#its been really hard working this far ahead

[deoidesign]

when your main characters start dating after years of writing so they finally get to be like this

[silent-sentinels]

well we're awake again. its time to have soup!!

[spontaneousnirvana]

This is going to be long as hell, but I really feel like some of you in this tag need some talking off the ledge, in regards to what will happen with Buck and Tommy in the long term.

For starters, I don’t think Tim Minear is going to stretch out the ‘will they, won’t they’ for much longer, and I will go so far as to say, I don’t believe he’s going to keep Buck a perpetual victim of the "hamster wheel" (I probably just lost some of you right here). This all coming from someone who is normally quite frustrated and pessimistic when it concerns the writing, character evolution, and general direction for 911 as a whole. I've been less than impressed with the show for a while now and often forget it's even a Thursday night option (especially with The Pitt right there...), let's just leave it at that.

And yet, I still think there are numerous signs, within and beyond the text, that suggest Minear and his cohort of writers may finally be doing something different here, at least, in regard to Buck’s development and, therefore, Tommy's by extension. If it turns out that I'm wrong, then I’m wrong. But I also don’t accept the notion that there isn’t, at the very least, some solid evidence pointing to something good up ahead for the pair.

If you’re still with me, click through...

Last year, Minear said he wanted to give Buck and Tommy the "romantic comedy" treatment. He also said he loves to give couples hurdles because it means that if they work hard enough to win each other back, the relationship as a whole will be much more stronger and meaningful, therefore harder to break. Minear even warned that this [relationship woes] would apply to Buck and Tommy, as did Oliver Stark, for that matter. Minear didn’t use this exact phrasing, mind you, but he did express this exact sentiment in very similar terms. So far, everything we have seen on our screens in no way contradicts what was promised, including the breakup and 8x11 post-hook up misunderstanding between Buck and Tommy in the kitchen.

(Note: I do want to point out that while Minear followed this framework with couples like Bobby and Athena, Hen and Karen, and Chimney and Maddie, he did not do so between Buck and any of his previous love interests, when you really think about it, with the exception of Abby. Sure, Buck and all of his previous love interests experienced hurdles, but said hurdles were always the catalyst for the relationship ending very soon after, as if they were created for the sole purpose of ending that relationship, highlighted by the fact that Buck would often move on quite abruptly and his romantic partners would never be seen again, save for perhaps a small cameo. I would wager this is because Minear never really saw any of those love interests as having actual long term potential, making them unworthy of overcoming obstacles within the lens of a romantic comedy and its various tropes. Abby, again, came the closest to being the exception, but does she really count, when she was always guaranteed to leave after one season? If anything, I saw Abby as a way for Minear to establish that Buck ultimately wants more than sex and meaningless relationships. And when Abby left, Minear had Buck regress, establishing that while he may want something more, it's going to be a slippery slope to actually being ready for it.

Anyway, back to Buck and Tommy...)

I will always maintain that the 8x06 breakup was extremely open-ended for a reason, and I will always maintain that Minear wrote such a major obstacle knowing full well it was something for Buck and Tommy to overcome. Do I think Minear handled this storyline well? Not at all. It was messy and didn't match up with anything that had come before. That said, if Minear had truly developed cold feet and suddenly wanted a possible out for Buck and Tommy so he could explore other stories for Buck, as others have theorized, then the 8x06 breakup would have been the end of that relationship. Done. Fin. Finito. Only, that’s not what happened. Instead, Tommy remained an ongoing presence for much of his absence, all seen through Buck, who was dismayed and feeling like a fish out of water. And the funny thing is, I think we were almost all in agreement here about the breakup being a temporary obstacle, that is, until the “exit interviews”, which turned out to be comically anything but. I hate to call a spade a spade in this particular instance, but we really did let Buddies get in our heads and somewhat guide the narrative here. Hey, it happens to the best of people in every fandom.

Stark asked Minear to “let Buck fuck”. What was Minear’s reply? A resounding, "What the fuck? Nah, dude" (not really, but you get the gist). Instead, he had Buck relentlessly obsess over Tommy and work out his frustrations by *checks notes* … baking treats every time he had the urge to contact Tommy? Did I read that shit righ- Oh, I did? And he baked so many treats, that he gave a bunch away to family and friends and coworkers? Oh, the romantic comedy of it all. While we're on this topic, for the record, I think Stark’s “let Buck fuck” was all a deflection. He knew Tommy was coming back, as did Minear, as did Lou Ferrigno Jr. And speaking of Ferrigno Jr., his “confusion” and “uncertainty” after 8x06 was all such a blatant smokescreen. This is a tale as old as time when it concerns cast and crew trying to preserve the outcome of 'will they, won't they' storylines. And I know people love to claim that Minear writes completely on the fly and doesn’t know what he’s doing from episode to episode -- and to a degree, I believe there is some truth to that -- but the fact is, showrunners need a season outline, something that is often mandated by studios and networks. They can change elements as they go, sure, but an outline is still necessary for various reasons–-budgeting, contracts and modifications, rating censors, and to stamp out creative differences early on, as opposed to last minute. Yeah, I think Minear was fully aware Tommy was coming back prior to writing 8x06, and I think Stark and Ferrigno Jr. knew not long after, if not around the same time as Minear.

Nearly every conversation Buck has had about Tommy post-breakup has explicitly told us (more like screamed) that Buck still wants to be with Tommy. Even when other characters, including his own sister, advised him to let it go, he remained very much not okay with that option. The baking, the unusually prolonged depression, the text bubbles. Yeah. It was all there staring us down for ages. And having Buck and Tommy experience a random post-breakup 'meet cute’ in a bar? Followed by a lighthearted, yet sexually charged hookup romp in Buck’s place afterward? A hookup interpreted as more than just a hookup by both men? Again, the romantic comedy of it all. I would also like to point out that both Buck and Tommy were highly upset at the end, when they realized they had not, in fact, properly reconciled. Why make that a focal point of this ongoing narrative, if the breakup is inevitable? Why not just have the hookup actually serve as the closure they both need, where one or both of them ultimately realize they actually don’t need or miss each other as much as they initially thought? Instead, we got looks of utter devastation AND that insanely pointed “straight friend” line during Buck’s conversation with Maddie.

Furthermore, Tommy’s comment in the bar about wanting to reach out and driving by Buck’s place was clearly meant to establish (again, scream) that Tommy highly regrets the breakup. It's clear as day that he is all-in on being with Buck, and better yet, it's clearly reciprocated. Buck and Tommy are just too caught up in the noise of their own heads to recognize that, but that doesn't make it any less true. Tommy bought wine and cooked a nice breakfast for the both of them because, again, he thought their “hookup” the previous night was a reconciliation. Buck, meanwhile, woke up and felt immediate disappointment when he thought Tommy had just up and left. For goodness sake. Again, the romantic comedy of it all! Except, I don’t think it was written purely for comedy. It was written to establish that, for all their miscommunications and insecurities, both men DO want the exact same thing -- each other. The foundation being laid here is blatantly telling the audience -- not just the overt BuckTommy fans -- that these two boys simply need to finally talk their shit out properly, and if they do, good things can and will be on the horizon for them. And what do you know, they’re going to spend at least some of the two-parter together... in a small helicopter. The romantic comedy just sucker punched me in the face. Fuckin-A, that hurt.

People might disregard Minear sharing that BuckTommy video on Facebook last year, but I don’t. I think that was very pointed for what he wants. And then there is Ferrigno Jr's story about Minear visiting the set for the purpose of observing a BuckTommy scene get filmed (I believe it may have been for the first kiss, I'm not one hundred percent sure that was explicitly confirmed, so feel free to correct), only to then tell Ferrigno Jr not only how happy he was with what he saw, but to express that he was “not worried at all”. And when Minear left, another cast member informed Ferrigno Jr that Minear “NEVER” visits the set like this. Yeah. Minear blatantly likes Ferrigno Jr a lot and has said as much numerous times, and he was clearly satisfied with his decision to bring Ferrigno Jr back for Stark's next big storyline.

Speaking of fan videos, Ferrigno Jr very recently (as in, this last week) commented two separate times on the same BuckTommy fan edit, calling it “beautiful” and stating it made him cry. The title of that fan edit? “Endgame”. Feel free to say I’m reading into things – and no, I do not in any way believe this is proof of the pair actually being endgame – but I do not believe Ferrigno Jr would do something like this, if he knew some sort of grand reconciliation wasn’t in the cards at some point, at the very least.

Then, there is the Buddie of it all. Oh, Buddies, how you fascinate, amuse, and entertain me with your unearned confidence and delusions! There has been a very sudden, extremely sharp, shift in the way Buddie and its fans are being treated. We have all seen it. And, you know, Minear may not have written 8x11, but he still allowed that “straight friend” line Buck delivered to Maddie. He allowed it in every draft, let it survive the editing stage, and he finally let it reach the air. And afterward, Aisha Hinds made it clear that shutting down the idea of Buck having romantic feelings for Eddie was the intent. Not only that, but Hinds also made it clear, probably to Minear's dismay, that it was very much a collaborative process involving Minear. Minear may be trying to appear “open” to the possibility of Buddie in interviews, but that really doesn’t matter, not when what’s happening both on our screens and behind-the-scenes strongly says otherwise and holds more weight than some interviews spearheaded by Buddie journalists ever could.

I dig my fellow BuckTommy’s (y'all are great, hilarious, and mostly keep it kind-hearted in a way Buddies simply do not), but I do think we are too cynical and guarded for own good -- and I think some of that is, unfortunately, a coping mechanism and safeguard we've created for ourselves due to the rampant harassment, bizarre overconfidence, and general toxic insanity from Buddies.

But I would love to point out that our cynicism and skepticism has not always been correct. In fact, I'd wager we've been wrong far more often than we've been right, in this case. Just some examples: We began to convince ourselves that the breakup was final, despite all the evidence to the contrary, and that Ferrigno Jr/Tommy would never be seen again. Wrong. We (well, not me, because I don’t believe Buddies are capable of organizing like this or have the non-reactionary emotional discipline to carry it through) highly suspected Buddies had organized a scheme in which they would pretend to be angry about fake leaks pertaining to Buck hooking up with Tommy, just so we would be disappointed and embarrassed when it didn't actually happen. Wrong. So wrong. Some of us were so sure we wouldn’t get a legitimate kiss, let alone something more suggestive, if the hookup was true. Hey, guess what? Wrong, wrong, wrong. I guess I’m highlighting this because as much as people want to say Minear is still operating completely from his old bag of tricks, I’d say that’s partly wrong, too. He still struggles with his narratives and recycles storylines, as I personally suspect he will with Bobby very soon, I’m not arguing against that. But… I don’t agree that he’s not capable of exploring new territory, at least, in the case of Buck and Tommy. Buck and Tommy’s relationship is clearly very different from what has come before. And even the Buddies know this, which is why they are spiraling and getting angrier with each passing week.

(Look. I normally wouldn’t be so gleeful about Buddies not getting what they want, because I know what it's like to ship a pairing that will only ever exist outside of canon. However, Buddies have spent the last year being monumentally toxic and cruel as fuck in a myriad of ways. Seriously, it would actually be impressive, if it weren't so blatantly gross and mean-spirited. So, as it stands, I can’t help but be a "tad" gleeful at karma doing its thing. And the great thing is, even if Buck and Tommy don't work out, Buck and Eddie still won't happen. Anyone with a legitimate grasp of "media literacy" understands this.)

Stark recently said that while he views Buck as “whiny”, he also believes Buck is finally “maturing”. I agree, and I think it’s mighty interesting that a lot of his latest growth has been directly connected to his breakup with Tommy and wanting him back. If Minear wanted Buck to stay on the hamster wheel, then he would have, in fact, “let Buck fuck,” rather than dedicate all of 8B on Buck's spiral, and he would not be bringing Tommy back for a huge two-parter, as well as a major episode afterward dedicated to a highly traumatic moment for the entire ensemble/118 fam. I think it’s also extremely intentional that Tommy expressed back in 7x04 (right before the first kiss) how jealous he felt about the 118 being so close and present for each other… and that he wanted to be a part of that. And wouldn’t you know it, the two-parter is once again making him a part of the family, by having him directly assist in a rescue with Buck at his side and then participating in a meaningful ceremony not long afterward.

Have faith, everyone. There is a lot of actual “media literacy” working in our favor, despite what our cynicism and skepticism -- and Buddies -- might be trying to tell us otherwise.

P.S….

I know another worry is that if the show keeps getting renewed, it reduces the chances of proper endgame. But… I ain’t really worried about that. The ratings aren’t amazing, actors are getting visibly tired and certain big name cast members are only going to stick around for so much longer, the budget isn’t getting any smaller, etc. This show is no Grey’s or SVU, is what I’m gettin’ at. In fact, I think a key factor in why season 9 was greenlit is because of the Nashville spinoff coming soon. ABC isn’t going to cancel the main show the same year a spinoff is being introduced. Talk about ridiculously bad optics for marketing. I think Minear, at the very least, is aware of 911’s limited time. After all, 911 was initially cancelled by Fox before being saved by ABC and Lone Star WAS cancelled. Ideally, Minear could be doing the responsible thing here, by recognizing that the show could very well end at any time, whether that be one or two or three seasons from now, and accepting that he needs to start taking more narrative risks. I think Buck’s development and BuckTommy could very well prove to be indications of that.

P.S. #2:....

And man, there is still so much more I could write here. For instance, Tommy looking into the camera at the cemetery, essentially telling the audience that he wants Buck's "curse" to end, right after Buck gave that lovely speech? The fact that this scene was filmed after the breakup? Come on.

(Holy dissertation. I’m not writing about this dumb fucking show for at least two weeks.)

[moonlit-tulip]

It's often noted, in discussions of the Death Note anime, that it's much weaker than the manga in its rendition of post-timeskip events partly for pacing reasons: the pre-timeskip parts of the anime adapt ~6.5 manga-volumes in 25 episodes, while the post-timeskip parts adapt ~5.5 in 12 episodes, so a lot more important detail-work is lost and the whole thing ends up feeling kind of perfunctory.

Much less often noted as far as I've seen, but nonetheless also true, is that the Death Note anime removes some important characterization-nuance from Light, starting right near the beginning, whose presence elevates the manga to be substantially better than the anime even before the time-skip.

In particular: the Death Note manga is, at its core, a tragedy in classic "character who has everything falls into ruin due to a fatal personal flaw" style. Light is a brilliant student who, in the future ahead of him, has the potential to do practically whatever he wants. He's driven to ruin by the fatal flaw of unwillingness to admit, either to others or to himself, when he's made a mistake. This flaw is an essential piece of his characterization, in the manga. And the anime pretty much entirely skips over it.

As portrayed in the manga, Light's decision to become Kira—which ultimately leads to his downfall—is made in the following way. First, he finds the Death Note, and is led by morbid curiosity to write a name in it, killing someone. Then, still not really believing it, he kills a second person too. At which point it hits him that he's killed two people. And at that point, after a viscerally-horrified breakdown about what he's done, the inability to admit mistakes kicks in, and he proceeds to rewrite his own value-system such that it yields the result that killing those people was actually okay, and in fact morally good. Because the alternative would be for him to acknowledge himself as having made a terrible mistake, and that, more than anything else, is something he's unwilling to do if he can see any other option at all. And then, having convinced himself that those two murders were good, he proceeds to reason that, if they were good, then doing more like them is good; and thus he becomes Kira, leading eventually, far down the line, to his ruin. The anime, by contrast, substantially deemphasizes this flaw of his, portraying him as much more calmly put-together through that series of events and thus making him come across as having been tempted in becoming-Kira-ward directions all along.

Similarly, in the anime, when Light leaks a bunch of information to L about his identity by using non-public information acquired via police channels, he declares that actually this was deliberate as a means of baiting L out so he can kill him, and the anime presents this declaration pretty uncritically. The manga, by contrast, presents it as an extension of that same character-flaw: Light is unwilling to admit to having actually just straightforwardly messed up, and therefore makes up a new plan to view himself to have been following-all-along, thus leading him to take more risks in his game against L going forward and thus, once again, helping him along the path to ruin.

Et cetera.

Compared with the manga, then, the anime's version of Light's characterization ends up less interesting. And, moreover, it introduces a plot hole, when the Yotsuba arc comes around! It makes it much less clear why an amnesiac Light would be so straightforwardly aligned against Kira. In the manga, this is pretty clear: a Light who never killed anyone wouldn't have rewritten his values to consider killing people to be good, and therefore would look at Kira as straightforwardly evil. And, in fact, his amnesiac self has trouble taking the possibility of his having been Kira previously, even as the evidence starts building up, because becoming Kira would be a mistake according to his value-system of the moment, and this leaves him having a very hard time contemplating the possibility of its having in fact happened! Whereas the anime, by deemphasizing Light's big flaw, makes his amnesiac-self's differences from the way he is for most of the story up to that point come across as much more out-of-nowhere, much less narratively well-founded.

So, overall, the people who talk about the Death Note manga as superior to the anime specifically post-timeskip strike me as somewhat understating things. The manga is superior to the anime pre-timeskip, too, via that extra layer of characterization and a resulting improvement both in character-interestingness and in plot-coherence. And thus I consider the manga to be very much the definitive version of Death Note from start to finish, despite the anime's relatively-higher popularity.

[svt-luna]

𝜗℘ SAY YES TO HEAVEN, SAY YES TO ME

❛ 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘪'𝘭𝘭 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵, 𝘪'𝘭𝘭 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺. 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺— 𝘪’𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘦𝘺𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯, 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦. 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘰, 𝘪'𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬, 𝘪'𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦. 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘢 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘮, 𝘪 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳— '𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯, 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦. ❜

timeline: 2024

synopsis: Beneath the moonlit skies of Berlin, a moment years in the making sparks a whirlwind of love, laughter, and unspoken promises, with a diamond shining as bright as their future.

warnings: cursing, establish relationship, fluff, crying, JEONGNA DATE!, slightly suggestive moments, mentions of passing out, simp!Jeonghan, simp!Luna, teasing, Jeonghan the rizzler, FLIRTING!, pda… in public, JeongNa having no care in the world whatsoever, may result in the feeling of being single

WE HAVE FINALLY MADE IT, MY LOVES!!! after months of asking and requesting and teasing, we have finally made it! to this highly anticipated day… “drum roll please!” *drum roll* it’s officially proposal day! 🎉🥳 this has to be my absolute favorite work of mine so far and i hope you guys enjoy it as well! happy reading, my loves! 🤍

Luna’s instgarm post for this which i have posted months ago is here— 240910: Berlin

╰ ౨ৎ LUNA-VERSE MASTERLIST ╰ ౨ৎ writings masterlist

It started with a yes.

Not the one Jeonghan was hoping for, not yet, but a quiet, unassuming yes. A yes to a question so ordinary that it almost felt unfair how much weight the final one would carry.

Berlin was unfamiliar terrain, yet it hummed with a certain vibrancy that made SEVENTEEN’s first visit feel both electrifying and fleeting. The city sprawled before them, waiting to be explored in the rare sliver of free time before their upcoming performance at Lollapalooza in a few days. For once, schedules weren’t dictating their every move, and the members took full advantage of it.

Some of the members chose rest, their hotel rooms dark and silent, filled with the slow rise and fall of their steady breathing as they recharged for the days ahead.

Others had ventured out, drawn to Berlin’s streets, its towering landmarks, and the endless stretch of shops waiting to be perused. A few had split off in groups— Mingyu and Dokyeom had excitedly set out in search of the best local food, Hoshi and Dino had somehow convinced Wonwoo to join them on a sightseeing adventure, and Joshua, ever the connoisseur, had been eyeing record stores and coffee shops.

But Jeonghan had chosen neither.

Instead, he sat in the quiet of their hotel room, his long legs stretched out lazily on the couch, eyes trained on the woman sprawled across their bed. Luna lay on her stomach, propped up on her elbows, her face illuminated by the glow of her phone screen as she FaceTimed her cousin and her cousin’s baby.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop— not really.

But it was impossible to ignore her voice, the way it softened into something impossibly gentle, dipped in a warmth that Jeonghan swore made the room feel smaller, cozier.

“Who’s my little baby?” Luna cooed, her voice laced with adoration. She giggled as the baby on the other end let out a high-pitched squeal, his tiny hands flailing toward the screen. “Oh my goodness, you’re getting so big! Are you eating well? You better not be giving your mama a hard time.”

Jeonghan tilted his head, observing the way her entire face softened, her eyes crinkling as she cooed nonsense words at the baby, who was happily babbling back. There was something profoundly mesmerizing about the scene before him— Luna, in her natural state of warmth, love spilling from her in quiet, unguarded moments like this.

“Bubba,” she continued, addressing the baby with a nickname that made Jeonghan’s lips twitch in amusement. “Are you being good for Mommy? Are you? Or are you being a little troublemaker, huh?”

Jeonghan swore he felt something shift inside him, something deep and unspoken that had been resting just beneath the surface for years now. He’d carried the weight of a single question for so long, the ring tucked safely in his possession for what felt like a lifetime.

But suddenly, it felt heavier, as if urging him, nudging him toward the moment he had been waiting for.

Not yet, but soon.. very soon by the looks of it.

He had always known Luna was it for him.

The only question had been when.

And maybe— just maybe— that answer was forming itself now, right in front of him, in the way she smiled, in the way she spoke, in the way she so effortlessly made love something that felt like breathing.

He barely registered when the call ended, when Luna sighed in contentment, placing her phone down on the bedside table beside her before lying on her back. It was only then that Jeonghan found his voice again, though it came out unsteady, like his thoughts had barely caught up with his heart.

“Do you wanna go out for a walk and go sight—”

“Yes.”

Luna didn’t even let him finish.

If fate had a sound, it would be the way she said ‘yes’ without knowing she was sealing her own destiny.

Before she even knew what he was about to ask, she had already said yes.

Jeonghan took that as a good sign.

A slow smile curled on his lips as he stood from the couch, making his way towards her with an air of quiet amusement. He crawled onto the bed, shifting his weight until he was hovering over her, his elbows propped on either side of her as he gazed down at her, his long ash-blonde hair falling slightly into his eyes.

“You always say yes so easily,” Jeonghan teased, reaching down to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Do you even know what you’re agreeing to?”

Luna hummed, unfazed by his sudden proximity. Instead, she lazily lifted her hand, threading her fingers through his hair, playing with the strands that had grown long again.

“I don’t,” she admitted, her lips curling into a knowing smile. “But that’s us… we’re both only spontaneous when we’re together. I wanna go but only if you promise not to get us lost again.”

Jeonghan chuckled, but the sound was light, almost distracted.

She didn’t know. She had no idea just how much weight he was holding onto at this moment, how her words— spoken so casually— were sinking into him like a prophecy.

His fingers traced slow, absentminded patterns against her arm as he let himself linger in the moment, drinking her in. “You say that like getting lost with me isn’t one of the best parts of our trips, Nana-ya.”

Luna scoffed, poking his cheek playfully. “It is, but it also means I have to listen to you pretend like you did it on purpose. Like you meant for us to wander into that random alleyway in New York, or that time in Bangkok when we ended up at someone’s actual house instead of the temple.”

Jeonghan gasped in mock offense. “That was one time.”

Luna arched a brow. “It was three times.”

“Details.” He waved off her accusation, letting his weight settle more against her as he sighed in contentment. “You act like you don’t love it when I get us lost. If anything, it’s just another adventure. You should thank me.”

“Oh? Should I?” Luna challenged, tilting her head slightly, fingers still tangled in his hair.

“Mm.” Jeonghan grinned, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Maybe you’ll find something unexpected this time.”

Luna narrowed her eyes, sensing his teasing tone but unable to decipher what exactly he was hinting at. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He only hummed, feigning innocence, but there was something in the way he looked at her, something that made her heart stutter just for a moment.

“It means, we should go.” Jeonghan grinned at her.

Thankfully, she let it go, brushing a thumb against his temple before murmuring, “I know, I know. Let’s go.”

“Yeah?”

And then, without thinking, without realizing the sheer irony of it all, Luna said, “Yes.”

Jeonghan exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as if the universe itself had just given him its own silent approval.

Luna didn’t know yet.

Didn’t know that her day would begin with a yes so small it seemed insignificant, and end with a yes so life-altering it would rewrite the rest of their tomorrows.

And that’s how Jeonghan and Luna found themselves exploring the streets of Berlin.

They had barely any time in Berlin, but that didn’t stop them, hands intertwined, laughter spilling between them as they wandered through the streets like lovestruck teenagers with nowhere to be. The cool breeze carried the faint scent of roasted nuts and fresh bread from the bustling market nearby, and the distant sound of street musicians played a soft melody that somehow made everything feel even more surreal.

Jeonghan and Luna weren’t in a rush.

If anything, they wanted time to slow down, to stretch every moment they had in this city into something infinite. So, they did everything they could with the little time they had— walking through the cobblestone streets, peeking into boutiques without the intent to buy, taking pictures at random corners just because they liked the lighting. Their phones were filled with blurry selfies, stolen kisses, and the kind of photos only they would find beautiful.

Hand in hand, they strolled through an open-air market, where vendors called out in German, offering everything from handmade crafts to vintage trinkets. Luna dragged Jeonghan to a stand selling delicate flower crowns, placing one atop his head and giggling when he rolled his eyes but didn’t take it off. He, in turn, tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear before playfully placing a ridiculously large sunhat on her head, declaring, “This is it. This is your new fashion statement.”

With nowhere particular to be, they allowed the city to guide them. They stopped by street artists painting along the sidewalk, watched a mime perform with exaggerated expressions, and even debated over which ice cream flavor was superior— Jeonghan was adamant that pistachio was elite, while Luna stood firm in her love for strawberry.

Every step, every turn, every glance they shared was filled with a warmth that couldn’t be replicated— an unspoken promise that they were happy, here, together.

And then, naturally, they found themselves standing in front of a high-end jewelry store and started to act like they absurdly wealthy socialites choosing items they’ll ‘buy.’

Of course, it was Jeonghan’s idea.

“That will look good on you when you are cooking,” Jeonghan mused, pointing at an extravagant diamond necklace displayed under glass.

Luna, catching on immediately, tilted her head and pursed her lips in faux contemplation. “I think I’ll get that one. For my party in Monaco.”

Jeonghan nodded, completely serious. “A great choice, pretty. I’ll take the diamond-studded cufflinks. To wear… while gardening.”

Luna smirked. “Oh, and we shouldn’t forget our dog’s new diamond-studded collar.”

Jeonghan gasped dramatically. “Oh, of course! Fluffy deserves only the best.”

A store employee, who had been watching them with amused eyes, finally stepped forward and greeted them knowingly. “Would you like to see the collection up close?”

Without missing a beat, Jeonghan and Luna turned to her and, in perfect sync, said, “No, thanks.”

The employee smiled but didn’t retreat. Instead, she launched into a well-rehearsed explanation about the store’s exclusive deals and the quality of their latest collection.

“This season, we have introduced a new range of ethically sourced diamonds, featuring intricate designs inspired by classic European elegance,” she began, gesturing toward a display. “Many of our pieces are custom-made, and we offer personalized engravings at no additional charge—”

Luna, being Luna, felt guilty. She hadn’t meant for the employee to waste her breath on them, and with each passing second, the guilt weighed heavier.

Jeonghan, on the other hand, found it hilarious. His eyes danced with amusement as he watched Luna nod as she shifted on her feet, her conscience warring with her common sense. He leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear. “You do realize this is how you get scammed, right?”

Luna waved him off, much too soft-hearted to just walk away now. “I’ll just get something small.”

Jeonghan chuckled under his breath as she stepped inside, already scanning the jewelry cases. “This is why I can’t take you anywhere,” he muttered, following behind her.

The employee, thrilled by the change in pace, immediately directed Luna toward the diamond tennis bracelets.

“These are some of our finest pieces,” she explained. “Crafted with high-quality diamonds set in either white gold or platinum. The design is both timeless and elegant, perfect for everyday wear or special occasions.”

Luna ran her fingers along the glass, eyes twinkling. “They’re beautiful,” she murmured.

Jeonghan, standing behind her, wrapped his arms loosely around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. “Just so we’re clear, you walked in here out of guilt, and now you’re actually considering buying one?”

Luna ignored him. “Do you have these in a matching set?”

“Yes, of course,” the employee nodded eagerly. “Would you like to see how they fit?”

Before Jeonghan could protest, Luna was already slipping the bracelet onto her wrist. She turned to him with a triumphant grin. “Let’s get matching ones.”

Jeonghan smirked. “I don’t recall agreeing to this.”

Luna batted her lashes at him. “You love me.”

Jeonghan sighed dramatically. “That I do.”

Satisfied, Luna reached for her black card— only for Jeonghan to gently smack it out of her hand, replacing it with his own.

Luna gasped, playfully glaring at him. “Excuse me?”

“I pay,” Jeonghan said smoothly.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Luna snatched his card and swapped it with hers again.

Jeonghan raised a brow, taking hers and replacing it once more. “I do.”

Luna, narrowing her eyes, did the same. “You don’t.”

This went on for a full minute, back and forth, exchanging cards with increasing speed, until finally, they both had the same idea.

“Let’s play our game,” Luna declared, already shuffling both their black cards together.

Jeonghan grinned. “I love this game.”

The employee watched, bewildered, as they held up both identical black cards and gestured for her to pick.

Hesitant, she reached forward and selected one, flipping it over.

It was Luna’s.

She beamed, turning to Jeonghan with a victorious smirk before sticking her tongue out at him.

Jeonghan rolled his eyes but leaned in, pressing a soft peck to her lips. “Fine. I’ll let you have this one.”

With that, Luna happily paid, and they left the store hand in hand, both of them now wearing matching diamond tennis bracelets.

A few hours later, they found themselves in a quaint little restaurant tucked away in a quiet alley, the kind of place that wasn’t flashy or tourist-ridden but radiated warmth and authenticity.

The restaurant was the kind of place you wouldn’t notice unless you were looking for it— small, tucked into a quiet street, with wooden tables that bore the scratches of time and soft yellow lights that cast a golden glow over everything. It was warm inside, the scent of fresh bread and simmering sauces filling the air, a stark contrast to the crisp autumn chill outside. It felt homey, lived-in, like a secret only a few were lucky enough to stumble upon.

Jeonghan and Luna sat across from each other at a small, candlelit table by the window, the flickering light casting shadows over their intertwined fingers. They hadn’t let go since they walked in, their hands naturally gravitating toward each other as if they belonged nowhere else.

The server had greeted them in German, to which Luna, always interested in languages, responded effortlessly with a simple hello in German. Jeonghan, ever the observer, had only smirked as she ordered for them, watching the way she so easily charmed the waiter without even trying.

“Impressive,” he murmured as the server walked away, leaning his cheek against his palm.

Luna raised a brow. “You say that as if I spoke entirely in German. I could only say hello, Han.”

“Still impressive,” he admitted, tilting his head. “Plus… it’s different hearing you speak in a foreign language. You sounded kind of…” He paused, eyes twinkling.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Kind of what?”

Jeonghan took a slow sip of his water, letting the anticipation build. “Hot.”

Luna blinked, then let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “God, you’re ridiculous.”

“Am I wrong, though?”

She bit her lip to suppress a smile. “Maybe not.”

Their food arrived shortly after— a spread of freshly baked bread, a bowl of creamy soup, a plate of pasta that smelled like heaven, and a charcuterie board filled with cheeses and meats they could leisurely pick at. It was simple, unpretentious, yet everything about it felt indulgent in the way that only slow meals shared between lovers could.

Jeonghan, of course, wasted no time in stealing from Luna’s plate.

She caught his wrist mid-motion, giving him a pointed look. “Jeongie.”

He blinked innocently. “Yes, my love?”

She sighed, loosening her grip just enough for him to snatch a piece of bread from her plate. He took a triumphant bite, chewing happily as if he had won a battle.

Luna shook her head, but there was no real annoyance in her eyes— only affection. “You have your own food.”

“Yes, but yours tastes better.”

She scoffed, picking up her fork. “You haven’t even tried yours yet.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Yours is still better, Nana-ya.”

Luna rolled her eyes but let him get away with it, nudging his foot under the table in silent retaliation.

They ate at a leisurely pace, talking about nothing and everything, the kind of conversation that didn’t need direction because it flowed so easily.

At one point, Jeonghan took a sip of soup and hummed in approval. “Mm, this is good.”

Luna, already mid-bite of pasta, gave him a knowing look. “You’re going to steal mine next, aren’t you?”

Jeonghan gasped, feigning offense. “I would never.”

Luna gave him a deadpan stare. “Yoon Jeonhan.”

“…Okay, but just one bite.”

She sighed but held out her spoon for him anyway. He leaned forward, taking the spoon into his mouth in a way that was far too slow, eyes locked on hers as he pulled away.

Luna felt warmth creep up her neck. “You’re doing that on purpose.”

He smirked. “Doing what, love of my life?”

She huffed, stabbing a piece of pasta with her fork. “Being insufferable.”

“You love it.”

Luna didn’t dignify that with a response, but the way she hid her smile behind her glass of water gave her away.

Jeonghan just watched her, the rest of the world fading into a quiet blur.

She looked effortlessly beautiful like this— soft, relaxed, glowing in the candlelight. Strands of her hair fell loosely around her face, framing her features in a way that made his heart clench.

He had always thought she was stunning, had always known it, but something about seeing her like this, in the simplest of moments, made him feel like he was discovering her beauty all over again.

And then, the thought crept in.

I could just ask her right now. Jeonghan thought.

The realization hit him so suddenly that it almost startled him.

He could do it— right here, right now.

He had the ring.

He always had the ring with him ever since he got it… two years ago.

He had everything he needed.

And God, wasn’t this enough?

Wasn’t she enough?

She was sitting right in front of him, laughing, stealing bites of his food now in retaliation, her eyes crinkling at the corners in that way he loved. She was warmth and light and the only person he had ever wanted to spend forever with.

His fingers twitched against the fabric of his pocket, where the small velvet box had rested for two years now, waiting.

He had carried it with him more times than he could count, always thinking, Maybe this is the moment.

But it never was.

And now, as he sat across from her, watching her twirl pasta around her fork with a quiet hum, he realized that this wasn’t the moment either.

It was too… ordinary.

Not that he minded ordinary— not when it came to her, not when it came to them. He didn’t need anything grand or fancy. He didn’t need anything crazy or out of this world. Jeonghan was a simple man and so was Luna. But if he was going to ask the question, it couldn’t be here. It couldn’t be in a restaurant, no matter how charming or intimate.

It couldn’t be in a place where they were still careful, where their love was something they had to keep hidden.

They were public figures in a very public space, their relationship a carefully guarded secret for the past five years.

He couldn’t do it like this here.

It wasn’t perfect enough for him.

And Jeonghan had waited too long— loved her too much— to settle for anything less than perfect.

So he didn’t ask.

Not yet at least.

Instead, he reached across the table, brushing a stray crumb off the corner of her lips with his thumb, letting it linger there just a second too long.

Luna blinked up at him, surprised by the sudden touch, then softened. “What?”

Jeonghan only smiled. “Nothing.”

She narrowed her eyes slightly, studying him. “You’re looking at me weird.”

He shrugged, leaning back lazily in his chair. “Can’t a man admire the mother of my future children?”

Luna choked on her drink, coughing as she reached for her napkin. “Yoon Jeonghan—”

He grinned, watching her fluster. “What? You’re going to be the mother of my kids one day, aren’t you?”

She huffed, shaking her head as she regained composure. “Not if you keep making me choke on my water.”

Jeonghan’s smirk only widened. “I make you breathless, huh?”

She groaned, tossing a piece of bread at him, which he caught effortlessly. “You’re unbearable.”

“And yet, you’re still here,” he said, popping the bread into his mouth.

Luna sighed, but the corners of her lips betrayed her. “Unfortunately.”

He reached for her hand again, intertwining their fingers effortlessly. “Fortunately,” he corrected, voice softer now.

And when she looked at him then— really looked at him— Jeonghan knew he was right.

He would ask.

Just not yet.

After eating they ended up walking to a park. The park stretched before them, bathed in the soft golden hues of the late afternoon sun. The crisp autumn air carried the scent of fallen leaves and distant roasted chestnuts from a street vendor somewhere nearby. The path beneath their feet was lined with towering trees, their branches swaying gently as if whispering secrets to the wind.

Luna tightened her grip around Jeonghan’s hand, her fingers lacing between his effortlessly, as though they had been molded to fit together. His touch was warm, grounding, steady— like the very presence of him always was.

A fluffy Samoyed trotted past them, its thick white fur catching the sunlight like a halo. The poor owner at the other end of the leash struggled to hold on as the excitable dog bounded after a stray autumn leaf that had dared to escape the confines of the path.

Luna gasped, her entire face lighting up in an instant as she tugged on Jeonghan’s arm. “Hannie,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper but brimming with excitement. “Isn’t that the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?”

Jeonghan followed her gaze, unimpressed, hands buried deeper into his coat pockets. He tilted his head slightly as if analyzing the situation before making a rather nonchalant observation.

“It’s cute, sure,” he said, nodding. “But imagine something smaller. More portable. I’m more of a ‘tiny dog in a handbag’ kind of guy. Like a Pomeranian I can carry in my bag.”

Luna came to an abrupt stop, turning to stare at him, scandalized. The sheer betrayal in her expression was almost theatrical. “You’re joking.”

Jeonghan smirked, ever the picture of mischief. “Nope. Picture it— me, in sunglasses, walking through the airport with a tiny Pomeranian peeking out of my designer tote. Full celebrity mode.”

Luna groaned loudly, throwing her head back in exasperation. “You would carry it around like an accessory.”

“Exactly,” Jeonghan said, nodding in satisfaction. “Imagine the power move. Paparazzi photos of me casually sipping coffee, little dog in tow. We’d be iconic.”

Luna gave him a deadpan stare. “You’re the actual drama.”

Jeonghan squeezed her hand, feigning deep contemplation. “So, compromise,” he mused. “What if we get two? One fluffy Samoyed for you, and one high-fashion, pint-sized diva for me?”

Luna pursed her lips, pretending to consider it before shrugging. “Fine.”

“Good,” Jeonghan said, as if it had been a crucial negotiation. “You can handle the big one. I’ll be busy styling mine.”

Luna rolled her eyes, but her laughter betrayed her amusement.

They resumed their walk, deeper into the park, their hands still intertwined. The chatter of people slowly faded into the background, replaced by the distant chirping of birds and the soft rustle of leaves beneath their feet. The golden glow of the setting sun peeked through the tree branches, casting elongated shadows across the path. The park was quieter here, the world slowing down to match their unhurried pace.

Jeonghan, ever observant, caught a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye. A few people, phones discreetly raised, stood at a distance, filming them.

Fans.

Luna noticed too, but neither of them reacted much. Their fans knew how close they were— had known for years. Holding hands wasn’t out of the ordinary for them. They had spent half a decade in each other’s orbit, and while the world didn’t know the true depth of their relationship, moments like these weren’t unusual in the eyes of those who followed them.

Still, Jeonghan couldn’t resist stirring the pot. He leaned in, voice low and teasing. “Do you think if I dip you like a ballroom dancer, they’ll start clapping?”

Luna, laughing but pulling him back, shook her head. “Don’t you dare. You’re already this close to making me trip over my own feet.”

Jeonghan grinned, unbothered. “If you fall, I fall. That’s romance, baby.”

Luna deadpanned, her expression utterly unimpressed. “That’s gravity, baby.”

He snorted, squeezing her hand tighter as they continued walking. The fans remained at a distance, respecting their space, and after a while, they seemed to fade away, as if realizing this moment wasn’t meant to be interrupted.

With the sun dipping lower into the horizon, the park grew even quieter. The warm hues of daylight melted into the cool shades of dusk, the air carrying a sharper chill now. Jeonghan instinctively shifted closer to Luna, his coat brushing against hers. She, in turn, burrowed against his side slightly, as if drawn to his warmth.

“Do you think we’ll ever get caught?” she asked, voice softer now, more pensive.

Jeonghan hummed. “If we do, I hope it’s when we look really good,” he said. “Like, I want the lighting to be perfect. Angles immaculate. None of that ‘caught off guard’ nonsense.”

Luna laughed. “Of course you’d think about that.”

“Obviously.” He smirked. “If we’re going down, we’re going down looking fucking expensive.”

She shook her head, amusement dancing in her eyes. “You know what’s funny? We’ve spent five years sneaking around, and yet, one of the main reasons why we’re not fully outed is because people think we’re too obvious to be real.”

Jeonghan chuckled. “Right? That’s the best part. We hold hands, wear matching outfits, disappear at the same time, and somehow, we’re still ‘just besties.’”

Luna nudged him playfully. “Maybe we should start acting less suspicious.”

Jeonghan feigned shock. “And deny the people their favorite mystery? What would they do without their detective work? We’re providing entertainment.”

