#like 12k words. all one chapter

[natjennie]

thinking about how much a time loop ghosts fic would rip like. maybe it's carpe diem right. like imagine cap doesn't reveal his story, he chickens out, the clock strikes midnight no one moves on they dance they go to bed they wake up.

the morning clubs and discussions seem vaguely familiar but, he's been dead almost 80 years, they run into repeating themselves sometimes, it doesn't register as weird. but when robin runs in yelling that there's a pattern to when they move on, cap starts to get confused. maybe robin is just trying again, he thinks it's TODAY instead? but everyone is reacting like this is the first time they've heard it. maybe he dreamed last night? but he's never had such vivid dreams. strange. he's on edge all day, coming up with theories, and everyone who talks to him can tell there's something a little off. but he doesn't rush into things, so he tries his best to do things the same as yesterday and not make anyone suspicious, but keeps an eye out for anything weird. and he has nothing, clock, dance, sleep. maybe it was a weird dream? but here robin comes again and now he knows something is wrong. so then like, who would he go to first? how does he tell the different ghosts?

there's loops upon loops where he tries telling some of them but not others, having to learn the specific things to say to convince them it's happening and to get them to help. there's loops where he goes to alison and loops where he doesn't and loops where he tries staying away from everyone all day and loops where he can quote what everyone is gonna say before they say it and then. he starts to think, is this really any different than being a ghost in the first place? he's so tired and nothing is working and. maybe he should just give up. experiencing this day over and over again isnt functionally any different than experiencing mindless other days over and over again for years on end. and then he starts to question himself. has this happened before and he's just never noticed? where there years in there, before alison, before pat's clubs, when he'd done the same day multiple times and just been so used to the monotony it didn't register?

and he falls into this like hole of grief and fear and confusion and mostly he thinks about havers. about how if he was here, he would know what to do. about how he always knew what to do. and for loops and loops on end, he stops counting, all he does is wish havers was there with him. he grips the swagger stick so hard it snaps and he throws it as far into the forest and as deep into the lake as he can just to watch it reappear in his hands and he thinks about anthony. about what he had, about what he lost, about what he still has to gain. and he thinks that maybe his family deserve to know. it's not that he owes it to them, it's not something being dragged out of him, taken, like everything else. this is something he can give, freely, and maybe, just maybe, it'll start to feel a little lighter.

so he decides, tomorrow, or today, or the same yesterday, or however it works. next loop, he'll tell them. he keeps everything as similar as he can to that first day, in case this doesn't work and he has to start changing variables again, and when the clock starts to chime, he tells them. and he grips the stick over his heart and he's ready.

[seiwas]

omg i reached the tag limit i’m so sorry op ! but i must !! share !! just how much this fic !!! made me Feel Things !!!!!!

(cont from tag) <- so that line is so witty i snorted while reading it 😭 & this one too: “If looks could kill, Atsumu would’ve been dropped dead ten minutes ago.”

there are so many close calls too!! with how everyone’s dropping hints and implying everything 🤧 they’re really so idiots in love 😭 & atsumu is so whipped and he knows it but isn’t saying it and it’s driving me insane !!!

and !!!! the many passes atsumu gives !! bc he thinks thats what he’s supposed to do !!! the right thing to do !!! give reader space 🤧 but it rlly just prolongs everything 😭 u kept the tension and held it so well 😭😭

“he knows, underneath all the teasing and the bickering and the irritated eyerolls, is your pinky and his, intertwined.” <- i love this line too 😭😭

how atsumu takes care of them when they’re drunk 🤧 & he’s so loverboy w how he’s acting but he still needs aran to lay it down 😭😭 & when reader touches his face !! it’s so tender !! i love that moment 🥺

“The top of the world may be nice, but it is nothing compared to being on the ground next to you.” <- i rlly squealed out loud when i read this 😭

the dancing in the kitchen!! their sticking their tongues out!! their entire dynamic!! i love it so much!! there’s so much comfort and knowing and loving in it 🥺 and they r so goofy and silly w each other it’s so cute 🥺

the tension in the bathroom scene omg i felt siCK 😭 i love how u delved into atsumu’s thought process 😭 the panic !! the fear !!

“(Aren’t you the one who’s always saying he should be more responsible? Doing this is the most responsible thing he could do, isn’t it?)” <- this bit omfg 😭😭 i ached!!! tbh everything u put in the parentheses were just 👌🏼😖 had to stop myself from reading to gather myself omg 😭

“Three words are whispered into the dead of night, and the world tilts on its axis.” <- this and the parallel to one at the end !!! i love it so much 😭

and this “because when Atsumu is upset, it becomes everyone else’s problem.” is so true 😭

and this: “There’s no point being here without you.” my face rlly went 🥺

& the way my heart !!! rlly squeezed !! when reader opened the door to find atsumu there 🥺 and all they did was go on like they weren’t fighting bc the care is still there !!!! 😭 and i’m just aaaaaah

i’m sorry i rlly said so much ant this but i love it so much !!! and u wrote it so so so well op 🥺 i love the way you write !! and tell a story !! and i love the dialogues u come up with and the little details that u slip in that make everything so much richer !!! felt 1000x deeper !! & u’re so talented op!! for writing smth like this 😭 definitely one of my fave atsumu fics to date 😭 thank u so much for writing this aaaaaaahhh!!!

miya atsumu and the chronic lovesick disease

❛ what am i to you, atsumu? ❜

word count | 12.6k (12,607) genre | fluff, slight angst, friends to lovers, college au ━ gn!reader

the question comes to him one autumn night, surrounded by his friends and the chilly november breeze, asked by, who he assumes to be, just another nobody looking for money: what is it that you desire most, boy? the psychic asks, her saccharine smile forgotten when he looks into the crystal ball and all he ends up seeing is you. alternatively: miya atsumu is not in love. what the hell? who would ever suggest something like that?

➞ warnings | alcohol consumption, mutual pining, denial of feelings!!! lots of it!! and with this denial comes some stupid decisions!!! ➞ warnings | ive actually like never been to the psychic before so if its inaccurate im so sorry ..... it’s not really a big part of the plot though so hopefully u can overlook it 😭

o. Desire

This is a scam, is Atsumu’s first thought when he takes a seat inside the tent and finds himself face-to-face with a crystal ball.

People like this are dangerous — his twin brother never lets anyone forget it. They take advantage of an individual’s fear of the unknown and they make money off it. It’s genius, because even the strongest people can become weak to something as mundane as self-proclaimed clairvoyants setting base near a college campus.

Atsumu supposes he’s no exception. Even if Bokuto was the one who forced him to do this in the first place.

“Hello,” the woman greets, her hair pinned into a tight bun. “You’re here for a reading?”

“Sure,” Atsumu huffs, shivering when the cold breeze sneaks into the tent. He really should’ve worn a thicker jacket.

When he looks up from the table, the woman gives him a smile. It’s analytical, as if all he needed to do was sit down for her to know everything about him. He fidgets in his seat, growing more uncomfortable under her gaze.

“So,” she says, clasping her hands together and resting them on the table. “What is it that you desire most, boy?”

 “I’m sorry?”

“Your greatest desire,” she repeats patiently.

Atsumu blinks before tilting his head. “Um, I’m not—”

“I’m sure you know,” she says. “Is it strength? Power? Love?”

All colour drains from Atsumu’s face. The psychic smiles wickedly.

Atsumu thinks this may be the end of him. He never liked it when people acted like they knew more about his intentions than he did, and it only took mere minutes before the woman figured him out.

His hand twitches. He would feel a lot better if you were here—

“Ah,” she clicks her tongue, “bingo.”

i. Strength

After a borderline homicidal game of rock, paper, scissors, Sakusa lands himself a new roommate.

Move-in day comes two weeks later and Atsumu sits in the lobby of the building, waiting for your car to pull into the parking lot.

He notes the time — it’s five minutes past 8:30, making you more than half an hour late — before grumbling under his breath and continuing to scroll through his feed. When Instagram notifies him that he’s all caught up, he exits the app and opens Twitter in hopes that something will be able to entertain him until you show up. He likes some tweets, retweets a few more, and terrorizes Suna before he grows bored at the lack of anything interesting on his timeline.

Another glance at the time. He scowls. It’s only been two minutes.

Atsumu debates asking Sakusa if he knows what’s happened to you. When he opens their message thread, he raises an eyebrow at how unbelievably one-sided their conversations are, but he decides that’s a problem for another day. Your absence is more important to Atsumu than Sakusa’s terrible conversational skills ever will be.

(He’ll bother Sakusa about it later).

He’s about to send a long string of emojis when an incredulous voice reaches his ears.

“Tsumu?”

He looks up and immediately pockets his phone with a grin. “You’re late.”

You adjust the box of donuts in your hands and squint at him as if his smile is as blinding as the sun. “I slept through my alarm. What the hell are you doing here?”

Atsumu gestures to his outfit. “What does it look like?”

You stare blankly.

“Seriously?” he scoffs. “I told you last night I’d help you move in. How’d you forget? Am I that forgettable? You wound me, I—”

“Shut up,” you say, shifting your weight. Atsumu’s eyes flicker to the sticker on the box, and he tries his best not to frown when he notices you’ve written Sakusa’s name in calligraphy with a heart at the end. “Of course I remember you offering to help because I spent my entire night telling you it was fine.”

“You expect me to believe that you can bring all your shit in by yourself? You look like you just rolled out of bed.”

“Thank you, Tsumu, I can always count on you to make me feel like I’ve been shot by Cupid’s arrow,” you quip, brushing past him to get to the elevator, and as if it’s second nature, he follows. “I can’t believe people walk around campus calling you sweet.”

“I never said you looked bad,” he says. “I think the dried drool on your chin is pretty cute, actually.”

“Whatever,” you hurriedly wipe your face. “Speaking of bad, what on Earth are you wearing?”

Atsumu knows full well you’re not complimenting him, but he decides to treat your comment as if you have. He beams, picking at the sweatpants you eye with disgust before walking into the elevator with you.

“It’s my mover outfit!”

“Your mover outfit,” you deadpan. “Disregarding whatever that means — those sweatpants are baggier than Kenma’s eyebags. And they do nothing for your ass.”

He smirks. “You were checking out my ass?”

You avoid eye contact, feigning indifference, but Atsumu’s known you for too long and immediately recognizes your fluster by the way you tug at the hem of your clothing.

“No,” you deny curtly, straightening your posture when the elevator doors open to show Sakusa’s floor. “It’s just hard not to notice when those sweats are ridiculously baggy. Seriously, are you trying to put something in there? I could fit a month’s worth of groceries in those.”

You’re walking swiftly, eager to get to your new apartment and end the conversation. The both of you are well aware that Atsumu’s more than capable of catching up with you, but he hangs back, preferring to watch you babble while he trails behind.

You clutch the donuts closer to your body as words tumble out of your mouth — a list of things that could fit in his sweats, including two jugs of milk and a family size pack of chips — and Atsumu can’t stop the lopsided smile from appearing on his face.

“Maybe a carton of eggs, too,” he suggests.

“Oh, I wouldn’t trust you with eggs,” you say sharply.

“Why not?”

“Are you really asking me that? Last month I lent you my blanket and you gave it back to me with a hole in it.”

“For the last time,” Atsumu begins, quickening so he’s side-by-side with you, “that was Samu’s fault, not mine.”

“…Alright.”

“Y/N,” he whines. “I’m serious! None of that was on me — I even bought you a new blanket! Would Samu have done that? I don’t think so—”

“Actually—”

“The point is,” Atsumu interrupts, throwing you a glare before continuing, “blame Samu. Whenever something bad happens, blame him. That’s what I always do.”

“Spoken like a true, responsible individual.”

“Hey!” he protests. “I’m responsible!”

You open your mouth to deny his claims, but the pout he plasters over his face is enough for you to give in. Too tired to give him something as golden as a verbal agreement, you opt for changing the subject. “Do you think Sakusa will like the donuts?”

Atsumu frowns. “Why does it matter? They’re donuts.”

You grow annoyed at his impertinence. “I want him to like me, you moron.”

His expression sours further. “He’s your friend.”

“And I won a game of rock, paper, scissors, so now I’m his roommate,” you remark. “There’s a difference between being friends with someone and living with them. I mean, would you want to live with Bokuto?”

Atsumu’s answer is swift. “Hell no.”

“Exactly,” you say, “I need us to get along.”

You stop in front of a door and begin searching your pockets for your key. There’s a pinch between your eyebrows, the box trembles as you struggle to balance it with one hand, and your clothes are a mess, but underneath the fluorescent light of the hallway, Atsumu can’t help but think you almost look angelic.

He shakes the thought away, squashes it beneath his foot until the remnants of it have been absorbed by the carpet.

“The last time I saw you this nervous was when you asked out that barista,” he muses.

You dig your hand into the breast pocket of your shirt and huff when you find nothing. “What are you implying?”

Atsumu stares pointedly at the sticker on the box. Your face morphs into one of horror.

“Are you dense?”

“Calligraphy, Y/N. I’ve never seen you write calligraphy in my entire life.”

“I was trying something out!”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

You smack him on the shoulder. “I was being thoughtful,” you grunt, softening when Atsumu winces and rubs the spot where you hit him. “He’s my friend, and that’s all he ever will be.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

Your eyes leave him for a millisecond, flickering to somewhere else on his face before returning his gaze once more. “Of course,” you say softly, “Besides, I—”

The door swings open.

“You’re loud,” Sakusa deadpans in the doorway. His eyes travel down to the donuts. “Are those for me?”

You hand them over to him. “Yeah, I didn’t know what you liked, so they’re all assorted.”

Sakusa hums in thanks before tilting his head at Atsumu. “Why’re you here?”

“To help them move in,” Atsumu grins, placing a hand on your shoulder and squeezing it. “I know you’re going to the drycleaners, and I couldn’t let Y/N do this all by themselves.”

Sakusa shrugs and turns to go further into the apartment. “Sounds good to me. I’d rather not have to press those nasty elevator buttons multiple times just so I can come down and get your stuff,” he gives you the best apologetic look he can muster. “Have fun, though.”

Before you can go on a tangent about how Sakusa should be more welcoming, Atsumu pipes up, “Yeah, don’t worry! ‘S all in good hands,” he nudges you with his elbow. “Right? Your stuff can’t be that heavy.”

Atsumu, not for the first time and certainly not the last, stands corrected.

Not only is your stuff heavy, but there’s much more than he expected.

With each trip down to the parking lot, his muscles grow strained, and he feels the fatigue threaten to droop his eyelids shut. But, in the corner of his eyes, he sees your persistence to get this over and done with, and Atsumu decides it won’t hurt to push through.

His complaining and wailing can wait until later.

After you place the last box into your new bedroom, you turn to him while wiping the sweat from your forehead. “Thank you,” you say breathlessly.

He goes to tease you, to say that you owe him now, that you’ll be indebted to him for life.

But what comes out of his mouth instead is: “‘Course. Call me whenever you want, and I’ll be there.”

Atsumu calls it a housewarming gift. Sakusa says there is hardly anything warming about it.

It referring to the group of boys gathered in the living room — your friends on good days, the bane of your existence on all the others — with their limbs strewn about and their soda cans sitting too close to the edge of the coffee table. It’s an odd sight for Sakusa to have this many people over on a Thursday night, but Atsumu insisted, and he caught Sakusa on a good day when he asked if he could hold a movie night at the apartment to celebrate your new accommodations.

You’re sure Sakusa regrets it now. He sits in his armchair with a permanent scowl, swatting Hinata away when the boy reaches to fix the crease between Sakusa’s brows. If looks could kill, Atsumu would’ve been dropped dead ten minutes ago.

He covers his fear with a grin, but out of the corner of his mouth, he says to you, “Help me.”

You snicker. “You’re on your own, dude.”

“I thought I told you to stop calling me that.”

“What? But Bokuto calls you that, too!”

“Yeah, but it’s Bokuto.”

“I have no idea what you mean by that.”

Atsumu only tsks, forcibly ending the conversation by suggesting to the room that they should all play a game to decide who’ll prepare all the popcorn. A chorus of agreements is what he gets in response, along with someone complaining about how he should be spared due to his gruelling volleyball practice, and another person expressing his sympathies for the future loser.

Atsumu prepares the ladder game, and after he’s done, he looks at everyone with fiery hot intensity, an expression similar to one he wears during a match. “Remember,” he declares, “whoever loses can’t complain.”

Luck isn’t on his side tonight.

“What the hell!” he screeches once the reality of his defeat settles in.

Osamu, far too smug for Atsumu’s liking, quips, “I thought you said no complaining.”

The noise that leaves Atsumu’s mouth is something akin to a pathetic but animalistic growl. He goes to protest, even raising his hand to list off reasons why he’s been wronged — someone must’ve cheated, or maybe everyone in this room has a ruthless vendetta against him — but just as the words are about to leave his lips, his eyes land on you.

You challenge him to complain with a look, and he suddenly gets a much better idea.

“Y/N,” he says sweetly, growing pleased at your uneasiness. “As the host of this housewarming party, it’s only fair that you help me, too.”

“What?” you squawk, leaning forward as if you’ve misheard him. “But you were the one who suggested doing all of this! How is it now on me to help—”

“Well, he wouldn’t have done this if it wasn’t for you,” Sakusa muses.

You stare at him in disbelief. “Are you taking his side? What happened to roommate solidarity?”

“You just made that up,” Sakusa replies. “Besides, this thing will go by faster if two people prepare the popcorn, and I don’t think Miya wants anyone else other than you.”

Atsumu shifts uncomfortably at the implication, and he involuntarily commits your surprised expression to memory.

(When he goes to sleep later that night, your surprise is all he sees against the darkness of his eyelids).

“Other than me—?”

“To make the popcorn,” Sakusa drawls matter-of-factly.

You blink. “Right.” You look at Atsumu, and he shrugs dumbly, unsure of how else to react to your sudden change in behaviour.

To him, you have always been easy to read, but right now, he’s not entirely sure if there’s a word for the expression on your face. He yearns to press a hand to your cheek to melt the malaise away, to be rid of it forever so he can see you smiling again.

Something in his chest twists.

“Right!” you repeat, more loudly this time, and startling the rest of your friends. You slap your hands on your lap before standing and grabbing Atsumu’s wrist to pull him away. “I guess I’m helping you make popcorn. You owe me one, Miya.”

Your skin is warmer than usual, threatening to burn him until your fingerprints are marked onto his skin.

(Behind him, Suna stage-whispers, “You are so whipped, Y/N.”)

Your touch disappears the moment you’ve both crossed the threshold into the kitchenette. Atsumu flexes his hand, trying to get rid of an urge in his veins he can’t quite explain.

“Hey,” you say casually, back turned to him as you dig through the cabinets for the popcorn packets. “Did you finish that essay for literature class?”

Atsumu awkwardly clears his throat and begins playing with the settings on the microwave. “The paper?”

“Yes, the paper,” you say. “The one I told you to start two weeks ago so you wouldn’t end up sending a half-assed essay two minutes before the deadline?”

“Why are you talking like you think I didn’t start it yet?”

“Because I know you, Tsumu,” you reply, shutting the cabinet with your elbow and ungracefully dropping the packets onto the counter beside him. “And I lost faith in your ability to listen to me a long time ago.”

“How rude. I always listen to you,” he sticks his nose in the air like a scorned, evil, cartoon antagonist, “I just don’t take all your suggestions. There’s a difference.”

“You make my life so much harder,” you huff, inputting a minute-thirty into the microwave. “I honestly think I lose ten years of my lifespan whenever you tell me you’ve gotten yourself into another dilemma.”

“Don’t be dramatic. I’m sure you only lose, like, three at most.”

“No, it’s definitely ten,” you say. “You worry me too much, Miya.”

The smile on Atsumu’s face, previously smug and confident, softens.

“Seriously, though,” you continue, jabbing a finger into his sternum. “The paper? It’s due tonight.”

He flicks your nose, snorting when you pull a face. “I sent it in this morning.”

“Seriously?”

“Hey! Don’t act so shocked!”

“Well, this is, like, the first time you’ve ever done something even remotely responsible, so—”

“I thought we both agreed I’m a generally responsible person.”

Your silence is enough of a response.

Atsumu gasps just as the microwave beeps, allowing you to ignore his stunned expression in order to begin preparing another bag of kernels.

“Give me one reason—”

“The blanket—”

“—that isn’t the blanket,” he says sourly. “That doesn’t count. I told you that was Samu’s fault, not mine.”

“Do you want a list? Because I have one.”

“Are you serious or are you just fucking with me?”

“Osamu and I have a Google Doc.”

Another gasp. You roll your eyes.

“Now you’re in kahoots with my brother? What’s next? Planning my downfall with Suna?”

“I’m sure he’s fine doing that himself without my help.”

He whines, stomping his foot when you only stare back in amusement. “Don’t be so unrepentant, Y/N!”

You dump the contents of the hot popcorn bags into a large bowl for everyone to share. “Unrepentant? Was that the word on your word-of-the-day calendar?”

“Shut up. You know only Kuroo has lame stuff like that,” Atsumu grumbles, throwing the last popcorn packet into the faulty brick of power you and Sakusa call a microwave. “I used it in my essay. Thesauruses are a godsend. It really came in handy when I was writing about the flower symbolism in the book. Y’know what’s even better, though? SparkNotes.”

You tilt your head, studying Atsumu with furrowed eyebrows. “Huh.”

“What d’you mean huh?”

“Nothing,” you say innocently. “I just didn’t think you’d choose that essay topic, that’s all.”

“It was the easiest one,” he states. You hum in agreement, but he can sense you falling into a state of pondering before it even happens, so he lightly pokes your shoulder in hopes it’ll be enough to keep you from drifting too far from his reach. “Why, what did you think I picked?”

