the other day,” Trevor says. 

Honey can hear just how feigned his nonchalance is from the second he opens his mouth. He’s thought this moment out, probably reenacted an idealized version in the shower yesterday, but he’s still hesitant to say anything.

“I really haven’t spent enough time trying to get to know you.”

Honey’s head snaps up, eyes fixing on Trevor. That’s not what she expected him to say. She doesn’t know where she thought this was going, but it wasn’t here.

“I want to know you, you know?” Trevor continues with a shrug. “I don’t want to have you around just to have you around. I want to know everything about you.”

Bea’s voice echoes in Honey’s ears. “I want him to be open with me. I want to talk to him about everything.” The realization washes over Honey like a spill soaking into a paper towel. She feels sticky, a result of the understanding, and a little panicked. Trevor likes me the way Bea likes Quinn. 

Honey ducks her head and studies the peach in her hand. It’s fuzzy and prickly against her fingertips, grating against the grooves of her fingerprints. She turns it over, moving the fruit from one hand to the other. It’s mostly red, dark and ripe. It’s got a bruise near the bottom and the stem is still intact. Honey picks it, twisting until it comes free, and she flicks it away.

Trevor keeps talking. Honey is barely listening, but he captures her attention again with an apology.

“I’m sorry I haven’t put more time into getting to know you– I was caught up in how I felt about you. It’s kind of shallow, but I think I didn’t try hard enough to talk to you because I felt like I already knew you.”

Honey stares at him, lips parted. They’re growing dry with each ragged breath she draws in, but she can’t speak.

“I feel… tied to you. You’re special,” Trevor explains, finally floundering over himself. Honey expects that he didn’t think he would get this far. “I’ve never had to try to prove myself to someone before, and I probably should’ve given up by now, but I just… I like you so much, Honey. I feel like I can’t lose you, and I don’t even have you yet.”

“You don’t even know me,” Honey says, a weak defense.

“That’s my problem,” Trevor agrees. “I haven’t even tried.”

“No, you haven’t.” Honey’s voice is far away, indicative of the mess of flames and smoke swirling around in her head. 

“Will you let me get to know you?” Trevor asks. He has stepped forward, closing in on Honey, and the hem of her t-shirt has found its way between his thumb and index finger. He’s just feeling the fabric, unaware that he’s keeping her from stepping away with his featherlight touch. His mouth quirks at the edges and he gives her shirt a little tug. “I’m desperate,” he adds in the wake of Honey’s silence, looking a little amused at his own words.

Honey tears her eyes away from the pinched fabric between his fingers. She lets her bottom lip drop from between her teeth, an unconscious reaction to Trevor’s words that she finally recognized and corrected before she drew blood. Her hands are shaking, so Honey tightens her grip on her peach and clamps the fingers of her other hand on her wrist. 

Trevor notices, of course he does.

“I don’t want to push you if you’re not ready,” he says, dropping his hand to his side. Honey misses the weight of it already. “I really will take anything you want to give me, Honey.”

“I can’t date you,” Honey says. “I can’t do that.”

“If I asked why, would you tell me?” Trevor prods delicately.

Honey shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Is it because of me?” Trevor asks, some reluctance seeping onto his face. He looks down and scuffs his shoes against the stone face of the mountain. “Is it because I’m in the NHL?”

Honey shakes her head. 

Trevor barely catches the movement, only looking up at Honey when her silence stretches too long. “It’s not me?” He asks, his features softening.

Honey could cry. His concern, his relief, his overwhelming and obvious desire for her, and his ability to just come out and say it is too much. She lets out a breath, reaching out to pinch the hem of Trevor’s shirt the same way he held hers. She tugs him closer and Trevor comes easily, tilting his head and raking his eyes over her features in admiration. He brings a hand up to her jaw, thumbing over her cheek.

“It’s not you,” Honey tells him quietly. “I’m just… stuck.”

“What do you mean?” Trevor asks, matching her pitch. He traces the collar of her shirt.

“I moved to Litchton five years ago after some stuff happened in my hometown. It wasn’t pretty and I kind of, you know… swore off dating and everyone from Charlotte except Bea,” Honey explains, ducking her head to the side and sighing in the middle of her sentence. “So I can’t date you, Trevor. I’m not there.”

“We don’t need to date,” Trevor assures her. He pauses, then rolls his eyes and cringes. He forces his next words out, an edge cutting into his voice. “We can be friends if that’s what you want.”

“Oh my God, I hate you,” Honey sighs. “Obviously I don’t want to be your friend, Trevor.”

“Yeah, for a second I forgot that you hate me,” Trevor says. He twists his lips with an exaggerated “ugh,” then smiles at Honey. “I was thinking about the blowjob. It’s very hard to think you hate me when you’re swallowing my cum.”

Honey scoffs, clenching her jaw. “Fuck off.”

Trevor hums, pouting at her. “What do you want from me?”

She takes a deep breath, then glares at him through her eyelashes. She reaches into her bag and pulls out the second peach, dropping it in Trevor’s hand. “I want sex.”

“Now?” Trevor exclaims, looking around. There’s no one on the peak with them, but Honey shushes him anyway.

“Not now, you moron,” she chastises. “Why would we have sex now?”

“That’s a really good question,” Trevor says. He points at Honey, thinking for a moment. “I don’t know. I was just excited that you said that.”

Honey laughs and shakes her head. “Just sit down and eat your peach, Trevor.”

He nods, a big goofy smile on his face. Trevor plops down right where he stands, reaching for Honey’s hand and tugging her down to sit next to him. “Thank you for the peach.”

“You’re welcome.”

“So you were thinking about me,” Trevor teases. “Are you still ovulating?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Honey snaps, rubbing a hand over her face so that he can’t see the smile on her face. She only takes her hand away once her face smoothens itself out and she can look at him without blushing.

Trevor bites into his fruit and chews, watching Honey with an amused glint in his eyes. “Tell me more about you,” Trevor prompts through a mouthful.

“Well, for starters, I don’t like it when guys talk with food in their mouth,” Honey announces. 

“Mm, I guess I’m out of the running.” Trevor leans against Honey, taking another bite. 

Honey rolls her eyes, an unimpressed smirk taking over her mouth. “Just… shut up and I’ll tell you my favorite movie.”

Trevor lights up, then makes a show of zipping his lips, locking them, and throwing away the key. He bites his bottom lip and scoots closer, their knees touching. 

Honey doesn’t pull away, but she doesn’t tell him anything substantive about her life either. Trevor doesn’t push her, although he does ask her a few questions that she has to shake her head at– the first: the names of all the people who made her want to leave Charlotte, the second: if he could lick the peach juice off her lips, just to name two examples. He’s frustrating and annoying and a loser, but Honey would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy herself. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t like Trevor’s company.

He tells her about his family on the way down the mountain. She tells him about how she doesn’t talk to her parents anymore. He tells her about his teammates and reveals a few embarrassing stories from the years he spent with the Hughes boys and Cole. Honey tells him about the times she and Bea would go out in the city and she’d hustle the pool players while Bea found a date. He tells her about how he broke his ankle this past year, and for a moment, Honey feels bad about making him run up the mountain after her. Then she remembers that he has her phone number now and he will certainly abuse that privilege, so she gets over her guilt quickly. Trevor talks about his life and Honey talks about hers– despite their differences, Honey likes hearing about his life as an athlete in California. It’s a side of life that she’s never heard about before. 

About halfway through the hike, Trevor’s hand brushes against Honey’s and she almost reaches to intertwine their fingers. She can barely hold back.

When they make it back to the parking lot, Trevor walks Honey to her car. He tries to open the door for her, but it’s locked, so Honey laughs at him a little bit. He pinches her hip for laughing, then swats her keys out of her hand to unlock the vehicle himself. He successfully opens the door for her and hands her keys back, then leans against the vehicle, blocking Honey from shutting the door. 

“Will you come over tomorrow?” Trevor asks.

“I think Bea already invited us over, so I’ll probably make an appearance.” Honey keeps her voice light, aloof. 

Trevor is unimpressed, frowning at her. “How can I get you to promise to come over?”

Honey mulls the question over, taking extra time before she responds just to make Trevor squirm a little. “Can you promise me something?” She asks as an answer to Trevor’s question.

“Anything,” Trevor vows, sincere in his words.

“I don’t want anyone to know about this. How am I supposed to maintain my street cred if I suddenly act like we’re friends?” 

Trevor chuckles a little, leaning down to press his lips to Honey’s cheek. They’re soft, but his skin is growing a tad bit scratchy. He must not have shaved this morning. “Whatever you want,” he says. “I promise to keep my mouth shut.”

“Then I promise to come over tomorrow,” Honey says with a smile. “Now, get away from my car before I run over your foot.”

“Yes ma’am,” Trevor drawls, raising his hands in surrender and stepping back. 

Honey reaches out and closes the driver’s side door, hitting the lock button out of instinct. Trevor hears the click and frowns at her, his eyebrows scrunched together. Honey rolls her eyes then waves goodbye, pulling out of her parking spot and heading home.

Trevor passes her on the highway ten minutes later and Honey can’t have that, so they race the rest of the way to Litchton.

She wins. Obviously.

27:90 – TREVOR

“Stop texting me!!! I’m at work!!!”

This morning, Trevor grinned at his phone. “I only texted you once and all I did was ask what you’ve got on today”

“& I’m not answering that! Stop being a creep! I can’t stand you”

“Ok, so sit down. Can’t a guy get to know a girl over text?”

“I am not telling you what I’m wearing. Do not sext me at work.”

“Whoa, whoa. I only asked what you’ve got on. Got GOING on. You’re a dirty girl, Honey.”

“Oh My God. What is your fucking problem?? Don’t make me block you, Trevor.”

“:(”

After the events of the hike yesterday, Trevor has been using and abusing Honey’s phone number. He texted her that he had gotten home safely last night, which she hadn’t replied to. He texted her a goodnight message, which she hadn’t replied to. He texted her a good morning, to which she gave a thumbs up. Taking that as a good sign, Trevor typed out a question of what Honey had going on today, but then giggled at the potential double entendre and sent “What have you got on today?” instead. 

He thought it would get him a reaction and the rewards he was reaping were so, so sweet. Talking to Honey, no matter how angry she was, was a joy. 

Trevor wants to do it all the time. He likes her so much. 

It feels impossible, but Trevor is even more connected to Honey than before. He’s on a high and has been since she told him that her hesitance is not his fault. 

The relief leaving his body was almost comparable with the feeling of Honey’s mouth around the head of his cock.

And once that image entered Trevor’s head, he was helpless. He couldn’t think of anything else all day. Honey is coming over tonight, and he’s been very, very hard since this morning.

It’s getting harder to hide from the boys, too. Trevor can only sit with a pillow halfway over his lap for so long before one of the four immature goons notices and starts to chirp. 

Trevor has reread his texts with Honey no less than six times since he sent his final sad face– now that Honey’s shift is just under an hour from ending, Trevor thinks it’s time to send her another message.

“When are you coming over? I miss you” Trevor types, not hesitating for a moment before he hits send. He grins at his phone like a goof, then tucks it into his pocket when Jack looks his way. Trevor pulls the edge of the pillow up to hide his erection from the boy. He’s really got to get his dick under control before the girls show up. He stands, drawing the eyes of the boys. 

“I’m going upstairs,” Trevor says. “Holler for me when the girls show up.”

Quinn snickers from the corner of the couch, his laughter breathy and quiet. Other than that, no one says anything, eyes glued on the television once again. Cole had turned on some reality show that Bea recommended, and all the boys are enraptured. 

Trevor pads upstairs, tugging his shirt off as he enters his bedroom. He collapses onto his bed, face down, and groans into his pillow. He stretches his limbs, feeling the joints in his shoulders pop. With a sigh, he rolls his hips once against the mattress before turning over and palming his cock. 

He scrolls on his phone for a while, mindlessly watching Instagram pictures load and clicking through stories. He fists his cock over his shorts, just holding the length. He glides his hand down to cup his balls and turns his phone off, shoving it under his pillow. 

Trevor feels himself out, squeezing and releasing his cock every so often. He’s not quite stroking, at least not until Honey’s face pops into his head again. 

“I want sex,” she had said the previous day. To say that Trevor was down for that was an understatement– sure, he wanted to be around Honey in more than a physical way, but he’d be an idiot if he pushed the topic. He’ll win Honey over eventually, but for now, he’ll just make her feel so good that she forgets she ever disliked him at all.

He can’t seem to decide which fantasy he wants to focus on while he takes care of his problem– it’s like every possible sexual encounter he could have with Honey is flashing through his mind at a rapid pace. He considers her hands, then her mouth, her tits, her pussy, over and over again, never deciding on one image as he starts to move his hand over his cock.

Trevor loses track of time and most of his clothes in the passing minutes. He’s only just wrapping his hand around his bare cock, imagining Honey’s soft lips against his own and her delicate fingers under his, when someone opens his bedroom door and gasps.

Trevor flinches, immediately scrambling to cover himself up with his blankets. “Dude!” Trevor exclaims, expecting to see one of the boys in his doorway. “Knock much?”

When he turns to face the intruder, Trevor pales when he sees that it’s Honey. Her eyes are wide and her mouth is open, one hand frozen on the doorknob and the other covering her heart like she’s a grandmother clutching at her pearls.

“I’m so sorry,” Honey rushes out. “I was just coming up here to yell at you for being fucking annoying, I didn’t realize you were… occupied. I’m just gonna–”

She starts to turn, pulling the door behind her, but Trevor calls out her name to stop her. 

“No, you should stay,” Trevor corrects. “After all, you’re here in my imagination. You might as well watch in real life.”

“Watch?” Honey snaps, incredulous. “Have you lost your mind?”

Trevor pushes the covers off his body, fisting his dick and stroking it back to full hardness after it had flagged a bit upon Honey’s original intrusion. It’s not difficult to get back to the point where Trevor was before she walked in, just the sight of her causing a chill to run up his spine. He bites his lip and groans when he swipes his thumb over his slit, spreading his precum over his tip. 

Honey is still frozen, but her eyes are drawn to Trevor’s cock and her bottom lip has found its way between her teeth. 

“Better yet,” Trevor continues, allowing his hand to stop moving and rest at his base. His cock jumps in his hand, seeking out more friction. “Why watch when you could help?”

Honey’s jaw drops again, blinking in surprise. “Help?” She repeats.

“You still want sex, don’t you?” Trevor asks. “You told me so.”

“I– well, yeah,” Honey says, stumbling over her words. She opens her mouth to say something else, but ends up shaking her head and shrugging. 

“So come here,” Trevor beckons. “I don’t bite, unless you want me to. I was just thinking about how your fingers would feel on my cock. Will you show me?”

He starts to move his hand over his cock again, slowly. His skin slides against his palm, the glide that was harsh at first becoming more and more effortless as he continues to leak precum from his tip. 

The shock of the moment has painted a pretty pink blush across Honey’s cheeks and her open mouth further exacerbates her dangerously attractive cheekbones, reminding Trevor of the way they looked when her lips were wrapped around his cock. Honey stays frozen, but Trevor can see that her nipples have grown hard and are pebbling against the fabric of her shirt. She’s not wearing a bra. Excellent.

“Honey,” Trevor says, waiting for her eyes to find his. “Please don’t make me ask again.”

Honey shakes her head. “No. Ask me again.” She takes a step forward, then another. 

Trevor relents, watching her approach the end of the bed. “C’mere,” he pleads. “Come help me.”

Honey climbs onto the bed and crawls toward Trevor, running her hands up his thighs and sitting back on her heels between his legs. She runs her hands up over his hips, deliberately avoiding his groin in favor of feeling over his stomach and sides. 

Trevor drops his cock, lacing his fingers behind his head. His member stands away from his hips, erect and twitching invitingly at Honey. 

“Take your shirt off,” Trevor requests.

“No. We’re not elongating this any more than we need to. I’m going to make you come and then we’re going to go downstairs and I’m going to kick Luke’s ass at pool and you’ll try not to get hard again when you watch me bend over the table,” Honey replies, reaching for Trevor’s dick. 

Trevor moans when Honey leans down and spits over the head of Trevor’s cock. He watches her saliva drip down his shaft and disappear between her fingers, acting as a sort of lube. She licks his tip like a kitten at a bowl of milk and moves her hand up and down, her grip on Trevor’s cock deliciously tight and practiced. Despite swearing off dating five years prior, it’s like Honey hasn’t lost any of her talent. 

Trevor’s hips buck up into Honey’s hand when she circles her lips around his tip and suckles lightly. The tip of her tongue flicks over his slit, then lathers the skin around his cockhead. In this position, Trevor has a great view of the curve of Honey’s lower back, the waistband of her jean shorts pulling away from her skin and revealing the lavender underwear she’s hiding beneath her clothes. Trevor lets out a low whistle when his eyes trail further up her body, fixing on the tattoo marking the small of her back. He’s surprised he hasn’t noticed it before. It’s a dragonfly, surrounded by two branches of flowers. The tattoo is made up of thin but sweeping black lines and it’s so perfectly Honey that Trevor makes a mental note to ask her about it later.

“C’mon, Trev,” Honey goads. “People are going to start wondering what we’re up to. Hurry up.” Her hand speeds up, twisting over his shaft. 

Trevor keens, pushing up into Honey’s grasp. 

“It’s embarrassing how badly you want me,” Honey teases. “You’re so easy.”

“You’re so pretty,” Trevor replies, voice strangled and caught in his throat.

The pleased little smile that crosses Honey’s face makes his heart jump. She shakes her head at him fondly, then takes him back in her mouth. She hollows her cheeks, creating a vacuum around Trevor’s cockhead. She hums a little against him, the vibrations causing Trevor’s thighs to spasm. Her left hand soothes his quad, kneading the muscle with a scratch of her fingernails, and Trevor spills over her tongue. 

Honey takes it all in her mouth like a champion, sitting back and swallowing, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. Trevor watches the line of her throat move with her swallow and he wishes that his refractory period was nonexistent so that he could fill her mouth again. 

“Now that that’s over,” Honey says, shifting on her heels. She crawls up, straddling Trevor’s waist and hovering above him. 

Trevor tilts his chin up and purses his lips.

Honey covers his mouth with her palm, effectively forcing him to kiss her palm, and glares at Trevor through narrowed eyes. She leans in close, making it almost impossible for Trevor to maintain eye contact. 

“Do not fucking text me while I’m at work,” Honey says. “I mean it.”

She swings her legs to one side of his body, clambering off the bed and returning to the door. With one last look, Honey slips through the little crack of the door and shuts it behind her. Trevor hears her walking down the hall, then down the stairs. 

He throws his head back against his pillow and covers his eyes with the bend of his elbow. 

It takes him a few more minutes to catch his breath and move again. He washes his hands and goes to take a leak, replacing his boxers and shorts. He pulls a sweatshirt over his head, his favorite pink hoodie. He ties the strings into a cute little bow and leaves the hood over his hair, covering the mess beneath it that is, quite frankly, none of his business. 

He just came in Honey’s mouth for a second time in a week– his hair is the least of his worries. It’s not even a worry at all. In fact, Trevor might never have another worry again.

When Trevor makes his way downstairs, he finds Honey in his line of vision immediately. She’s standing next to Luke as he lines up a shot, hoping to sink the maroon seven into the third pocket. Trevor only knows which pocket is which because Jack tried to show Quinn up last year with his technical billiards knowledge, considering he couldn’t beat Quinn until halfway through the summer.

Honey’s eyes are drawn to Trevor’s movement, away from Luke’s long fingers creating a good base for his shot. Almost unconsciously, her eyes are flooded with pride and the edge of a smile quirks her mouth before she looks away, focusing back on the pool game.

Luke takes his shot, but the ball bounces off the cushion next to the pocket. He groans, lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe under his eyes. Honey pats his arm as he paces past her, evidently frustrated by his game. 

Trevor looks to the table and finds that Honey only has a couple of striped targets left, while Luke has to sink four more shots if he wants to catch up to Honey. Having played against Honey before, Trevor is not confident in Luke’s ability. 

When he looks to the leaderboard, Honey’s name is starred. She hasn’t played as many games as the other boys, but she’s undefeated. She’s beaten everyone except Bea, but it’s a no-brainer about who would win that fight. 

Trevor spares one last glance at Honey before spilling across the loveseat. He lays for a minute, then turns over and gets comfortable. He pulls one hand up next to his head, using it as a pillow, and pulls his legs up toward his chest. He evaluates the room.

Quinn and Bea are sat in the plush recliner chair, sharing the small space. Bea has her legs thrown over Quinn’s lap, halfway seated on the arm of the chair. Quinn’s hand rests on Bea’s thigh, keeping her in place. She’s kissing over his neck and nuzzling into his side, letting her hands roam over his torso. Quinn catches Trevor watching them and fixes him with a hard stare, expression mostly unreadable. He’s mastered the art of the pokerface, but Trevor knows him well enough to know that his look is a warning. 

Jack and Cole are standing up from the couch, Wii controllers in hand and pushing each other over to try and get Player 1. Both younger siblings, Trevor snorts at their stubborn desire to be in charge for once. They found the Wii yesterday while Trevor was out, tucked away in the closet where he received his first blowjob from Honey, on one of the highest shelves.

Cole immediately dug it out and went searching for games. So far, he’s only found Wii Sports, but that’s all they really need. Last night, Cole and Jack had boxed, and things had gotten so heated that Quinn had to ban boxing from the house. He even hid the nunchucks that were necessary to play the sport– so the rest of the boys were straight out of luck.

They’re pulling up a game of golf right now, which causes Bea to roll her eyes. 

“You’re such boys,” she grumbles, lips pressed to Quinn’s cheek. “Golf is boring in real life. It’s even worse virtually. Can’t you play something good like bowling?”

Quinn chuckles a bit, pulling Bea closer. He wraps his arms around her waist and nips at her collarbone, causing the girl to shriek with a giggle. “I promise, if you come out on the course with me, I’ll teach you to like the game.”

Bea pushes him away, squirming on his lap until she finds a position where she’s comfortable. “You just want to get me in a little golf outfit so you can look at something pretty.”

“I will be looking at something pretty,” Quinn agrees. He leans in, pressing his forehead against hers and bumping their noses. He pecks her lips, brief and fleeting before he finishes his sentence. “The greens.”

Bea groans, tossing her head back. She goes to climb off of Quinn, but he holds her tightly on his lap and brings his mouth to her shoulder.

“Just imagine it,” he muses between kisses. “The smell of the freshly mown grass, the even blades, the sound of the club hitting the ball and the flag in the hole waving in the wind…”

“I can’t possibly think of a hole that you might be more interested in,” Bea deadpans, her bottom lip jutting out just a tad.