She rolled her eyes but leaned into him regardless, their fingers still tangled together as they walked deeper into the park, where the world felt smaller, quieter, just the two of them against the backdrop of the fading sun.

They wandered deeper into the park, hand in hand, the air crisp with the scent of autumn and earth. The path before them was dappled with golden light filtering through the thinning canopy of trees, and a gentle breeze carried the soft rustling of leaves across the open space.

The further they walked, the more secluded it became— fewer people, fewer distractions, just them and the steady rhythm of their footsteps against the leaf-strewn ground.

Luna, still holding Jeonghan’s hand, let her gaze wander over the scenery, taking in the tranquil beauty of it all. And then—

She gasped, her fingers slipping from his as she suddenly bolted forward, her laughter trailing behind her like the lingering scent of something sweet.

Jeonghan barely had time to process before she was crouched before a massive pile of fallen leaves, her eyes wide with excitement, her entire face alight with a childlike joy that made his heart stutter.

“What— Jiyeonie—” He blinked, watching her run her fingers through the pile as if searching for something. “Uh. Are we… searching for treasure?”

“No,” Luna said, completely serious as she scooped up a handful of leaves and began carefully arranging them on the ground. “I’m about to make art.”

Jeonghan exhaled a small chuckle, stepping closer with amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. “Art?”

Luna nodded, already focused, her fingers meticulously sorting through the leaves with practiced ease. “I used to do this all the time when I was little. Every autumn, when the leaves started falling, I’d go outside and make designs with them. Animals, flowers, little faces— sometimes even whole landscapes if I had the time.”

She glanced up at him briefly, her expression soft with nostalgia. “Back in London, my mum and I would go for walks in the park near our house, and I’d stop every few minutes to gather the prettiest leaves I could find. Then I’d sit on the grass and arrange them into shapes while she read on a bench nearby. She used to say I had the patience of a sculptor.”

Jeonghan’s gaze softened as he crouched beside her, watching the way she worked with quiet reverence.

There was something so inherently Luna about this— so meticulous yet playful, so creative and endearing. He could almost picture it: a younger version of her, bundled up in a coat and scarf, sitting cross-legged on a damp patch of grass, completely absorbed in her art.

He smiled. “So this is a lifelong passion.”

“Obviously,” Luna said, lips pursed in concentration as she placed a particularly vibrant red leaf in what appeared to be an ear. “You’re witnessing greatness in real-time.”

Jeonghan chuckled, leaning back on his palms as he observed. “What’s today’s masterpiece?”

“You— My Melody,” she answered matter-of-factly, gesturing at the loose but recognizable shape forming before them.

He hummed in approval, crossing his arms as he admired her work. And then, with the air of someone about to contribute something truly groundbreaking, he plucked two small twigs from the ground and carefully set them atop My Melody’s head.

Luna gasped in absolute horror. “You just turned her into an alien!”

Jeonghan leaned back, nodding with satisfaction. “Innovation, my moon.”

Luna dramatically clutched her heart. “How dare you ruin her?”

“Ruined? No, no.” Jeonghan shook his head, grinning. “Enhanced.” He pointed at the altered creation, his expression one of smug accomplishment. “You see, this is My Melody’s long-lost cousin from space. Intergalactic My Melody.”

Luna gawked at him, then scoffed as she grabbed the twigs and threw them at him with an exaggerated flick of her wrist. “Get out of my artistic vision!”

Jeonghan dodged effortlessly, laughing. “You’re just mad because I’m a visionary.”

She gave him a long, unimpressed stare before sighing and turning back to her creation. With careful hands, she fixed the design, her lips pursed in concentration before she finally pulled out her phone to snap a picture.

Jeonghan, however, wasn’t quite done watching her. There was something about the way she looked right now— completely absorbed, wholly unguarded—that made him pause. And then, softer, he murmured, “You know… I like watching you like this.”

Luna glanced up, tilting her head. “Like what?”

Jeonghan tilted his own head in thought before offering her a small, genuine smile. “Happy. Unbothered. Just… you.”

Luna blinked at him, warmth blooming in her chest, slow and golden like the autumn light around them. Slowly, a smile tugged at her lips. “Well, of course I’m happy,” she said, reaching for his hand without hesitation. “I’m with you.”

Jeonghan squeezed her fingers in return, his thumb tracing slow, absentminded patterns against her skin. Somewhere in the distance, the wind rustled through the trees, carrying the sound of quiet laughter between them as they continued venturing deeper into the park.

The air felt cooler now, but neither of them seemed to mind. If anything, Luna pressed closer to Jeonghan, and he, in turn, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against his side with a contented hum.

“You really used to do that all the time as a kid?” he asked, circling back to their earlier conversation.

Luna nodded, leaning into his warmth. “Every year. Without fail.”

Jeonghan grinned, amused. “I can’t imagine little you sitting still long enough to make a whole art piece.”

“Oh, I didn’t sit still. I’d dart around the park gathering leaves for the perfect colors,” she said, waving a hand dramatically. “It was a process, you see. I had standards.”

Jeonghan chuckled. “Of course you did.”

Luna sighed wistfully. “It was always my favorite part of autumn. That, and jumping into leaf piles.”

Jeonghan arched a brow, glancing down at her. “Are you about to tell me you want to do that right now?”

Luna smirked. “What, scared you’ll mess up your hair?”

He scoffed. “I’ll have you know, my hair is built for resilience.”

She hummed. “We’ll see about that.”

Before he could react, Luna suddenly spun out of his hold, taking off toward another large pile of leaves a few steps away. With absolutely no hesitation, she threw herself into it, landing with a laugh as the leaves crunched beneath her.

Jeonghan stared. “Bae Jiyeon— be careful— you’re ridiculous.”

“You love it,” Luna sing-songed, peeking up at him from the scattered mess.

Jeonghan exhaled through his nose, shaking his head fondly before stepping forward. He crouched beside her, elbows resting on his knees as he studied her with an amused tilt of his head. “Having fun down there?”

Luna grinned. “Loads.”

He sighed, giving her a long, considering look before finally muttering, “You’re lucky you’re cute.” And then, much to her delight (and his own inevitable regret), he flopped down beside her, sending another flurry of leaves into the air.

Luna gasped, eyes wide. “You did it.”

Jeonghan groaned, but there was no bite to his words. “This better be worth it.”

Luna beamed, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. “It totally is.”

And just like that, Jeonghan found he couldn’t argue.

Afterwards, Jeonghan let Luna tug him along by the hand, their fingers intertwined, their pace unhurried. There was a softness in the air, the kind that only came with autumn evenings, where the crisp breeze nipped at their cheeks, but the warmth of each other’s presence was enough to chase away the cold.

Luna was still giddy from her leaf art, occasionally glancing at her phone to admire the picture she had taken, and Jeonghan, ever the opportunist, took the moment to tease.

“Are you going to frame that?” he mused, peering over her shoulder.

Luna scoffed, locking her phone and giving him a playful shove. “Obviously. This is a masterpiece. It deserves to be remembered.”

Jeonghan hummed, tilting his head as if deep in thought. “Should we submit it to a museum? Maybe the Louvre? ‘Intergalactic My Melody’— it could be the next Mona Lisa.”

Luna groaned dramatically, throwing her head back. “Why do you have to ruin everything, Jeongie?”

“I don’t ruin things. I make them better,” Jeonghan corrected, bumping his shoulder against hers.

Luna shook her head, but there was a fond smile playing on her lips. “You’re impossible.”

Jeonghan grinned. “And yet, you love me.”

She rolled her eyes, but the way her fingers tightened around his gave her away. “Unfortunately.”

He gasped, clutching his chest as if wounded. “The betrayal! After everything I’ve done for you!”

“Oh, yes, because ruining my leaf art is such an act of devotion,” she shot back, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Jeonghan chuckled, pulling her closer so he could drape an arm over her shoulders. “I’ll have you know, my dear, that my presence alone is a gift.”

Luna snorted, leaning into his warmth. “A curse, more like.”

“You wound me,” he said dramatically, resting his head against hers.

She sighed, but it was laced with amusement. “And yet, you’re still here.”

Jeonghan smirked. “That’s because you’re obsessed with me.”

Luna hummed, as if contemplating. “Hmm… obsessed might be a strong word.”

Jeonghan stopped walking, placing a hand over his heart. “Nana-ya,” he said in an exaggeratedly pained voice, “after years, this is how you treat me?”

Luna turned to face him, eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’m just keeping you humble, love.”

Jeonghan narrowed his eyes playfully. “Oh, so that’s your game?”

She grinned, standing on her toes to press a quick kiss to the tip of his nose. “Mm-hmm.”

His grip on her waist tightened as he pulled her in closer. “Then I guess I’ll have to remind you just how obsessed you are,” he murmured, voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down her spine.

Luna, to her credit, kept her cool. “Oh? And how do you plan on doing that?”

Jeonghan leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, “By making you say my name in that lovesick voice you always use when you’re being needy or when you think I’m not listening.”

Luna’s breath hitched, her cheeks warming despite the chilly air. “I do not—”

“You do,” Jeonghan interrupted smugly. “It’s cute. Adorable, really.”

Luna huffed, poking his chest. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are, still holding my hand, still hopelessly in love with me,” he teased.

She exhaled through her nose, feigning exasperation, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. “Fine. You win.”

Jeonghan gasped dramatically. “Say it again. I want to record it for proof.”

Luna groaned, but she was laughing, and Jeonghan knew— knew without a doubt— that he would never get tired of this. Of her. Of the way she looked at him like he was her entire world, even when she pretended to be annoyed.

And as the last sliver of sunlight dipped behind the horizon, casting them in the golden afterglow of autumn, he realized something— he had already won.

As the evening deepened, the soft hues of twilight stretched across the sky, casting a gentle glow over the secluded part of the park they had wandered into.

The air was cooler now, the crisp scent of the lake blending with the earthy fragrance of the grass beneath their feet. Towering above them was a majestic willow tree, its long, delicate branches swaying with the evening breeze, cascading down like a curtain shielding them from the rest of the world. Beneath the tree, the lake shimmered under the fading light, its surface rippling gently. It was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of crickets.

Luna’s eyes widened as she spotted movement in the lake. “Oh,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Two swans glided across the water, their pristine white feathers illuminated by the moon’s emerging glow.

Luna gasped, her face lighting up with childlike wonder before she instinctively stepped closer, her movements slow and careful so as not to startle them. The swans, however, remained unbothered, merely continuing their serene journey across the lake as if they had deemed her presence non-threatening.

Jeonghan, who had been trailing behind her, let out a quiet sigh before following. He watched as she crouched near the lake’s edge, her eyes locked onto the birds, mesmerized. The glow of the moon danced across her face, highlighting the softness of her features.

“Be careful,” he warned gently, stopping just a step behind her. “Swans still bite, you know.”

Luna turned her head slightly, flashing him a small, amused smile. “I’ll be fine.”

He exhaled, giving her a knowing look. “You say that, but you almost fell in trying to get closer just now.”

Luna waved him off with a dismissive flick of her wrist, her attention already back on the swans as she cooed at them softly. “Oh, hush. They’re so graceful… look at them, Hannie,” she murmured, completely enchanted.

Jeonghan didn’t respond— not because he didn’t agree, but because, for the past few minutes, he hadn’t been looking at the swans.

He had been looking at her.

The way her eyes reflected the water’s surface, gleaming with quiet joy. The way the corners of her lips lifted ever so slightly, a small, wistful smile forming as she admired the birds. The way her hair cascaded down her shoulders, strands occasionally catching the wind and brushing against her face.

These were all things he had noticed before— things that had drawn him to her in the first place.

But then, there were the little things, the ones he hadn’t fully realized until now.

The way her nose scrunched slightly whenever she focused intently on something. The way her fingers curled over her knees as she crouched, as if anchoring herself to the moment. The way she occasionally hummed under her breath without even realizing it, a quiet melody of contentment.

He felt something deep within his chest tighten, warmth spreading through him like a gentle tide.

He knew he would fall in love with more things about her.

He knew, with absolute certainty, that this was the moment.

The moment to do it.

It was the moment to finally ask her.

The swans eventually drifted away, disappearing into the distance, and Luna, satisfied with her little encounter, pushed herself back up to her feet, stretching her arms above her head.

Jeonghan bent down, picking up a smooth stone from the ground, testing its weight in his palm before effortlessly flicking it across the lake’s surface.

It skipped three times before sinking.

Luna watched, tilting her head. “I’ve never been good at that,” she admitted.

Jeonghan smirked, tossing another stone up and catching it. “Want me to teach you?”

Luna pursed her lips in thought before picking up her own stone. She mimicked his movement, flicking her wrist— only for the stone to plop unceremoniously into the water without a single skip. She blinked, then slowly turned to Jeonghan with an exaggerated pout.

His laughter came immediately, warm and amused, before he reached over and affectionately flicked her nose. “Cute,” he murmured.

Luna scrunched her nose at the action but smiled nonetheless.

Jeonghan then grabbed another stone before stepping behind her, his chest pressing lightly against her back as he wrapped his arms around hers. His fingers ghosted over hers as he adjusted her grip, his voice low and patient.

“Loosen your wrist a little. You’re flicking it too stiffly.”

She nodded, feeling his warmth surround her, and let him guide her hand.

“Now, angle it slightly. You want the stone to touch the water at just the right tilt so it doesn’t sink immediately.”

His chin nearly rested on her shoulder as he spoke, his breath tickling her ear. Luna swallowed, focusing on his words rather than the way he was practically enveloping her.

“Got it?”

“Mhm.”

“Alright, now flick— gently.”

She did as instructed, following the movement of his arms. The stone left her fingers, skipping once, twice, three times before disappearing beneath the surface.

Luna gasped, twisting in his hold to face him. “Did you see that?!” she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling.

Jeonghan chuckled, watching her burst with excitement. “I saw, I saw.”

She turned back, still beaming. “I did it!”

He smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Told you. Just needed my expert guidance.”

Luna playfully rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Let’s see if I can do it myself.”

She bent down again, picking up another stone with renewed determination. Jeonghan stepped back, crossing his arms as he watched her prepare.

She inhaled, flicked her wrist— and this time, the stone skipped twice before sinking.

Luna let out a delighted squeal, immediately turning back to him. “Did you see that?! I did it again!”

Jeonghan chuckled, reaching out to ruffle her hair. “You’re a natural now.”

Luna huffed, swatting his hand away, but her smile remained wide. “I should go pro.”

Jeonghan raised a brow. “Pro at skipping rocks?”

“Yes.” She tossed another, this one failing miserably. She blinked, before laughing at herself. “Okay, maybe not.”

Jeonghan shook his head fondly. “Don’t quit your day job just yet.”

She stuck her tongue out at him before picking up another stone, determined to try again.

And as he watched her, her laughter echoing softly in the quiet night, Jeonghan’s heart swelled.

He really, truly, couldn’t wait to spend forever with her.

He’s about to.

The rhythmic plopping of stones against the water filled the quiet night air as Luna, standing at the water’s edge, let out a triumphant laugh. She had finally gotten the hang of skipping rocks, and the way the small stones bounced across the surface sent a rush of exhilaration through her.

“Did you see that?” she called over her shoulder, breathless with excitement. “That one went four times!”

Jeonghan, crouched a few feet behind her, hummed in amusement, his lips tugging into a smirk as he absentmindedly picked up another smooth stone from the ground. “Not bad,” he mused, running his thumb over the cool surface before handing it over. “But I think you can do five.”

Without looking back, Luna reached her hand behind her, her fingers blindly grasping for the next rock, and Jeonghan slipped it into her palm effortlessly. She adjusted her stance, took a deep breath, and flicked her wrist. The stone danced across the water— one, two, three, four… five.

“Yes!” she cheered, spinning slightly on her heel before looking back at him with wide, sparkling eyes. “Did you see that?! Five skips, Jeongie!”

He chuckled, nodding, already fishing another stone from the ground. “I saw, good job. I knew you could do it,” he assured her, handing her another. “But now you’ve got to go for six.”

Luna grinned, her competitive streak flaring. “Oh, I can do six,” she declared confidently, turning back around as she lined up her next throw.

Jeonghan remained behind her, watching with quiet adoration as she lost herself in the simple joy of the game. There was something almost childlike in the way she celebrated each successful skip, in the way her body practically hummed with excitement. He kept supplying her with stones, handing them over whenever she reached back without thinking, their movements fluid and synchronized like a well-rehearsed dance.

“Okay, six skips,” she muttered to herself, bracing her stance before throwing another. The stone soared across the water— one, two, three, four… and then it sank.

“Damn,” she sighed dramatically, placing a hand on her hip. “I got too cocky.”

Jeonghan laughed, already placing another rock in her waiting hand. “It happens to the best of us, my moon.”

Luna huffed, but there was no real frustration in her voice, only determination. “Alright, next one. I feel it. This is the one.”

She threw again. Five skips.

“Ahh, so close!” she groaned.

Jeonghan smirked, his fingers already brushing the ground for another rock— but then he hesitated. His hand hovered over the pebbles for a moment before his eyes flickered to the small box tucked securely in his pocket.

An idea struck him like lightning.

The corners of his lips curled, a slow, knowing smile creeping onto his face as he reached into his pocket instead, fingers wrapping around the box as he exhaled softly. His heart pounded, steady but strong, like it had been waiting for this moment all along.

Luna, oblivious, held her hand out behind her again, fingers wiggling impatiently. “Come on, Hannie. Another one, please.”

Jeonghan’s smirk deepened as he carefully flipped the small box open, revealing the delicate oval diamond ring nestled inside. His breath was steady, his movements sure as he lowered himself onto one knee, the cool pavement pressing against his knee as he positioned himself directly behind her.

Luna, still blissfully unaware, waited for the familiar feeling of a rock against her palm. But instead, something entirely different met her touch.

Smooth. Cold.

Not the rough texture of a stone— but something else.

Her fingers brushed over the unexpected object, and she froze. Mid-sentence, mid-motion, her entire body halted as a small frown crossed her face.

“What is—”

Her voice trailed off, her breath catching in her throat as she turned around— slow, hesitant, almost afraid to confirm the thought forming in her mind.

And then she saw him.

Yoon Jeonghan.

On one knee.

A small black velvet box in his hand.

An oval diamond ring gleaming under the soft glow of the moonlight.

Luna’s breath left her in a sharp, staggering exhale.

Jeonghan’s grin was easy, mischievous, and entirely confident as he tilted his head slightly, his eyes twinkling with something almost playful.

“What do you think?” he mused, voice smooth as silk. “Wanna keep this rock instead?”

Luna’s heart stopped.

Literally stopped.

Her body swayed slightly, her legs locking up as if the ground beneath her had disappeared entirely. Her mind was blank— completely blank— her thoughts refusing to catch up to what she was seeing.

Her chest tightened, her breath coming in short, rapid bursts as her hands began to tremble uncontrollably.

“Han— what is—”

The words barely made it past her lips, her voice nothing more than a breathless whisper.

Jeonghan’s smirk deepened as he raised an eyebrow at her, his confidence never wavering. “You know exactly what it is, Nana-ya,” he said smoothly. “All you have to do is just say yes.”

Luna’s breath hitched. Her eyes, wide and glassy, burned with the sting of overwhelming emotion. Her hands trembled at her sides, her fingers twitching as though unsure whether to reach for him or to hold herself together.

“What?” she breathed out, her voice barely above a whisper, her breath shaky, her hands shakier.

She needed to hear him say it— for her sanity, for her heart, for the sheer disbelief consuming her entire being.

And he did.

“Marry me, baby,” Jeonghan murmured, his voice unwavering, his gaze locked onto hers with a certainty that stole the air straight from her lungs.

The moment the words left his lips, the dam broke.

A sharp, choked sob tore from Luna’s throat as the tears she had been holding back poured out, fast and relentless. Her knees buckled, the weight of the moment too much, and before she could stop herself, she collapsed onto the pavement, falling from her kneeling position onto her bottom, her hands flying up to cover her face as her sobs wracked through her body.

Jeonghan’s smile softened, his heart swelling at the sight of her completely overwhelmed, completely undone, completely his.

For a moment, he just watched her, his chest tightening in the best way possible, before he leaned forward slightly, his voice low, teasing, full of the love he couldn’t contain any longer, he needed to say it again.

“Marry me, Bae Jiyeon.”

Jeonghan exhaled softly, his heart aching at the sight of Luna so overwhelmed, tears spilling down her cheeks faster than she could wipe them away.

Without hesitation, he moved closer, his arms slipping around her as he scooped her up with ease, shifting her into his lap. The cold pavement pressed beneath them, but neither of them cared— nothing else existed in that moment but the two of them. His hands ran up and down her back in slow, soothing strokes, and he rocked her ever so slightly, the gentle motion coaxing her out of the sobs that shook her small frame.

Luna clung to him instinctively, her fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater as she buried her face into his shoulder. Jeonghan pressed a kiss to the top of her head, murmuring soft reassurances as she let her emotions pour out.

“You wanna marry me?” she whispered against his shoulder, her voice so small, so fragile, it sent a shiver down Jeonghan’s spine.

God, she had no idea what those words did to him. His arms tightened around her as he let out a breathy chuckle, tilting his head down to press another kiss against her hair before responding.

“Luna, baby,” he cooed, his voice dipping into something soft, something so full of love it was almost tangible. “Of course, I do. I wanna marry you so badly it’s been driving me insane.”

She sniffled, her breath shaky as she slightly pulled away to look up at him, her eyes glassy and red-rimmed. Jeonghan reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear before cradling her face between his palms, his thumbs catching stray tears as he gazed at her like she was the only thing that mattered.

Because to him, she was.

“Being your teammate makes me feel invincible,” he began, his voice steady, sure. “Like no matter what, we can take on the world together, side by side. Being your best friend makes me feel safe, like I have someone who knows me, sees me, understands me in a way no one else does.”

Luna hiccupped, her lips parting as her tears fell harder, but Jeonghan continued, his tone unwavering.

“Dating you, though?” He smiled, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “That makes me feel alive. It’s exhilarating, it’s terrifying, it’s the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me. But the thought of marrying you—” He let out a breath, his fingers tightening ever so slightly against her skin. “The thought of spending the rest of my life as your husband? That makes me feel like I’ve finally found where I belong.”

Luna let out a strangled little sound, her hands clumsily gripping at his wrists, her eyes pleading, overwhelmed. “Jeonghan—”

“Shh, baby, I’m not done.” He kissed the tip of her nose, smiling when she whined.

“I love the way you hum when you’re doing something you enjoy. I love the way you organize things but somehow still manage to lose your phone every five minutes. I love the way you get way too invested in drama shows and yell at the screen like they can hear you.” He chuckled, and Luna let out a shaky breath, gripping at his sleeves. “I love how you always pretend like you’re fine even when you’re not, but I see through it every single time. I love how you love so deeply, so completely, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. I love how even after all these years, you still look at me like I hung the moon.”

Luna squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head as she hiccupped again, the weight of his words making her dizzy. “You— you need to stop,” she whined, her voice muffled as she pressed her hands over her face. “You’re too much— I feel like— I feel like I’m gonna pass out—”

Jeonghan let out a soft laugh, prying her hands away from her face as he cupped her cheeks once more. “You’re not gonna pass out, baby,” he murmured, kissing away the tears that had gathered at the corners of her eyes. “You’re just feeling everything all at once.” Another kiss to her forehead. “And that’s okay.” A kiss to her temple. “I’ve got you.” A kiss to her nose. “I always will.” A final kiss, this time lingering at the corner of her lips.

Luna sniffled, her body trembling slightly in his arms, but her breathing had evened out, her sobs quieting into soft hiccups. She blinked up at him, her doe eyes still wet with tears, her lips parted as if she was searching for the right words.

“You love me that much?” she finally asked, her voice so quiet, so full of wonder, it nearly broke him.

Jeonghan’s expression softened, his smile warm as he rested his forehead against hers. “I love you more than that,” he murmured. “More than words, more than anything. You’re it for me, Luna. Always have been.”

Jeonghan stared at her— this woman who had somehow become the center of his universe without him even realizing it. But he needed her to realize it. Needed her to understand, without a shadow of a doubt, just how deeply, irrevocably, impossibly he loved her.

“Jiyeon-ah,” he started, his voice softer now, but no less intense. His fingers skimmed over her cheek, tracing the shape of her face as if memorizing it all over again. “If there was a word greater than love, if there was an emotion that surpassed it, if there was a way to quantify just how much I need you, then that’s what this is.”

Luna let out a trembling breath, her lashes still damp, her fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater as if holding onto him would keep her grounded.

“I love you in ways I don’t think the world has words for,” he continued, his gaze never wavering. “It’s not just love— it’s devotion, it’s adoration, it’s this ridiculous, overwhelming, all-consuming need to make sure you’re happy, safe, and beside me for the rest of my life. It’s wanting to be the reason you smile first thing in the morning and the last thing you see before you fall asleep. It’s the way my heart physically hurts when you’re sad and feels like it’s about to explode when you’re happy. It’s every damn thing, Bae Jiyeon.”

Luna shook her head weakly, as if she couldn’t handle the weight of his words, as if they were too much.

But Jeonghan wasn’t done.

“You don’t get it, my pretty moon,” he whispered, leaning in so their noses brushed, his breath warm against her lips. “You’re my home. You’re my best friend and my greatest love. If I could rewrite the dictionary, if I could invent a new language, it still wouldn’t be enough to explain how much I love you.”

Luna let out a soft, broken whimper before she suddenly dropped her forehead to his shoulder, her body pressing fully against him. She inhaled shakily against his skin before whispering, “You need to stop. I’m serious— I’m gonna black out.”

Jeonghan let out a breathy laugh, his palm immediately coming up to the back of her neck, warm and steady as he gently lifted her head. His fingers curled slightly, tilting her face up so their eyes met once again. His gaze softened as he took her in— the flushed curve of her cheeks, the glossy sheen in her eyes, the way her lips parted just slightly as if she was still trying to catch her breath.

His eyes flickered across her face, tracing every detail before his gaze dropped to her lips.

And then, without another word, he leaned in.

The moment their lips met, it was soft. Delicate. A mere brush, a gentle press, as if he was still savoring the moment. But then Luna made a tiny sound— a breathy little sigh against his lips— and something in Jeonghan snapped.

His hand tightened at the nape of her neck, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss, his other arm coiling around her waist like he was afraid she’d disappear if he let go. Luna melted into him, her fingers twisting into his sweater as her lips moved against his, matching his urgency, his desperation.

The kiss shifted, slow and sweet one second, then fierce and demanding the next. Jeonghan angled his head, his lips parting as he took her deeper, tasting the remnants of her earlier tears, the warmth of her breath mingling with his own. Luna gasped softly into his mouth, and that only made him kiss her harder, his lips molding perfectly against hers, as if this was what they had been made for.

His teeth caught her lower lip for a fleeting second before soothing the sting with his tongue, his hands roaming, pressing, holding.

It wasn’t just a kiss— it was a confession, an exhale, an entire vow wrapped into one singular moment.

By the time they finally pulled away, their breaths were ragged, their foreheads still pressed together as they tried to steady themselves.

Jeonghan was the first to break the silence, his lips curling into a mischievous smirk as he murmured, “By the way, if you don’t answer soon, I might start skipping this ring across the lake.”

Luna let out a choked laugh, her head tilting back slightly as she looked at him with watery eyes and the softest smile.

And then, with a nod, she whispered, “Yes.”

Jeonghan exhaled, his breath shaky yet filled with something indescribable— something so raw, so profound, that it felt like the entire world had just tilted on its axis. His fingers trembled slightly as he held onto her, his heart hammering against his ribs, but his voice was steady when he whispered, “Yeah?”

Luna nodded again, a watery smile playing on her lips as she whispered back, “Yes.”

But Jeonghan wasn’t satisfied with that. He needed more. Needed to hear it fully, clearly, explicitly, just so it would settle into his bones as an irreversible truth. His hand remained at the back of her neck, keeping her gaze locked onto his as he murmured, “Say it.”

Luna let out a soft chuckle, the sound breathless yet full of warmth, before she gave him exactly what he wanted. “Yes, I will marry you, Yoon Jeonghan.”

A slow, genuine smile spread across Jeonghan’s face— the kind of smile that was purely, undeniably him. A mixture of smugness and affection, mischief and sincerity, all wrapped up in that signature expression of his. “Lucky you.”

Luna huffed out a laugh before gently smacking his chest. “Oh my god, can you be normal for one second?”

“This is me being normal,” Jeonghan grinned, entirely unrepentant.

Still laughing, Luna shook her head, but her eyes softened when Jeonghan reached for the ring. The massive diamond glistened under the moonlight, catching every tiny flicker of light as he held it between his fingers.

For a second, he just stared at it, as if the weight of this moment was truly sinking in. And then, with a deliberate slowness, he slipped it onto Luna’s left ring finger.

It was a perfect fit.

Luna stared at it, her lips parting slightly in awe. The way it sat on her hand felt… right. Like it had always belonged there, waiting for this very moment. “It’s perfect,” she whispered, turning her hand slightly to admire how it gleamed.

Jeonghan smirked, tilting his head. “It better be perfect,” he said before giving her a knowing look. “Took me long enough to get your size right.”

Luna glanced at him, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “What do you mean?”

Jeonghan let out a pleased sigh, shaking his head in amusement. “You’re a heavy sleeper, baby. Measured your finger while you were knocked out.”

Luna gasped before bursting into laughter, her head tilting back as she playfully shoved his shoulder. “You what?! You could’ve just taken one of my rings for reference!”

Jeonghan raised a brow, looking thoroughly entertained. “What’s the fun in that?”

She gave him a look of pure exasperation, but there was no real annoyance behind it— just a deep, overwhelming fondness.

They both fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, just staring at each other, just being. And then, after a few seconds, Luna spoke again, her voice soft yet filled with so much emotion.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Jeonghan’s gaze softened instantly. He lifted a hand, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before letting his fingers trail gently down her jaw. “I love you,” he murmured.

Luna’s lips curled up into a small, tender smile. “I love you too— so much.”

And then, she leaned in, capturing his lips in another kiss.

This time, the kiss was different. It wasn’t urgent or desperate like before. It was slow, steady, and overflowing with emotion. Luna’s hands slid up to cradle Jeonghan’s face, her fingers pressing gently into his jaw as she melted against him. Jeonghan sighed into her mouth, his arms wrapping tightly around her waist, holding her close— closer than ever before.

Their lips moved in perfect sync, a gentle dance of love and promise. Jeonghan’s thumb brushed against her cheek as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss just slightly, savoring every single second. It was warm and sweet, delicate yet unyielding, like the most silent yet profound declaration of love.

By the time they pulled away, their breaths were mingling, their noses brushing as they remained impossibly close. Luna blinked up at him, dazed, before she let out a soft laugh. “I could never top your speech earlier,” she admitted, shaking her head.

Jeonghan smirked, clearly pleased with himself. “Well, that’s because I’m always the best.”

Luna rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the amused smile on her lips. “You always want to be the best at everything,” she teased.

Jeonghan shrugged, the corners of his mouth tugging up mischievously. “Of course. But you know what’s gonna make me the absolute bestest?”

Luna raised a brow, humoring him. “What?”

Jeonghan grinned, leaning in just slightly, his voice dropping to a casual, almost teasing whisper. “I’ve had that ring for two years now.”

Luna froze.

And then, her eyes widened, her mouth falling open in shock as tears instantly welled up again. “What the fuck?!” she choked out, smacking his arm.

Jeonghan threw his head back, laughing— really laughing, the kind that made his shoulders shake, his entire body leaning into hers as if he couldn’t contain the joy bubbling up inside him.

Still grinning, he pulled her back in, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of her head.

Jeonghan pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes glinting with mischief as he tilted his head slightly. “What do you say we head back and tell the guys?” he asked, his grin stretching wider, playful and smug all at once.

Luna caught onto his energy instantly, her own lips curling into a matching smirk. This was going to be fun. “Let’s.”

With that, they pushed themselves up from the ground, brushing off the bits of grass and dirt from their clothes. Jeonghan, ever the perfectionist when it came to appearances, ran a hand through his hair, adjusting the strands with a practiced ease before reaching out to Luna, lacing his fingers through hers like it was second nature. She squeezed his hand once, their matching grins never fading as they made their way back to the hotel.

The air between them crackled with a quiet excitement, their steps falling in sync as they navigated the familiar hallways of their temporary home. The elevator ride was silent, but the weight of what they were about to do was tangible in the way Jeonghan lightly swung their joined hands between them, a silent rhythm of anticipation.

And soon enough, they were standing in front of the door to the main suite, where all the other members—except for Jun, who was still in China for his acting project— were already gathered for dinner.

The chatter from inside was unmistakable, a blend of laughter, overlapping voices, and the occasional clatter of dishes as they settled into their usual chaotic routine.

Jeonghan didn’t bother knocking. Instead, he simply turned the handle and stepped in with Luna beside him, both of them still holding hands, still wearing those telltale grins.

The second they walked in, their presence was acknowledged immediately. A wave of greetings crashed over them as their arrival was met with the warm familiarity of their members’ voices.

“You’re finally here!” Seungkwan announced first, setting down his drink as he leaned back against the couch.

“Now we’re complete,” Joshua added, smiling up at them from his spot near the table.

“Take a seat,” Seungcheol offered casually, nodding toward the empty spaces that had clearly been left for them.

“Food’s arriving soon,” Hoshi informed them, rubbing his hands together in anticipation, as if he’d been thinking about it all day.

But it was Wonwoo, ever the observant one, who tilted his head and asked, “Where have you two been?”

Before either of them could respond, another voice cut through the room— one that wasn’t physically present, but still familiar to all of them.

“You guys finally made it, huh?” Jun’s voice rang from the phone screen, which Minghao was holding up, his face filling the frame of the FaceTime call.

Jeonghan and Luna both paused at the sight, exchanging brief glances.

It was as if the universe had conspired to ensure every single member was here for this moment, even the one who was miles away.

Luna let go of Jeonghan’s hand just long enough to wave at the screen, her expression softening as she greeted the missing member. “Junnie! I miss you.”

Jun’s lips curled into a grin. “Miss you too. You guys took your time getting here. What, were you out on some top-secret mission?”

Jeonghan chuckled, his free hand slipping into his pocket while his other stayed comfortably around Luna’s. “Something like that.”

There was an ease to the way they all spoke, a natural flow to their banter that came from years of knowing each other inside and out. The room buzzed with their usual energy, the kind that could only come from a group as close as them. Seungkwan was already side-eyeing them suspiciously, while Vernon leaned back in his chair, observing with mild interest.

Meanwhile, Luna subtly kept her left hand tucked beneath the table, out of sight, as she and Jeonghan settled into their seats next to each other. Their matching smirks remained firmly in place.

Something told them this was going to be fun.

The moment Jeonghan and Luna settled into their seats, their hands still intertwined beneath the table, Jeonghan gave her a knowing look.

It was a silent exchange, one they had mastered over the years— a smirk that said, Go on, have your fun.

Jeonghan, ever the picture of nonchalance, reached for the wine bottle in front of him and leisurely poured himself a glass, completely unbothered as he swirled the deep red liquid in his glass.

Meanwhile, Luna, fully relishing in the moment, reached for the fork in front of her. With a practiced flick of her wrist, she tapped it against the rim of her wine glass a couple of times, the delicate ting, ting, ting slicing through the casual chatter like a bell demanding attention.

The room quieted almost instantly.

Thirteen pairs of eyes turned toward her, some mid-bite, others mid-conversation, all now fully focused on whatever she had to say.

“Okay, since we’re all here together—” Luna began, drawing out her words just a little, watching as curiosity flickered across their faces. “I’m going to make this quick because I am hungry.”

There were a few snorts of laughter at that, because of course she was. But they still listened.

“I need your opinion on something.”

The shift in her tone, from playful to serious, made the members exchange wary glances. Even Seungcheol, who had been comfortably leaning against the couch, straightened a little at her words.

“What is it?” Joshua asked first, tilting his head.

“Is this a trick question?” Vernon muttered, glancing at Jeonghan, who had yet to say a word but was now smirking behind his wine glass.

“Should we be nervous?” Dokyeom added, already glancing at Hoshi, who was nodding like he agreed.

Regardless of their suspicions, they all nodded, signaling for her to continue.

Luna let the silence stretch for just a beat longer, making sure she had all their attention before she finally moved.

“What do you guys think of this?”

She lifted her right hand, wrist tilted just so, allowing the light to catch on the diamond tennis bracelet adorning it.

For a moment, no one said anything.

Their eyes darted from her face to the bracelet, then back to her, as if waiting for the punchline.

Then,

“Are you serious?” Woozi voice came lazily, but the mirth in it was unmistakable.

“Jiyeon-ah.” Seungcheol sighed, exasperated, before shaking his head.

“I thought you were about to tell us something crazy.” Mingyu placed a hand on his chest, as if steadying his heartbeat.

“Noona, you scared me!” Seungkwan scolded, throwing his hands up dramatically.

“I mean, it’s nice—” Dino chimed in, leaning in for a better look. “—but why did you make it sound so serious?”

“It is serious.” Luna countered smoothly, her lips twitching.

“It’s pretty.” Wonwoo nodded in approval, before suddenly pausing, eyes narrowing as his sharp gaze flickered between Luna and Jeonghan. “Wait a second… Jeonghannie has the same one.”

All heads turned to Jeonghan, whose wrist now rested lazily against the armrest of his chair, the identical bracelet peeking from beneath his sleeve.

Jeonghan merely smirked. “Matching, aren’t they?”

“Okay, that’s cute.” Joshua admitted, nodding in approval.

“Of course you guys have matching jewelry.” Minghao muttered, unimpressed but not at all surprised.

“It’s giving ‘power couple.’” Seungkwan commented dryly, but there was amusement in his voice.

“You two are so extra.” Seungcheol groaned, though he was grinning.

“I still feel like you’re messing with us.” Dino squinted at them both, pointing an accusatory finger. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

Luna, still enjoying every second of this, simply held up a hand, effectively silencing them. “Guys, last one.”

The members eyed her with suspicion this time.

After the first stunt, they were expecting another bracelet. A pair of earrings. Maybe a necklace. Perhaps she’d even lift her foot up onto the table to show off a new pair of shoes.

But no.

Slowly, deliberately, Luna lifted her left hand.

The diamond ring on her ring finger glistened under the warm glow of the suite’s lighting.

Unmistakable.

“What do you guys think of this?” she asked, her voice sweet, matching the grin on Jeonghan’s face as he took a slow sip of his wine.

And then—

Chaos.

Absolute, unfiltered pandemonium.

“WHAT THE FUCK!!??”

“WHAT?!”

“NO. NO. WAIT.”

“YOU’RE LYING.”

“OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD!”

“YOON JEONGHAN, YOU DID NOT—”

“FUCKING FINALLY!!!”

Screams erupted from every corner of the room. Chairs scraped against the floor as members shot up from their seats, some tripping over themselves in their rush toward the newly engaged couple.

Dokyeom was jumping up and down, practically vibrating with excitement.

Seungkwan had his hands over his mouth, eyes already welling with tears as he took a shaky breath. “No. No way. Oh my god—”

Joshua had stood up, one hand on his hip, the other running through his hair as he let out a disbelieving laugh. “Finally.”

Mingyu was pointing at them, looking between Jeonghan and Luna as if trying to process reality. “You guys— this isn’t a joke?”

“Nope.” Jeonghan answered, popping the ‘p’ casually.

Minghao, who had been relatively calm until now, exhaled sharply before breaking into a slow, knowing smile. “I can’t believe it.”

Meanwhile, Dino had his hands on his head, pacing back and forth. “Hyung, you proposed?!”

“Of course, I did.” Jeonghan answered smoothly, finally setting his wine down.

Before either he or Luna could react, a wave of bodies crashed into them. The younger members rushed to Luna first, engulfing her in a series of tight hugs, their words overlapping—

“Noona, congratulations!”

“You’re engaged?! Don’t leave us.”

“So cool.”

Meanwhile, Jeonghan was being aggressively patted on the back by Seungcheol, Woozi, and Wonwoo, their congratulations a mix of excitement and “you little shit, you actually did it.”

“You sneaky bastard.” Seungcheol muttered, shaking his head but unable to hide his proud grin.

“I’m so happy for you, man.” Woozi clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Damn, after two years of you hesitating,” Wonwoo whistled.

And then, as if finally comprehending reality, Hoshi burst into tears. “OUR JEONGHANNIE HYUNG AND JIYEONIE ARE GETTING MARRIED!”

That set off another round of chaos— Dokyeom pretending to cry along with him, Seungkwan dramatically falling to his knees, Vernon recording the entire thing, Minghao shaking his head fondly, and Jun, still on FaceTime, yelling from the phone, “JIYEON, YOU BITCH! I AM FLYING MY ASS THERE TO CELEBRATE! THE FUCK!”