He can tell you’re debating what to tell him, letting a few seconds pass before you give in. “I thought you’d do the one that centred more around…” you trail off, clenching and unclenching your jaw, “the love aspect of it all.”

He blinks. “Why?”

Childishly, you retort, “Why not?”

Atsumu licks his lips. “Well, you’re always telling me to write what I know. And I may not know a whole lot about flowers, but I know more about those than, y’know, love.”

Something passes over your face, the same thing he saw when Sakusa said something — implied something — in the living room. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he answers. “I’ve had relationships, sure, but none that made me feel anything like— like that.”

You drum your fingers against the bowl. “None at all?”

“None at all.”

You click your tongue and stare at the microwave. Its buzz has become more prominent in your silence, a mocking hum hanging over the air as you contemplate and Atsumu stares, waiting impatiently for a word to slip past your lips.

But there’s nothing. Instead, the microwave beeps again, indicating that the last of the popcorn is ready.

“That’s good to know,” you say lightly. At least, that’s what you attempt, but you sound different, like a parasite has found solace in your vocal cords and fiddled with everything Atsumu’s familiar with.

“It is?”

“Yeah,” you nod, handing the bowl over to him. Popcorn threatens to spill but Atsumu can’t bring himself to care. “Hey, be careful. What, is it too heavy? Are you too weak to carry it?”

“It’s popcorn,” Atsumu rasps.

You eye him oddly, as if he’s the one whose behaviour should be examined under a microscope. “Don’t spill it everywhere. Sakusa’ll get pissed, and we’re already pushing it with this movie night thing.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Of course,” you agree. “But if you need me—”

“I know,” he interjects.

Simple promises are often uttered during private moments between you and Atsumu — an oath to be there for the other, to stand by their side no matter what. The words soothe him when they’re said aloud; he knows, underneath all the teasing and the bickering and the irritated eyerolls, is your pinky and his, intertwined.

And despite the voice in his head taunting him about a secret he’s unaware of, he allows the promise to enchant him.

I’ll be there for you.

“Do you need help?”

Atsumu grunts, adjusting your arm around his neck as he opens the car door. “No, I’m fine.”

“Thanks for picking them up,” Aran says, voice loud above the frat house’s music, “I know you were tired from practice, but—”

“It’s fine. I probably would’ve killed you if you didn’t call me, anyway.”

“Osamu said you’d say that.”

Atsumu expertly brushes off the statement, gently ushering you into the passenger’s seat and putting your seatbelt on with gentle fingers. Behind him, Aran watches the movements with thoughtful eyes and a quirk of his eyebrows.

“The last time they got this drunk was at the fall festival last year,” he muses. “For your sake, I hope it doesn’t happen again.”

“What does that mean?”

“Hm?”

“For your sake,” Atsumu echoes, turning to face Aran once the door’s been shut and he’s made sure you’re sleeping soundlessly with your head resting against the cold window. Atsumu stands pin-straight, his posture contrasting the way Aran stands opposite him, relaxed with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “What’s that mean?”

Aran laughs, like he’s unsure if this is a serious question. “Well, I mean… they’re always asking for you whenever they get drunk like this.”

“I guess so, yeah.”

“That’s why you got here in record time, right?” Off Atsumu’s questioning gaze, Aran continues, “I called you five minutes ago, and your place is a fifteen-minute drive away. And you’re not in your pajamas, even though you said you’d change into them the moment you got home.”

“I was in the area,” Atsumu says weakly.

“Doing what?”

“Getting dinner.”

“Why didn’t you just get something delivered to your apartment?”

“Is it illegal to want to pick up the food myself?”

Aran raises his hands up in defence. “No, it’s not, but it’s also not illegal to say you knew this would happen,” he shrugs. “You knew they’d need you Atsumu, so you came. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Before Atsumu can force a response from his throat, Aran has already slipped back into the party, leaving Atsumu alone on the street. With an annoyed huff, he stomps to the driver’s side, muttering irked questions under his breath about what Aran could possibly mean. He opens the door with more aggression than necessary, only softening when he sees you stir underneath the jacket he’s draped over you to keep you warm.

He unlocks his phone when he feels a buzz in his pocket.

[00:30] Atsumu: are you still awake?

[00:48] Sakusa: Yes. Why?

Atsumu knows that your apartment’s farther from here than his, and he’s sure that by the time he arrives, Sakusa won’t answer the door because he’ll grow tired of Atsumu’s lack of response and go to bed.

The decision is made when he takes a right instead of a left, when he pulls into a parking lot that isn’t yours, when he carries your body up the stairwell and into his bed with ease.

Everything else comes as routine. He tucks the blanket under your chin, moves the glass of water so it’s too far for you to accidentally knock over in the morning, and leaves a change of clothes at the foot of the bed.

Atsumu likes routine. He likes the predictability of it all.

A groggy voice stops him from leaving the room.

“Tsumu?”

“Hey,” he whispers, crouching so he’s eye-level with you. “I hope you don’t mind I brought you back here.”

You blink sleepily at him, too inebriated and fatigued to acknowledge his words. “You’re a really good person, y’know,” you say languidly.

He smiles, amused. “Really?”

“Yeah. Thank you for picking me up.”

“It’s nothing,” he murmurs.

“It’s not.”

“I’m sure you would’ve been fine without me. Omi could’ve picked you up, couldn’t he? Samu could’ve, too.”

“I know, but you’re the one who always does,” you respond, nuzzling further into the pillow. “You’ve—you’ve helped me a lot.”

You shakily reach a hand to his face, playing with the strands of hair that fall to his forehead. He relaxes, eyelids growing heavy at the feeling of your featherlike touch against his cool skin.

“You’ve brightened up my life, I think,” your voice is muffled, but it rings in Atsumu’s ears clear as day, almost as loud as his quickening heart rate. “I appreciate you a lot more than you know.”

ii. Power

He watches with bated breath as the ball cuts through the air while gravity begins to pull Hinata back to Earth. Everything unfolds in slow motion; everything has faded into white noise.

With a slam, the volleyball connects with the ground, and it’s only when he’s pulled into a hug does the reverie shatter. Like being hauled out from underwater, the roars of the crowd flood his ears as Bokuto begins jumping on the balls of his feet and Hinata comes rushing over to them with a triumphant shout.

On the other side of Bokuto, Sakusa smiles, rolling his eyes fondly when Hinata and Bokuto begin making post-game plans to celebrate their victory. Atsumu, on the other hand, is uncharacteristically silent as he searches the bleachers with a cloudy look in his eyes.

He’s snapped out of it once again when Bokuto tugs on his wrist so they can go and listen to what their coach has to say.

Atsumu isn’t a stranger to winning — he used to get drunk on this sort of stuff, the exhilarating rush that shot through his veins after every successful game. He basks in the crowd’s excitement and admiration, because to be fawned over is the closest to love he’s ever been (if he could even call it that), but once the adrenaline cuts him off and he’s left alone in the locker room, it all fizzles out.

Something’s missing at the end of all this. Usually, the void in his chest is insignificant enough for him to brush off. However, today is different.

It’s abnormal for the power of the win to dwindle into nothingness only minutes after the game ends, but the blue moon has risen tonight, and now everything feels weird. The cheers aren’t enough to keep him from searching the gymnasium for a familiar face, and he itches to get to his phone in the locker room when he can’t find who he’s looking for.

“Why do you look like we’ve lost?” Bokuto asks. “C’mon, man! Smile! We just won! Aren’t you happy?”

“Of course I am,” Atsumu grunts.

(But…)

But.

The adrenaline shoots through him again when a voice he knows all too well catches his attention over the noise.

“Hey!” you rush towards them, dishevelled. “Before you get mad, I know I missed the game, I took a nap and slept through it, fuck, I am never going to stay up late playing Fortnite with you again, Tsumu, you’ve ruined my sleep schedule, but—” you huff, trying to catch your breath as you hand Atsumu a bag, “I’m sorry that I didn’t come. Congrats on winning, I heard the shouts from down the street.”

Atsumu smiles and peers into the bag. “What is this?”

“Mochi,” you answer. “A celebratory gift for my favourite setter.”

“I’m the only setter you know.”

“Which is why you’re my favourite.”

Atsumu snorts but hugs the bag to his chest, like it’s his most prized possession and he’d drag it along to the grave with him. “Thank you.”

If someone were to ask Atsumu if he liked the pedestal he’s put on after a match, he’d say yes. Of course he does. He quite likes it on top of the world.

But you match his joyful smile with one of your own and Atsumu finds himself rethinking his answer. “Anytime.”

The top of the world may be nice, but it is nothing compared to being on the ground next to you.

“You know what they say. With great power comes great responsibility.”

“Would you relax?” Sakusa snarls. “You’re in charge of us for a day. Get your head out of your ass.”

On the floor, Hinata lays like a starfish as he stares up at the ceiling, cheeks tainted a bright pink hue. “I think power’s gotten to your head.”

Atsumu waves him off. “I think this is the best practice we’ve ever had.”

Their captain had to run out five minutes into practice — relationship problems is what he grumbled to Atsumu before leaving him in charge without a second thought, much to the rest of the team’s dismay.

“I hope you’re never put it in charge again,” Bokuto complains before downing the rest of his water.

“Don’t be dramatic—”

“Do you know how gruelling this practice must be for Hinata to be tired?”

“Give us a break,” Hinata pleads, shifting his position so he’s on his knees. “Please. I’ll buy you lunch for the rest of the month if you end our suffering.”

Atsumu pretends to ponder the offer and grows more amused as Hinata begins to twitch nervously. “Okay, fine,” he relents.

Hinata cries with glee, hugging Atsumu’s legs before pushing himself off the floor and rushing out of the gymnasium — whether it’s to refill his water bottle or hide until he’s found, Atsumu may never know. With a snort, Atsumu grabs his own bottle amongst the rest on the bench, promising Bokuto absentmindedly that he’ll go easy on them for the rest of the day.

“I want to have at least a little energy left for the party at Kuroo’s tonight,” Bokuto adds, his smile widening when Atsumu nods in agreement. “See, I knew you’d get it!”

Sakusa takes a seat on the bench. “Are you going to the party, Miya?”

“Yeah, Y/N’s forcing me to come with,” Atsumu says. “How about you?”

Bokuto answers for him. “I’m making him come!” he exclaims. “You’ll have so much fun, Omi, you don’t have to worry.”

Sakusa deadpans, “I’m only staying for five minutes.”

Bokuto waves off his iciness with a flippant hand. “I’ll convince you to stay longer.”

“I really doubt that.”

“Don’t underestimate me!” Bokuto huffs. He turns away from Sakusa before he can continue to argue and focusses on Atsumu. “It’s good that you’re coming too, Tsum-Tsum! Maybe you can finally meet the guy Y/N’s going on a date with.”

Atsumu halts, hand tightening around his bottle. “What?”

“Some guy from their Psychology class asked them out a few days ago,” Bokuto says obliviously. “I think it was the night you picked them up? I don’t know. I think he was nice, though. Y/N probably already told you about it.”

You didn’t.

Atsumu forces a grin on his face. “Right, they did.”

Sakusa studies his expression with pinched eyebrows.

Atsumu’s cheeks hurt for the rest of practice, a consequence of the cheerful façade he’s plastered, but the pain subsides — if only for a moment — when he sees you outside the gymnasium, carrying your favourite boba drink in one hand, and his favourite in the other.

“Hey!” you greet, handing him the drink. “How was practice?”

“Awful,” Hinata mopes with a pout. “Your boyfriend here was running it like the navy.”

You frown. Atsumu blanches. “My boyfriend…?”

“Yeah!” Hinata slaps Atsumu on the back. “Him.”

All colour drains from your face. Your grip on your cup loosens for a split second before tightening it again in panic. You look from Hinata, the picture of innocence, to Atsumu, who only stares back, just as bewildered.

Hinata seems to take the hint as his eyes flicker between the two of you in confusion. “Sorry, I… I overheard Bokuto saying you were going on a date with someone, so I assumed—”

“Date?” you interrupt frantically, arms flapping to deny the words that have recklessly tumbled from Hinata’s mouth. “With who— with Atsumu? He’s not— we’re not— I’m not— we’re—”

“We’re friends,” Atsumu finishes, saving you from your stammering. You look at him gratefully, and he can only offer a weak smile in return. “I don’t know why you’d think we’re dating, Shoyo.”

“Sorry—”

“They’re going on a date with someone else.”

You narrow your eyes. “What do you—?”

“Oh, hey,” Sakusa says as he walks out of the doors. He tugs on the string of his mask to make sure it’s secure before nodding at you. “Did you stop by the grocery store yet?”

Atsumu’s words are long forgotten when realization engulfs your figure at the speed of light. “Oh, no! I took a nap and—”

“You really need to fix your sleep schedule.”

“I’ll have you know I slept four hours last night.”

“…That’s not a good thing.”

“It’s an hour more than usual.”

The genuine concern is evident in Sakusa’s eyes before he rubs his temples with a sigh. “Okay, whatever. Let’s go to the store before we head home, I need to buy more protein powder.”

“Ay, ay, captain.”

“Don’t call me that.”

You snicker then turn to Atsumu with a smile he’d move mountains for. “I’ll see you later, Tsumu?”

“Yeah, sure,” he murmurs. “Don’t take too long to get ready.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you say, patting his cheek. “Thanks for agreeing to drive me there and back.”

He finds himself involuntarily leaning into your touch. “Don’t mention it.”

Your touch lingers for a second too long before you salute him in goodbye and rush to follow Sakusa to your car. Atsumu watches as your figure gets smaller and smaller, a smile on his face as you glance over your shoulder and stick your tongue out when you catch him staring.

He flips you off and makes sure to stick his tongue out, too, in hopes that it’ll make you laugh loud enough for him to hear.

(He doesn’t notice the mischievous glint in Sakusa’s eyes, nor does he catch his name slipping past Sakusa’s lips).

(But he does notice you tilt your head, lost in thought, before you look at him again, attempting to figure him out despite the distance.

He thinks nothing of it).

Just after his 9am lecture, someone asks Atsumu out on a date.

She’s nice and easy on the eyes; a little timid, but he supposes that’s just the affect he has on people. Big man on campus is what he’s always referred to as, until they realize that he’s nothing if not a goofball off-court. Still, the girl — Miwa is what she said her name was — doesn’t know that yet, so Atsumu gives her the benefit of the doubt.

And he says yes.

At 11:00, the whole team has caught wind of his evening plans, and Sakusa texts him to tell him he’s an idiot. Atsumu frowns, asks why, but Sakusa doesn’t reply.

At 6:00, an hour before his date, he shows up on your doorstep with a bag of clothes and a tie loose around his neck. His left pant leg is tucked into his sock and the other is haphazardly cuffed; his hair is all over the place, sticking up at the back as the result of a hair-gel disaster.

You stare at him with pinched eyebrows. “What do you need?”

“I’ve got a date,” he explains frantically. “I need your help.”

You hesitantly let him in.

At 6:15 is when the argument occurs. The reason why is something Atsumu can’t recall, only that it was something so small and insignificant that the argument shouldn’t have even happened in the first place. He thinks you may have been in a bad mood before he even arrived, but that doesn’t change the fact that you haven’t talked to him in the past five hours.

Oh, right. And the power goes out at 6:45.

He texts Miwa to cancel, promising to reschedule on a day where they won’t be talking to each other in the dark, but his phone dies before he gets a response. With a shrug, he tosses it onto the coffee table and makes a mental note to charge it as soon as the power comes back on, knowing full well that he’ll forget the reminder the second he makes it.

He should feel more guilty about the fact that he cares more about your absence than his postponed date.

Atsumu stares at your door for far too long before deciding that he’ll apologize to you — for what, he doesn’t know, but apologize first, ask questions later is his motto — once you’ve left your room. He’ll grovel and get on his knees and even humiliate himself if he has to, as long as it gets you to talk to him again, because God knows he’ll never survive this outage by himself.

(Also, you’re his best friend, and — Atsumu has never told anybody this — the last time you gave him the silent treatment, his chest physically hurt from not speaking to you that he vowed to never anger you again).

It’s 11:35, and you still haven’t left your room.

For the past few hours, you’ve been watching Netflix without headphones to torture a bored Atsumu, but the noises stopped about ten minutes ago, meaning your phone must’ve died too, so it’s only a matter of time before you leave your room in hopes of finding something to do.

Atsumu’s almost giddy at the thought.

At 11:50, he makes his move.

He hears the creaking of your door and your socked feet softly padding in the hallway. Atsumu’s always tried going to sleep early so he can hit the gym before it gets too busy the next morning, so you must’ve waited the latest you could bear with the assumption that he had fallen asleep on the couch.

Atsumu tiptoes to the end of the hallway, teeth bright compared to the darkness of the apartment, and his grin only widens when you finally see him.

You blink before scoffing, brushing past him to enter the kitchenette.

“Y/N,” he says, attempting to be stern but it comes off as a whine in his desperation. “Look at me.” You spare him a glance. Atsumu deems that’s good enough. “Listen, I’m sorry.”

He watches you open a cupboard and fill your glass with water. The seconds that pass by are agonizingly slow and Atsumu shifts uncomfortably when the silence drags on.

Finally, you look at him, unamused, and say, “What exactly are you sorry for?”

He purses his lips in thought. “Uh…”

Rolling your eyes, you turn to make your way back to your room.

“Wait! Wait,” Atsumu shouts, rushing over to block the exit. His eyes dart all over the kitchen in hopes the walls will have the answer to your question. You tap your foot impatiently, and it’s only when you go to open your mouth to tell him to move that he blurts out, “I’m sorry for eating the rest of your chocolate cake.”

You look at him incredulously. “That was you?”

“Yeah, I— wait, you’re not mad about that?”

“I am now!” you huff, using an arm to try and shove him out of the way, but he catches your wrist.

“Then I don’t get it!” he groans. “What did I do?”

You give him a once-over. “Well, what didn’t you do?”

“This is about the outfit?”

“You’ve cuffed your slacks, Tsumu. They’re cuffed. No sane person cuffs their slacks.”

He struggles to wrap his head around your response. “You’re mad,” he repeats, then gestures to his outfit confusedly, “about what I’m wearing.”

You seem to realize just how ridiculous it sounds uttered out loud, because you pout. “Not just that.”

“Then what else?”

You stumble over your words before you coherently state, “You’re going on a date.”

He frowns. “Yes.”

“You’re going on a date,” you say again when it’s obvious he’s not catching on to what you mean. When all Atsumu can manage is a perplexed sound, you add frustratedly, “You’re going on a date, which I don’t understand, since Sakusa told me that I didn’t need to worry anymore, but I guess he’s wrong because you came here asking for my help with looking nice on your night out with Miwa and—”

“Wait,” Atsumu interrupts, still puzzled. “What did Sakusa tell you?”

“He told me not to worry.”

“Worry about what?”

That snaps you out of it.

You open and close your mouth like a fish out of water. Then, you cross your arms over your chest, muttering out a response with feigned nonchalance, “Whatever.”

Atsumu protests, “Hey, I—”

“Where were you even going to take her?” you swiftly change the subject, and Atsumu decides that he’ll let it go — that’s what he’s been doing for a while, anyway, and another day really couldn’t hurt, could it?

“Dancing,” he says.

“Dancing?”

“Yes,” he responds, relaxing at the sight of your amusement. “I searched up unique date ideas and Google told me to take her dancing.”

“You should’ve just taken her to dinner,” you say. “Because you can’t dance.”

“That’s not true at all.”

“You were born with two left feet.”

“Quit lying, you’re only saying that because you’re mad at me.”

“I’m only telling you the truth!”

“I’m a good dancer!”

“You really aren’t. I thought that was established two weeks ago when we were playing Just Dance and you knocked over Aran’s vase.”

“That says nothing about my ability to—”

“Yes, it does.”

“I’ll prove it.”

“Yeah, okay, sure.”

“I’m serious,” he says, stretching his hand out for you to take.

You look at his palm and back up at him. “You’re kidding.”

“Not in any way, shape, or form.”

“We don’t even have music—”

“I’ll sing,” he shakes his hand. “C’mon, hurry up, my arm’s getting tired.”

Without a second thought, you interlace your fingers with his as he whisks you around the kitchen, his laugh loud when you yelp at his fast movements. He places his other hand on the small of your back to keep you from slipping on the tile as he leans to whisper into your ear.

“Any song requests?”

“None. You’re an awful singer,” you retort, bristling at the warmth of his breath.

“So, what are you saying? You’d rather waltz in silence?”

“Yes. And I wouldn’t even call this waltzing. We’re just sliding around the kitchen.”

“We’re waltzing,” Atsumu says firmly, daring you to argue. You only sigh, letting him pull you closer as you two clumsily move around the room. He sings your favourite song despite your insistence for him not to, humming the parts he doesn’t know and doing his best to hit every note.

You laugh into his chest, and he makes sure the sound is trapped in his ribcage so he’ll never have to go a day without it.

When the song reaches its end, you place your head on his shoulder, your breath piercing through his blazer and skin. “I’m sorry that I got mad at you,” you whisper despite the quiet, as if making your voice any louder will shatter the atmosphere. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“It’s okay,” he murmurs.

“It’s not, but thanks for trying to make me feel better,” you say timidly. “I guess I just got my hopes up.”

Atsumu tries to get the information out of you again, the very thing that’s been bothering you — and, as a result, him — for weeks. “About what?”

Your fingers tighten around his. “Nothing,” you answer, and if you notice just how much his posture deflates then you say nothing of it. “Can we stay like this for a little while?”

“Yeah, of course,” he says, rubbing circles onto the back of your hand. “We can stay for as long as you want.”

iii. Love

“You’re gonna get it in my eye!”