Quinn smiles, deciding to tug on Bea’s pouted lip with his teeth rather than deign her with an answer. 

Trevor watches the exchange in disgust. The disgust transforms when he hears Honey whoop and gloat from the back of the room, evidently still undefeated. His gaze on Bea and Quinn softens a little bit, tinged with envy. Oh, how sweet it would be if Honey was sitting on his lap the way Bea is sitting on Quinn’s. He’s so jealous that he has to look away.

“Update that board, Lukey,” Honey teases, her voice cutting through the rest of the chatter like the beacon of a lighthouse. 

Luke mimics her words, high-pitched and whiny the way only a younger sibling can sound, but reracks his cue and turns to the blackboard. He wipes Honey’s scores away with the dustrag that they repurposed into an eraser, then scrawls out a chicken-scratchy “6-0” next to her name. Next to his own, he erases the number of losses and replaces the number with one higher.

Honey beams at him, laying her stick along the table and walking around to gather all the balls from the pockets. She racks them up in a neat triangle, then leaves them immobile on the playing field. Honey joins the group, making herself comfortable on the corner cushion of the couch.

Luke plops down on the other end of the couch, closer to Trevor. Both pool players are studying the game on the screen with equal amounts of intensity, right thumbs pressed against their top lips and eyebrows drawn together in a tight pinch. 

Trevor pulls his phone out of his pocket, chuckling to himself and types out a message. 

“Look at Luke and Honey,” it reads.

Quinn pulls Bea’s phone out of his back pocket, glancing at the screen and making a face when he sees Trevor’s name flash across the screen. He eyes Trevor out of the side of his vision once Bea unlocks her phone and reads the message, tilting her screen so Quinn can see it. 

They both look over at Luke and Honey, eyes flickering between the two, and Bea giggles. She presses her hand to her mouth, but the damage is done. Quinn turns back to look at her, eyes shining as he admires the girl sitting on top of him. 

Trevor doesn’t know the details of his breakup, but he seems to be doing okay. Jack expected a whole lot worse, even briefed Trevor and Cole about the recent split during the drive down to Litchton, but none of them had expected to meet Bea and Honey.

It’s hard to be down in the dumps when there are people like them around.

Honey’s hand drops, dangling over the edge of the arm of the couch. “What?” She asks, apprehensive and skeptical. She glares at Bea, frown etched deeply on her face. There’s a little crease between her brows and Trevor itches to soothe it with a kiss. “What?” Honey repeats, looking around. 

Luke is unperturbed, sitting in the same position and watching Jack putt the virtual golf ball. He laughs out a breath when Jack misses, grinning against his thumb.

Honey seems to recognize the pose immediately, making a face at Bea when the girl giggles again. 

Quinn adjusts Bea on his lap, spreading his legs so there’s more room for her to sit in his arms. She’s practically cradled in his lap, legs no longer thrown over his lap but over the edge of the chair. 

Honey sticks her tongue out at Bea, then returns to the screen.

The sun has started to set by the time Jack and Cole’s game ends and they’re almost in complete darkness once Bea has beaten Honey in bowling. 

Trevor gets a kick out of seeing Honey lose– only because he’s never seen this side of her before. She’s competitive and she likes to win, so when she loses, she sulks the same way that Quinn does. Bea, to rub in her win, grabs Honey by her cheeks and plants a loud kiss on her nose. She overexaggerates a “mwah” and pinches Honey’s skin. Honey is blushing and pushing Bea away, wiping the kiss off of her nose. 

“You are such a sore winner,” Honey chastises, crossing her arms over her chest.

“At least I’m not a loo-hoo-za-her,” Bea replies, wiggling her finger in Honey’s face like Ace Ventura. She spins and beams at Quinn, crawling back onto his lap and pushing her fingers through his hair. 

Trevor isn’t sure that Quinn has told Bea that he’s getting a haircut before the Awards next week– or if he’s told her about the Awards at all. Trevor does know that Bea will be heartbroken when Quinn’s long hair is cropped back to a Catholic-school length and she can’t twirl the strands between her fingers as easily.

Honey blows a raspberry at Bea. She turns to walk toward the basement bathroom, evidently forgetting that it’s being occupied by Cole, and has to redirect upstairs.

Trevor misses her as soon as she disappears up the stairs and out of sight. 

Luke sets out to try and get a perfect score in bowling, but gets distracted making a Mii of himself. It takes far too long and Luke defends himself when Jack chirps him for trying to make his Mii’s body less like a stick than he actually is, which is when he rushes through the rest of his design to get to the game. He scores two strikes in a row, then restarts the game upon only hitting eight pins in his third frame.

He’s less successful the second time. And the third. On his fourth try, he gets a third strike in a row, but then loses momentum.

And Jack is getting antsy, itching to prove that he can do better.

He usurps the Wii, and Trevor realizes that Cole returned from the bathroom a few minutes ago, but Honey has not.

Trevor frowns. She can’t have gotten lost in the house since she’s been here enough times to know the layout and she’s certainly capable of going to the bathroom on her own. She should be back by now. He should go check on her.

“Anybody want a drink?” Trevor asks, rolling off the loveseat and catching himself before he hits the floor, straightening up. He stands still for only a moment before taking off towards the stairs, not allowing anyone to affirm or deny his request. He’s not bringing them drinks. He doesn’t care about that– all he wants is to go find Honey and see what’s taking her so long.

He scampers up the stairs, a baseball cap hitting him squarely in the back as he goes, probably a result of Cole wanting a drink and Trevor running away before he could say so. Trevor laughs a little as he goes and as soon as he makes it up to the kitchen, it’s evident where Honey has found herself.

The balcony door is cracked open and her back is to Trevor. She’s leaning over the rail, looking up towards the night sky. 

Trevor pauses, watching her.

Her hair falls freely over her shoulders, cascading down her back. It’s messy, windswept in a movie-star way. Her jean shorts are doing that gap thing again, showing off the dimples at the base of Honey’s spine and the tramp stamp– her mouth-watering tramp stamp– decorating her skin. Her hip is popped to one side and she looks good enough to eat.

She was right, too. Trevor has to make a very concentrated effort not to get hard while watching her bend over. 

He approaches the door and slides it open. “Hey,” Trevor says softly. “What are you doing out here?”

Honey jumps at the sound of him, but she calms down and returns to her original position in an instant. “You’ve got a lovely view out here.”

Trevor sidles up next to her, bumping her hip with his own before settling in. He looks up to the sky. 

Honey swallows, clearing her throat. “Do you get to see the stars like this in California?”

Trevor’s heart flutters with the question. She’s asking me about myself. She’s asking me about California. She cares. “I live outside of LA,” he explains. “So there’s a lot of light pollution. The stars are harder to come by.”

“Oh,” Honey says, sounding disappointed. 

“Which is why this is so nice,” Trevor adds. “Up here, you can see everything. I’ve been learning the constellations because of that book. It’s really cool.”

“What got you interested in space?” Honey asks.

“I don’t know. It’s kind of like hockey for me. I always loved it.” Trevor shrugs. “When I went to Boston for college, I was an astronomy major, but I went to the NHL before I got to take any of the really cool classes.”

“So that’s why you’ve been looking for books.” Honey looks at Trevor for a moment, locking eyes with him for a split second, then she turns back to the sky. 

It’s dark, but her face is lit up by the moon and the stars are reflecting in her eyes. They’re dimmer than normal due to the clouds rolling in from the west, dark and threatening. They seem far away. A strand of hair falls into her face, distracting Trevor, and his fingers twitch with the desire to sweep it back behind her ear, but Honey gets to it first. 

Trevor looks up. “I think some of it has to do with all the Greek myths attached to the constellations, too,” he murmurs. “I think it’s really cool that the Ancient Greeks were able to see all of their stories in the stars. Plus, I’m Greek, so I guess I feel connected.”

Honey hums, considering his words. 

They fall into an easy silence for a while, surveying the sky. Every so often, Trevor watches Honey from his peripheral. He catches her looking at him twice, and both times, they each blush and look away.

Trevor fixes on one of his favorite constellations– Cygnus, partially covered by a sprinkling of smaller rainclouds. It’s on his list of favorites because it took him so long to find and he’s proud that he was able to do so. Cygnus depicts a swan, who represents Zeus. He reaches his finger out and tries to point the constellation out to Honey.

“See there? That bright star separate from the others?” Trevor asks, pointing at the twinkle of light.

Honey furrows her brow and tilts her head, trying to line Trevor’s finger up with the star he’s pointing at. “No,” she replies. 

“Here.” Trevor stands behind Honey, bringing his hand up and pointing so that she can look down his arm like a scope. Honey leans against his arm, one of her eyes squeezed shut. “There’s Deneb, which is the tail. It’s so bright because it has the power of more than sixty thousand suns. Isn’t that cool?” He drags his finger across the sky to another two major stars in the constellation, spreading his fingers in a peace sign to point them both out at once. “And there’s Xi and Albireo. Albireo is the swan’s beak and if I had a telescope, I’d be able to show you that it’s actually a star that glows blue and yellow.” Trevor unfolds his palm and sweeps it across the sky, drawing the path of Cygnus’s wings. “And those little stars are the swan’s wings. He’s flying across the sky for all eternity. I think that’s really cool.”

Trevor stands, proud of himself, admiring the constellation and his explanation. It takes him a moment to realize that Honey has turned in front of him. 

When he does, he only has a second to take her in. That second of time suspends when his eyes meet hers. He can feel her breath puffing against his lips. Her back is pressed against the railing and Trevor is so close to her that he can feel her heat radiating outward and reaching for him. Honey’s eyes are big and wide, thoughtful.

Then she leans in and kisses Trevor.

Her lips are soft, just like they were when he kissed her in the closet. She tastes sweet, but not like any food Trevor has ever tasted before. He can’t pinpoint it– it’s just Honey.

Trevor barely registers Honey’s hands sliding into his hair, curling the strands around her fingers. He’s too busy reaching for her waist and pulling her close. Her skin is burning under his fingers and Trevor slides his right hand around to her back, resting his palm against the tattoo he discovered just earlier today. 

When Honey’s hips press against his, her torso brushing against his, Trevor allows his left hand to rise. He brushes over her collarbone, then up to her jaw. 

Honey’s fingers tug on his hair and Trevor groans, which is when she licks over his bottom lip and into his mouth.

And he thought he was giving his all to avoid a boner before. That effort is nothing compared to this one.

One of Honey’s hands leaves Trevor’s hair, finding his chest. She presses her palm against his shirt, between his pecs, and Trevor is sure that she can feel his heart pounding. All the while, she’s kissing him.

She’s kissing him.

Trevor crowds into her space more at that thought, taking charge of the kiss. His hand slips from her jaw, resting at the base of Honey’s neck.

And in a beautiful turn of events, she whimpers.

Trevor could bottle the sound up and put it in a safe for the rest of time. The breathy sigh only spurs him on and suddenly his teeth are clinking against hers with the ferocity of his movements. Like an electric shock, Honey breaks the kiss.

Trevor wishes he could take a picture of her.

Her cheeks are flushed and her gaze is a little foggy, focused on his lips until she blinks the confusion away. She sucks in a breath when she looks up at Trevor and her lips are plump, still parted like they’re seeking his own. 

Trevor stands still, not even daring to let out a breath lest it scares her away. He watches her expression go from dreamy to concentrated, and he’s ready to step away, but her fingers clench in his hair and she pulls him back in.

The kiss is not sweet by any means. Honey pulls Trevor’s hand back to her throat, then her hands pull at the fabric of his shirt. She tugs him close, making an indignant keen when he’s slow to move. Trevor is stunned, but the noise snaps him out of it. Her fingers are impatient, tapping against his sides, and Trevor springs forward. 

His hand caresses the column of her neck, feeling all of her little noises rise up and vibrate through her vocal chords. His other hand dips lower, under the gap her jean shorts created. His fingertips dip under the lavender band of her underwear, but they stop there, just teasing her. Honey rolls her hips against Trevor’s cock, totally not erect at all, obviously, and they break apart again.

Honey looks much more surprised this time, caught off guard by her own actions. She pushes Trevor away and he stumbles back, putting enough space between them that Honey can cover her lips with her hand. She feels over the pink skin, her hand shaking.

Trevor can still feel the ghost of the kiss and he expects Honey is feeling the same thing. 

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t interrupt whatever is going through her head. He can’t– he won’t give her any more reason to run away. He knows that’s what’s coming next.

Honey’s mouth is wide open. Her chest is heaving and she’s staring at Trevor. 

Trevor starts to worry when her silence stretches a moment too long. “Do you want me to get Bea?” He asks.

Honey snaps her mouth shut, swallowing the lump in her throat and shaking her head vehemently. “I need to go home.” Like her hands, her voice is shaking.

“Okay,” Trevor says. He’s not sure what else he can say.

Honey steps toward the sliding door, then halts in her tracks. “Bea drove me,” she realizes aloud, eyes widening in panic.

“I’ll drive you,” Trevor says, the words falling from his lips like an avalanche. “I’ll say you got sick. I’ll drive you home right now and I promise I won’t try anything, I swear–”

Honey cuts him off with a nod, meeting Trevor’s eyes for just a second before she looks away and starting blinking more rapidly. She looks like she’s fighting something internally, lost but panicked but ashamed that she’s acting this way, and Trevor just grabs her hand. 

He leads her inside, closing the sliding door behind them and beelining for the front door. He grabs his keys and presses them against Honey’s palm. “Go start the car for me, okay?” He says, talking quietly. He holds Honey’s shoulders, pressing his forehead to hers. She closes her eyes and leans against him. “I’m gonna go tell everyone that you threw up, or something, and I’ll be right there.”

“Okay,” Honey agrees, whispering the word out. Trevor opens the front door for her, keeping a hand on her until she’s across the threshold. He leaves the door open and bounds downstairs.

“Hey,” Trevor calls, catching the attention of everyone in the basement. Jack gripes a bit, missing a strike because of Trevor’s call, but Trevor cuts him off. “Honey’s sick. I’m taking her home.”

Bea’s head pops up from where it was snuggled under Quinn’s chin. She bumps into his head by accident, petting over the point of contact as an apology while she turns to Trevor. “What? Is she okay?”

Trevor waves her off. “She’s fine. She doesn’t want to cause a big deal. She said it might be something she ate.”

Bea scowls. “I told her not to eat that turkey we found in the fridge at work,” she says. “I knew it had gone bad. Poor Honey.”

“She’ll be fine,” Trevor assures the girl, waving her off when she starts to stand up from Quinn’s chair. “I’ll make sure she gets home safe.”

Bea looks hesitant, but Quinn’s hand on her hip seems to convince her to stay. “Okay, fine,” Bea says eventually. “But be careful, okay? It’s supposed to storm tonight. You’re not used to the mountains in the rain. The roads get bad.”

“If it gets bad, I’ll convince Honey to let me borrow her couch,” Trevor says. “I’ll text you when we get there.”

Quinn pulls Bea back down onto his lap, kissing her temple and rubbing her waist comfortingly. “They’ll be fine, baby. Honey’s a big girl.”

“I’m more worried about Trevor,” Bea grumbles in reply, barely audible. “The curves are slippery.”

“He’ll be fine,” Quinn repeats. He looks at Trevor, glaring at the boy, before opening his mouth to boss him around yet again. “Don’t be fucking stupid on the roads.”

Trevor flashes a thumbs-up in Quinn’s direction, then hurries back up the stairs. It’s starting to drizzle already– he can see the sparse raindrops falling towards the ground. They’re lit up by the lights of his car, already up and running. 

Honey is curled up in the passenger seat, her fingers clutching the collar of her shirt and tucked under her chin. She’s looking out the window at the rain and doesn’t acknowledge Trevor when he joins her in the car. 

He drives home carefully, having to turn the windshield wipers up as the rain grows harder. Honey directs him in hushed tones, her voice monotone. Trevor wants to reach over and take her hand. He wants to distract her from whatever is going through her mind. He doesn’t– it’s not his place. 

“Pull in here,” Honey mutters, pointing toward an overgrown driveway marked by a painted-floral mailbox. It looks like a child had painted it and Trevor spots a flower made of little thumbprints on the front flap as he turns in. He creeps down the driveway, approaching the dark house.

He throws the car into park, then gets out of the car. He walks around in the rain, shrugging his sweatshirt off as he does so. He opens Honey’s door and unbuckles her seatbelt, putting the hood of his sweatshirt over her head to protect her hair from the drops. 

Trevor leads her by the hand to her front door, which Honey opens easily. She left it unlocked. Trevor feels taken aback for a moment, but then he remembers that she’s been living in Litchton for five years and there’s barely any crime in town. She’s fine. She probably knows better than Trevor does, anyway.

He stands awkwardly in her doorway, watching Honey navigate the space with memorized ease. Her footsteps are light. She disappears up into the lofted area above her living room, which is just as eclectic and unique as she is. He takes in the knick-knacks and the lived-in space. The blanket on her couch is thrown over the back haphazardly. He can see into her backyard, the big windows on the back side of her house taking up almost the whole wall. 

The house is dark, but it lights up with a flash of lightning. The house shakes with a crash of thunder. Trevor looks outside again and realizes he can barely see to his car, parked maybe twenty yards from Honey’s door. 

He sends a quick text to Bea, letting her know that he just got to Honey’s safely and that he’s going to hang out for a little while before the storm dies down. 

Trevor walks over to Honey’s kitchen, making sure he shut and locked the front door behind him. He finds a peach in a bowl on her counter and a knife in one of her drawers. Trevor washes the peach and cuts it into cubes, plating them. He searches for a glass and fills it with water, then takes both the plate and the cup in his hands.

Trevor climbs up to the loft, moving quietly and slowly so he doesn’t disturb Honey.

She’s curled up in her bed, just a little lump under the covers. It’s dark in her bedroom, but Trevor can see her eyes glinting. Her face lights up with another flash of lightning and he wants to break at the sight of the tears lining her face. 

“Honey,” Trevor breathes out, placing the plate and cup on her bedside table. He rounds the bed, kneeling on the other side and reaching out to touch her face. He wipes away one of the tears streaking her cheeks. 

Honey whines, squeezing her eyes shut and turning to hide her face in her pillow.

“I’m sorry I pushed you,” Trevor says. “I didn’t mean to.”

Honey groans, lifting her head to fix him with one big stink-eye. “You didn’t do anything,” she glowers. “I’m the one who kissed you.”

“Yeah, but I–”

“No, you didn’t.” Honey drags herself into a seated position, pulling her hair out of her face. She wipes her eyes and sniffs, looking miserable. “I’m just… working through everything.”

Trevor pauses, watching her. He feels absolutely helpless, unable to do or say anything that could make her feel better. “I brought you food and water,” Trevor says, feeling lame. “You should make sure you’re staying hydrated.”

Honey’s in the middle of wiping her eyes again as he says it, and Trevor panics when her shoulders start to shake again and a fresh batch of tears leak from her eyes. He moves back from the bed, eyes wide. Maybe it would’ve been better if he hadn’t said anything at all. Now Honey’s crying because of him.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I’m so sorry.”

“Shut up,” Honey tells him, her voice thick with tears, hiccuping. “You are so fucking insufferable,” she continues, and Trevor realizes that her shoulders are shaking with laughter even as she cries. 

His mouth forms an ‘o’ and Trevor looks around, afraid to look at Honey for too long lest she start bawling again.

“Just–” Honey cuts herself off. “Can you–”

“Anything,” Trevor agrees immediately, interrupting her.

Honey presses her lips together, letting the words form in her mouth. She seems to consider not saying them at all, but she eventually continues. She’s sheepish when she looks at Trevor, small and caved in on herself. “Can you lay with me?” The words are resigned when they leave her mouth, her eyes miserable.

Trevor scrambles onto the bed and has her in his arms before she can finish the sentence, all of the breath knocked out of his lungs with relief. He can do that easily– he wants to do that for Honey. He holds her against his chest, tucking her head into the curve of his neck. She’s sniffling again against his skin, marking his neck with wet tears. Thunder crashes outside again, and Trevor just holds her as tightly as he can.

She shakes for a little while, crying silently. Trevor coos at her and wipes her tears away, kissing her temple and rubbing her back in what he hopes are soothing motions. Eventually, her breath evens and her tears dry up, but she stays curled up in Trevor’s arms. 

When she calms down, Trevor starts to feel awkward again. She’s just laying there in his arms and he’s sitting on her bed, not really sure what he’s supposed to do. 

“You should sleep,” Trevor decides. He’s speaking softly, prompting Honey like the gentle nudge of a finger pointing her in the right direction. “The storm has died down, so I’ll head back–”

Honey frowns against his neck, pushing away from his chest to look up at him. “Stay with me,” she pouts. 

Trevor is helpless to say no.

They maneuver themselves down to lay on the bed, and Honey presses against Trevor. She bundles a hand in his t-shirt, throwing the other over his waist. She hides her face in his chest and Trevor hopes that she can’t hear his heart racing, punching against his ribs in harsh beats, even though he knows that she can hear that and more, like the rumbling of his stomach. 

She doesn’t seem to mind, though. She falls asleep, one last tear falling across her cheek as her face finally relaxes.

Trevor wipes it away and pulls her close, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. He doesn’t know what happened to Honey in Charlotte, what made her swear off dating, but he’s determined to find out. He’s going to do everything he can to reassure her and keep her safe. He never wants to see her like this again. 

Trevor’s last thought before he falls into his own restless sleep is, God, I hope I don’t ruin this by waking up hard in the morning.

28:90 – HONEY

It was inevitable. Honey should’ve expected it. Trevor’s dick is hard, nestled against her ass, and he’s holding her there. He’s still asleep, breathing evenly on Honey’s neck with his nose nuzzled behind her ear. 

He snores. It woke her up.

An hour ago.

She doesn’t have it in her to wake him up. Trevor was so sweet last night, trying so hard to do everything right. He cut her peaches up into cubes and poured her a glass of ice water while she expected him to walk right out the door and leave her alone. He held her while she cried and his stupid face, his dumbfounded and panicked expression, made her laugh through the tears.

He handled it well and Honey slept soundly in his arms. She was okay. She’s calmer now, more steady on her feet than she’s ever been after Bea talks her down from a freakout. 

Trevor’s arms are strong around her, affording her very little wiggle room. About twenty minutes ago, Trevor’s hand had shifted to graze her boob, tickling Honey with his movements. Unconsciously, when she leaned back against him, his hand found the curve of her breast and cupped the weight in his palm. 