Through all the noise, Jeonghan turned to Luna, their eyes meeting amidst the joyful mayhem. His smirk softened into something warmer, something undeniably fond.

Luna, still laughing as Dino and Seungkwan clung to her, tilted her head at her fiancé, her own gaze filled with nothing but love.

This was only the beginning.

Because it started with a yes.

A simple, quiet yes whispered against the Berlin night, sealed with a kiss beneath the moonlight.

And now, it echoed in the laughter filling the room, in the joyful chaos of their friends, in the way Jeonghan’s hand instinctively sought Luna’s beneath the table, fingers lacing together like they always had.

It started with a yes, and now it was here— loud, undeniable, unshakable.

A forever, a love written in stolen glances, matching bracelets, and many promises, in the weight of a diamond ring and the warmth of a knowing smile.

It started with a yes.

And it would never end.

ೃ⁀➷ comment or message me to be added to the tag list :)

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: ̗̀➛ requests are always open ♡ - lunaఌ

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[ellierium]

☣︎ ₊˚.⋆ 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐦!𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⋆⁺₊

cw: nsfw and sfw themes ahead. mdni. cannibalism as a metaphor for love and sex (not really a metaphor). mentions of violence, blood, slight gore. mentions of pussy eating, face riding, bondage, venom as a sex toy.

a/n: yeaaahhhhh so im just combining my old hyper fixations together atp. thank you for reading!

𝐬𝐟𝐰:

✮ having a symbiote is not for the weak. since she's a host, she gets the wonderful gift of host communication. having a telepathic link with venom — affectionately known as "v" — means there's another voice in her head that isn't her own. he's very loud, very obnoxious, but fucking funny. you laugh at his outburst almost as much as she cringes at them.

✮ her "accident" and the whole reason she and venom are attached left her with a lot of scars. she has various scars from when she first started learning how to work with venom, before they were able to get a hang of the regenerative healing. in all honesty, she doesn't want them all gone. especially not the giant scar in her abdomen from being impaled, which made venom keep her alive. the story is not necessarily unknown to you but there are details abby refuses to share. and although v likes to give her a hard time, he slithers out of sight if you turn his attention to him during a conversation like that.

✮ she and venom absolutely love indie horror games and platform games. she tends to stream her playing them with venom. she's got a few hundred thousand followers on twitch just because her and venom’s reactions are hilarious. he likes saying hello to everyone in a very obnoxious way, but absolutely goes nuts when they see you in the chat. v and abby are connected, at the end of the day, and share that excitement for you. and obsession, of course.

✮ besides being unserious on social media, she works as a journalist for the daily globe, a newspaper in the heart of new york city. they tend to cover a lot of drama about spider-woman and her fights of the week. anderson is known for providing ratings regarding the fights.

✮ she's really awkward. venom is not a romancer of any sort but he does get obsessed. it leads to him having very interesting impulses. and abby's equally obsessed but is the only sane mind here. so she's gotta keep it under wraps when she sees you.

✮ she rides a motorcycle. beautiful thing that her dad left her, and she's always picking you up for dates on that thing. she'd been kind enough to already have an extra helmet for you. not that you'd need it seeing as venom had taken a liking to you and wouldn't allow you to get hurt in any way, but still. it was a nice sentiment.

✮ she and venom are very protective of you. it's interesting being with them seeing as its a her-him-them scenario. two of them, but its still abby overall. abby the host, abby the one with the last say, and venom who obeys.

✮ venom offers the ultimate of scary dog privileges. he'll snatch poor pigeons out of the sky at any frustration. and seeing how venom tends to be a reflection of abby's thoughts and feelings, its worth noting how embarrassed she gets when he expresses her frustration, disapproval, and worst of all, annoyance. anyone flirting with you in front of her never fails to make venom snap his jaws when they turn their backs. its a very common occurrence that abby has to keep him from biting people's heads off.

✮ they love chocolate. chocolate is the only thing that keeps venom satiated between actual meals — which are few and far in between considering the ethical dilemmas that come about. its not polite to eat people. but there are moments!

✮ if you give the okay, venom likes to attach himself to you, too. a brief hug is what its like, but he's cold, sticky, then gets warm as he adjusts to your body temperature. abby thinks its sweet, and as much as it weirded you out at first, you got used to venom on your shoulders. it doesn't go on for too long, just enough for you to know what it feels like for abby. she thinks its sweet that you care so much about it.

𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰:

✮ both abby and venom love when abby uses their... abilities... to form a strap. abby can feel the way your cunt tightens around her and it drives her insane. no need to buy any!

✮ venom tends to always blurt out whatever sexual thought abby thinks about for too long, so she tries very hard not to think about you. of course she fails, and of course venom blurts it out anyway. happens mostly when you're wearing something with easy access.

✮ being loved by abby means being loved by a monster of sorts, and that means teeth, blood, scars. evidence of love left behind on your body — bites on your neck, nail marks on your back and thighs. abby unable to fully control herself, venom, and its claws, too, that she can't help but scratch you with. careful not to hurt you too bad, but venom would be there to heal you in the worst case scenario.

✮ gets so pussy drunk, it’s insane. laps at you for hours, begs for a little more each time. rubs her clit with one hand, fingers you with the other, tongue and lips never leaving your pussy and she’ll keep going just like that. could cum over and over again just from that.

✮ likes her hair being pulled, especially if its in a braid. only has her hair loose if it’s the end of the day. guide her by her hair, use it like a damn leash, she doesn’t care. will shake and moan from that alone.

✮ will grind against anything to get her off. your thigh, your hand, your pussy, your mouth — doesn't matter. get her desperate enough and she will!

✮ loves tying you up and who needs rope when you have venom? black sticky tendrils wrapped around your arms and legs, prying you open and abby controlling it all. makes sure to sit still or her grip will tighten!

✮ bites like hell. claws and scratches like hell. constantly holding herself back so she doesn't hurt anyone but she's needy. and if venom wants to eat you, parts of you, the whole of you — would you let them? abby and venom hungry for you only. begging for you only.

✮ sensory play will kill her. in a good way. enhanced hearing and vision now with venom so it definitely throws them off (in a good way!). take one or both away and she'll feel soooo good when you touch her. everything dialed to a hundred. goosebumps on her skin and your name on her lips.

✮ absolutely adores dirty talk. wants to hear any and everything you think about with her-them involved. loves knowing things. wants to think about it for the next few days since the marks will heal soon.

[helioooss]

pulling your face close, wanting the inmost

synopsis: its been three years since minjeong left y/n waiting at the altar. throughout it all, jimin comes along.

w/c: 4.5k+

warnings: angst, blood (you’re a doctor), fluff. winter x you x karina

a/n: do you think my sleepless nights will make me insane? be honest. also meant to be really short but got carried away

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the train rattled as it sped through the early seoul morning, its harsh fluorescent lights bouncing off the windows and flickering faintly above you; hunched in the corner, staring blankly at the window; your scrubs noticeably wrinkled from the rushed way you’d thrown them on.

the person in the reflection was unrecognisable: hollow cheeks and dark circles etched like shadows beneath tired eyes — you were gaunt, tired; a reminder that the polished version of yourself, the one that used to smile, laugh and plan for a future, was long gone.

it screeched to a halt, jerking you out of whatever trance you were just in. as everyone else stood from their seats, you grabbed your bag and sighed; the weight of the day ahead pressing down on your shoulders.

your fingers tapped absently on your thigh as it slowed down, the doors automatically sliding open and you filed out with the rest of the crowd while keeping your head low.

the walk to the hospital from here wasn’t far, but you stopped at the station exit, digging a cigarette from your pocket. just one. it wasn’t a habit you were proud of, but it helped, even if only for a moment.

your hands trembled as you lit it and the first drag stung your lungs in a way that briefly drowned out everything else.

the memories clawed their way in anyway.

three years. it had been three years since minjeong walked out of your life without a word. she didn’t show up on the day that was supposed to mark your forever. no note. no call.

nothing but an empty altar and the stares of everyone you’d gathered to celebrate a love that, you’d come to realise, wasn’t as mutual as you believed.

it wasn’t hard to figure out what had happened.

mingyu came back into the picture. you had seen the rumours floating around online weeks before the wedding, fans gushing over how they spotted him and minjeong leaving the same restaurant; smiling like they used to in the good old days.

you asked her about it once, casually, your voice steady even though your heart raced. “did you see mingyu recently?”

she’d looked at you then, her expression unreadable, and shrugged. “it was just a friendly dinner. nothing to worry about.”

and like the fool you were, you believed her.

you exhaled sharply, watching the smoke curl into the crisp morning air. the morning rush of people already blurring into nothingness.

another day. another shift. another chance to bury yourself in the monotony of work. shaking your head, you snuffed the cigarette under your heel and started walking.

asan medical center loomed ahead, its sterile walls a familiar cage. work was your only escape now. it was ironic, really — the same place where you met her, where your love story began, was now the place you buried yourself to forget her.

by the time you arrived, you instantly slipped into your usual routine: quiet, focused and distant. the staff knew you as a good doctor — reliable, efficient and calm under pressure, but they also knew you as someone impossible to get close to.

“morning y/n,” jiwoo greeted as she walked into the staff room, her tone overly chipper. she was one of the few residents who still tried to engage with you, even though your responses were always curt.

“morning,” you mumbled, not bothering to look up as you stirred a spoonful of sugar into your coffee.

“how was your day off?”

“fine,” you said shortly. “just stayed home.”

she frowned. “you should go out sometime. have fun. meet people.”

“i’m fine,” you shook your head, taking a sip of the still bitter liquid. “i love my dog’s company.”

she hesitated, clearly wanting to say more, but eventually gave up as her shoulders slouched. “let me know if you ever want to hang out sometime, yeah? perhaps, you can even bring rome around.”

you nodded, not really hearing her. the truth was, you didn’t want to talk. not to her, not to anyone. talking meant opening up, and opening up meant risking another heartbreak. you couldn’t do it again.

three years ago, you would’ve been a different person — someone who laughed easily, loved deeply and believed in forever.

today, you were someone who stood in front of a room full of people, trying to find an explanation through tears because the woman you loved had run away. the embarrassment of that day still clung to you, a weight you couldn’t shake. there was nothing you could do except apologise to everyone — your parents, her parents, the guests.

but mostly, you apologised to yourself, for believing that you were enough for her.

it hit you the hardest that night, when you were alone in your flat, still dressed in your wedding suit that had taken you weeks to pick out.

the silence was deafening then, and for the first time, you realised she never loved you the way you loved her.

you didn’t hate her. you wanted to — god, you wanted to hate her. but you couldn’t. she was still the same woman who once made you laugh until your stomach hurt, who would drag you out of the rain just to kiss; the person who knew you the most.

she was still the love of your life.

and that was the cruelest part of it all.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the day was dragging in the way only hospital shifts could. fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead and the faint scent of antiseptic lingered in the air, clinging to your scrubs. your shoulders were tight, weighed down by exhaustion and the kind of hollow loneliness you’ve since stopped trying to fight.

you were scanning through patient charts at the nurses’ station when you heard her voice — bright and teasing, cutting like sunlight through thick curtains.

“there she is,” she called out as she strode towards you, a paper bag in one hand and a bottle of iced coffee in the other.

you groaned inwardly; not another one.

jimin was the last person you wanted to see. her presence was like a splash of colour in a grey world, drawing the attention of everyone around her.

“what are you doing here?” you asked, your tone more clipped than you intended.

she ignored the edge in your voice, plopping the bag onto the desk in front of you. “bringing you lunch, obviously. you’ve been skipping meals, haven’t you?”

“i’m fine,” you replied, already turning back to the chart in your hands.

“you’re always ‘fine,’” she said, rolling her eyes. “and yet you look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

“what do you want from me?” you groaned, exhaling heavily as you closed the charts and began your stride towards the staff room.

it was easier to deal with her alone than be surrounded by people gossiping: what is minjeong’s best friend doing with her ex-fiancée?

“checking on you, obviously,” she said as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “also, you skipped lunch again. so…” she quickened her pace behind you. “rina brought reinforcements.”

you sighed, glancing at her briefly. her dark hair was tied back in a loose ponytail and she was dressed casually in a hoodie and jeans.

for someone constantly in the public eye, she had a way of blending in when she wanted to.

“i didn’t ask for reinforcements,” you muttered, opening the door for her. “and i don’t need checking on daily.”

“clearly,” she replied, sarcasm lacing her tone as she looked up at you. “because you’re the picture of health and happiness.”

you shook your head. “you’re so…ugh, just something else.”

she opened the bag on the table, the smell immediately greeting your starved senses. “that’s why i brought food because if i left it up to you, you’d just keep surviving on coffee and whatever snacks you find lying around.”

you didn’t answer. you knew she meant well. jimin was one of the few people who hadn’t given up on you, even after you’d pushed her away countless times.

she started visiting you a year after the wedding-that-wasn’t, showing up with coffee, proper meals or just her company. you didn’t know why she bothered and you weren’t sure you wanted to.

“it’s your favourite,” she added, sliding the box towards you. “spicy pork and rice. come on, don’t make me waste a good meal.”

the smell of the food wafted up to you as you hesitated. it had been hours since you’d eaten and your stomach growled in betrayal. reluctantly, you grabbed the chopsticks and opened the container.

“there we go,” she said with a grin, settling into the chair across from you as she opened her own container; tonkatsu.

“you’re persistent,” you told her, taking a bite.

“someone has to be,” she replied, her voice softer now.

for a while, the only sound between you was the quiet clink of chopsticks against the container as you both ate in solitude. but jimin wasn’t the kind of person to let silence linger for long.

“how long are you planning to keep this up?” she asked suddenly as she threw her container into the bag, breaking the silence.

“keep what up?” you replied without looking at her, focusing instead on stabbing at a piece of pork with your chopsticks.

“this,” she said, gesturing vaguely at you. “the whole ‘lone wolf who doesn’t need anyone’ thing. it’s getting old.”

you sighed, not bothering to look up. “why do you care?”

“because i do,” she said simply, her tone infuriatingly casual.

you rolled your eyes, setting your chopsticks down with a little more force than necessary. “rina, we barely know each other these days. why do you bother to check in on me almost everyday?”

“i don’t know,” her grin faded, replaced by something more serious. “you were minjeong’s everything. and, for what it’s worth, she was my best friend. so maybe i care because i know what it’s like to be left behind by her too. or maybe, i simply just care about you.”

the words hit you harder than you expected. you looked up at her for the first time, caught off guard by the raw honesty in her voice.

“she left you too,” you said quietly, more a statement than a question.

she nodded, leaning back in her chair. “she was my anchor, you know? and then, one day, she was just…gone. no explanation, no goodbye. sound familiar?”

you swallowed hard, the ache in your chest growing sharper. “yeah, it does.”

for a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you heavy with unspoken grief and the strange sense of kinship that came with it.

after awhile, jimin cleared her throat, the light teasing tone slipping back into her voice as she watched you clean up. “so,” she began, “how’s rome? still the world’s most dramatic sausage dog?”

your chopsticks paused mid-air. rome. yours and minjeong’s dachshund. or just your sausage dog now, since she’d left. he’d been one of the few things that kept you going after she disappeared, a small source of comfort in a world that felt unbearably empty.

you blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. “he’s fine,” you said cautiously, not quite ready to let your guard down.

she raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “just ‘fine’? come on, y/n. give me something.”

you sighed, leaning back in your chair. “he’s good. healthy. still hates the postman.”

“classic rome,” she said, laughing softly. “does he still steal your socks?”

“every chance he gets,” you admitted, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “he buried one of my favourite pairs in the garden last week. i didn’t even know he could dig that deep.”

“a true criminal mastermind,” she laughed. “i miss him.”

you tilted your head, studying her for a moment. “i don’t think he hasn’t forgotten you.”

her smile faltered slightly, her gaze dropping to the table. “good, i’d like to bother him sometime.”

you nodded, not pushing further. the silence that followed wasn’t as heavy as before, but it still carried the weight of everything unsaid.

“i have to go back to work soon,” you muttered slowly. “thanks for bringing me lunch, again.”

she leaned forward once more, resting her elbows on the table. “you know, you’re a lot nicer when you talk about rome.”

“am i?” you said dryly, raising an eyebrow.

“yeah,” she chuckled, grinning. “maybe you should bring him to work. he could be a therapy dog or something.”

“not sure the hospital would appreciate that,” you replied, shaking your head.

“probably not,” she agreed. “you talk about him more than you talk about yourself.”

“what’s there to talk about?” you asked, avoiding her gaze.

“a lot,” she said simply. “but you won’t let anyone in long enough to find out.”

“maybe because there’s nothing worth finding out,” you shot back, your tone sharper than you intended.

she didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. “i don’t really believe that. i know you.”

you opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught in your throat because a small part of you, buried beneath the layers of grief and anger and self-imposed isolation, wanted to believe she was right.

“you don’t have to do this, you know,” you said finally, your voice quieter now. “come here. check on me. it’s…unnecessary.”

“it’s not about necessity — it’s about wanting to. and i want to, y/n. because whether you believe it or not, you matter to me,” then, as if the idea had just occurred to her, she added, “you know what you should do? come to dinner with us tonight. aeri is hosting dinner at her place. yizhuo will be there too and they’d love to see you.”

“i don’t know…i’m not really built for —“

“they miss you,” she cut you off gently. “we all do. you don’t have to stay long. just come, have some food, catch up. it doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

you frowned, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your lunch container. “i’m not great at…socialising these days.”

“that’s fine,” she reassured, her voice soft. “just come as you are. no one’s expecting anything from you.”

you hesitated, torn between the comfort of your solitude and the faint pull of connection her words stirred in you. “i’ll think about it,” you said finally, though the words felt like an excuse.

for a moment, you let yourself wonder what it would be like to let her in, to let someone care about you again. but the fear of losing her — of losing anyone — was too much.

“don’t just think about it,” she said, standing up and grabbing her things. “you’re coming. i’ll pick you up after your shift. and don’t even think about bailing.”

“rina —”

“i mean it, y/n,” she cut you off with a grin that somehow felt more like a challenge. “we’ll eat at aeri’s. it’ll be fun. you might even smile. who knows?”

you shook your head, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at your lips as you watched her walk away. she paused at the door, turning back to look at you.

“and bring pictures of rome,” she added. “aeri and yizhuo will want to see how much of a menace he’s become.”

you didn’t respond, but you nodded, the warmth of her persistence lingering even after she was gone. as you returned to your rounds, you caught yourself thinking about her smile, her persistence, her refusal to give up on you.

you hated how it made you feel. hated the tiny flicker of warmth it sparked in a heart you had sworn to keep cold.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the shift had been surprisingly uneventful. for once, you weren’t racing from one emergency to the next and the patients you saw were mostly routine cases; check-ups, minor injuries, nothing life-threatening. as the hours dragged on, you found yourself in a slightly better mood than usual, a rare occurrence these days.

the thought of dinner at aeri’s later still felt strange, but not as daunting as it had earlier. perhaps it was the conversation with jimin, or maybe you were just too tired to keep holding up the walls you’d built around yourself.

jiwoo, ever persistent in her cheerful attempts to connect with you, caught up with you as you clocked out. “you seemed a bit more relaxed today,” she said, her tone light but teasing. “you’re not scaring off the patients as much.”

you smirked faintly, shaking your head. “glad to know i’m improving.”

as the two of you stepped outside, the cool evening air hit your face. you pulled out your nearly empty cigarette box, shaking one out with practised ease. the box crinkled, reminding you that you’d bought it only yesterday. you lit up, the flame from your lighter flickering briefly before catching.

she wrinkled her nose. “you really should quit, you know.”

“yeah, yeah,” you muttered, exhaling smoke into the air. “everyone’s a critic.”

she folded her arms, watching you for a moment before changing the subject. “so…karina from aespa really just brings you lunch sometimes? i feel like you’re pulling my leg.”

you chuckled softly, the sound surprising both of you. “it’s true. we know each other from my…better days.”

she tilted her head, curiosity written all over her face. “what does that mean?”

you hesitated, taking another drag from your cigarette. “we were friends. through minjeong.”

her eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t press further. she’d been around long enough to know your ex was a subject best avoided. instead, she smiled softly. “must be nice to have someone like that still looking out for you.”

“it is,” you admitted quietly, unintentionally exhaling curls of smoke towards her direction. “sorry.”

she chuckled, shaking her head. “it’s okay — and you seem really bright around her, you know? i think she brings out the best in you.”

you hummed, nodding as you stubbed the cigarette under your shoe. “she’s just a friend; nothing more.”

minjeong and jimin. two names you hadn’t expected to be tied together so tightly in your mind. yet, lately, it was impossible not to think of one without the other.

minjeong had been everything to you once. she was the love you thought would last forever, the one you trusted with all of yourself. and even though she had shattered you, you still couldn’t bring yourself to hate her. there was a part of you that would always respect what you shared, even if it ended so painfully.

and then there was jimin. minjeong’s best friend. the one who had been there long before you entered the picture. the one who probably knew minjeong better than anyone else.

it felt…strange, wrong even, to start seeing jimin in a way that might be more than friendship. you respected her too much — her persistence, her kindness, the way she stayed by your side when no one else could reach you. she wasn’t just some comforting presence in your life; she was someone you admired deeply.

before jiwoo could say anything else, a sleek black car pulled up to the kerb. jimin leaned out of the driver’s side window, her signature grin lighting up her face. “well, well. look who’s socialising.”

her jaw practically dropped. “oh my god, it really is her.”

jimin waved casually. “hey, jiwoo, right? need a lift? there’s plenty of room.”

jiwoo blushed furiously, waving her hands. “oh, no, no. my boyfriend’s coming to pick me up. but thanks.”

“suit yourself,” she said, winking playfully before turning her attention to you. “you ready?”

you nodded, giving jiwoo a small wave before slipping into the passenger seat. the car smelled like leather and a faint hint of vanilla, a stark contrast to the cigarette smoke still clinging to your scrubs.

“you reek of cigarettes, you know,” she pointed out as she pulled out onto the road, her tone more teasing than scolding. “how many have you had today?”

you shrugged, leaning your head against the window. “i don’t count.”

“you should. your lungs aren’t invincible, doctor,” she quipped, glancing at you briefly before focusing back on the road.

you smirked faintly. “and you’re suddenly a health expert?”

“no,” she admitted, grinning. “but i care about you not hacking up a lung in ten years.”

the corners of your mouth twitched, the warmth of her concern nudging at the edges of your guarded heart. you changed the subject, gesturing at the car’s pristine interior. “nice car.”

“of course it’s nice,” she replied, flashing a proud smile. “you think i’d settle for anything less?”

you chuckled softly, shaking your head. “why do you think i catch the train, then?”

she glanced at you, curious. “i always wondered about that. you can afford a car. why put yourself through that misery?”

you hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the strap of your bag. “because…i don��t know. it makes me feel better. seeing a million other miserable people in the train. reminds me i’m not the only one stuck in this mess.”

jimin didn’t respond immediately, her grip on the wheel tightening slightly. when she finally spoke, her voice was soft. “you’re not as miserable as you think, y/n.”

you huffed a small laugh, not entirely believing her but appreciating the sentiment. “sure.”

the silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, just reflective. it was jimin who broke it. “do you need to stop anywhere before we head to aeri’s?”

you hesitated for a moment before nodding. “can we stop at my apartment? i need to feed rome and shower. i smell like the hospital.”

“of course,” she said, her tone brightening. “you know, i don’t mind. i’m just happy to hear more than two words out of you.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the faint smile tugging at your lips. “don’t get used to it.”

“too late,” she quipped, her grin widening as she turned the car towards your apartment.

the rest of the ride to your place was quiet, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. you found yourself glancing at her more than you intended, the soft light highlighting the gentle curve of her jaw, the way her hair fell just so around her face. she was undeniably beautiful.

it wasn’t something you hadn’t noticed before —jimin had always been striking, but sitting this close to her, the air between you filled with the faint scent of her perfume, it felt different.

more intimate.

your gaze lingered on her profile, tracing the slope of her nose, the soft pink of her lips, the way her expression relaxed whenever the traffic eased. the thought crept into your mind unbidden, catching you off guard: she’s really beautiful.

the streets blurred past, but your mind was elsewhere, swirling with a mixture of confusion and guilt. it felt wrong to think about her like that when she was minjeong’s best friend.

it was complicated enough having her in your life so prominently now. you couldn’t add feelings to the mix.

“what’s wrong?” jimin’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, her tone light but tinged with curiosity.

you turned to see her glancing at you briefly before returning her focus to the road. her question made your heart race slightly and you felt heat creeping up your neck.

“nothing,” you said quickly, your voice betraying your awkwardness.

she smirked, clearly unconvinced. “you’ve been quiet. and you keep looking at me. what’s going on in that head of yours?”

you swallowed hard, your palms suddenly feeling clammy. you debated brushing it off, but the words slipped out before you could stop them. “you…you just look nice today, that’s all.”

the silence that followed was deafening. her grip on the steering wheel faltered slightly and her cheeks flushed a soft pink, lips parting as if she was going to say something, but she quickly pressed them together, biting back a grin.

“shut up,” she said finally, her voice quieter than usual, but the blush on her face betrayed her.

you felt your own cheeks burn, suddenly hyper-aware of how close the two of you were in the small car.

“i was just saying,” you mumbled, your fingers fidgeting with the strap of your bag.

“yeah, well, don’t,” she shot back, though her tone was more playful than serious.

the tension between you was palpable, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. it was something else entirely, something neither of you was ready to name.

the car rolled to a stop just outside your apartment building, its headlights briefly illuminating the cracked pavement. you unbuckled your seatbelt, glancing up at the familiar, worn façade of the place you’d called home for years. it looked the same, but somehow it always felt emptier every time you came back.

“hey,” jimin began, her voice breaking through your thoughts. “can i please see rome? just for a minute. aeri and yizhuo will be so jealous.”

you frowned, your hand pausing on the door handle. “my apartment’s a mess. i haven’t had anyone over in a long time.”

“i don’t care,” she said easily, her grin unfaltering. “you should see the state of mine. you’d think i was filming a disaster documentary.”

you sighed, knowing she wouldn’t let it go. “fine. but don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

she flashed a triumphant smile. “deal.”

in the elevator, you found yourself uncharacteristically aware of her presence. it wasn’t just that she was your ex-fiancée’s ex-best friend — it was the fact that, even after everything, jimin was still here, still trying to pull you out of the dark pit you had thrown yourself into.

you shifted awkwardly, your hand trembling slightly at your side. the metal walls of the elevator seemed to amplify your unease. without a word, she reached over and gently squeezed your hand. her grip was steady, grounding, and for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to hold on.

“it’s okay,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

you didn’t respond, but her touch was enough to steady you.

as soon as you unlocked the door, the sound of tiny paws skittering across the hardwood floor filled the air. rome came bounding towards you, his tail wagging so hard it looked like it might fall off.

“romie,” you said, your voice softening for the first time all day. you crouched down to pet him, his fur warm and familiar against your hand.

jimin let out an audible gasp. “oh my god. he’s even cuter than i remember.” she immediately dropped her bag and scooped him up, cradling him like a baby. “hi, buddy. remember me?”

he licked her face enthusiastically, his little legs wriggling in her arms. you couldn’t help but smile at the sight, even as you stood up and rubbed the back of your neck.

“make yourself at home,” you said, gesturing vaguely at the apartment. “i’m going to get ready.”

she nodded, her attention fully on rome. “take your time. we’re going to have a bonding moment.”

as you disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water began to echo faintly, muffled by the door you’d closed behind you. she sat on the edge of your sofa with rome, her eyes wandering around your apartment.

the place was cleaner than she expected — it wasn’t messy, but it felt bare. the walls were stripped of personality and there wasn’t a single photo or decoration to suggest that anyone else had once shared this space with you. it was a stark contrast to the way she remembered it years ago, when minjeong had still been part of your life.

now, it was as if you had erased every trace of her.

her gaze drifted to the kitchen counter, where an open bottle of whiskey sat next to a half-empty glass. there were other bottles too, some empty, others half-finished, lined up neatly on the sideboard. her chest tightened at the sight, and she had to swallow the sudden lump in her throat.

all she wanted to do was love you. all of you. the person you were now, the person you had been before, even the parts that you were trying to bury under layers of pain and grief.

jimin leaned back against the sofa, letting out a soft sigh as her thoughts turned inward. it should feel wrong, this pull she felt toward you. you were minjeong’s ex-fiancée. she had been your everything once. she had seen it firsthand — the way the two of you fit together, the quiet understanding in your shared glances; your love seemed unshakable.

and yet, here she was, sitting in your apartment, waiting for you while you showered, her heart heavy with feelings she couldn’t push away.

she didn’t know when it had started. this shift in how she saw you. maybe it was that day at the hospital, months ago. she’d been visiting aeri and yizhuo and wanted to bring you lunch when she passed by the paediatrics ward and caught sight of you comforting a young boy.

he had been crying, terrified of getting his vaccinations and you’d knelt down to his level, your voice soft and reassuring.

“it’s okay,” you reassured in a gentle tone, holding out your hand for him to squeeze. “you’re so brave. and once it’s over, you’ll get a cool sticker. how about that?”

the boy had stopped crying long enough to nod and you smiled at him — wide, genuine and full of warmth. it had been the first time she had seen you smile like that in years.

all it took was that one moment.

she had tried to suppress her feelings after that. tried to remind herself of the boundaries she needed to keep but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop thinking about you.

she had gone on dates, tried seeing other people, hoping it would dull the ache but none of them made her feel the way you did.

no one else mattered. it was maddening as it was terrifying, but it was also undeniable.

jimin ran a hand through her hair, her fingers brushing against the back of her neck as she let out another sigh. aeri and yizhuo didn’t seem to think there was anything wrong with how she felt.

“i don’t really see the problem,” aeri had said bluntly one night over dinner, shrugging as she picked her rice. “minjeong packed up and left her old life behind. what’s the problem?”

“you’re not stealing anyone’s woman,” yizhuo chimed in with a smirk, earning a glare from jimin.

“it’s not that simple,” jimin argued, though their words had lingered.

now, sitting here in your apartment, surrounded by the quiet evidence of your pain, she felt the full weight of her feelings.

she wasn’t just drawn to you — she was in love with you. completely, overwhelmingly in love.

the water shut off and the apartment grew silent. she straightened slightly, her heart pounding as she heard you moving around in the bathroom. she didn’t know if she could ever say it out loud, but in this moment, she didn’t need to.

“he likes you,” you said as you stepped out, nodding towards rome, who was now curled up in her lap, his eyes half-closed in contentment.

“what’s not to like?” she replied, scratching behind his ears. “he’s a smart dog. clearly knows quality people when he sees them.”

“right, of course,” you gave a faint smile, leaning against the doorframe. “ready to go?”

“yeah,” she said, reluctantly setting rome down. she grabbed her bag and followed you to the door, glancing back once at the apartment before stepping out.

as you rode down in the elevator, the silence between you was comfortable this time. she didn’t say anything about the empty walls or the whiskey.

…this shouldn’t be happening.

when the doors slid open to the ground floor, jimin spun her keys around her finger, her expression bright with mischief. she tossed them towards you without warning, the metal jingling as they flew through the air.

“you’re driving,” she declared, slipping into the passenger seat before you could argue.

you caught the keys instinctively, furrowing your brow. “why?”

“because,” she said, already buckling her seatbelt, “i want to test your driving skills. it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

you gave her an unimpressed look, holding the keys loosely in your hand. “you just want to be a passenger princess.”

she gasped theatrically, clutching at her chest like you just insulted her deepest values. “how dare you. i am not a passenger princess.”

“sure,” you said, shaking your head as you got into the driver’s seat. “whatever you say.”

jimin smirked, leaning back into the seat with a smug expression. “prove me wrong then. show me you can still handle a car like the pro you are.”

you rolled your eyes but started the car anyway, the familiar hum of the engine filling the space between you. as you adjusted the mirrors and pulled out onto the street, you couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at your lips.

for the first time in a while, the banter felt easy, even enjoyable.

but then, without thinking, the words slipped out.

“minjeong used to do that,” you muttered softly, almost to yourself. “she would always make me drive so she could either pick the music or nap.”

the air in the car shifted instantly, the lightness replaced by something heavier. you stiffened, gripping the steering wheel tightly as you realised what you said. your eyes stayed firmly on the road, the silence between you now deafening.

she didn’t speak right away and for a moment, you wished the earth would just swallow you whole.

then, she broke the silence, her voice softer, more careful. “you know…it’s okay to talk about her, i don’t mind.”

you blinked, your knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. “is it?” you said flatly, though there was no anger in your tone, just weariness.

“yeah,” she replied turning slightly to face you. “it’s okay to acknowledge that she existed. that you loved her even though she hurt you, pretending she didn’t matter isn’t going to help you move on.”

you swallowed hard, throat tightening. the logical part of you knew she was right, but the emotional part; the one that still felt raw and exposed whenever minjeong’s name came up wasn’t ready to admit it.

so you said nothing, the silence stretching uncomfortably again.

after a minute of beating around the bush, jimin sighed softly, her voice tinged with regret. “sorry. i didn’t mean to push. i just —”

“it’s fine,” you interrupted, surprising even yourself with the quiet sincerity in your voice. you glanced at her briefly, a small, genuine smile crossing your face. “really.”

she relaxed visibly, her shoulders dropping as the tension eased. “okay,” she said, her own smile returning, though it was softer this time.

as you drove, jimin’s own thoughts began to spiral. hearing you talk about minjeong felt like a punch to the gut, but she couldn’t blame you. she was your first love, the one who had taken up all the space in your heart before it was broken.

how could she even try to compete with that?

she knew there was a part of you that might never stop loving minjeong, no matter how much time passed.

she glanced at you again, catching the way your shoulders had relaxed slightly, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at your lips.

it doesn’t matter how long it takes, she thought to herself. i’ll wait. for as long as it takes, i’ll wait for her.

when you pulled up to aeri’s apartment building, jimin hopped out of the car, clearly energised. she waited for you to join her, rocking on her heels as you locked the car behind you.

“ready for the chaos?” she asked, flashing a grin.

“as ready as i’ll ever be,” you muttered, following her into the lift as you took the luxurious sight in. “god, she’s expensive as ever, isn’t she?”

she chuckled, tapping your arm lightly. “don’t say anything about it or else you’re going to start a fight.”

the elevator doors slid shut with a soft hum, the quiet clink of the mechanisms filling the small space. you stood beside her, your hand clutching the strap of your bag as your stomach twisted with nerves.

it had been years since you had last been to aeri’s apartment, and now, as the numbers on the elevator panel lit up one by one, the memories began flooding back.

everything felt heavier in your chest — the last time you were here, everything was different. you hadn’t seen those girls properly in so long and the thought of walking into a space that had once felt so familiar left you uneasy.

jimin, standing close to you, noticed the slight tremour in your hand. without a word, she reached over and gently squeezed it once more, her fingers warm and firm against yours.

“you’re okay,” she said softly, her voice steady. “it’s just aeri and yizhuo. they’re gonna be so happy to see you.”

you nodded but didn’t say anything, focusing instead on the way her hand steadied your own. as the elevator neared the top floor, she started to pull away, her fingers slipping from yours.

but you held on, tightening your grip instinctively. “can you —” you started, your voice barely above a whisper. “just for a bit longer.”

she didn’t say anything, but her fingers curled back around yours, holding on tightly. the two of you stood like that in silence, the elevator’s hum filling the space; it felt like the calm before a storm you weren’t sure you could weather alone.

the elevator dinged and you stepped into the hallway with jimin by your side. your hand was still holding hers from earlier, though you hadn’t realised it until she glanced down briefly, her fingers tightening just a little before she let go.

“sorry,” you awkwardly mumbled, blood rushing to your cheeks.

“don’t be.”

the warmth lingered even as you adjusted the strap of your bag and followed her toward aeri’s door; it opened before you could even knock.

“y/n!” aeri’s voice was the first thing you heard, loud and filled with surprise and excitement. “no way, it’s really you!”

you barely had time to blink before she lunged forward, throwing her arms around your neck and dragging you into a tight hug. before you could respond, a second body crashed into you from the side — yizhuo, her laughter echoing through the hallway.

“oh my gosh, she’s actually here,” yizhuo said, her grin wide as she squeezed you tightly. “rina, what the hell did you do to her? hypnosis? bribery? a chloroform rag?”

“definitely drugged her bubble tea,” aeri chimed in, her face still buried in your shoulder. “there’s no way y/n came here willingly.”

“guys, get off me!” you laughed, trying to push them away, but your voice lacked any real force. their energy was infectious, and though part of you wanted to retreat, a bigger part…one you hadn’t felt in years just wanted to stay in this moment.

“nope,” yizhuo groaned, holding on even tighter. “you don’t get to vanish for two years and show up out of nowhere like nothing happened. you’re gonna deal with this. this being us smothering you with love.”

“you should be grateful,” aeri added with a smirk, finally pulling back just enough to look at you. “this is premium-grade affection. we don’t just give this to anyone.”

jimin stood to the side, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, her smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “i didn’t drug her, by the way,” she said casually, her voice dripping with mock indignation. “she came because she missed you guys. obviously.”

“liar,” yizhuo shot back, narrowing her eyes. “there’s no way y/n came willingly. what’s your secret, jimin? blackmail? compromising photos?”

“it was the bubble tea,” jimin said, straight-faced. “i spiked it with nostalgia.”

“sounds like you put something stronger than nostalgia in there,” aeri quipped, her grin widening.

you rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “you guys are ridiculous.”

“you missed us,” yizhuo said smugly, finally releasing you from her grip. “admit it.”

“maybe,” you muttered, smoothing down your shirt. “a little.”

aeri gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. “a little? i’m hurt. offended, even.”

jimin stepped forward, pulling out her phone. “hold still,” she said, her grin mischievous. “this is a historic moment.”

“don’t you dare,” you warned, your voice rising in mock panic as she aimed the camera at the three of you.

the flash went off before you could stop her, capturing a candid shot of aeri still clinging to your side, yizhuo laughing uncontrollably and you mid-protest with a faint smile tugging at your lips.

“perfect,” jimin said, already typing away as she uploaded the photo to her story. “caption: my three idiots.”

“three?” aeri asked, raising an eyebrow. “don’t you mean two idiots and one innocent victim?”

“you’re definitely the biggest idiot here,” yizhuo smirked at her. “but it’s okay. we still love you.”

“barely,” jimin quipped, her tone teasing as she slid her phone back into her pocket.

the apartment buzzed with laughter and conversation as the four of you settled in for dinner. the table was covered in food — aeri’s version of cooking: ramen, pizza boxes, bowls of chips and a bottle of wine that she had insisted on opening way before dinner.

“so,” aeri began, leaning forward with her elbows on the table. “doctor, what have you been up to? saving lives? breaking hearts? fighting crime?”

“you act like i’ve been doing something exciting,” you shook your head as you picked at your pizza. “it’s just been work. and more work.”

“classic y/n,” yizhuo threw her hands up dramatically. “always married to the job.”

“it’s a demanding spouse,” you joked, surprising yourself at how easily the humour came.

“does it at least make you breakfast in bed?” aeri teased, wagging her eyebrows.

“nope,” you replied, smirking. “just gives me migraines.”

“sounds toxic,” jimin said, her voice light. “you should break up with it.”

“and do what?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at her. “become a full-time boba taster?”

“not a bad idea,” yizhuo chimed in, taking another bite of her slice. “you’d have jimin’s full support.”

aeri shrugged. “or you could just be her housewife. she’s a millionaire, you know?”

you dared to steal a glance, expecting jimin to brush off their teasing, but instead, she was looking right at you. her gaze was steady, her lips tugged into the faintest smile.

the way she looked at you sent your heart racing and you quickly looked away, focusing on the slice of pizza in your hand as if it held all the answers in the universe.

as the night went on, you found yourself relaxing more, your initial nervousness melting away under the warmth of their banter. but then your eyes wandered to the wall across the room, where a cluster of framed photos hung.

they were all of aespa — smiling, performing, and posing together in various moments that captured their bond. your gaze caught one in particular: minjeong standing between aeri and yizhuo, her face frozen in time among her friends.

the memories threatened to creep in, but before they could overwhelm you, you felt jimin’s gaze on you. you glanced over and she was already smiling softly, her expression reassuring. it was enough to steady you, to remind you that it was okay to feel what you felt.

“we haven’t done much since minjeong left,” aeri’s voice cut through the comfortable buzz of the room.

“yeah,” yizhuo added, swirling her wine glass. “we’ve released a few singles here and there, but it’s not the same. we’re not really aespa without her.”

jimin nodded, her expression thoughtful. “it’s been different,” she admitted. “but we’re figuring it out.”