“Then stay still!”

“Just promise not to poke me.”

“I’ve already promised five times.”

“Then promise again!”

“Tsumu—” you sigh, slumping your shoulders as you meet his defiant gaze. “I promise I won’t get anything into your eyes or your mouth or your nostrils. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Atsumu narrows his eyes. “For some reason that doesn’t make me feel much better.”

You groan. “We’ve been over this millions of times—”

“Sue me for thinking you’re still mad at me.”

“I told you—”

“Sakusa got into my head,” he explains for the umpteenth time that evening, “he keeps on saying I’ve done something wrong, but he won’t tell me what, and he keeps looking at me as if I’ve committed a felony. His face keeps me up at night, it’s the reason why I’ve had so many nightmares recently—”

“Sakusa’s being a nuisance. Trust me, you haven’t done anything wrong,” you assure, your voice echoing off the walls of your tiny bathroom. “You have nothing to worry about, so stop acting like I’m trying to kill you with this face mask.”

He stares pointedly at the tub sitting next to you on the sink. “It’s scarily green,” he whispers conspiratorially. “Like, it’s Hulk-green. Nothing should be that green.”

“If you’re implying it’s poisonous, it’s not.”

“That’s what they want you to think.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you grumble, spreading the mask across his cheeks, ignoring his murmured whines about how cold it feels on his skin. “You weren’t acting like this last time.”

“You were using a different face mask last time,” he rebuts. “I liked the other one better than this one.”

“Well, I’ll keep that in mind the next time I go to the store,” you hum. “Maybe I’ll even take you with me, so you can choose the face mask. It’ll save me from your complaining in the future.”

“You love my complaining,” he replies quickly. “But I really should. I’d make your grocery trips so much more fun.”

“You’d get us kick out.”

“Would not!” Atsumu scoffs when you don’t even bother to hide your unconvinced mien and places his hands on either side of the marble countertop, trapping you against him and the sink. “I’ll prove it this weekend.”

You shake your head. “I’m not going this weekend. The fall festival is on Saturday, remember? I’m holding off spending money this week so I can buy a ton of cotton candy without feeling guilty.”

“Really?” he snorts. “You’re not gonna get wasted this year?”

“Definitely not. Last year was a nightmare.”

“You don’t even remember what happened.”

“Exactly,” you say, smoothing out the mask. “And you’re always taking care of me when I’m drunk, it makes me feel bad.”

Despite his proximity, you don’t seem to feel the intensity of his stare. His demeanour has softened in the past five minutes, smiling warmly at the pinch between your brows and the way your lips have twisted into a focussed frown.

This has happened countless times before — on all the other self-care nights, Atsumu finds himself in the four walls of your bathroom, free to admire you all he wants without the company of his friends and their teasing remarks. Though he’d never admit it, he prefers the quiet, because here, the both of you aren’t brushing off comments made about your relationship; here, it’s just you and him, pressed against the bathroom sink, worries left behind on the other side of the door.

Here, it’s so peaceful that Atsumu believes, for a few short moments, that everything will be okay.

“Don’t feel bad,” he says breathily, dreading the moment when you finish and he’s forced to pull away. “I like taking care of you.”

“You’re required to do it because we’re friends.”

“No, I like doing it,” he says again, ingraining the statement into your brain so it’ll stay there forever. “You don’t see me letting Bokuto or Hinata — hell, even Suna, stay over at my apartment and sleep in my bed.”

You pause your movements, eyes flickering to his. “What does that make me then?”

“Huh?”

“Bokuto, Hinata, and Suna are your friends, but you don’t pick them up from parties and let them say the night at your place.”

“Well, that’s cause I can’t be bothered most of the time, since they’re usually going to on-campus parties and my place is so far from—”

“But you picked me up a few nights ago,” you interrupt, and Atsumu is drawn to the determination in your irises more than he wants to admit. “And a couple weeks ago too, I think. You’ve been picking me up before I even moved in with Sakusa, and my old place was thirty minutes away.”

“What are you saying, Y/N?”

“What am I to you, Atsumu?”

He grips the countertop so tightly his knuckles are as white as the marble. His heart drums against his ribcage, so loud in the cavity of his chest that he wonders if you can hear it too.

“You’re my friend.”

“Like Bokuto? Or Hinata, or Su—?”

“No, of course not,” he scoffs. Comparing yourself to them is absurd. “It’s diff— you’re different.”

“Different how?”

Suddenly, everything feels stuffy. Tension floods the room until he’s neck-deep in it and drowning, all while you stare up at him, awaiting an answer.

“I—”

Someone knocks loudly on the door.

“Hey!” Bokuto. “Is someone in here?”

You don’t answer. The ball is in Atsumu’s court.

There’s an answer that lingers in his mind, one that he wants to give you despite the risk that it could destroy everything he’s ever known. But as his hesitation grows, the ring buoy that is Bokuto’s voice becomes more tempting — something to save him from this situation where he’s flailing in hope and what-ifs. Something to save him from your want and his dread and all the other sharp objects that could slice your friendship in two.

(Aren’t you the one who’s always saying he should be more responsible?

Doing this is the most responsible thing he could do, isn’t it?)

“We’ll be right out,” he responds, and just as he replies, you pull away from him in defeat.

Everything in his body tightens.

You turn to wash your hands. Through the mirror, he can see you blink rapidly and clench your jaw.

When he finally goes to exit, Bokuto stands impatiently on the other side. His eyebrows rise when he spots the hairband keeping Atsumu’s blond strands out of his face.

“That’s cute,” Bokuto coos, poking at the heart that sticks out from the material.

“Thanks,” Atsumu says, adjusting the band and letting his fingers brush against the plush heart. “It’s Y/N’s.”

The sun had set a long time ago.

In its absence is the moon, its light barely sufficient to lead you and Atsumu home — home being his apartment, but you’ve been there so much it might as well be your own. It’s alright, though, he thinks; your arm is interlinked with his, and that’s all he’ll ever need to guide him.

Your hips bump his as you both walk down the sidewalk, the air a melody of your laughs as he retells a childhood story about him and Osamu. You fail to refrain the teasing comments that fall from your lips about how he’s always been a troublemaker, long before you ever met him.

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” he’d said a couple minutes ago. “Since I’m your favourite and everything.”

You smile, and every time you do so, the more he believes that the bathroom incident has been forgotten.

But Atsumu’s not stupid. He senses your discomfort — it’s miniscule, but it’s there, and deep down he knows it’s all because of what happened last night.

Every Tuesday, you wait for his evening lecture to finish before you both walk back to his place to watch a movie. Some nights you leave before the clock strikes ten, most nights you stay over. It’s a routine that’s been implemented since he first met you, and never once has it ever felt tense.

Atsumu itches to fix it.

“Hey,” he pipes up, hoping to avoid any uncomfortable lulls in conversation. “You never told me how your date went.”

“My date?”

“Yeah. Bokuto says some guy from your Psychology class asked you out.”

“What?”

“At the party.”

You crinkle your nose in thought before a light bulb goes off in your head. “Are you talking about Kuroo?”

Atsumu’s eyes may as well bulge out of the sockets with how much they’ve widened. “Kuroo asked you out?”

“No,” you say quickly. “Well, yes. But he didn’t mean it. He only did it to get someone to stop bothering him.”

Atsumu frowns. “Then why did Bokuto say—?”

“Bokuto was drunk,” you snicker. “Plus, you know how much of a lightweight he is, and Hinata just kept on giving him drinks, so you can imagine how that went.”

“Not good, probably.”

“Nope,” you say. “Just imagine everything that could’ve gone wrong then double it.”

“Did he puke on Akaashi?”

“Yeah, and on Kuroo too.”

“See, that’s why I never let him stay the night.”

Your smile wavers and he pinches himself for saying anything in the first place.

“That’s probably the only good idea you’ve ever had,” you eventually say, but your voice is weaker than you intend it to be.

Atsumu can’t find the energy to argue.

He allows himself to be pulled down the street, your footsteps hasty compared to how he tries to drag his feet along the cement. Atsumu assumes you want to get this night over with, to spend only an hour — maybe two — with him before bidding goodbye, and the thought causes an ugly feeling to root itself into the pit of his stomach.

The wind whistles in warning. He should’ve expected something like this.

All good things come to an end is something he’s heard far too many times to count, but Atsumu is nothing if not an optimist, and even so, he never thought a saying such as that could ever apply to his friendship with you. Despite the hardships, the two of you have always pulled through.

But the clouds begin to drift over the moon, hindering its light, and his stomach churns at what’s to come.

Your voice, disguised as a remedy to soothe his unease, carries him forward. “Listen, I think I’ll head home after the movie.”

He blinks. “What?”

“I just want to sleep in my own bed tonight, y’know?”

“You can sleep in mine,” he suggests, his tone bordering on a plea. You always sleep in mine. “I can sleep on the couch.”

“It’s okay, Tsumu,” you reply. “You’re probably tired of seeing me all the time, anyway.”

“I’m not,” he insists.

You give him a tight smile in response.

Atsumu’s always believed he was good with words. His voice has failed him before, sure, and it’s not like it’s a secret that sometimes his carelessness lands him in undesirable situations, but he’s usually so quick on his feet. He knows what to say, and if he doesn’t, he can crank up the charm until everyone in the vicinity begins to suffocate on his charisma.

Miya Atsumu is rarely ever speechless.

But then you started acting different, and suddenly he couldn’t decipher your expressions or predict your every move. You would dance with him in the kitchen and tenderly apply skincare products on his face, but no matter how much he pulled you close, you would drift further away. You’d open up before brushing everything off as if he had nothing to worry about.

It's like you haven’t been paying attention at all. If it involved you, Atsumu would always worry.

The question slips out of his mouth too quickly for him to control. “Are you ever gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

“What?”

He stops walking, and as a result, so do you. “Something’s been bothering you,” he says hoarsely. “And I was waiting it out because I thought you’d tell me, but… I feel like you never will.”

You lick your lips — to stall, he thinks, but doing so only spares you a second. “Do you have any guesses?”

“Huh?”

“You’re not an idiot,” you sigh. “You must have some idea.”

(And, perhaps, maybe a small part of him does. You’re his best friend, and he is yours, and you each earned that title by knowing the other like the moon knows the stars, like the stars know the sky, like the sky knows the sun.

He knows, you know he does. But this is irresponsible. It threatens everything).

“I don’t,” he lies.

“Atsumu,” you exhale, as if he’s entangled in your system, “do you really need me to say it?”

He doesn’t answer. You continue, anyway.

Three words are whispered into the dead of night, and the world tilts on its axis.

This was never part of the routine.

“Maybe I should just go home,” you murmur when he doesn’t speak. His fingers twitch, screaming at him to reach out for you as soon as you pull away. “I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Y/N—”

“Just let me go,” you say — you beg. “Please.”

His body screams, his nerves flare, but the messenger between his spinal cord and his brain fails to relay the message that he should do everything in his power to prevent you from leaving.

“Okay,” he responds. His voice sounds like it hasn’t been in use for years, tainted with defeat.

You turn to leave, and for the first time since you’ve met him, Atsumu doesn’t follow.

Atsumu’s moody, he has been for a while, and it doesn’t take long for everyone to realize it’s because of you.

Or, more specifically, the absence of you.

You’ve been spending more time by yourself than you have been with anyone else, cooped up in the safety of your bedroom and listening to — according to Sakusa — music that ranges from soft, heartbroken ballads, to hardcore fuck-you anthems. The lack of your presence is strange; you’ve always been a constant in Atsumu’s life, and to live without it leaves a lingering emptiness in his chest.

He'll catch glimpses of you sometimes on campus, and he feels, what he assumes to be, the same emotion people feel when they claim they’ve spotted Bigfoot.

For a moment, everything feels a little more bearable.

But then you disappear, leaving sorrow in your wake, and reality washes over him like an ice-cold bucket of water.

His moping is how he ends up tagging along with Bokuto and Hinata at the fall festival, trailing after them like an upset puppy while they frolic down the streets, gawking at all the stands and taste-testing every snack they come across. The plan was to have them cheer him up, to make him smile even if it’s only for a second, because when Atsumu is upset, it becomes everyone else’s problem.

Hinata offers him some funnel cake and Atsumu absentmindedly murmurs about how it’s your favourite. They all buy friendship bracelets and Atsumu buys one for you too because he knows how much you’d want one. They all clamber onto the carousel and Atsumu wonders if you’d fall off if you rode the horse.

Bokuto and Hinata get tired of it all eventually.

“He’s hopeless,” Bokuto cries when they reunite with Suna and Osamu. “He won’t stop whining.”

Atsumu opts for standing on his toes to look over the crowd in hopes of finding you instead of replying to his friend. His eyes drift first to the ring toss, then to the man selling cotton candy, then to the spinning teacups.

Nothing.

Osamu says something that finally catches his brother’s attention. “Well, Y/N’s not coming,” he waves his phone in the air, which is open on his message thread with you. “Said they were busy.”

Hinata huffs. “They’re only saying that cause Tsumu’s here.”

Bokuto slaps his arm. “Shoyo!”

“What? It’s true!” he exclaims defensively. “You know how they’re always on top of their assignments, I doubt they’re doing anything but watching TV and—”

“Yeah, but still, don’t say that! Isn’t Tsum-Tsum heartbroken enough?”

“I am not heartbroken,” Atsumu snarls.

Suna gives him a look. “Well…”

“I’m not!” he flails, frantically gesturing to himself to show that he’s perfectly fine. “I mean, yeah, am I a little upset? Yes. But heartbroken? You guys are just saying anything at this point, like—”

Osamu interrupts him before he can continue rambling and digging himself into a bigger hole. “What did you even do, anyway?”

The Miya twins are notorious on campus for their bickering, but Atsumu thought that in this situation, at least his own brother would be on his side. “What makes you think this is all my fault?”

Osamu raises an eyebrow, mocking and patronizing. “Well, for one—”

“If anything,” Atsumu continues, hurriedly cutting him off, “I should be the one avoiding them. Not that I’d want to, I’d never want to, obviously, but if we were getting technical then they should be the one worrying about me and not the other way around.”

Hinata speaks, mouth full of the last of his funnel cake. “Who says they don’t worry about you?”

“I— wait, what?”

“They’re always asking me and Shoyo about how you’re doing,” Bokuto chirps. “How screwed up could things be that you won’t talk to each other?”

Atsumu inhales, and he feels the world begin to collapse into him. Unsure of what to say, unsure of what to think, unsure if it’s fair of him to reach for his phone and hope you’ll answer his calls. He knows why the two of you have found yourselves here, standing on opposite sides of a field of regret and hurt. He knows, that in his attempt to dodge change, he blew something up in the process.

Suna tilts his head in question. “Atsumu. What happened?”

Atsumu exhales. “They told me that—” the words lodge themselves in his throat, unwilling to leave.

But they all understand.

“Huh,” Suna hums. “Didn’t think they had it in them.”

“What did you reply with?” Osamu asks.

Atsumu prepares himself for their rage. “Nothing.”

He’s met with silence. Then, incredulously, Suna asks, “Are you stupid?”

Osamu answers for him. “Chronically so.”

Atsumu doesn’t have the heart to respond to the jab, and the severity of the situation significantly increases.

Hinata bites the inside of his cheek in thought. “I think he’s broken.”

Bokuto leans forward to study Atsumu’s expression as much as he can before the latter waves him off. With a frown, Bokuto steps back and looks around the grounds, hoping to find something that’ll cheer Atsumu up and make tonight not a complete bust.

A tent, flashy and sparkly and enchanting, lures him in.

Osamu looks like he’s about to say something, but before he can utter a word, Bokuto tugs on Atsumu’s sleeve and drags him to the tent, ignoring his protests. “I have an idea,” he says reassuringly, but it does nothing to calm his friend. “Trust me on this.”

Atsumu snatches his arm back and rubs it as if Bokuto’s harmed him. He cranes his neck around to look at the sign just outside the tent, and scowls at the pink and yellow doodles on the chalkboard.

“This is a psychic.”

Bokuto nods vigorously. “Yes.”

“Your idea of cheering me up is having me scammed?”

Bokuto pouts. “You love stuff like this.”

He’s not wrong. If it were any other day, this place would be Atsumu’s first stop. He’d be the one begging people to join him despite the fact that he knows the consequences involve a dent in his bank account, but today, predictions of his future are the last thing on his mind. Today, convincing people to get their fortune read is the least of his desires, because you aren’t trying to convince people with him.

There’s no point being here without you.

Atsumu moves to get out of line.

“Hey, dude,” Bokuto whines and holds onto his arm to keep him in place. “Just give it a try. It can’t hurt, can it?”

“Boku—”

“It’ll be fun!” he says cheerily. “Maybe it’ll give you some insight on how to apologize to Y/N.”

Atsumu wants nothing more than to move — to leave — but Bokuto mastered the art of the puppy dog eyes long before he could talk, and the moment he flashes them Atsumu realizes he has no other choice but to stay.

When he steps into the tent, the atmosphere changes.

He tugs on the sleeves of his windbreaker when the autumn air threatens to pierce his skin, and reluctantly sits down on the chair across from the psychic. She eyes his every move, trying to figure out what type of customer he might be — someone who’s just doing this for fun, or someone who’s going through a rough patch, or someone who needs a stranger to light the path they need to walk down.

Atsumu fidgets in his seat.

“You’re here for a reading?”

A shrug and feigned indifference are what she receives as an answer. “Sure.”

His mask of nonchalance begins to slip when the reading starts, growing restless as he checks the time on his watch and calculating the probability of you still being awake. He glances over his shoulder, praying to whichever deity who’ll listen that Bokuto will come in and drag him out once he’s realized that this is the last thing Atsumu wants.

You are not here, and his body stings whenever the reminder worms its way into his mind.

His uneasiness must amuse the psychic, because when he finally looks back at her, she’s grinning, knotting his stomach in worry.

She asks him a dreadful question, made of nuts and bolts and things that rub salt in the wound of his heart.

What is it that you desire most, boy?

Atsumu freezes, plastering a confused smile on his face. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m sure you know. Is it strength?”

Definitely not, Atsumu wants to say. He’s more than capable enough to lift heavy boxes, he doesn’t have to take multiple trips to move things from point A to point B, he doesn’t struggle carrying his friends’ slump and inebriated bodies into a bed.

Atsumu is strong. He’s proved it during his frequent trips to the gym and by winning arm-wrestling contests. He wears the trait like a badge of honour, a reminder.

He does not need any more physical strength.

He checks his watch and wonders if you’ve brushed your teeth and dragged yourself to bed.

The psychic pushes. “Power?”

Atsumu briefly shakes his head, a movement so miniscule it’s a surprise the woman catches it.

It used to be such a thrill, the popularity that came with his volleyball reign. He used to ride that horse and sit in that throne with pride, he let the excitement course through him and, for a while, let himself believe the squeals that came with victory was interchangeable with love.

But power does not compare. He was foolish to believe nothing could beat the rush that came with the admiration — the shouts of his name in the bleachers, the ever-growing follower count, the people confessing their infatuation whenever they caught him alone.

They do not know who he is underneath the volleyball uniform. They don’t know that he likes to go to the diner after games and order a strawberry milkshake, or that his bottom drawer is filled to the brim with spare clothes for you, or that his favourite nights are spent with you applying a face mask to his skin.

They will never know him as much as you do.

The psychic leans forward. “Love?”

Atsumu clenches his jaw. Yes, would be the short answer, but to say that without an explanation would mean to lie, and he’s never been a good liar. Because Atsumu’s always been loved — not by the crowds or the student body — but by his friends, his family, you.

You gave your heart to him, and he noticed too late that the bleeding organ resided in the palm of his hand, cracked and yearning and brave. And after he realized this, he selfishly craved for more, even though he knew it scared him. He has been in relationships before, but none of them crossed the threshold of what truly mattered — the intimate conversations, the dances in the kitchen at midnight, the confessions murmured under the duvet.

So, perhaps, yes, Atsumu desires love, but the one thing he supposes he wants more is courage.

The psychic smiles. “Ah. Bingo. So—”

“Miya.”

Atsumu whips his head around to find Sakusa standing at the entrance, skillfully ignoring the protests behind him to get in line and wait his turn. Sakusa raises an eyebrow at the situation Atsumu’s found himself in, but saves him from his judgement to state, “Bokuto told me you were in here.”

“Excuse me,” the woman chirps. “We’re in the middle of something.”

“If you think a scam is what’ll solve your problems, then you’re stupider than I thought,” Sakusa says.

Atsumu sighs. “You came here just to tell me that?”

“Well, yeah,” Sakusa shrugs. “There’s a simpler solution to all of this.”

“Okay, well—”

“Talk to them,” Sakusa interrupts, exhausted. “Before they give up.”

Atsumu kisses his teeth, changing his position in his chair so he’s fully facing Sakusa. “Since when were you the type to give advice?”

Sakusa ignores his retort with a shake of his head and a roll of his eyes.

“I have never seen you cower before, Miya,” Sakusa says, and the words are like needles on his skin. “Don’t let the first time you do so be now.”

Atsumu inhales shakily. “I don’t—”

“They got Hinge a few days ago,” Sakusa deadpans. Atsumu stiffens. “Don’t lose to some hack they found on a dating app.”

Atsumu looks from his friend to the clairvoyant before flashing her a sheepish smile and shooting clumsily out of his chair. The words that tumble from his mouth are barely coherent, and the last thing he hears before he exits the tent is Sakusa mumbling moron under his breath.

The journey from the festival to your apartment is a blur. He vaguely recalls running past his friends and returning their questioning shouts with a wave of his hand and getting angry at least two cars who cut him on the road, before he ends up in front of your door, nose tinged red from the cold.