Honey is surprised Trevor was able to sleep through her giggles. 

His hand is still holding her chest, occasionally squeezing the flesh through her shirt. It’s a comfortable weight now and Honey finds it too endearing to push him away. She also understands the comfort that comes with holding a boob– whenever she finds herself watching TV and lazing around on her sofa, she catches herself with one of her hands on the slope of her chest. It never fails to make her laugh at herself. She really is no better than a man.

Trevor’s finally stirring, though, so Honey has to push his hand away. His wrist ends up curving over her hip, leaving his hand to dangle near the hem of her shorts. His other hand is nice and snug against the curve of her waist, trapped between her body and the bed. Trevor sighs, his voice deep and thick with sleep, snuggling against Honey with a smack of his lips and a yawn before he realizes that he’s not alone, nor is he in his bed at the rental house.

He twitches, pulling himself away from the drowsiness that was threatening to overtake him again. He scrambles back, putting distance between himself and Honey. When Honey turns to face him, mourning the loss of the warm body against her back, Trevor’s eyes are wide and his lips are pulled back in a grimace. He’s watching Honey like he’s afraid of her next move.

She lays facing him and puts her arm under her head, using the curve of her elbow as an extra cushion. She tries to keep her expression neutral. She licks her lips, then reaches her other hand over and tugs Trevor’s shirt. 

He’s stupid, so he doesn’t get it. Trevor stays frozen, way too much distance between his body and Honey’s for what she wants to say. 

Persistently, Honey tugs again at the hem of his shirt. When he still doesn’t move, she rolls her eyes and sits up, scooting over. If Trevor moves any farther back, he’ll fall off the bed. Luckily, he seems to realize that and he stares up at Honey, lips parted. If she weren’t so sure he was freaking out about overstepping and staying in her bed after she calmed down, Honey would think that the look in his eyes might be something akin to awe.

With a huff, Honey lays back down and intertwines her legs with Trevor’s, keeping a hand on his waist. She drops his shirt, but rests her palm on the waistband of his shorts, thumbing over the bare skin above the fabric. 

Trevor shivers and his eyelids flutter a bit. 

Honey wants to laugh. She does, but now is not the time. He’s just so easy. 

“About six months before I moved to Litchton, my high school boyfriend and I broke up,” Honey says quietly. “We had been dating for almost two years and things were great until they weren’t.”

Trevor closes his mouth, watching Honey. His hand, hesitating in the air, comes to rest on her cheek. He pushes her hair over her shoulder and catches one of her waves between his fingers, feeling it out.

“He wanted to go to college. I didn’t. He wanted to make the most of the end of senior year and I wasn’t as into the party scene as he was. I had Bea, who gets invited everywhere by her adoring gaggle of fans, as you well know,” Honey continues, crinkling her nose and nudging it against Trevor’s in a teasing manner. “But there was still that distance growing between me and Thomas.”

“What happened?” Trevor asks, brows furrowed in concern. 

“He started doing drugs,” Honey explains with a shrug. “Speed, mostly, but a lot of acid in between trips. He liked the high of those things more than he liked me.” She looks down. “The first time he mentioned reaching into a pill bowl, I broke up with him.”

Trevor’s hand soothes Honey, running over her cheek. His thumb barely grazes her skin, just there enough that Honey can feel her peach fuzz moving with his fingerprint. He’s paying attention to her, staring at her like she’s the only person who has ever walked the face of the Earth. Honey wants to blush, wants to cover her face with an embarrassed hand, all too aware of the way Trevor is taking her in and admiring her. It’s scary, the way he’s looking at her. It’s the same way Thomas looked at her before everything turned to shit.

Honey looks away. She stares at the logo branded on Trevor’s t-shirt, tracing the line of the design with her fingernail. He draws a breath in when she scrapes over his nipple, making her smile.

“He didn’t take it well,” Honey continues. “Why would he, you know? He couldn’t handle losing all of this.” She gestures down at her body, watching Trevor’s eyes follow her hands. His eyes, unlike Thomas’s, make their way back up to her face. She starts to feel hot tears prickle in the corner of her eyes, but Honey shakes them away. “And I wouldn’t tolerate his behavior. He just wanted someone who would sit idly by as he ruined his life.”

Trevor hums, pulling her closer. He presses a kiss to her forehead, then closes his eyes as he leans against her. Honey brings her hand up between them and runs her finger down the curve of his nose.

“He thought that revenge was the best course of action,” Honey says delicately, smiling ruefully at the memory. It still affects her, even now, although Thomas hasn’t occupied her mind in a substantial way in years. She feels a little silly, gearing up to say what comes next, even though she knows it’s not her fault. She’s not to blame. It’s a shame it still affects her so much, five years later.

“He…” Honey clenches her teeth, cringing in a long pause. “Took things that I shared with him in confidence,” she decides on, her voice shaking not with sadness, but with anger. “And he sent them out to my entire class. They sent them out to other people in the city and they sent them to… explicit websites, not caring that I was underage at the time.” 

Trevor lets out a breath, his grip tightening around Honey’s body. He buries his face in her hair, squeezing her.

“So, I dropped it all. I dropped him, I dropped my other friends, I dropped the whole city of Charlotte and I left. My parents were great– they paid for a lawsuit and got all the pictures taken down from those websites. They finally accepted that I wanted to move here full time and my dad offered the house. I had to pay, yeah, but I had somewhere to live. Eventually, I stopped talking to them, but I wasn’t alone–”

“You had Bea,” Trevor completes the sentence for her, sounding equally as sad as Honey. Trevor tilts Honey’s chin up, capturing her lips in a sweet, chaste kiss. 

Honey needed that.

When he pulls away, Trevor takes a breath. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“It’s okay,” Honey replies. “I’ve had five years to process it. Sometimes it’s hard for me, and I'll freak out, but I want to keep doing the… things… that we’ve been doing. I just can't have everyone knowing– it makes me feel like there's pressure to be okay and have everything seem 'perfect' all the time.”

“You do?” Trevor asks, biting his bottom lip. His eyes rake over Honey’s features, then he brings his lips down in front of hers. Honey can feel the little puffs of breath leaving his mouth, his bottom lip sliding against hers in something less than a kiss when he lifts his chin. "You know I'll do whatever you want, Honey. Secret or not, we should absolutely keep doing the things we've been doing."

“Don’t get too excited,” Honey says, pushing against Trevor’s chest. She smiles, lips pulled tight over her teeth. “I let you sleep way too long. I have to go to church with Ada in thirty minutes and I still have to shower.”

Honey tears herself away from Trevor, dragging herself out of bed. 

Trevor leans up on the back of his elbows, his hair still messy with sleep. “Do you want me to join you?”

Honey scoffs out a laugh, rolling her eyes. “Absolutely not. I’ll take you home before the service. You can shower there.”

“Mmm,” Trevor hums. “Bea can bring me some church clothes.”

Honey lets out a little laugh, exasperated by his determination to see her naked. “You’re coming to church with me?” She asks, stepping through her conjoined bathroom door and reaching for the spout of her shower. She turns the knob, watching the water from the showerhead spurt to life and start to warm up. “I should warn you, I’m not a big believer. I kind of lost all that after… well. Now, you know.”

“I’m not a huge believer either,” Trevor says. “I only join Bea at church when I think I’ll see you. All one time so far.”

“Oh, aren’t you sweet?” Honey laughs, sarcasm twisting her tone. She realizes that it was the wrong response when Trevor lets out a cackle, still bundled up under her bedsheets. 

“You would know,” he teases. “After all, you’re the one who’s tasted me… twice.”

Honey stares at herself in her bathroom mirror, unimpressed. “What the fuck are we doing?” she mouths at her reflection, throwing her hands up. She smooths her hair back, pulling it into a ponytail before letting it loose and shaking her hair. A smile takes over her face until she ducks her head, burying her head in her hands. 

“I’m not going to give you the privilege of a response,” Honey calls, turning and reaching her hand under the water to check the temperature. Steam is starting to rise toward the ceiling, and the water is warming up by the second, so she sheds her shirt and shorts, leaving her in just her underwear. 

Not taking the chance, or the distraction, Honey closes her bathroom door and locks it. 

Trevor knocks soon after the lock clicks, calling for Honey to let him in. Honey just laughs, loud enough that he can hear it, and hops in the shower.

She takes all of fifteen minutes to shower and get ready, leaving them with plenty of time to make it to the church along the main road. Trevor has to wear the same clothes as the night before, while Honey has changed into a flowery skirt and a white bodysuit. She looks much more put together than Trevor, who insists on hiding out in the car once they park in the church parking lot until Bea smuggles some clothes through his driver’s side window. Trevor changes in the backseat, hoping that the tinted windows are enough to cover him up (they’re not– Cole looked through the back window and affirmed that he could see Trevor’s dick… “and balls”). 

Instead of hanging around with the group, Honey walks into the church and finds Ada. She stands in the pew next to her elderly boss, holding Ada’s hand in her right and the hymnal in the other. 

Just before the usher approaches the podium to greet the congregation, Ada whispers to Honey: “Did you help that young man feel better after your poor behavior on Thursday?”

Honey wishes she could throw her head back and laugh aloud. She smirks, throwing a look over her shoulder and catching Trevor fiddle with his tie. Bea notices him loosening it and reaches over to tighten the knot, causing Trevor to faux-gag in the girl’s face. Honey looks at his neat white button-up and his dark jeans, snug against his hips with a brown belt, and she bites her bottom lip. Trevor catches her eyes and grins.

Honey looks back at Ada. “Yes ma’am,” she says, a little smug. “I would say that he definitely feels better now.”

[saltsicklover]

Bikinis, Breasts, and Bucky Barnes

Title: Bikinis, Breasts, and Bucky Barnes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4350

Rating: T

Warnings: Swearing, Light Misconduct/Abuse, A singular joke that may be offensive to First Nations folks. Talks about breasts and augmentation.

This is my first request and I am so thrilled about it!

Disclaimer: I do not own Bucky Barnes, or anything related to Marvel within this piece. Not Proof Read or BETA'd. All mistakes are my own.

I do not consent for my work to be edited, reposted, or translated.

You are responsible for your own media consumption. This is a work of fiction that may contain mature themes. If you are sensitive to those subjects, please do not read.

Summertime has got to be one of the most oppressive parts of the year. Between the sweltering heat and the expectation to be tan, fit, and breathtaking in the smallest bikinis leaves me feeling with nothing but dread. The nausea twists in my stomach, churning and bubbling. 

My boyfriend, Brock, sits on the sofa next to me, staring at the side of my face intently, a gift bag held out in his hand expectantly. He has been talking my ear off about the party that the tower is hosting and I have been dodging the invite for weeks- from him and my coworkers. Any sort of mention and an excuse falls from my lips- "Well, it is a work party, and I would like to spend my day off not at work," or "I don't have anything to wear to that sort of thing," and even, "It's good for you to spend time with your friends and I don't want you having to worry about me the whole party" - Nothing worked. His buddies are supposed to be there, and some new recruits. The idea of it makes me queasy.

"Come on Sweets, open it!" I cringe a bit at the nickname, the one he has been refusing to drop for months. He thrusts the bag into my hands and the plastic crinkles under my touch. I take a deep breath in a shallow attempt to center myself before taking out the few pieces of tissue paper he shoved into the bag haphazardly. 

The feeling of his eyes  on my profile never leaves, not even as the bag hits the floor in front of my feet, a string bikini in my hands. The strings fall loosely between my fingers like limp spaghetti, the small bits of fabric meant to actually cover something seem to be almost non-existent. I hold the fabric up to the light and shapes of the room can be seen through the tan weave of the material. I can't imagine what could be seen through it if it were wet. 

I chuckle out a tense sort of laugh and it gets stuck in the back of my throat- I choke on the idea of wearing something so small. "What's this, Brock?" I hold the swimwear out to him in my hands and it sits on my palms like an offering to a long forgotten god. My palms care clammy, threatening to shake as if I were facing this ancient being head on. Maybe my head on a spit would be more comfortable than this moment; my body flayed out on an alter would feel more conservative.  

"It's for the party, don't you love it?" His eyes search over my face, my figure, the outfit he plans on parading me in front of his friends in. I might be sick. 

"Ha, yeah Brock, that's funny," I throw the pile of strings on the table in front of me. I run my hands over my jeans, hoping to stuff the anxiety from my palms between the stitches of denim. The look he gives me is somewhere between pissed off and disbelief and it is flooding each and every line of his face. 

"It's not funny, it's a gift, Sweets. You should be grateful," He informs me as he pushes himself to his feet. He grabs the bikini off the table as he grabs my wrist with a grip that is just a bit to firm. He pulls me to my feet and over to the full length mirror. 

"See look," He positions me harshly in front of the glass, my reflection staring back at me. I don't like what I see with him standing so close behind me. I shiver, but that doesn't stop him from tying the top on my body, over my clothes. "You are going to look good in this. Could look better, but there isn't a whole lot we can do about that before Friday rolls around," He shrugs like his words mean nothing, yet they are like razorblades. "These need work, but you refuse to do anything about that," He brings his hands up to grip at both of my breasts, squeezing them tightly, his fingers digging into the tender flesh. 

I fight off every instinct to elbow him straight in the gut. Bastard.

"You know better than to bring that up, Brock," I spit at him, trying to wriggle out of his tight grip. He just chuckles at me like we are playing a game- and maybe we are, cat and mouse, and it looks like I'm the mouse. 

"I'm just saying, you make more than enough money at the little job of yours, you could definitely afford it, and you and I both know you would look so much better with maybe a D, or a double D," He keeps scrutinizing my body in the mirror, his eyes locked on my chest. We work at the same place, but because I am a member of the human resources department he seems to think my job is lesser than his- until there is something wrong with his paycheck. 

I have never once question my breast size, at least not until Brock came along. I try not to let his words eat away at me, but with the frequency he brings up the topic I can't help but let my mind drift to it even when I'm alone. The whole thing leaving me tired, uncomfortable and self conscious. 

"If I have told you once, I have told you a thousand times, I am not getting breast implants Brock. If you want a girl with big fake tits, that's fine! There is nothing and I mean nothing wrong with implants but they are not becoming a part of my body and that is final," I rip the bikini top off my body as fast as I can before pushing past him and out the door of his apartment. I am done with this conversation, absolutely, positively, done. 

By the time the party rolls around, Brock is practically vibrating. He pulls me behind him, his signature too-tight grip on my wrist as he pushes through the other party goers, straight over to his friends. 

"Sweets, you know John Walker, Lemar Hoskins, and the rest of the guys," He points at the men all gathered around one of the picnic tables. The party is being held on the upper floors and roof of Avengers Tower; everyone who works in the facility was invited. Tony Stark sure loves to throw a party, and the more the merrier seems to be his philosophy. 

I wave awkwardly with the hand Brock dropped as soon as we were in sight of his friends. I shift my strappy top, pulling the neckline up further with the other hand, my bag swinging from the crook of my elbow. "Hi guys." John goes on to explain to me how he and Lemar are being contracted to work with Brock's team, and how great it is to be contracted through the military. He explains this all so carefree, like he is trying to impress me with the information. It takes all my will power not to roll my eyes. He forgets he met with me to sign his damn contact, what a tool. 

I try and hum and laugh along with their stories as they continue to shoot the shit and catch up, Brock leaving me standing while he sits with his friends. I tune them out, looking around the party for anyone else that I could escape and talk to. John grabs my wrist, his fingernails digging into my skin, leaving small crescents in my wrist as he pulls me harshly into his lap. 

"You're right, Brock, she would definitely do better with some double D's! Say, Sweets, take off that shirt of yours and let us see what you're working with," He tugs the hem of my shirt, causing the deep v of my top to pull down, exposing my swimsuit and sternum beneath it. 

"John," Brock starts, looking stern. Maybe this time he will actually stand up for me, "Let's just say if she had an Indian name, it would be "Starving Children"," He bellows, laughing and grabbing at his own chest. When John erupts into laughter with the rest of the group, I stand, breaking free of his embrace.

"You know what Brock, fuck you, fuck your friends, and fuck this whole situation. I am done. Forget about me, lose my number, and go find a set of fake tits to shove your tiny dick between because we are finished,"  I shout at him, and I know people are watching, but I don't care. Anger is just the part of you that sticks up for yourself, right? 

I can feel the hot sting of embarrassment begin to bleed over my skin as I rush for the building and crushed raspberries have nothing on the color that shows on my face. I stumble down the stairs, praying that I can make it to the washroom before I fall into tears. I push past Bucky Barnes and his friends as they climb the stairs. His eyes meet mine and he offers me a small, kind smile, one I can't find anywhere in myself to return. I push past them, trying not to dwell on it, or the curve of his lips. 

When I push the door open, I am met with two pairs of familiar eyes and one set I don't recognize. Wanda Maximoff and Natasha Romanoff are standing in the washroom, no doubt having some sort of conversation before I burst through the door. The other woman, who can't be older than 19 or 20 stands at the sink, washing her hands diligently. They all eye me carefully and it's at that moment my body, my heart, my emotions betray me and tears begin to pour out of me with ragged sobs. 

"Are you okay?" The girl at the sink asks, dragging her wet hands though her curly hair. "I'm sorry, that was a stupid question. My name is MJ, How can we help?" She asks. The other women hum in unison, rushing to my side. 

Before I know it, I am lamenting about the bullshit I have been putting up with due to Brock and his never ending obsession with breast implants. Six hands begin to dry my tears and rub over my back and arms soothingly. I tell them about the barely existent swimsuit he forced me to wear to the party and how I am embarrassed that I even put it on. 

"You know what, I am sure between the three of us, we can get you a bikini that you will be proud to be seen in," Natasha tells me as she wipes some smudged mascara from my cheek. She gives me the most gentle smile. I can't help but smile back, and before I know it they are dragging me to Wanda's room to get me outfitted into something new. 

By the time they are done, I am clad in a beautiful purple bikini top, one that has hooks and clasps instead of flimsy ties, and a pair of black boy-short bottoms that hug my ass. Wanda pulls my hair back out of my face with a couple of braids while MJ stands next to us telling us all about Peter and how nice he treats her and how any man who doesn't treat me the same way should eat dirt. It's really refreshing to meet a young girl who has such a good head on her shoulders. Natasha slides a beautiful gold and silver necklace over my head, the chain hanging down to mid sternum, highlighting my natural body. 

"You look spectacular," Wanda whispers in my ear as we walk back out onto the roof. I have to admit, I don't think I have ever felt more powerful than I do right now, with these three women behind me. 

"Hey Barnes, get your ass over here," Natasha shouts. I follow her eyeline to the pool where none other than Bucky Barnes is pulling himself out of the water. The water slides down his figure and I can't help but watch as each drop runs over his defined muscles, dipping and rising over each one of them as gravity pulls the water towards the Earth. Once he is out of the pool, which takes seconds, he saunters over to us, a goofy smile plastered to his face. 

"What can I do for you?" He asks her, eyes not leaving mine. 

"I need you to show our friend here a good time, the girls and I have some trash to take out," She informs him, tapping him on the shoulder, like she knows something I don't.

"Hi, I'm Y/N" I hold my hand out to him, still shaking a bit from my earlier encounter with Brock and his scumbag friends. 

"I know who you are, Doll," Bucky chuckles a bit, but takes my hand in his anyway. The handshake is firm and his eyes never leave mine. "Let's get you a drink, shall we?" 

He pulls me along, fingers laces with mine, his touch the complete opposite of Brock's. The idea warms me from the inside out, a sense of comfort finally falling over my soul. Bucky leads me to a table with a couple of his friends, Steve and Sam, who both stand to shake my hand and tell me how good it is to see me again. I can't explain the feeling that thrums through me body when I catch Bucky smiling at me as I shake hands with his friends.

Sam reaches into the cooler and pulls out a bottle of water and a beer for me, handing them across the table. Bucky takes them from him, cracking open the bottle of water before using the table to pop the top off of the beer. He sets them both in front of me with a smile.

"These okay? Or should I get you something else?" He asks, a tinge of worry flashing in his eyes but quickly disappears with my reassurance.  The boys talk and laugh, each making sure that I am included in the conversation. Bucky never fails to open a drink for me, or to share his snacks, which earns a huff from Steve, who claims Bucky won't share any of his snacks with anyone. 

As the daylight is flushed away with the sunset, people begin to trickle out of the party, and before I know it, Bucky and I have been left alone at the table, each nursing a half full beer. Sam and Steve left to help clean up awhile ago, leaving Bucky and I in our own little world of conversation. 

I am listening to Bucky, but my mind seems to drift a bit before a full, hearty chuckle leaves my lips. I slap my hand over my mouth quick, a strawberry kiss of a blush on my cheeks. 

"What are you laughing about? I haven't even gotten to the funny part of the story yet!" Bucky laughs, nudging me in the knee with his foot playfully under the table. 

"I just had a funny realization, that's all," I try to dismiss the thought with a wave of my hand, bringing my beer back up to my lips. I tip the bottle back and Bucky just watches in bemusement for a moment before continuing.

"Oh, you've gotta tell me now!" He insists, crossing his large arms over the expanse of his chest. 

"Okay, okay, fine," I take another swig of my drink before setting it down on the table, "I just realized that I'm not nauseous, for the first time in I can't even tell you how long," I chuckle to myself, shaking my head to dismiss any disbelief.  Bucky cocks an eyebrow at me, so I continue, "With Brock it seemed like I was always nauseous or ill, and now that I broke up with him, everything has finally settled."

"Oh, that's- that's really good, I'm happy for you," He sounds sincere in his words, a smile pulling over his lips. 

"Thanks, Buck," I return with a shy smile.

"Can I ask what happened?" He questions, not quite meeting my eyes. I can feel a stinging flush of color invade my skin at his words but I fight the feeling, rubbing at my skin to ease it. 

"Yeah, sure. He has been harassing me for months about getting breast implants. He said that an A cup, which I am, isn't even a handful, which isn't good enough. He wanted me to get absolutely huge, fake tits because that's what he is into. Then John started harassing me about it too, and I guess I just snapped. I broke up with that tool right on the spot," I explain, and Bucky listens, like really truly listens to each and every word. When I finish speaking, he leans back a bit, a gentle huff escaping his lips.

"So that's what Nat meant about taking out the trash, huh?" He chuckles, bringing his bottle to his lips. 

"Yeah, I guess so," I laugh with him, and the feeling is truly refreshing. 

"I know this might sound horrible, but I am kinda happy that things went the way they did today," He admits, rubbing at the nape of his neck. His hair has long dried now, his bangs flopping in front of his forehead, threating to droop in his eyes. 