“figuring it out,” yizhuo repeated, snorting. “aka, doing nothing but lazing around and ordering takeout.”

aeri grinned. “we’ve perfected the art of slacking, we should win awards for it.”

their banter was light and the laughter genuine. it pulled you back into the moment. for the first time in what felt like forever, you found yourself laughing along with them — really laughing.

as the night wore on, the chaos around the table began to settle into a comfortable rhythm. the laughter quieted and the conversation took on a more relaxed, intimate tone. the pizza boxes were mostly empty and aeri poured another glass of wine for herself and yizhuo, both of them visibly enjoying the rare moment of everyone being together.

with your bag slung over your shoulder, jimin stood by the door while aeri and yizhuo hugged you tightly.

“you know,” aeri began, leaning back. “it’s really nice to have you here, y/n. we’ve missed you.”

“like, really missed you,” yizhuo said, her tone serious for once. “i mean, i know life’s been…a lot. but you don’t have to disappear on us, you know? we’re always here for you.”

the words hung in the air, their sincerity hitting you harder than you expected. you stared at the table for a moment, your fingers idly tracing the edge of your glass.

“i know,” you said quietly, your voice softer than usual. “and i’m sorry. for shutting you guys out. it wasn’t fair. i was more embarrassed —“

“it’s not about fair,” aeri interjected gently, setting her glass down. “we just don’t want to lose you again. you’re important to us, y/n. even if you’ve got your walls up, we’ll keep knocking.”

“and by knocking, she means barging in,” yizhuo added with a grin, earning a laugh from both you and jimin.

“i mean it, though,” she continued, her tone earnest. “we’re here for you. anytime.”

jimin glanced at you, her eyes soft, but she didn’t say anything. she didn’t need to — the look she gave you was enough.

you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “thanks, i…i missed you guys too. i’ll see you guys next weekend?”

“of course,” yizhuo smiled, kissing your cheek goodbye. “rome better be prepared for aeri’s annoying ass.”

aeri rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “stop talking, ning, y/n has to go!”

“yeah, right, forgot you guys were unemployed,” you rubbed the back of your head with a laugh as you turned and began to walk with jimin. “see you both soon.”

the walk back to jimin’s car was quiet, the cool night air a refreshing contrast to the warmth of the apartment. you shoved your hands into your pockets, your footsteps echoing lightly on the pavement. she walked beside you, her shoulder close enough to brush against yours occasionally.

“you okay?” she asked after a moment, glancing at you.

you nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “yeah, i had a good time.”

“good,” she said simply, her own smile soft and genuine.

you hesitated, your gaze fixed on the ground as you spoke. “i didn’t realise how much i missed them. being with them…it felt normal. like…like things weren’t so heavy for a while.”

she nodded, her pace slowing slightly. “that’s the thing about aeri and yizhuo. they’re chaotic as fuck, but they have this way of making you forget about the rest of the world.”

“they do,” you agreed, your smile widening just a fraction. “i think i needed that.”

she stopped walking and turned to face you, her hands slipping into her coat pockets. “you don’t have to wait two years to do it again, you know. they meant it when they said they’re here for you. and so did i.”

you met her gaze, the sincerity in her eyes making your chest tighten. “i know. and…thanks, rina. for everything.”

she shrugged lightly, though the faint blush creeping up her neck betrayed her. “you don’t have to thank me. i just want you to be okay.”

“i think…i’m getting there,” you admitted, your voice soft. “slowly.”

she smiled, her expression a mix of relief and something else you couldn’t quite name. “that’s all that matters.”

as the two of you reached the car, you hesitated again, the words forming on your lips before you could stop them. “jimin?”

“yeah?” she asked, pausing as she unlocked the doors.

you took a deep breath, forcing yourself to meet her gaze. “thank you. for not giving up on me. and…for reminding me that it’s okay to let people in.”

her smile softened, and she reached out to squeeze your arm briefly. “i never would. i’m just glad you’re here.”

you nodded, climbing into the passenger seat as she started the car. as she drove, the hum of the engine and the faint city lights passing by felt less daunting than they usually did. for the first time in a long time, you felt like you weren’t alone. and perhaps, you didn’t have to be.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the train rocked gently as it made its way through seoul’s early morning haze. you sat in your usual spot by the window, absently watching the buildings blur together. for once, you didn’t look like you had just rolled out of bed and barely made it to the station; your scrubs were tidy, hair tied back neatly and there was even a faint sheen of moisturiser on your face — a small but deliberate effort to feel a little more presentable.

it wasn’t much, but it was something. after that dinner with the remaining members of aespa, you found yourself thinking…about how much you had isolated yourself and how it might not be the worst thing in the world to try again.

to exist around people who cared.

your phone buzzed in your pocket, pulling you from your thoughts. you hesitated before pulling it out, already knowing who it would be.

-

from: jimin - aespa

do you still like purple taro bubble tea or has your taste in drinks gotten worse too?

sent 7:50 AM

-

you sighed, the faintest of smiles tugging at your lips despite yourself. she had a way of making her presence known, whether you wanted it or not. since dinner at aeri’s, she had been texting you more often, showing up at the hospital and generally refusing to let you retreat back into your solitude.

you stared at the message for a long moment, the smile fading as doubt crept in.

why was she doing this? why did she care? she was an idol, a successful one at that, with a million other things she could be doing.

the thought made your chest tighten. you typed a response, your fingers moving quickly.

to: jimin - aespa

yes, but you should do better things with your time than hanging out at the hospital with me.

sent 7:51 AM

you hesitated for a moment, wondering if you were being too harsh, but the thought of her spending so much effort on you — it felt undeserved. and it scared you. you hit send and immediately turned your phone off, tucking it back into your pocket.

the train ride passed in a blur, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels luring you into a daze. when you stepped off at your station, the morning chill greeted you, sharp against your skin. you pulled your coat tighter around yourself, your hand instinctively reaching into your pocket for your cigarette box. the box was light — too light — but you fished out a cigarette and lit it, the flame flickering in the breeze.

you took a long drag, letting the smoke fill your lungs before exhaling slowly. it didn’t help much, never did, but it gave you something to do, something to focus on. your thoughts, as they often did, drifted to minjeong. her face, her voice, the way she used to call you at the hospital just to complain about how exhausting her day was.

but lately, your thoughts had started to wander elsewhere, too. to jimin. her relentless persistence, her easy smiles and just the way she had managed to slip into your life without you even realising. you hated how much space she was starting to take up in your head.

it felt…complicated. and you didn’t do complicated anymore.

as you walked, cigarette still in hand, your gaze caught on a small coffee shop just opening for the morning. the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted out, the barista flipping the “open” sign to face the street. you stopped in your tracks, hesitating before stepping inside.

the shop was warm, the faint whir of an espresso machine filling the air. you approached the counter, glancing at the menu even though you already knew what you wanted.

“can i get a caramel latte?” you asked, your voice soft but steady. after a pause, you added: “actually, make that two. one iced, one hot.”

the barista nodded, tapping your order into the register. you waited by the counter, the warmth of the shop a sharp contrast to the cool morning outside.

when the drinks were ready, you grabbed the cups and stepped back out onto the street, beginning your trek towards the hospital, the steam from the hot latte curling into the chilly air.

you didn’t usually do this — go out of your way for someone else. but jiwoo had been kind to you for nearly a year now, always trying to engage, smiling even when you brushed her off. maybe it was time to start giving something back, even if just a little.

when you walked into the hospital, the familiar buzz of activity greeted you. you spotted jiwoo at the nurses’ station, her head bent over a stack of charts.

you approached her quietly, holding out the iced caramel latte. “here.”

she looked up, her eyes widening in surprise. “what’s this?”

“thought you’d like one,” you replied, shrugging.

she stared at you for a moment before breaking into a wide grin. “wow, y/n. are you feeling okay? did you hit your head?”

you rolled your eyes, but there was a faint smile on your lips. “don’t get used to it.”

she laughed, taking the drink. “thank you. seriously. this is…really sweet of you.”

you nodded, already turning to leave. “see you later.”

“karina’s a good influence isn’t she?” she raised an eyebrow, teasing tone audible. you flipped her off, a faint blush creeping up your cheeks.

right.

the rest of the day passed in a haze of patient charts and routine procedures. you kept your phone off, avoiding the temptation to check for a reply from jimin but as the hours wore on, you found yourself thinking about her text more and more.

despite your earlier message, you couldn’t shake the image of her showing up at the hospital later, bubble tea in hand, her grin as smug as ever.

you hated how much the thought warmed you. but you didn’t push it away either. maybe you were starting to feel okay with someone caring again.

the faint hum of fluorescent lights filled the space as you flipped through a patient’s chart. it was a rare quiet in your often chaotic schedule these past few days, one that allowed you a moment to breathe and reset before the next inevitable call.

signing off on an order, you heaved out a sigh as you reached out for your pen. then, an older nurse came barrelling towards you — panting.

“doctor y/n!” she called, her tone sharp enough to cut through the calm.

you straightened immediately, the chart forgotten. “what is it?”

“we’ve got a trauma case in the OR,” she said, her words rushing out in a panicked stream. “male, thirty-one, massive internal bleeding from a car accident. he’s critical. there’s no other trauma surgeon on call.”

you froze for half a second, the weight of her words sinking in. the situation wasn’t unusual; emergencies happened all the time, but when she added the final detail, your stomach twisted painfully.

“he was on his way to his wedding,” she said, her voice cracking slightly.

the words hit you like

“prep the OR,” you said firmly, already moving. “i’ll be on my way.”

the words hit you like a truck, but you didn’t let it show. you pushed the memories down, shoving them into the mental box you had built for moments like this.

there was no time to think, no time to feel.

the operating room was a blur of activity when you arrived, the team already scrubbing in and preparing the patient. you quickly donned yours, hands moving with practised precision even as your mind raced.

the man on the table looked young, too young to be fighting for his life. his face was pale, his breathing shallow and the monitors surrounding him beeped erratically.

“what’s his status?” you asked, your voice calm despite the chaos around you.

“male, 31, car accident on the way to his wedding. chest trauma, ruptured spleen, internal bleeding, fractured ribs — we tried contacting other trauma surgeons, but you’re the only one available.”

you clenched your jaw, nodding as you pulled on your gloves. there was no room for hesitation now, no room for your own feelings to surface. the situation was painfully familiar, too close to home, but you buried it deep. your only focus was the man on the table, his life hanging by a thread.

you nodded, stepping into position. “scalpel.”

the surgery was gruelling. time seemed to blur as you worked, every second stretching into an eternity. the damage was extensive — a ruptured spleen, lacerations to the liver and fractures to his ribs that had caused additional complications. you moved methodically, your hands steady even as sweat trickled down your temple.

“suction,” you said, your voice steady despite the pressure.

the nurse complied and you continued, carefully navigating the delicate web of organs and tissues.

“laceration to the liver,” you muttered, leaning closer. “clamp here. we need to stop this before we lose him.”

time blurred as you worked, every movement calculated, every decision critical. the fractures in his ribs had caused additional internal damage, complicating an already precarious situation.

“keep the suction steady,” you said, glancing at the anaesthesiologist. “how’s he holding up?”

“stable for now,” came the reply, though the tension in the room didn’t ease.

the hours dragged on, your focus unwavering even as exhaustion began to creep in. piece by piece, you repaired the damage.

finally, after what felt like an eternity, the monitors began to steady. “his vitals are improving,” one of the nurses announced, relief evident in her voice.

“he’s going to make it,” you stepped back, your hands trembling slightly as you removed the gloves.

the team around you exhaled collectively, and a few murmured congratulations filled the room. but you didn’t feel triumphant — just drained.

you barely made it outside before pulling out a cigarette, your hands still shaking from the adrenaline. the first drag burned your throat, but the sting was grounding, pulling you back into yourself.

leaning against the hospital’s garden wall, you stared blankly at the stick in your hand.

the man’s story, on his way to his wedding, was too close to home. it dug up memories you’d spent years trying to bury.

the cigarette fell from your hand as the first sob escaped your lips, your shoulders trembling under the weight of three years’ worth of suppressed grief — fingers curling into fists, nails digging into your palms as your breath hitched.

the memories came in waves, unrelenting. you’d spent three years holding it all back: every ounce of heartbreak, every pang of humiliation, every question that would never be answered.

but tonight, the dam finally broke.

you thought about the way you stood there, waiting, believing with everything in you that she would show up. the way you smiled nervously at your parents, at hers, then to the guests who had all gathered to celebrate something that wasn’t real anymore.

the embarrassment, the pitying glances, the murmured apologies you had given when it wasn’t your fault — it all came rushing back, every detail sharper than it had been in years.

the door to the garden creaked open behind you, and you stiffened, trying to choke back the sounds of your crying. you didn’t want anyone to see you like this but the footsteps were soft, familiar and you knew who it was before you even looked up.

jimin.

she approached slowly, her shoes crunching lightly on the gravel. she didn’t say anything at first, just stopped a few feet away, her presence warm and steady. you didn’t look up nor acknowledged her, but you didn’t have to. she came closer, lowering herself to sit beside you on the bench.

at first, she didn’t touch you. she gave you space, her hands resting in her lap as she watched you silently. but when your sobs grew louder, your shoulders trembling uncontrollably, she shifted closer, wrapping an arm around you.

she had seen you leave the hospital, your steps hurried and your shoulders hunched as if you were carrying something too heavy for anyone to bear. she had followed, keeping her distance, not wanting to intrude but unable to let you be alone in whatever you were carrying.

“it’s okay,” she said softly, her voice steady and grounding. “let it out. i’m here.”

she’d never seen you like this. not even on that day three years ago. back then, you held yourself together, a picture of forced composure that betrayed none of what you were feeling.

you leaned into her without thinking, her warmth a comfort you hadn’t realised you needed. she wrapped her arms around you as the tears kept coming, her presence anchouring you in a way that words couldn’t.

she held you tightly, one hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back, the other resting against your head. she didn’t say anything, didn’t try to stop you. she just let you fall apart.

it felt like hours passed before your sobs began to subside, your breathing slowing into uneven gasps. you pulled back slightly, wiping at your face with trembling hands.

you didn’t dare look at her, too ashamed of your outburst.

“why do you do this?” you finally said, your voice hoarse and broken.

jimin frowned, tilting her head. “do what?”

“this,” you said, gesturing weakly between the two of you. “why do you keep doing all these nice things for me? why do you care so much?”

her expression softened, but before she could answer, you kept going, your voice rising with frustration — not at her, but at yourself.

“i’m…fucking look at me, i’m damaged goods, jimin. she left me for a reason and that’s because i wasn’t enough for her. and if i wasn’t enough for her, how the hell could i ever be enough for you?”

she opened her mouth to speak, but you pressed on, the words pouring out of you like a dam had broken.

“you should be with someone who has their shit together, someone who isn’t this broken mess. i don’t need fixing and i sure as hell don’t want fixing. i’m not your project, jimin. i don’t deserve this. i don’t deserve you.”

the silence that followed felt deafening. your chest heaved, the weight of your own words leaving you feeling exposed and raw. you kept your eyes on the ground, unable to face her.

then, slowly, she reached out, fingers brushing against your cheek and cupped your face in her hands, her touch gentle but firm. she tilted your head up, forcing you to meet her gaze. her eyes were glassy, tears brimming at the edges but her expression was steady.

“y/n,” her soft voice was shaking slightly but full of conviction. “you don’t get to decide what i feel. and you don’t get to tell me what you deserve because i’ve already decided what you deserve. and that’s everything.

you blinked, stunned into silence as she continued.

“i love you,” she said, the words slipping out with a raw honesty that made your chest tighten. “i love you. not because you’re perfect, not because you’re some project i want to fix. i love you because you’re you.”

her thumbs brushed away the tears on your cheeks, her voice breaking as she went on. “you’re messy. you’re stubborn. you push people away because you’re scared, and you think it’s easier to be alone. but you’re also kind and strong and you care so much that it hurts you. and i love all of it. all of you.”

your breath hitched, your heart pounding as her words settled over you. “jimin, i —”

“no,” she interrupted gently, shaking her head. “let me finish. i know you don’t believe me right now. i know you don’t feel like you’re enough. but you are. to me, you are.”

her voice cracked again as she took a deep breath to steady herself. “and even if you can’t see it yet, i’ll wait. i’ll wait as long as it takes for you to realise that you are enough. that you’ve always been enough.”

tears blurred your vision again, but this time, they weren’t from sadness. you stared at her, unable to find the words, the weight of her confession leaving you breathless.

“jimin,” you finally whispered, your voice trembling. “i don’t know if i can —”

“you don’t have to,” she said softly, her hands still cradling your face. “not right now. not until you’re ready. but just…let me stay. let me be here for you. that’s all i’m asking.”

you nodded, the smallest of movements, but it was enough. she pulled you into her arms again, holding you tightly as your tears began to fall once more…not from grief, but from the overwhelming relief of not being alone anymore.

perhaps you didn’t have to carry everything on your own anymore.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the tiny apartment in lisbon was quiet, save for the distant sound of street vendors calling out to evening crowds.

minjeong sat cross-legged on the worn wooden floor, her back leaning against the peeling wall. the room was sparse; just a bed, a suitcase, and a second-hand lamp casting a dim glow. this was her life now, moving from one place to the next, never staying long enough to plant roots.

it had been three years since she left.

three years of running, of trying to escape the shadow of the person she used to be. it hadn’t worked. no matter where she went, the memories followed her, clinging to her like smoke.

she thought back to the day she ran away with mingyu. she still didn’t understand why she had done it. it felt like rebellion; breaking free from the cage of her life. he had offered her a way out, a chance to escape the constant grind of fame, the suffocating expectations of being winter of aespa. in her desperation, she’d taken it without thinking.

it had been a mistake — the worst one of her life.

two weeks. that was all it took for everything to fall apart. he wasn’t the solution to her problems; he was just another lost soul trying to fill his own emptiness. they argued constantly, their personalities clashing until every word between them felt like a fight.

the final straw had been a shouting match in a dingy motel room somewhere in melbourne. she packed her bag that night and walked away, leaving him without a goodbye.

but leaving him didn’t fix anything. the damage was already done.

minjeong had spent the next three years living like a ghost, drifting from one country to another, working odd jobs to make ends meet. she cleaned houses in barcelona, waited tables in florence and even worked as a gardener in interlaken. she learned to enjoy the simplicity of it all — the routine of making her own meals, the anonymity of blending into crowds.

for the first time in her life, she wasn’t winter; the idol. she was just minjeong, a girl trying to figure out who she was.

the solitude changed her. she learned to live without the luxury she took for granted, without the constant validation of fans or the adoration of the public. it was hard, but it forced her to confront herself, to look at the mess she had made and start picking up the pieces.

but no matter how much she grew, no matter how much she tried to move on, there was one thing she couldn’t escape: you.

you had been the best thing that ever happened to her. she didn’t deserve you, not then and certainly not now. but you had loved her anyway, in a way that no one else ever had.

when the pressure of fame had weighed her down, when she felt like she was suffocating under the expectations of the world, you had been her lifeline.

she thought about the nights you stayed up with her, holding her close when the world felt too big. she remembered the way you would look at her, like she was more than the perfect image she tried so hard to maintain.

you saw her; the messy, flawed, human version of her…and you loved her anyway.

you had saved her when she was drowning. and how did she repay you? by leaving. by walking away on your wedding day, the day she should have promised herself to you forever.

she thought she was sparing you the burden of her brokenness, but all she did was break you too.

she thought about aespa too. they had been her sisters. she had abandoned them without a word, leaving them to pick up the pieces of her absence. she often found herself scrolling through their social media profiles, her heart aching at the sight of aeri and yizhuo laughing together or jimin’s rare selfies.

but it was jimin’s posts that hurt the most.

jimin had been her best friend, the one who knew her better than anyone else. now, her life seemed to revolve around you. her posts were filled with snapshots of dinners, quiet moments and candid photos of you that made minjeong’s chest tighten.

you were still beautiful, even more so than she remembered. but there was something different about you now — an air of weariness and guardedness that hadn’t been there before.

she knew she was responsible for that, and it tore her apart.

the breaking point came one quiet afternoon. she was scrolling through her phone, her thumb idly swiping through posts, when an article caught her eye.

“aespa’s karina opens up about her romantic life: ‘we’re taking things slow, but it’s happening.’”

her breath hitched as she clicked the link, her heart pounding. the article detailed jimin’s recent interview, where she had spoken openly about someone she’d been seeing.

“i’ve been spending a lot of time with someone who means a lot to me,” she had said. “we’re working our way through things in a romantic setting, but very slowly. there’s a lot of healing involved for both of us. but…i’m happy. she’s worth it.”

the accompanying photo was of jimin and you, leaving a restaurant together. her hand rested lightly on your back, her expression soft, almost protective. you looked relaxed, even happy, but there was still a shadow of something unreadable in your eyes.

minjeong stared at the photo for a long time, her chest tight. jimin’s words echoed in her mind: “she’s worth it.”

she closed her phone and sat in silence, her hands trembling. the reality of what she lost hit her all at once — not just you, but the life you could have had together.

and now, jimin was stepping into the space she had abandoned.

that night, she booked a plane ticket to seoul.

it wasn’t a decision made lightly, but she couldn’t stay away any longer.

she needed to apologise; to you, her family, to everyone she had hurt. she didn’t know if you would forgive her, but she had to try.

no matter how much time had passed, one thing remained true: you were her soulmate. and she wasn’t ready to give up on you, not yet.

“minjeong?”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the end.

[motorsportbarbie13]

The Yapping Hour Is Upon Us - The Hardest Two Years

In which your relationship with Max is put to the test and you pass with flying colors.

Warnings: this one is heavy at the beginning. Mentions of miscarriages (no active miscarriage on the page, but discussions of them). pregnancy. babies. labor. preemie/NICU baby briefly mentioned. anxiety. Pairing: Max Verstappen x Podcaster!Reader Word Count: 5k words

- The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Part 2 - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Part 3 - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Part 4 - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Bonus Sessions - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - The Royal Wedding - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - The Wedding Night

(a note: whewwwwww this one has been such a labor of love. i hope you all have enjoyed reading this as much as i loved creating it!!!)

October 2026 Austin, Texas

TheYappingHour posted

293,202 likes liked by maxverstappen1, assistantshannon, christianhorner, and others. theyappinghour We're back babies!! It's been a wild year for us here at The Yapping Hour but we're so pleased to bring you a brand new interview featuring Red Bull Strategist Hannah Schmitz. I first met Hannah when Max and I were first dating and she spent countless hours answering my (often silly) questions with the utmost patience. I love talking to women in motorsport, especially women like Hannah that are sitting on pit wall with the rest of the boys. We talk glass ceilings, what it's like to be work in a male dominated field, and what it took to get where she is today on the episode. It is def not one to miss!! hannahschmitzengineer thanks for having me on, lady!! Love having you around the track more now. xo user9928 hannah gives me such good vibes. i love her sm. user011 so we're just going to ignore how @/yourpersonalinsta just ghosts for how many months after eloping, claiming she's suddenly 'too sick to work' while galavanting all over the globe with Max??? >>>user0028 I knew she was a gold digger this entire time but NOOOOO. No one wanted to listen to me! user1145 its totally fine if you just want to live that WAG life girl but be honest with us. And yourself. Marrying rich was always her goal, wasn't it? >>>user0090 ding ding ding!!

"Thank you again for coming on the show, Hannah! We get so many questions about women in motorsport so I know this episode is going to be so well received." You reach out your arms towards the strategy engineer, enveloping her in a hug. 

Hannah hugs you right back, giving you an extra squeeze. The two of you have always got on really well and you were happy that she had agreed to come on for an episode. It had been a rough year so far, so having an exciting episode to edit and put out was something that you were looking forward to. 

"Thanks for having me! We all miss your episodes in the garage. Everyone was excited to hear that you'd be back for at least one episode." She gives you a sad smile. Hannah is one of the few people that know the real reason behind your absence on socials this year. 

"It feels good to be back. Hopefully I'll be able to do some more things in the last bit of the year. I have a few things in the works." You give her the most positive smile you can muster but it's hard with the waves of nausea that started to roll through you in the last few moments. 

You barely hold it together as you walk Hannah out of the studio that you'd rented in downtown Austin ahead of the US Grand Prix this weekend. Max was back at the track finishing up some media duties but once you finish up with Shannon at the studio, you're going to head back to see him. 

Inside the studio, Shannon is working on packing up once you return from walking Hannah out. "Can you do me a favor?" You ask, voice hesitant. 

Shannon's head snaps up at the anxiety she can hear in your words. You two have been working together so closely for so long, you can both communicate with minimal looks and words now. She can read your mood almost as well as Max can. "Everything okay boss?" 

"Could you swing by the pharmacy before going back to the hotel and pick me up some..." You pause, needing a moment to work your tongue around the next words. "pregnancy tests." Your heart hammers in your chest. 

Shannon blinks at you, hesitant smile on her lips. "Of course." She says softly before reaching out to cup your elbow with a gentle hand. "You feeling okay?" 

Chuckling, you shake your head, "My lunch nearly made a reappearance when Hannah hugged me just now, which is weird because we wear the same perfume sometimes and that's what set me off." 

The moment that wave of nausea hit you, you had started counting back the weeks in your mind since your last period. You had instantly known because it was the kind of math you'd been doing for almost a year now, since getting your IUD out. 

What a year it had been. 

"I'd do it myself but there's a lot of media out this weekend and I've already been papped. There's already so much negative coverage out there, I don't want to give more fuel to the fire." 

Back in June you had made the difficult decision to put production on The Yapping Hour on hold for the near future, citing health issues. Most of your fans had been supportive but there had been a lot of backlash about how you were a gold digger and were only with Max for his money. People saw you traveling a lot with Max and assumed the 'health issues' were a cop out and that you were just lazy. Everyone in your inner circle knew it was absolutely untrue but the lies perpetuated by accounts like Deux Moi the F1 gossip accounts still stung. 

This year had shaped up to be the most challenging year for both you and Max, personally and professionally. With only a handful of races to go, Max was sitting solidly in second place in the drivers championship, behind a white hot Lando Norris who'd won 8 races already this year. While Max was still able to keep the fight going, the car had continued to deteriorate this year and even Mad Max could barely keep it on the road some weekends. It had been the hardest season of his entire career. 

Despite all the difficulties, both personal and professional, you and Max were stronger than ever. There hadn't been any other choice after you what you had gone through together. The 'health issues' that you had cited earlier in the year had actually been the three miscarriages you had suffered back to back to back since getting married in December. Through it all, the doctors appointments, the late nights spent sobbing in pain, the terror tinged excitement at each 'positive' test, Max had been there for you. He was an unwavering and unmoving well of support for you in the darkest of hours. 

Shannon's eyes go watery as she tugs at your hand. "Oh, mama..." 

You chuckle darkly, "Not a mom yet, Shan." 

Shannon shakes her head, "Yes you are. Those three precious babies were yours and will always be yours." 

Tears sting at the back of your eyes as you walk out of the studio still holding your assistant's hand. You knew she was right. You still felt that constant ache and connection to the babies you had lost, even the first one that you had lost at just four weeks when it was barely more than a bunch of cells. The anxiety that courses through you as you get in the back seat of the car that Max had sent for you is so overwhelming you nearly ask Shannon to stay with you. 

"I'll go get that stuff from the pharmacy then I'll drop them off at your room, okay? It'll be okay, boss." Shannon says warmly before shutting the door of the black SUV. 

All you can do is nod in response, hoping she's right. 

Hours later, you stand with your hands braced on the vanity in your hotel room. Max is caught at the track still, needing to meet with the engineering team for a bit longer than expected so you're left alone in the room just staring down at the box Shannon delivered to your door. 

There's a flood of mixed emotions swirling all together in your stomach as you look at the small white stick starting back at you tauntingly. You had wanted to wait for Max but at this point, you didn't know when he'd be back and you hadn’t been able to wait any longer. You'd been through this so many times this year and had seen that little plus sign three times already, all ending with heartbreak and pain. You weren't sure if you'd be able to survive another one. But at the same time, you had to know. 

Max opens the door to your shared hotel room quietly, wanting to surprise you by coming back early and taking you to dinner. You're not where he expected to see you though, snuggled up on the bed watching Netflix. 

The bathroom door is thrown open and he hears muffled sniffling floating out, sending his anxiety through the roof. After the year you've had, anything that's got you upset sends him off the deep end. He finds you leaning over the counter staring at something. Max stops in the doorway for a moment, watching your body language. Your hair is tied up in a messy bun and you're wearing nothing but one of his old sweatshirts that's seen better days. The tattered sleeves fall over your wrists, only allowing your fingers to peek out. He can barely see your wedding ring peaking out from the navy sweatshirt and for a moment, his mood shifts. Here you were, nearly a year later and he still gets love struck seeing you wearing his ring. His wife. It still stopped him in his tracks when he realized how lucky he was to have you and how lucky you both had been to survive this year so far. 

“Liefje?” He murmurs, leaning against the door frame. He doesn't want to scare you, so he keeps his distance at first. "Everything okay?" 

You startle a bit, hand flying to your throat when you gasp in surprise. "Max!" You breathe, eyes swimming with tears that haven't had a chance to fall yet. "I...I don't know." 

Max crosses the tiled floor, the cold biting into his feet through his socks. "Hey, what's got you so upset baby? Shhh..." He takes you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. You relish the warmth, your body having gone stone cold after seeing the results of the test you hadn't been able to wait for Max to take. 

"I nearly threw up after hugging Hannah today even though she was wearing one of my favorite perfumes." You tell him, nearly chuckling when he looks at you utterly confused. Extracting yourself from his grasp, you reach behind for the test and hold it up so he can see it.

"I'm pregnant, Max." 

The strangled sob that you choke out nearly takes Max to the ground. He folds you into his arms again, rocking you back and forth as you shake like a leaf. The miscarriages had been so hard on you, each one more difficult than the last. The memory of you, curled up on the bed when you had started bleeding during the third one, while you wailed about your body betraying you and how you were broken, hits him like a truck. He'd give anything to make this pain stop for you, to take away the fear and anguish that he can feel rolling off of you in waves. 

"Shhhh, schatje." He soothes, knowing that nothing he could possibly say will quell the terror you're feeling right now. 

"I can't lose another baby, Max. I can't. It’ll destroy me.” The only thing you wanted to do was protect this little life that was inside you right now, bits of you and bits of Max combined to make an entirely new human. You’d been here three times before and you’d failed. Your body had failed to keep the baby inside you safe and you didn’t know if it was going to happen again. The doctors had been baffled after every loss, telling you that there wasn’t any rhyme or reason to it, that sometimes losses happened and there wasn’t anything that could have been done about it. There hadn’t been any genetic abnormalities in any of the samples they’d taken, hadn’t been anything that you had done to make you lose the pregnancies. No, it had been completely and utterly random that your body just hadn’t been able to make a pregnancy stick. 

You’d never felt more like a failure. 

“My love, it will be okay. We’ll get through this, I promise.” Max wanted to tell you that you wouldn’t lose this baby either. He wanted more than anything to tell you that but the words wouldn’t come. He couldn’t tell you that because he didn’t know if it was true and telling you something that might turn out to not be true killed him. “We will always get through these things together, no matter what happens.” 

You pull back out of Max’s chest, needing to lose yourself in those icy blue eyes you were so obsessed with. You knew, deep down, that he was right. Max had been your constant source of support since the day you met him. You had no reason to doubt him and knew that he would get you through this even if you lost this baby too but that didn’t stop the fear from wrapping it’s sharp, cold fingers around your throat. “I’m so scared.” You whisper. 

Max runs a hand over the top of your head before framing your face. Brushing the pad of his thumb over your cheek, he smiles down at you. “I know.” He admits, knowing that you need to know that he’s in this with you right now and that you’re on the same page. “I am too, but like I said, we’ll get through this. We’ve got to make a plan, sitting here crying is just going to make your anxiety worse, okay?” 

You nod, grinning when he laces his fingers with yours to pull you out into the main part of the hotel room. He leads you over to the bed where he sits before patting his lap, inviting you to sit between his legs. With your back pressed to his chest, you snuggle into him as deeply as you can, enjoying the way his arms snake around you to clasp together over your tummy. “I’ll call Greg in the morning and have the jet take you back to Monaco and you can have Shannon make you an appointment with Dr. Mallkin. I’m sure he’ll get you in as soon as possible.” 

You freeze. “No, Max.” You protest, heart thrumming in your throat from the panic. “No, I don’t want to leave you. Not now. What if I lose it again and I’m half way around the world from you? Please, I don’t want to leave you.” You know you sound pathetic, begging like a scared little girl but you can’t help it. The thought of being alone in your apartment in Monaco while Max finished this triple header to Mexico and then Brazil sent frigid shivers of fear zinging through your veins. 

Max tucks his head into the crook of your neck, mouthing at the warm skin there. “Shhh…Okay, Schatje. You don’t have to go back to Monaco but you absolutely can’t come to Mexico and Brazil with me. The travel and stress won’t be good for you, you know that.” 

You both sit in silence for a few moments, each contemplating what can be done. There was no way you were going to go back to Monaco right now but you also knew that traveling down to Mexico and then Brazil wouldn’t be good for you or the baby and you desperately needed this baby to stick. 

“What if we flew you to your parents up in California?” Max suggests, breaking the silence first. “You could go spend a few weeks with them, get in to see a doctor up there to just check and make sure everything looks okay and then when I’m done in Brazil, I’ll fly to get you and we can go back to Monaco together? We have a three week break after Brazil so you won’t be alone for a bit.” 

The thought of going back to your childhood home for a few weeks was immensely appealing. “And then maybe I could do Qatar and Abu Dhabi with you to finish out the year if everything is good and Dr. Mallkin gives me the okay?” 

Max is quiet, not wanting to agree to any more travel than absolutely necessary but when your head swivels around to look at him, pleading look on your face, he caves. “If Dr. Mallkin gives you the okay, we can do that.” 

Monaco May, 2027

yourpersonalinsta posted

yourpersonalinsta we've been hiding a little secret. baby verstappen due in july and we couldn't be more excited. (tagged: maxverstappen1) kikagomes ahhhhh i can finally talk about this in real life!! so excited for you bestieeeee >>>yourpersonalinsta love you!! user0029 ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!! baby verstappen incoming! user0445 july?! oh my god, they hid this for so long! user442 omg that's why she hasn't been at races this year! bet all those assholes predicting a divorce feel like assholes now redbullracing already have the mini f1 car in the garage for baby verstappen!!

33 weeks. You had made it pas the danger zone. That little tiny bean in your belly had dug itself in so deep that you hadn’t lost this baby, much to your delight and surprise. Those early weeks you had spent with your parents in California had been some of the scariest days of your life. Every time you went to the bathroom you had expected to see blood everywhere. But it had never come. When Max had finished with Mexico and Brazil, he had flown to get you before taking you back home. The rest of the season panned out exactly like you had expected: Lando had won his first world championship with Max finishing a close second. 

A few weeks into winter break, Max had approached you one afternoon while you lounged on the couch in your Monaco apartment. There would be no long distance travel for you this winter break due to the precarious state of your pregnancy. You had been cleared to go to Qatar and Abu Dhabi to see the rest of the season pan out, but after that, Dr. Mallkin had effectively grounded you. ‘I want to retire’ was the bomb Max had dropped on you that afternoon. You had been silent for several minutes, letting the implications of his statement sink in before you had been able to respond. If there was one thing that drove you insane about Max was how he was always threatening to retire despite being absolutely awful at sitting still and relaxing so you had never taken his whinging seriously. Until that afternoon. 

In the end, after several hours of discussion and back and forth, you had convinced Max to give it one more season. He couldn’t let his career end on such a low note, losing out on his sixth championship. He had wanted to retire to spend more time with you and the baby but you knew he’d be restless and that he wasn’t ready to retire just yet. In the end, you had come up with a compromise: he’d race for the 2027 season and you and the baby would travel with him for the second half of the season so he wouldn’t miss any of the big milestones. You were due sometime in July, which was perfect timing. If everything worked out, you’d have the baby right around the summer break and by the time racing started back up in Belgium, you’d be ready to take the baby on the road. 

But in the end, it didn’t end up working out like that. 

The Monaco Grand Prix was one of your favorite weekends, even if Max hated it. He didn’t like how busy the city became. Hated how loud and noisy the streets were. Secretly hated the track due to how difficult it was to actually race and overtake, despite dominating the track in recent years.

Earlier in the week, you had finally shared the news of your pregnancy on social media, having waited until you were nearly full term before breathing even a word of it to anyone outside of your inner circle. You had stopped traveling to races weeks ago and your presence had been wildly noted all over the gossip accounts, some even going so far as to start rumors that you and Max were already divorced. So imagine everyone’s surprise when you posted the photos of your belly gently covered by Max’s hands. People went wild. 

Sunday morning, you’re in Red Bull hospitality sitting with Liam’s girlfriend Hannah and Kika while Max is in the garage getting prepped for the race in a few hours. During last year’s silly season, there had been some major reshuffling of the teams and Pierre had been welcomed back into the Red Bull stables as Max’s teammate. Liam was still driving for VCARB alongside Franco Colopinto who had taken the second seat after Yuki had left to join Aston Martin this season. 

Your left hand sits lightly on your ever expanding belly as you listen to Kika gush about Pierre proposing last week during the little break the grid had had when something that feels like an electric shock snaps across your stomach. “Oh.” You gasp, sitting up a bit straighter in your chair. 

Hannah immediately clocks the pain that streaks across your face and reaches for your hand. “Are you okay?” 

The pain takes your breath away momentarily but as quick as it comes on, it’s gone. A few deep breaths and everything rights itself. “Yeah, just some ligament pain or something. My doctor said now that I’m further on I could start getting Braxton Hicks but that it wasn’t a huge deal as long as they’re not steady or coming in regular intervals.”

“If it happens again, I’m telling Max.” Kika says, face full of worry. Since Pierre’s resigning with Red Bull, the two of you had gotten closer and she was one of your best friends now. You knew she’d 100% tattle on you to Max, who had turned into an even more intense mother hen the closer you got to the end of your pregnancy. 

“Oh, that’ll go over well.” You roll your eyes. “He’ll flat out refuse to race even if they’re just false labor pains. Mouth shut, Kiks.” You order, raising a brow in challenge. 

Kika just rolls her eyes back at you, folding her arms over her chest. “Fine.” 

Everything goes back to normal for the next few hours. You sit in the Red Bull hospitality with Shannon, Kika, and Hannah by your side to watch the race, not having near enough energy to stand in the garages for the race. Max had started P2 but had managed to pass Lando somewhere on lap 15 and had been in the lead ever since. 

And then, suddenly, all hell breaks loose. 

“Fuck.” You hiss, clutching at your stomach as Max starts the last 15 laps of the race. 

Kika’s head whips towards you, panic in her eyes. “What?” 

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck.” You mutter, standing up to look at the puddle you’ve left in the black plastic chair. “I think my water just broke.” 

“What?!” Kika shrieks, causing the entirety of the hospitality suite to turn their heads in unison to look at you. “What?” She whispers a second time, just as urgent but quieter this time. 

“I think I’m in labor.” You work to keep the fear out of your voice but you fail. You’re not full term yet, you can’t be going into labor. This baby needed to stay cooking for a few more weeks. Panic strangles you as Hannah reaches for your hand. A sharp, shooting pain has you crying out, once again drawing attention to your little table. “Oh fuck, I think I’m in labor. I’m only 33 weeks Hannah, I can’t be in labor.” 

The pain of your three miscarriages comes charging back, terror flooding your system at the thought of losing a forth baby, this one so far into your pregnancy. The kicks, the hiccups, everything has made this pregnancy so much more real. You didn’t think you’d survive another loss.  

Hannah, who just finished her first year of medical school, squeezes your hand. “Good news is, 33 weeks is viable out of the womb but we should still get to the hospital. Little dude is going to be a bit on the small side.” 

“Oh for fucks sakes.” You groan, knowing Max is going to lose his shit. He’d been worried about this exact scenario more than you cared to think about. His orders had always been to have GP or Christian tell him over the radio if you ever went into labor during a race and he’d stop right then and there. 

“There’s only 15 laps to go.” You glance up at the TV screen above you. “Okay, 14 now. I’m not leaving until he’s out of that car and we’re not saying a word to him until he’s taken the checkered flag.” You stare pointedly at Kika, who had leapt out of her chair when you had declared you were in labor, presumably to go straight to the garage and tattle on you. 

“You most certainly are not waiting until he’s finished to leave, are you insane?” Hannah whispers, trying to avoid drawing even more attention to you. “I’m going to find a car to take us to the hospital, which should be interesting considering half the city is shut down. We might need an ambulance.” 

“I am not leaving the paddock in an ambulance!” You gasp as another contraction hits you, stealing your breath from your lungs. 