His knocks are insistent.

“I’m coming, God, be patient,” he hears you say before you open the door to see him, and your annoyance is wiped away in seconds.

“Hi,” he says, out of breath from running up three flights of stairs after he got impatient waiting for the elevator. His eyes land on the blanket you’ve wrapped over your shoulders, and his lips quirk up at the familiar pattern. “Didn’t I get you that?”

You tug on the material defensively. “What are you doing here?” you ask. “And what the hell are you wearing? Did you not look at the weather before you left the house? It’s freezing outside, you idiot, you should be wearing a thicker jacket. And your face is so red! And your hands! They’re gonna get all dry if you don’t wear gloves! How many times do I have to tell you to dress for the weather otherwise you’ll get sick and…”

Atsumu rasps, “And?”

You gulp, taking a step back to distance yourself. “And you shouldn’t be here,” you say, sending a knife to his chest. “I thought you were at the festival.”

“That’s why you didn’t come,” he concludes. “Because I was there.”

“Well, what do you expect me to do?” you snap. “I told you I loved you and you looked at me like I was crazy.”

“I didn’t.”

“Whatever,” you bark. “My point still stands. You shouldn’t be here.”

He nods. “I know.”

“Then why are you?”

Eight letters are whispered into the darkness of the entryway, and the world is thrown off-balance.

“I love you,” he says, surprising himself with just how easy the words escape after he lets them, “and I’m so, so sorry.”

Your lips part in surprise. “What?”

“I love you,” he repeats. “And I should’ve told you sooner, but I— I was scared—”

“Then why are you telling me now?”

“I don’t know,” he whispers. “Love conquers all, I guess. My fear included.”

“You came all the way here to tell me that?”

He risks a step towards you and his heart flutters when you don’t move away. “I ran out of a psychic’s tent, too.”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you later,” he murmurs. “That’s not important right now.”

“It sounds pretty important, I mean, you mentioned it and everything.”

“It’s not.”

“What exactly is more important than that?”

“Your forgiveness, actually.”

You huff. “Believe it or not, forgiveness doesn’t come so easily, Atsumu.”

“Can I kiss you, then?” he questions innocently, placing a hand against your cheek. “Will you take that as an apology?”

You still, licking your lips as you try to maintain your defiant stance. “…That won’t work every time you make me mad, you know.”

He tries his best not to smirk. “Is that a yes?”

“I hate you.”

He lets his lips hover over yours, and he’s not sure if the loud heartbeat ringing in his ears is his or yours (or maybe a mixture of both). “Is that yes?” he asks again, searching your eyes for any signs of discomfort.

Your eyes flicker to his mouth and then you mumble, “Yes.”

Atsumu pinches himself before capturing his lips with yours, eager and desperate, to kiss you with enough pent-up want and need to cause you to stumble. He’s gentle in the way he cradles your face, as if the world has found itself in his hands, still beautiful despite how much he’s hurt it.

He’ll make up for hurting you later, but for now he’ll allow himself to be selfish.

I love you, he whispers into your mouth, and you capture the confession with your own and let it live in your beating heart.

I love you, he whispers into your neck as you both stumble into the kitchen, making sure to tattoo the words into your skin so you’ll never forget.

“I love you,” he whispers one last time as the blanket covers you both and he’s sure you’ve lulled to sleep with your ear against his chest and his thumb drawing hearts on your shoulder, “so, so much.”

Slumber takes over you both, blanketing your smiling figures with hope and love.

© fushisagi, 2023. do not translate or plagiarize my works.

[ahundredtimesover]

I Want You to Stay (01) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: boss!JK x assistant!reader; idiot strangers to lovers; slow slow burn; k-drama feels; angst, drama, fluff, smut

Chapter (Series) Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption & passing out, unhealthy coping mechanisms; family drama; minor injuries; power dynamics (JK starts off as a jerk); work-related anxiety, feelings of helplessness, insecurities; childhood traumatic experiences, nightmares; sexual harassment, prior incidence of domestic violence (PLS PLS BE CAREFUL WHEN READING); arts and business/property devt talk that’s probably inaccurate; commitment issues & emotionally constipated characters; cold and detached JK; explicit sexual content (specific warnings stated per chapter) (18+)

Chapter Word count: 12k

Series Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

Series summary: Working for Jungkook isn’t the same as working for Hoseok. For starters, Jungkook doesn’t smile, he doesn’t appreciate you, and he gives you too much work. It doesn’t help that he’s incredibly handsome and has women at his beck and call. But as the tension grows, it becomes impossible to resist him. You’ve dedicated yourself to your job for 8 years so when you finally decide to put yourself first, he asks you to reconsider. And while you know that leaving is difficult, you learn that when it comes to Jungkook, staying is always so much harder.

Playlist 🎶: on the way home

A/N: Happy 2024, everyone! 🎉 Dropping this tonight as a welcome to the new year and the start of the wild journey that is this story. It's a different JK that I'm used to writing. It's also a different arrangement for me as the story is still being written, so just a heads up that updates won't be as regular compared to before, but they'll definitely come (pls don't come at me hehe 😁)! This is also a painfully slow build-up with lots of details and office talk so please be patient! I don’t know how this will turn out and be revived but I hope you enjoy! 💕

Also my biggest thanks to @wonwoonlight as always 🥰

Jung Hoseok’s smile is like a ray of sunshine - warm on cool mornings, radiant on sunny afternoons. It’s light and infectious, but more than anything, it’s genuine. There’s comfort in the way his entire face beams and how the rest of his body follows; there’s this sense of openness that makes it easy to be around him, that makes it easy to work for him.

It was 10 years ago when you first encountered that smile - bright and encouraging as he welcomed you and the rest of the interns to his family’s company. It slowly dissolved the anxiety you were feeling over being 1 of 12 chosen students to work for one of the leading real estate and property development corporations in the country. You’d see it again two years later as an employee, and you recall how he perked up at the sight of you, having remembered those eight weeks you spent preparing the conference room for their meetings and serving the executives their coffee. 

You wouldn’t have expected that five years after that, you’d be seeing that smile everyday as his executive assistant, and it was one of the things that made the job bearable. Despite the long hours and the amount of work you had to do and events you had to accompany him to, working for Hoseok always felt worth it. Despite the insane amount of pressure he was put under and the stress he had to endure, Hoseok somehow always managed to smile. 

He was serious when he had to be, but there was joy in how he did things. He allowed himself moments of calm, of time to check in on his support team for a few laughs. He’d spare himself a few minutes a day to sway to the soft music he plays in his office, he’d preside over meetings with vigor, and he’d start and end every interaction with anyone with that smile - the same smile that assures you that all your hard work is appreciated and which encourages you to keep learning.

It’s that same smile that he has on right now, as he hands you a custom-made cake with ‘you worked hard’ written on it. He says the words as your eyes turn to him in surprise. 

“Thank you for all that you’ve done,” Hoseok says. “I know you were new to the role just like I was but you made everything so easy for me. I’m gonna have to get used to being without your brilliance, Ms. Cho. I hope you never doubt yourself ever again.”

Your astonished face turns into a pout, as it dawns on you that it’s Friday, the first unofficial day of you no longer being Hoseok’s executive assistant, given his appointment as President not long ago. Yet despite the big change he’ll be experiencing starting next week, he’s the one affirming and comforting you, something that’s rare for someone of his stature and something you’ll definitely miss. 

“You know I don’t cry, but I just might,” you respond, earning you a chuckle. “But really, I… I can’t thank you enough for taking a chance on me. I know my credentials weren’t like the others but—”

“Ms. Cho,” he interjects. “The only credentials those other applicants had were the universities they went to, but none of them matched your level of skill and dedication to the role. I can assure you that none of them would’ve managed the past three years like you did. I should be thanking you for dealing with all the craziness with me.”

“You’re a good boss, it’s that simple,” you return the compliment now. “You were patient with me and challenged me to be better without putting me down. That does a lot for a person’s confidence, you know?”

“I know that now,” he smiles again. “But really, I don’t think I could’ve asked for a more competent right-hand woman. Jungkook’s lucky he’s taking my position with the most capable assistant to help him out.”

At the mention of the man’s name, your face sours, something that Hoseok picks up, earning you another laugh. 

“Not a fan of him, I see,” he eyes you curiously.

“I don’t mean any disrespect, Mr. Jung, but your cousin is not you,” you explain. “I may have only seen him a handful of times but those are enough to let me know that he does not smile.”

“Yes, I do confirm that,” Hoseok chuckles. “Jungkook’s quite the perfectionist and very much a workaholic. But he’s brilliant and creative and you’ll learn a lot from him, too. He’s being primed to co-lead the company with me and he needs a strong support for that and I think that’s you. His father thinks that’s you, and for the CEO to think so means a lot, ___. Uncle has seen how you work and was adamant that you remain in this role, especially with his son assuming the Vice President position.”

You know that Hoseok means to reassure you, but you suppose your insecurities over having this role and even being in this company won’t ever really go away. You didn’t graduate from a prestigious university in Seoul like most employees here did, and in this society, that usually means everything. You’re thankful for the trust that you’ve been given and you agree that you worked hard for it, too, but it will always be overwhelming; even then, it sometimes still feels undeserved. 

At your silence, Hoseok speaks again. “___, as your former boss and as your friend, I’m here to back you up. Jungkook’s family but if he, for some reason, acts like a hard-headed jerk, you let me know, okay?”

He turns serious now, as he silently asks for you to promise him that you’ll speak out if you need to. Hoseok knows what you went through under Mrs. Byun, the former manager who abused her power over you until her own slip-up caused her downfall years later, and he doesn’t want you to go through that again. 

“Okay. But I didn’t mean to imply that he’s a jerk just because he doesn’t smile,” you clarify. “I guess I meant to say that… I’ll miss working for you. That’s all. We somehow always got a laugh in, no matter how stressful things were. I’ll miss being with A-yeong, too.”

“I know you also meant to say that I’m the best boss you’ve ever had,” Hoseok chuckles, though you don’t miss the sadness in his eyes, too. “But I’ll just be two floors above you. You’ll still see me everywhere. And A-yeong’s gonna miss you, too, that’s why she can’t let you go without having dinner out, that I’m apparently not invited to.”

“We’re just gonna gossip about you, don’t worry,” you tease, appreciative of the fact that his wife has been kind to you all these years, apologizing to you on his behalf during the rare times he’s cranky, and gifting you little things from their trips abroad. “But thank you again, Hoseok,” you continue, dropping the formalities when you mean to speak to him as a friend, because that’s what he is, and it’s a rarity in this industry where those in power tend to take advantage of those below them. “You’ve treated me well, and I’ll never forget that.” 

“Thank you, ___,” he smiles once more. “I’ll finish setting up my new office now. I’ll see you there in 30 minutes, okay? I know Jungkook officially starts on Monday but he wanted to get all the administrative stuff out of the way as soon as possible and since my old room is being sanitized, he’ll be staying at mine the whole morning. HR has everything he needs to sign so please get those documents from them before heading to my office.”

“Oh, so he’s coming today?” You ask, unable to hide the mix of surprise and disappointment in your voice. You’re clearly uninformed about this. “Didn’t he just arrive last night?”

“Yes, he did. I thought he’d at least spend today resting but no, he called me an hour ago to say he’ll drop by this morning so he can get straight to business on his first day,” Hoseok explains, shaking his head at the thought of his cousin wanting to get straight to work. “I know it’s short notice so you don’t need to brief him or anything yet. You’ve been buried in organizing all my files this past week after all.” 

“Okay, but I’ve got everything organized for him already anyway in case he wants to start,” you say, having prepared all the documents he’d need to ease into his role more smoothly, knowing it’s your job to help him with that. 

“Of course you have,” Hoseok chuckles, impressed as always with how on top you are of everything. “I’ll see you in half an hour.”

You sulk in your seat once he’s out of view, whining internally because much as your files are ready for your new boss, you’re the one who isn’t. You’d held off on mentally preparing yourself for meeting the Jeon Jungkook, second son of the current CEO of Jeon Corporation and the new Vice President, thinking you’d have the entire weekend for that, so you’re caught off guard at having to face him today. It’s one thing to move on from no longer having Jung Hoseok as your boss - that itself took you months to process and accept; it’s another to have to get used to assisting someone else, someone you know is completely different in attitude and approach to his work.

Jungkook used to be an executive in the Singapore office, the Southeast Asian headquarters of the company. In your three years as Hoseok’s assistant, you’d only seen Jungkook a few times, such as when he’d fly to Seoul for an official visit or a family gathering but you never interacted, as you didn’t really have a reason to, especially since you were always busy with making sure the event was running smoothly. 

But you’d definitely noticed him, partly because the female staff always talked about him when he was around, and partly because next to his parents and his cousins, who are all personable in their own ways, Jungkook sticks out like a sore thumb. You’re not exaggerating when you say that you’ve never seen him smile - not for the pictures and not when he’s talking to the other executives and employees, a contrast to his father’s infectious charm and his mother’s youthful energy.

You’ve gotten used to Hoseok’s passion balanced with his thoughtfulness and joy - you always enjoyed the videos that A-yeong would show you of their weekends doing ballroom dancing because it’s what he loved to do with her. You’re unsure how you’ll manage assisting someone who’s the complete opposite. You’ve heard of Jungkook’s abilities though; his father always spoke of them with pride. Creative and innovative, he’d say of his son, but he always lived in his head, too, and perhaps that’s why even if he can socialize with others, he prefers not to, given that you’d always seen him at the bar after said events, drinking on his own.

You didn’t think those times that you’d one day be having him as your boss. You didn’t expect the appointments to come this soon, nor did you expect to still be in the company by the time they happened. But here you are, about to meet him and hoping to the heavens that whatever preconceived notions you have of him based on what very little you know would be proven wrong. 

Wanting to calm yourself down before meeting him, you head to the management support team’s office for a cup of tea in the pantry, but you’re stopped by Do-hyun, one of the project assistants. 

She hugs you like she always does, even if you rarely ever return it, and she whines like you expect her to, given her unusually pouty face. 

“It’s only been an hour but I already miss Mr. Jung,” she laments. “Why did they appoint him as President so soon? They could’ve waited for another year or so, or at least let him take us with him!”

You find yourself being the reasonable one this time, as you pull her away from you so you could talk to her properly. 

“We always knew he was going to be President, Do-hyun. But then the Board decided to make Ji-woo head of the Singapore office after their uncle stepped down, and that meant Hoseok had to take his sister’s place,” you explain, knowing how generational corporations like this work, with family members rotating in the executive positions. “And much as he’d like to take us with him, the position already comes with its own team. He’s just two floors above us, though. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if we popped in every once in a while to say hi.”

“No, I’m bitter,” she pouts again, earning her a laugh from you.

“Well, at least the new Vice President isn’t a stranger,” Manager Lee chimes in. 

“I heard the CEO’s son doesn’t smile,” Do-hyun counters. “How do we go from assisting someone who literally gives all of us the energy to work each day, to someone who doesn’t think there’s anything worth being happy about? I also heard he’s a workaholic, so what if he demands that we can’t leave the office until he does? And that he’s kind of a fuck boy, so what if he has a scandal that we have to—” 

“Yah! Those are just hearsay, and we don’t listen to those,” you warn her, not wanting the team to start on a bad note because of some rumors about your new boss that may or may not be true. 

And if those are, it’s your job to make sure that those are handled properly and that there’s no friction between the management support team and the Vice President. The thought suddenly hits you and you feel nauseous. You’ve never had these worries with Hoseok because he always prioritized the team - he made sure that tasks were properly delegated, that you all took your well-deserved break, that you weren’t burnt out, that you all knew he got your back the way you all got his. 

But then again, it’s natural to be anxious about change, especially when what you had was already the best it could’ve been. And much as you were the one worrying about this earlier, you’re now the one who has to reassure the team, especially the younger members, that things are going to be okay. 

“You’ll meet him soon, and I’ll make sure he’s properly oriented with everything before he sits down with you all,” you say. “Let’s just be optimistic about this, okay? Manager Lee has been here a while and he can guide all of us when it comes to adapting to changes like this.”

The rest of the team nods, voicing their agreement about being open and welcoming to your new boss. 

“Okay, good. Now let me get my tea before I combust,” you chuckle, heading towards the adjacent room. 

You’re busy taking breaths in between sips of your hot drink when you see a familiar face in the room through the glass window, prompting you to head back outside.

“Mr. Ri,” you greet, causing the man before you to turn towards you. “What are you doing here? Does Mr. Jeon need anything?” 

Knowing you’re referring to the elder Jeon, Mr. Ri shakes his head. 

“I’m here as Jungkook’s chauffeur and bodyguard, actually. His father appointed me, wanting people he trusts to help his son,” he clarifies. “I’ve just driven him from his penthouse.”

“Oh,” you say, unable to control the way your face falls a little. “So, he’s here.”

“He is. He said he wanted to get things done today so he doesn’t waste his time when he starts next week. He’s at Hoseok’s office right now. I believe he’s supposed to sign some documents?”

“Oh shit,” you blurt out, immediately setting down your half-finished tea and rushing out the door to speed-walk to your desk, ignoring Mr. Ri’s demand for you to slow down. 

With what little you know of your new boss, he seems like the type to not excuse tardiness, so you take your files, head to HR to retrieve some documents, and then proceed to Hoseok’s office. You try to catch your breath as you head towards the door, which opens before you get to knock, revealing Bitna, the President’s assistant, who greets you with a sweet smile. 

“Hi, ___. I was just about to call you,” she says. “CEO Jeon is inside as well. Just walk in, they’re waiting for you.”

You cross the small hallway as the door gently closes, and you stop in your tracks the moment you hear Jungkook’s voice.

“I still prefer my old assistant,” he says, obviously displeased. “He was very organized, highly educated, and well-traveled. While this Ms. Cho didn’t even study in a top university in Seoul. And Hoseok says she doesn’t know any other foreign languages when that’s one of my requirements.”

“Son, you’re being too harsh,” CEO Jeon chides. “Ms. Cho is a top performing employee, very hardworking and dedicated. She’s worked here for eight years and she imbibes all our values; she knows the company culture and knows the ins and outs of things with how she’s been exposed to them. Ask your cousin; Hoseok speaks highly of her.”

“___ is great, Kook. She’s incredibly organized and highly analytical and observant. She doesn’t need a Seoul education to be good at what we need her to be good at,” Hoseok argues. 

“I still want my old assistant. It’s more convenient that way. Lucas already knows how I work and what I require of him,” Jungkook insists. “I’m just saying that I need things to be efficient and she and I can’t be adjusting to each other when there are multiple projects that I’d much rather give my attention to.”

“And I’m saying that Ms. Cho probably knows more than you do when it comes to these projects,” the elder Jeon counters. “Plus, your old assistant would have to adjust to life in Seoul and that’s harder. It’s just not practical, especially since you’re due to start in a few days. You have other things to worry about. ___ is there to make your life easier. Give her that chance to do her job.”

“But I—”

“Good morning, gentlemen,” you greet, not wanting to hear whatever unfounded things that Jungkook has to say, even if you have your own preconceived notions about him which, you remind yourself, are partly founded. Barely five minutes in and you already can’t stand his judgmental and entitled ass. 

You walk towards the middle of the room where they’re congregated on the couches, with the elder Mr. Jeon and Hoseok smiling at you while Jungkook merely glances at you, his jaw clenched, perhaps irritated at the fact that you’d overheard him completely misjudge and undermine your abilities without even knowing who you are.

“Good morning, Ms. Cho,” CEO Jeon says. “I know you’ve seen him a few times but I’d like you to officially meet my son and the new Vice President, Jungkook.”

Jungkook turns to you with a disinterested look but he doesn’t meet your eyes. You bow as a sign of respect, even if it’s the last thing you think he deserves.  

“My pleasure, Mr. Jeon,” you respond. “I was told that you’d like to proceed with administrative matters this morning. I have all the documents with me and I can explain each one to you before you sign them. I’ve also consolidated all the things you need to know prior to your meetings next week,” you add, handing him an iPad. “This has the resumes of each member of your management support team, including their professional and development goals. Mine are there as well, so you can read about my credentials and achievements in this company the past eight years, which I think have tremendously helped me in performing my duties satisfactorily. There’s also a folder of team profiles of each of the departments you’re overseeing. You’ll also find closure reports of completed projects from the past five years, progress reports of ongoing projects, and approved and working proposals of upcoming ones. I’ve included summaries and key figures for each of them. You may read them prior to your meetings, and if there’s anything missing that you’d like me to include, I can have them ready by the end of the day.”

“Hmm,” Jungkook hums, as he scrolls through all the folders you’ve prepared for him.

In your periphery, you can see the other two men holding in smiles as you seemingly render the younger man speechless, but while he assesses all that you’ve provided to him, you’re given time to observe the man seated before you. Other than his slightly longer hair, not much has changed from when you saw Jungkook in last year’s gala. 

As he drags his tongue across the inside of his cheek with his scrunched eyebrows in judgment, you’re reminded that this is the first time you’ve seen him up close. And even from his angle, you can tell. 

He’s unfairly handsome. 

He’s got dark expressive eyes, soft-looking pink lips, and a sharp jawline that complement his lean figure. You understand why the staff are enamored by him even from afar and - if the rumors about him are true - why women would shoot their shot with him at clubs, in hopes they’d be the lucky one he’d choose to be with for the night.

The illusion breaks, though, as he turns to you with a hardened gaze. 

“I’m sure I’ll find something that’s missing,” he states.

“If they’re relevant and necessary, I can have the files ready by today,” you respond, knowing full well that you’ve included every possible document that would be of use to him. 

“I’ll be the judge of what’s relevant and necessary, Ms. Cho,” he counters. 