"Wow, thanks Buck," I roll my eyes at him and he tries to backtrack his words. "I am just fucking with you, Buck, calm down!" I laugh, and he laughs too, after a beat.

"You scared me!" He throws a towel at me, across the table. It catches both of our beers, the bottles tumbling over. The sticky sweet beer rolls off the table and into my lap as a small sound, somewhere between a laugh and a shriek leaves me. "Oh my god! I am so sorry!" Bucky jumps to his feet, rounding the table to look at the sticky mess in my lap that coat my swim bottoms. 

"It's okay, Bucky," I laugh, toweling off my thighs, "It will wash off, don't worry about it," 

"Well at least we got your suit wet. It would have been a shame to have come to a pool party just to have stayed dry the whole time," We laugh together at his words. "Wanna get in the pool? Just for a little while? It's a beautiful night, it would be a shame to waste it."

I just nod at Bucky with a smile, holding my hand out for him to lead the way. He takes my hand, pulling me to my feet before leading me over to the pool. He gets in first before guiding me down the stairs, holding my hand for balance. I can't help but swoon a bit at the action, a warmth filling my cheeks. 

We walk out to the five foot point, the water deep enough to cover most of my body. With the water covering my chest, the  last bit of insecurity is drowned beneath the surface.  

"I know I keep pushing the envelope with you tonight, but I am just going to say one more thing, than I am going to shut up and keep my ass quiet for the rest of the night, okay?" Bucky runs a wet hand through is tousled hair, water droplets dripping down his face. His eyes glow under the amber lights of the roof, complimented by a tint of cherry pink that is brushed across his cheeks.

"I think you look absolutely stunning, and I'm not talking about the swimsuit. I think your body is absolutely perfect, just the way it is. When I look at you, I don't see boobs or hips or ass or anything else for that matter, I just see you." With each word he takes a step closer to me. 

As the space between us shrinks, the ripples of our movement in the water run together. Finally, mere inches apart, Bucky looks down at me carefully, his whiskey full eyes moving carefully over every inch of my face as if he is taking in the littlest details I even overlook. 

"Thank you, Bucky, I can't even tell you how nice that is to hear," I look down towards me feet out of instinct, but he meets me halfway with a gentle finger beneath my chin. 

 "You don't have to shy away from me, Doll, hell, if it were up to me you would never shy away from anything else in the world," His words drip with honesty. His hand has moved to cradle my face, his thumb sweeping over my cheekbone with soft movements. He holds my hand beneath the water with his other hand, his grip gentle. I squeeze his hand in return. 

"You know, lately I have been getting through the day by telling myself by body is good enough because it holds all of my organs in the right way and it carries my brain from place to place, so it doesn't matter what it looks like, but, if I'm being honest, Buck, today with you has been one of the most comforting days I have had the pleasure of experiencing in a long, long time," I can feel my  breath bouncing off of his skin due to our close proximity. "So, I guess I am trying to say thank you. Thank you, Bucky," 

He barely gets the beginning of a word out before I am on my tiptoes, pressing my lips to his in a soft kiss- one that feels like it has been years in the making, all the time folded over and compressed into an afternoon spent poolside. 

His hands snake around my figure, chests pressed together as the water moves gently around us. He kisses me like I am holy, like I am the most beautiful thing he has ever had the pleasure to touch and I melt. 

For once I am not the one on my knees at the alter, sacrificing parts of myself to a man who can barely keep a flame alit to keep us warm. Blood no longer drips down my hands, there is no bone clutched in my palms. I am no longer loosing a fighting battle against myself for a man who would never carry a shield for me- Brock was the artillery being fired my way and the only thing that ended up in the crossfire was the image of myself. But now, now, it's as if Bucky is honoring me with every brush of his calloused hands against my fingers. With every run of his tongue over my bottom lip I am finding the strength to worship myself again- just the way it should be. 

So I press my chest to his a bit harder, my heartbeat rattling my ribcage. The way he runs his hands over my body is like breathing air, fresh and crisp after years of smog. I let my fingers tangle in his hair where I can, my nails brushing over his scalp and he stifles back a moan. 

I pull back, peering up at him through my eyelashes. "Bucky, you are an incredible man. I hope you know that," I whisper, a small smile spread over my kiss sodden lips, "But that's not going to stop me from doing this!" I sweep a foot under his while pushing him backwards towards the water. Maybe it catches him off guard, maybe it doesn't, but he falls beneath the surface, pulling me along with him. We share an underwater kiss, but that just earns me bubbles to the face. I come up sputtering water and laughing full belly laughs that feel at home outside of my body.

He grabs me again, pulling me into a tight hug. His arms are wound around my shoulders, head perched atop my own. I wrap his midsection in my arms loosely, taking in the night sky just beyond the building. 

"I wish we could see the stars," I whisper, water droplets running from my eyelashes down to my lips. 

"I can't imagine they would outshine you," Bucky mutters, a hint of flirtation in his voice. 

"That's because you grew up in the city, Barnes," I laugh, and his body rumbles with laughter too. He runs a hand up and down my back, his fingertips barely brushing over my skin, but they leave warm tingles in their wake. 

"I've been other places!" He attempts to defend himself but he doesn't go any further than that.  

"Speaking of other places, I should probably get going," I tell him, pulling out of the embrace. "Thank you for tonight, Buck, truly," I move across the pool and ascend the stairs, heading to collect my bag. "Would you tell Nat and Wanda that I'll bring there stuff by on Monday?" I ask him, while I run a towel over my body. 

"Of course I will," Bucky smiles at me. God I could get used to that smile, and those blue eyes of his. I smile to myself as I stuff the now wet towel into my bag. "Speaking of Monday, you and I are getting lunch- or if you are stuck in the office, I will be bringing lunch by for us. I want to see you again." By the time he finishes speaking, he is out of the pool and standing in front of me, a look of excitement scribbled across his features. That big goofy smile of his is going to live rent free in my head for the weekend, maybe longer. Definitely longer. 

"It's a date," I tell him, holding out my hand to shake on it. He takes it and pulls me into his wet body.

"It's a date, Doll," He whispers against my lips before sharing a kiss with me that is too full of smiles and giggles to be done properly; and for the first time I find myself thankful for bikinis, breasts, and Bucky Barnes. 

[lixzey]

Letters

warnings: mentions of therapy, grief, child abuse, keeping a child in a basement, starvation and malnutrition of a child, mentions of bruises, mentions of child protective services, bullying, and hospitalization

a/n: PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION ‼️‼️‼️This has very detailed scenes which may not be suitable for everyone. The last five letters will be the same, so heads up!

The Thirteenth Letter

Timothée stared out into the window, taking a deep breath as the plane soared through the clouds. He knew he had to continue reading the rest of Y/N's letters, as painful as it might be. He was terrified; there was no denying that. The mere thought of a young Y/N going through more suffering made his stomach churn, but he needed to know more. He would find her, protect her, and be there for her in any way he could. He couldn't change the past, but he could certainly make a difference in her future. He had to be there for her, to listen to her, to support her, and to show her that she wasn't alone anymore. Timothée swore to himself that he would do everything in his power to make sure that she felt safe and loved. 

Timothée took another deep breath before opening the thirteenth letter, dated August 11, 2023.

Dear Timothée, 

Sorry, this letter took a long time to write. I got caught up in therapy. I have a new therapist; her name's Gina. 

She asked me about the letters since I had mentioned them to Julie before and they were written in my file. Gina asked me if the letters were helping me, and of course I said yes. She asked if I could show her one, and I did. She took it and ripped the letter into pieces, right in front of my eyes. I honestly didn’t know how to feel; I just stared at the pieces of paper on top of the table.

Gina said a lot of things about coming to terms with my past in a natural and slow process and that maybe these letters weren't helping as much as I thought they would. Writing to you was riling up those painful and bad memories, only making me feel worse. She also mentioned that false hope wasn’t good for me, which is bullshit because I don't really hope for anything anymore.

I know you won't reply. I know you won't even read any of my letters. Hell, I know you won’t ever receive any of the letters I wrote. I just like to pretend that you do, that's all. 

After the 'session', Gina gave me a pamphlet. It was 'How to Deal with Grief and Coming to Terms with Loss'. It was shit, really. Because one of the bullet points says to talk about your loss with another loved one. Funny, because all of my loved ones are dead. So here I am, talking to you, because you are the next best thing. 

So anyway, here's the continuation of the story of my fucking life. 

I still spent the rest of my days down in the basement—locked up alone, scared, and nearly dead. I was sickeningly thin from malnutrition and dehydration. Bruises littered my body in all shapes and sizes; I had scratches all over—out of frustration and skin irritation from allergies, since I didn't get the chance to fucking clean myself. Every day, I prayed for some kind of miracle to set me free from that living nightmare. I didn't know how much longer I could survive in that hellhole. I could hear my aunt's voice upstairs every night, laughing and carrying on as if I wasn’t three feet under her house. It made me sick to my stomach to think about how she could go about her life while I suffered down below.

It didn't get any better, until my eleventh birthday came around. Honestly, I didn't know how long I was down in the basement. I had lost track of time, but it felt like I had been down here for years. Then one day, my aunt just dragged me out of the basement and shoved me into a bedroom upstairs. It turns out a social worker was looking for me. I was eleven, and the school year had just begun, but I wasn't at the local school, so child protective services got worried. My aunt got to work fast; she made me look as if I wasn't abused—that I was a normal and happy kid living with her. She did a fucking great job, I'm not gonna lie—she covered each and every blemish on my body with foundation and concealer—fucking impressive. She bought clothes, toys, and everything a child would need just so she could avoid getting arrested for child neglect. 

When the child protective services came again, I was forced to act like everything was alright and that I was in a happy home. I desperately wanted to tell the social worker the truth. I wanted to scream so badly and just run into the social worker's arms and beg her to take me away, but I couldn't. 

My life got a little bit better after that day, though. My aunt was forced to let me stay in the room upstairs rather than the cold basement downstairs since child protective services visited me every week. It was easier for her to let me stay in the bedroom than to make me look decent every time. I was never to leave the room unless necessary, not that I wanted to leave the room with my aunt around the house. I still got the bare minimum from her—I still got her scraps of food, but it was better than nothing. 

Then middle school happened. 

At first, I was excited to make friends with kids my age; I never had any growing up since I usually stayed at home with my parents and there weren’t really any kids in the neighborhood I grew up in. So, naturally, I thought that making friends would be easy.

I was too fucking stupid to believe that it would be easy. I mean who was I kidding? Middle schoolers were fucking mean—well,  not high school mean, but you get the point. I was bullied relentlessly, and I always dreaded going to school; it was torture. The kids in my class always made fun of me, calling me names and treating me like shit. I was the freakishly thin girl who always wore baggy clothes that no one wanted to be friends with. There was this one time when this girl—her name was Claire—tripped me in the hallway, and I crashed into the janitor’s cart. Bleach and other cleaning chemicals spilled everywhere—on my skin, on my clothes, and in my hair. It burned my skin so badly that I had to be taken to the hospital to get treated properly. Until now, I still have burn scars on my arms and neck area. I had to wear long-sleeved shirts to cover up my arms, though in the long run, the burns weren’t the only reason why I covered my arms up.

I just wanted a normal fucking life, but life decided to push me into a living hell. Was that too much to fucking ask? I’m so damn tired, Tim. I don’t think I can live like this anymore. I’ve been through so much, and what’s written in this letter isn't even half of what I’ve gone through.

I think it’s about time to stop writing, don’t you think? As if you’d answer me, God, I never fucking learn.

Maybe Gina does have a point. Maybe these letters really are making everything worse.

All my love, 

Y/n.

Timothée sighed, folding the letter and tucking it back in its envelope. He wanted to let her know that he was—in fact, listening—granted that it was a year late, he was listening. The pain and suffering she went through were unimaginable, and the guilt he felt for not being there for her when she needed him most was killing him. If the letters had just arrived earlier, he would have done anything to make it all easier for her. 

“I hope you're still here, Y/n. I hope you didn't give up.”

@helens3amstuff @gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @lovemelikecrazyiloveyoucrazy @tchalamss @ashlynnmalfoy @imnotoverlyobsessive @crazycat-ladys-blog @michakune @mxltifxnd0m @spencerr3idd @dangelnleif @sthkate @ferrjulie @mel-vaz @elsagreeer @lovely-maryj @meowmeowmau @bobthe-turmpetman29 @saintcosette @ashisabitgay @ladyladybuggg @nyrasunderwrld @lizzxoxo @remussbitch @jadahxx @starrystormwritings @ell0ra-br3kk3r @dreary-salem @drewsandsebastianswife @greenapplegrass @lilianelena39 @danni-phant0m @haybellewrites @cloudlst @si4a @ev3ningrain @ttulipwritezz @bambikitten @bullets-from-another-dimension @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @reg-arcturus-black @abruuinlove @marina468 @3stelar @timhalamet @st4rf00k3r @idli-dosa @jimins15thhair @blacksgarden

[pseudoquiddity]

Here is my radical "The Nocturnal Ending is Bad for the Kin" take because I feel the need to write it down.

As I see it, the Diurnal and Nocturnal ending are equally as bad/good for the people of the Kin (to modify the statement I just made above). It's Artemy's miserable job to choose which part of the Kin is "most" Kin to him, based on his lived experiences the past two weeks.

Oyun and several other NPCs state multiple times that the Kin are a single-headed beast. If you kill the worms in the Termitary, Artemy can also believe that the Kin are a hivemind. If this is what you and/or your Artemy believes, then so be it, but there is evidence to the contrary. Aspity has a different take on this, Isidor has a different take on this, you can have a different take on this, and you're all undeniably Kin. The Kin members you meet in Aspity's place asking for her advice all come to her with different problems representational of the factions the Kin are splitting into. Should they rebel violently? Should they learn Russian? Is there a point passing down their values when their values have no purpose in this settler society? Var, too, "looks" Kin but claims he isn't. But the Worms attack you and help you "as one" in the Abattoir. Taya believes they're all fingers on a hand and inseparable. There is no "alone." So which is it? Well, Artemy, you choose ...

The "Kin hivemind" is an objectively fantastical concept that may or may not exist in the Kin, the same way that massive aurochs maybe did, maybe didn't roam the Earth at one point.

During the plague, massive numbers of the Kin die. In the Termitary, for one, but also people on the street. We know this is because they're "too individualistic." They're too integrated into the town and have strayed too far. It's a kind of internal diaspora. Artemy, who leaves the town and is himself half Kin, and so grapples with whether he has the right to make massive decisions for the Kin or not, whether he's really Kin enough, is like these people. These people have never left the town but they have left behind part of their Kin identity. These are the "average" people, people who aren't fantastical, who need to work jobs to feed their families, who make mistakes and, like Artemy, struggle to fit in a world that at its convenience, sees them as a member of the town or not.

During the Nocturnal ending, the members of the internal Kin diaspora will probably die to the plague. They never had the chance to prove themselves, like Artemy did, that they're still connected to the Earth. What's preserved is the fantastical. Murky, Grace, Taya and Clara get to live because they are also partly embedded in the idea that they are pieces of a whole, and they're also little miracles themselves with their latent abilities tied to the Earth.

So, here, Artemy makes the decision that to him, the Kin is miracles; it's all of the myths he heard, they're a hivemind, they're magical, they're suprahuman. There's no room for the mundane, disconnected members of the Kin, who are long-since discarded victims.

In the Diurnal ending, the miracles die. In the Diurnal ending, to this Artemy, the Kin are the everyday people who are caught up in this settler colonialism system like he is. There are no more strange Worms, or Herb Brides, but there is a little steppe encampment outside the town for anyone who considers themself Kin and that might be good enough for Artemy. This ending, though, is a deeply conservative one where things won't change. Conditions will modernize as Vlad improves quality of life for the workers, but members of the Kin who join him again and decide to live in the town will drift farther away from their heritage, further churned up in the system.

So, it really is an impossible decision ... for Artemy to not quite feel like he belongs himself, who is passably European but is also interpreted as Kin when people want to mark him an outcast, and then he ultimately has to sever one aspect of the Kin forever. And neither decision is "good," but he has to make it, so neither decision is "bad," too. Ultimately, like the Bachelor, in the Haruspex's P2 ending, the "system" wins. For the Bachelor, it's a new oligarchical system spearheaded by the willfully corrupt Kains, and for Artemy, it's the system he struggles with since day one when he was hunted in the streets.

[seoafin]

dog days are over | chapter five

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader x geto suguru warnings/tags (for this chapter): mentions of virginity loss, threesomes, depression (the holy trinity lmfao), birth control, full on dissociative panic attack but not in detail, obligatory stsg warning. also cheating mention (but not really gojo is just jealous and geto likes the attention. they gaslight each other for fun btw) word count: ~9.2k

fic masterlist read on ao3

The nightmares start after Nagoya.

You wake up bleary eyed and distinctly worn out, with a heaviness in your chest that you carry with you. It only gets heavier.

The auxiliary manager you worked with promised to share any more relevant information with you about the case. You should have left it at that.

It becomes harder to stay uninvolved in your assignments, you're beginning to find, especially when innocent lives are taken.

You leave a piece of yourself behind every time a child cries.

You sit up from your bed and glance at the clock above the doorway. 11:54 AM. Light streams in from your windows, and you close your eyes in the temporary warmth before it fades, leaving your room cold. Outside, the trees are barren and the overcast is gray in preparation for the upcoming winter. It’s reaching that time of year you feel the most lethargic, where people and time pass by you in a blur. In the spring you’ll wake up fully, and it’ll the cold will have faded like a bad dream. 

It's almost Satoru's birthday.

It’s cold. You feel goosebumps form on your arms. It occurs to you that you may have forgotten to turn on the heat in your apartment. Central heat. A rare luxury in these types of apartments. But you don’t want to leave the warmth of your bed, so you lie back down and curl into your bed.

Just as you’re about to succumb back to temporary emptiness, the door to your bedroom is thrown open. You wince as the door slams into the wall, raising your head.

“Something happened,” Shoko says plainly, crossing her arms. “I hope you haven’t been hiding from me on purpose.” 

You don’t recall giving Shoko a key. But you must have, if she’s inside of your apartment. Guilt churns in your stomach. You’ve been avoiding not just her, but Satoru and Suguru. You’re unsure of how to act around them anymore. You don’t know how much you can tell her. How much you should.

Then she lightly frowns. “Why is it so cold in here?”

You sit up, worried the cold might be bothering her. “Let me turn on the heat.”

Before you can stand, she waves you off, taking off her coat and lazily throwing it on a nearby chair. “Forget that,” she sighs, walking over to your bed and motioning you over. “Move over.”

You wordlessly comply, scooting to the far end of the bed as she settles next to you, lifting the covers over her body. 

The two of you look at each other, at the opposite ends of your pillow, sharing your comforter. At the warmth of her body, you almost close your eyes. You think if you fell asleep now, no nightmares would come to you.

“Shoko,” you say quietly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ignore you.”

But you had. Days passed in a blur. You didn’t give much thought to it, devoting all your efforts to routine. Luckily, there were no assignments after Nagoya. This bitter winter is a slow season for curses. You went from your apartment to Tokyo University and back, buried yourself in your studies, and blocked out the world. You hadn’t meant to. You kept on telling yourself you’d reply to that text, that you’d show your face again, that you’d pretend everything was alright even though it wasn’t. Now you’ve caused Shoko undue worry.

She simply looks at you. “Something happened at the party, didn’t it?”

You think of Satoru. Then Suguru. It’s the most you’ve thought about them in weeks. You don’t want to think about them because the longer you do, the more your thoughts stray in ways it shouldn’t.

You pull your covers up to your chin, troubled, and your silence speaking volumes. She softens. 

“Never mind. I’m not here to force you to talk,” she pauses. “But if something happened. Something you didn’t want , then I want you to tell me.” She exhales. “Even if it’s Satoru and Suguru. Especially if it’s those two.”

It wasn’t…They didn’t…They…

You’re conflicted. “They wouldn’t…” you trail off weakly.

She looks at you blankly.

“It…”

You bury your face into your comforter. You don’t have the words to explain. It’s okay, you want to tell her. You’re more worried about Satoru and Suguru’s relationship than anything else. They’re arguing about something, you want to tell her, and engaging in acts with you you know they’ll regret. You’ve never cared much for what they do with you. You’d do anything, give them everything if they asked. If she asked. You lower the blanket.

She eyes you, suspicion lining her face. “Did they—”

“No,” you blurt out before she can finish. “Yes. Maybe.” You hesitate. “It wasn’t…”

Bad.

It feels like an admission of guilt. It felt so good it was horrible. You shouldn’t have enjoyed it. You shouldn’t have succumbed to the pleasure, not when the future of Satoru and Suguru’s relationship hung in the balance. It’s your fault, you think once again. The world is collapsing on top of you, and you can’t help but think it’s punishment for your existence. For taking more than you should have.

“Are you on birth control?”

You stare at her. “What?”

“Birth control,” she repeats, deathly serious. She rises from the bed. “I should get you started now—”

You reach for her delicate wrist, stopping her. “It’s not like that!” Your face warms with embarrassment. “I promise, it’s not like that.”

It's not that serious, you're sure. Even the thought gives you pause, makes you apprehensively embarrassed. It's not...like that. 

Luckily, it’s something you don’t have to worry or think about. 

“...If you say so.” She says, not believing you in the slightest. She retakes her position on the bed. “So,” she says after a pause. “Shirokami visited the infirmary.”

Right. You forgot Hideo had gone and introduced himself to Shoko.

Your stomach flutters, nervous. “Did you like him?”

“I did,” she replies. “He’s…” a thoughtful pause. “Nice. A country boy.” A wry smile. “Nothing like those two. At all. It’s refreshing, actually.”

Relief. You suppose he did grow up in the countryside, so it’s not too far off from the mark. As for being like Satoru or Suguru…

You resolve not to be hurt. The two of them are under no obligation to meet anyone. You won’t be hurt. 

“He made it seem like the two of you are close friends.”

You’re sure he’s just being polite. Hideo is nice like that. Nonetheless, it makes you a bit happy to hear you made an impression on him. That he thinks of you fondly. He considers you a friend. Maybe there’s hope for you after all.

The comforter is warm with the shared heat of your bodies. Sleep calls out to you.

“He…scares me a little,” you say quietly. Hideo reminds you of a part of your life you don’t like to revisit. He makes you feel like a child again, afraid to be alone. “There’s a lot I don’t like to remember…about…back then. But I’m glad I met him again.”

“I see,” she says, smiling. “Then me too. I’m glad the two of you found each other again.”