“You’re not going to have a choice.” Hannah turns to Shannon. “Can you go to the garage and tell GP that she’s in labor and that the moment he’s out of that car, he needs to get his ass to the hospital. Kika, stay here with her and try to keep her calm.” 

While the drama is unfolding in the hospitality building, Max is working on winning his fourth race of the season, the car feeling better than it has all season. When Hannah finally finds a medical official, telling him that there’s a woman in pre-term labor that needs to get to the hospital immediately, Max crosses the finish line in P1. 

GP immediately comes on the radio. “Max, we need you in right now, no cool down lap.” 

“What? What’s wrong?” Confusion plays at the edge of his voice as he starts towards the pits on the other side of the track. 

In the garage, GP glances at Shannon, who shakes her head. “Just get to the garage now, okay?” 

In his gut, he knows it’s about you. He knows instantly just by the sound of GP’s voice. Something’s wrong, he can feel it in every nerve ending of his body. “Is she okay?” 

“She’s okay for now.” 

Relief floods Max’s system as he desperately tries to get back to the garages without hitting anything or anyone, which is proving to be very difficult. All he can think about is you and getting to you as fast as possible. Was it the baby? He had known it was a bad idea for you to be out in the paddock today. Had thought there was too much excitement and activity for you to be out and he was kicking himself for allowing you to be here even though deep down, he knew that you would have been here no matter what. He just hoped he didn’t regret agreeing to it. 

Shannon goes to Max first and explains everything. How your water had broken with 15 laps to go. How Hannah had found an ambulance to take you across town to the hospital. How you were probably already there, Kika and Hannah both riding along with you in the ambulance so you weren’t alone. How you were scared but putting on a brave face for everyone, which Max thought was very typical of you. 

Christian sidles up to Max next. “There’s a car waiting for you with a police escort to Princess Grace Hospital. That’s where they took her. Go, we’ll take care of any FIA fines or hubbub.” 

Max doesn’t need to be told twice before taking off, still sweaty in his race suit. As he’s racing out of the garage, Shannon calls after him. He pauses, despite not wanting to but grins when she holds out a bag for him. “Thought you might want a change of clothes for when you get to the hospital.” 

Max snags the bag out of her hands before giving her a warm smile. “Thanks, Shan.” 

“Now go! Your wife is having a baby!” 

There’s a reverent hush that blankets the NICU in the middle of the night. The floor is near empty, only one other baby in the little clear covered crib besides your baby. It’s been hours since you gave birth but you’re finally up and out of bed, sitting in the wheelchair Max brought for you in your room moments ago. 

“The doctor says he’s a fighter.” Max murmurs, hand clasped on your shoulder. 

Tears burn before spilling down your cheeks as you take in the baby in front of you. He’s only 33 weeks and a tiny little wisp of a baby, but the pediatrician that was on call when you came in is confident that he’ll be okay with some extra attention that being in the NICU will bring. “He’s so small.” You whisper, reaching up to grasp at Max’s hand. 

Max had gotten to the hospital just in time. Kika and Hannah had been at the head of your bed when he had burst into the hospital room just as you had been feeling the need to start pushing. He had been white as a ghost, paler than you’d ever seen him but the moment you laid eyes on him, you had burst into tears. “Max.” You sobbed as Kika and Hannah discreetly showed themselves out of the birthing suite. They had stayed in the waiting room for the next several hours though, neither wanting to leave before knowing how you and the baby were doing. 

Like he had been doing since the moment he walked into your life, Max had never left your side and had been the single source of strength you had drawn on during the entire labor process. Everything moved so quickly you hadn’t had a chance to even ask for an epidural so you had labored completely naturally. In the end, it hadn’t really mattered because your labor had progressed so quickly Dr. Mallkin had barely had time to get his scrubs on before the baby was crowning. 

“What are we going to call him?” Max asks, staring down at the tiny baby boy. He still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that he had come so early and that he was now a dad. It terrified him just as much as it thrilled him. He was so proud of you as well, the entire labor process something that he had to just sit back and watch in awe. If Max hadn’t thought that you were the stronger one in the relationship before, he most certainly thought it now. 

“I like the name Theodore.” You say, reaching out to brush your fingers on the clear plastic that held your tiny cherub of a baby. “Theo for short.” 

Max’s heart gave a squeeze. “It’s perfect. What about Theo Nicholas.” 

Your head whips around to stare at your husband. “Nicholas? Like, my dad Nicholas?” 

“I think it suits the little guy well, don’t you? And I like the idea of him carrying on your dad’s name. One of the greatest men I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing.” 

Now you were really sobbing. The fact that it had been Max to suggest giving his son your dad’s name for a middle name created this soft, gooey center in your stomach. “I love you so much, Max.” You say, choking back another sob. 

Max leans down, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he watches the son you’ve given him sleep peacefully. “I love you too, schatje. I love you both.” 

maxverstappen1 posted

1,208,391 likes liked by yourdad, yourpersonalinsta, kikagomes, and others maxverstappen1 baby boy couldn't wait until july to make his grand entrance. tiny verstappen is here and life couldn't be better. forever in awe of you @/yourpersonalinsta. being a momma looks good on you, schatje. love you forever. yourpersonalinsta love you more, maxie. you're already the worlds best dad to theo. >>>user9383 THEO??? that is the cutest name >>>user2993 they're literally life goals oh my GODDDDD charlesleclerc congratulations friend!! gorgeous family you've got there. redbullracing love seeing max in his dad era!

yourpersonalinsta posted

1,598,019 likes liked by maxverstappen1, hannahstjohn, assistantshannon, and others yourpersonalinsta welcome to the world theodore nicholas verstappen. you are already so loved, baby boy. (tagged: maxverstappen1) maxverstappen1 my 2 favorite people on this planet. you're already such an amazing mother, baby. love you to the ends of time. >>>user458 i'm sobbing hannahstjohn he is the cutest little turkey ever. i am so in love with him! congrats mama!!! >>>yourpersonalinsta thank you for forcing me into that ambulance otherwise we could have had a paddock baby on our hands >>>user0938 this is such f1 lore, i love it

Tags: @shelbyteller @formulaal @martygraciesversion381 @longhairkoo @samantha-chicago

[visibleclosedeyes]

Gap in my heart (Literally)

pairing: Mr. Gap x reader

“Hello”

While you prepare to work in your bedroom–doing your makeup and hair, putting on your uniform–ready for the day ahead, a chilling but familiar voice calls you. 

“Mr. Gap? Uh. Me not play,” You said without turning your head toward the voice. Since the day you managed to get out of that  Otherworld, Mr.Gap has consistently shown up in your space in the gap in the wall, in different containers, and so forth. At this point, you kinda have a domestic relationship together. Boyfriend? You wouldn’t go that far, but something is there. 

“Disappointed” Mr. Gap narrowed his eyes before asking another question 

“Where go?”

“Same place every day, Mr. Gap. Working. uh–Me work, same work.”

“Why?” He asks, eyes still narrowed–displaying an unreadable expression that you guess to be some kind of discontentment. It surprised you really–Mr. Gap isn’t a high-maintenance type and he never asked you these questions before. What changed?

“Uh…Work hunger gone,”

“Work stop hunger?” He seems interested now. 

“Not exactly. Work gives things, and things get food.” You try again to explain to Mr. Gap the concept of monetary exchange and bill to the best of your ability. 

“....not understand, residents don’t need work. Why work?”

“Humans need work, me human…Mr. Gap, why curious now?” You ask a question of your own. 

“Me bored, Stay,” 

“Can’t. Need work,”

“Disappointed” He responds, the conversation sounds like it goes back to the very beginning. 

“Give finger?”

“No,”

“Disappointed” He repeats yet again before disappearing. 

Working is hard. Living in the human world is hard. You know this already but it seems like every day her co-workers really remind her of that fact. Today is just another day of demoralizing work days. Getting yelled at by your boss because of your co-worker's mistake is not fun. In the parking lot, you are sitting there with a cigarette between your fingers contemplating whether or not to murder your co-worker, literally speaking. Suddenly between the gap in the wall opposite to you, a familiar pair of eyes pop up.

“Hello”

“Mr. Gap??! How did you..? Oh right, you can show up in any gap,”

“Human trouble?”

“Its nothing, just hard day at work,”

“Me solve problem, give me finger,”

“What? No! Not give finger,”

“Boring. Goodbye,”

Almost every day was the same old same old—your co-worker is an annoying asshole who purposefully caused issues just so he could blame it on you.

“Where are the documents the boss asked you to do?” Speaks of the devil… the most annoying face among the co-workers in this shitshow of a company has shown up like a fucking ghost the moment she starts thinking about her job

“What? What documents?” She answers truthfully. What fucking documents? And why is she hearing this just now?

“Seriously, the boss wants you to be the one to do it. you’re seriously irresponsible. Why did they even hire you?” He said with such a fake shocked expression on his face. Wait, so the boss told him…

"Boss told you this and you never told me?” she asked him in disbelief

"You never ask me to tell you, you should have been more active,” He snickers with a smug smile. Oh, this irritating fucker.

2 months and 1 week. She has sworn off killing people for exactly two months. Like a proud ex-addict, she wears that pride quietly on her mind, unable to announce how prideful she is for not killing some random pedestrians who show up in an abandoned apartment. She wants to keep it that way, but this man seems to be testing her patience. She is going to lose it and kill this guy on his way home. 

"There is still time left. You can take responsibility and be active for once. Give me a call once you are finished!”

your palms curl into a fist full of hate and rage–this man has no idea who he is up against. She fantasizes about the different ways she would go about killing him. Her regular method of a crowbar to the head would be the safest route but this guy is a piece of shit to her so far and she wants to do something special for him.

No, she doesn't want to kill these days. Hunting and killing seems to be a hobby she lost interest in a while ago. Now, she simply wishes for a more simple life after all those lives she proudly took. 

(not finish)

One day, when she was working as per usual–she hears the sound of that asshole screaming from the restroom

"I swear! I saw it there! a pair of creepy eyes between the crack in the wall inside the male restroom!”

"some pervert looking into the male toilet?”

"No! I…I don't think it's human–when I saw it, it just disappeared into thin air!”

"I think you should go see a doctor”

“Yeah, are you I'll or something? Did you hear a voice in your head too?”

“S–shut up! Stop mocking me! I fucking saw it, Ok?!” 

It seems like vacation comes to visit you early this year as she hears one of the best but most shocking of all week. Her asshole co-worker has decided to quit, it also seems like he has been scared shitless and borderline losing his mind at something that most people don't seem to understand. Many think that he cracked under constant pressure but she has a better idea of what might have happened. She didn’t think to ask of him at this current time but it seemed like he could read her mind somehow when she found him manifesting in her bag, a pair of gleeful, teasing eyes with an otherworldly smile somehow made her heart skip beats. 

“Mr.Gap!”

“Hello. Me good resident.” 

“I heard about the haunting spirit between the wall’s gap in the male bathroom—did you do it? The guy who tormented me quit”

“Me solve problems, me good resident,”

“Yeah, that was a good one. Good, thank you”

“Give good resident finger?”

“No”

“Disappointed”

[e1dritchjackal0pe]

𝓛𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓪 𝓢𝓽𝓻𝓪𝔂

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You always knew deep down that getting involved with the Kook prince himself would result in nothing but heartache. Unsurprisingly, like an absolute sucker you had allowed yourself to get pulled into his orbit, hook, line and sinker.

The two of you were always unlabeled, two people just trying to take the edge off; so it shouldn't have stung when you caught him with another girl on his arm. But it's completely unfair when he comes crawling back as soon as you attempt to move on.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Rafe, 18+ content (so minors go somewhere else), AFAB, fem aligning pronouns, toxic relationships, lack of communication, infidelity if you really squint, stalking, hints of dark!Rafe, Soft!Rafe (because I'm a sucker), Rafe refers to himself as Daddy once (I'm sorry, it's so in character), Oral (F! Receiving), Unprotected sex (reader is on the pill), public sex (they do it in a bathroom at a party), dubious consent (both Rafe and reader are intoxicated).

ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ: 25K words (the Lana Del Ray and Chase Atlantic continuously playing in my headphones wouldn't let me stop). Not proofread (as per usual, I'm sorry), Pogue!reader.

You love your life. The simultaneous merge of monotony and spontaneity. Sure, it is boring in certain aspects. The schedule of your job demanding that you wake up nearly every day of the week, pulling yourself out of the warmth and comfort of your bed before the sun has even bled across the horizon in hues of pale gold and soft lavender to begin opening up the restaurant; passing through the door that always squeals sharply on its hinges. No amount of WD-40 has managed to correct the offending, metallic shriek, but Deborah, ever the penny-pincher always brushes off the notion of simply replacing the hinges. Huffing and shrugging it off whenever you suggest it. One of these days you plan to go down to the hardware store yourself and buy a fresh set of replacements. 

The ritual of your mornings is often tedious. The one before it the same as the one that comes after; setting the chairs down from their places tucked upside down on the tabletops to be seated on their designated positions on the floor, turning the coffee machines on to begin brewing a fresh pot for the early risers and regulars that stop in for a quick uplift before they head off to their jobs, checking to make sure that you had properly stocked up the night before you left; that the sliced lemons and creamers and ketchup bottles have all been filled. You sometimes have a habit of accidentally skipping out those tasks when you've been on a double. Sometimes on purpose if you know that you're going to be the opener the very next day. 

Though more often than not it ends up with you cursing yourself out for leaving more unnecessary work for yourself. 

You're at your job more than you're at your own home. But with how high Deborah's turn rates are, and how little people do actually come in to retrieve an application, it's practically been up to you to try and hold down the fort as best as possible. Apart from Charlotte, who does her best to cover as many shifts as she can (though that isn't always possible if one of her kids falls sick or the babysitter calls off), and Rusty. But as the main cook, he practically lives in the restaurant to begin with. So much so, that it has become a joke among the staff that he should just call it quits and put up a cot in the back so that he could takes naps in between shifts. He's always at the restaurant long before you are. Piddling around in the back of the house to get a head start on the day ahead and prepping for what he'll need. 

It's dull work, sure, and the breaks that you get are few and far between, but the threat of oncoming bills always looming overhead like a fucking hydra. As soon as you manage to cut off one head, another immediately seems to grow in its place. Plus, you also have a difficult time in saying no to Deborah. You think everyone does honestly. She could be hard to navigate at times, seeming to seesaw between being almost sickeningly sweet and intimidatingly disgruntled. Skulking around the restaurant with a sharp anger glinting in her eyes, a harsh scowl pulling at the wrinkled corners of her lips as she barks orders and huffs over crumbs and stains that aren't there. 

But you try, like the others, not to hold it against her. You know that she's just stressed. Struggling to pick up the pieces that her son had left behind; to keep his dream alive as best as she can. 

Still, you can't help but to revel in any chance you get to have a day to yourself. Even though the reprieve that you do get is typically spent at your own home. Basking outside underneath the warmth while you soak in the small layer of water contained in the old sun faded kiddie pool, reading one of your unfinished books, or reclining against the lip of the hard plastic while the music from your old Bluetooth speaker drifts down from the steps of the small, worn porch attached to the front of your trailer. 

Every once in a while, if your budget is willing, you might head down to the quaint thrift store that lies just on the outskirts of town. Though calling it a "store" is being quite generous. It's pretty much just a shed that had been repurposed as a business in Metilda Clark's backyard; the walls boarded with shelves for books and DVD's and VHS tapes, and racks filled with garments donated from families whose children have grown out of their clothes or family members that have passed on and they can't bear to look at their personal belongings anymore. 

So you suppose that in a sense, it's a graveyard of sorts. A place for people to bury or move on from their pasts without entirely discarding the items that they need to be free from. Given that that a large chunk of the island's population is in part of the working class, a vast amount of the wares and goods found at the store are a little lackluster. Every once in a while, you manage to find something good. A piece of clothing or shoes that have managed to trickle down from the Eight, like a pair of vintage heels that you were able to snag for twenty-five bucks. But for the most part it's just plain knickknacks, fishing lines and old bodice rippers - many of which are wildly amusing to flip through. 

If only you had a nickel for every time you had seen a man's dick referred to as a "pulsing hot member" or "engorged manhood." It never fails to remind you of Ms. Perky from Ten Things I Hate About You trying to write smut in her office. 

Still, it does sometimes prove to yield some interesting finds. Like the magenta lava lamp that now sits on the shelf posted along the far side of your room or the rooster shaped tea pot that you always use on stormy nights. That purchase might have been a little dumb, just maybe, but you had thought it was cute when you saw it. 

But if you're being honest, you mostly go to the thrift store for the small ceramic bowl full of candy that Metilda keeps along the front counter; always full of strawberry bon bons, Tootsie Rolls, and hard caramels. You always make sure to pluck one up as she tallies up your purchase on her archaic cash register, squinting through her glasses as her bony fingers skitter across the buttons while she shares the latest bit of gossip to you. She's always in the know it seems, like some sort of P.I . . . or maybe Batman. It's almost a talent. But you suppose that being a member of the church, the local book club, and attending bingo every weekend would get you in on a lot of the gossip that circles around town. 

It's how you found out the Janice Morty was cheating on her husband of twenty-three years with his own brother, or that Sammy Kennedy has been breeding and selling exotic reptiles in his basement illegally. Sometimes you'd find yourself standing in front of that little desk long after your purchase had been bagged and paid for, just listening intently as she gives you the scoop on everything. Watching the earrings dangling from her lobes quiver and shake animatedly as she passionately recounts all of the drama she's heard - she's always got a new, fun pair on every time you see her. Many of them are retro, 80's style, but a large majority are shaped after everyday objects. One of your favorites so far would have to be the odd pair of small rotating fans, colored in that vintage mint green shade with pink blades. But the fuchsia gumball machines have to be a close second. 

You love to come in and see what pair she's going to be wearing, to hear all of the local drama. But the sound of a single name had made you regret the trip entirely. 

"- all of a sudden the screen had lit up! Just set alight without any warning." She recounted, tucking a book alongside the others inside of the recycled bag, the wrinkles in the plastic causing the smiley face to become disfigured. "Well, one of my customers saw the culprits - or at least who they suspect to be. They saw a big group of them scatter once the chaos erupted; that Thorton boy, and old Heyward's kid was there. And even Rafe Cameron, that spoiled little nuisance -" 

Your brain had blanked then. Falling flat and somehow chaotic like static filming over a TV screen. It had made it difficult to tell what you were truly feeling in that moment as it all seemed to crash over you into a still hush. But the elements of it all was certainly there: irritation, resentment, and that pathetic sense of longing that never seems to truly go away. It sticks to you like a nasty parasite. Burrowed deep and latched onto your flesh, the disease in it seeping into your bloodstream. 

No matter how much you try, it seems that you can't get away from him. The woes of living in a small community. It feels like a sort of damnation. A limbo that you can crawl yourself out of. You've gotten so close to it too. All but throwing yourself into your work - even more so than usual, if that was possible. It was to the point that your coworkers have begun to notice. You can see the way they all watch you curiously as you talk to your tables and flit about the dining room floor. Charlotte had even thrown away any attempts at subtly and had directly confronted you about your "situation." Claiming that you've seemed distracted as of late. Tense. And shit, maybe you have been a little uptight lately. Forcing plastic smiles and pretending that there isn't a hurt that's aching deep in the pit of your chest. You had promised her that you were alright, while the words felt fake, almost acidic on your tongue. She hadn't looked convinced. 

You had been doing good at pretending that you're alright. For the most part at least. With the distraction of your job and lounging around at home, diverting your attentions with old comedies and comfort watching the same old TV shows, you had nearly convinced yourself that you were alright. Though you mostly owed that to your recent proclivity for eating your feelings with Ben and Jerry's and sunbathing. Cliche, maybe. But effective. Indulging and pampering yourself has become your new means of deflecting the heartbreak that you so desperately want to pretend isn't there. And it had been working so well too. 

Until Matilda had to go and ruin it. The sound of his name leaving her red lips might as well as been nails on a chalk board. You know it was well meaning. There is no way that she would know, not even with all of the tabs and connections she's got running through the island. And that had been the point of it all. There was no label for whatever the two of you had been. The only agreement there was that your "relationship" - friends with benefits or whatever you were - was to remain on the down-low. A quiet, airtight secret lest the population of Kildare become privy to the fact that the Kook prince himself had been fucking a Pogue. 

It had been fine in the beginning. Well, not exactly fine. If someone were to ask you how you had begun seeing Rafe Cameron of all people, you wouldn't have a good answer. You yourself aren't entirely sure. It had sort of just happened. Like a wildfire that had grown out of control. The both of you have always been at each other's throats. The bullshit roles thrusted upon you by the divide of the classes on the island seeming to demand that you be enemies. Though he was more interested in maintaining those characters than you. 

You had never cared much for the Kook vs Pogue ideal. It seems archaic, tired and outdated. An unnecessary dissection that often gets grossly out of hand by the other locals.  Sometimes violently so, with the clashes ending in busted lips and bloodied knuckles. Not too long ago a fight had broken out during an after-storm party, where it was claimed that a gun had been drawn and fired. Just another reason why you found the blatant classism in the town to be entirely too much and downright threatening at times. 

But no one else believed in it more than Rafe Cameron. Topper Thronton might give him a run for his money, but you'd still have to give the victory to the prince himself. That's why it came to a complete shock to your own system when your relationship with had gone from scathing, sardonic quips and passive aggressive remarks to something balancing on almost playful. You had seemed to dangle precariously between that fine line, rocking back and forth between a genuine disdain and a delicate sort of camaraderie. 

It was an explosive mix that was just waiting for the trigger. And the anticipation of it had suspended over you like the humidity that taints the air outside, like the heavy quiet before a great storm before the lashing and booming of lightning and thunder rattles across the sky. Still, the both of you had blindly ignored the signs - the fleeting glances, the jealously that would fester in your gut whenever you saw him with someone else, the way that he would seek you out while you worked to hover over you as you poured sugar into shakers or bussed tables after your customers left. Hiding his interest in the guise of immature taunts and corny insults. And you'd do your best to deny the temptation suspended over you, writing it off as hatred and irritation whenever you crossed paths. 

You would see Rafe sparingly in your day-to-day life. Though he would fleetingly come into the restaurant every now and again. Typically to bring his newest fling in for the slices of lava cake or malted milkshakes. The Backyard Grill - or more simply, the Backyard, is a seafood restaurant first and foremost, but one thing that cannot be denied, even by the likes of the upper class, is that it has the best desserts in the entirety of Kildare Island. People of all walks of life come in to get a warm slice of apple pie, or a rich piece of red velvet. 

But it's the floats and milkshakes that are the most popular. Usually among couples that are trying to have a romantic evening. Or as romantic as it can be while in the ambiance of a ramshackle dining room, with scratched, defaced tabletops that have the initials of lovers etched into the (once) polished wood, and an old A/C unit that hisses as it spits out air. 

It's hardly a place that you'd imagine someone like Rafe Cameron frequenting, but he would still pop in every now and again. Usually with a new girl on his arm, trading them out as just easily as he'd change clothes.

It had made you tempted to speak up about it. To dare to make a subtle warning in the guise of a joke to clue the girls in, but he would always look up at you with a knowing gleam in his eyes. As though he was challenging you to spill and make a scene; to give him a reason to lash out with that scornful tongue of his and somehow pin the blame back on you. It always left resentment bubbling just underneath your skin, hot and angry while you forced yourself to hold your words back, all while a sharp, mocking smile threatened to show on your face. 

You had loathed when he would walk through the door. The infrequent nature of his visits making it feel like a sort of roulette as to whenever you'd hear the squeal of the hinges, and the dainty chime of the bell posted above the threshold - if it would be him passing through the door or not. Each time it was him, irritation would flare throughout you, but some traitorous feeling that you couldn't name would quickly follow; light and almost warm. Horrendously close to what could only be considered affection. You'd always shove it down as soon as you would register it. 

Rafe was unpredictable. A notorious hothead with a proclivity towards handling any offence he deemed against him with violence and hostility. The echoes his past rampages are still frequently on the town's lips despite being old news. Much like the time that he had reportedly attacked Matthew Bailey in the hallway of the private school for accidentally brushing against him. In Rafe's words, Matthew had rudely shoulder checked him and tried to walk away without apologizing. Regardless, the beat down that had proceeded had been a complete overkill, with Matt ending up on the flat of his back on the floor while Rafe pinned him down and repeatedly struck his face with a closed fist. He only managed to deliver two blows from what you had heard before he was pulled back, but the force behind it had been enough that Matthew's nose is now permanently bent. 

Everything about him should have repulse you. From his insistent belief that the less financially fortunate aren't as important or deserving as the wealthy, from the downright volatile way that he behaved. Like a rabid dog on a fraying lead. Morality should have been enough to repel you from him. To get you to steer clear of Rafe Cameron and pretend that he didn't exist. 

But that night on the beach, with bonfires burning high along the shore like blazes and the rowdy scattering of people cheering and laughing around you, everything that had been restrained between you both seemed to finally tear free from the grip you had on it. Maybe it had been the influence of the alcohol in your system, buzzing about your veins in a rush of warmth, or a side effect of the excitement thrumming throughout the air, but when you had saw him enter through the mass of bodies, something - some kind of resistance seemed to break.  

It was pitiful how your eyes had found him through the masses, fastening onto him as though he was the only thing that had mattered. But the way that the firelight had casted onto his skin had been gorgeous, panting him in hues of amber and vermillion and dramatic shadow. The traces of it glimmering clearly in his eyes, still visible from the distance that had separated you. A few strands of his hair dangling above his eyes in a way that you found a little too appealing, the glow of the flames highlighted the traces of brown and red in the strands.

It was almost offensive; how attractive he looked. Even while wearing one of those stupid polo shirts that he's so fond of. The color of it was a soft sort of blue. A shade that you knew would bring out the color of his eyes, gunmetal and baby blue. 

It felt like all of the oxygen had been siphoned from your lungs when the pair of them had flickered over to you and the shadows that you had found comfort in while you watched over Becca as she danced with some random guy, her laughter twinkling over the exuberant chaos letting you know that as of now, he was being respectful and minding his manners. But being under the sudden observations of Rafe had caused the dancing and socializing around you to melt into a dull background until it was nothing but the soft sand beneath your shoes and the balmy glide of the breeze shifting over your skin, slightly damp with humidity and tinged with the salt of the waves crashing along the surf. 

You had expected him then to simply alter his path and seek out some of the other Kook's that were mixed in along the crowd, but he hadn't. He kept on his trajectory, walking straight towards you, unworried as the rest of the people around you were too caught up in their own affairs or too intoxicated to notice. 

There was a determination and intensity in his eyes that had made you feel uncertain. Almost awkward in your own body, leaving you to pluck at the neon glowstick bracelet around your wrist and absentmindedly swirling the mixed drink in your red solo cup, that had long since gone warm. Once he had been standing directly in front of you, the conversation that had taken place was almost delicate as it was playful. Something new was stretching out in front of you both, strange and tricky to navigate. 

"Hey, Pogue," had been his greeting. As though he was trying to remind himself of who - of what you were to him. But it had been said so oddly, not laced with the usual contempt, that it nearly sounded endearing to you. It had been enough to warrant a smile, and the sight of your apparent amusement had been enough to have the tension melting from his posture. The rigid set of his shoulders sagging into something more relaxed and familiar, allowing him to settle into that arrogant stance of his. 

"Hey, yourself," you responded and raised the edge of your cup to take a sip of your drink. You had to fight off the urge to wince as the alcohol went down, sharp and stinging on your tongue from the cutting edge of hot vodka and the sickly-sweet syrup of cranberry and orange juice. "What the hell are you doing here, consorting with the enemy. Try not to get to close, yeah? You might catch our diseases." 

He had seemed then, to take your words as a sort of challenge. Like a raise to a sort of bet. He had stepped closer, crowding himself into your space in a way that should have felt invading, but you had only delighted in it. Free of a shirt, with only a bikini top to conceal your chest, your skin was unprotected from the subtle warmth that radiated from his body. His sudden proximity washing over you with the scent of his cologne and the gel in his hair, that seemed to have come unruffled from its usual slick back style. 

You had felt hypnotized as he pulled himself closer into your presence; engulfed by the ardor in his stare. A like of which you had never seen aimed at you - not so unabashedly, at least. You had only gotten glimmers of it. Small doses given behind the cover of hard glares and snide remarks. But then, the want on his face was bare. Shown freely underneath the cover of the dark while he leaned close enough for you to feel the gentle trace of his breath on your neck. His eyes bore into your own, demanding that you meet his stare and bear the weight of it. 

"Maybe I wanna get close." 

It had all been a flurry after that. A rush of playfully passed words and hushed, almost covetous whispers. You had allowed him to tug you into the night, far away from the illumination of the bonfires and the possibility of seeing eyes to carve a space just for the two of you. Guiding you into the thicket of trees surrounding the festivities, far off until the laughter darting over the air and the calming rise and fall of the waves had dimmed; softening so that your focus was fixed entirely on him. 

He'd taken you against a tree, fucking up into you harshly as though he'd been waiting a lifetime to do it. Splitting you open on his cock and driving his hips forward like he hated you, leaving you to claw at his back through the fabric of his shirt, nails catching and slipping up towards the nape of his neck where they left marks deep enough to have him hissing in pain. You could have felt guilty for it, but the subtle agony seemed to spur him on more. Somehow causing him to pump himself into you with a new vigor, leaving you to hang on and take it while he punched the air from your lungs. Pinned in place uselessly while the bark of the tree he had you pressed against scraped and nicked at your back. It left marks on you for nearly two weeks. 

You had thought that would have been the end of it. A night of regret fueled by alcohol and hatred, but the both of you hadn't stopped afterwards. He had begun to seek you out afterwards. Not too brazenly. He couldn't have the locals of the island finding out about your little trysts. But he would often sneak up to your house, around the late hours, always long after your neighbors had tucked in to sleep and the sun was well past the horizon. 

At first, it was fully apparent what he wanted from you. He'd stay long enough for the both of you to get what you wanted. A simple transaction of the flesh. The boundaries had been clear then. Just two people working out their frustrations and using each other to take the edge off. Put then he had started spending the night. You aren't sure when he had stopped leaving and begun staying over, tucking himself next to you in bed, burrowing under the covers while you watched the shitty action movies that he always requested you put on. 

And pretty soon he began leaving pieces of his clothes. Small things. A shirt or two. Because he liked to see you wearing them; that's what he had told you. But then there had been pants, and the odd sock, and a few pairs of his boxers, all of which you washed with your own clothes and then kept folded in a corner of your closet. 

His toothbrush was placed next yours on the bathroom counter, colored white and blue. And there was a bottle of his cologne tucked in the shelf underneath the sink, right next to some of your hygiene products and rolls of toilet paper. He kept spare shampoo in the built in shower cubby, so that he wouldn't have to use yours. He'd smell too feminine, that's what he told you. 

He'd spend the night whenever things would grow to be too much with his dad. Their relationship was always so strained. So full of resentment and insecurity. He had shared that with you one night, while you were held to his chest, your head tucked just underneath his chin while you stared up at the fairy lights strung up around your room. The scent of sex was still heavy in the air, the sweat from it clinging to your skin while you counted the thrum of his heart racing under your ear, gradually mellowing out to a steady beat as your breaths calmed. 

You had tried to nudge him to stop, promising that you didn't expect for him to share any of it with you. Warning him that it was just the influence of sex and the rush of dopamine and oxytocin thrumming steadily in his veins urging him to open up. You didn't want him to regret it. To regret what you had between you. But he had promised then that he wanted to. That he needed to tell someone. There had been a vulnerability in his voice that you had never heard from him before. A mild tremor as though he was trying to hold onto himself. To keep himself from potentially falling apart while he confessed about his home. How his stepmother was always present and yet entirely absent, how his father saw him as nothing but a failure, how Sarah paid him little mind. A psycho, she had called him once. But he was always sweet to you in those simple moments, when he would scatter kisses up your neck, tender and light while he drew you to him with the wide grip of his hands. 

There were so many lines that had been crossed. Lines that just "fuck buddies" don't cross. Not without a clear conversation at the very least. Perhaps it had been your fault, for reading into things that weren't there. For applying meaning to all the little moments you had spent together. All of the times you had ate leftovers together in your small kitchenette, laughing and playfully insulting each other while you ate away at Chinese food or reheated burgers in between jokes. Childishly nudging at him with your foot underneath the table while he complained or made remarks about his day. 

It's just fuck buddies who ask for you to pick a box of Lucky Charms during grocery runs because it's a quick meal to eat after fucking, when the weed gives him an appetite; it was just being a fuck buddy when he would lay in your arms for hours, molding himself against the shape of you to try and burrow himself along your skin, breathing tiredly into your neck; and it was perfectly casual when he bought you a necklace with a pendant of his first initial - 14 karat gold he told you. He wanted to go for 24k, but it would have been too weak and malleable, and 18k wouldn't be as scratch resistant. He wanted it to last. That's what he had said as he sucked and nipped at the skin on your neck, around the thin, golden chain; turning the flesh tender and marked. 

Maybe it truly was all your fault. So you shouldn't have been at all surprised when he had ghosted you for four days straight and then you had seen him strolling around town with Casey Ellis; her head tucked into his neck while she laughed, her hand placed to his chest. She was a gorgeous girl with highlights in her hair and a body that didn't have so much as a hint of a single stretchmark or a dimple of cellulite, wearing Luis Vuitton sunglasses and an outfit that must have cost a fortune. She was perfect, and she wasn't you. 

You were smart enough to connect the dots. To put two and two together. You had been replaced. Just all the girls before you had, and it made you feel like a complete idiot. How you had let yourself be so blinded by affection, to let the wool be pulled over your eyes and tricked into believing that you wouldn't fall to the same fate. Letting something that feels dangerously close to love delude you into thinking you'd be different. It dug deep. Slicing through you and reaching to grip a hold of a vulnerability that you hadn't even known was there. Still, you hardly even thought it over when you had skimmed through your contacts and blocked his number; doing it as though you had been put under a sort of spell, detached and numb while anger seared underneath it all in a burning undercurrent. You sent him a single message before cutting him off and out of your life. Affording him at least that little curtesy, unlike what he had done to you. It was curt. Cut and dry, if not just a little personal. 

it's clear that you've found another person to cry to and fuck. that means we're done. Dont come back 

Was it a little juvenile? Perhaps. But it had felt good, even if you hadn't done it face to face. But he didn't deserve that much. And it was nice to be so detached about it. To do something as shitty as cutting things off over a text message. It was disrespectful, a slap to the face, and you hoped that it had hurt and confused him. That his brows had pinched in the way that they do when he's bewildered, that he had paced around his room and combed his fingers through his hair while he read those letters over and over again as though it would help him make sense of it. 

You had ignored the curious, perplexed stares of your neighbors when you threw his clothes and toothbrush into the containment of the firepit behind your trailer, dousing them with lighter fluid and setting them alight. It had felt therapeutic to watch it all burn. Charring around the edges and turning black as it melted from the unforgiving heat to turn into an indiscernible pile. You'd like wish that the memories with him would do the very same, but you've had no such luck yet. 

But it's difficult to forget someone when they're determined to be remembered. Skulking about like a wild dog in the shadows, wandering up to your door in the night, pawing to be let in. The first week after you had cut ties, he had shown up at your trailer, forgoing all attempts at being quiet to bang his fist on your front door. Loud enough to all but tear you from your sleep, causing you to jerk up with a gasp, your heart thumping wildly in your ears as his muffled voice bled past the walls. 

"C'mon, baby! Listen - I - I know I fucked up, but we can work past this, alright?" A dull bang had punctuated it, and it left you to wonder if he had dropped his forehead against the door, defeated and desperate. Good. "It's not that - can't we just back to the way things were?" 

You had ignored his please to be heard and turned over in your bed. Drowning out the sound of his voice by turning on the TV and waiting him out until he left, deterred only by one of your neighbors' dogs, agitated by the sound of his shouting. After that he only tried to approach you one more time. Turning up at you job and all but ambushing you once you stepped out into the parking lot. You had done your best to ignore him. To keep the venom and contempt that longed to rise up past your lips as he trailed after you like a shadow, demanding that you stopped and just listened to him while you beelined for your car at the far end of the dirt lot. 

He had only touched you once you clutched your keys and turned them into the lock and reached for the door handle, grabbing ahold of your shoulders to shove your back to the driver side door, caging you in with his body while he clutched at you like a drowning man reaching for a buoy in a storm. You swear that there were tears in his eyes then, glinting in the dim cast of the nearby streetlamps. The emotion in his voice had been so raw. Broken, as though he was hanging on by a thread and just barely holding himself together. It made you feel like you were being dragged under. 

"Just look at me - just let me speak, okay?" His words nearly melded together in a quick rush, as though he couldn't spit them up fast enough. But your heart was in your throat, adrenalin running rampant in your veins while you stared into his eyes. Lost in the desperation in them. The dark of his pupils like hollows, threatening to swallow you whole. All the while your hand remained latched onto the door handle, frozen as he sucked you into the raw emotion that could only be described as a sort of anguish. "I fucked up, I know that, but we can get through this. "

His hands had slipped up to your face then. Cradling you as though it might keep you with him, secure in his palms, a fine porcelain that might shatter if handled too harshly. But you couldn't stand to listen to him. To feel him on your skin, to smell the scent of him after trying to wash the fragrance of his cologne out of your sheets. It had you jerking in his grip like a wild animal, even while a pathetic part of you longed to draw him closer. Before he could fully register it, you had tugged the driver's side door open, slipping out of his grasp and into your car. You had yanked the door shut and slammed your hand down on the main button to lock the entirety of the car down. Keeping him out. 

You didn't spare him a glance as he banged on the window, asking that you step back outside in a tone that was so soft. So broken. But you swallowed down the urge to comply. You fueled yourself with the anger buried beneath it all instead as you twisted the key into the ignition and sped off and out of the parking lot, gravel and dust spewing behind while you left him behind. Standing alone in an empty parking lot with only the dim sound of his voice trailing after you like a wounded, violent howl. 

"Fine! Go on then! I don't fucking need you!" 

It's only been a few weeks since then, but you've done well to move on from it all. It was a simple, few month-long fling. Nothing more, nothing less. And that's all it would ever be. Thankfully, eventually, after a few weeks, he had given up. He stopped coming by your house, he quit stalking around the outside of your job. It was as though he had never even existed. All traces of him were gone from your life. For the most part. Until Matilda had gone and opened up her mouth, accidentally drawing up old memories and picking at a wound that had just begun to heal.  

It had been enough to put a blight on the remainder of your day, looming above like the thick of storm clouds. You're suffocating. Being pulled beneath crashing, tossing waves that threaten to fill your lungs with the sting of water and leave you lifeless and adrift. All of the vibrancy and enthusiasm for life that had been there just this afternoon seems to have fizzled out like a sparkler that's been dropped in a puddle. 

It makes you frustrated and tired with yourself. Exhausted by how much you've paled in comparison to the person you were only weeks ago, and here you are groveling in self-pity and loathing all because of an egocentric, insecure man who runs around town with all of the self-restraint of a rabid dog. He doesn't deserve your heartache or your tears. He never cared about you or your feelings. You had just been a hole to fuck, a pair of arms to run into when his life at home fell into shambles. 

For the first time in a while, you found yourself calling Becca in the hopes of wrangling her into going out. There was a party going on tonight, and an invitation had been extended to you, passed on by Allen Thatcher when he had come into the Backyard yesterday for his usual. You declined then. In any other circumstance, you would have accepted, schedule willing. Then the idea of attending a party, as relaxed as the environment might be, had seemed daunting. Far too much, too overstimulating while you still struggle to grapple with the torrent running rampant within you. But now, with anger and betrayal breaking through it all, bursting between the hurt like a fire spreading through a dead forest, the prospect of blaring music and the sting of alcohol sounds like a relief. 

It had been enough to have you dialing Becca and asking if she was free. She had seemed surprised on the phone, and she has a right to be. She's spent close to two weeks now trying to draw you out of the fog that you had fallen under. Doing her best to be supportive and keep you grounded while you try and weather the onslaught of your emotions, often swinging by your place if your work schedules allow to spend hours talking and exchanging some of the local drama with each other and catching up on the little things. She had also goaded you into bleaching and dying her hair late at 3 a.m., a task that you weren't fully confident in, but now the final result isn't too bad. 

She knows what happened between you and Rafe. She's the only one on this entire island that's aware of the precarious fling that had taken place between you and him and the sudden "break up" that had followed. She was the only person that you had trusted to share your secret with, and once your mood had taken a steady decline after cutting him off, you were unable to deny that the shift in your demeanor was entirely obvious, and she of all people, deserved to know the reason why. 