“Of course, Mr. Jeon,” you say, conceding. “Whatever it is, then I’ll make sure to have them ready for you as soon as possible.”

Jungkook hums in response, turning his attention to the HR documents this time, breezing through the text and ignoring your brief explanations of the contents before signing at the bottom of the pages. You inform him of sections he’s missed, and he groans at having been corrected but you don’t mind. He’s the one who chose to do all this now and in here, in front of his father and his cousin.

Once he’s done, he hands you the signed files and holds your gaze. “Is there anything else, Ms. Cho?”

“I suppose that is all, Mr. Jeon. Unless there are other things you want to assess, or people you want to ensure are qualified to assist you with your functions,” you say. 

Jungkook huffs in displeasure. You can sense the tension build, as irritation paints his face. It’s at that moment that his father chimes in, suggesting that you introduce him to his team.

“You can maybe also orient him on the current projects and partnerships,” the older man says. 

“That can wait. I’ve had enough of engaging for today,” Jungkook responds, his voice cold, detached. 

“In that case, let me lead you to your floor, Mr. Jeon.”

You step back and wait for him to walk ahead, before you excuse yourself from the older men. You don’t miss the sorry looks on their faces, and you give them a smile as if to say that it’s fine, that Jungkook’s someone you can handle, and his obvious displeasure towards having you as his assistant doesn’t faze you. It doesn’t change the fact that you wish he wasn’t your boss though, or at least, that he wasn’t such a jerk like what he’s being right now.

Walking behind him as you both head towards the elevator, you see the way he carries himself - hands in the pockets of his sleek black trousers, his eyes focused straight ahead, nothing like Hoseok who was always gesticulating as he spoke to you every time you walked side-by-side from one place to another.    

Jungkook stands in front of the doors, seemingly waiting for you to press the buttons and you do it before he could even express his annoyance. You stand in front this time, then make sure you hold the doors open for him to exit, and you resume your spot behind him as you walk down the hallway. 

“On the left are two small meeting rooms and one conference room,” you start, thankful that there’s not much to tour him around on this floor, given that everything is exclusive to the Vice President. “On the right is a seating room, and up ahead is an archive room. Down the—”

“I’ve been here before, Ms. Cho,” Jungkook interjects as he looks at you blankly. “This is my family’s building; I’m very much aware of how the floors look like.”

Not rattled by his disruption, you nod and smile, wanting to show him that whatever intimidation or humiliation he’s trying to make you feel isn’t gonna work on you. You know if you show any sign of frustration, that will just give him a reason to have you replaced and despite your clear dislike for the man, you need this job, especially this position that allows you to pay your rent in a safe part of town and send money to your family every month. At this point, that’s the only thing that will keep you going.

Approaching the management support office, you walk faster and make sure to enter the room before he does, signaling the team with your eyes that their new boss is coming, your silently frantic gaze telling them to be on their best behavior because their usual antics won’t work on Jungkook the way they did with Hoseok. 

Once Jungkook appears, everyone bows and greets him, and you can sense them holding their breaths as they look up, taking him all in. You see him eye each person, and you can tell he’s already assessing them individually. You take it upon yourself to introduce each one, stating their name, where they studied and what course they took, describing their primary role in the team and their specific strengths. You see him follow your words, nodding and humming as you go, and you think he’s processing the information and making sure he remembers them. 

There are no pleasantries; Jungkook just goes straight to the point. 

“I’m sure you have concerns about having a new boss and the changes that come along with it. But I’m here to tell you now that you should get over whatever those are, as I’d like the adjustment period to be as short as possible,” he starts. “My cousin is brilliant at his job and so am I, but we work very differently, so whatever you got used to doing with and for him, don’t expect the same with me. I demand excellence and efficiency from each one of you because that’s what I commit myself to and that’s the only way that this team will be able to do its job. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir,” the team answers in unison. 

“We commit to those as well, Mr. Jeon,” Manager Lee says. “As the head of your support team, I will make sure that all our deliverables are of high quality and that things will run smoothly so that we may properly do our job of assisting you.”

“That’s good, and that’s what I expect,” Jungkook says, nodding at everyone before walking out the door to head to his office, with you trailing him from behind. 

“Is my room still being sanitized?” He turns to you. 

“Yes, sir.”

“Why did it need to be sanitized? And why today?”

“It’s protocol, sir. We also had a sendoff for Mr. Jung yesterday so the room smelled of food. And he instructed for this to be done today so that I don’t need to come here tomorrow, as he doesn’t like any of his staff working during the weekend,” you reply. “This should be finished this afternoon. I’ve also purchased the oil for your diffusers. The room will be ready for you by Monday.”

Jungkook merely hums and looks around, specifically at your designated area with your desk and shelves at the back, then takes a call before turning to you again to say that he’s heading out to meet his friends.

“Is there anything else you need, Mr. Jeon?” You ask, thankful that you don’t have to deal with him for the rest of the day.

“No.”

“Okay then, sir. I’ll meet you at your apartment at 6:30 AM on Monday. Is that time alright?”

“Sure,” he responds, then turns around and starts walking out. “Just keep your phone on. I work during the weekend.”

He’s gone before you can even respond, and you rush to the support office once you’ve heard the elevator ding that indicates that he’s gone. When you get there, you’re greeted with everyone’s frowns, with Do-hyun close to tears.

“I don’t like him, ___. He looks so unapproachable and too serious!” She complains. “I miss Mr. Jung. Is there an opening in his team? Should I just resign?”

“Aish!” You reprimand her. “Don’t speak like that. And don’t let those few minutes determine everything for you.”

“Well, those few minutes are enough to tell me that I don’t like him. No matter how good-looking he is,” Chin-sun says.

“He is, right!” Do-hyun chirps now, a complete 180 from seconds ago. “I’ve seen him around but I didn’t think he’d be even more handsome up close! It just sucks that he’s a grinch and that makes all the difference. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t have a girlfriend! He’s probably too snobby and—”

“Yah! You really need to stop it with those rumors,” you scold her this time. “That’s your boss. His personal life is none of our business. Where do you even hear these things?”

“Every washroom in this building, basically. Staff are always gossiping there, you know?” Do-hyun responds. 

“And since when do we listen to gossip,” you scowl at her. “Sure, he’s not our favorite person right now but we don’t have the right to make claims about aspects of his life. And where are people even getting those ideas!”

“People talk, I guess,” she shrugs. “And he’s often spotted in clubs with those Kim brothers so maybe they see things. I’m not saying they’re all accurate… just that rumors often have some truth to them, you know?”

“No, I don’t, and we shouldn’t be sticking our noses in places where they shouldn’t be,” you say.

“Fine, but it’s just a heads up,” Do-hyun says, turning serious now. “You’re his executive assistant, and you have no choice but to stick your nose in places because personal and professional lines are often blurred in your situation, and that’s just how our world’s set up.”

“She’s right,” Chin-sun chimes in. “I mean, you need to know his personal schedule, go to his apartment, do errands if you need to, maybe buy a box of condoms if he runs out… You just got lucky that Mr. Jung’s pretty chill and has a wife who’s even nicer than he is. Your only problem was that he was damn scared of everything that moved and wasn't human.”

You’d laugh at the last statement if you could, but you know they’re both right. Hoseok wasn’t perfect, and neither was his marriage, but it never reached a point where you had to be put in a compromising position because you were his assistant who, by nature of your work, had to be privy to some of his personal matters. The most involved you were was when he and A-yeong had an argument and they used you as their messenger, but even that was more of a miscommunication issue than anything serious. They apologized to you after and promised to never put you in that kind of situation again.

But with Jungkook as a single man, you’re unsure what personal business you’d end up being involved in. You just wish it wasn’t something that would test your principles and cause you to lose your job. Regardless, whatever that would be isn’t something you can even really talk about with others.

“Well, I don’t wanna think about any of that right now,” you sigh, knowing you’ve got enough to worry about, such as how you’re going to start surviving everyday assisting a man who clearly doesn’t want you around. 

But if he’s gonna be a hard-head about it, then you’re just going to have to match him. You got to where you are because you’re determined to prove yourself constantly, and you’ll just show him that he needs you, and he doesn’t really have a choice unless he wants to argue with his father. 

You try to encourage your team once more and give Do-hyun that rare hug in comfort before going back to your desk, intent on finishing all the presentations for your briefing with Jungkook next week. You begin setting up his room by mid-afternoon, using a photo of his Singapore office as a basis since you were told that he prefers a certain style for his furniture and decor. You’re no stylist but over an hour after you finish, you think you did pretty good. You were so into designing the space that you didn’t notice the time fly by; before you know it, it’s 6PM, because you can hear A-yeong right outside calling for you.

“Hi,” she chirps, hugging you in greeting. “Are you ready?”

“I’ll just pack my things,” you say, walking to your desk. 

A-yeong takes a peek at the room and praises your efforts. “This looks so different from how it used to be. And that’s good because those cousins have such different tastes. But I think Jungkook will like this. He’s into the masculine and moody vibe, so good job, ___.”

You know that despite her kindness, she wouldn’t lie, and you could only hope that she’s right. You think it looks nice, but it’s what he thinks that matters; you’ll just have to wait until Monday to find out. 

As you’re about to leave, Hoseok appears in the hallway and asks how you are. Your scowl pretty much gives you away.

“I’m sorry about Jungkook, ___. He’s stubborn and a hot-head sometimes but he isn’t always like that, and this isn’t me making excuses for him,” your former boss says. 

“Why, what did he do?” A-yeong asks worriedly. 

“Basically implied that I’m not qualified for this role, among other things,” you respond. “But it’s okay. Not like I haven’t heard that before.”

“And you know that’s not true,” Hoseok comforts you. “He’s not good with change, that’s all, and you know how these appointments were all pretty short notice and he’s just been frustrated ever since. But whatever it is he said, don’t take them to heart. He’ll get a word from me, and he’ll definitely get one from his father.”

You want to say that it’s not easy to just disregard what Jungkook said; he’s your boss after all, and all that matters is what he thinks about you. But you’re not one to air out these feelings to Hoseok now that you’ve experienced a bit of what it’s like, so you just shake your head and ask the older man to let it go.

“He’s probably just tired,” you make an excuse this time, not wanting to discuss further with Hoseok. “And he had that assistant for over five years. I can understand wanting that familiarity and convenience. I’m just gonna have to adjust; there are a lot of things going on right now and he’ll need to focus on the projects, not his compatibility with his assistant.”

“But that matters though,” Hoseok insists. “I got things done because we worked well together. He’s gonna have to meet you in the middle with this one. And I’ll make sure that he does.”

“I know you said you want to look out for me but I don’t think it’s a good idea if you intervene this time, Mr. Jung,” you say, letting him know you’re serious and you mean business. “I’ll be okay, don’t worry about me.”

You give him a comforting smile, and you hope it’s enough to quell Hoseok’s own worries and it works this time. He returns it before letting you and his wife go, and it’s the Thai dinner and incredible desserts that somehow make up for your not-so-great day. 

You think the weekend will give you the peace you need to face your dreaded week - you do your errands and chores on Saturday and go to the market and watch a movie by yourself in the cinema the next day. 

All it took was a text from Jungkook that Sunday evening, asking for copies of certain policies and disapproved proposals from the last five years, that just had to ruin it, as you spend the entire evening consolidating the files, making you already wish it was Friday.

Jungkook’s apartment building is one of the Jeon properties that you haven’t been to yet, as it’s one of the newer massive residential structures that they built three years ago. You enter the sleek-looking lobby then submit your documents at the reception in exchange for your own access, and you internally marvel at how luxurious everything looks. 

You get to the 42nd floor, and it seems that there are only two units here. You walk towards the one on the right, choosing to be on the safe side by ringing the doorbell. It’s Monday, after all, and it’s your first time here; you don’t want to just enter without him permitting you to do so. 

You’re about to press the button again after a minute of no response, when the door opens and you take a moment to process the sight before you. 

There, standing just a few feet away, is Jungkook with nothing but a pair of black gym shorts on, his taut chest glistening in sweat, and his entire right arm covered in black and colored ink. His hair is damp and ruffled, and it’s probably due to the boxing he’d just done, as evidenced by the wraps on his knuckles and the way he’s panting heavily. 

You get your senses back and look away, not wanting to look affected by his half-naked form, even if you’re the one who has to catch her breath this time because much as you dislike the man, you can’t deny that his body is something that definitely deserves to be praised. 

“You’re here,” he speaks first, surprise laced in his voice as he takes in your obviously flustered form.

“I asked if 6:30 AM was a good time to come, Mr. Jeon,” you answer, glancing at him before looking at whatever you could behind him. “Perhaps I misheard your confirmation. I can wait downstairs if you’re not yet done with your exercise. My apologies for coming in early.”

You don’t actually have anything to be sorry for; he did confirm the time, and he’s the one who decided that working out at this hour was a good idea, knowing that his assistant’s scheduled to come. You would’ve appreciated it if he says you don’t need to apologize, but he doesn’t.

“It’s fine, I just finished,” he huffs. 

He leaves the door open for you to enter then heads straight to the large room on the right, which looks to be an indoor gym. You allow yourself a few seconds to look at his retreating form, quietly gasping as his broad shoulders and slender waist blind you a little, then scolding yourself for doing so. You stay rooted by the kitchen and look around the spacious penthouse as you wait for him to return. He exits the gym wearing a loose white shirt now, combing his hair with his fingers as he drinks a bottle of water.

“So, Mr. Jeon, uh, I would prepare Mr. Jung’s outfits for the week and then help his house staff make his breakfast. I run down his schedule as he eats. Are you okay with the same arrangement?” 

“Sure. I just don’t have any staff with me so you’re on your own. I’m fine with anything though. I’m not usually hungry in the morning,” he says before walking to the other side of the apartment.

You follow him, careful not to enter spaces you’re not given permission to, which is why you stand by his bedroom door before asking to come in. 

“How will you prepare my clothes from there?” He huffs. “Of course you can enter. Just be done before I finish taking a shower.”

You nod shyly and then head to the walk-in closet that thankfully has a separate door from the bathroom. He’s already unpacked his clothes, although not everything has been organized. You spot a few suits that are ready to wear, and you fix those first, taking note of asking him if there are things he wants dry cleaned or pressed. 

You leave his bedroom in time, hearing him slide open the door as you make it out, and proceed to make his breakfast. There’s really not much you can create with what little he has, so you make do with eggs and toast and whatever spread you find in his cupboard.

Jungkook walks into the kitchen not long after, the dark gray suit looking immaculate on him as you expected. Spotting his crooked necktie, you immediately walk up to him to fix it, unaware of how he holds his breath with how close you are. Noticing his body stiffen, you step back right away, apologizing for not asking permission first. 

He looks away and says it’s fine, then sits on the spot at the dining table where you’ve set up his meal. He stares at it for a good few seconds, prompting you to explain yourself.

“That’s… that’s all I could make with what you have, Mr. Jeon,” you say. “I can arrange for online groceries for you, as well as dry clean and pressing for your clothes and—”

“I’m having someone come in to clean my place and do all of that,” he says, as he takes a bite of his food. “So, what’s my week like?”

You start to enumerate the conference and lunch meetings he’ll be having this week, including who they’ll be with and their purpose. They’re mostly with the department leads to discuss updates on processes and current projects, and you’re thankful that Hoseok involved you as much as he did, given that Jungkook’s questions are more specific than you expected. 

Sure, he’s a Jeon and obviously works in the same company, but the Southeast Asian projects are different from the ones being implemented in South Korea, and while he used to oversee overall compliance to design standards, he’ll now be in-charge of setting those very standards this time. As Vice President, he’ll be involved in crafting policies; he’s also free to manage his own construction projects, and that’s what the support team is for. Given his much more expansive role this time, there are more departments and projects to oversee, and definitely more executive decisions to make. 

You suppose it’s why his questions don’t stop, even after he’s cleaned up and you both find yourselves in the backseat of the car and on the way to the office. He looks through the iPad with all the files you gave him, and you see the notes he’s made on them as you turn to him to answer his queries. Even if you know that he’s also still assessing you - perhaps on your knowledge and attention to detail - you can’t help but admire his thoroughness. You may have also cursed him in frustration for making you work on a Sunday, but he seems to have done way more than you, given that he went through all the documents over the weekend. You suddenly don’t feel too annoyed. 

But of course, he has to ruin it again.

“I need these annotated versions of the project and departmental documents ready before my meetings with the respective teams,” Jungkook says, his voice low and stern. “And I expect progress reports to be as detailed as possible, so make sure to check them first before they get to me. The ones you gave need revisions. I believe you’re trained enough to know immediately that these are lacking.”

“Yes, sir,” you respond, noting his instructions on your notebook while internally yelling, given that you’re unsure of the need for them before the meetings. 

Surely, he could give you some time to work on them, but with a meeting with one team in the afternoon and seven more the rest of the week, and on top of the other things you need to do for him, you already know you’ll be cramming to get everything done. 

You try to manage your breathing. Somehow, your habit of pressing your nails against your palm when you're stressed has miraculously come back today. It was something you developed while working under Mrs. Byun, which you eventually got over after working for Hoseok. You feel the anxiety build up, especially as you look at the half crescent marks on your skin, and it’s times like this that you wish your best friends were based in Seoul instead of Busan, so you’d at least have people to comfort you when things are a little tough. 

It’s not to say that work wasn’t overwhelming before. It definitely was, but Hoseok always found a way to make everything bearable and he was always reasonable with what he demanded of you. Now you’re stuck with a man who already makes you feel like your hard work isn’t enough. 

You make it to the office with no other words said and a thick tension in the air. It follows you to the elevator and into Jungkook’s room, where he dismisses you so he can prepare for the first meeting of the day. You rush to your desk and get on with your tasks, making sure to work on the annotated project file that he needs by the afternoon. 

It’s an hour later when you find yourself in the conference room for the meeting with the management support team. You prepped them just 10 minutes earlier, and while you tried to hide your frustration, your unusual lack of energy told them enough that it wasn’t exactly a good start of the day. 

They come in one by one, and you take the time to prepare Jungkook’s coffee, remembering from his former assistant’s notes how he wants it. He’d put it off earlier, given that he prefers to drink his protein shake after his workout, so this is the first time you’re doing it for him.

His eyes flit from the coffee in front of him to you as you place it on the table.

“Two espresso shots and half teaspoon each of milk and sugar,” you state, wanting to confirm that you got it right.

He merely takes a sip, places it down again, and then starts the meeting. 

How bold of you to assume that he’d thank you or even acknowledge it, as if he’d shown you even the tiniest amount of gratitude for anything you've done for him since Friday. Which he hasn’t. 

You let it go and proceed to sit next to him, your eyes and ears ready for what you already predict is gonna be a long meeting. 

It ends over three hours later. As you expected, he had a lot of questions. He made sure that each member had time to explain their current tasks and how they will monitor the projects assigned to them. You didn’t miss the way he’d acknowledged them with “good” and “well done,” and thanked them after they finished. He only nodded at you after your turn, with his eyes barely meeting yours, and for all the confidence you built over the past three years, you can’t process how it’s his non-acknowledgment that’s just going to undo all that. And quite frankly, you’re unsure if that’s on him or if that’s on you. 

Half of the meeting was spent discussing the big project that he wants to take on as Vice President. There’s a property they recently acquired - a non-operational arts center that he wants to revive by adding a performance hall, small theaters, a grand library, function rooms, and a permanent exhibition presenting the buildings that his family had developed over the years to showcase their architectural designs. 

You saw the excitement in your team members’ faces. Hoseok took over with several unfinished projects so you all had to focus on those. Aside from Manager Lee, this is the first time that you’re all handling something new and different. Even you felt the excitement creep in, a welcome emotion given how your day’s been going, but that shattered once he said that he wants it done by June of next year in time for an International Media Festival happening in August. The 12-month period he’s giving is too short with everything he wants to do, and you saw that the team felt the same. 

You go to them after Jungkook leaves for a lunch meeting, and their sighs and pouty faces tell you enough. Mr. Lee does his job of encouraging the team, and you add that you’re all gonna be supporting each other through it all. Sure, you’d have to match Jungkook’s ambition and thoroughness, but you should all take it as a challenge. 

You’re clearly not convinced yourself as the words come out of your mouth, but you don’t have time to debrief with them, as you still have that meeting with the design department that you have to prepare for. You take two biscuits and a cup of tea, and you decide that this is enough to last you throughout lunch, given that you’ll be spending the entirety of it working on the files. 

You don’t realize that an hour and a half have passed until you hear footsteps and see Jungkook’s form appear in the hallway. You stand to greet him, with him asking if you’re done with the annotated documents. 

“I’ll send it in five minutes, sir,” you say, hoping he’ll at least give you that. 

“Okay,” he responds. “Come to my office after you’ve sent it.”

“Yes, sir,” you say, quickly finishing the last two pages once he closes the door. 

You rush to get everything done and click send, then you head to his office and prepare yourself for more questions. It’s quiet inside as you watch him behind the desk, with his legs crossed and his eyebrows furrowed as he reads the document. You answer one of his questions and it’s at that moment when your very empty stomach decides to make itself known.

You freeze on your spot, as the grumbling sound starts low, getting louder for a few beats before it temporarily stops. Your eyes widen in embarrassment, and you press your belly so hard with your fingers in hopes that that would do anything, even if you’re too far gone at this point. Your only hope is that it was all in your head, but Jungkook’s eyes flitting to you tells you otherwise. The only other sound in his room is the air purifier, but it’s not remotely loud enough to drown out your intense hunger. 

It goes again, and all you can do is look away; humiliating yourself was definitely not the plan for your first day as Jeon Jungkook’s assistant.