You blink drowsily, smiling back at her. Shoko’s face is the last thing you see before heaviness drags your eyelids to darkness.

—

When you wake up, you are pleasantly revitalized and a little more alert. Shoko is gone, but there’s takeout on your kitchen counter. You take a bite of the Vietnamese noodles and realize that your taste buds have somewhat returned. You eat the entire meal, full for the first time in what seems like months.

You reply to a text from Hideo about the crowd at Shibuya crossing, smiling at the litany of exclamation points accompanying by his texts. You realize Megumi texted you earlier, about when you’d be coming by again and another pang of guilt hits you. You’ve been neglecting the kids too, lately. You wouldn't survive Mimiko and Nanako's wide eyes, gazing up at you, pleading at you to stay with them.

It’s six now, and the sky is pitch black. You know for a fact that Suguru and Satoru won’t be at the apartment until later. Yaga-sensei had mentioned Gakuganji visiting Tokyo accompanied by several other clan members for some annual conference. You didn’t pay attention to the details.

You…could visit. Suguru would have already fed the kids by now. Maybe you could take Megumi and the girls out for dessert. Or order something to the apartment. You feel lighter at the thought. Spending time with the kids always made you feel better. It’s something you can do, as small as it is. Small things.

Small steps.

You change and you’re out the door shortly. It doesn’t take you long to reach the apartment, greet the doorman, and take the elevator up. You knock. A few minutes later, the door swings opens, revealing Megumi.

“Hi,” you say brightly. “Have you been well?”

“Fine.” He lets you in. “Don’t you have a key?”

You laugh, still a bit breathless from the cold as you hang your coat up. “It doesn’t feel right to use it. I’m still a guest after all.”

Megumi doesn’t respond to that as the two of you enter the living room. It’s unusually quiet. “Where are the girls?”

“Mimiko and Nanako are with their friends. Tsumiki stayed after school for club.”

Just a couple of years ago, the thought of Mimiko and Nanako willingly spending time out of the apartment would have been a surprise. The two of them had been so recalcitrant about attending school. Suguru wanted to keep them homeschooled while Satoru thought putting them in school would be the best way to ease them out of their shell. It had taken time and patience, with several bad days, but eventually the two warmed up to their teachers and fellow classmates, Nanako especially. And where Nanako went, Mimiko always followed.

Mimiko had flowered into a sociable butterfly following her reintegration into society. It makes you happy to know that the two are alright now, so readily available to spend time with their friends.

“Just me and you, huh.” Megumi wouldn’t leave you though. Not yet. “Have you eaten?”

“Yeah,” he states. “Earlier. I was just finishing my homework.”

You glance at the kitchen counter, finding Megumi’s homework spread around. “You don’t usually do your homework outside your room.”

“It’s quiet with everyone gone,” he says bluntly. 

You smile, taking a seat as Megumi slides in next to you. He resumes his homework, and you let him carry on, helping him when he asks, simply content to watch. A few pauses during this science homework which you help him through easily. He glides through his English homework, and you feel unnaturally proud of him as you proofread his work.

It doesn’t take him long to finish. Soon, he’s gathering his homework up and packing it into his backpack.

“I was thinking,” you start. You hear the door open in the distance. It must be the girls. Perfect timing. “That we could all go out for—”

You turn, every hair on your body rising in panic.

“Sato—s’guru,” you blurt out, frozen. “What are you guys doing back so early?” Your question comes out more accusative than you intended. Of course they could come back as early as they wanted. It was their home after all. You were the interloper. 

It’s just..

You thought that you’d have a little longer!

The two of them look at you. You shift uncomfortably, gaze bouncing from them to the floor to the wall behind to anything else. You’re a little more aware of the heat of their gazes on you, pinning you to the spot. Your collar feels warm, nerves jumping beneath your skin.

“The meeting ended early,” Suguru says amicably, smiling at you in a way that would be reassuring at any other given moment. “Satoru didn’t want to stick around.”

Satoru is oddly quiet, gazing at you. Even with his sunglasses on, you feel the weight of it, that prickle that tells you he’s focusing his attention on you. Your bottom lip twinges. You are determined not to meet his gaze. Or hold Suguru’s for too long.

Satoru cocks his head to the side. “You staying over?”

You think it’s Satoru’s way of telling you to leave. That you’ve outstayed your welcome. Suguru is too nice to say it outright.

“No,” you say, voice thin, throat growing thick. “I’m leaving now.”

“Can we talk?” Suguru asks quietly after murmuring your name. He gazes at you.

That’s the last thing you want. To be alone with the two of them. You don’t want to hear what they have to say. You want to imagine things to be okay, just for a little longer. Until you can’t.

“I’m sorry!” You say suddenly, antsy, hit by a sudden need to justify your presence at their home. You hope Megumi forgives you for the lie you’re about to tell. You glance down at him. “I just came over because Megumi needed school supplies!”

There’s a long silence.

A shadow of a twitch of an eyebrow falls over Satoru's face. "Since when does Megumi need school supplies?”

Suguru watches you carefully. 

Your face burns in silent shame. You stare at the floor, feeling horrible. 

“Since today,” Megumi returns testily. “We’ll be going now.”

Satoru looks mortally offended.

Megumi takes your hand and walks you out while you can't bring yourself to lift your head.

Outside, you bury your face into your knees. “Sorry,” you mumble. “Just give me a few…”

You squeeze your eyes shut and take a shuddering breath while your heart races in your ears.

“Are Satoru and Suguru okay?” You suddenly ask Megumi, who stays silent next to you. “Any issues?”

“They’re the same as ever,” Megumi says tonelessly, but his face is softer in its worry.

You smile. “I’m fine,” you tell him reassuringly.

He's right. If anything, at least the two of them don’t seem to be fighting. Not like they were during the wedding. But you still don’t think you can go back in there, and now you’ve forced Megumi out of the apartment.

You feel a mixture of guilt and horrible, horrible dread slowly spreading through you.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I shouldn’t have come. You probably don’t want to be out this late—”

“I don’t mind,” Megumi says. “I was going to take a walk anyway.”

That brings a small smile to your face. “It’s a bit late to take a walk, don’t you think?”

He shrugs. You feel a bit better at the fact that he’s not bothered at your impromptu outing. Rising, you take his hand once more. “Then let’s walk.”

You and Megumi walk around the neighborhood. The streets are dark, illuminated by streetlights in the mostly residential area. Other than the occasional dog walking passerby, the two of you walk in comfortable silence. Until the two of you find yourself all the way in Shibuya with its bright lights and noise. It’s easy to get lost in the lights of Tokyo’s busy nightlife. Throngs of people pass you by as you meander, following the crowd, with no particular destination in mind.

The two of you stop by a 7-11 tucked a bit further away from the bustle. You buy yourself a strawberry daifuku and ask Megumi if he wants anything. He isn’t hungry, so you buy him green tea.

More aimless walking takes you to Sakuragaokachō, away from the crowd. Streetlights and dark buildings greet you, but something about the area looks familiar. Nudges at muscle memory, the nerves in your foot. If Megumi notices your pace pick up, he doesn’t say anything.

You make your way down the street and slowly approach.

It’s a small, odd shaped building. With a curved dome of a roof that makes it look like a half moon.

You stare. “I think I used to come here.”

You remember the pitch blackness of a room, the steady hum of the ac that had filled the room, and the slow blinking of the stars coming alight on the ceiling. You remember this building. 

The memory feels distorted. Incomplete. You feel like a clumsy child putting together a 500 piece puzzle, slotting pieces that don’t fit together. Your head hurts. 

There’s a sign taped to the window next to the entrance. You momentarily squint.

Closing for good. All bookings are final. 

Closing…for good…

Megumi calls your name.

“Sorry,” you blink it all away. “It’s nothing.”

“...Do you want to go in?”

“No, it’s fine. It’s just…”

“It’s still open.”

“That’s okay.” You don’t want to force Megumi along with your whims even more than you already have tonight.

“I want to go in,” Megumi points inside. “We can buy tickets right now. It’s the last show”

He looks serious enough that you consider it, glancing at the building. If it were any other child but Megumi you might have worried that it would be boring. “Alright,” you say slowly, less troubled. “If you really don’t mind…”

He tugs you forward. The two of you enter the carpeted lobby and approach the usher who hands you two tickets without much fanfare and tells you that this is the last showing of the night. To your great relief, nothing looks familiar. It’s all different. It might not even be the planetarium you had regularly been taken to as a child.  

The two of you enter the dark room faintly lit by dim stars dotting the curved ceiling. There are three couples scattered across the room. You let Megumi pick your seats in the corner and slide in next to him on the reclining seats.

The seating is different. It used to be standard seating in rows. You think. You aren’t sure. Maybe you just aren’t remembering it right. You must not be remembering anything right, right now. You’re buffeted by a perturbed feeling that grows stronger with every passing second.

The room is enveloped in darkness. A recorded woman’s voice begins to play. One by one the zodiacs appear above you while the voice drones on about creation myths and history. Amanominakanushi, Takamimusubi, Kamimusubi.

Different constellations are projected onto the ceiling, constantly in motion, forming new shapes, fading in and out.

You used to come here. You were a child then. You aren’t a child anymore. Nothing is the same. You aren’t that naive child that had proclaimed this planetarium your favorite place in the world. You hadn’t cared about the planetarium as much as you loved being pressed against your warm father, and his steady hand on your head. Your mother’s hushed whispers pointing out more stars.

You suddenly can’t breathe. You are keenly aware of Megumi right next to you, the humming of the air condition in the background, the narrator on the speakers, and every single breath trapped in your chest. Your head spins.

You close your eyes, slowly fisting your knuckles until they’re tight, feeling your legs and arms go numb. It’ll pass. It’ll pass. Don’t bother Megumi. It’ll pass. It’ll pass.

“—a’am”

“She’s occupied.”

Megumi’s curt voice.

When you open your eyes, the lights are on and you are on the floor, clutching your knees to your chest. You blink, readjusting to the light.

The attendant looks unsure. She looks barely out of high school. “The show’s over and we have to clean up so…”

“Right,” you say unsteadily, embarrassment slowly creeping in. You stand. “I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s alright…” She looks more relieved than bothered. “The exit’s to the right.”

You quickly gather Megumi and make a dash for the outside.

“Sorry,” you tell him breathlessly, once the two of you have made it far away enough that the embarrassment isn’t as painful. You squeeze your eyes shut, press your hands into your eyes, and take a big gulp of air. “Megumi,” you mumble. “I’m really embarrassed right now.”

“It’s okay,” he says quietly.

There’s a horrible, sinking feeling in your stomach. You kneel down, meeting him at eye level, and manage your best smile. “Hey,” you say, cupping his face with your palm to even your gazes. You meet the dark purple of his eyes, the sincerity in their depths, and think that Megumi has all Fushiguro Toji’s roughness and grit, but none of his meanness. He couldn’t be more different than his father. Your Megumi is a good boy. “I’m alright. Thank you for spending the night with me.”

His gaze lowers. “Yeah.”

You stand back up, brushing your pants off. “I should take you back to Satoru and Suguru now…” You take out your phone to call a cab, but Megumi speaks up.

“Can I stay with you tonight?”

Your first thought, guiltily, is relief. You can’t send Megumi to the apartment himself so you resigned yourself to having to face Suguru and Satoru once more. You have a late morning tomorrow. It’s Saturday so Megumi doesn’t have school either. It’s the perfect opportunity. 

You smile. “Of course you can.”

——

You text Satoru and Suguru that the two of you have arrived home, shut your phone off, and find Megumi already tucked underneath the covers of your bed. Thankfully Megumi had left some of his clothes the last time he had visited. You watch him for another minute, the steady rise and fall of his body, and the smallness of him. For once, he looks his age. Just another sleeping child.

A couple of years and he’d be as tall as you. You doubt the two of you would be able to comfortably share a bed as the two of you do now. You observe him, adjusting his sheets, smoothing out his hair, until you join him in slumber.

——

You wake up with a start, a scream building in your throat. 

Megumi isn’t in bed. It’s still dark out. Fear grips your heart as you look around your room. Maybe your shuffling had woken him up and he had gone into your guest room to sleep. The thought makes you feel marginally better. But you also feel bad. You should’ve delivered him back to the apartment, swallowing down your discomfort in exchange for Megumi’s sleep.

“I got you water.”

You startle. It’s Megumi standing in the darkness of your doorway. You blink, adjusting to how the shadows meld into him, almost swallowing him whole.

Your throat happens to be parched. “Thank you,” you rasp out as Megumi presses the glass into your hand and climbs back into the bed. You drain the glass. “Did I wake you?”

Megumi’s silence tells you everything.

You sigh. “I’m sorry. It’s not usually this…” Bad. You figure it’s all the stress of your life. And then with Nagoya…

Megumi looks at you. “You were…” he trails off, pulling the covers up higher, up to his neck. “Nevermind. It’s nothing.”

You hope you haven’t been talking in your sleep.

Megumi falls asleep easily enough again, while you thread your fingers through his hair.

When sleep claims you once more, you hope for the forgiving light of the morning to come quickly.

You’re about to head home from the campus of jujustu tech when you catch a glimpse of blonde hair in your peripheral, turning the corner to the courtyard.

“Nanami!” You call out, and the figure stops.

Your kouhai turns to you as you approach, a respectful downtilt of his head. “Senpai.” 

It’s been a while since you’ve seen him. He looks as good as you can normally attribute to him. Straight laced and responsible. Nanami’s always had a maturity to him that you’ve always thought highly of. It’s been years since the two of you were in high school, but sometimes you can still see the slight sullen downturn of his lips when Satoru does something particularly annoying. Some things don’t change.

“How have you been?” Judging from the overnight duffel in his grip, he must have just gotten back from an assignment of his own.

“The same as always,” he responds. “Thank you for asking.” A sensible answer you’d expect from him. He pauses, looking you over, the tinted eyepiece over his eyes offering you nothing. His gaze doesn’t pity you. He doesn’t offer you condolences. It’s an understanding that makes every single troubling thought resurface.

Oh, you think.

“I heard,” he says quietly. About Nagoya.

Your smile turns tight. You force it wider. “It’s over now.” You don’t know what else to say.

“The children…”

It’s a rare moment when Nanami is at a loss for words. You hadn’t expected Nanami of all people to bring this up in conversation. You’re not as upset as you could be about it. Talking to Nanami is and always has been…surprisingly easy.

“An aunt volunteered to raise them.” You think of the shell shocked son and the blank eyed older daughter. Your mouth turns sour. You stare at your shoes. Hopefully, they’ll get settled in soon. You will yourself to say the words but nothing comes out. 

Nanami understands. “Ah. I see.”

The two of you stay silent.

“Nanami!” A voice exclaims loudly.

Satoru.

You don’t have time to react before Satoru is there, in front of you, loudly slapping Nanami on the back. You wince, both at the noise and Satoru’s sudden unwanted arrival. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you were ignoring—”

Wordlessly, Nanami inclines his head to you once more, before turning on his heels and walking in the opposite direction of where he had been headed previously.

“He hasn’t changed one bit!” Satoru sighs. “Just when I thought the shared bonds of adulthood brought us closer…”

“...”

You wonder if you can slowly inch away.

He turns to you, as if sensing your intentions. You brace yourself for impact.

Satoru cocks his head to the side, studying you in silence, gaze shielded. You swallow, pulse starting up as you stare back at him.

“Seven tonight,” he finally says, to your great confusion. “Wear that…” he twirls a finger, “dress.”

A slow smile pulls at his lips. His fingers smooth out the collar of your dress shirt, and you swallow nervously when his fingers brush the heat of your neck. “Suguru barely got to see it, you know?”

Oh.

You hadn’t even thought about it since you shoved it back into your closet, hadn’t touched it. It felt wrong to throw it out. Shoko picked it out specially for you. Despite it all, you wanted to hang on to it.

He takes a step forward. You take a step back into the wall. He leans into you.

“Don’t be late!”

–

You hadn’t planned on wearing the dress. Then you looked up the restaurant on Google and nearly dropped your phone at the price range. 

-

After taking your jacket, the hostess brings you to one of the private rooms in the back before leaving with a bow. You hover at the shoji, feeling anxiety grip you tightly, knowing that Satoru and Suguru are already inside. You wonder if you have to. You could lie, make up some excuse about an emergency as (un)well as it would be received.

The door abruptly slides open before you can decide.

“There you are,” Satoru simply says.

You aren’t given time to do anything else but take off your shoes as Satoru takes you by the wrist with an ironclad grip and leads you to the opposite of the table where Suguru is already seated.

He smiles at you as you slowly lower yourself onto the tatami matting floor. Even now, you still find comfort in Suguru’s smiles. It feels wrong.

“Have you eaten?” He asks as Satoru settles down next to him. “The wagyu here is famous.”

“I’m fine,” you say tightly. Hunger is the last thing on your mind as Satoru and Suguru watch you. Suguru with a carefully crafted smile, and Satoru with an unreadable expression. You’re so nervous you might pass out.

You stare down at your lap.

You are saved from the silence when a waitress knocks and enters the room with a tablet in her hands. Satoru begins listing off an obscene amount of food with Suguru occasionally chiming in with one thing or another. Wagyu, house smoked salmon, lobster, a colorful variety of more seafood, and more. They must be hungry.

Satoru goes quiet. You realize the waitress is waiting for your order. You raise your gaze with a small, polite smile. Had there even been a menu? “I’m not hungr—”

“Double everything,” Satoru says.

You stare at him.

“Add hot chrysanthemum tea to that,” Suguru adds.

“And that,” Satoru completes. “Put it all on my card, would you?”

You’re taken aback. You look to the waitress, hoping she hasn’t put in the order yet. “A-Actually—”

“That’ll be all,” Suguru says smoothly. “Thank you.”

The waitress bows and slips out of the room before you have a chance to say anything else. You don’t have time to comprehend her disappearance and you’re left staring at the empty space she had previously occupied, mouth slightly agape. You turn back to them.

“I ate bef—”

“Then you can eat a little more,” Suguru replies easily. A winning smile playing on his lips. “Right?”

You can’t meet Suguru’s gaze, but you feel it travel over you. “...”

When you chance a glimpse up, Satoru’s face is cradled in his palm. His gaze is centered a little lower than your face. You briefly wonder what he’s looking at when your hand automatically comes up to slap the memory of his teeth on your collarbone. The bruise is gone, but with Satoru looking at you like that you can’t be too sure.

The two of them share an infinitely amused glance.

Satoru opens his mouth. You beat him to it.

“I’m sorry!” You blurt out. You feel like it needs to be said before anything else. You clear your throat. “I’m sorry.”

Satoru raises an eyebrow. “Already?”

“What are you apologizing for?” Suguru asks.

Your fists curl, anxious to be speaking everything to existence. You struggled between acknowledgement and the relief of denial. You didn’t want it to be true, but it still happened, hadn’t it? “Everything,” you say plainly. “I didn’t…I don’t want to come between the two of you…I think that the two of you should talk things out more instead of…”

You think of Suguru’s face between your thighs. Satoru’s lips on yours. Your face feels embarrassingly warm. You want to crawl into the nearest closet, shut the door, and burrow into the floor.

There’s a knock on your door. Your waitress places your drinks down and leaves once more. Glad to have something to occupy your hands, your hands circle around the tea mug. It’s hot enough to burn, but the prickling of pain in your hands oddly enough, grounds you.

“It’s okay to be mad,” you say quietly. You should’ve stopped things before they escalated. Instead you let yourself be caught up in everything. “If the two of you want to be mad at each other then I’d rather you be mad at m—”

“Just a second!” Satoru raises his hand.

“Y-yes?”

He proceeds. “We’re not mad at you.”

Satoru meets your wide gaze evenly. Disbelief. You look to Suguru. You need confirmation. 

“I was never mad,” he says, regarding you with concern. “More worried.” A wry smile. “You started avoiding us so suddenly…”

The revelation stuns you. They aren’t…mad? They don’t hate you? The two of them know everything. More disbelief. Relief wars with confusion. You don’t know what to think. You thought the worst, and maybe that was all your fault. You’ve always gotten too caught up in your head. It’s easy to spiral when you’re left alone with your thoughts. You don’t like being alone, the loneliness, but it’s your most familiar friend. 

“I thought the two of you hated me,” you admit, fingers clinging to the warmth of the tea in your hands in lieu of fidgeting. “I thought the two of you would never want to see me again…” It doesn’t feel real. They aren’t mad. They aren’t mad at you. You could cry from the relief.

You eye them warily. “Are you still fighting?”

It’s Suguru who answers you, expression soft. “You could say we’ve come to a compromise.”

You straighten, feeling lighter than you have in what seems to be ages. They’ve called you here to forget about everything. Everything is alright. Everything is going to go back to how it was. Well, not exactly. Satoru and Suguru may get married in the near or far future, and you'll naturally, slowly, take your leave from their everyday lives. But you’ll still be friends. Suguru will still look at you fondly. Satoru will still afford you the same considerations that everybody else thinks he lacks.

“I’m glad,” you say earnestly with a wide smile. “Then I’ll forget about everything. I’ll pretend nothing happened.”

Everything is going to stay the same. You take immense comfort in that fact. Your nerves settle. You take a long sip of your tea.

The two of them share another look.

Suguru reaches out, his fingers brushing one of your hands that you laid palm down on the table sometime after Suguru told you he was never mad at you. His thumb sweeps over your wrist and you startle, pulse spiking. “Did it feel good?”

You blink. You don’t need to guess to know what he’s referring to. You glance from Suguru to Satoru and then back again, wordlessly opening and closing your mouth. You can’t escape from the question, or their combined scrutiny.

You press your legs together. “It…did…” There’s no need for you to have felt as if you shouldn’t have enjoyed it, but you still feel a pang of guilt. Satoru and Suguru aren’t mad at each other, or at you. They still love each other. Everything is going to be alright. Everything is going to stay the same.

“That’s good,” Suguru says warmly. “I wanted to make you feel good.”

“Oh,” you reply, breathless and unsure. “Thank you.”

Satoru exhales with a laugh that shakes his shoulders. It’s not derisive like you expected. It’s fond and amused. “How about all three of us feel good?”

You blink.

The implications aren’t lost on you. You open your mouth and then close it. Maybe Satoru and Suguru’s odd actions towards you had nothing to do with their argument in the first place. Maybe you were overthinking it all from the start. It’s just sex.

If you could help them feel good, then you don’t mind. “Okay.”

The two of them stare at you.