You received about what you had anticipated. A confused, somewhat disappointed stare in turn, as she no doubt processed why you hadn't told her sooner. The shock clearly written on her face as she wondered just how and why you had chosen to have a fling with Rafe Cameron of all people. But thankfully she had kept (most of) her thoughts and feelings to herself. For now, at least. Once the wound in you heals, you know that she'll be poking and prodding for you to give her all the details. 

For now, you can just bask in the sense of freedom that falls over you. It's like breathing after holding your breath for too long and it invites you to be shameless as you allow yourself to sway and move under the guide of the music's rhythm, taking sips of your drink until you can feel it humming in your limbs, making you light and pleasantly warm. People scattered among the space had greeted the two of you as you entered, nodding in greeting and lifting their solo cups to acknowledge you. It was nice to be seen so unabashedly, to be invited into a space without any strings attached or expectations. It just feels like another reminder that you don't need him in the slightest. With all of his insecurities and expectations for how he's perceived in the world. In his version of society. A place that you didn't fit. 

Here you're liked. You're wanted without having to give hardly anything in return. You're only expected to be present. 

It should be suffocating in Thatcher's living room, crowded by the scattered throng of people as laughter rises and falls across the air, bubbling over the 2000's pop song that blasts through the speakers loudly enough to have the walls vibrating. But the atmosphere is purely electrical, thrumming with an excitement that almost seems tangible, gliding along your fingertips and down your spine. It's lively, but comforting in a space that's decently familiar, having spent many a night in these same walls during parties just like this one, surrounded by many a familiar face. You know the people here. You've grown up with them. Many of which you had played with as a child, exploring creeks for bottles made of green and blue glass, skinning your knees from climbing trees, and breaking into abandoned buildings to explore and decorate with spray paint. 

Even if time has grown you apart somewhat, your lives forking from each other to divert you on your own paths, you can easily scan the throng and find at least ten people who you know. It brings you a sort of solace. You community is small, and your luxuries are often just as limited but there's a genuine connection between the lot of you that the Kook's will never have. 

Their relationships come with a check list. Requirements and demands that rests entirely on the number of digits in their bank accounts or how they're recognized by their accomplishments. It's all purely material. It's not a give or take, but a constant influx of give, give, give. You suppose in that aspect, you can pity Rafe. And all the other Kook's on this island. 

But you don't need to worry about all of that here. You're entirely free to do whatever you want. It could have been hours, or maybe only seconds, time seems to have poured into a blur in the middle of Thatcher's living room. Drawing down into a sluggish glide, like a thin flow of water cascading over the bend of rocks. It had taken you by surprise when a girl had run in from the adjoining kitchen, whooping loudly over the music, and she had nearly sent you and Becca tipping over when she brushed past you, tossing a handfuls of confetti as she went. 

Your irritation is only able to flourish for a breath or two before it's snuffed out when the shifting star-shaped silver begins to fall down around you like a soft scatter of rainfall. You have to cover your drink with your hand to keep it from getting contaminated from the confetti as you shift with the music, listening to the elated sound of Becca's laughter from somewhere beside you. Her attentions fixed on a guy that she's been eyeing all night. He's cute in a way, not exactly you type personally, but what you and Becca find attractive has always coexisted on a different spectrum. 

He seems to be watching her too. Sneaking glances from his place on the worn couch, but he hasn't worked up the courage to part from his friends, remaining fixed in his place as he clutches his beer. Either playing hard to get or too shy to make a move. 

"You gonna go for it?" You ask, leaning in towards her ear to be heard over the energetic tempo. 

Her face pinches like she's considering her option, nose wrinkling slightly. She has a tendency on waiting for guys to make the first move. A strategy that typically pays off in a party setting, with everyone boosted by liquid confidence, but this one in particular doesn't seem to be budging from his spot. If she was going to even attempt to approach him then she wouldn't do it without a little, gentle push. But once she works past whatever is giving her hesitation, she's pretty quick to gun for what she wants. Now you just have to nudge. 

"I don't know." She answers, shifting on her heels to get closer to you. You can hear the uncertainty in her voice, even underneath the cover of the swelling music. It has an amused smile tugging at your lips, and you fight off the urge to playfully roll your eyes at her as you dare to look back over to the guy who's been undressing her with his eyes the entire night. 

"Oh, come on," you urge, meeting her doubtful expression with your own confident one. "You've been watching each other for at least twenty minutes now. "

"Then why hasn't he made a move?" She taps her nails absentmindedly along the side of her cup. 

"Maybe he just likes the chase," you shrug. "But I've seen a couple other people here checking him out. Most notably, the tall blonde in the corner. It's only a matter of time before she swoops him up herself." 

She seems to take a pause, falling silently for a moment as though she's weighing her alternatives, but when you catch the hint of a smirk on her face you know that she's finally made her choice. She silently taps her cup to yours in a salute, and a quick, "Alright, I'm going in," as she heads off in the direction of the couch with an inviting smile on her face and an extra sway in her hips. 

As soon as she leaves, her absence is unignorable. Despite the living room being packed with people, it suddenly seems terribly hollow. There are faces scattered among the throng that you easily recognize. People who you went to high school with. A few only live down the street from you, and you see them nearly every day on your drive to work piddling around in their yards; you talk to some of them while you stand in line at the corner store to ring up the gas for your car a fountain drink. It would be easy, in theory, to walk up to just about any of them and strike up a conversation, but that suddenly seems impossible. 

It's like being in the middle of an ocean, clinging onto a scrap of wood left from the remnants of a wreck to keep you afloat in the tossing waves. The colorful array of confetti casted along the carpet, the music humming along the air like a current, the dispersed chimes of laughter floating up around you, it doesn't seem as lively as it did before. The sight of couples mingling in the corners of the room like they're the only people left alive is a nasty reminder of what you've lost. Of what you've never had to begin with. 

It has you glancing down at the inside of your cup, and it's a little frustrating to see the bottom of it, dark with only a thin sliver of what isn't even half a sip left. It has you making off towards the kitchen. Weaving through the sprinkling of bodies, carefully avoiding in accidentally nudging shoulders or running into someone as they mindlessly dance and wave their arms in the air. Lost in their own worlds. 

It's mostly empty when you pass the threshold, with only two three other people present, two of which are little more than strangers and the other is Thatcher; the small group huddled together near the cabinets. The aforementioned man responsible for the little get together perches on the counter, his head leaned against the cabinets while he talks with the pair between swigs of his sweating beer, laughing loudly with his companions. 

You don't let it stop you from approaching the kitchen table posted in the middle of the room, surveying the multiple two liters of soda and bottles of liquor that are scattered along the top, almost lost among the various chips and junk food. There's a lot to choose from, from Tito's to tequila and Fire Ball - the latter of which you can't help but to grimace at. You liked it for all of one night, and now the scent of cinnamon and overwhelming flavor of syrup threatens to make you gag every time. When you first got here, you had let Becca make your drink. A rum and Coke, you think, but it looks like someone might have finished off the bottle of liquor. 

"There's beers and stuff in the fridge," a voice sounds out, drawing your attention up from the table and across the room. It's Thatcher, watching you from underneath the scattered dark strands of his hair. He points in the direction of said fridge with the hand holding his drink. "Some of those seltzers and uh, fruity beers too - Mike's or whatever." 

"Oh, thanks," you say, crinkling the plastic cup in your hands and turning to toss in the trash can that's been blatantly placed near the table's legs. Probably so that it can't be missed. You see him nod towards his friends in your peripheral vision before slipping off the counter, the three of them exchanging words before he shuffles past them, and they leave the room, passing him knowing smiles as they slip out of the space. 

You can guess what they might be insinuating, and suddenly it leaves you feeling just a bit awkward as you move over to the fridge and tug the door open to scan its contents. True to his words there's a pack of Bud Light, the majority of the cans already gone, leaving the box nearly hollow. But the seltzers and alcoholic lemonade is still fairly plentiful. 

You've always known about the small crush that Thatcher has on you. Granted he's always been more than a little obvious with it, always following you with his eyes and popping into the Backyard on his lunch breaks from the docks, always requesting your section without fail, if more than one server happens to be scheduled. He's never been untoward or suffocating in his pursuit of you - if you could even call it that. It's always been more of a quiet admiration. He's sweet. Kind. A hard worker and boy-next-door type. The sort of guy that you should be able to see spending your life with. Except you can't. No matter how much you've tried to convince yourself, or others have tried to talk you into seeing his potential, the feelings never come. 

You can easily acknowledge that he's attractive. With a light dusting of freckles over his warm skin and defined muscles in his arms from his work on the boats. You can almost be mad at yourself for not having so much as a flicker of attraction for him. It isn't a fault of his own. There isn't some awful thing he had done to you as children, or a comment that he had made in the past that rubs you the wrong way, there's just nothing. Not an ember of want buried down deep or a flicker of consideration that maybe you really should give him a try and maybe you'll discover that he's truly the guy for you. He's patient and sweet, and it somehow does nothing for you. 

Being in his presence has never made you feel nervous before, but with the recent gash that Rafe has left in your life, the prospect of Thatcher suddenly coming to you with the insinuation of his feelings seems alarming. Like a wave that you don't have the courage to try and surf and navigate. It makes you almost regret coming here. Of letting your anger and exhaustion get the better of you to cling to an attempt to try and have a sense of freedom. 

"Have you been doin' alright lately?" He asks, and your suddenly hyperaware of his body beside your own. The inquiry has something unsteady prickling along your flesh. To prolong the silent gap between you, you unseeingly sweep your vision along the fridge and grab at one of the first cans you see before closing the door softly. You try to focus on the atmosphere around you for a few more moments, listening to the hum of the music, the ceaseless chatter echoing around you. The scent of vape fumes and weed smoke piercing the air and making it thick. 

"Uh, yeah, why?" You ask, keeping your voice light and leveled. You only pass him a look when you dig your finger underneath the tab and push it down to pop the can open with a sharp, metallic crack. 

He shrugs then, tilting his head as he considers you from his place leaned along the kitchen counter. "I don't know. You seem . . . Different. Distracted, I guess?" 

You've heard that one before. From Charlotte and the other girls at work. Even Becca herself has said that you've been quiet. Withdrawn. It makes you feel as though you're being put underneath a microscope. It forces you to be conscious of yourself. Of how you hold your shoulders, the way your arms hang at your sides, the posture of your spine. If you're smiling too much or too little, and the line between the two sometimes seem like they're merging. 

"Just personal stuff," you reply, occupying yourself by taking a sip of your drink. "It's nothing serious, honestly." 

Another small stretch of silence extends between you two, and you can see him nodding out of the corner of your eye as you shift to properly face him. 

"Okay. For what it's worth I'm here if you ever need someone to speak to. I know it can seem a little lonely when you're dealing with shit. Especially, personal, family stuff. " He clears his throat then, his eyebrows drawing close. "Sorry, I didn't invite you here to interrogate you. You're probably trying to forget it all, and I'm just reminding you-" 

"No! It's fine," you assure him in a quick rush. And it's the truth. You can't deny that the sentiment of it is nice. To know that he does care. You wouldn't consider yourself particularly close to him. You get on well enough. You've been to several of his parties, and he comes in to see you semi frequently at work, but beyond those cordial meetings, your time with him has never really extended beyond that. He was sort of part of an old friend group of yours when you were young. A friend of a friend. But age had seemed to draw you apart. You outgrew each other, it seems. But from what you remember, he was always one of the most doting. A natural part of his personality brought on from being the eldest brother to three siblings, most likely. 

Despite it all, it's a comfort. You can feel the tension that had pulled your muscle taut beginning to fade, allowing you to relax again. There's the impression of a soft smile on your mouth. A product of the relief that melts through you at the small offering of his support. It's probably not one that you'll actually seek out or indulge in, but the thought behind it is a welcome one. 

"I appreciate it." You offer a smile. 

Something shifts in his expression then. It's tender and subtle, but the implications of it suddenly terrifies you. The sight of it gives you a good idea of what is going on in his head. Of what he thinks might be happening, that an opening has just presented itself to him. It's more than enough to have that delicate sense of unease welling up inside of you again, trembling up your spine like a bolt of electricity. It urges you to make up an excuse, no matter how flimsy or paper thin it might be, but the words in your throat never rise. You feel trapped as you watch him shift awkwardly on his feet, the bottom of his shoes squeaking lowly on the fake, linoleum tiles as he prepares to speak, clearly thinking over how to make his approach. 

"Who the hell is this?" 

At first you consider that one of your earlier drinks had been spiked, and that you're suffering from a hallucination before you tip over and pass out on the kitchen floor. That could be the only possible explanation for the familiar voice that has just cut across the energetic atmosphere and uncomfortable tension. The sound of it seems to sever through you like a hot blade. The tone of it and the subtle, almost tired croak that always seems to be present in the edge its inflections searing through you like a lick of fire. 

It has your head jerking in its direction in a sharp snap and so many different things happen in you at once. Your mouth goes dry, you're certain that your heart stops and plummets down to the pit of your belly; time grinds down to a halt. The air is like static, thrumming over your skin in a way that tingles and hums. It forces you to stare like a deer caught in the headlights. 

Something about him looks rough. You can't tell if it's just the oily hue of the overhead kitchen light that's making the bags underneath his eyes more pronounced, but his face looks ragged. As though he hasn't slept properly in days; body pulled up tight with a nervous energy. His hair tousled and unkempt, as though he's been restlessly running his hands through it, knocking the strands loose to hang above his eyes, which look wild. A little blood shot as they dart between you and Thatcher, sweeping down the length of the other man's body as though he's sizing him up. It makes you worried that he's come here coked up. Fueled by chaotic emotions and drugs. 

It immediately puts you on edge, the way that he's openly evaluating him. No doubt, considering what might happen if he crosses the floor and swings on Thatcher. It's enough to rip you from your daze, the very prospect of it snapping over you like the crack of a gunshot. 

"Rafe," you gasp. "What are you doing here?" 

"I had to see you," he answers, as though it's normal. As though it was the most obvious thing in the world. He creeps forward a little bit then, as though he's attempting to approach a wild animal that might startle and dart at any second. And honestly, you feel as though you might. Your mind is scrambling, whipping around like a storm as a barrage of questions rise and swell. 

"How did you know I was here?" The question tumbles out of your mouth like something molten. Even with the unease seeping at you, you're unable to fight of the irritation burrowing beneath the surface of it all. "Are you stalking me? Do you have someone keeping tabs? What-"

"It was a lucky guess." 

Bullshit. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit, a voice in your mind seethes. He's such a liar. It's like he's allergic to telling the truth. There's no way he had a "lucky guess" for this. There's no explanation as to how he managed to track you down to a house in the middle of nowhere. A place that you know he's never been to before. 

Thatcher stands up straighter beside you, removing himself from the support of the counter to evaluate Rafe. "Ah, do you want me to kick him out? -" 

"Why don't you keep out of this." But it isn't a question or a suggestion. It slips from Rafe's mouth sharp and venomous, a clear command. Nearly a hiss with how much disdain is etched in his words. His vision flickering from you just long enough to pin Thatcher in place. It makes you wonder how he could possibly be so cross with a person that he doesn't even know. But then again, you've seen him snap people for as something as little as looking at him for too long. 

You can practically feel the possibility of a fight in the air. Heavy and charged like the presence of electricity running through the thick of a storm with the promise of a lightning strike. You can see the hypothetical rope that's restraining Rafe fraying and straining by the second. Growing weaker and weaker. Everything about the way that he's holding himself is practically screaming that he's preparing for the possibility of a physical confrontation; shoulders set, and eyes wide and glinting in the glow of the lights in a way that looks feral. 

You hardly think when you step out in front of him, moving yourself away from Thatcher to place your body between the both of theirs until there's little more than a few feet separating you and Rafe. You hardly have time to process how close you are to him. That night in the parking lot feels like a lifetime ago. A murky, faded memory now that he's here in front of you again. You try to shove it all down as you crowd closer, drawing his focus onto you. He watches at you like you're a ghost. Like you might not be real at all. A figment of his imagination. There's a type of wonder in his expression, wide eyed and doused in disbelief. 

"You want to talk, right? That's why you're here?" You ask sharply, in a rapid fire, ignoring Thatcher as he shuffles just close enough to enter your peripheral vision. You have half the mind to warn him to back off, but you don't. 

"Yeah, I just wanna talk," Rafe answers. It sounds like another lie. His eyes are still attentive on you, the joined shades of faint gray and blue boring into you with an intensity that you long to both shy away from and bask under. You can see it now that you have to confront whatever this is. He's made it more than apparent that he won't leave you alone. That he won't back off until he's said his piece. He's a dog with a bone, and he isn't going to relent until he finally gets his way. 

"Fine." You relent, and all but slam the can of drink that you're holding on the edge of the kitchen table, nearly knocking a bag of chips down onto the floor. You swear you can see relief wash over Rafe then, slipping over from his body as though he had been held down by a physical weight. The alleviation burns bright in his stare, and a deep, silent sigh expels from his chest. It's as though you had just saved him. Tugged him out of deep, dark waters and onto solid land. 

It's Thatcher who speaks up next, standing straighter like he might dare to move closer. "Hey, are you sure that that's a good idea?" 

That's all it takes for Rafe to start forward, lunging like a guard dog. "Why don't you stay the fuck out of it, huh? She's not your girl, so do yourself a favor and keep your mouth shut." 

You have to throw yourself in front of him again, smacking your hands onto his chest to try and nudge him back. It's probably by the grace of God that he relents, yielding to the press of your hand and allowing you to push him back a few paces. You're quick to look over your shoulder to pass a glare at Thatcher. A silent signal to get him to keep silent, lest this get out of control. It's a plea and an order all once, and thankfully he complies, even while he looks like he wants to do nothing more than to meet Rafe's challenge. 

"It'll only be for a few minutes," you decide and promise; to Thatcher, to Rafe, but mostly, it just seems like you're saying it to yourself. You can see that Thatcher is uncertain. He has every right to be. You should be as well, but you can't find yourself to be swallowed by your doubt and caution. Instead, you move around him, not even bothering to check and make sure that he's following. 

You know that he is. Like a buried instinct, you can practically feel his presence running down your spine as he trails closely like a shadow. Allowing you to guide him through the living room where some people pause and turn with confused expressions as they see Rafe pass. But you do your best not to pay them any mind. Not even when you can hear hushed murmurs manage to trickle past the wild thrum of music; gossip already taking root. 

You were able to get a glimpse of Becca making out on the couch with the stranger from earlier. You wish you had it in you to be happy for her, but you're currently too busy being attacked by a chaotic swirl of emotions as you lead him down the narrow hall until you come to a door on the right. The knock that you harshly tap against the flimsy wooden panel is loud but rushed, and you hardly give anyone time to answer before you're twisting the knob and all but throwing the door open on its hinges. 

Fortunately, it's empty and you're quick to slip into the compact space, slamming it shut behind you once Rafe steps past the threshold and twisting the lock. It's all done with the sharp pronunciation of anger, quick and heavy as you try to control the absolute flood of insults and questions that threaten to spill past your lips, but you settle for leaning back against the sink, watching him with your arms crossed. 

"Well? Go on then," you encourage tersely. 

His eyebrows crease just the slightest. He shifts back, tilting on his heels while his lip's part. Like he's perplexed. "So that's how it's gonna be, then?" 

"Yep." 

He stares at you for a few beats as though he's trying to process your remark, wiping a hand along his mouth in an annoyed gesture. "Y-you just left. Without hardly so much as a word. One minute we were fine, and the next -" his hands raise up in the air in some sort of a flourish like it'll help him articulate better, " - Gone. Like nothing. Do you have any idea what that did to me?" 

For a long moment you can only stare at him. In disbelief. In complete shock honestly. You can feel your face twisting up in a snarl, but probably does nothing to show the true extent of your anger. "What it did to you? What about me, Rafe?" It comes out scathing. Dripping with contempt and it has you leaning just slightly from the support of the sink - just enough to tilt into his space. "Do you even realize how shitty it made me feel, seeing her clinging to you like a tick? No warning from you or anything. You used to sleep in my fucking bed, Rafe. I would wash your boxers with my laundry. And then what? I'm just thrown away? That easily?" 

A laugh bubbles up from you, full of scorn and mocking. You hate the lost look in his eyes. How he shuffles back a few paces, as much as the small space of the bathroom with allow, just until his back nudges with the wall and shakes the small picture frame hung there. Suddenly, he seems like the trapped animal. A nervous, wild thing that's been cornered and threatened, but you can stop yourself once you've started, and it pours out of you in a rush, talking over him as he tries to speak. Tries to defend himself with more lies. 

"I guess it's my fault though, isn't it? I shouldn't have expected anything different. How could the prince of Kildare Island be seen with someone like me, huh? I'm not rich and perfect. How could a Pogue honestly expect to be with someone like you? " Your mouth shapes into a grimace as you observe as he stands to the wall, shoulders hunching like he doesn't know what to do with himself. "What was I to you, honestly? Just a distraction? A little inside joke with yourself? A quick fuck to take the edge off when life with daddy and mommy got too rough?" 

"That's not it, okay!?" He shouts suddenly, moving forward abruptly enough to send you reeling back into the sink. Enough for the press of the porcelain to sting. "Will you just let me speak? Just - " His face pinches again, lips twisting while he draws in a deep breath as a means to steady himself. "Just let me talk." 

It makes you swallow. Burying down the nerves that prickle along your gut and beneath your skin as you watch him. You move your hands to grip the edge of the of sink tightly enough for your knuckles to ache, but you do keep your mouth shut and he seems to take your silence as the go ahead. 

t

"I didn't sleep with her, alright? I tried. But I didn't - I couldn't. " 

"Like that's any better." You scoff. It's childish, but in your defense, he's entitled. So out of touch with reality and the impact that he truly leaves on things. Unaware of the hurt that he's carved into you. You have to distract yourself by looking off; anywhere but him, and you end up scanning over a half-used bottle of body wash and a bar of soap that sits in the bathtub caddy like they're the most interesting objects in the world. 

"When I'm with you, you make me feel . . . things. Things I've never felt before. Not really." The clunky confession draws your attention to him much easier than you'd like to admit. The way that he describes his feelings is always odd. Detached. Sort of messy, like he's trying to come to terms with being a human being and doesn't know how to fully understand the gravity of his own emotions. "It was a lot to deal with. I didn't know how to. And there was all of this shit with my family and that damned Pogue sticking his nose where he shouldn't - I just needed a distraction. But it couldn't have been you. I wouldn't have been able to keep myself - " 

He seems to catch himself short. Biting his tongue to keep it at bay. And whatever it is you aren't sure. But you have to know now. He's not allowed to backtrack as soon as it gets uncomfortable for him. Not after what he had done. How he had left you and tried to pin the blame back on you. 

"You wouldn't have been able to keep yourself from what?" It surprises even you when your voice comes out soft. Far too light for the conversation you're having and all of the pain that it's digging up. But it must have some sort of effect on him. He seems to lean closer to you then, like he longs to dip into your space and is just barely resisting in holding himself back. 

When he looks at you again there's such bare vulnerability reflecting in his gaze. It nearly breaks something in you, but you hold onto your resolve. Gripping tight onto the heat of your resentment while something pathetically tender yearns to surface. It's dim and weak, but even the traces of it are enough to frighten you. To make you angry at yourself. 

Rafe himself seems to hesitate. Like he's reached a physical barrier and doesn't know how to move past it. Something about his aversion annoys you. The implications that his words have left hang heavy in the atmosphere. Thick and prickling just like the humidity outside, and it seems to cling to your skin just as it would. Uncomfortable and sticky. He looks as though he might back away again. His body curling in on itself, clearly agitated, like he means to hide from your stare. 

"Rafe," you murmur. It sounds like a plea to you; just as desperate as he looks. it almost pains you to be so delicate around him, but you can't seem to force the anger back into your voice. 

He swears lowly under his breath, muttering lowly to himself in a tone that's too quiet to make out. He nearly looks as though he's lost his mind, mumbling to himself with some sort of distress clearly visible in his posture. And then in a blur he's on you. He's crowding you into the sink, his hands cupping your face lightly as though he wants to touch but isn't sure if he can. There's something frantic about it all. Like someone trying to catch water and keep it from slipping between their fingers. And there's a glimmer in his eyes that fervent, full of need and want; pupils blown so wide that they almost seem like chasms. Like they could swallow you whole. 

"I think I love you." He says it slowly and yet it still comes out like a mess. Like he's articulating softly to try and sound out a foreign language. A tongue that he's never heard before. There's a confused edge to it. Almost as though he's in disbelief himself. 

It leaves you more stunned that anything that has left him this night. Or in the entire span that you two have known each other. There's laughter welling up inside of you, but it feels like it might be out of hysterics rather than joy, but all you can do is sit and stare at him in total silence. You think you've lost the ability to speak. Your voice is absent. A dead thing in your throat. 

"Baby, talk to me. Say something." His thumbs sweep along the swells of your cheeks, stroking you tenderly like you're something breakable. 

"That's not true." You will it out of you, forcing your voice from your chest and it rises up a pale comparison of its usual tone. Light and weak around the edges. You hate the hurt look that flickers across his face. As though you had struck him or thrusted a knife into his chest. "You wouldn't have hurt me if you did. You wouldn't have done what you did." 

"I know, but I was scared, baby." He nods in agreement. But there's still an excuse. Because there always is with him. He just can't seem to help himself and cuts you deep, prodding the wound that's already there and bleeding. It has you gripping at one of his arms, to pull him away or keep him close you aren't sure. "I was scared of us." 

"There is no us." 

"But there could be." 

He's clinging onto you with the desperate zeal of a starving man groveling at the feet of a savior. Spewing out praises and pleas to satisfy the unforgiving hunger ravaging his body. In any other circumstance, you would have delighted in seeing him so anguished. You would have gloated over it. But it's difficult to find that delight while he's making promises of you've always longed for. A promise that you know he can't really keep. Not when you're worlds apart. It makes it cruel, the way he dangles it in front of your face with so much conviction. As though he believes in his own lies. 

And you want to trust in them. So badly that it aches. It's almost like a physical agony, and it has you resisting the urge to lean into him for a comfort that only he can provide while he causes your pain. 

"Don't do this, Rafe. Please." You know that you must sound pitiful. A far cry from the rage that had possessed you only moments before, and you hate how powerless he's able to make you. How easily he can disarm you with just his presence, the sound of his voice. You're weak against him. You think that you always have been, long before the two of you had begun to hook up; always sneaking quick glances at him when he wasn't looking. Admiring him when you knew that you shouldn't have been. 

"We can do it; just you and me." He insists, curling his body closer to yours as though he's trying to cage you in; his lips nearly brushing along yours. It has his scent wafting over you, filling up the air and tainting every drag of oxygen you take until he's trapped in your lungs; all dark rum, musk, and a blend of something woody and embellished with a hint of spice. It always blends with the salt of his skin and his natural scent. The same one that had stubbornly clung to your sheets and lingered about your trailer like an unwelcome ghost for days. 

"And what happens then? When the friends you're always so worried about see you with me? How do you think they'll look at you then?" You try to manipulate some strength into your voice, but it still sounds too light, even to you. Nearly wavering. 

"They don't matter anymore. Not really. " He promises. The cradle of his hands becomes firmer in its press, sinking the warmth of his palms into your skin. "It's just you; it's always been you." 

You think that it shatters you and snaps your ire back into place all at once. Striking fire around the molten heat that had just begun to dim. But it doesn't manifest in the nature of more scathing words or a slap to his cheek. You just want him to shut up. To stop talking. Suddenly, your lips are on his, your fingers are threading through his hair as you guide him into a kiss that's all teeth and tongue; fueled by the fire and the suffering in your veins. 

A small, startled sound puffs from his chest. The only indication of his surprise before he's matching your passion with an ardor and need that leaves you just as bewildered and breathless; swept under as though a raging surf has crashed over your body. He nips at your mouth, biting at the tender flesh of your bottom lip like he means to draw blood. His nails scratch at your scalp, his fingers tensing like you might slip away otherwise and he's determined to keep you held against him while he nudges his body flush to yours. 

It quickly becomes a tangle of limbs as you both scramble to get closer, guided by the overwhelming sense of relief that smooths over you like a balm on a burn scar. The taste of him in your mouth seeming to soothe you and tear you apart all at once, but you can't find the strength to stop now that you've started. The mere idea of it seems like a damnation. Like hell incarnate. And now that he's here you can't help but to wonder how you've made it so long without him. You feel drunk on him. Intoxicated by the alcohol on your veins and the scent of him; the desire coiling in your belly like something molten and starved. 

You moan into him when he removes his hands from your face sweep them down the length of your body. Trailing them along your ribs and down to cup your ass, squeezing the shape of it as he hauls you up onto the counter and the edge of the sink so that he can wedge a place for himself between your thighs. It urges your legs to part, and you willingly let him settle between them, rucking your skirt up high on your hips as he presses against you. 

Fitting himself so close that there isn't any space left to separate your bodies. 

He already seems restless, his hips working on yours in slow, almost broken grinds. Like he's not even aware that he's doing it. Mindlessly seeking out friction while he breathes into you. It's like he's been starved, and now that he has something to feed that hunger, he's frantic and wanton. His fingers claw at you. Gripping so tightly that you know the skin beneath them is going to smart and sting later, but you almost welcome the pain. The reminder that it'll leave. 

You've been kissing for so long that it feels as though you're beginning to suffocate. The small gulps of air you've been snatching in between the nips of his teeth and the sweeps of his tongue aren't enough. There's a slight pinch in your lungs, screaming at you to pull away, but you wait only till the last second to do so. Only removing your mouth from his once you fear you could go lightheaded and faint. Still, you can't help but to mourn the loss when you break the kiss to come up for air, gasping softly to soothe the mild ache in your chest. 

Rafe's nose brushes against yours, nudging as though he's tempted to seek out your mouth again. But he grants you the mercy of occupying his own by scattering fervent kisses up the stretch of your neck, removing a hand from your hip to grip your hair instead. Using it as leverage to tug your head to the side to offer himself more of your flesh. 

It all feels so overwhelming. As though all of the nerves in your body have come alight and are burning, flaring like embers at the press of his body and the wet glide of his mouth. His tongue traces over you, lashing out to taste the salt on your skin. His lips close around the point on your neck that turns you soft, and just as easily as if he had pressed a button, your muscles seem to go taut and malleable all at once when he begins to suck. Slightly dragging his teeth over that spot, making your hips jerk against his. He's already hard. The weight of him pressing against your cunt. The motion tugs at the fabric of your underwear, and it could be embarrassing when you notice the arousal soaking the material, making it cling to your skin, but you're too deep in the want the licks up your flesh to truly care.  

He groans lowly in your ear, the noise drawing up deep and heavy from the depths of his chest. Spurred on from the restless drag of your hips as you begin to greedily chase after the bright heat that zips up your spine when you do. 

"Rafe." You moan, clinging to his shoulders like it might keep you from floating away. 

"I know, I know. I got you." He mumbles it on your skin, saying it between sharp bites of his teeth. His fingers flex again, like a physical period on the sentence. Then he's moving again. Shifting his focus down your chest to map out a string of kisses across your chest. Nipping at your collar bone and tracing his tongue over the hint of your breasts that peek from the low cut of your shirt.  Your head thumps back on the mirror as you arche towards him, seeking out the wet heat of his mouth when suddenly he pauses. His lips detach from your skin, just near enough that you can feel the light brush of them, but it's not firm enough to bring you any pleasure. 

Your eyebrows furrow close when he still doesn't move. You can't keep yourself from tilting your head down to glare at him with a frustrated scowl, lightly panting as you as you speak. "Wh - why did you stop?" 

He pulls back then, posture straightening just a bit to meet your eyes, and you can't keep the confusion off of your face when you feel something slip from between your breasts. But then a glint of gold passes into your vision, twinkling lowly in the warm light projecting over the bathroom. Dangling from his index finger and still hooked around your neck is a familiar chain. Thin and delicate, but it's the pendant that hangs from it that really captures your attention. 

Humiliation stings at your cheeks at the sight of his expression. All smug and too satisfied as he suspends the charm in front of your face, faintly swinging it back and forth like a taunt. Forcing you to confront the R and its significance; still safe and secure on your body despite everything. You can see his delight and pride glinting clearly in his eyes, and there's a comment on his tongue. 

"Don't," you warn. But despite your best efforts to sound firm, something soft bleeds around the fringes. It's playful but also sensitive. Reluctantly spirited despite all of the hurt. It dips over the heat that clouds over the atmosphere like the light fall of a delicate, scattered rain. It's frustrating how natural it feels. Like slipping into the comfort of your bed after a long day or falling back into the soothing relief that comes with giving into a bad habit. It's like a second nature. That should concern you. It should make worry and maybe even hate yourself a bit too, but the wave of self-loathing doesn't come. You can't seem to find a place for hatred when being so close to him is like coming home. 

"Don't what?" He asks cheekily. Finally, he drops the necklace. But he doesn't break eye contact as he leans forward to plant a kiss between your breasts over the obnoxious barrier of your shirt. You've never wanted to rip off a piece of fabric any more than you do now. It's almost as though he can read you mind once his hands slip beath your shirt, bunching the short, tight cut of it further up your ribs and past your breasts until its little more than a strip of gathered fabric. And then he's slipping it up around your torso and impatiently tugging it free from your arms, which you lift to aid him. Allowing him to toss it somewhere on the floor. You hear it land with a light thump, discarded and forgotten.

There's only the cover of your bra now keeping your chest from being on display, but his eyes zero in on it regardless. Eyeing the shape of your breasts as they heave against the lace clinging to them and the gold jewelry draped over your skin. That starved look is back again, melting with the smug glint in his eyes; gone dark from lust. 

"I've missed you so much." He speaks against you, speaking the words to your skin like it's a prayer. A declaration and plea for all at once. He drops to his knees then. The bottoms of his shoes lightly squeaking on the tiles as he shifts to trail the plush of his mouth down your stomach, pausing in his trail to swipe his tongue along the divot of your belly button. It makes your stomach twitch when he does it. Lurching at the liquid fire that it leaves in his wake. He playfully nips at the hem of your skirt, nosing at the button keeping it secure around your waist. "What about you, baby? Did you miss me?" 

He already knows the answer to that. You can tell by the way that his eyes fix on the pendant glinting just above the joining strip of your bra, between the cups of delicate fabric. But even with the traces of his ego still present, the desperation that was there before is still clear in the dark of his stare. He looks so vulnerable then, with his head cradled between your thighs, staring up at you like a sinner seeking absolution. You know that he's always craved to be wanted. To be needed and seen. 

You could easily tear him down right now, in the exposed state he's in. To exact the revenge that you had wanted so badly. To finally get ahold of the retribution that has haunted you for many sleepless nights. But the desire to truly do so doesn't come. The sting of anger that ravaged you before has dimmed into a weak ember, set to go dark and cold. 

Instead of lashing out, as though it has a mind of its own one your hands reach down to smooth over the side of his face. Your fingers glide over his skin and cup around the shape of his ear. His eye lashes nearly flutter when he leans into the warmth of your palm, seeking out the press of it like he needs it to survive. 

"Yeah, I missed you," you admit. You swear that he shifts closer to you at the confession. Such a minute movement that you might not have noticed it had your attentions not been so heavily fixed on him. There are the traces of a smile on his lips. But it isn't smug like before. It seems like one of relief this time. Happy and at peace. Like a sentence so small as brought him a kind of solace. 

"Yeah?" He presses a soft kiss onto your upper thigh then, holding his mouth there while a puff of what could be a breath of laughter, or a sigh of elation leaves him. "Let me show you. Can I show you?" 

The fervent pitch of his voice is loud in your ears, your dazed mind sluggishly making sense of his rushed beg. But once it connects, you don't take long to respond. Your head nods quickly in agreement, a jumbled string of yeses pouring from you in a steady stream. Anticipation thrums thick in throughout your body, smoldering and intoxicating as it winds through your veins. You've hardly done anything with him, and you already feel drunk. Like your head has been packed full of stuffing and fumes. You feel like a live wire. Running hot and searing; waiting to light up in a barrage of sparks. 

You swear you could already tip over the edge when he shoves his face between the apex of your thighs, laving his tongue over the clothed heat of your cunt without any warning. Licking you through your underwear. It all but crushes a strangled gasp from you and your hands fly to the edge of the counter to support yourself as your body curls in on itself. Doubling over from the zip of pleasure that skirts through you like the wild crack of a lightning rod. 

"You're already soaked," he groans. The vibrations of his voice doubling with the drag of his tongue and making your hips mindlessly grind into the warmth of his mouth. It feels so good, and yet it somehow isn't enough. The barrier of your underwear makes the swipe of his lips and tongue too dull. A faint comparison of what it could be. Of how good you know it really feels. 

"Ray, take 'em off." You beg, arching as he grinds the point of his nose against your clit. 

The look in his eyes is impish as he watches you from his place between your legs. The look of it is always a sign of trouble from him. Especially in situations like this, where he can easily exercise control over you by keeping you malleable and desperate on the caress of his fingers or the glide of his tongue. He'll keep you dangling on that edge for hours if you let him. Pushing and pulling you like the sway of the tide. Working you up to the precipice of something debilitating only to drop you back from it, until your pleasure ebbs away into a dull, frustrating ache. And he'll do it over and over again until your moans meld into the beginnings of a sob. But you can't do that. Not now, at least, with a hunger and want that feels like it could tear you apart by twisting inside of you. 

"Please, don't tease tonight." You pant, still mindlessly chasing after what little pleasure he gives with the roll of your hips. "Not now, Rafe. I can't-" 

"I won't. I promise," he says, placating you with kisses along your underwear, sucking at the delicate skin at the joining of your hip and thigh. "I'll play nice, hm?" 

It's only then that he's tugging your underwear off. Ripping it from you so suddenly that it would have uprooted you from your place if you hadn't already been clinging to the edge of the counter. You can hear the sharp cry of fabric giving a little as he slips it free from your legs. But you don't have time to mourn or admonish him for the loss because you're pretty sure that he pockets it, taking if for himself like the pervert he is. It wouldn't be the first pair that he's snagged from you. His probably has more of your panties than you do at this point. 

He uses his shoulders to shove your thighs far apart, using his hands to lift and drape your legs over his back as he lurches forward, smothering himself in your bare cunt. He groans into you, dropping his mouth open to swipe his tongue, lapping at you like a man starved. 

A loud, startled moan rips free from your lungs and you only have half the mind to swallow it down, making it trail off in a strangled noise. You can still hear the party living on just outside the thin barrier of the door. The music and chatter from beyond it trickling past in a muffled hush. From deep in the living room there would be no possible way for them to know what's happening, but if someone was to walk past the bathroom it would be more than apparent as to what the both of you are doing inside. 

 Rafe isn't having it. He lands a soft smack on the outside of your leg, mostly just to catch your attention, but the subtle sting of it makes you gasp regardless. It forces you to return you focus to him, looking down at him as he watches you with eyes that seemed glazed and almost drunk. He just barely pulls back, his lips still sweeping over you while his tongue brushes over your clit in soft licks as he talks in a slurred sort of tone: "Don't hold yourself back like that. Let them hear you. I want them to." His voice dies down then, falling into an almost crazed murmur in between the drag of his mouth. But you are certain that you can make out scraps of what he's saying in between the messy, wet sounds coming from your pussy and the pants of breath rising from his lungs. Something along the lines of "especially him - I'll kill him." 

Regardless of who he's referring to (even though your addled brain slowly gathers that it's more than likely Thatcher), it should concern you. The threat that easily slips from him as though he's proposing something as simple as taking a joy ride around the island or making a remark about an annoying coworker. It's supposed to be disturbing, especially when you know that violence comes easily to him. Sometimes as simple as breathing. As though it's engraved in his DNA, part of his genetic coding. 

You know deep down, in the pit of your soul that the remark isn't one to simply pass off. It isn't just a product of his mood or a fleeting result jealousy; it could very well be a promise. He's always been protective over what he deems as his. If anything poses a threat to his happiness or comfort, he's quick to lash out. He doesn't shy away from the possibility of violence, bloodied knuckles or busted noses and broken wrists. 

You had seen the way that he had looked at Thatcher earlier. Like a guard dog staring down a potential intruder through the bars of a fence, eyes wild and locked on. You hate to admit that you liked it a little then too. The glimmer of satisfaction that had zipped through you then had been so easy to ignore underneath all of your confusion and frustration, but here and now, with his head buried between your thighs and his fingers tensing around your skin, it's impossible to disregard. 

His jealousy had been clear as day underneath the warm hue of the kitchen light. Naked for the world to see. Thatcher had to have noticed it then. He would have to be an idiot not to. Rafe came here to find you, trailing after you through the crowd of Pogue's and locals just so that he could speak to you. His reasons for showing up to this party in the middle of nowhere was obvious to everyone, and it pleases some twisted little part of you to know that gossip must already be circulating around the rooms just outside. Whispers about you and the prince of Kildare Island himself that would quickly spread beyond these very walls and make their way to town to be scattered amongst the population. To the two-faced old women of the church on Driftwood Parkway and all the way down to the rich men in khaki's as they cruise across the green in their golf carts. 