“Do you need to step away, Ms. Cho?” He asks, not meeting your eyes. 

“Oh, it’s not… uh,” a bowel emergency or something, you want to say. “I just had a busy lunch break.” 

You settle for that, a hint that you’d spent its entirety doing something in such a short notice. Hoseok would always be apologetic whenever he had you do something during your break; he always made up for it with a nice meal as thanks. You doubt you’d get anything close to that from this man.

Jungkook hums and surprisingly doesn’t ask for anything else. He dismisses you and orders you to go ahead and prepare the conference room for the next meeting, and you do just that, dropping by the pantry for a muffin that you eat in four bites, in hopes that it would be enough to shut your stomach for the next three hours. 

Right as you exit, Jungkook picks up his phone to make a call. And then another one.

“Mr. Ri, please pick up the pastries that Ms. Cho ordered at the food hall,” he instructs his chauffeur. “She’s too busy right now.”

“Will do, Mr. Jeon.”

Taking minutes of a meeting when you’re starving is not a good thing. You know this because you’ve done this so many times, like during monthly executive meetings and the quarterly board meetings that have you spread out thin. It’s also not rare to miss out on lunch because there’s a report to finish or a site to visit; during events, you go on a day with having barely eaten anything. 

But just because you’re used to it, it doesn’t mean that your body has fully adapted, because here you are, eyeing the croissants in front of you, your mouth watering at the gloss and softness of the pastry. They’re so tempting and also out of reach, given that you need to be entirely focused on the discussion that you’re documenting, and munching on something is out of the question. You don’t even know where this is from and you think maybe the design department called for snacks but it’s really not helping your concentration.

You hope the way you’re nibbling your lips doesn’t give you away, but Yoongi from across the table picks it up, as you get a notification of his message.

[From: Min Yoongi] you didn’t have lunch, did you? 

You ignore the prompt on your laptop and respond to him with a look instead. You know your pouty lips will give him his answer, and he merely shakes his head at the confirmation. 

You do your best to shut out the sight and scent of the food before you, absorbing instead the discussion so you can note this down properly with just minimal edits needed. You have a lot of documents to work on for the next few days after all, and that’s on top of the file reorganization that Jungkook asked you to do. 

It works after you hang on by a thread for two and a half hours, a little earlier than you expected to finish. All you want is to sneak out that croissant and maybe some tarts, too, but your heart breaks when you look up and find the boxes empty. 

You let out a sigh, relieved that your boss didn’t hear you because he’s already on the phone and heading out the door. But it’s that same time that a plate of food appears in front of you, and it feels like the gates of heaven have opened. You’re not surprised anymore to find out who it’s from.

“Eat,” Yoongi says from next to you. “I could see your hands shaking from across the table.”

“What about you?” You ask, your lips in a pout once more. 

“You know I don’t eat these things,” he shrugs.

He doesn’t, and you know this, too. You also know he called dibs on these earlier, seeing as his staff were quick to get them, and he’d saved these so he could give them to you. 

“Ten years later and you’re still trying to make sure I eat, huh?” You say, nudging him with your hips to tease.

“If I don’t, who would?” He responds, walking out of the conference room with you. “You have a bad habit of not doing that.”

“Well, duty calls. What can I do?” 

“Take care of yourself even if it’s hard,” he replies. 

“Says the man who rarely does it himself,” you chuckle. 

“You know, the best advice I give are the ones I don’t actually follow, so disregard the fact that I don’t even do what I say because they apparently work,” he says. “But I mean it, ___. Eat this now.”

“Thanks, Yoongi,” you smile, taking a piece of pastry and eating it in two bites. 

Your puffed out cheeks cause him to laugh, and despite still being hungry after this, you suppose it’s enough to not make you faint at this moment. 

“And eat a proper dinner, okay?” He follows up.

“I’ll be off late, so I’ll just grab something from the convenience store,” you say. “That’s as proper as I can afford tonight.”

“Aish, fine,” he shakes his head. “But let me get you coffee at least. Those tarts won’t taste as good without one.”

“That would be life-saving,” you dramatically say. “What did I do to deserve a friend like you?”

“Don’t know. I mean, I’m not that great,” he shrugs. 

You playfully roll your eyes. “I’ll save the compliments once I have the coffee.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he feigns annoyance, gesturing for you to get back to your desk then walking the other direction. 

You take your seat and clean up the document, deciding that you’ll just review the meeting minutes tomorrow so you can get on with other pressing matters. It’s 20 minutes later when Yoongi returns, a tall cup of coffee on one hand and a banana loaf on the other.

“This is all they have left,” he says. “I hope it can last you until tonight.”

“It will,” you smile. “Thank you again. No one looks out for me here as much as you do. And that means a lot, more than you know. I don’t think I would’ve survived all these years without you.”

“Wow, all because of coffee and snacks,” he laughs, teasing. 

“It’s a fair trade. You feed me during my greatest need, I boost your ego,” you tease back. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Yoongi huffs in submission, but you know he enjoys it. 

You’re thankful that after everything that’s happened, you’re still able to maintain the friendship that you created when you were a mere intern and he was just starting out his career. 

“Anyway, I’m quickly meeting Jungkook and I need the portfolio of the contemporary arts institution joint project from 2019. It was VP-led so I assume it’s still here? Unless it’s in the archive room,” he continues.

“It’s within five years so it should be here,” you say, turning to the shelf behind you to confirm. 

You spot what you need and make the attempt to pull it out but your fingers barely even touch the rack.

“Need help?” Yoongi asks.

“And what help could you give, huh?” You tease again, earning you a playful groan.

“You brat.”

You laugh and pull out the small stool you keep for times like this. 

“Just make sure I don’t fall and embarrass myself further today,” you say, climbing up the steps then pulling out the heavy folder. 

You feel Yoongi’s arm move from where it was near your waist to over your head, as he lightens the load. You both try to balance it and laugh at your distorted faces in the process, and it’s moments of relief like this one that you’re glad you’re afforded after a long day like today. 

From inside the room, Jungkook sees you through the window, your eyes crinkling as you laugh along with Yoongi, head of the design department and one of his very few friends in the company. It catches him off guard, as he realizes that since meeting you last Friday, he’s never seen you laugh, much less smile or even have an expression that isn’t agitated or serious.

He knows that that’s probably on him. He’d spoken ill of you after all, something he regretted once he saw the frustration on your face when you made it known that you were in the room with them and had definitely heard everything he said. But he’d been tired and HR confirmed that he could bring Lucas over as his assistant; CEO Jeon was the one who vetoed that decision. 

Jungkook had already mentally prepared himself for the ease of his transition, knowing that he’d be assisted by someone who knows how he works and the quality of outputs he expects, only to come here and be told by his father that the current staff will stay, and that you - someone he’d only heard of as Hoseok’s assistant - will be the one assisting him from now on. Your resume didn’t even impress him.

Jungkook doesn’t like change and when he has to undergo it, he needs as much of what was familiar and convenient to remain; that’s the only bit of control he can have and he hates not being in control of things. You just happened to unluckily be at the receiving end of his anger.

But unlike what he expected, you stood up to him in the subtle ways you could. He’s been so used to people just following him, partly because his way is always the best but also because he commands that respect, and he knows his capabilities enough to know that he deserves it as well. So when you answered back, he felt rattled and just a little bit uneasy. He was unable to backtrack after, but he didn’t really plan to.

That doesn’t mean that he didn’t plan on being a bit of a jerk today, too. He’d been exhausted working over the weekend after going through all the files you gave him that he snoozed his alarm so many times and ended up doing his workout later than he intended. When you rang the doorbell and stood by his door with your skirt and satin top, he suddenly felt lightheaded.

He mentally smacked himself once the thought that your pastel colored outfit brought out your eyes more than the monochrome ensemble from last week floated in his head. He just hated that not only are you thorough with your work, you have to be beautiful, too. He’d never admit to anyone that both of those things make him nervous, and it’s the only reason why he thinks he needs to establish his authority so that he doesn’t get rattled the next time you counter him.

That’s why he demanded more work, which he didn’t intend to take up so much of your time, like your lunch break. He’d seen how your hands shook while you were taking notes during the meeting, prompting him to end the meeting early so you can have something to eat of what he’d bought but he’d left before he could find out if there was anything left for you. 

Maybe there wasn’t enough, as he also witnessed Yoongi hand you what seemed like food with coffee that the man also got for you just minutes ago. The smile you gave him was bright and sincere. Jungkook doesn’t think he’d ever see that directed at him, considering how he’d been to you on his first day, but maybe that’s also good; that could be his defense. Maybe it’d help quell that initial attraction that he doesn’t want and cannot allow at all to grow.

It doesn’t mean it doesn’t agitate him to see you a bit too close with his friend, because with the way you seem so comfortable and with the way that Yoongi sports that rare smile, it almost feels like there’s something there.

Jungkook is the son of the CEO, and having personal relationships within the company isn’t exactly advisable, but he’d gone to university with Yoongi and their introverted personalities instantly clicked. The older man is perhaps the only non-relative company employee that Jungkook kept in touch with when he was in Singapore, not that he even really talked much to his family outside of work anyway.

But in all the years of their friendship, his friend never mentioned any relationship - nor the makings of one - with another staff member. Jungkook hates how his curiosity is slowly getting to him. Maybe a few more moments would tell him more, but something about the scene happening outside his room is making him nervous and uneasy, so he decides to step in.

“Hey, Yoon,” he says as he opens the door. “Can we discuss now? I have to meet my parents for dinner in an hour.”

Your bubble with Yoongi bursts at the sound of Jungkook’s voice, and you immediately return to your seat. Your friend nods at you then enters the room, leaving you the peace and quiet you need to plop down on the floor for a quick snack of your loaf before going back to work, glancing inside every once in a while to see how the two are going, and perhaps confirm the friendship that you didn’t expect the two would have.

“This building is a good starting point,” Yoongi agrees with Jungkook. “If this is the general feel you want for the Arts Center, I can look into other projects and designs and come up with ideas. I’ll just ask ___ for the files I need.”

“You two seem close,” Jungkook says too quickly. 

Leaning back against the chair, Yoongi processes the question that he didn’t expect he’d hear. More than that, he tries to read what’s underneath it, knowing that his friend’s tone of voice and feigned stoic expression mean something more.

“You could say that,” Yoongi replies. “She did say that no one’s looked out for her here as much as I have. And that she wouldn’t have survived all these years without me.”

“So you’re actually friends?”

“Yes.”

“Were you more?”

Yoongi chuckles, the question giving him the answer he’s looking for. Jungkook may often be too serious but he can be transparent sometimes, too.

“Does it matter?” The older man asks.

“Just don’t want to be surprised, that’s all,” Jungkook shrugs. “If there’s an employee relationship happening under my nose, I should at least know.”

“It happens here a lot,” Yoongi responds. “I mean, it gives people something to gossip about but it’s how things are - work sucks sometimes and we want someone to hold at the end of a terrible day.”

Feeling like he won’t get an answer to a question that Jungkook doesn’t know why he felt the need to ask in the first place, he just shakes his head to concede. 

But it’s what prompts Yoongi to reply. 

“We met when she was just an intern,” he says. “We used to take the same bus then found out we both came from Daegu. Then she was employed and we were both on the logistics team before I was reassigned and she got the EA role.”

Jungkook merely hums, taking in the information.

“I also asked her out before,” Yoongi continues, earning him a surprised look from the younger man. “You just can’t help what you feel sometimes, you know?  But she turned me down, said she didn’t want to lead me on because she didn’t feel anything more. She also doesn’t like being involved with a co-worker, so yeah.”

“How are you still friends?”

“Asks the guy who’s still friends with his ex,” Yoongi laughs.

“Chaerin and I are civil, there’s a difference. And we haven’t spoken in years.”

“You loved her, though,” Yoongi counters. “I never got to that point.”

“This isn’t about me,” Jungkook huffs. 

Knowing it’s a topic that his friend doesn’t like talking about, Yoongi relents. “I moved on. That was years ago,” he says. “And it seemed like she needed someone. I mean, she’s not from here and her friends aren’t here, either. She appreciated the friendship even if she said she didn’t think she deserved it. I guess that made me really get over her, you know? That’s all she wanted and needed from me; it was better than not having her around.”

“How brave,” Jungkook remarks. 

“You mean mature?” Yoongi corrects. “Yes, that’s what I am, and it’s the best I could be for her. Especially since she’s got a boss who makes her miss lunch because somehow, there’s just so much to do for your first day on the job.”

“Don’t remind me,” Jungkook groans. 

“I will. Only so you could feel bad.”

“I already do. That’s why I…”

“Bought the pastries,” Yoongi finishes. “I mean, I didn’t order them.”

“Was any even left for her?” Jungkook sighs, remembering how he was internally screaming for you to just get from the box and he’d been the jerk to not offer you some even if it was technically for you.

“Sort of. I put some aside for myself so I could give them to her.”

“You sure you don’t like her anymore?” Jungkook cocks an eyebrow, an attempt to hide his uneasiness over something he doesn’t understand. He finds you attractive, that’s it. He doesn’t know why his mind searches for more answers.

“You don’t have to like someone romantically to be nice to them, you know?” Yoongi responds. “And she needed it. Heavens know the support she’d need now that she has to deal with your rude ass.”

Jungkook sighs, but the remark is a welcome one because he did tell Yoongi not to treat him differently just because he’s the Vice President now. He also partly agrees. But he sees the effort; his friend wouldn’t call him out for how he does things, so the most he would do is offer help to you. And Jungkook could maybe take advantage of that, as Yoongi stands up to leave.

“Hey, could you, uh, grab dinner for her at the food hall? And not say it’s from me?”

“The food hall’s closed,” Yoongi says.

“The cafe down the street, then?”

“You can’t be fucking serious,” the older man groans. 

But Yoongi knows his friend, knows the distance he creates from the people around him, knows his need to have control over everything, including his feelings, and knows the walls he builds because it’s easier to keep others out rather than do the hard task of letting them into a space that’s become comfortable because he’s been the only one inside for so long.

So Yoongi does as he’s asked. He takes the money then heads to the cafe to order pork cutlets and curry. He returns and sets them on your desk to your surprise, and you ask what it’s for.

“Just thought you deserve more than just convenience store instant noodles and gimbap given the day you’ve had,” he says. 

“Hey, those are delicious,” you pout, but wanting to melt at how good the rice bowl smells. “But thank you, again. I owe you a lot, Yoongi. I mean it.”

“Just make sure to eat on time so I don’t have to buy your dinner again,” he teases. “I mean it. You have to stay healthy, okay?”

“Okay,” you smile brightly. “Get home safe tonight.”

Jungkook glances out the window and holds back a smile himself at how innocent and genuinely happy you look. There’s this joy that you seem to enjoy to yourself and he sees that, he understands that. And somehow that’s enough to lessen the guilt for now. 

He still doesn’t know if he’ll ever see that smile directed at him or if he’d ever want that because of how disarming it is. But seeing it from afar is enough; it’s trivial and short enough to let him bask in it without having to climb out of his walls. He’ll watch you from behind, he thinks. He just wishes he doesn’t push you away in the process.

Series Masterlist

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[pedgito]

↝ FOR THE WORK (10k+ words) — Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: Using your neighbors address for deliveries doesn’t seem like the worst idea until you find yourself with a world of dilemmas and a burgeoning crush on the single dad who lives there. [Pre-Outbreak]

↝ PATROLS (17k+ words) — Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: A story of how things began, where they ended up, and where they might go. A collection of patrols over the course of several months is forcing you closer to Joel than you ever imagined, tense circumstances leading to hasty decisions and one bad choice after the next.[Set Post S1]

↝ SOFT & SWEET (5k+ words) — Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: Based around Work Song by Hozier. A comfort fic with lots of angst and fluffy goodness. Content Warnings: mentions of violence/blood/fighting (nothing graphic), joel being in a state of shock, sex for comfort/coping, no heavy sex warning it’s just v intimate, psuedo love confessions bc joel is bad with words

↝ MEET ME IN THE WOODS (50k words) | (Finished Series) — Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: Taking a much needed vacation for the holiday, you aren't aware your cabin has been double-booked until you're face to face with the other guest the night you arrive, left with a big decision to make and the possibility of a month with a man you know nothing about. But, through communication and isolation, you learn that you and him might not be that different after all. Consumed by your shared loneliness, you find company in the unlikeliest of place—a stranger named Joel, in the middle of the woods. [No Outbreak] (6 chapters)

↝ MET THE DEVIL LAST NIGHT (6k words) — (AU) Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: 18+ Demon!Joel, Virgin!Reader, this was little plot and mostly smut lol.

↝ THESE BOOTS WERE MADE FOR RIDING (3k words) — Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: Joel doesn't like gifts, you gift him new boots.

↝ HANDSOME, DIRTY, RICH (12k words) — BFD!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: The rich father of your bestfriend, Sarah — Joel Miller, was a mystery to you until one day he isn't and you quickly find that your interest in him isn't one-sided. ↝ RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW (2.7k words) Summary: joel is celebrating your one year anniversary with a few surprises.

↝ MILLER'S GIRL (24k+ words) | (Finished Series) — (AU) Professor!Joel Miller

Summary: A sudden infatuation with your professor yields strange, unnerving results and Joel Miller, in his first semester at a new job finds himself in an unlikely position with a student that hides their intentions behind innocence.

↝ MOONLIGHT (8k words) — No Outbreak!Joel Miller

Summary: a series of nights spent with a neighbor you find an unlikely connection with, sharing a similar interest to pass the time, it forms into something much more intense and suddenly, neither of you can deny it anymore.

↝ STICKY SWEET (3.2k words) — dbf!Joel Miller x reader

Summary: You're stranded, you need help—of course, Joel Miller is your savior.

↝ DIRTY LAUNDRY (5.6k words) — Joel Miller x reader

Summary: You've got an issue and joel's willing to solve it. After all, what are neighbors for?

↝ ANYWHERE BUT HERE (1.8k words) — Joel Miller x reader

Summary: A poor damsel in distress, saved by the most unlikely of man.

↝ ABSOLUTION (Ongoing Series, last updated 7/18) — Joel Miller x reader

Summary: Moving in with your soon-to-be stepfather under the roof of his brother, Joel, ends up being a turning point of change in your life.

REMORSE FOR REMEDY (Ongoing Series, last updated 8/21) — Joel Miller x reader

Summary: Alone, the Miller's brothers seem like your only hope. The outbreak is still fresh, weeks after the fall and all that matters is survival and the unlikely comfort that comes along with a man who wants nothing to do with you.

BONUS (+ other characters):

TWO IS BETTER THAN ONE (9k words) — Tommy x Reader x Joel

Summary: Both the Miller brothers have a thing for you and you have a thing for them. They give you an ultimatum and you don’t like that. So, instead of one, you choose both.

BITTER (14k words) — Joel x Reader x Tommy

Summary: A moment of desperation and a kind gesture leads you down an inescapable path alongside two brothers and a town with a nasty secret. (Part 2 coming soon)

UPDATED: 11/12/2024

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch3. domestic encounters

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, n have been taking care of your sick mom ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, mild love triangle(s), gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 3/x (probably 10)

ᰔ word count. 14.1k (i like this number)

a/n. hello hellooo my ihm bb's :'') so good to see you all again. so this is actually the first half of an original 26k word chapter 3 that i had written lmfaooo i genuinely entertained the idea of posting a 26k word chapter but like gat damn. idk i thought it would be too much. so there is this first part which is 14k and then the next chapter will be 12k! anywho, this chapter was fun to write, there's still a lot of set-up tho hahah. ihm has been really fun to write for me cuz it's kinda chaotic but chill at the same time lol :0 i really hope you enjoy!! see ya at the bottom!!

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 (pending)

“Soooo…..ready to consummate the marriage?”

You turn fast on your heel, so fast that Gojo almost trips over his own Welcome mat at his doorstep in an attempt to not accidentally topple over you, which you’re sure by the sheer size he has on you would’ve killed you or at the very least paralyzed you from the neck down, so it’s a good thing his hands fly out of his pockets then brace himself on the wood paneling above the door. 

“Wha–” you stutter, “what?!”

He stands up straight before leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms, the sleeve fabric of his suit stretching across thick muscle but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of looking. “The marriage technically isn’t valid unless we consummate it.”

You roll your eyes and dig your finger into your heel to take it off and then do the same with your other, relishing in the freedom of your feet from the shackles of constrictive feminine clothing articles, although you’re a solid two and a half inches shorter again. “I would rather make love to one of those inflatable balloon salesmen at car dealerships that flail and flap around in the wind than let you touch me for the purpose of sex.”

“Fuck that’s harsh,” he laughs, like he’s genuinely impressed by the comeback this time, “so a dead bedroom then, huh?”

“Can’t be dead if it was never alive in the first place,” you mumble as you tread into his house and toss the documents envelope you had been holding onto the coffee table. You hear Gojo make his way across the hardwood floor behind you paired with the metal clanking of keys as he throws them into the paper mache bowl on the foyer table. 

“By the way,” you hear him say, and you turn your torso slightly to side eye him only to see that he’s casually taking his suit jacket off with a flip of it backwards, “who was that guy in the courtroom that was glaring daggers into my soul?”

Your eyes widen briefly. And then you sigh. “My ex.”

He pulls the jacket off behind him by the sleeves and tosses it onto the loveseat. “Huhhh. You used to date a cop? You don’t seem like the type.”

“What?” you say as you face him fully. He’s loosening his tie now with a tug. “Why not?”

“You’re kinda…delinquent. Figured a cop would like a more ‘docile’ woman,” he says.

“You sound creepy as fuck,” you say, grimacing a little as you narrow your eyes at him.

He sighs before tossing his tie off to the side as well. “I don’t agree with it. I’m just getting into their headspace. Everyone knows how cops are. Y’know, controlling.”