You wonder why they look so...surprised. It’s not as if you’ve never seen an occasional third breach their bedroom. A man or woman you've never recognized. It’s just sex. It’s normal. You think that maybe, like you, they want the comfort of something familiar. And if anything, you are familiar. But—

You’ve never had sex before.

You hesitate, feeling oddly self conscious about it as your gaze drops back to your lap. You’ve entertained some thoughts about it all, but you always figured the ugly scar on your abdomen would be discomfiting to most. And explaining it…

“I’ve never been with anyone before. I hope that’s alright.” You fidget. “I’ll try my…” you reluctantly meet their gazes, ”best.”

There’s a brief silence.

“That was easy,” Satoru remarks, squinting at you as if you’ve been replaced by an identical lookalike. He glances at Suguru. “We should’ve just done this earlier.” His gaze joins yours once more. “That easy?”

Earlier…

You stare at them, almost dumbfounded.

The two of them should’ve just asked earlier, to save you the emotional turmoil if anything! 

It was only ever sex. It only is sex.

You hesitate. You don’t mind. You really don’t. It doesn't need to mean anything, especially with you. You prefer to look at it in simpler terms. Sex can be pleasurable, and with you, that’s all it would ever likely be. You doubt there are any other intentions involved.

Then you say, quietly, meaningfully, “I like…spending time with the two of you…”

A bark of laughter leaves Satoru’s mouth. “Well, we’re not exactly going to be watching movies —”

“You don’t need to,” Suguru suddenly says. “If you don’t want to, then you don’t need to.” He gives you a soft smile despite the sharp jab of his elbow into Satoru’s abdomen. Satoru hisses. Suguru doesn’t miss a beat. “Don’t let this guy pressure you.” There’s a pause. “Everything would stay the same.”

Maybe a part of you had been waiting for those words. Everything would stay the same. Suguru always knows what to say, you think, because his words feel like a confirmation.

“Are you two alright with me?” You ask. “I’m sure there are plenty of other people…” who know what to do.

You are gripped with sudden anxiety and your stomach twists into knots. You don’t know what to do. You wouldn’t know how to make them feel good. You’ll be terrible and they’ll wish they never asked you in the first place. You swallow the knot in your throat. “I’m sure Sasaki-san would love—”

“No,” Suguru’s fingers momentarily tighten over your wrist. “Only you,” he says at the same time Satoru says, “Who the hell is Sasaki?”

You blink. “5’4, brown hair cut into a bob, hazel eyes. She was wearing a silver colored kimono…” You pause thoughtfully, recalling the shapes and patterns. “There was an embroidered crane on it.” Running down the side of her left leg. “She smelled like apple blossoms and had soft hands…” She smelled good. You remember that, along with the heat of her fingers when they brushed your own. You stare down at the hand that had touched her, momentarily lost in thought.

Satoru stares at you blankly while Suguru looks vaguely resigned.

You try again. “The matchmaking ceremony you ditched…?”

Satoru is characteristically unrepentant. “Which one?”

“...”

Suguru looks like he’s trying to stifle laughter.

All those poor girls…

“Masaru Sasaki,” Suguru murmurs. Satoru makes an annoyed face.

“ That girl. She was practically hanging off your arm—” Satoru bites the rest of his sentence off, blue eyes narrowing at Suguru. “You cheatin’ on me?”

Your palms immediately turn sweaty. It could be a joke. It could also not be. Sometimes, with Satoru (and even Suguru at times) it’s hard to tell.

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you,” Suguru replies blithely. “Maybe you’ve been neglecting me.”

You busy yourself with your lukewarm cup of tea, unsure of what to do. A second’s glance upwards and you’re met with an amused glint in Suguru’s eyes and a lazy grin curling at his lips.

If Suguru was lonely maybe that was why he sought you out in the first place. The more you think about it, the more it makes sense. You’re not one to comment on things that aren’t your business in the first place, but it seems more and more likely.  You knew their boundaries. They knew you’d never push for anything they don’t want. If Satoru doesn’t like Sasaki-san, maybe they compromised on you.

You think back to Suguru’s words. They’ve settled on a compromise. That’s what you are, a compromise. The thought consoles you. In the end, it’s nothing serious. Nothing you should have given more than a second’s consideration. It’s as insignificant as a loose lipped comment. The two of them will have stopped fighting now. You’re glad for it.

Satoru snorts. “Neglecting you right into her open arms,” a derisive twist of his lips, “or should I say le—” 

“She seems very nice!” You exclaim, sweating. “It’s not very nice of you to say things like that, Satoru.” You chide lightly, before you smile brightly at Suguru. “She’s very pretty.” You hope you come off encouragingly so that you can convey to Suguru that you are on his side. “She seems wonderful.” 

Suguru blankly smiles back.

Luckily you’re saved from having to salvage the conversation when there’s a knock at the door. Your waitress returns with a cart of food, quickly laying down platter after platter. It doesn’t stop until almost every open space on the long wooden table has been filled with seafood. You stare at it. The abundance of it all. Maybe Satoru shouldn’t have doubled everything…

Your tea is refilled as Suguru murmurs his thanks. When the waitress takes her leave you’re still staring at all the food, unsure of where to even start when Suguru sets a stacked plate down in front of you.

You stare at the colorful array of sashimi and uni and the perfectly cooked wagyu. Your stomach already hurts at the coming richness of the meal, but now that the load of potentially ending Satoru and Suguru’s relationship has been lifted off of your shoulders you’re a bit hungrier than you were when you arrived.

Satoru keeps on loading your plate with more and more food. You pick up your chopsticks, intent on slowly shaving down the precariously tilting seafood tower on your plate when he conversationally asks, “So how was Nagoya?” as he places a large piece of uni on your plate.

You think of a sobbing, blood stained child clutching his mother’s severed hand in his arms. Then you think of Megumi.

Your appetite dies, stomach curling inwards.

They don’t know, you think as you look at the both of them seated across from you, waiting for your response. It was classified as a grade 2 mission after all. Two worlds shattered, and it hadn’t even merited a full time auxiliary manager. It’s considered beneath them now, eliciting the same mundane response as Suguru asking Satoru to check the week’s weather so that he can put umbrellas in the kids’ backpacks. The other week Suguru captured a curse that could have easily leveled Tokyo with a crushing tsunami. Satoru had been away in Malaysia.

It was just another child alone in the world, another corpse, another casualty.

You stare at your cup of tea. You hear Nanami’s gentle, quiet murmur in your ears. I heard.

You wonder if this is something you should even bother them with. There are always more important things to worry about than one of your bad days. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t matter. Not really. You don’t matter. You never have.

“It was fine,” you hear yourself say. It was horrible. You’ve been having nightmares again. It’s been a long time since an assignment hit you this hard. “Just another assignment.”

“Did something happen?” Satoru stares you down.

“Not much.” You reply easily, wondering when it had gotten so easy to lie to them. Just about the small things.

You silently pick at a piece of hamachi. It’s not your place to get involved. You can’t get involved in the tragedy of all the assignments that make you feel as if everything you’ve ever done is redundant, even if you can logically acknowledge you’re unlikely to make a real difference. Not on a real, tangible level. It still makes you feel horrible. 

You are suddenly, very, very tired.

“Are the kids home?” You want to see Megumi, wrap your arms around him, and squeeze him tightly just to reassure yourself he’s okay. You want him to never have to worry about jujustu society or the responsibility of being a jujustu sorcerer. You want him to be able to choose. It’s wishful thinking. It’s already late and the four of them should be getting ready for bed. You wish you could just hold Megumi, Tsumiki, and the twins. The four of them are so young, and already too old.

Suguru’s smile turns affectionate. “The twins are asleep by now. They had a late night yesterday. But Tsumiki’s probably still up doing her homework. I’m not sure about Megumi…”

“Probably sleeping,” you confirm. An early sleeper, and early riser. The boy had his habits.

“You wanna stop by?” Satoru asks casually.

You blink. You must be imagining the suggestion in his voice. 

“I was just wondering about the kids,” you rush out, embarrassed for having even thought it in the first place. Of course not. It’s not as if they were expecting anything from you right now. If anything, you should bring the night to a wrap so the two of them can get back home instead of having to entertain you. “It’s getting pretty late out though, isn’t it? Maybe we should call it a—”

“You haven’t touched your food,” Suguru lightly frowns and although his displeasure isn’t aimed at you, you still feel somewhat chastened. “Still not hungry?”

“A-ah…” You pick your chopsticks once again. “Thank you for the meal,” you murmur, taking a bite of the first thing your chopsticks come into contact with. Octopus. You realize that it might have been rude of you to not eat anything when they’ve so graciously invited you to an expensive restaurant like this. Now that you’ve taken a complimentary swallow, you look up at them expectantly. “I don’t want to keep you two—”

“Maybe we should order some drinks,” Suguru takes a couple of bites out of his own food. “Satoru needs something sugary or he’ll be too restless to sleep tonight.” He sighs forlornly, despite his lips pulling into a teasing smile. “When he gets in a mood, he likes to push me around in bed.”

You blink.

Suguru looks at him, fond. “He’s a horrible sleeper.”

Satoru huffs. “And you love me for it.” A thoughtful pause. “I could use a drink.”

“Great.” Suguru presses the button on the table. It doesn’t take a full minute until your waitress appears in the room. “Your most sugary nonalcoholic drink and a cup of sugar. I’ll take a bottle of your most expensive Junmai Daiginjo. Two cups.”

You open your mouth to object, but Suguru beats you. There’s a concerned look on his face. “Is there something wrong with the food? I thought you would have at least finished your plate…”

Your waitress almost imperceptibly freezes, the smile high on her face. You look to her in a panic. “It’s delicious!” You look to Suguru and say once again, “It’s delicious!”

Satoru looks a few seconds away from breaking into loud laughter. He succumbs, snickering into his elbow.

Suguru breaks into a smile. “I’m glad. You’ll eat some more, won’t you?” Then to the waitress, he says, “Two cups.”

The waitress hightails it out of the room after a bow. You stare at your plate in silence as Suguru and Satoru have a pleasant conversation about how although Satoru hates going to the Zenin compound, he had found something interesting there the last time he visited (two weeks ago). Your ears perk when Suguru says heavenly restriction.  

You take another bite of the food on your plate, intent on finishing half of it before your waitress comes back in an effort to make her feel more comfortable.

This time, your drinks are delivered by a waiter. You feel bad for your waitress who had probably asked to be transferred to a different room. Suguru pours you a cup as Satoru takes a long sip of what looks like a strawberry cream float. It looks like something out of an amusement park cafe, but Satoru looks satisfied.

You’re about to ask about the heavenly restriction, when Satoru eyes you.

“I should feed you,” he announces.

You stare at him. “What?”

He stands up abruptly. You watch as he makes his way to your side of the table in three long steps, and plops down next to you. He takes a large piece of uni and holds it up to your lips. 

“Open up!” He says cheerily.

You do not open up.

He’s making fun of you, you’re sure of it. “You don’t need to feed me,” you say pointedly. You look to Suguru for help, but you only get a grin in response.

“Indulge him,” it almost sounds sympathetic. “He’s in a mood.”

Up close, his eyes are piercingly determined. You relent, opening your mouth as Satoru places the uni in your mouth.

“Now be good and finish your food,” he says smugly. “Or you can finish the rest on my lap.” 

You stare at him in unabashed horror.

"At least try to look somewhat interested," Satoru deadpans.

Suguru snorts.

Under the threat of Satoru’s continued intervention, you slowly make your way through your plate as Suguru refills your cup. Time passes in a blur. Satoru is warm next to you, shoulder pressed to yours, and you resist the urge to lean on his shoulder. It’s almost reflexive, to sink into him. The two of them quietly talk about a child called Zenin Maki. You force your shoulders straight while their voices drift in and out, feeling your eyelids slowly dragging shut.

You blink when Suguru says your name. The two of them are looking at you.

“Sleepy?” Suguru inquires.

You slowly nod. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I should go.” You gather your things, but when you rifle through your bag to find your keys you realize they aren’t there. You pat your pockets, search your bag once more, and still. “My keys…”

Satoru lifts a finger to your face, the ring of your keys looped around his index. You reach out to grab it but Satoru lifts it away. You’re confused. Those are your keys. You reach for them again, but Satoru swiftly moves away. You’re debating on stopping him with your cursed technique. Infinity isn’t on, you can tell.

“Satoru—”

“How about a kiss first?” He murmurs, leaning in, lips hovering close.

Your bottom lip throbs, as if remembering the shape of Satoru’s teeth and the way it had drawn blood.

…

…

…

You’re already putting on your shoes. Satoru must have sneaked a few sips of Suguru’s alcohol. He’s drunk.

“I’ll stay somewhere else tonight,” you say quickly. Shoko would probably still be up. If not, there were always hotels around. In the morning you’d ask your building’s super to open your door. You have a spare key inside.

Satoru sputters. “Hold on!”

Suguru laughs, long and loud. You relish the sound, despite your back being turned against him. He says your name.

You pause, meeting his gaze over your shoulder. To give him the benefit of doubt if anything. Suguru pats the floor next to him.

You eye him. Suguru’s expression is full of innocuous intent.

“At least let me look at you before you leave,” Suguru sighs out. “Before you leave us again.”

Suguru looks sad. It makes you feel…kinda bad. You have been busy lately, haven’t you? (Avoiding the two of them.) You don’t like it either. You’re glad this dinner has resolved most of your worries. You crawl to him, intending to say your goodbyes to his face, but Suguru takes your hand.

You aren’t sure how you end up on his lap. You really aren’t. You were on the floor and now you aren’t, and Suguru’s chest pressed to your back. You open your mouth and then figuring against it, you close your mouth. You opt for staring down at your own lap and trying to stay still enough to rival a statue. 

Suguru’s arms wrap around your waist. “Much better,” he murmurs, playing with the hem of your dress that reaches down to your ankles. “I like this color,” he says conversationally, as if your mind isn’t white blanket quiet in your panic. “Did Shoko get this for you?” His lips brush your ear.

You nearly bolt but Suguru’s arms hold you down.

“Pfft.”

You give Satoru a wide eyed look pleading for help from where he’s made himself comfortable on the floor in front of you, lying on his side, head propped up to the side by a hand. 

…You hadn’t expected Satoru to help.

You really didn’t.

You feel your will to flee slowly drain out of you. Prey resigning itself to be dinner.  

“Shoko…picked it out.”

“She likes dressing you,” Suguru says with a small laugh, releasing your hem and hiking your skirt up high enough for his hand to slide up your thigh in a caressing gesture. “How about you give Satoru and I a turn next?”

You blankly burn a hole into your lap, deathly mortified. “That’s…” a little embarrassing, you think. Why would they ever want to do that? Satoru is looking so intently at you that he could be jealous, and you think you might be sick. After all that talk about Suguru feeling neglected…

“Like…another dress?”

Suguru hums.

“...Shoes?”

Suguru laughs. You can feel his smile. "Among other things."

“S-Suguru,” you start, putting your hand over his arms locked around you. “I should really get going…”

He sighs, and you can feel it in his chest. “Right. Of course.”

You wait for him to loosen his arms, to free you, but he doesn’t move.

“...Suguru—”

“Kiss tax!” Satoru interrupts, suddenly in front of you. He’s insistent, leaning into you once again with a hand on your thigh, except you have nowhere to back away but into Suguru. “Just one and you’ll be on your way!”

This is humiliating. You want to die.

Satoru’s face hovers closer and closer. Without thinking you intercept his lips with a hand, muffling his mouth.

“We shouldn’t,” you blurt out. “Not in public.”

Satoru doesn’t deign you with a response. Instead his gaze exaggeratedly sweeps the room, as if to emphasize the lack of other people. 

Someone could come in. Anyone could see. They don’t want to be accidentally seen with… you. “Nobody can know.” Then for good measure you say it again. “Nobody can know.”

Satoru isn’t happy. You can tell by the press of his lips. Suguru’s gaze bears into the top of your head. But you’re worried about their prospects. About everything they might regret. It’s best to keep this a secret. They’ll thank you for it later, you’re sure.

“Who car—”

“Please.”

Satoru momentarily glances upwards. He’s still unhappy. “Fine. Right Suguru?”

“That’s right,” you hear him say from behind you. His tone is carefully measured. You don’t want to look at him, and you can’t discern his feelings either. “A secret.”

You exhale. “Thank you.”

After a second of agonizing hesitation, you lean forward and press a small, short kiss to Satoru’s waiting lips. When you pull back, you shyly say, “kiss tax paid.”

“That was nothing,” Satoru says immediately. “Ten more.”

You frown.

“You forgot someone.” Suguru’s voice is light, almost chiding.

You didn’t forget. You just hoped it wouldn’t have to come to this. You turn your head to the side and lean in. Suguru meets you halfway, lips soft on your own. Almost immediately, Suguru’s arms go lax, as a hand comes up to cup your face, thumb running along your cheek.

It lasts a second longer than Satoru’s kiss, which is already enough to get him whining about timing the length of your kisses which means more kissing.

All that matters is that you’re finally free. You jump to your feet, swipe your shoes, and run out the door without a second thought.

[mysteria157]

Chapter 4

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

Word Count: ~3.8k

CW: Profanity

Summary: When you think you’re a step ahead to keep Nanami out of your way, your world comes crashing down and makes it harder for you to decide to break the news.

Notes: Hi! Thank you all for taking the time to read. Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated but not necessary <3 I hope you enjoy reading!

Previous Chapter | Ao3 | Next Chapter

It Had To Be You Masterlist

Divider: @cafekitsune

“Who’s the father?”

The question made you flinch, tears long since stopped running and your face was surely a mess. You couldn’t answer her and couldn’t look at her even though her silver eyes were tearing you down by the second.

“Y/n. Who is the father?”

You kept your watery gaze at your desk, hoping the silence would be enough for her.

She was quiet for longer than what you hoped for, making you antsy and tense until you eventually flicked your gaze up at her. Ome furrowed her eyebrows, her face etching into a look of pure confusion before falling into disbelief, the pieces clicking together.

“Nanami?! I know you’ve always had a boner for the guy, but I’m pretty sure the last time we were in Tokyo, he made every effort to piss you off and your affection pretty much fizzled out.”

You didn’t respond, choosing instead to look down at your hands that sat pathetically in your lap. You shouldn’t have felt so chastised by Ome. But she knew you inside and out; your goals, your values and your personality. So, the surprise was warranted. The small hint of disbelief made all the more sense as well.

“Was it when we went to the izakaya?” You nodded softly; eyes still turned away. “I tried to follow you but Gojo told me Nanami texted and said he took you home. I thought he apologized.”

Oh, he took you home alright. He took you to your hotel and barely made it inside before you both were pulling at each other’s clothes and falling into a drunken and sweaty heap on your bed.

The sudden heat in your cheeks pulled you back to the present, your mind racing with every intricate detail of that night before you shook away the thoughts. Now wasn’t the time.

“What happened? Did he…you know…?”

You paled and scoffed harshly.

“No. He may get on my last nerve but Nanami isn’t a monster.” 

You went into detail about that night, describing the conversation between you both before stopping when things got entirely too explicit. 

“I thought things would be a little better after that but I woke up and he was gone and I got this instead.”

You pulled out your phone, scrolling to a chat that you wished you should have deleted sooner. How Nanami managed to get your number, you’ll never know. The only ones from Tokyo who had your number were Shoko, Gojo, and Yuji. Any one of them could have slipped him the number under the guise of wanted to discuss work related matters. You slid the phone to her, your gut churning as you watched her read the message exchange.

Nanami Kento: Y/n. I apologize for leaving abruptly this morning. We were both incredibly intoxicated and made a decision that shouldn’t have occurred. I should not have kissed you. It was against my better judgement and I apologize for making you uncomfortable. Such a mistake will not happen again. 

You did not make me uncomfortable and I understand. 

Nanami Kento: Great. Have a safe flight.

“I’ll kill him.”

Ome’s words were laced with poison, permeating the air and making your skin prickle. She let the phone clunk onto your desk, pulling away from you to pace back and forth.

“He could have just told you that in person. Fucking coward, sending it through a text. I’ll beat his ass. Pull out his Scandinavian looking hair and stuff them down his throat.”

The room was thickening with tension, your nerves fraying and your head pounding, and you could feel your throat closing up, the usual anxiety placing its heavy hands on your shoulders as you let out a shaky breath.

“It was just one night. I had gotten over it really.” 

You hadn’t.

“But I have an IUD…we used a condom…I was careful, Ome.” Your words cracked at the end, tears swimming in your vision as your emotions fluttered away from you, slipping through your fingers like melted butter. “I was careful…”

She stopped pacing, sensing your unease and coming to kneel in front of you.

“I know you were, honey. But unfortunately shit happens….and the important question right now is, are you going to keep it?”

You shook out a watery sigh, brushing away fat tears as you tried desperately to get yourself under control. The thought of an abortion had crossed your mind briefly, so fleeting that you never really let the idea simmer. Of course, you wanted a little more time in life. You were already twenty-nine but even another year or two would have been great. You could earn more money, get a higher position, find someone to settle down with.

But not everything goes according to plan and maybe this was karma for always trying to be predict how your life was going to go. While you wanted a partner to be there for you…you could do this on your own. You’ve gotten this far with your own hard work and dedication, raising a baby would be more challenging but not impossible.

You had a house that could be a home for even two children—three if you wanted to push it; a nice backyard, a good neighborhood, great schools. It was doable. And you had Ome, who would be more than enough.

“I’m keeping it. I don’t need him to raise a child. But I still need to fucking tell him and I just—” You groaned softly, wiping at your face as your eyes began to sting again. “Jin wants me to come with him to Tokyo next week for a new project that I’ll have a larger role in. I can’t avoid him; he has to know. But I can’t do this by myself Ome.”

“I’ll come with you.” She was steadfast in her response, soft hands rubbing your arms. “Don’t argue with me. You and I both know Jin would let me go with you in a heartbeat. I’m not going to let you do any of this alone.”

“Stop being so nice.” You tried to tease her through your flickering voice, body beginning to shake as your throat tightened even more. You wrung your hands together, skin tingling and beginning to perspire with cold sweat. Your chest gave a painful lurch and you could practically feel your heart beating against your ribcage. “I don’t deserve it.”

She scoffed, placing a hand on your cheek before turning you to face her. Your vision was shaking and suddenly you realized your entire body was trembling with fear.

“You’re not going to the guillotine, you’re pregnant. But you’re also having an anxiety attack, so I need you to breathe.” You followed her instructions, pulling a shaky but long breath into your lungs before exhaling. Eventually the heart palpitations stopped, the trembling reduced to intermittent jolts, and your hands had cooled against your legs. “You know exactly what you deserve, and self-loathing is not it.”