Just about everyone on this island would know about you and him by the time that the sun sets tomorrow over the waves and douses Kildare in the dark. Just the prospect of it nearly pleases you as much as the glide of his tongue splitting you open does. Dipping inside the entrance of your cunt like he means to drink your soul from you. The combination of it all threatens to make you double over again, and to keep yourself from writhing off the counter you thread your fingers into his hair. Using the grip of it to grind your hips against his nose and the heat of his mouth. Your head knocks back on the mirror with a dull thump as a cry shakes itself free from your ribs, pitching and ragged. 

"Rafe - oh fuck. God." 

"Mmm, nah, not God - it's just me." Comes his response. It's so cliché and corny that you would have rolled your eyes and scoffed at him were you not too busy trying to gulp down oxygen in between your labored breaths. All you can do is manage an exasperated, playful frown in response, but you can see amusement flicker in his own gaze at the sight of it. 

His apparent delight is enough for you to scramble enough air together to form a sentence, but it comes out winded; slow and choppy around the edges while you force it out. "You're so lame, Ray." 

"Well, you're stuck with me. Now don't interrupt me." Then he's taking your clit into the cradle of his tongue and sucking. Laving it with small licks that turn your thoughts slow and syrupy. You hardly notice that he's pressing a finger against you, gathering the slick of your cum before slipping it inside, stretching your walls around the thickness of it; so much longer and wider than your own. It has your jaw dropping at the added pleasure and your hips twist up when he trusts it in deep. Finding that depilating spot that leaves you a mess with a practiced precision, reaching it so easily, just as he's done countless times before. 

He chases after the jerk of your hips. Keeping his mouth fixed to you while he hurtles you closer to drowning in bliss. The influence of your approaching orgasm starts to crest with a speed that's dizzying, and you feel as though you hardly have any time to brace for it. It has your free hand scrambling across the stretch of the counter, blindly seeking for something else to hold on to, but all you succeed in doing is knocking down a bottle of mouthwash, sending it toppling over the edge to clatter on the floor below. 

You can feel it fizzling at your fingertips and toes. Skirting down your spine like a zip of electricity, like a drizzle of scorching honey. Your body is drawing up tight. The muscles in your abdomen already seizing to mangle the pleasure from your body. 

"Ray-Rafe, I'm gonna cum. You're gonna make me cum." 

He doesn't bother coming up for air. Instead, his free hand slips up your thigh and reaches for your own. For the same one that had been mindlessly clawing for something to reach onto, and it makes your heart ache a little bit when he takes it in his own. Threading his fingers with yours for you to squeeze. It's a gesture that's far too sweet for a person who's currently eating you out in someone else's bathroom, but the pressure of his palm on you, the chill of his ring on your warm skin, the intimacy behind it, is enough to throw you headfirst into the throes of an orgasm. 

You moan his name when you cum. Repeating it over and over again like a mantra that might save you as your bliss rips through you. But it's the support of his hair threaded through your fingers and the weight of his hand held in your own that serves to keep you grounded while you coast through the flood of warm and pleasure. It ebbs away slowly. Slipping from your body like melted sugar being poured down the drain and stubbornly catching in place. But it doesn't stop. It stretches out in front of you and begins to shift into something tainted by licks of fire and shocks of electricity. 

It's too much. Blending between the lines of pleasure and pain. You need to catch your breath. To properly orient yourself but Rafe hasn't removed his mouth or his fingers from you. It's like your nerves have been lit on fire and it only heightens when he slips a finger in along the next, curling them together to stretch you out around them. 

"Rafe, I can't." You nearly sob, your back impulsively bows and twists to try and shuffle your hips out from underneath the constant swipe his tongue but he stubbornly keeps himself in place. 

He parts his lips from you only long enough to speak out a harsh reply, his voice firm and rigid while he pins you with a stare that's equally unwavering. "You can and you will. You've done it before; just ride it out and take it, baby." 

And then he's on you again. Smearing your pussy open with his mouth, which suddenly feels too hot. It's a sweet sort of torture. One that you've never fully gotten used to, as much as you like it. It's like grasping onto a pop of lightning; searing underneath your flesh and ravaging you from the inside out. He's gone down on you for hours before, spurred on by the stresses brought on by his family and the weight of the world on his shoulders. It's a sort of stress relief for him, in some way. He gets a kind of peace out of it. From keeping you underneath his mouth and working orgasm after orgasm out of you until you're a wet, incoherent mess. Even while you benefit from it, it's more than apparent that it's mostly for his pleasure. 

A set of your favorite silk sheets had been ruined because of it. Nothing that a cycle in the one of the trailer park's community wash machines hadn't taken care of, but the point still stands. He had kept you there for hours, pinned down on your bed while he used your body, wringing it of its pleasure and getting drunk on the taste. You had lost count of how many orgasms he had pulled from you after the third one. You can only hope that he isn't that starved for it tonight. You don't think that you'll survive it. Not here at least, while you're held up in Thatcher's bathroom. 

But it seems that a small mercy has been bestowed upon you with how another coil of bliss begins to wind up tight, closely trailing after the influence of your previous orgasm. It's running up on you so much quicker than the first. Zipping through your body at a breakneck pace, spurred on by the curl of his fingers, and strengthened by the traces of ecstasy that still flood your system. 

The movement of his fingers flexing and stroking inside of your send little shocks of static zipping inside of you. Still bordering on something almost painful, but it only serves to tip you that much closer to the precipice. Promising to toss you over the edge as he lightly shakes his head while he drinks down your arousal. 

You gasp as you look down, taking in the sight of him through the rapture turning your mind into mush. He looks blissed out, eyes slipped closed and the worried pinch between his eyebrows has smoothed out. The traces of your cum has smeared across his nose and the corners of his cheeks, glinting softly in the light. He seems just as intoxicated it as you. Soothed by the taste of your cunt and the scent of sex in the air. It's filthy. 

You hardly register being swept under by your pleasure, but it tugs you down ruthlessly. Seeming to snatch you by the throat and leave you breathless as you twitch and jerk beneath his mouth, and you're hardly able to hear his words of encouragement as he thrusts his fingers deeper to help ease you through the thick of it. "There you go. Just ride it out and give it to me." 

Your body bends the command like its gospel; hips twitching to the rhythm that his fingers have set to further chase after the dull flickers of heat biting at you at you and sinking in the base of your spine. It turns your blood into something molten, and your muscles go pliant like melted wax, leaving you to sag against the mirror like dead weight; the sink presses almost painfully into your back but you're too spent to shuffle from it. He lets up only once a sharp hiss escapes you, slipping past your teeth in a thin sigh. He's careful when he removes his fingers free from you, shuffling up from his kneeled position on the floor to stand on his feet. His drags his tongue over his fingers as he does so, cleaning the taste of you off of them as he watches you with an intense stare, releasing them from his mouth with a pop that seems to ring out across the close walls of the bathroom. 

He crowds into your space suddenly, his body now flush with yours. His chest heaving as though he had just run a marathon. "You did so good, always such a good girl for me." He murmurs as he places a kiss to your forehead, undeterred by the perspiration that dampens your skin. It's another soft moment between you both. Like an echo of all the ones just like it from the past, hidden under the guise of an odd camaraderie, always dancing around the emotions that truly lied beneath. This feels so much more natural than that. No longer self-conscious or restrained. 

It makes everything seem light and airy. Probably a side effect of the dopamine now rushing through your veins and the remaining traces of alcohol, but there's no mistaking the soft look in his eyes. The peaceful expression on his face, now free of the clear agitation that had drawn his body tight just earlier. It has you reaching out for him. Smoothing your hands up his arms, feeling the texture of his shirt as they trail up his shoulders - a dark black shade. One of your favorite colors on him. Something that you had casually shared with him once, and it makes you smile to think that he had purposely worn it to come and see you. 

Your fingers thread through the hair at the nape of his neck, carefully scratching your nails along the sensitive skin there. It feels like a reward when a pleased sigh puffs from his chest, and he props his forehead against yours to stare into your eyes. His own hands come up to trail over your bare thighs, messaging the flesh there as he runs them up and down their length, prompting you to lift them to wrap around his waist. Tugging him closer despite the slight tremor running through your relaxed muscles. 

You feel almost impossibly close to him now. As though a pocket has been carved in time and made for the both of you; intimate and private. Even with the dim chatter of the party and the dull hum of music drifting through the flimsy door, and the possibility of people standing just outside, listening in to gawk and recount what they've heard and seen. The Kook prince himself is fucking a Pogue. You'll no doubt get looks once you finally leave this little space. Some will be curious and shocked; others will probably be out of disgust and maybe even horror. But that seems so trivial right now. None of it has a place in this moment. It's secondary. And you can't be bothered to give it any attention while he watches you as though you've created the heavens themselves, the same ones that glimmer and wink above this very island. The striking blue of his eyes seeming to burn with something that seems a lot like admiration. 

"Hi," you breathe. It sounds a little corny. Kind of dumb, even to you, once you fully register what you've said, but it's all that seems fitting. It's like you're meeting him all over again, as dramatic as that may be. Like you're seeing him for the first time. You can only hope that it isn't just from the high of sex - that it won't all wear off and vanish as soon as you both leave this room and face reality. 

"Hey, pretty girl." He returns with a smile of his own. It urges you to lean that much closer to him, drawing your legs up tighter around him to seek out his natural warmth. He complies easily, allowing you to press him flush to you, almost molding your bodies together. It soothes the wounded ache in you that still lies beneath the surface of it all, stinging lowly under the haze of bliss and pleasure. The warmth of him and the pressure of his body smoothing over the hurt like a compress. 

But the press of him against your inner thigh draws everything to a hush, hot and heavy under the material of his pants. It shouldn't be possible, but the subtle weight of it against you has another flicker of lust lashing between your hips. Smoldering and heating up like a handful of embers. And suddenly the scent of him filling the air is tempting, all dark musk and cardamom. It's mouthwatering, settling deep in your lungs with every drag of your breath. 

It's almost instinctual when you slip one of your hands free from the back of his neck to glide it between the press of your bodies, playful trailing your fingers down and past the stretch of his abdomen until you're able to cup him through the material of his pants. A groan rumbles out from his chest, deep and drawn out before bleeding into a low, almost strained "fuck." 

"Still need you, Rafe." You brush your lips over his, gathering the traces of your arousal that's smeared on his mouth onto your own like a vulgar sort of gloss.

"Yeah, shit, okay," he agrees. He nods frantically in agreement, pulling himself back from you just enough to give you the space to start undoing his pants, but your fingers slip on the button, slightly slick from the sweat on your skin and uncoordinated from the zeal of your excitement. Rafe isn't patient enough for you to make a second attempt it seems, restlessly batting your hands away with a somewhat snappy, "Jesus, just let me do it," huffing from him as he reaches to slip the button through the puncture in the material. 

The urge to snap at him rises up, but it's snuffed out just as quickly when the sharp metallic sound of the zipper being tugged down its teeth cuts across the heavy air. It all happens in quick succession after that. He tugs his pants down just enough to free the length of his cock. He doesn't give you the ability to admire him, because he's tugging you forward by your thighs, parting the sliver of space between your bodies to drag the head against the slick entrance of your cunt, still wet and messy from the mixture of your cum and his spit. 

He tilts his face to be able to speak against your lips, gazing into your eyes with a determination and fervency that seems to cut through you, holding your attention hostage even as one of his hands comes up to grip the nape of your neck. All but pinning you in place.

"I want you to scream for me. Don't you dare fucking hold back." 

That's all the warning you get before he's shoving himself inside of you with a single thrust. Burying himself all the way to the hilt, forcing your walls to give and stretch around his girth. Even with the aid of your previous orgasms making you pliant and soaked, there's still a dull ache that zips through you as your cunt clenches around the shape of him. The force of him inside of you all but strikes the air from your lungs, and it leaves your hands to scramble across his shoulders, your fingers gripping and clawing at the fabric of his shirt to ground yourself. 

He doesn't waste any time by starting in a slow pace to gradually work up to something greater. He's moving fast and hard from the very start. Thrusting himself in and out of you like he's desperate. All but punching himself into you with enough force to rattle your head back on the glass of the mirror, and with how many times you've knocked against it tonight, you have to send a fleeting prayer up to the universe that it won't shatter and break. 

It's like he's trying to make up for lost time. Like he's trying to drill all of his frustrations into you; all of his pent-up anger, humiliation and regret; to make you feel what he's feeling. Or maybe he's just trying to prove a point. To himself, to you, and all of the people outside. That you're his. It leaves you clinging onto him. Holding on while he drives himself into you with a passion that's almost brutal. You can practically feel yourself going stupid. Going pliant and dumb on his cock at it drags through you, gliding against your walls in a way that makes you feel all of him, every little detail. Every single inch is heightened by the veins that run down his length, starting from the base to trail down near the head. He used to go crazy whenever you would glide your tongue over them, throwing his head back and moaning with the sound of your name or a curse under his breath. 

You almost wish that you could have him in your mouth right now. To see him break underneath something as simple as your tongue and the heat of your mouth, but you think that you could die if he pulled out of you. It would be a horrendous sort of torture. Worse than death. 

"God, you're such a fucking slut, hm?" He almost croons it. Mean and condescending as he grips your cheeks to get you to look at him. Making you get lost in the flecks of cerulean and hints of gray that's nearly become swallowed by the width of his pupils. "Letting me fuck you like this, in some Pogue's bathroom while everyone stands outside. They're probably listening right now; you know that, right? Standing outside while they listen to you moan like a whore." 

It's downright degrading how he's speaking to you. It should hurt you to some degree, or make you irritated at the very least, but all it does is make you clench around him harder. Your pussy seizing up around his length like it's trying to suck him inside to keep him there. And he feels it too. You know he does based on the nasty smile that breaks across his face; teeth baring in what almost looks like a snarl. All arrogant and mean. 

"Yeah, that's right. Not even gonna deny it, are you?" He uses the hand still secure around you jaw to shake your head for you as though you're a doll. Using how malleable you've been reduced to for his own benefit. "That's right. Cause you're mine. " 

You find yourself nodding out of your own volition then, drawing up enough focus to will yourself in moving your head around the grip of his hand to agree. You can tell that it pleases him. His expression is one of pure, arrogant delight, and you know that he'll be riding the high of having you dumb, and cock drunk like this for days. His ego always manages to find a way to inflate whenever he succeeds in turning your brain into liquid and mush; until you're practically mindless and stupid. It used to have him striding around you trailer with a satisfied glint in his eyes. The traces of a smug smirk on the edge of his lips as he'd rummage through your fridge for leftovers or dig through your cabinets for a snack before he'd leave (unsurprisingly, Kildare's most spoiled rich boy can't cook worth a shit - he's burnt eggs black before and left your trailer tinged with smoke that took a good two days to get aired out). 

But you can't find it in yourself to be exasperated or annoyed with him while you're too occupied surviving the white-hot heat shooting throughout your body, drizzling down your spine like a vat of liquid sugar to settle between the cradle of your hips. It's too much. It's like being torn to pieces but in the most delicious way possible; you don't want it to stop. You want to stay here, suspended in this moment with the scent of sex and the musk of his cologne staining the air. With the warmth of his body seeping deep into your bones while he uses you for his pleasure while throwing you headfirst into your own; the sound of his name repetitively falling from your lips. 

So it's completely cruel that he suddenly pulls out of you, leaving you torturously empty and on the edge of something cataclysmic. A confused, annoyed look crosses your face, and a complaint rises to the tip of your tongue as you openly scowl at him. Though you don't get the opportunity to voice it. 

"Turn around. " He commands impatiently, but he doesn't even give you the chance to try and shuffle free from your perch on the counter. It's all an abrupt rushing blur when he tugs you from your spot and forces you onto your feet. His hands settle on your waist, fingers greedily gripping the shape of them as he spins around you on your heels and bends you over with the firm press of his hand. A gasp rattles from your ribs as he pins you on the sink, leaving you exposed to the gluttonous sweep of his eyes. 

Then he's kicking your legs apart, spreading you open to bare you to him and without any warning he's slipping himself back inside in a single, long thrust. It has your jaw dropping open, your lashes fluttering at the sensation of it ripping through you, all liquid and smoke. Now that he has you facing the mirror, it gives you no other option but to watch you both as he begins fucking you again. It's like a magnet to metal, the way that your vision flickers up to him. Seeking out the sight of him as he works you closer to that debilitating end.

Not even the way that the harsh edge of the counter digs into the bend in your hips is enough to distract you from it. The pinch of it fading into a dull ache. He looks beautiful like this. Even as he does something as vulgar as watching the sight of his cock ceaselessly plunging into you. It's as though he's hypnotized by it, his own focus fastened to where the two of your bodies join. Where the smack of your skin meeting his sounds out from; the wet slap of him thrusting in and out of your pussy. 

There's a blush on his cheeks, and a sheen of sweat glinting softly on his skin like a dusting of pale gold. It almost makes him look angelic. That should be impossible for someone as frantic and violent as Rafe, but there's no denying that there's something gorgeous about him, as volatile and unpredictable as he can be. The sounds falling from past the parted shape of his lips are beautiful. His moans and the almost drunken cursing and rambling douse your nerves with heat and rapture every time he speaks; slurred and low like he's falling apart in the best way possible. 

It took you forever to convince him that it's okay to vocal in bed. That the sound of him groaning is a turn on. For the longest time he thought it was a joke, like you were trying to trick him into embarrassing himself. Some odd form of toxic masculinity, you think. But you had finally succeeded in getting him to be comfortable with it, after what must add up to days of convincing him and getting him to moan in bed, he finally gave in. And now it's almost impossible to get him to shut up - not that you would ever dare such a thing. You wouldn't dream of depraving yourself of it now that you have it. 

He finally looks up from between your bodies, and you don't miss the way that his eyes nearly roll in the back of his skull, lashes fluttering. He meets your stare in the reflection of the mirror, and that mean smile makes its way on his face again. But it's gone nearly just as quickly as it had appeared. His mouth drops open in a deep groan when your cunt clenches tight around his girth, a crease pinching between his eyebrows to make an expression that almost looks pained. 

He leans over you then, hooking his chin over your shoulder to nuzzle his nose against your head to speak into your ear, not breaking eye contact with you even for a split second. "You're not allowed to leave me again. You can't this away from me. You're not gonna take yourself away - not again." 

It's structured like a command. Or manic ravings. Regardless, it would enough to send anyone else running the other way and ducking for cover. Someone with common sense, maybe. But the tone of his voice is so desperate. Fragile and a little distraught. Like the very thought of you slipping from him could send him into a spiral. It has so many different things rising up inside of you: a sick type of satisfaction. The hurt in you pleased to see him in just as much pain. To know that you're not the only one who's been scarred. But there's the urge to soothe him as well. To cradle the parts of him that have been broken and kicked - by the world, his family. To nurse the wounds that have been left on him. They all gave up on him, but you don't think that you can. 

It has you tilting your head back to give him access to your neck, and like a moth to a flame he immediately dips his face to tuck it into the junction of your shoulder. Nipping at the skin with his teeth and breathing in your scent like it's a drug. One of your hands lets go of the iron clad grip it has on the edge of the counter to clutch at his hair, threading through the thick of it and grazing your nails close to the nape of his neck. 

It draws his attention back on you, making him tilt his head just enough to meet your eyes again in the reflection, pinning you with a stare that seems to communicate so much. It's a silent plea and a devout order all at once. A beg that you won't slip away from him. 

"Just as long as you don't leave me first," you answer. Your voice is full of conviction, even as it wavers just the slightest. The sound of it weakened by the breathlessness in your lungs and the brutal pace that he's managed to maintain; still thrusting himself into you as though he needs it to survive.

He speaks into your skin then, answering you in a low mutter. Nearly a whisper: "I won't. I won't, I promise." 

One of his hands shoves your hips down flat on the counter. It slips your hand from his hair and forces your spine to curve into a more pronounced arch that somehow makes him feel deeper than before. Hitting that spot inside of you with every single stroke. Forcing a gasp of air from your chest every time his hips meet yours, making your toes curl in your shoes. The position that he's tiled your spine into almost stings. The ache of it licking up your back but can't find it in yourself to complain. Or even really care. Not with the way that it's rendering you completely mindless. Seeming to knock a thought from your head with each grind and thrust. 

One of your hands flies up to the sink. Your fingers claw and grasp around the shape of it, clenching around the cool steel like it's a lifeline, but it does little to offer any semblance of support to guide you through the high that's beginning to overwhelm you. It bleeds along your toes and sears up your fingertips and up your spine like a current. It has your body going slack, muscles falling weak. It's almost as though you've been tazed when your head drops against the counter. The weight of it suddenly too much for your neck to hold up. 

It's like everything's been plucked free from your skull. Leaving it an empty pocket, a vacant space that only Rafe occupies. You can't focus on much more than that now. You're lost in the pleasure lighting you up from the inside out and eating you alive. It's only the vague details that you're still able to register. Like the smear of your arousal slipping down your thighs, pushed out of you each time he pulls out to fill you up again; the sting of the counter's lip digging into your hips; the smack of his balls hitting your clit with every stroke, sending sparks around your cunt, making it clench and pulse around his length. You think that you might be drooling, but you aren't entirely sure; saliva slipping past your lips as your mouth hangs open.

You can hear yourself moaning over the rush of blood roaring in your ears. Breathless, pitchy moans rising in the humid air each time he pumps into you, rolling his hips in a way that's almost mean. The zeal behind every movement would have the crown of your head knocking into the sliver of wall beneath the mirror if it wasn't the secure grip he has on your waist, keeping you held in his grip so that he can control your movements. Practically using your own weight and pliancy to fuck you back onto his cock. 

You try meeting his thrusts on your own, but his hold on you is rigid, and the rhythm he moves in is punishing. At this point he's just using you, and simultaneously using himself to get you off like it's his job. 

"You're so tight," he groans. You can't see his face, not with the side of your own pressed to the counter and your eyes squeezed shut, but you can hear the smug edge in his tone. He's absolutely thrilled with the state he's reduced you to for the second - third time this night. "You're squeezing me, baby. Gonna kill me if you keep doin' that." 

But he quickly contradicts his statement, gripping onto your hair to pull up and off of the counter. Just enough so that he's able to slip his other one past your hips and the fabric of your skirt to glide his fingers around your soaked cunt, just above where he thrusts into you. Gathering your cum on his fingers, and then his slipping them up to circle around your clit. 

You would have doubled over if it wasn't for the hold he has on your hair, keeping you held in place. A flare of pain bites across your scalp, but it's a shadow in comparison to the ecstasy flooding your system. It might be dramatic, but a small part of your brain wonders if you'll survive the onslaught of it all once it finally slams over you. It's hurtling towards you again. A rising tide that's set to drown you and hold you down. It flares underneath your skin, skirting across your nerves and leaving traces of heat behind. 

It has your body winding up tight again. The muscle connecting you and holding you together seizing up in preparation to wring you dry of every ounce of pleasure, and Rafe is determined to get you there. Working himself inside of you in a way that has your eyes threatening to roll back, his fingers sweeping tight figure eights over your clit, making your abdomen draw up harshly. 

"Shit, Rafe - my God." 

"I feel you about to cum again. I know you're close. " He says it in your ear, slipping his hand from around your ear to grip your throat, using the leverage to tip you back towards his chest. His nose nudges along your cheek and you can feel the brush of his lips glide over the edge of your jaw. "Just let go. You know you want to. I want you to cum on it. Give it to Daddy, baby; let me feel you, pretty girl." 

It's like your body was waiting for his permission, and now that it has it, it's caving in and sweeping you under. Time seems to blank out as a field of stars bursts across your vision. All of it flattening and smearing into a distorted blur with your sense of sound dimming into something dull and muffled. The only distinguishable noise is the roar of your heart thundering in your ears like a warped drum. It makes you lost, muscles lax and completely reliant on him to keep you upright. 

It probably only takes seconds for you to come back to yourself, but deep in the throes of it, it feels like years have passed. As though you've been frozen in place and dipped in hot wax and electricity. It bursts in your bones and the pit of your stomach, making your body tremble with aftershocks as it struggles to ride out the waves of bliss ravaging through you. 

It takes a minute for your brain to orient itself. For you to become aware of your limbs and the support underneath you, the drag of Rafe's cock still splitting you open. It's beginning to border on too much again. The pleasure is leaning on too sharp and bright, making you hiss under your breath. But Rafe is close. You can hear it in the groans spilling from him. You can feel it in the glide of his hips. The once hard, smooth rhythm faltering into something broken. 

"Where do you want it?" He gasps in between raged pants. A glimpse in the mirror lets you see his face and the grimace taking up his expression. Like he can hardly stand the pleasure overtaking him - like it's tugging him apart at the seams and might not leave anything of him left behind. His grip is harsh on the length of your neck. His other fingers squeezing tight on your hip. Hard enough that it's going to smart the skin underneath, and it's with a shaky sense of strength that you manage to lift a hand up to slip over his hold on your hip. Your fingers threading alongside his. 

You feel as though you can hardly breath, forcing your lungs to expand and pull in oxygen. Trying to give yourself enough air to form a sentence, and you just barely manage to do that. You practically have to force it out of your throat. "Inside. I'm still on the pill-" 

That's all you get to say before he's doubling over you with a long groan. Driving himself into you a few more final, sloppy thrusts. They're sharp and heavy from the force behind them as he tries to work out every possible scrap of pleasure, a rush of heat spreading throughout you as he cums inside - thrusting his hips into yours one last time and holding himself there. Making you take every possible drop. 

That's how the two of you stay. Pressed against each other and floating in your own euphoria as the high in your vein's flows and ebbs through your limbs and fills your head with an empty kind of euphoria. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back, syncing with your own as you try to level out your breathing. You aren't sure how long you stay that way, with Rafe draped along your back just barely holding himself up with your joined hands now splayed out on the counter. The thumb around your throat idly sweeps along your pulse point, tracing over your skin like he means to count the racing of your heart. 

It all feels thick and syrupy. As though your limbs have been left to soak in a pool of warm water. As pleasant as it is and as hesitant as you are to move, the weight of him simultaneously sagging against you and keeping you held up is straining on your spine and shoulders. The desire to shift from your position is dull, but the ache in your body demands otherwise. You lightly nudge him in the ribs with your elbow, reluctantly mumbling for him to move. To which he complies with a quick, alright, alright, I got it, huffed out, but it lacks any real bite as he detaches himself from you. 

It makes you uncomfortably aware of the sheen of sweat that clings to your skin, and when he finally pulls out of you it's even worse. You both groan from overstimulation when he removes himself from you to tuck his cock back into his pants, the metallic cry of the zipper ringing off of the bathroom walls. You can feel his cum trickling down your thighs, smearing across your skin and beginning to cool. 

Now that the high of it is wearing off, you just feel gross. It has you turning on your heels to face him, the bottoms of your shoes squeaking on the floor as you pivot to lean your back against the counter with an exhausted sigh. You let your head thud back against the mirror again, but you can't find it in yourself to care this time. Not while you can barely hold yourself upright; the buzz of sex still pleasant and clinging in your body. 

You hadn't even realized that you've closed your eyes until a sharp clatter has them opening. Your head also turns on its own, leaning to glance over to your right where Rafe stands alongside you, rummaging through a narrow set of cabinets fixed between the sink and the bathroom door, carelessly glancing around the folded piles of towels and wash cloths. 

Your eyebrows furrow as you watch him while your sluggish brain connects the dots. As soon as you come to the realization, you can feel the opposition on the tip of your tongue - ready to say no. To tell him that you can just wad up a pile of toilet paper instead, but he's already plucking a towel up from one of the shelves and gently nudging past you to run the tap, the knob quietly squeaking as he twists it on. 

You don't hide your exasperated look when he shuffles away from your side to stand in front of you, reaching to spread your thighs open. You hiss when he runs the damp cloth over you, cleaning up the mess you both made with the aid of the warm water he's soaked the fuzzy material in. You appreciate the gesture, but you still don't think that he had to ruin someone else's towel to do it. 

"Really?" You ask, tilting your head as you watch him. 

His eyebrows perk up just the slightest when he meets your unamused stare, but he doesn't seem to be troubled by it in the slightest. Once he's finished, he tosses the soiled cloth across the room and into the bathtub without so's much as a glance.

"What? We already fucked in the bathroom; I don't think a towel is going to do that much more damage." He just shrugs, unbothered and nonchalant as he answers. Then that amused, smug smile is on his face again as he casts a look towards the door. "Unless you wanna walk out of here with my cum pouring out of you. I won't complain." 

You can't help but to roll your eyes at him while you reach down to tug your skirt from where it had rucked up, smoothing it back down to cling over your thighs, but the expression seems much more playful and relaxed than it should probably be. His usual brand of douchie, cocky sarcasm is already making a comeback now that the tension has left him. It should annoy you, probably, but it soothes you more than anything. It's a comfort, as odd as it may be, to see him gradually resorting back to himself. Arrogant, and a little obnoxious, but in a way that you find entirely endearing. 

He notices the traces of the smile on your face. You can tell by the way that his own goes from gloating to a little soft. The tenderness of it reflecting in his eyes as he closes the space between you to settle himself close. His lips are on yours then, drawing you into a kiss that's so much slower than the first. The desperation and the anger between you both having settled and died out like a fire. Now there's nothing left but ease and a relaxing calm. It makes it unhurried and languid as he leads your lips to move against his. 

It doesn't last for long though, eventually breaking off for you to come up for air. His eyes are still a little glazed over when you meet them. Dopey from the high of sex, and knowing him, a line or two. He seems so far off from the nervous wreck that he usually is. Free from the aggression and arrogance that usually taints everything he does. 

But he's soft with you. Gentle when he wants to be - gentle with you. Only you. And it's going to stay that way if you have anything to say about it. 

"Don't ever pull that shit again, Ray." You warn, dipping your voice into something stern despite the affection blossoming in the pit of your chest. " I swear I'll castrate you if you do." 

Something like a snicker puffs past his lips, like he finds the prospect entertaining. Or maybe he just likes you being possessive over him. It's probably that. Regardless, he leans closer to you, pulling you closer by your waist and stroking his hands down your hips. "Yes, ma'am, I'll keep that in mind." 

You don't get to respond to him. A knock rattles against the door, slow and light enough that it nearly sounds hesitant. Still it causes you to flinch a little, nearly jerking you out from underneath Rafe's hands but he maintains his grip on you, assisted by the way that the counter keeps you blocked in place. 

"Hey, uh, I'm not trying to . . . interrupt anything, but you've been in there for a minute, so I just wanted to check and make sure that you're alright." The voice that bleeds past the barrier of the old wood is muffled from the thick of it, but just loud enough that you're able to recognize it as Thatcher's. Embarrassment floods you at the realization. Especially when you briefly think back on your old statement you had promised to him just before leading Rafe out of the kitchen. It'll only be a few minutes. That's what you had told him then. It's definitely been longer than that. Probably closer to thirty - if not longer. 

You let your forehead thump against Rafe's chest, a low, defeated sigh leaving you as you consider what to say next. An apology would probably be in your best interest. Just to be polite, for what little it's worth, considering that you and Rafe have all but defiled his bathroom. It makes you wonder how you're even going to be able to walk out of here without cringing underneath the weight of everyone's intrigued - if not disgusted - stares. 

"I just made her cum three times in a row, man, but yeah, she's 'alright.' " Rafe replies, irritation and contempt lacing his words like a venom. You truly wish that the floor would split open to swallow you whole as soon as you register what he said. All you can manage is pulling yourself back enough to shoot him a withering glare, but he doesn't appear to be affected by your look in the slightest, far too busy scowling at the door. 

"Rafe," you snap. You try to collect yourself, mentally shaking off your humiliation as best as you can and dipping your voice into something pleasant and even to be heard through the door to answer Thatcher. "Yeah, I'm fine. We'll be out in a minute. For real this time." You almost wince when it leaves your mouth. The awkwardness of the situation stretches on when Thatcher doesn't answer immediately. There's a pause and silence before an unsure, stiff "alright" rises up from outside before he presumably leaves. 

A relieved sigh leaves you, the breath you were holding leaving you like a deflating balloon as you allow yourself to lean into Rafe once again, finding solace in his warmth to try and detach yourself from the embarrassment of the encounter. His arms slip around you easily. Shifting to take you around the waist in a loose hold that has all of your thoughts settling down into useless background chatter. 

"Want to go to yours?" he asks suddenly. It makes you look to him again, shifting back on your feet to observe him from the containment of his embrace. There's the hint of something vulnerable peeking through the blue of his eyes as though he's partially expecting you to deny him. To pull the rug out from under his feet - turning him away. Like it was all just a cruel joke to get back at him. 

As wrong as it might be, it feels somewhat vindicating to see him still so unsure. Visibly insecure about where he now stands with you. Mostly because you're in the same boat. This is a new territory for you both, and regardless of the previous words shared, there's still the fear that it was all induced on his part by the high of the moment. 

"Then maybe in the morning we can go get breakfast at Merrick's? Just not dinner there though - if we're going out for dinner, then I'm taking you somewhere nice." 

That grabs ahold of your focus in easily. Rafe's been to your trailer a hundred times. Sneaking in in the dark and making himself welcome in your home. Using your shower, eating your food, sleeping in your bed. All of these intimate things done as easily as second nature. But something as simple as walking alongside you, as touching you openly in the stark daylight, was a boundary that had never been crossed past casual conversation. Whenever you had associated it was under the guise of eating at your work, or because you had naturally happened upon each other in your day to day lives. There was never any intent behind it. Especially not while in a part of the Eight. 

Merrick's is right on the docks, settled in the center coast of the Northside of the island, among the wealthy houses and businesses of the OBX. It's a fairly popular spot among the wealthy locals. Being seen with you there would be a public declaration of sorts. Something that the customers, and employees would take notice of. 

"And you're good with that? Being seen with me?" The question leaves you in a pale version of your usual tone. It's hesitant, revealing the fear that begins to pool in your gut. Settling there like a nausea. Now it's you waiting for him to reject you - to backtrack on his promises and leave you standing here in the middle of this bathroom hurting, confused and heartbroken. You could nearly imagine the scornful smile that would tug at his lips, the glimmer of his teeth, the contempt that would burn in his eyes as he pinned you down with an unforgiving stare. You wouldn't survive it. 

But it never comes. 

"I meant what I said earlier. I don't give a shit what anyone has to say; you're my girl now." Some of his usual hostility seeps through his tone then, biting through the sweetness of it. None of it aimed at you. But it's like he's asserting a challenge for himself and others. Stating a threat to anyone else who may try to oppose him - or you. But it sounds like so much more than just the promise of a possibly verbal conflict. That wild glint is back in his eyes, passionate and determined, and you know now that he's prepared to draw blood for your sake. That he'll break bone and start fires to defend your name if he has to.

It's another one of those things that should repel you - a red flag waving vigorously in the air, but you can't find so much as the hint of an urge to turn and run. To escape and from his explosive nature, but you find warmth and comfort in it. He's like a wildfire. Erratic and starved, lashing out and reaching for anything that might burn and feed it, and like a glutton for punishment, you'll always open yourself to be consumed. Willingly allowing yourself to be licked at by the destructive edge of his nature; picked apart and feasted on. But he'll be there to put you back together again. Always eager to hold you up in his greedy palms, to have you safe in the shelter of them. 

Because he's sweet too. Caring when he wants to be. When he's allowed to be - safe from criticism or disapproval. He's been taught to be harsh. A product of his father's love, most likely. But you'll show him a different kind of love if he lets you. Something gentle and nonjudgemental. The sort of affection that he's been deprived of his entire life. 

You're his now, and he's yours; rough, violent edges and all. 

"Okay," you agree. "Breakfast it is then. And dinner." You nudge his nose up with your own, guiding him to angle his head so that you can place a lingering kiss on the plush of his mouth, feeling the shape of his smile against your lips. 

"Alright, and dinner." He nods, raising his hands to cradle your face. Watching you with a gleam in his eyes that looks like he wants to devour you entirely and hold you close. "Just you and me." 

[creamzer]

S : 2.7k wc you take up a temporary job caring another farm house to make ends meet, once you met her wife, you cant help but be attracted to her.

W : cheating. homewrecker! fucking behind her wife's back. unforbidded sex. hooking with her while she has a whole ass family. toxic marriage. shouting. her relationship with dina is already blurring before you came (dont want ya'll clocking on me w/ this one. not proofread.

Its one of those days again, where your wallet feels just a little too light, and the weight of it sits heavy on your mind. Living out on the farm, far from the noise and convenience of the city, means everything moves a little slower.

Money trickles in like rain during a dry seasom, just enough to keep things going, but never enough to truly breathe easy,you can hear the distant rustle of animals, the creak of old wood in the barn, the quiet hum of the wind over the fields.

Its peaceful, sure, but peace doesnt pay bills,  you’ve gotten used to stretching every dollar, making the most out of what you have, trading time and labor for survival, still, its hard not to feel that familiar ache in your chest when you think about the things you wish you could afford, repairs, better equipment, even just a little extra comfort.

To your luck, just as your funds start running low again, a couple who lives only a mile down the road puts out word they’re in need of a temporary housemaid.

Its not glamorous work, but its steady, and the pay is more than fair, especially for something this close to home.

You take the offer without hesitation, grateful for the opportunity, their home is warm, lived in, and well kept.

"I'm soo glad you took the offer!" Dina squealed, her excitement bubbling over as she shook your hand with both of hers.

Her grip was surprisingly strong, her smile wide and warm, like she’d been waiting for someone just like you to walk through that door.

You couldn’t help but smile back, the energy she gave off contagious “It’s really no trouble” you replied, your voice steady, polite “Im just happy to help.”

She nodded enthusiastically, her eyes scanning your face with a mix of curiosity and approval.

“You have no idea how much we needed this, tye timing is perfect.”

“My wife—” Dina sighed, rolling her eyes with an exasperated chuckle “She’ll be back soon, you can wait for her. I just badly need to rest right now.”

She gestured toward the living room, where little JJ sat on the couch, legs dangling as he played contently with a colorful baby toy, making soft cooing noises and giggling to himself.You gave a small nod, understanding all too well the tiredness in her voice. Life out here was peaceful, sure, but it didn’t mean it was easy. Especially not with a toddler in the mix.

“Go ahead, take your break,” you said softly, offering her a reassuring smile. “I’ve got it from here.”

Dina exhaled like she’d been holding her breath all morning “You’re a lifesaver” she muttered as she trudged off toward the back of the house, her footsteps already growing fainter.

Now it was just you and JJ. and the quiet stretch of time until her wife returned.

You smiled down at JJ, who looked up from his toy with wide, curious eyes. He paused for just a moment, taking you in, then let out a cheerful giggle, the kind that came straight from his belly and lit up the room a little.

You walked over slowly, crouching beside him, your tone soft and playful “hey, little guy. you having fun over here?" He responded by waving his toy in the air like it was the most exciting thing in the world, then offering it to you with a grin, drool pooling slightly on his chin.

You laughed gently, accepting the toy, pretending to examine it with great seriousness. JJ giggled again, clearly pleased with himself, and you found yourself relaxing in the moment.

After what felt like hours of keeping JJ company, building towers from blocks only for him to knock them over with wild delight, making up songs just to see him laugh

The front door suddenly swung open with a gust of wind and a clatter of keys, you turned your head, straightening instinctively as footsteps echoed through the entryway.

There she was.

Her presence filled the doorway rugged, natural look with short, tousled auburn hair and a slightly messy fringe, her skin is fair with visible freckles, and she has a serious, contemplative expression.

She stepped inside with the kind of confidence that didn’t need announcing.

And when her eyes landed on you, there was a split second pause, you weren’t sure what you expected, A polite hello? A distracted nod?

“Oh” she said, voice calm and warm “You must be the help Dina mentioned.”

JJ squealed excitedly and reached for her, but even as she stepped forward to scoop him up, her gaze flicked back to you, still lingering, still quiet, like she was already trying to figure you out.

"Uh, know your way around here yet?" she asked, her eyes scanning from your cleavage down to your legs with a lingering glance.

"Oh, um, yeah, a little" you replied, glancing at her as she rocked JJ gently in her arms "Your wife is resting" you added, offering a reassuring smile as you watched her soothingly rock the baby.

She gazed at you hungrily, her eyes lingering as she hesitated for a moment "well, uh... want me to show you?" she asked, her voice soft but filled with an underlying tension.

"Yes, please" you smiled at her, your voice calm but eager, she nodded slowly, her expression shifting as she gently set JJ down, making sure he was comfortable before turning her full attention back to you.

"Come," she said softly, her voice steady as she gestured toward the cleaning shelf "pretty much obvious, everything is here if you need something."