“Choso is different,” you immediately spat back at him, before your head can even run the words through a filter, and you realize it came off as defensive. Your cheeks warm, because now it looks like you’re not over your ex. And you want to be. Why were you still protecting Choso’s dignity?

Gojo blinks at you, a little surprised before he swallows slowly and he holds his hands up in front of him in surrender. “Alright. I believe you.”

You turn away from him and worry your bottom lip between your teeth, feeling awkward before you scratch your elbow and then turn back to face him again. “Well. If you run into him around town,” you say, “can you try to make him feel emasculated and jealous? He did me dirty.”

Gojo runs a hand through his hair. “Uhhh. How?”

“I dunno,” you shrug, “brag about how great our sex life is or something.”

“But we have a sexless marriage.”

“Oh, yes, speaking of this sexless marriage,” you start, jutting your hip out to the side as you cross your arms sternly, “there are some ground rules that need to be set between you and I.” You point between the two of you.

“Ground rules?” he mimics after you as he undoes the top couple buttons of his white dress shirt, “like what?”

You hold a finger up. “Like no touching.” You hold another finger up. “Obviously, no sex.” You hold another finger up. “No sneaking into my room in the middle of the night.” You hold another finger up. “No peeping in on me while I’m showering.” You hold another finger up. “No ogling me around the hou–”

“These rules sound incredibly one-sided,” he snorts. 

“Yeah, well, don’t break them, you creep.”

“And if I catch you ogling me around the house?” he asks. 

You roll your eyes. “Such a thing will not happen.”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” he sarcastically affirms, and he approaches you which makes you flinch a little but you realize he’s just walking past you towards the living room.

“Y–” you stutter, “you heard me, right? Once I start living here, you have to adhere to these rules.”

He waves his hand in the air dismissively with his back facing you. “Yes ma’am.”

Your eye twitches slightly, and you storm towards him only to watch him slump down onto his couch, knees spread wide as he leans forward with a small grunt to grab the remote off the coffee table before settling back again. He lays an arm up and stretched across the backrest of the couch before he turns the TV on and scrolls through news channels. 

You make your way in front of him, obstructing the view of the TV, and he leans off to the side to try to catch a glimpse at the screen but you reposition your body so that he still can’t see it. His eyes slowly move to you and he has an irritated look on his face. 

“I’m tryna watch CNN,” he says. 

“Punishment,” you say, “for breaking any of these rules will be severe.”

He raises an eyebrow, interested all of a sudden as he tosses the remote back onto the coffee table and leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees. “Oh? What’s the punishment?”

Honestly, you don’t know. You just want to threaten him to keep him in line. Forget the fact that he’s the one doing you the favor here with this marital arrangement, and yet you’re threatening him. But it has to be done. “You don’t want to find out,” you say, trying to sound as eerie as possible.

“Not knowing what it is makes me want to find out,” he tells you, his knee swaying side to side like a dog wagging its tail. 

You briefly glance down, and for fucks sake why is all of his clothing so perfectly fit and stretched taut whenever he does anything? You try not to eye the shape of his thighs as the black fabric stretches while he’s seated.

You clench your fists at your side, worry your bottom lip under your front teeth, furrow your brow and blink rapidly from not being able to come up with something to say, and Gojo seems to read this as worry before he laughs a little.

“Don’t worry,” he says, “I’m not gonna break any of your silly rules, despite how tempting it might sound to me.”

“I don’t believe you,” you mutter as you walk around the couch towards the kitchen, feeling thirsty all of a sudden. 

“Seriously. I won’t. You’re not my type,” he says from behind you on the couch, with a tone that tells you he’s trying to sound reassuring but it really just pisses you off even more, “I don’t really go after women with daddy issues.”

“Wha–” you gasp, offended, and you spin on your heel to glare at the back of his head. “Who the fuck said I have daddy issues?!?!”

“No one has to say it, I can feel it,” he says as he continues to clicks through channels.

You pick an avocado up out of the pile of fruits from the bowl at the center of the island, holding it over your shoulder to charge up as much kinetic energy as possible so you can chuck it at him hard enough to knock him unconscious, and it’s like he senses the malice radiating off of your body because he looks over his shoulder at you.

“What’s that in your hand?” he asks.

“A grenade,” you say, “that I’m gonna launch at you.”

“Oh, thank god,” he exhales in relief, “I almost thought it was an avocado for a second.”

You deadpan stare at him. “I don't find you funny.”

“I think I’m pretty funny,” he says mindlessly, like he’s just arguing with you for the sake of arguing.

“No. I have never once laughed at a single thing you’ve ever said. Only grimaced with disgust,” you say.

He sighs. “Look at us. We’ve barely been married for an hour and we’re already fighting.”

You abandon your empty glass on the counter, shuffling around the corner towards the front entrance of the house because you can feel the headache from your pure annoyance starting to creep up on you. You sense Gojo’s eyes on you from the couch as you shove your feet back into the uncomfortableness of your heels. 

“Where are you going?” he asks. 

“Back to my house,” you grumble, wobbling a little when you take a step towards the door and place your hand on the handle.

“When are you gonna move in?” he asks suddenly.

You freeze in your tracks at his question. You’ve never heard the question before, because you’ve never had the chance to live anywhere that wasn’t your childhood home next door. So the question is jarring at best, and threatens to make you cry a little at worst. 

“Once I get my mom into hospice,” you say, quiet enough to where it’s possible he might not have even been able to hear it over the sound of presidential election updates. And then you make your way out of his house. 

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

It’s a beautiful sunny spring morning, clouds trailing by across the sky offering momentary relief from the heat reaching the pavement, and you’ve got a good marching band walk going on as you stroll down the sidewalk of your neighborhood for your morning walk. Well, that phrase implies that you go on morning walks often. You really don’t, you very rarely have the time or energy. But today you decided it was time to turn your life around (your running shoes will see you same time next month). 

You hear some commotion off at the right side of the street, and when you lift your head up a little to clear the obstructed view of your sun visor, you see a couple of cops standing on a lawn, chatting up your elderly women neighbors with their laughter bolstering in the air. One of the cops turns around, making eye contact with you, and—  of fucking course, it’s Choso.

“Oh, fuck me,” you mutter under your breath and try to walk faster down the sidewalk in Korean ahjumma style. 

“Hey! y/n! Wait!” you hear him call out and he jogs across the street to catch up with you.

You continue to military march down pavement. “What do you want, Choso? Why are you stalking me?”

He runs up in front of you to stop you in your tracks. You frown at him and cross your arms across your chest. “I’m not stalking you,” he says, “I got a call about a stray dog out here.”

“Oh. Wonderful. So glad to know our officers are keeping us safe from cute street dogs,” you say, tone dripping with sarcasm.

“The dog had rabies. It bit an old man. Had to put it down,” he deadpans.

“O-Oh,” you stutter, cheeks flushing, “well, then, leave? Your job here is done.”

“I just—” he starts, “I want to—” He sighs, looking flustered like he’s trying to gain some sort of courage. And you’re almost entirely certain he didn’t need to garner this much courage to face a rabid dog than he seems to be needing for you. “I, uh, I want to meet your husband.”

“W-What??” you exasperate.

“To say congrats,” he says, but through gritted teeth.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah fucking right. You just wanna abuse your po-po powers to arrest him then throw him into jail then kill him to leave me widowed so that I’ll get back together with you and make a fool out of myself all over again.”

“Your capacity for catastrophization never fails to amaze me,” he says.

You’re pretty sure your therapist said something similar to you last week, too. 

“Ahhh!! y/n!!” you hear a familiar feminine voice call from down the street, and both you and Choso turn your heads toward the source of the sound.

Amaya, your neighbor, who is roughly thirty-weeks pregnant at the moment and therefore waddling down the street to get to you, is waving her arms in the air as her husband as well as another one of your neighbors follows after her. She finally reaches you and takes your hands into hers. “I haven’t seen you in forever!! How’s your mom doing?”

“She’s doing well…just getting by,” you say awkwardly, as Choso’s cop partner also approaches this little group that’s forming here, along with the elderly neighbors that he had been talking to. 

“Doctors taking good care of her?” Amaya’s husband, Ren, asks you with a twisted expression on his face and arms tightly crossed over his chest like he was gonna beat the doctors up if they weren’t. 

“Yes…” you say, “although, I think I’ll be transferring her care to Kaiser.” Oh. Fuck. You should’ve kept that to yourself. Big mouth.

You can feel Choso’s eyes on you as he watches this interaction between you and your neighbors. 

“Oh! That’s interesting,” Amaya says, and as her hands soothe over yours, she feels the bump of the ring on your left hand. She glances down. “H-Huh??? Is this a wedding ring?!”

Choso crosses his arms and tucks his hands under his armpits in your periphery.

“Y…yeeeeesss…” you say awkwardly.

“You’ve finally married?” your elderly neighbors chirp out at the same time.

You shoot them a dirty look over the word finally. “Yes.” Please drop the subject, please drop the subject.

But Amaya has always been the gossipy nosy neighbor. “To who??”

Choso snaps his face to you, intently studying your body language. You take a deep breath.

“I-I didn’t tell you?? I married Satoru!!” you chirp, as if it was a normal thing.

“Ehhh?!” you hear multiple of your neighbors’ voices call out. 

“You married Satoru??? But you hate him!!” Amaya blurts out, her voice loud and echoing down the street of the neighborhood.

“I—” you stammer, ducking your head a little to hide behind your visor, “um, oh, y’know…those feelings just…snuck up on me!”

“Awwww good for youuu,” Amaya coos, and one of your elderly neighbors comes up to you with a cheeky smile to then rubs your arm approvingly, “he’s sooooo handsome, you’re so lucky!!”

Ren lets out a hmph over his wife’s flattery of another man, and you roll your eyes, wanting to put Gojo in his place even in the face of just your neighbors, but then you remember that a loving wife wouldn’t say something like his personality makes him an ugly rat. 

“But when did this happen?” Choso’s partner speaks up, his voice accusatory. Choso hits his partner’s chest vest with the back of his hand, as if to say cut it out.

You feel pissed off at that.

“Oh yeahhh, you and Choso only recently broke up!” Amaya says, pointing between the two of you.

You purse your lips together from the anxiety of this entire conversation. “Three weeks ago. Choso and I broke up three weeks ago,” you say, not even sure why you’re disclosing your personal matters to this group of congregated people, but the peer pressure was damning, and you’re pretty sure silence on this subject in front of your neighbors would only make Choso more suspicious, “and—” you had to get your story straight, “well…within those three weeks, Satoru and I just…got to know each other.”

“Eh?” Ren speaks up. “But he was out of town for two weeks. He only came back a week and a half ago.”

You blink at him.

“Ohhh yes, yes, that’s right, honey,” Amaya agrees with a slow nod in remembrance as she pats her husband's chest, “those chocolates he brought us were from London, right?”

Choso tilts his head at you, giving you a glare with the intent of having you crack under this pressure, because you’ve just been caught in a cold hard lie. More importantly, how the fuck did you not notice that Satoru had been gone for TWO WEEKS??? He was your next door neighbor. You’ve seriously been so damn out of it these days. Also, why the fuck didn’t he get you chocolates from London?!?!?! The fucking snake. 

“A marriage within three weeks is a little odd, no?” Choso’s partner speaks up, but with less of a casual conversation tone and more of a I sense something illegal going on here tone.

“Alright, alright, alright,” Choso sighs, taking a step to stand in front of you. “Let’s all get on with our days. She doesn’t have to share any information she doesn’t want to.”

You blink in surprise at Choso’s words, of which all your neighbors acknowledge albeit slightly reluctantly as they wave goodbye to you and start dispersing back to their homes. Choso’s partner gets some notice through his radio, and he pulls it from the velcro of his chest to speak into it before heading back to their cop car with a slight jog. Once everyone is gone and it’s just you and Choso again, he turns around to face you. His arms are still crossed at his chest while he wears a very skeptical and almost reprimanding look on his face.

“What are you up to, y/n?” he immediately asks you, and you feel goosebumps tickle your skin even in the heat. “I really hope it’s not something fishy. Or illegal.”

You swallow hard. You know the U.S. federal codes in the law for marital & insurance fraud like the back of your hand, since you read through them hundreds of times before deciding if your arrangement with Gojo would be worth it. 8 U.S.C. 1033 and 18 U.S.C. 371 provide for a penalty of up to ten years in prison for insurance fraud. And under that statute, you can also be fined up to $250,000. The best case scenario is that you just have to divorce Gojo, and forfeit your chances of ever recovering from your crippling debt. And while it’s hard to prove marital fraud, Choso had reason for a personal vendetta against you, and he has the resources to launch an investigation. 

“Why would I do something illegal??” you ask, as if to convince him that the possibility was absurd. 

He takes a step closer to you, and your breathing picks up. “People do illegal things all the time,” he says, “for the thrill, out of curiosity,” another step closer, “the most common reason that I’ve seen?” He’s so close to you now that you catch the familiar scent of his skin. “Desperation.”

You catch a small gasp of air from his imposition in your personal space, and finally, your weak legs manage to take you a step back. 

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about here,” you say with a shaky voice.

He raises an eyebrow at you. And then he sighs. “Stay out of trouble.”

Your eye twitches at him, annoyance resurging but you have to bite your tongue for self preservation. Gojo’s words about cops liking more docile women ring in your ears for a brief moment, and you have to physically shake your head to get his voice out of it. 

His partner yells for him from his car, something about a call they got for a robbery downtown, and Choso spares you a warning look before he turns on his heel and jogs back to the car. The sound of police sirens mimic the panic in your beating heart as you watch them speed off down the street and out of sight.

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

You pull into your neighborhood at the early hours of the morning, skin feeling dry and eyes feeling heavy with exhaustion as you yank your hospital badge clip off your scrub top to toss onto the passenger seat along with your stethoscope, releasing it from your neck like pulling a noose loose. 

Before your shift last night, you had to take your mom to the hospital because she was have shortness of breath, and her oxygen saturation was low on her pulse oximeter. She’s stable now, it was just yet another flare up of her COPD, but given her other risk factors, the hospitalist admitted her to monitor her overnight and through to the evening today if all goes well. Which meant that you could have the house to yourself for once. It might sound selfish to say, because shouldn’t the more dominant feeling be I hope my mom will be okay, but the reality was that there’s only so much of that worry you can have at a time. It doesn’t mean you’re not thinking of her literally every second of the day. It just means you’re human. 

The weirdest thing about working the night shift is seeing everyone else’s days start while yours is just ending. There’s a bit of satisfaction with it. Like imagining laughing at their faces ha ha! You have to go to work now at seven in the morning, meanwhile I get to sleep! as if working the night shift doesn’t lead to substantially higher rates of cardiovascular disease and other chronic illness, as well as an early death. So who really got the last laugh? Day shift workers. Literally.

It wasn’t something you did because you liked working the night shift. You do it because you get paid a 20% differential for it. And you need all the money you can get right now.

Your brain seems to be working more than usual if you’re able to think about all these things after a shift. Swiftly pulling into the driveway of your home, around the hull of Gojo’s obnoxious boat in the driveway, you get out of your car with your purse hanging from your shoulder and just before you shut the door, you see one of your elderly neighbors waving at you from across the street. You’re pretty sure her name is Margaret, but you’re awful with names. You do remember that she was in the posse of neighbors that were flocking you yesterday and asking you pushy questions about your marriage in the presence of Choso. And your body stiffens a little. 

She tilts her head at you as you stand in your driveway, and you awkwardly glance over at Gojo’s house.

“Oops!” you chirp from across the street, “always forget to pull into the Hubby’s driveway instead! Silly me!!”

You grab your emergency overnight stay bag from the back of your car and hurry over to Gojo’s house, knocking on the door incessantly and ringing the bell so as to not arouse any more suspicion from your neighbors about why two married people aren’t living together. “Forgot my keys!! Hahahhahaha,” you exclaim while your pounding on the door intensifies. You’re sure you're just being paranoid, because why would sweet old lady Margaret (Janice? Patricia?) snitch on you? But you’ve been paranoid all your life. It’s one of your fatal flaws. 

The door opens suddenly, right as you were about to pound harshly once again, and you stop the motion in time to not sock Gojo in the abdomen with your fist. He blinks down at you, his face a little puffy from sleep, his hair shooting out in all different directions, and he scratches at his chest through the thin cotton of his shirt, one he clearly threw on last minute before opening the door considering the fact that he put it on backwards. And inside-out. 

“Huh? y/n?” he mumbles, his voice deep and kind of raspy with sleep, “what are you doing here?”

“Just let me in,” you hiss at him, glancing over your shoulder to your elderly neighbor's lawn for a second, and then duck under his arm that was holding the door open to get inside the house.

You turn around to see him shrug his shoulders and slowly close the door, clearly too tired to deal with the bullshit this early in the AM, and he turns around to face you before leaning back onto the surface. His eyes close, like he’s trying to preserve the sleepy feeling for when he gets back into bed.

“Can I help you?” he says. His head falls back with a small thump to rest on the door.

“I’m going to sleep here for the night. Er, for the day,” you say. “I will move in starting today.”

“Okay,” he easily agrees.

You blink at him. “Um. Show me to my room.”

“Yeah, sure,” he says, scratching the back of his neck as he heads for the stairs with the shuffle of his slippers across the hardwood floor. You note that he is very easily malleable and overall smooth brained when he’s sleepy. You try to ignore the fact that you find it kinda cute. 

You follow him up the stairs and he leads you across the loft into a hallway studded with a couple of doors. He opens one of them for you, his head drifting a little like he’s about to fall back asleep. “Here you go,” he says while gesturing inside the bedroom and rubbing his eye with a weakly closed fist, “guest bedroom. Uh, there’s another one near the master too that’s a bit bigger, but this one has a lock on the door. So that I don’t sneak into your room in the middle of the night.”

“Thanks,” you accept and head inside. You set your emergency overnight stay bag on the bed and then turn around to face the door to find Gojo still standing in the frame. He has his hands pushed into the pockets of his pajama pants as he squints at you. 

You feel…a little…nervous? Shy? Who the fuck were you to be shy in front of Gojo? You really don’t give a damn what he thinks about you, since a lion does not concern itself with the opinions of a sheep (you’ve been doing reruns of Game of Thrones this past week), but starting today, you’ll be in his territory, and this whole situation is so domestic that you feel vulnerable in front of him. Like the sheep somehow managed to splay the lion open this time, and now the real you is on display for him. You’re suddenly self conscious of the unruly state of your hair and the stains of IV fluid on your black scrubs and the fact that the allegedly flake-proof mascara you put on at the beginning of your shift has long since flaked all over your cheeks.

“Um. Can you leave?” you say in a small voice.

“Huh?” he responds, like he himself forgot that he was still standing there. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” He lets out a very long exhale. “Make yourself at home.” And then, still facing you, he walks off to the side veeeeeeery slowly until he’s out of sight.

You walk up to the doorframe and peak your head around to the left to see him still standing there.

“Satoru. Stop treating me like I’m some animal at the zoo. Leave.” 

“It’s just so weird seeing you in my house like thi—”

You slam the door on him, your breathing finally slowing down again as your palms lay flat on painted white wood. You move your hand down to the handle, thumb and forefinger lingering on the lock as you look at it for a moment, but ultimately decide against locking it.

The room has a bathroom attached to it which is nice. The bed is a queen size, fitted with light blue and eggshell white sheets, tucked neatly spare for one corner of the bed where the duvet is flipped over. To the left of the bed is a nightstand and to the right is a dresser that looks very new. You take a glance at your reflection in the mirror sitting above it, and let out a small gasp at your less than flattering appearance. 

A five minute shower does you wonders, and you pat yourself dry with a towel that matches the shower curtain. You find one of your floor-length vintage nightgowns, with the long frilly sleeves, after rustling through your overnight stay bag, along with a toothbrush and some moisturizer. 

As you brush your teeth, you pace around the room. There’s a little staggered rack near the window that is lined with plants and the blinds are angled perfectly for sunlight to get through to them. You poke your finger to one of the plant’s soil and notice that it’s damp. Been watered recently. Gojo is a plant guy? He really doesn’t seem the type. Well, actually, he’s pretty vain about his avocado tree. But houseplants were a different story. A whole different trope of person.

After getting ready for bed, you slip into the sheets and lay stiff despite the comfortable mattress as you stare up at the ceiling with the duvet tucked under your arms. It’s bright in the room. Back home, you have blackout curtains, which help you sleep because it blocks out the morning light. Here, you don’t have that. You don’t have your melatonin either. But you do have the exhaustion in your veins, making you blink slowly and slowly until the water in your eyes feels as thick as oil. You’re so tired to the point that you can’t even sleep.

You force your eyes to close anyway. You’ll pretend you’re a queen in a palace, here in a foreign land she has recently conquered under her empire. A daydream that you find doesn’t really help you drift off to sleep. But counting sheep never fails you. 

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

You awake in the afternoon with a headache that pounds at your head like the FBI is trying to infiltrate your own mind. And all you can hear now is the FBI OPEN UP!!! meme as you groan and rub at your temples with one hand while leaning over the bed to pet at the nightstand for your go-to bottle of Tylenol just to–

Pet around at nothing.

“Mm?” you mumble, opening your eyes cautiously before harsh light makes you close them again. But even behind the protection of your eyelids, you’re still very keen on the brightness that finds you in this room. Finally, you’re able to blink the sleepiness away and adjust to the light, and when the blur of your vision subsides, you realize that you’re in a bed that is most definitely not your own. And then you remember.