She pulled you onto your feet and went about tidying up the office; she closed the blinds, shut off the computer, gathered your purse and held out your jacket for you. You wordlessly shoved your arms into the sleeves and smiled softly at her as you pulled your purse over your shoulder. You rushed into her arms, burying your face in her shoulder as she rubbed your back soothingly.

“I told you once in middle school that I would protect you, and I will continue to do so. Just me and you, buddy.”

“Thank you.”

She hummed in reply, the motion of her hand on your back relaxing you slowly.

“I haven’t kicked a man’s ass in a long time so I might be a little rusty.”

You shook a wet chuckle into her shirt.

***

Gojo Satoru: Why did I have to find out from Yaga that you’re gonna be in the office tomorrow? Do you not like me? I thought we had something going here.

I honestly wanted to surprise you. 

Gojo Satoru: Lies.

Ome is coming.

Gojo Satoru: I forgive you 😘  

You were only expected to be in Tokyo for a few days but already your phone was blowing up with messages from Yuji, Shoko, and Gojo. It brought you a small feeling of warmth to be so accepted by people who had only known you a few weeks. You had always kept to yourself growing up. The tiny group of friends that you and Ome did have moved overseas after college and while you maintained contact, it wasn’t the same as seeing each other in person. You were just naturally introverted and were content to go to work, partake in a few hobbies when you had the time, and be a homebody.

So to feel Gojo pull you into a bear hug when you walked into the office that Monday, you savored the feeling of having more people who wanted to be close.

“Where is my lover?”

You couldn’t tell if his persistence with Omelia bordered on delirium or fear of rejection.

“She’s with Yaga and Jin, and she’s definitely not your lover.” 

You could have told him that Ome had a boyfriend, but even you weren’t really sure what the status of that was anymore. She spent most of her time complaining about him but not actively trying to leave him. Even after cheating. Regardless, it wasn’t your business to tell and you wouldn’t risk Ome’s privacy and trust. But Gojo was surprisingly nice—even if a little eccentric and chaotic—so Ome couldn’t strangle your neck if you gave him a little nudge.

After all you were pregnant, she wouldn’t be able to strangle you for a least the next ten months anyway.

“Stop trying so hard with her. If there is one thing Ome hates, it’s men who act like they have it all.” He opened his mouth to protest. “Even if you do have it all Gojo, carrying on like an annoying teenager will only earn you a punch in the face from someone like her. Like most women, she naturally hates men. But unlike most women, she will get violent if you don’t calm the fuck down.”

He shuddered; bright blue eyes filled with playful desire. The action made you chuckle softly, your face curling into a grimace.

“My soulmate.”

It was during the first team meeting of the day when Jin announced the new project that would be completed by both Tokyo and Sendai branches and that you would be working as a Co-Lead. Everyone seemed excited about the prospect, especially Yuji. You couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm as he asked his father questions, ignoring Megumi’s gentle but annoyed demands to stop talking.

You already knew to expect the glower from Nanami.

You did your best to ignore him, you really did. But just the quick glance in his direction and your eyes caught the subtle hint of disapproval in his eyes. Through the dark tint of his glasses you could see his brown irises oozing discontent. His words from five weeks ago echoed in your head, pounding in your ears and making you feel small and unimportant.

Your ideas were good. They were useful and everyone loved them. You were confident in your abilities.

So, you shot a sharp look back at him, challenging him silently as everyone else talked around you and fell into a lull in the background.

“Reworking a system that has been nothing but efficient makes no sense, wastes resources, and does nothing for no one.”

He was wrong. There was always room for improvement, and you could help make things so much better if he just pulled his head out of his ass and paid attention to you.

“Why do you care so much about my opinion?”

You watched him take a characteristic deep breath, his posture slouching forward slightly as he rested his chin atop one of his large hands, eyes not leaving yours. You refused to give in, narrowing your own at him stubbornly and trying your best to ignore the heat in your gut as he lifted an angry but perfect eyebrow.

No. You were in charge this time. You called the shots and you would be ready to tell him to shut up the moment he tried to voice any disagreement with you.

That night meant nothing in the grand scheme of things when you had a job to do.

Even though his mouth that was currently pressed into a firm line had also kissed, licked, and bitten almost every inch of your skin that night, it meant nothing. Even though his efficiency at the office carried quite well into the bedroom when he made you cum three times, it meant nothing. And even though the voice that normally shot down your suggestions had done nothing but encourage and groan and praise you as you begged for release, it meant fucking nothing.

But it meant something now that you were carrying a product of that night, now that you would have to tell him he was the father of your child.

If you even told him.

No, of fucking course you were going to tell him. How that was going to happen, you had no idea. But until then, you knew he would go above and beyond to keep the project from going your way.

Yaga was initially a little puzzled when you asked that approvals be routed to another director instead of Nanami. It was a ballsy move that had taken your entire stay in Tokyo to finally make the decision to speak to him.

“I mean no disrespect to Nanami-san, his work is fantastic, but I think it’s no deny that he is not the most…supportive to processes outside of scope.” Yaga had simply chuckled, his hard features relaxing slightly as he contemplated your words. “Please do not remove him from the project. I would still like him involved, but in order for this project to actually go live, we need eyes that are going to see all aspects, even if they are different.”

The minute he approved your ask and sent an IM to Nanami to see Yaga in his office, you knew it wouldn’t be long until he would be looking for you. You just needed to get to 5pm, hurry to the airport and settle for a scathing phone call in Sendai where you wouldn’t have to see Nanami’s face.

You thought you were in the clear.

You shouldn’t have been so confident in yourself.

You were furious as you stood in front of your boss and Yaga in his office. Whatever Nanami had told Yaga seemed to be enough to rescind the decision to remove him from the approval process and dissolve the co-lead position as Jin would be more than enough. Yaga had muttered something about the sensitivity of the project, the visibility of higherups that would be involved and Nanami’s ‘years of experience with an eye that can catch things most miss’.

He was still babbling on and on but frankly you didn’t really care anymore. You had been made a fool of and reduced to nothing but an associate from another branch trying and failing to make a difference.

The more crushing blow came from Jin’s lack of defense. Even with his characteristic soft eyes and gentle smile, his face clearly showed he had conceded to Yaga’s words, agreeing with him in ways you didn’t understand. He had mentored you. Shown you everything. Having you co-lead was his idea. He had insisted that the decision to dissolve the position was from the higherups and the higherups alone, Nanami had not suggested it but he definitely insinuated that they would be looking.

But even still…

The sharp pang of betrayal was heavy in your chest, turning painfully like a knife and making your eyes burn. You blinked away the tears before smiling at them both and agreeing with their decision. You didn’t have the energy to argue but you could feel the betrayal melt and morph slowly into raw and unbridled rage.

Nanami fucking Kento.

The stress of finding the appropriate time to tell Nanami about the baby fell at your feet in that moment when you closed the door to Yaga’s office quietly and stormed to Nanami’s office. You didn’t knock, all sense of decorum had evaporated the minute you saw that stupid gold name plate on his door and yanked it open.

He was expecting you. Of course, he was. He was the poster child of apathy as he sat reclined in his red leather chair with one leg crossed over the other, arms folded over his chest that made the fabric of his blue button up shirt stretch tight over muscles you had scraped your nails down weeks ago.

“You’re a piece of shit!” you hissed angrily at him, your fists clenching hard at your sides. “You’re a piece of shit that would rather go about his mundane life, doing the same things over and over because that’s what’s expected of him.” His indifferent stare slowly faded into one irritation, hands minutely clenching his arms. “Clock in at the same time, go about the same mind numbing routine during the day, clock out at the same time. You do the minimum of what is required to make your life easy and admonish anyone else who chooses to do more.”

He didn’t respond at first, his mind spiraling with scathing retorts that he wanted to throw your way. He hated the truth in your words. Or the truth to some degree. The bare minimum was all that was really necessary to get the job done, and he got the job done well. He made good money, got home at a decent time, got to enjoy the things he could in his spare time. Why do any different?

“But you went out of your way to make me look like a fool to Yaga because what?! Because I want to do better? I want to do more and make a difference?!”

“No.”

You bit the inside of your lip, holding back a plethora of curses that you wanted to slew in his direction.

“I went out of my way to make Yaga see reason that he was letting someone who has no idea of how this branch works, try to take the helm.” He stood slowly, walking around his desk before long legs made their way to you. You were shaking with anger to a degree that was making you lightheaded. There was no point in trying to hide your emotions from him. He had crossed a line that had released the shackles of your professionalism around him.

That familiar scent of his cologne slowly drifted up your nose, teasing and seductive, trying its best to make you pliant and submissive. You wouldn’t give in. You wouldn’t. Not this time.

“Your ideas are not bad, y/n. But with this environment, in this kind of office, they will only do more harm than good. To everyone else you are the breath of fresh air that can bring this company to the top of the marketing food chain. But I see right through you. All your suggestions are nothing but a desire for attention.”

The rage flared in your gut, your eyes widening in defiance as you opened your mouth to argue.

“You’re a bright eyed marketing specialist that just wants to be seen, a status climber with no regard for the long term effects of what you want to bring to the table. You’ll do anything to get ahead, even if that means tearing down the company that helped elevate you.”

The sound of your hand making contact with his face should have shocked you. Nanami’s head, that was knocked to the side from your harsh slap, turned back to you, his eyes wide in alarm and cheek blooming red.

You were delirious with rage, shoulders heaving deeply as the smell of hate leeched through your pores. You never would have expected those words to come from his mouth, no matter how serious and stoic he naturally was. You ignored the alarming bells of workplace assault in the back of your mind.

You didn’t care. You didn’t fucking care. He deserved it.

“Well, I’m glad to know how you really feel. That makes this so much fucking easier.” He still hadn’t moved, his eyes beginning to blink away the shock as he gaped down at you. “I’m pregnant.”

You didn’t think he could look more shocked as the words spat from your mouth. You didn’t take pity on him, if anything the expression on his face only fueled your words more. 

“I’m keeping it, even though you have no say in the matter. I don’t need your help and frankly I don’t want it. If you want to be involved in the child’s life then I won’t stop you, but I have ten months to be away from you until then.”

You walked to his door, ignoring his silence before you turned to look back at him. “You were right by the way. That night was definitely a mistake. And while I don’t regret the fact that I’m pregnant or that I’ll love it any less, I think I’ll hate the thought that you’re the father for a very long time.”

You didn’t slam the door this time, the anger seemed to evaporate from your body the minute the a/c from the hallway hit your face.

When you finally saw Ome, the look on your face must have been enough for her to piece together what happened. She didn’t speak, didn’t ask for an explanation, didn’t try to tease you to put a smile on your face. She simply helped you into your coat, put your purse over your shoulder and grabbed your hand. Her soft skin was like a tether, grounding you as much as possible to the present and reminding you that you weren’t alone.

You didn’t see Nanami as you said goodbye to Geto and Gojo or when Yuji pulled you into a teary hug, even though he would probably see you in a few weeks. But you were glad Nanami didn’t seek you out, because you didn’t know if the sight of his face would flare the anger inside of you again or make you burst into tears.

This should have been different. It should have been a heartfelt moment; a pregnancy test wrapped in a cute ribbon as you presented it as a surprise to him. It should have been tears of happiness, two people lovingly coming together to celebrate the beginning of new life brewing in your belly.

But as you were slowly and painfully beginning to accept, nothing goes as planned. No matter how hard you worked.

[wisedelusionalmarshmallow]

@jegulus-microfic, June 13th - Devour, T, Word Count - 952

Part 2 of: Welcome, Fool (pt.3)

Regulus couldn't sleep. It's not that he wasn't tired. he was exhausted after walking all the way from his home to the Potter's. Yet he still couldn't sleep.

Too many thoughts swirled his mind. What if they find out? What if they come looking? What if they find Sirius?

It was too much.

So when Mrs. Potter— Effie, brought Regulus to his new room, he got in 'his' bed, and stared up at the ceiling. Tossed and turned until the dawn broke through his window. But the morning just brought up more issues, and Regulus really didn’t want to get up.

Besides, he doesn't know what time everyone else wakes up. He doesn't know if they have breakfast together or separately. He doesn't know if Effie will get mad if he stays in his room all day. He doesn't know if Potter's parents work. He doesn't know if he's welcome here. Obviously he was last night, but. They're not letting him stay forever right? That's too much to ask a person. Besides, they already have Sirius to take care of, another Black would just be a burden.

Ugh, Sirius. Regulus knows that's what's really keeping him in bed. More than not knowing the Potter's routine, he just doesn't want to face his brother.

He takes a deep breath and looks out the window. The birds are already out chirping, the dew has formed and he can spot people already out working.

Regulus forces himself out of bed and looks through his backpack for something to wear. He decides on a simple green knit sweater over some black slacks. Which may or may not have been the first things he could find in the void that was an extension charm.

He made his way through the house as quiet as he could. Realistically, he's going to bump into one of the other four people in this house, it is 9am afterall. But some part of him believes that if he's quiet enough, he'll be able to avoid it.

He makes his way down the same stairs James came down last night. He spots Sirius, James and Effie sitting at the dining table. Sirius was sitting in the same place Regulus was last night, so it's easy to understand how James got the two of them mixed up.

His stomach churns just looking at his brother but Effie turns to look at him and he knows he can't avoid them forever.

She has another warm smile on her face but doesn't say anything. Waiting for Regulus to approach like he's a wild cat. Sirius however, does not hold the same idea. After spotting Regulus, he jumps out of his chair and runs up to greet the boy.

"Regulus!" He shouts, crushing the younger boy in a bear hug. "How are you? Oh Merlin, when did you get in last night? Did you like your room? I made sure we had one for you... did they hurt you? Is that why you're here? Was the trip okay? It's a long—" Of course Sirius immediately starts asking questions. Regulus knew this would happen but it's overwhelming and he just wants to head upstairs again.

"Sirius, let him breathe," Effie intejects, saving Regulus from his brother.

Realization flashes over Sirius' face and he quickly lets go of Regulus. "Gods, I'm so sorry, did I hurt you? Is this oka—"

Effie clears her throat, effectively cutting Sirius off again. He mumbles out another sorry and and backs away from Regulus. "He's just excited dear," Effie explains to Regulus.

He nods. "It's alright."

"Go sit down, I'll make you a drink. would you prefer tea or another cocoa?" she asks as she heads towards the kitchen. In his short time being here, Regulus can already tell Effie will never take no as an answer. "Do you have earl gray?"

Effie nods and starts making Regulus' tea.

"Another?" James asks, catching onto his mom's phrasing.

"Regulus got in at 2 last night, around the same time you woke up." She explains from the kitchen. Around the time you kissed me.

Regulus—not very discreetly—looks over to James, seeing if he's put together the pieces yet. Judging the bright red colour on his face and how he meets Regulus' eyes. He knows.

"Also, Regulus dear. If you're hungry don't hesitate to find something or ask for something alright? Your brother nearly devoured our entire house when he first arrived."

"Thank you Mrs— Effie," Regulus corrects himself.

Sirius grabs his shoulders. "Just gonna stand there?" Regulus rolls his eyes and follows Sirius further into the dining room. Sirius gives him the seat across from James. Meaning he now has to look the other boy in the eyes. Wait, when did that become so hard to do?

"Here you go, darling." Effie places the same bright green mug in front of him like last night.

"Thank you."

"Mum? Can you make me some toast?" James asks, leaning over the table slightly to get closer to his mom. Accidentally hitting Regulus' foot underneath the table. Regulus tenses up and moves his foot to the side. Assuming James mistook his appendage for one of the table legs.

"Is your room cleaned?"

"In an hour?" James smiles, trying to convince his mother.

She sighs and shakes her head. "Jam or peanut butter?" James smiles even wider. "Jam please. You're the best."

"Mhm."

James falls back into his seat, returning to his earlier position. Except, his foot's found Regulus' again. The younger boy looks up at James and is greeted with his eyes and a playful smirk on his face. Regulus' throat dries up again, just like last night.

Except the kiss last night was accidental. This wasn't.

[dadbodbuck]

some sentences saturday

from my untitled cat dad eddie fic!

“Hey, kiddo,” Eddie says as Chris pulls himself into the truck.

Chris eyes him warily. “What did you do?”

“Am I really that obvious?” Eddie laughs, pulling out of the school pickup line.

“You look like a dog with something in its mouth,” Chris observes.

Eddie chews on the inside of his cheek to buy himself time. “Yeah. I—uh—may have made an impulse purchase. Frank told me to volunteer at an animal shelter, so I went, and there was this cat, and—”

“Dad,” Chris gasps, “Did we get a cat?”

“Sort of,” Eddie winces, “She might not… she might not be friendly like your friends’ cats. People really hurt her, before.”

Chris frowns. “Oh.”

“She’s really scared,” Eddie explains, “She thinks someone like you or me or Buck will hurt her.”

“I wouldn’t hurt her!” Chris defends, “Neither would you or Buck.”

“She doesn’t know that,” Eddie says softly, “She’s a cat, so the only way to help her understand that is to show her. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Chris nods. “Is that why you got hurt?”

Eddie glances down at his bandaged hand. “Yeah. She bit me.”

“What did you do?” Chris says, with a protective bite that, honestly, makes Eddie a little proud.

“She’s been declawed,” Eddie says, “She can’t scratch people to let them know when to stop any more, so she bites more often. I had to give her some food, and got too close to her personal space. Hopefully with more work I can get closer to her or feed her from a bowl, but she’s been staying in her carrier.”

“Okay,” Chris accepts, “Can I see her?”

“I think that would be a good idea,” Eddie says, “She’s in my room—we’ll do your homework in there, and then we can work on slow blinking. I’m talking to a behaviorist from the shelter, and she says that’s how cats say I feel safe.”

Chris, with a look of raw determination (the only good thing Eddie ever gave him), nods. They make it home in one piece, and soon Chris is speeding in through the front door and towards Eddie’s room.

“Mijo, wait!” Eddie winces. Chris does actually stop (thank God), pausing with his hand on Eddie’s doorknob and a plaintive look back.

“Let me lead this, okay?” Eddie says, and he always hates taking agency away from his son, but this is… this is something he can’t afford to mess up. He doesn’t like the churning feeling in his gut when he thinks about what’ll happen if Magnolia bites Chris.

With a downcast look, Chris nods.

“Hey, I’m not saying I don’t think you’ll respect her space, or that I think you’ll do anything wrong,” Eddie assures him, “I just want to make sure she sees a familiar face first, okay?”

“Okay,” Chris says, relaxing. Eddie opens the door and steps in.

When they get in, she’s still in her crate. Eddie bites back a sigh of disappointment, one that quickly becomes unnecessary when he realizes she’s eaten her food.

“Alright, bud, let’s get cracking,” Eddie says, sitting cross-legged on his own bed. Chris joins him, and it’s almost like they’re having a sleepover, whispering because they’re up too late, and not because there’s a really freaked out cat six feet away.

[bettsfic]

Hi!

I was wondering how do you elevate or better flesh out a very vague premise (e.g. A man falls in love with his boss). But there are many ways to take vague ideas like this and it’s hard to make it more.

there are really only two paths: the easy, long road; and the hard, fast road. on extremely rare occasion you may hit the jackpot and find an easy, fast road, but in my experience that is like winning the lottery.

the easy, long road:

you write the idea down somewhere. you let it incubate for a really long time. you have faith in the universe that all the pieces will begin to click into place until you go, "i've got it," and start writing.

i call that moment "ignition." when your vague "what am i even trying to write" idea clicks into "wait wait wait, i'm onto something here" and your brain starts churning out ideas for scenes and plot points.

there can be a lot of false starts, where you try to shoehorn your vague idea into another vague idea and see if they make a less vague idea, but sometimes that doesn't work. you may also start working on something else and realize you're unconsciously writing that vague idea you had 3 years ago. but overall it's a passive process. you have to wait for specificity to find you.

the hard, short road:

you write the idea down somewhere. you stare at it until you get a headache, and then you take some ibuprofen and stare at it some more. using the "ignition" metaphor, this is like your car not starting so you just keep turning the engine until it either starts or you flood it.

if you brute force your vague idea, you can potentially ruin it for yourself, but if you're motivated to take this path, i think your first step is to get out a notebook and start brainstorming. if the premise is "a man falls in love with his boss," write a list of industries where they might work. then circle a few of them and start researching those industries to see if you can find a nugget of information that clicks with your idea until you get some kind of conflict churning.

if you can't find anything, you make more lists. list out potential endings, plot points, inciting incidences. character traits and arcs. countries, cities. for every item of every list, make a list of possibilities. if this, then this and this. if that, then that and that. and you go on and on and on until you maybe have enough to get some words down.

an example:

my sister, a copywriter, started doing social media for a welding school. she told me she was learning a lot about welding and that i should write a story about a welding teacher. this school specifically is one of the best in the country, and my sister said something to the effect of, "people come from all over the country to live in this shithole town for six months. that seems like an interesting story."

in my A4 rhodia, on december 19, 2023, i wrote,

story of welding teacher at best welding school in the country

lonely ISTP casey affleck kinda guy (that was my sister's idea; she meant it in a derogatory way)

being taken care of by his grandmother?

all i had was "welder" kind of in the back of my head. fast forward to earlier this month, watching season 3 of the Bad Batch and having a lot of feelings about Crosshair's shakey hands (i've also developed a tremor in my hands).

and then i thought, a welder whose hands begin shaking. that's a conflict, that's an inciting incident. his whole career might be in jeopardy.

i wrote this paragraph:

He'd never admitted to his wife that he wanted kids. They didn’t have any, though, for the same reason he never became a farmer—he didn’t want to raise something just to see it slaughtered. Who knew what kind of war the country would cook up in eighteen years? Turn of the century, sending kids out to god knows where, just the right number of years from Vietnam that everyone would’ve forgotten it, the way that by Vietnam they’d forgotten Korea.

i managed to weave this general idea into the bigger plot of a novel i started a long time ago, and it reignited my interest in that project, and now i'm feeling really good that this 200k monstrosity i thought i would just throw away now might have some potential, more importantly some focus, all because of a vague idea i wrote down months ago.

[staycalmandhugaclone]

You'll Have to Go Through Me Pt 3

Part 3 of You'll Have to Go Through Me, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Hmm... I don't think I've managed 3 chapters in 3 days since I initially started Febuwhump... Is it skill, or it is unmediated adhd? The world may never know

Warnings: It dark. Ye be warned. Torture. Blood. Broken/dislocated bones. Disassociation. Stabbing. Big profanity warning. Murder.