"and, um, heres the kitchen" she said, gesturing toward the open space "bathrooms there" she added, pointing in the opposite direction.

Without another word, she turned and made her way upstairs, her movements fluid, as if she expected you to follow.

"You'll stay here" she said, pointing at the door in front of you "And heres ours" she added, gesturing to the door beside yours.

You gave her a nod and a smile, your eyes briefly meeting hers, she paused for a split second, taking you in with a glance that seemed to weigh you up before she turned and made her way into their room, the door closing softly behind her.

You took a sharp breath, trying to shake off the tension, and made your way downstairs, with each step, the weight of the situation settled on you more, but you focused on the task at hand, you gathered your luggage and headed back up, making your way to the room she had pointed out for you.

You opened the door, and the room felt surprisingly comforting, cozy, calm, and inviting, the soft lighting and quiet atmosphere gave you a sense of ease.

You sat down on the bed, letting out a breath as you ran your hand over the blankets.

Only for one week," you muttered to yourself, trying to remind yourself that it was temporary, just a short stay.

— — — — — — —

The evening had passed quickly, and now you found yourself in the kitchen, busy preparing dinner.

The rhythmic sounds of chopping and sizzling filled the air as you focused on getting everything just right.

You froze for a moment, the sound of Dina's raised voice cutting through the calm atmosphere of the kitchen.

"See!? That's the problem with you!" she shouted from the living room, her words filled with frustration.

You could hear the tension in her voice, and it made you pause, wondering what had sparked the outburst.

"Gosh, can you stop shouting?!" Ellie’s voice rang out from the living room, clearly annoyed, The sharpness in her tone contrasted with the previous tension, and you could almost feel the heat rising in the air, it seemed like things were escalating quickly between them.

"Come on!" Ellie shouted, her voice full of frustration, but Dina cut her off sharply "Don't fucking touch me ellie!" she snapped, her tone laced with anger.

The tension between them was thick, and you could feel the weight of it even from the kitchen.

The atmosphere had shifted, and it seemed like things were about to boil over.

"Fine!" Ellie shouted, her voice trembling with frustration, there was a heavy silence that followed, thick with unspoken words, before the sound of a door upstairs slamming shut echoed through the house.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, your hand gripping the spoon a little tighter as you slowly stirred the soup. The simmering sound filled the silence, but it did little to calm the unease settling in your chest.

You were jolted out of your thoughts when ellie’s voice came softly from behind you. “Hey” The suddenness of her presence made you flinch, and you quickly turned, your heart racing for a moment before you realized it was just her, she stood there, her expression uncertain, as if unsure how to approach after the tension from earlier.

She leaned against the counter, her gaze softening as she looked at you. "Sorry you had to hear that" she said quietly, her tone apologetic, yet there was a hint of weariness in her voice.

It was clear that whatever had just transpired between her and Dina was weighing on her, but she seemed to be trying to move past it, at least for the moment.

Unsure of what to say, you offered a small, awkward smile and responded, "Oh, no, no, i don’t mind." You quickly glanced down at the soup, trying to focus on something else to ease the tension, though your words felt hollow in the air between you.

Ellie’s eyes scanned you up and down, her expression softening a bit as she spoke "You look pretty tense right there" she remarked, her voice laced with concern.

"Do I...?" you smiled, keeping your gaze on the soup avoiding her eyes, the moment felt awkward.

"I don't know why she has to act like that" Ellie muttered her voice soft but laced with frustration.

Not knowing the full story, you let out a sympathetic "Aw" a soft, reassuring smile you didn’t want to overstep.

Ellie hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering to you with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty "You, uh... you have a lover?" she asked her voice quieter than before.

You glanced over at her, shaking your head with a small, rueful smile "Never had" you replied your voice calm but with a hint of vulnerability. It felt odd to admit, but the question had caught you off guard and you weren't sure why it seemed so significant.

Ellie looked slightly shocked for a moment, her eyes widening before she quickly regained her composure. "How? You're pretty" she said, the compliment coming out almost instinctively.

"Oh, well, um..." you stammered, squeezing your thighs mindlessly as you tried to collect your thoughts.

Ellie noticed the small movement, her eyes flickering down for a brief moment before looking back up at you, her expression unreadable, but there was a subtle shift in her gaze that suggested she was paying attention to more than just your words now.

"I don’t really have time for love, you know..." you said, looking over at her as you absentmindedly scratched at your arm, feeling a bit uneasy under her gaze.

The words slipped out more easily than you expected, though there was a certain heaviness behind them.

Ellie straightened up, her posture shifting as she took in your sudden change in behavior, she watched you carefully, her eyes narrowing slightly, as if trying to understand the shift in your demeanor.

The question hit you like a jolt, completely catching you off guard "ayou ever fuck someone?" Ellie asked, her voice casual but the words carrying an unexpected weight. It was blunt, almost too blunt.

You let out an awkward laugh, trying to brush it off "Oh, um—haha" you stammered, not quite sure how to respond. The question had caught you off balance, and now you were left trying to navigate the sudden shift in the conversation. You avoided her gaze for a moment, unsure of what she was really expecting from you.

"I mean— I was just curious since you don’t look like you feel pleasured enoug- tsk fuck." Ellie said, attempting to ease the tension but only making it feel heavier.

"I never do it, i just go straight to sleep" you admitted, your voice quieter now, a mix of honesty and discomfort in your tone.

Ellie pushed herself off the counter, her footsteps soft but deliberate as she closed the distance between you "So your saying, you have never touch yourself?" she asked, her voice a bit more intense now, her curiosity sharpening.

"Y-yes" you stammered, your eyes meeting hers for the first time since the conversation shifted, Ellie’s lips were slightly apart, her eyes never leaving yours, and the tension between you both seemed to stretch into something almost tangible.

"You're a virgin" Ellie murmured to herself, her voice almost too soft, as if the realization had just clicked for her.

"You ever, um—wished for it? you know—" she asked, her voice trailing off as her gaze dropped to your lips, there was a noticeable shift in her posture, her focus intensifying.

"Yes- yes." you quickly admitted, the words coming out before you had fully processed them, Ellie bit her lip for a second her eyes lingering on yours as if weighing your response.

Before she could finish her sentence, you leaned in quickly, pulling her into a kiss, the moment felt impulsive, charged with everything that had been building up between you, she didnt even kiss you back.

You quickly pulled away, realizing she wasn’t kissing you back, before you could apologize, Ellie surprised you by pulling you back in, her kiss deeper this time.

You moaned through the kiss, the sound of it escaping without thinking as she lifted you with ease, setting you down on the counter.

The kiss begins to be more rough as she pushed herself closer between your legs, hands making its way to your thighs.

You breathed heavily, pulling away from the kiss both of you now looking at each other in silence.

Then she broke the unbearable silence by leaning down to kiss your jaw trailing to your chest, her hands crawled under you shirt, groping your tits roughly.

You moaned arching your back, she discarded your clothes throwing them on the floor leaving you on your bra, she sucked your tits while she looked up at you taking in lidded reaction.

She slowly pulled her lips away with a "pop!" whispering lowly "you like that?" you bit your lip nodding.

"good." she muttered, she trailed her hands under your skirt, tugging on the waistband on your thong, she kept her gaze on you the whole time.

She shoved your thong down her pocket and started to rub your clit, she hummed while you instinctly wrapped your arms around her shoulder.

She lifted you up for support, her fingers slowly sliding in without and friction, but your already wet.

"o-oh-!" you threw your head back trying to keep in the noise. "squeezing me so f'ckin much." she bit her lip burying her face on the crook of you neck.

"A-ah!" you moaned toes curling. "yeah fuck- thats it." she muttured loving the noise your making.

She curled her fingers slamming inside you relentlessly, she put out her thumb pressing them to your clit.

You rolled your eyes back, your hand gripping on the counter tightly as if its the only rhing keeping you uplift.

"G..gonna cum!" you shouted pressing yourself closer to her. "yeah, yeah, go on." she whispered, with a last thrust you finally came undone on her fingers.

[meadowfics]

sea trip

hwang jun-ho x preteen!daughter x brief mentions of reader

based off of this request here

for @jalicecookie

the air is crisp, the salty scent of the sea hanging thick as jun-ho adjusts his grip on the railing of the docked boat.

it’s another long night ahead...another desperate attempt to locate the island. the island that has brother. the island that is holding gi-hun hostage. the island that turned men into monsters.

jun-ho exhales sharply, lost in his thoughts, when he hears something behind him.

a scuffle of movement, too light to belong to any of the crew. the police officer's body tenses immediately, instincts kicking in as he spins around...only to freeze.

there, huddled in the shadows of the boat, is his daughter.

jun-ho's twelve-year-old daughter.

she’s out of breath, eyes shining with excitement, dressed in a hoodie far too big for her, the sleeves covering her hands. the daughter's hair is messy from the wind, and her cheeks are flushed from the night air.

“appa!” she grins, completely unaware of the sheer horror settling in his chest.

“i made it!”

jun-ho doesn’t react for a moment. he’s too busy processing. he is too busy staring at her in disbelief, eyes darting between her face and the school uniform peeking out from under the hoodie.

the man's voice is low, tight with tension.

“what did you just say?”

she rocks back on her heels, beaming.

“i made it onto the boat! you didn’t even notice me, huh?” she giggles, clearly so proud of herself.

“i told you i was getting really good at sneaking around—”

“what are you doing here?!” his voice is sharp now, cutting through the night like a blade.

the girl's smile falters.

the daughter's brows furrow in confusion.

“i—i came to help! i always hear you talking about taking boats to find an island, so i thought—”

he takes a step forward, and she immediately stops talking.

“you thought what?” his tone is cold, demanding.

she hesitates before looking up at him with unwavering determination.

“that i could help you.”

jun-ho lets out a long, slow breath, pressing a hand to his temple as if trying to will away a growing headache. the man's heart is pounding. no, not really. it is from fear, overwhelming fear.

she snuck out.

she snuck away from school, away from safety, and onto this boat.

she shouldn’t be here. she can’t be here.

he crouches in front of her, gripping her shoulders firmly.

“do you have any idea what you’ve just done?”

she bites her lip, eyes darting away.

“i just—”

“do you understand what you just put yourself in, 딸?” his voice is low now, strained, as if he’s trying to contain something far bigger than just frustration.

she swallows hard.

“i just wanted to be with you,” she mumbles, suddenly looking so small in front of him.

jun-ho shuts his eyes for a second, collecting himself. when he looks at her again, the frustration hasn’t left, but neither has the fear.

“you’re not supposed to be here,” he says, voice rough.

“this isn’t some adventure. this isn’t a game. its apart of my police work... you have no idea what you’re walking into.”

she frowns, defensive now.

“but i want to help! i hear you talking about it all the time...you’re always searching for the island, always leaving—”

“because i have to,” he cuts in sharply.

“not because i want to.”

she looks down, fingers gripping the hem of her hoodie.

jun-ho exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair before kneeling again. his voice is softer this time, but still firm.

“you don’t belong in this, sweetheart. you should be at home with your mom. safe.”

she clenches her jaw.

“but you’re never home.”

jun-ho's breath catches in his throat.

“you’re always gone, appa,” she whispers.

“and even when you’re home, you’re not really there. you’re always thinking about this.”

jun-ho looks at her, really looks at her, and sees what he’s been too blind to notice. the longing. the loneliness. the way she just wants to be close to him, to understand him.

he curses himself silently. he thought he was doing the right thing by keeping her away from all of this, by staying distant, by locking away every terrible thing he’s seen and done.

in doing that, he’s made her feel like she has to fight for his attention. that she has to go to extreme lengths just to be by his side.

his shoulders sag.

“your mother thinks you’re at a sleepover,” he says quietly.

she nods.

he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.

“okay. here’s what’s going to happen. we’re turning this boat around, and i’m taking you home.”

the daughter's eyes widen.

“but—”

“no buts.” his voice is final.

“you scared the hell out of me, do you understand? i don’t care how much you want to help me. this is not for you.”

she looks away, clearly upset, but doesn’t argue.

jun-ho reaches out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“i’m sorry i made you feel like you had to do this,” he murmurs.

“i should’ve been better. i should’ve been there for you more.”

the girl's eyes flicker with something unreadable.

“you still can be,” she whispers.

jun-ho exhales, guilt pressing heavy against his chest.

“I'll try, and i know y/n misses me too.”

"yeah, mom does." she nods.

for the first time, some of the tension in the air lifts.

he stands, grabbing his phone.

“i need to text your mom.”

her eyes widen in alarm.

“don’t tell her—”

“oh, she’s definitely going to know.”

she groans, slumping against the railing.

“i’m so grounded.”

jun-ho almost laughs. almost.

“yeah,” he mutters, shaking his head.

“you are.”

masterlist

[ghostlyferrettarot]

♥︎Pick a picture: 🐇🩵What guides do you want to hear right now?🩵🐇

•Pile 1 •Pile 2 •Pile 3

❗️This is a collective reading, take what resonates and leave the rest❗️

✨️Paid Services ✨️ (Natal charts and tarot readings) Open!

🫧Join my Patreon for exclusive content!🫧

🩵If you like my work you can support me through Ko-fi. Thank you!🩵

🐇Masterlist🐇

🩵Pile 1: Queen of Swords, Ace of Swords and 4 of Pentacles.

It is essential that you start to trust yourself more. You have incredible potential that can take you far and help you achieve all those dreams you long for. However, sometimes you put obstacles in your way that prevent you from moving forward. It is time for you to realize that those limits are only mental and that you can overcome them.

Take a moment to clear your mind and focus on what you really want to achieve. If you put in the effort and work hard, you will see that you can achieve your goals. But it is also essential that you believe in your abilities and talents. Self-confidence is key to being able to show the world what you can really offer.

You have a personality that can shine and attract others, you just need to put aside those doubts that hold you back. Instead of getting stuck in your thoughts, start embracing your charisma and showing it without fear. Remember that you have everything you need to succeed, so go ahead, you can do it!

🩵Song:

🪻Pile 2: The Hanged Man, 5 of Pentacles and 2 of Wands.

There are a lot of positive things coming your way. All the hard work you've been doing is going to pay off, so don't get discouraged. It's normal to feel a little frustrated or exhausted right now, but it's important to keep an optimistic attitude, because what you've been wanting so much is just around the corner.

You will achieve great things and people around you will notice. However, it's essential that you stay grounded and don't forget your roots. Humbleness is key on this path, and remember that every step you take brings you closer to your goals. Your effort and dedication will not go unnoticed, and that's something you should celebrate. You have a voice that resonates strongly and has the potential to inspire many. I'm sure you'll soon see the impact you can have on others, and it may be sooner than you imagine. So keep going, keep faith in yourself and your abilities, because the best is yet to come and you deserve to enjoy every moment of this journey.

🪻Song:

🎀Pile 3: King of Cups, Knight of Pentacles and 3 of Cups.

It's time for you to take a break and celebrate everything you've achieved so far. It's essential that you find a space of calm in your life, where you can focus on the here and now. You may feel a little confused right now, as if you're not clear about where you're going, but in reality, that's part of the process. Life has its ups and downs, and sometimes, getting a little lost is what allows us to rediscover our path.

I feel that taking advantage of these moments of calm can be very. It is in these moments of reflection that you can connect with your true desires and passions, discovering what really motivates you and what you want to do throughout your life. So, instead of worrying about what is to come, allow yourself to enjoy this journey of self-discovery and personal growth.

Remember that not everything has to be resolved immediately. Sometimes, answers come when we least expect them, and situations tend to fall into place naturally. So relax and trust that everything will fall into. Enjoy every step you take, every small achievement, and don't worry so much about the future; the important thing is to live in the present and learn from every experience that comes your way.

🎀Song:

🩵🐇Thanks for reading and tell me if it resonated 🐇🩵

[ot8xbangchansgirlsblog]

𝕃𝕦𝕟𝕒 | ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕠𝕟𝕖 | ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕥𝕨𝕠 | ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕖𝕖 | ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕣 | ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕗𝕚𝕧𝕖 | ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕤𝕚𝕩

Warning: Angst/comfort/MPreg/MxM

A/B/O dynamics:

Omega (Han, Felix, Y/n)

Beta (Hyunjin, Seungmin, I.N)

Alpha (Chan, Changbin, Leeknow)

The series might traumatize you. I really hope you guys like it and enjoy it.

Summary - Request; I've just been reading your A/B/O series and it's so so so good. I was wondering if you would accept an ot8 request where their omega gets in trouble with another pack and Straykids are really worried?

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Y/N, I’m sorry.”

The words left his lips as soon as he sat down across from her. His voice was low, full of regret, but the moment they left him, he regretted them. He could already feel the weight of her anger pressing down on him.

“Sorry for what exactly, Chan?” Her eyes narrowed, and her voice dripped with venom. “For leaving me for dead?”

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut. His heart tightened painfully, and for a moment, he couldn’t find his voice. If only she knew...

“I didn’t leave you for dead... I promise.” His voice was a soft whisper, as if he were speaking to himself. He shut his eyes, willing away the pain that threatened to swallow him.

“Then what exactly is it?” She scoffed, her arms crossing tightly over her chest. Her eyes flashed with an intensity that made his chest tighten even more. “What’s your excuse?”

“Can... can you let me explain?” His words came out barely above a whisper, but there was a pleading tone to them. He needed her to understand—needed to make her see that he never meant for things to turn out this way.

She tilted her head, studying him for a long, hard moment. “You guys were at the territory line, right? You could smell my scent... and yet you chose to ignore it. You could hear my screams through the bond, but you chose to ignore that too,” she said, each word sharper than the last. Her anger was building, and it felt like it was radiating off her, burning everything in its path.

She was right—and wrong—and it ate at him.

He felt the weight of her words, but there was so much more she didn’t know.

“Oh, Y/N… if you only knew…” Chan thought to himself, but his voice wouldn’t cooperate.

“That’s not what happened!” The words came out more forcefully than he intended, and his hands trembled as he ran them through his hair. “Just... let me explain. Please.”

He couldn’t stop the tears that began to fall now. The overwhelming guilt, the helplessness—it all came rushing back, and he couldn’t stop it.

“Go ahead, I’m listening,” Y/N said bitterly, her arms still crossed, her gaze as hard as stone. She leaned back, her eyes never leaving him. The challenge in her words was clear—prove it.

Chan took a shuddering breath, his chest rising and falling with the weight of everything he had been holding in for so long. He wasn’t sure how to start, but the words felt too important to rush.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Hyung, look at this! Changbin’s voice boasted through the bond, brimming with excitement. He was a few meters away from Chan and LeeKnow, clearly having found something unusual.

What is it? Chan asked, his paws deep in the soil as he worked on scent-marking the perimeter of their territory. The branches around him swayed gently, brushing against his fur.

I just found this… dead… deer? Changbin tilted his head, trying to get a better smell of the carcass, his nose twitching in confusion.

Deer? We never have deer here… Chan responded, perplexed. Wait—don’t touch it! His ears pricked up, a sense of urgency creeping into his tone.

Chan’s body tensed, and he moved swiftly, using his heightened senses to track Changbin’s scent. As he closed the distance, he could feel the hairs along his neck stand on end. When he finally arrived, the sight before him took him by surprise.

Why is there a deer here? Chan questioned, his voice low, almost growling, as he scanned the area. The animal’s body lay unnaturally far from their territory line, and it was disturbing—too far beyond the boundaries of where it should have been.

Do you think someone was here? Changbin asked, circling the lifeless creature, sniffing cautiously.

I can’t smell any other scents, Chan growled, his gut twisting with unease. Something didn’t feel right. His nose was sharp—too sharp—and he knew this land like the back of his paw. There had never been a deer this far into their territory, much less one lying dead.

Stay alert, Chan warned, his voice tightening as a sense of danger gnawed at him.

Changbin nuzzled his snout into Chan’s side in silent understanding before scanning the perimeter, his tail flicking nervously.

I don’t have a good feeling about this, Changbin growled quietly.

“I know. Neither do I,” Chan agreed, taking a few cautious steps away from the deer’s body. His instincts screamed that something was wrong.

It was then that a twig snapped nearby. Chan’s reflexes were lightning fast. He growled, stepping in front of Changbin, his body tensing as he prepared for whatever threat was coming.

It’s just me, hyung. Can’t you smell me? LeeKnow emerged from the bushes, laughing softly, clearly unaware of how close he had come to putting himself in danger.

LeeKnow! Don’t do that! Chan’s voice was a low, furious growl. Oh my God, you almost got yourself killed! He snapped, heart pounding in his chest, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, LeeKnow quickly apologized, his voice sheepish, but his curiosity got the better of him. I thought you could hear me... I was pretty loud. What’s going on here? Wait—is that a deer? His eyes widened in disbelief.

Yeah, exactly, Chan muttered, still shaken. That’s why we’re on high alert. But I didn’t smell you. In fact… I don’t smell anything. His voice trailed off in confusion, his eyes narrowing as his senses felt off, almost muted. What was going on with his ability to smell?

LeeKnow’s expression darkened as he stepped closer, sniffing the air. Hyung… I don’t have a good feeling about this.

Okay, let’s just go back to the territory line, Chan replied, feeling a sudden surge of protectiveness and unease. Where’s Y/N? I don’t feel good having her this far out. His thoughts were racing. She shouldn’t be anywhere near this strange scene.

She’s picking strawberries by the wild gardens… LeeKnow replied.

Okay, go get her and—

Before Chan could finish his sentence, a sweet, unfamiliar scent filled the air. It was intoxicating, heavy and thick, like something dangerous. Chan’s heart began to race in his chest, his head spinning. What is that?

I don’t feel well, Changbin groaned, rubbing his nose with his paw. The world around them seemed to tilt, and Chan’s body started to feel sluggish, his legs unsteady.

His senses began to dull, and the world around him seemed to blur.

I can’t feel my legs… LeeKnow’s voice was panicked. His body trembled as he tried to move, but his limbs felt frozen.

Shit… It’s a trap, Chan realized too late, his stomach dropping. The sweet scent—the drugging, overpowering smell—it wasn’t just a random scent. It was a weapon.

Changbin! LeeKnow! Can you hear me?! Chan’s voice cracked with fear, the adrenaline flooding his bloodstream as he tried to move. His paws were heavy, his vision swimming. He had heard about this—heard the older Ummas in the village speak in hushed voices about poison or sedative gases. But never had he expected it to happen to them.

Changbin?! LeeKnow?! he cried out, his voice desperate, but there was no response. The two of them were collapsing, just as he was.

Chan felt his body buckle beneath him, his strength draining away as the toxin infiltrated his bloodstream. The world around him slowed to a crawl. His vision blurred, his eyes fluttering. The last thing he saw was a figure—human, but somehow otherworldly—moving toward him.

The figure knelt beside him, their face twisted into a mocking smirk. “Oh, the mighty alpha… can’t even protect his luna,” they said, their voice dripping with disdain.

Luna. The word hit him like a punch to the gut.

His heart skipped a beat. Y/N. She was out there, alone, and he couldn’t do anything.

Chan’s vision faded completely as the darkness claimed him. His body went limp, unconscious, the last coherent thought in his mind that Y/N was in danger.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“And so when we woke up, we searched for you everywhere,” Chan’s voice cracked as he spoke, his chest tightening with the weight of the memories. “Through the forest, the waterfall, everywhere we could think of, but your scent was so faint. The rogues—” he stopped, his breath shaky. “The rogues didn’t have any scent. We searched all day, non-stop, until we had no choice but to come back. The betas and omegas were freaking out. We were exhausted and starving.”

Chan’s eyes welled up with tears, his voice breaking. “I never stopped looking for you, Y/N. You have to believe me. I never gave up. I thought about you every second, every day... and I couldn’t stop searching for you.”

Y/N’s eyes glowed golden, a flash of anger and hurt in her gaze. She could feel the heat rising in her chest, the pain she had carried all this time surfacing. She had thought they weren’t looking for her, that they had abandoned her. The rogues had filled her head with lies, convincing her that no one was coming for her. But now, hearing Chan’s words, everything she had believed was shattering.

“So… so they set you guys up?” Y/N sniffled, her voice trembling as she looked up at the alpha sitting across from her. Chan was slouched on the couch, his sweatpants and black vest a stark contrast to the vulnerability in his eyes.

“Yes,” Chan said softly, his voice low with suppressed anger. “They did. And they had been planning on taking you.” He clenched his fists, the memory of the betrayal still raw. “When I found them—” he stopped, the words heavy on his tongue.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. “You... you killed them?” She gasped, her eyes widening with a mix of relief and awe. For a moment, she felt lighter, like a weight had been lifted from her chest.

“Yes.” Chan nodded grimly. “After you came back and... after seeing what they had done to you, I couldn’t let them live. I tracked them down with Mark and the hyungs. We found their den, and we killed them.” He exhaled sharply, the memory of the violence still fresh in his mind. “I couldn’t let them walk away after what they did to you... not after what they did to us.”

Y/N wrapped her arms around herself, her shoulders trembling as the tears began to fall. The enormity of what Chan had done for her hit her like a ton of bricks. He had gone through so much, fought so hard—for her. She felt an overwhelming sense of guilt flood her heart. She had been so focused on her own pain, on her own suffering, that she hadn’t once thought about what he had gone through. What he had endured.

“Channie, I’m so sorry.” Her voice was a whisper, the words barely leaving her lips as she looked up at him, her eyes filled with regret.

Chan’s gaze softened. His hands trembled as he reached out toward her, but he hesitated, unsure if she would want him to touch her. “Please... don’t apologize,” he murmured, his voice strained. “Never apologize. It’s not your fault.”

Y/N shook her head, her tears falling faster. “No, I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I was awful to you. I thought you didn’t care. I thought you gave up on finding me, and... I just... I was in so much pain. I still am. I’m angry at the world, Channie. But I hope you can forgive me for everything.” Her voice cracked with emotion, and she looked down, unable to meet his eyes.

“I don’t need you to forgive me,” Chan said softly, his voice full of warmth and understanding. “I understand, my love. I know you were in a state... a state no one should have to endure. I don’t blame you. Not at all. I should’ve been there for you, even when you pushed me away. I should’ve stayed by your side.” His voice trembled as he spoke, and his eyes darkened with the guilt of not being able to protect her. “I just... I can’t see you in pain anymore. I want to help you heal.”

Y/N’s heart ached as she reached her hand out toward him. Chan looked at her, surprised, but then slowly he took her hand in his. The moment their fingers touched, it was like electricity running through their veins. They were connected—alpha and omega—and this simple act of holding hands was enough to send a wave of relief through both of them.

“I don’t think you need to apologize either, Channie,” Y/N said, her voice more stable now, though still laced with sadness. “I think we both went through mentally and physically draining situations. I just... I can’t help but ask the Moon Goddess why. But I know she will have answers. I want to move forward. I want to put this behind us.” She paused, her chest tightening with emotion as she struggled to speak through her sobs. “I want to be a part of the pack again. I want to be normal.”

Chan pulled her into his arms, wrapping his strong arms around her as he held her close. He hoped she would let him, he hoped she would feel the comfort in his embrace. “I understand, my love. I ask the Moon Goddess every day why... but all I want is for you to heal. To feel better. I don’t want you to rush into anything, though. It gets overwhelming, but I’m right here. I promise.” He kissed her temple gently, letting the warmth of his affection seep into her.

Y/N buried her face in his chest, tears soaking into his shirt. “I’m sorry about losing the pup, Channie.” She choked on her sobs, her words trembling with grief. “I tried to protect her. I tried to shield her from it all, but they just... they kept going.”

Chan’s heart shattered hearing her cry like this. He gently cupped both sides of her face, his thumbs brushing away her tears. His voice was firm and full of love. “Baby, I will never blame you for that. Do you hear me? Never. It was not your fault. I know it hurts, but I pray you’ll understand that.”

Y/N’s heart was breaking, but she nodded, pressing closer to him. “I just... I just know it’ll be heavy to get past. I don’t think I’ll love another pup the way I loved her. She was our first…” She trailed off, her voice lost in the depth of her sorrow.

Chan held her tighter, his heart aching for her. “Time will heal us, my love. Everything will get better. I promise. We’ll get through this together.”

Y/N wiped the tears from his face as she pulled back slightly, her scent calming, though still tinged with sadness. She gave him a small, tender smile. “Thank you... for being here. For loving me through all of this.”

Chan smiled back, his eyes filled with devotion and hope for the future. “I’ll always be here, Y/N. No matter what.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Chan finally felt like he could breathe again. After everything they’d been through, after the pain, the misunderstandings, and the distance—he had finally reconnected with his luna. They had talked it all out, and in that moment, something inside him shifted. The weight he’d carried for so long—worry, guilt, fear—began to lift. He no longer feared that she might hate him, or that the rift between them would be impossible to mend.

He could finally sleep tonight, he thought, with peace in his heart.

His hand moved gently to trace circles on her arm, the motion soothing both of them. He didn’t know how long they’d been lying there, but it felt like time had slowed, like nothing else existed in the world but the quiet warmth of her presence.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. His heart pounded in his chest, the words carrying everything he hadn’t been able to say before.

Y/N turned to him, her eyes soft and full of tenderness, her expression mirroring his. “I love you too, my love.” Her voice was steady, but there was a catch in it—a vulnerability that made Chan’s chest tighten with affection.

And then, in that quiet, intimate space between them, Chan’s eyes welled up with tears.

All the anger, the frustration, the guilt, and the sadness that had consumed him for so long seemed to melt away in a single moment. With Y/N’s love, with her forgiveness, all the heavy emotions that had weighed down on him for so long evaporated.

She was back in his arms—officially—and nothing in the world could have felt more right.

Chan felt her warmth against him, her heartbeat steady and calm, and he realized with a deep breath that he would do whatever it took to help her grieve, to help her heal. He wasn’t going anywhere.

He wasn’t going to lose her again.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

A/N: i think its time to end this mini series guysss >_<

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[lillmirey]

„Protecting You”

summary: Melissa is your own personal Protector

Pairing: Melissa Schemmenti x Female Reader

Conten Warning: none just fluff and protectiveness

Word Count: 3k

The cafeteria at Abbott Elementary was its usual chaotic self. Teachers buzzed around, half-eating and half-grading, while kids darted outside to squeeze in the last minutes of recess. You sat at your usual spot at the far end of the staff table, gently sipping your tea and flipping through a small stack of student essays.

Across from you, Jacob and Gregory were deep in debate over something trivial—probably the merits of classroom seating charts again. Barbara chimed in occasionally, her usual graceful authority effortlessly shutting down Jacob’s more outlandish claims.

And then there was Melissa.

She sat beside you, sipping her coffee and shooting the occasional glare at anyone who looked like they might disturb your peace. It was subtle—most people didn’t even notice—but you’d long since picked up on her habits. Melissa was always watching, always making sure you were okay.

You glanced up and caught her eye. She arched an eyebrow. “You good, sweetheart?”

You nodded, offering a small smile. “Just a little tired. It’s been a long week.”

Melissa’s gaze softened, and she reached over to pluck the essays from your hands. “Go ahead and eat. These can wait.”

“Melissa, I—”

“Eat,” she said firmly, cutting you off with a pointed look.

You sighed but relented, knowing better than to argue. Melissa always had a way of getting her way, especially when it came to you.

Barbara chuckled from down the table. “Melissa, you spoil her too much.”

Melissa shrugged, leaning back in her chair. “Someone’s gotta look out for her. She’s too sweet for her own good.”

You felt your cheeks warm as the others laughed.

“She’s not wrong,” Gregory said, offering you a kind smile. “You’re always putting everyone else first. It’s nice to see someone returning the favor.”

You ducked your head, embarrassed by the attention. “It’s nothing, really. I just like helping out.”

“And that’s exactly why you need someone like me,” Melissa said, her voice teasing but her eyes serious.

The day passed quickly, and soon enough, you were back in your classroom, tidying up after your students. You were humming softly to yourself when a knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts.

“Hey, kid,” Melissa called, leaning against the doorway. “You got a minute?”

“Of course,” you said, setting down a stack of papers. “What’s up?”

She stepped inside, her usual confident stride a little slower. “Heard a couple of the kids in your class were giving you trouble today.”

You hesitated, unsure how she knew about the incident. “It wasn’t a big deal. Just a little back-and-forth.”

Melissa’s jaw tightened. “They back-talked you?”

You waved her off. “It’s fine, Melissa. I handled it.”

She crossed her arms, clearly unconvinced. “You don’t have to put up with that, you know. If they’re giving you a hard time, you let me know. I’ll have a word with them.”

You couldn’t help but smile at her protectiveness. “I appreciate it, but really, I’m okay.”

Melissa gave you a long look before finally nodding. “Alright. But if it happens again, you better tell me. Got it?”

“Got it,” you said with a laugh.

“Good,” she said, her expression softening. “Now, come on. Barbara’s got cookies in the lounge, and I know you’ve got a sweet tooth.”

The teachers’ lounge was a welcome reprieve from the chaos of the day. Barbara was holding court at the table, passing around a tin of her famous oatmeal raisin cookies.

“Melissa managed to drag you out of your classroom, huh?” Barbara said with a smile as you entered.

“She needed a break,” Melissa said, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder as she guided you to a chair.

Jacob looked up from his crossword puzzle. “You really do work too hard. Have you ever considered relaxing?”

“I relax!” you protested, though your tone was more amused than defensive.

Gregory raised an eyebrow. “When? You’re always the last one out of the building.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Melissa cut you off. “That’s because she’s got a heart bigger than her classroom. Doesn’t mean she should be running herself into the ground.”

Barbara hummed in agreement. “Melissa’s right. You need to take care of yourself, dear. You can’t pour from an empty cup.”

You smiled, touched by their concern. “Thanks, guys. I’ll try to take it easier.”

“Good,” Melissa said, handing you a cookie. “Starting now.”

The following week brought its own challenges. A parent had sent a curt email about your teaching methods, and while you knew you were doing everything right, the criticism still stung.

You didn’t think anyone had noticed how off you were until Melissa cornered you in the hallway after school.

“Alright, spill,” she said, her hands on her hips.

“Spill what?” you asked, playing dumb.

“Don’t give me that,” she said, her voice softer now. “You’ve been quiet all day. What’s going on?”

You sighed, leaning against the wall. “It’s nothing. Just a tough email from a parent. It’s not a big deal.”

Melissa’s eyes narrowed. “What did they say?”

“It’s really not—”

“What. Did. They. Say?” she repeated, her tone leaving no room for argument.

You hesitated before finally relenting. “They didn’t think I was challenging their kid enough. Said I wasn’t doing my job properly.”

Melissa’s jaw clenched, and you could see the fire in her eyes. “That’s bull. You’re one of the best teachers in this building, and anyone with half a brain can see that.”

You smiled faintly. “Thanks, Melissa. That means a lot.”

“No, I mean it,” she said, stepping closer. “You work harder than anyone else here, and you care more than anyone I’ve ever met. Don’t let some clueless parent make you doubt yourself.”

Her words were like a balm to your soul, and you felt some of the tension in your chest ease. “You always know how to make me feel better,” you said softly.

“That’s because I care about you, sweetheart,” she said, her voice low and earnest.

Your heart fluttered, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded away.

It was the next day when Melissa’s protectiveness hit an all-time high. One of the new substitute teachers, Mr. Whitman, had been overly friendly toward you in the lounge. While you didn’t think much of it, Melissa clearly did.

She stood behind you, her arms crossed and her gaze icy as Mr. Whitman tried to strike up a conversation.

“So, you’re the one everyone’s been talking about,” he said, flashing you a smile. “They weren’t kidding. You’re really something.”

“Yeah, she is,” Melissa said, her tone cool and sharp. “And she doesn’t need you bothering her.”

Mr. Whitman blinked, clearly taken aback. “I wasn’t—”

“You weren’t leaving?” Melissa interrupted, her expression daring him to argue.

He hesitated for a moment before mumbling an excuse and walking away.

You turned to Melissa, a mix of amusement and gratitude on your face. “You didn’t have to scare him off.”

“Trust me, sweetheart,” she said, her voice softening. “You don’t need guys like him hanging around. You deserve better than that.”

You smiled, touched by her protectiveness. “You’re always looking out for me, huh?”

“Always,” she said, her green eyes meeting yours.

And in that moment, you realized that Melissa wasn’t just protecting you because she cared about you as a friend. She was protecting you because she loved you.

And maybe, just maybe, you loved her too.

[nathaslosthershit]

A Big Decision (Teen Dad!Oscar AU)

(Part 8 of Teen Dad!OP au [Can be read on its own])

Summary: It is time to pop the big question

The twins had finally gone down for a nap after spending so long fighting it. The kids, at age three, have started to fight them more and more, leading their parents to start discussing if it's time for naps to stop. Honey, being a stay at home mom, had needed the nap time as much as her kids had in the past, giving her time to catch up on chores or just rest for a little, so she was really trying to get as much time as she could with it. But maybe it truly was over.

She was surprised to see Oscar pacing in their living room once she went back downstairs.

“Well, aren't you home early?” She says as Oscar immediately wraps his arms around her, burying his head in her neck and kissing it.

“Missed you all, did what they needed from me extra fast so I could get home earlier. Thought we could maybe go out tonight?”

“Oscar, it's a friday night. Do you know how impossible getting a babysitter would be? The kids also take a while to warm up to babysitters, I don’t think it's a good idea.”

“Good thing I thought ahead then. Lando had a free night and has been begging to see them after the last ‘betrayal’ when they wore Sargeant hats. Even better, he said he would do it for free if it meant working towards being the favorite.”

“Oscar, you can’t get your coworkers to babysit your twin toddlers for free by dangling favoritism in their faces.”

“It was his idea! I am just capitalizing off of it. I got us a nice reservation too, we just need to let him now in the next…” Oscar checks his wrist where his watch usually rests but finds it missing, “uh now. So I need an answer quickly, are we going to stay home and eat the same leftovers we have had for the past two days, or are we going to make Lando Norris the happiest man alive by letting him watch our kids for free while we have an amazingly romantic dinner?” Oscar quickly asks as he takes his ex-fiancee, now girlfriend, in his arms.

“Fine, let's go out, we could use the night off. Let Lando know I appreciate him watching them for us.”

“Perfect, why don’t you go out, do something nice for yourself, I'll take over with the kids. We still have time before dinner tonight.” Oscar suggested in a strange tone as he kissed all surface area of her face.

“What is up with you today? I don’t mind it but you are so much more touchy.” She laughed.

“Don’t worry bout a thing.” Was all he replied as he walked away. “Tonight will be the best yet, I promise.”

That’s when it struck her, why he was being so weird. Surely, he was going to propose.

After the huge fight in Suzuka, she had called the engagement off, causing them to ignore each other’s existence unless it came to the kids, for seven weeks. Since they had gotten back together, life had been blissful. Sure, it was most likely the ‘honeymoon’ phase of their relationship, but even so, they had been so ready to marry each other before things started going downhill. Maybe days after they got back together isn’t the right time to get engaged, but they had been to hell and back together since they got pregnant at 18 years old, they were it for each other, always would be. 

Oscar taking off of racing had also been a blessing. It had been hard for him, certainly. But he had needed to learn how to put his family first again, a priority that got harder to keep up with since joining Formula 1. 

As she sat in the nail salon chair, getting what were hopefully her engagement nails done, she thought back to how far they’d come. 

Arriving home with her nails done, and after getting the most amazing massage, Honey was giddy as she greeted her, hopefully, soon to be fiancé. After an hour and a half of filling her head with wedding plans and thinking about their future when she would finally get to be Mrs. Piastri after 7 years, she was more excited then she was the first time he proposed. 

This excitement continued from the moment she stepped into the shower, till the moment she sat in her seat at the restaurant. Oscar had hired a driver for the night, saying it was a night all for them, no need to be careful of how many drinks they were going to have, he had also told her he had plans to take them to the beach after where they could finish the night with a picnic by the water and stay as late as they liked. 

There was one thing that was off about him though, while she had expected nerves, she had also expected excitement from him and soon noticed the more giggly she was, the more upset he seemed to be. Maybe he realized she had caught on?

She finally asked what was up after he spilt his drink.

“Seriously Osc, what is wrong with you? You claim this is such a nice night for just the two of us but you are a mess right now!”

“It’s nothing, I’m sorry I don’t know why I’m like th-”

“Bullshit. I thought I made it clear how awful of a liar you are Oscar Jack Piastri, just tell me. Please?”

Silence filled the air as he stared at her, words failing.

“I will get up if you don’t-”

“I had a meeting with higher ups at McLaren earlier today and was told if I don’t come back then I am out of the contract and I agreed to come back for the Spanish Grand Prix!” Oscar blurted out.

Again, a heavy silence landed on the couple, both of them daring the other one to speak first.

Then, without a single word, Honey got up from the table and walked to the car leaving Oscar at the table, tears starting to fall.

Part 2 out now!