WC: 3,427

He didn’t waste energy trying to hit me, knowing my armor would only result in him doing more harm to himself. Instead, he strove to lock me in a grapple, repeatedly vying to unbalance me enough to get me on the ground, but he was far slower than Hunter and his reach far shorter than Tech’s. Still, every second was a desperate race. When I risked extending an arm to strike, he proved more than willing to let me land the hit in favor of utilizing the brief opening it granted, looping his own arm beneath mine and nearly trapping me against him, but I managed to slam my other fist into the base of his ribs hard enough to weaken his hold so I could slip away. He was on me again before my back foot even touched the ground.

In an attempt to turn his oppressive offensive around on him, I threw myself forward, hoping to confuse his apparent assumption that I’d yield beneath his advance, but there was no hesitation in his response and, before I could reach him, he locked me in a breath-taking bearhug. I just managed to ram my hands against his hips hard enough to force some whisper of space between us before he could heave me into the air, and used that space to cram my knee into his stomach, wrenching a cough from him, but his hold didn’t slacken. Nearly panicked, I hit him again and again in rapid succession.

The instant he caved, hold failing as he began to stagger back, I clasped my wrist in my hand to brace my arm, body again craning forward to drive my elbow into his throat. He ducked his chin against his chest quickly enough to protect the vital opening with his helmet, but the strike knocked him off-balance for a few precious seconds. I didn’t waste them. Snatching his hand in both of mine, I pinned the back of his elbow to my chest as my feet kicked off the ground. From his sharp gasp, I didn’t doubt he knew that he’d been caught before my leg even managed to wrap around his shoulder.

I barely noted the thud as we crashed heavily to the floor, spine arching sharply forward. He cried out, and I could feel the joint grinding beneath my abuse, ligaments and tendons strained on the very edge of snapping, but, from that angle, I couldn’t see his other hand. Even if I had, there simply wasn’t time to escape. I heard the scream tear from my throat but found myself unable to actually feel the pain even after seeing the short, diamond-shaped punch knife gleaming crimson between his middle and ring fingers. He landed a second blow to the thin gap between my thigh plate and cod piece, striving for my femoral and only just missing. I tried to lash out with one hand in an effort to block a third attack, but I couldn’t reach without abandoning my hold on his arm, so I did the only thing I could: muscles throughout my body tensing, I thrust my hips up violently.

The sensation of his joint shattering, the sickening pops of ligaments snapping off bone and tendons tearing from muscle made my stomach churn, but I didn’t let go. The T-shaped handle of his dagger clattered against plastoid as he clawed uselessly at my leg, choked, keening gasps wheezing through clenched teeth. I’d just managed to grab the blade when the sound of blaster fire screeched through the room, and even the wealth of adrenaline flooding my veins couldn’t fully numb the agony of those bolts searing into my side and shoulder, or the dizzying percussion as a third blast nicked my helmet just enough to send it flying across the room.

Curse fluttering over my tongue, I rolled away from the squirming man, cringing at how the movement folded the ruined limb beneath me, but I couldn’t focus on his screams. I couldn’t focus on the blood soaking into my blacks or the deafening ringing in my ears. If I wanted to survive, if I want to save Echo, I couldn’t risk pausing for even a moment’s thought as I threw myself across the room to where my first pistol had fallen, narrowly dodging a second wave of crimson bolts.

Without the targeting guidance of my armor, my first two shots went wide, and I could practically hear Crosshair’s judgmental scoff. Three B1s stood in formation just inside the room, barely a handful of meters away from me, arms following my every motion with frustrating ease. I managed to hit one as I dove behind a console similar to what Echo was folded over.

“Kill her, you worthless rust-buckets!” The man roared, voice breaking as he continued to clutch his arm to his chest, legs just beginning to search for traction beneath him. I didn’t bother straining for efficiency. When I risked leaning around my cover, I carelessly sent a half dozen shots toward the droids, finger nearly vibrating against the trigger, but they were close enough that even such a wild flurry was enough to finish them off.

Don’t stop. It was only a matter of time before more came. Shoving the pistol into its holster, I raced back to Echo, instantly straining to free him from the interface port, but his scomp wouldn’t come free. Movements growing panicked once more, I tried to carefully turn his arm, searching for some hint as to why he was stuck.

The demented laughter from behind instantly made my blood run cold. The Separatist had pushed himself back enough to sit up against a wall, pale green eyes watching me with sick delight.

“What did you do?!” I demanded, turning fully toward him even as I strained to listen for the telltale thuds of marching feet.

“I was right… feisty.” He said on huffed gasps.

“Dammit, how do I free him?!” I shouted, stalking toward him.

“Nah… Afraid that’s jus’ not gonna work.” My lips twisted into a scowl as he mockingly threw my own words back at me, voice thin and wavering. I stormed across the room, and crouched onto a knee before him, fist locking around the lip of his chest plate to slam him back against the wall while my other hand wrenched the bucket from his head. That haughty smirk never faltered.

“You seem to be mistaken. I wasn’t asking.” I growled. He tsked, wincing slightly as his shoulder shifted in a weak shrug. “Tell me!” The rage in my cry only fueled his humor.

“Or what?” He asked, and my blood boiled at his utter disregard for the unspoken threat of my rage. “Yuh can’t kill me. Can’t do shit. Just ‘cause the mission’s blown, don’t mean I’m about to turn colors and bleed all my secrets to yuh.” My fist slammed into him before I’d even realized I’d moved. The surprised grunt lasted only a moment before he again let out that unhinged laughter, so I hit him again. And again.

“Tell me how to get him out!” Blood ran from his nose, cheeks and jaw already distorted from swelling. This isn’t what my hands were trained for. This isn’t what I’d devoted my life to. I couldn’t remember the blessed relief my touch once granted the men I served with as tissue split and bones caved beneath my attack. I couldn’t remember the gentleness with which I eased their pains away in favor of quiet relaxation as I shouted at him between every blow.

His torso bucked in a wet cough, sending a rush of crimson splattering over his chin, and I froze. It wasn’t the horror of what I’d done that stopped me; it was the realization that, if I kept going, he wouldn’t be able to tell me how to save Echo. My chest felt cold, lungs seizing to draw in sharp gasps of air as I watched my body move, grabbing the hand of his uninjured arm between mine to hold between us.

“Tell me how to free him!” I yelled. A brief note of confusion flared through those striking eyes. I didn’t allow him time to think before clasping his pinky and wrenching it sideways. Loud, sobbing cries tore from his already raw throat, spine arching, jaw craning open as he struggled to make sense of what happened as I grabbed his ring finger.

“How do I free him?!” My body was trembling almost as violently as his, teeth ground to fight back the heaves. There wasn’t time for that. Another patrol would arrive any second.

“Ask me nicely.” He sneered, but the scream that followed was no less agonizing as I dislocated another finger, nearly gagging at the feel of the joint snapping beneath my grasp.

“How do I free him?!” There was a desperation in my voice, begging him to let it stop, to yield so that I wouldn’t have to keep hurting him, but he merely spat in my face. I barely noticed the tears trailing down my cheeks as I ruined his middle finger, hands shaking almost too violently to use.

“You know what the ones who hired me are gonna do when they get him?” He asked, voice dropping into a crazed whisper that sent gooseflesh prickling across my skin. “They’re gonna throw ‘im in some dark tank, an’ he ain’t never gonna see the sun again.” I couldn’t breathe, and the way he laughed broke something in me. Movements sharp, disjointed, I slammed his hand above his head and wrenched the pistol from my waist, pinning the crocked digit of his pinky between it and the rough concrete behind him.

“Tell me.” I growled, but he only stared me down, face twisted into a snarl. When I pulled the trigger, he lost whatever slivers of rage he’d been clinging to.

“Tell me.” I wasn’t yelling anymore as I pressed the barrel to another finger.

“Fuck you!” He shrieked, body thrashing desperately against me. I didn’t flinch as I fired again, expression falling into something frightfully detached from the torrent of emotions I’d been trembling with mere seconds prior.

“Tell me.” My voice was unnaturally even. Whimpers caught on his broken gasps when I moved the gun once more, but he offered neither sharp retort nor answer, so I fired. I didn’t wait before moving to another finger.

“Tell me.”

“You psycho bitch! I’ll kill your whole damn-” I didn’t let him finish, his maddened rant shattering into another blood-curdling scream, and I pressed the barrel to his thumb.

“Wait-wait-wait!” He cried, begged as his body convulsed with shock and pain. I waited in silence, eyes burring passively into his. “My-m-my po-pocket.” He stammered. Gun still pressed to his hand, I reached into the pouch at his waist, glancing down only briefly to note the pair of datachips. “One u-unlocks… unlocks th-the cuffs… the-the other, it… it over-r-rides the-the-th…” I didn’t need him to finish, and steadily got to my feet.

I released the restraints first, unwilling to risk plugging the wrong key into the terminal for fear of there being some failsafe. Once his arm and legs were free, I plugged the other chip into a port near his scomp. The computer chimed twice, and whatever mechanism had trapped him clicked open.

It didn’t feel like I was moving. It felt like I was watching the memory of something that had already happened as I carefully pulled Echo’s limp body over my shoulder. In silence, I retrieved my medbag before treading across the room to where my singed helmet lay abandoned in the far corner and thoughtlessly slipped it on. Most of the systems were dead, while others flickered wildly across the overlay. I almost left it but couldn’t bring myself to expend even what meager effort it would take to pull it back off.

When I paused halfway to the door, it wasn’t with conscious knowledge of what I planned to do. The Separatist was still huddled against the wall, tears diluting the blood staining his cheeks. Only after seeing the horror on his face as he looked up at me, after seeing the broken resignation enter those eyes as his lips parted in a plea he didn’t have the strength to voice that I realized I had my pistol trained on him.

“Ple-” The shot struck his chest before he could finish, and I turned back toward the hall, strides unnaturally steady despite the agony some part of me knew should have torn through my hip with each movement, but that didn’t matter. I needed to get Echo to the Marauder. I needed to look over Tech, and vaguely remembered the certainty that Hunter was hurt, too… There had been pain in his voice the last time I’d heard him speak.

There was no relief from successfully getting him out, no dread over what damage may have been done when he was knocked unconscious nor fear for whatever battles still lay between us and our escape. There was nothing. My arm remained stretched out before me, grip firm around the gun as I retraced my steps through the building.

Something caught my attention behind me, some noise or voice, I couldn’t tell which, and my body spun sharply around, pistol raised. There seemed no reason that my finger stilled, but I felt myself hesitate. When had my head begun tilting forward, muscles seizing beneath the weight? It was hard to make out the figure that stood before me, already blurring vision further strained by the added darkness of my dead visor. They were big… A B2? No… the proportions were wrong…

Already, I could hear the approaching clang of metal footsteps, and when the trio of droids turned the corner, I didn’t stop shooting until they lay in a heap of smoldering parts. I don’t know how many I fought, nor if they were machine or sentient as I pressed forward, vaguely noting how quickly my finger fluttered against the trigger at the faintest hint of movement even after an abandoned alley replaced the maze of dark hallways.

They began to move, hands slowly reaching toward their head. My arm tensed, willing myself to fire yet still unable to pull the trigger. It wasn’t until after he removed his helmet, after seeing the concern in those mismatched eyes and hearing the broken wisp of my own voice calling him that I realized who stood before me.

“Wr… Wreck?” I nearly sobbed his name, arm falling limp to my side as I merely stared at him.

“Easy, Doc… Jus’… how ‘bout you let me take that?” He said softly, and I barely noticed him reach for my gun, nor the way he hissed slightly in pain from that first touch before managing to free it from my grasp. Only then did I note how the air around it wavered from heat, distantly aware of the strange tingling in my palm even after it was gone.

“I found her.” He called into his coms. I hadn’t even seen him put his bucket back on. “Yeah, she’s got Echo.” There was a brief pause before he added quietly, “No… no, I don’t…” The words trailed off.

“Hey, Doc.” He called, carefully lowering himself onto a knee before me. “Mind if I carry him?” I looked to Echo as though I’d forgotten I still held him over my shoulder and gave a small nod, stepping closer to let Wrecker take him.

“Where are the others?” I asked, voice quiet but even. Again, he paused for a moment.

“Hunter has Tech – he’s gonna meet us where the wall blew up. Cross is still up there.” He pointed toward the towering plateau above us. Nodding, I turned and continued toward the outer edge of the outpost.

“Are… are you okay?” He asked, voice almost timid as he belatedly fell in step behind me.

“Fine.” I answered with a calm I was later certain only proved I was anything but. Still, he said nothing more as we moved quickly between the buildings. Occasional bursts of blue flew overhead as Crosshair picked off whatever forces threatened either us or Hunter and Tech, and Wrecker held his repeater ready, easily taking out any stragglers that entered his line of sight.

Part of me expected that deranged serenity to begin fading the further we walked from the evidence of what I’d done, but even after we reached the desolated remains of the outer wall, still I found myself blessedly numb. Hunter was waiting for us, laying down cover fire as we darted across that last expanse of open space to finally escape the concrete maze. He’d set Tech down against the wall, and I quickly approached him, hand automatically reaching out to feel his pulse if only to reassure myself that his heart was still beating before turning to find the Sergeant staring at me. He let out a deep sigh before speaking.

“Can you walk?” Despite knowing he couldn’t see the frown pulling at my face, I didn’t respond at first.

“I’m fine.” His head shifted slightly, and I could imagine the way his lips tensed into a fine line.

“Crosshair’s keeping them back. I want you all to wait for me on the other side of this ridge. I’ll carry Tech there, then head back to get the Marauder. Wrecker, blow the charges on my mark.”

“I can carry Tech.” I stated, already shifting to pull him against me.

“Doc-” He started, voice tense, but I didn’t wait for him to finish.

“They need to be checked for cardiac and respiratory damage as quickly as possible. Wrecker can’t carry them both and shoot if things go wrong, and you’re the fastest runner.” I barely grunted as I stood with Tech carefully balanced over my shoulder, words falling emotionlessly from my lips. His mic only just picked up the tense breath that so nearly sounded like a growl before sharing a quick look with Wrecker and darting off across the sea of ivory dust.

“Cross is asking is you’re okay.” Wrecker murmured after a few minutes of walking in silence.

“I’m fine.” I said again, the words more a reflex than anything, but, if it was a lie, I couldn’t begin to guess how. Not yet.

“But you’re bleeding.” He argued softly. I glanced down, but the halfmoon had long since set, and the sliver that remained wasn’t enough to make out any hint of crimson against the dark fabric. Still, I didn’t need to see it to know the wounds were there, that both lay too near the crest of my hip to warrant any fear of lethal damage.

“They missed the artery.” I answered simply.

“And your helmet?” I’d barely glanced at the deep ridge burned into the plastoid by the droid’s blaster but didn’t doubt how nearly fatal it surely appeared.

“It only grazed me,” I assured him, “but it took out my coms and most of the guidance overlay.” In the brief silence that followed, I wondered if he was relaying what I’d said to the others.

“Cross says this is good.” There was an artificial cheerfulness to his voice that I couldn’t let myself think too deeply on as he carefully eased Echo down before quickly moving to help me with Tech. He started to say something else, but the words died on his tongue as I pulled the scanner from my bag to begin checking his brothers for any initial signs of worry. As he turned away, gaze shifting attentively around us, I couldn’t help but notice the numerous scorch marks burned into his armor, jaw tensing at the realization that he must have been hit at least a half-dozen times before he found me. After I knew Tech and Echo were safe, I’d have to tend his injuries as well, and I’d forgotten to look over Hunter during the brief time I’d seen him…

Something about itemizing the coming tasks made them seem less daunting. Tech’s scan was already finished, showing no initial signs of damage to his heart or lungs, and Echo’s was nearly complete. Then I could see to Wrecker. Then Hunter. Then repeat the scans. I just needed to focus on getting them well again. Then I could remember how to breathe.

Just as the scanner finished, the ground shook violently beneath us. I turned to see Wrecker with the detonator in his hand, and just beyond him, I could see the Marauder racing toward us.

Next Chapter

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[monstersdownthepath]

Monster Spotlight: Hyakume

CR 15

Neutral Evil Large Aberration

Bestiary 4, pg. 153 (pic from 2nd Edition's Bestiary 3, pg. 139)

These wicked beasts haunt libraries, temples, ruins, and anywhere else that vast collections of knowledge may steadily accumulate in, protecting these locales from intruders until they've thoroughly studied and committed to memory every single book, scroll, grimoire, carving, and relief. And then destroy them so no one else can have the knowledge they've gained. Yes, far from guardians of knowledge or protectors of forbidden secrets, the Hyakume are jealous hoarders of information both mundane and fantastic, poring over hundreds of even thousands of books ranging from common poetry to door-stopping spellbooks in their lifetime before hurling the books into a fire to prevent anyone else from learning what they have. They smash apart carvings, rip scrolls to shreds, and go out of their way to hide whatever they cannot destroy in a manner it is unlikely to ever be recovered from, all out of a petty need to be the only one who knows a specific fact.

They rarely ever share their secrets and, even when they do, it's always at a terrible price. Sometimes, though, they settle for an exchange of memory; they can use Share Memory at-will to gift someone with what they know, or copy memories from a victim into their own mind. The memories a Hyakume demands as payment are varied as the creatures themselves, but luckily Share Memory merely copies them, it doesn't remove them altogether! That's what Drain Memories is for, this cruel 1/day ability allowing the Hyakume to simply take everything from its victim at once if the victim fails a DC 28 Will save. Such a victim is stripped of experience and identity, becoming an amnesiac that's permanently charmed by the knowledge-hoarder, barely able to remember whatever they could do before and now subservient to the horror that stole their mind. A Hyakume's body is a vast repository for information, but they can only store so many collected minds; 4 at a time to be exact, and they can only 'make room' for a new memory hoard by begrudgingly using Transfer Memories on a willing creature 1/day... But it doesn't have to be the original victim, leaving the poor soul stuck with amnesia and the new guy bombarded with a second identity until Modify Memory or similar is cast on them to undo the damage.

Why they do this, where they come from, and how they've come to be this way are all mysteries. The complexity of their kits and the lovely art pieces accompanying their entries have left precious little room for actual lore across both editions of Pathfinder, and it was only in 2nd Edition (eight years after they first showed up in Bestiary 4!) that we got the tidbit that they're jealous collectors of information. They share much in common with the Earth-born yokai from which they draw their inspiration, so perhaps Hyakume merely manifest in areas with high concentrations of information, or are drawn to such locations in a manner similar to cockroaches being drawn to unprotected storerooms. Perhaps they're the result of lore-hungry maniacs learning a secret so horrible and so world-shaking that their body must twist and churn into a vessel capable of containing it... or perhaps they're small pieces of something else, reaching into the universe.

Maybe they're this, maybe they're that, but you know what isn't a maybe? That they're incredibly dangerous. The mythical Hyakume relies on its terrifying appearance to scare away would-be invaders of their sacred libraries, but in Pathfinder, where just being an eye-covered blob is alarming but not mortally terrifying enough to deter would-be scroll thieves, they need a little more punch. And punch they HAVE; two of them, in fact, which deal 3d6+4 damage each! Not especially dangerous on their own thanks to the low flat damage, but here's where the spice comes in: A Hyakume has Monk Abilities, allowing it to swiftly incapacitate any creature that enters its 10ft melee reach AND use various spells from the Quinggong Monk list 3/day each: Cold Ice Strike, which deals 15d6 Cold damage in a 30ft line; Discordant Blast, which deals 3d6 Sonic damage in either a 10ft burst or 30ft cone and knocks back everyone inside as if they were bull-rushed; and Sonic Thrust, which allows it to hurl up to 370 pounds of objects or creatures directly away from itself.

Here's something weird, though: Monk Abilities says that the creature is considered a 15th level Monk for its slam attack damage and its Stunning Palm feat, and the Stunning Palm feat directly states "may be used a number of times per day equal to his Monk level," but on the Hyakume's stat sheet, it can only use Stunning Palm 4/day. This may be in the interest of fairness, but it is a little weird that Monk Abilities goes out of its way to state that the Hyakume is treated as a 15th level Monk, only to not treat it as a 15th level Monk in the most important way it has on its sheet, nor does it grant the knowledge-seekers anything else useful like Flurry of Blows or additional movement speed. Without the ability to make a bunch of Stunning Palm attacks to give it time to actually work, a Hyakume surrounded by a party is swiftly done for (Discordant Burst can give them SOME breathing room, but not enough); they have no DR or any particularly potent elemental defenses aside from immunity to Cold and some meager resistance to Electricity and Fire, so they rely wholly on their 32 AC and being able to stun anyone trying to attack them to let them actually keep up with a 10~12th-level melee character's damage output. At the very least, their obvious All-Around Vision negates flanking and sneak attacks.

Of course, the best way to avoid being peeled by a Barbarian is to avoid ever being in melee with one, and a Hyakume is shockingly good at that. They have Clairvoyance/Clairaudience at will to let them keep an invisible eye on the world around them, and Divination at 5/day to peer into the future and get a glimpse of anyone who may interrupt their ravenous research. If they sense danger in a given day, they can send out upwards to six Eye Probes to scout the area in a mile around them. These Fine-sized, extremely swift (50ft) probes are all but impossible to spot flying around in the darkness, and the Hyakume can see perfectly through all of them at any time, its own darkvision and low-light vision functioning through the probes. There's no listed action associated with commanding its Eye Probes, so I'm assuming that unless it takes a particular action to do so, commanding them is a free action it can take 1/round, and they autonomously fulfill these commands ("go here," "come back," etc) if given no orders otherwise.

It is thus next to impossible to catch a Hyakume off-guard, assuring it'll be prepared to get the surprise round... and it'll be real surprising, because at least one of you might not even remember why you're there. Remember Drain Memory? Because Hyakume can use it through their Eye Probes, too. The horrors might not even HAVE to fight the party if they have no way to undo the memory loss, as the horror can hold the identity of their former ally hostage and force them to comply with its wishes, all the while the party member who's mind got stolen has a new best friend to fight along with if it comes to it. If it's feeling especially sadistic, the hoarder may strike its hostage (or someone else it's caught off guard) with Quivering Palm, potentially killing them outright at any time within the next 15 days if they don't do exactly as it says.

They're not exactly extreme threats in straight-up combat, but a Hyakume is excellent as a plot hook nonetheless with its ability to pilfer a lifetime from a victim with a single touch. Slaying the creature doesn't free the trapped memories, only magic (or the Aberration's will) does, so a party confronting a Hyakume with an especially precious mind held within it will have to find another way to get it back!

You can read more about them here.