You spent your first night (well, technically morning and early afternoon), at Gojo’s house.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, balled up fist rubbing at your eyes ferociously as you sit groggy from the sleep that enveloped you so performatively after your shift last night. You can’t even remember coming to his house, which is concerning, since that could mean you forgot to do a lot of other things when coming home. Like changing your clothes, and scrubbing your make-up off. But it seems like habit and routine has saved you, since you glance down and see yourself in one of your nightgowns and your skin doesn’t feel dry.

A loud thud! noise from directly beneath you startles you, jolting some of the sleepiness out of you, and you finally feel inclined to head out the door.

You make it across the loft and to the top of the staircase so you can peer over the railing to the downstairs floor. But from the top, you can’t see anything except for the entry area and the family room, but you assume the sounds you hear are coming from the kitchen, because it sounds like the closing of a fridge and ceramic on marble paired with footsteps on hardwood. Lifting the hem of your nightgown up so you don’t trip over it, you creep down the stairs, diligent in avoiding the 2nd and 7th step (you’ve since learned that they creak a little), and make steady progress in getting to the bottom of the stairwell to then stealthily peak your head around the rail and peer into the kitchen. You only have a view of one side, the long counter strip with the stove and the fridge, but you freeze when you’re met with the sight of a man standing there shirtless pouring orange juice into a coffee mug.

You’re temporarily shocked, your fight of flight immediately kicking in as you clutch the imaginary pearls around your neck in fear…but then…you slowly…find yourself starting to stare. This man’s back is huge, massive really…with tense and defined muscles, expansive smooth lines with ridges that meet bone. His shoulders are broad, rounding down into strong arms that are split with veins. And your eyes trail the way his waist narrows down to his hips, of which gray sweatpants very loosely hang from. Honestly, if the door in the movie Titanic was as large as this man’s back, then maybe Rose AND Jack could have fit on it and survived. (a/n. basically picture this)

And in the middle of your drooling, you realize. That this man. Is. Gojo.

Which should be a relief to you, because if it wasn’t Gojo, and there was just some random man in the house, then you’d have to start looking for a weapon of sorts. But instead you just continue to watch him silently without coming out of your hiding. Shirtless in his own kitchen (a crime, really) as he pours OJ into a black mug (who the fuck drinks juice from a coffee mug). He suddenly turns around to face the island and a small gasp leaves your lips before you duck your head behind the rail to hide yourself from his line of sight, and when you realize you’re in the clear, you slowly peak your head back out.

The sight of his chest and torso nearly knocks you breathless, because why is his skin so smooth…and taut across the defined muscles of his abs, glistening with a sheen you can only guess is a salty layer of sweat. His fringe is damp, sticking to his forehead and the sides of his face, a droplet of sweat rolling down from his temple towards his chin but he uses his bare shoulder to wipe the sweat off before it can get that far. He brings the mug of OJ to his lips and tips it back with a swallow, the thick muscles of his neck rippling and rolling with the bobbing of his Adam’s apple, a singular droplet of orange juice escaping from the corner of his lips, trailing down the vein on his neck and into the territory of his chest. Okay. You were being creepy as fuck right now. He can’t find out that you’re staring at him like this, you’d literally move to a different country if he ever caught you. And yet, for some reason, you just can’t stop either. 

He pulls the mug from his mouth, letting out a large exhale since he literally just gulped it all down in one go. He places his palms flat on the table, slightly distant from one another, as he takes in the sight of his counter, while you take in the sight of the way his biceps bulge and the veins on his thick forearms tense. He looks like he’s contemplating something. And then he shrugs his shoulders slightly before grabbing the carton next to him and chugging straight from it, like whatever he poured himself wasn’t enough to quench the thirst for citrus juice he seems to have after–you can only assume–the workout he just had. 

There’s a deep noise that’s muffled in his throat in the second before he pulls the carton away from his mouth and his eyes glance at something on the floor. You can’t see what it is, but you can see the marvelous shape of his ass through his sweatpants– I mean, you can see him furrow his brow a little and then he’s suddenly crouched down on the floor, ducked behind the island and out of sight, before he mutters something that you think sounds like damn fridge…

You stand on your tiptoes on the last step, trying to peer over the obstructing view of the counter, but you trip over the hem of your nightgown, losing balance and–

–fall straight onto the hardwood in front of you, on all fours. 

“Ah,” you exclaim blandly, and in your periphery, see Gojo suddenly stand up straight from his crouched position.

“y/n?” he calls out from the kitchen, his tone surprised.

“Sorry!” you chirp as you feel embarrassment creeping up on your cheeks, “just, uh, fell down the stairs!”

“What?!?” he exclaims in a panic, and you forgot that most people would panic if someone said that to them. He rushes over to you and gets down on one of his knees to peer at your face, his hand shooting out to grab your upper arm with little delicacy out of concern, and his eyes roam all across you to assess for injuries. “Are you okay??”

“Just!” you chirp as you yank your arm out of his hold, “Peachy!” You’re not able to make eye contact with him as he remains kneeled next to you, but you can’t find yourself able to move either. So you just relish in the ridiculous feeling of being on all fours in your vintage grandma nightgown in front of your shirtless and, breaking news: very hot, fake husband. God you can smell the musk and sweat from him when he’s this close, and it’s sexy. You have to be careful to not just straight up mount him on the floor right now. Much to your aroused dismay. 

“Um,” you squeak out, “can you put a shirt on.”

“Huh?” he looks down at himself, like he forgot he’s half naked. “Oh. Yeah.” He stands up. “Sorry, I’m not really used to having someone in the house anymore,” he says, and his use of the word anymore isn’t lost on you. 

He heads over to the coat closet, pulling a gray sweatshirt that’s a shade darker than his sweatpants off of a coat hanger and then pulling it on over his head. He pulls the hood off, and now his hair looks damp with sweat and sexily ruffled up. And he’s also in a comfy-looking sweatshirt. That was way hotter than being shirtless, for fucks sake. You wonder if he’d reconsider being shirtless again. He’s kneeling down beside you once more, and yes you are still on all fours just staring down at the hardwood floor like an animal paralyzed with fear. 

“Have some decency, please. Especially since I am to start living here from today onwards. I would appreciate modesty around the house,” you say as a tactic of self preservation. “Take note of my attire–appropriately covering all skin.”

“Are you gonna stand up?” he asks you.

“No. I shan't.”

“What? Why not? And why are you talking like that?” 

“It appears I am frozen.”

“Are your knees okay?”

“I believe so.”

He sighs and gets up from his knelt position, then suddenly comes up behind you, bending over to wrap his arms around your waist tightly before picking you up with the same ease in which someone would pick up a plastic lawn chair. You gasp, still retaining your four-legged creature formation, until he shakes it out of you and then sets you back down onto your feet. 

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he says with a sigh as he heads back towards the kitchen, and he’s back to crouching down somewhere behind the counter.

You shuffle your feet over to the kitchen and peer over the kitchen island to see that he’s examining the floor in front of the fridge.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

He scratches at his eyebrow. “The fridge is leaking again.”

“Oh.”

He clicks something on both sides of the fridge's feet and then grips the corners of its body, pulling it out from the wall with a small grunt leaving his lips. Even with the baggy sweatshirt, you can see the curves of the muscles in his arms as he works. 

You place your elbows on the island and hold your face in your hands as you watch him. “How are you gonna fix it?”

He’s dabbing at the wet hardwood with a very worn out rag to get it dry. “I just have to shut the water valve off for a bit.”

“How do you do that?”

He points over his shoulder with his thumb, and you trace the line of it to the cabinet under the sink. 

“Really? You’re gonna get under the sink?”

He dusts his hands off and tosses the rug off to the side. “Uh-huh.”

“Are you sure you can fix it?”

“Yeah. No problem.”

“How long has this been an issue?”

His gaze flicks to yours briefly before he stands up. “About a week.”

“Don’t you think you should just call someone?”

“What?” He turns to face you and crosses his arms across his chest while raising an eyebrow at you, like you’ve just deeply offended him. “Why the fuck would I call someone for a job I could do myself?”

You tilt your head at him, trying to hide the smirk that threatens to tug at your lips. “Well you said it’s been a whole week.”

“Yeah, I’ve–...I’ve just been busy. So I haven’t had a chance to really take a look at it.”

“Ohhhh okay okay,” you say in a teasingly skeptic tone, poking your tongue to your cheek as it’s getting progressively harder to hide your grin.

“What?” he says to you, impatiently.

“Nothinggg,” you purr, and you watch him with a cheeky look on your face as he glares at you before he disappears off towards the garage.

He comes back with a tool box and you spend some time poking around in it curiously as he grabs a couple of tools before crouching down in front of the sink.

For some reason, you feel shy watching him. Maybe it’s because when he’s laying on his back, the top twenty-percent of him ducked underneath the sink, and he’s working his hands on some pipes that you can’t see, his sweatshirt rides up a little and you can see the very lower part of his torso. And then when he yanks particularly hard on something, it rides up more and you can see his abs tensing and relaxing with almost every breath he takes and every move he makes. You’re just grateful he can’t see you, and the urge to clench your thighs together is almost stronger than your brain’s disposition to convince yourself that he’s not attractive just because you think he’s annoying most of the time. 

“y/n,” he calls out to you from under the sink, and you jump a little. He tilts his head a little so he can make eye contact with you from under. “Can you hand me those slip-joint pliers?”

“I have no idea what that is or where to even begin to know what that is.”

“The pliers that have the serrated edges,” he tries.

“Huh?”

“.........shark with sharp teeth.” 

“Oh! Yes. Yes, of course,” you grab them and then shuffle over to him before crouching down, balancing on your toes, “here you go.”

“Thanks,” he says in a flat tone, slowly taking them from you. 

“You’re welcome!” you chirp. You feel very useful. 

His head disappears back to deep underneath the sink again to work on stuff again. Even though this whole thing is probably just his masculine ego wanting to fix things around the house by himself rather than just call a person that is literally paid to fix these sorts of things, you have to admit that you’re not complaining for getting to watch him do something handy. 

“I’ve just– gotta–” he grunts a little and you hear the creaking of pipes, “tighten this up a bit–” he lets out another gruff noise, his voice strained with effort, and you’re ashamed to say it sounds hot. “Alright!” He pulls himself out from under the sink and stands up back onto his feet with a bounce in his step as he dusts his hands off. “Fixed. For now.”

The fridge starts making a strange whirring noise. You raise an eyebrow at him. He quickly reaches behind it and clicks some button before the eerie whirring stops.

“Okay. Now it’s fixed.”

You give him a very skeptic look. “Sure, Jan.”

“Don’t sure jan me. Trust. It won’t leak anymore.”

“Whatever you say,” you respond before heading back up the stairs to freshen up. 

By the time you go back downstairs, Gojo is nowhere to be found, and you take the opportunity to sit on his couch in the living room to then peruse which streaming services he has on his TV. It isn’t until about ten minutes later that you hear someone coming down the stairs, because he makes no effort to avoid the creaky steps.

You put your elbow up on the couch backrest and twist your torso to look at him. He’s wearing pajama pants and an unmatching black short sleeve cotton T-shirt that’s loose around his torso but tight at the arms. He’s ruffling his hair up with a hand towel, attempting to get it dry from the shower he clearly just took. As he makes his way towards the living room, you catch a waft of the clean soapy aqua fragrance of shampoo lingering in his hair. He stops about four feet behind the couch.

You glance down at his feet. “Why the fuck are you, as a grown ass man, wearing bunny slippers inside the house?”

He opens one eye to glance down at his slippers as he continues to tousle his hair dry, “oh, Juno got them for me for Christmas last year. She wanted me to wear them ‘all the time or else uncle toru’s feet will burn off from the floor lava.”

A small smile makes its way onto your face. 

Juno is Gojo’s five-year-old niece, and from the interactions you’ve seen between them, and from the way My Little Pony was the first thing that popped up when you turned the TV on, you know that Gojo absolutely adores her and vice versa. You’ve met her a couple times, even babysat her once in an emergency, and she’s a cute and bright little kid that you certainly have way more fondness for than her obnoxiously annoying uncle who is also now your fake husband. Wait, does that mean that Juno is your niece now, too?

Gojo lets out a sigh before hanging the towel over his shoulder, his hair apparently adequately dry enough for him now. He looks younger when his hair is messy and a little damp, falling over his forehead flatter than usual. It’s kinda boyish and dare-you-say charming.

He looks down at his slippers again with a pleasant reminiscent look on his face before placing his hands on his hips like he’s a baseball dad of three. “Y’know, when I was growing up–”

“Ah yes. During the Great Depression.”

He gives you an annoyed look. “Quit it. When I was a kid–”

“Back in the 1800s.”

“Aren’t you pushing thirty?” he asks you.

“Aren’t you in need of some new dentures?” you ask him.

“Fuckin’ rude,” he mumbles as he walks towards the foyer table to rip open some of the mail that was scattered across it.

“What happened when you were a kid?” you ask.

“Forget it,” he says, tucking some of his bills back into envelopes.

“What!! I wanna know,” you say.

“Yeah well I don’t want to tell you anymore,” he responds.

As you two fully grown adults continue bickering like toddlers for the better part of two minutes, your phone is ringing upstairs unbeknownst to you. 

“Wait. Shut up,” Gojo cuts off your next insult as he snaps his head up-right suddenly. 

“What?! Did you just tell me to shut u–”

“Shhhhhh,” he hushes you, turning his ear towards the stairs with a concentrated expression on his face.

You silence yourself, and then you hear the ringing coming from upstairs.

“Fuck,” you mumble as you scramble off the couch and jog to the bottom of the staircase, Gojo’s eyes on you the entire time as you run up the steps back to your room.

You hear your phone ringing on the bed somewhere but you can’t find it so you rummage through the sheets before finally spotting it, swiping on the call and bringing it to your ear without even checking the caller ID.

“Hello?” you say.

“Oh! y/n, hi there. It’s Dr. Johnson calling. I was prepared to leave you a voicemail,” he says.

“I’m here,” you say hastily, holding your phone to your ear with both hands as you feel your entire body tense up. 

You never knew what to expect with any sort of phone calls these days, especially when you’re at work or when your mom isn’t home, because a phone call could be something as simple as approving a refill on some of her medication, to something much worse than that. Something much more final than that. 

“It’s not an emergency,” Dr. Johnson says on the other line, like he can sense your fear and anxiety through the phone, “just wanted to reach out to let you know that I spoke with the hospitalist who admitted your mother to the hospital and she’s doing better now. They’ll likely discharge her by the end of the day.”

You slowly let out the breath you were holding. “Oh, that’s wonderful. I know she needs to come in for chemo tomorrow, so it’s perfect timing.”

“Yes, we’ll see her tomorrow.”

“Uh, Dr. Johnson, I do want to let you know…I’ll be admitting my mom for hospice in a couple of days,” you tell him. You wince a little, because you know it’s probably something that you should’ve discussed with him prior to all of this. “It’s…likely that you won’t have to continue her care anymore, since she’s been approved for Kaiser insurance, I’ll be transferring her care to Kaiser physicians.”

There’s a moment of silence on the other line, the briefest moment of hesitation from a self-assured doctor who always had something to say right away. “Really? That’s–...wow. I can’t say I won’t be extremely sad to not see her anymore.”

“I know…” you say, worrying your bottom lip through your teeth, feeling a sudden wave of guilt overtake your senses, “you’ve been following her progress ever since her diagnosis, even got her into remission…it’s just a little complicated with some insurance stuff and some bills as well. If I could have things my way, I would continue care with you and your team.”

Even though you can’t see it, you can tell he’s nodding on the other line. “I understand, y/n. I know that there’s more to healthcare in this country than just…receiving care. But I don’t have to explain those things to you, since you’re a nurse. Do what’s best for you and your family. Give me the details for the hospice, and I’ll have my MAs send over your mother’s chart.”

“Thank you, Dr. Johnson,” you whisper, your voice cracking slightly. “Really. For everything.”

“You’re most welcome.”

“Oh–” you stutter, in fear he might hang up right as you remembered to ask him something.

“Yes?”

“I know I’ll see you tomorrow so we can discuss it then too, but I was just wondering if the scans were back from my mom’s brain MRI she had done? I know they usually take three weeks to come back but just wanted to check.”

He lets out a low chuckle. “I had a feeling you’d follow up about that. No, there are no scans that have come back. I’ll let you know right away when they do.”

“Okay…” you say.

“I know you’re worried about a possible glioma,” he speaks up, “but let’s just try to stay positive until we see the scans, okay?”

“Yes. Sounds good. Thank you, doctor.”

“Alright. I will see you and your mom tomorrow.”

“Yes. Bye,” you say and hear his word of farewell too before hanging up. 

You stare down at the screen of your phone, taking in slow deep breaths to calm down your nerves. You just wanted these scans to come back already so that you could feel at peace knowing that your mom’s worsening neurological condition is due to her Alzheimer’s and not a tumor in her brain. The average survival length of a person with a brain tumor is low, and even worse if it’s a glioblastoma, ranging at around 12-18 months. You can buy her a few years at least with the stage of cancer progression she’s at right now, even with the possibility of remission, but if it becomes severely advanced disease then–

You gasp softly and cover your mouth with your hand, unable to even fathom the thought without feeling a feverish chill run down your entire body. Now's not the time to spiral. Deep breaths. One, two, three. Now is the time to stay positive. Just like Dr. Johnson said. 

Putting one step ahead of the other, you leave the room, cross the loft and slowly make your way down the stairs and stop at the very last step when you see Gojo rushing across the foyer with his dress shoes on, wearing a dark blue suit, save for the tie, and he looks like he’s pressed for time.

“Are you going somewhere?” you ask from the last step, your hand curled around the rail still.

“Hey, uh, yeah,” he scrambles, grabbing his keys from the paper mache bowl on the foyer table and then pats at his pockets for his wallet only to notice it’s absent. “Fuck.” He disappears somewhere into the house in a hurry and then returns with his wallet in his hand before shoving it in his pocket with the jingle of his keys too. “I had to push a couple house viewings from this afternoon up, so I need to leave.” He finally turns to face you and exhales slowly to regain his breath. “Small favor?”

“What’s up,” you say.

He rubs the back of his neck a little guiltily. “Well, Sana called a few minutes ago asking if I could watch Juno since she had to pick her up early from school, and I said sure, but I have to leave now, so–”

“I can watch her,” you say.

He claps his hands together in prayer form and holds them up to his face, “I owe you one.”

“Mhmmmmm,” you hum, watching as he resumes his haste to leave the house. And just before he heads out the door, you say— “Collar.”

“Huh?” He turns around to face you. “Oh.” He takes a second to flatten the collar of his shirt. “Thanks.” And then he’s out the door.

You sigh, relishing in the emptiness of the house. Maybe you should raid his pantry, or play porn on the TV super loud so all the neighbors think he’s a creep. But perhaps that is not appropriate, given that his sister will be bringing his niece over very soon.

You quickly head over to your house to change into something more appropriate than your nightgown, just some blue jeans that honestly make you look like a soccer mom, and then a T-shirt. You walk back to Gojo’s house and only get about five minutes to peruse his pantry when the doorbell rings.

When you open the door, you’re met face-to-face with Gojo’s sister, Sana. How would you describe Sana? Well, first of all, she’s beautiful, with all the same features as Gojo except in female form. Striking round blue eyes, silky white hair that shimmers silver underneath sunlight (you would describe Gojo less poetically than this, though). Her hair is pin straight, falling down just past her shoulders. She’s sweet, or at least has been the couple of times that you’ve met her, but she can also be a little serious and strict. The type to not really laugh at the dinner table if you make a pointed joke about the current political state of the country, but maybe it’s because she didn’t even understand the joke to begin with. Either way, she’s very different from the annoying and irritating temperament of her older brother, and how their mother managed to give birth to such two different kids is beyond you.

“Hey,” you greet her at the door with a small smile.

“Hi, y/n,” she returns with a polite smile of her own. She’s holding onto Juno’s scrawny shoulders as the kid stands in front of her, barely to the height of her mother’s hips. Juno was toying with the light pink baseball cap on her head, her hair pulled through the opening in the back and tied up into a ponytail. “I’m so sorry to bother you with her.”

“Oh! No, not a bother at all, I love getting to see her,” you say as you crouch down to get at eye level with her. “Hi Juno!”

Juno has curly white hair rather than the pin straight that her mother possessed, a feature that more closely resembles her father’s hair, along with her hazel eyes. You’ve only met Sana’s husband, Jun, once before. From what you know, he’s some type of businessman, and the first thing you noticed about him was that he was the same height as Sana. But his wife was blessed with supermodel height and was probably taller than most men, so it wasn’t surprising. Jun was hearty, almost suspiciously kind, laughed boisterously loud, and in the small amount of time you met him, it was easy to see that Sana very rarely humored his ill-mannered and awkwardly-placed jokes, but they seemed very in love with each other regardless. Apparently he and Gojo go golfing every other weekend. Information that you seem to know despite any desire to know it. 

Juno hugs her water bottle to her chest, shy as she makes eye contact with you. “Hi, auntie y/n.”

“I loooooove your baseball cap! It’s so cute, where did you get it?” you ask her.

She blinks off to the side timidly, her fluffy white lashes fluttering over her bright eyes. “Um. Uncle Toru.”

“Ohhh I see, I see! It suits you.”

Sana nudges her a little with her knee. “What do we say, Juno?”

“Thank you, auntie y/n,” she immediately squeaks out in reflex.

Your eyes catch a glimpse of the white bandage wrapped over her tiny arm and your brow furrows before reaching out to gently hold it. Juno winces a little from the sensation. You stand up straight.

“What happened to her arm?” you ask Sana.

Sana sighs as she tucks some of her hair behind her ear. “She fell on the playground at school today. It’s a pretty large scrape and it’s been hurting her a lot.”

“Did you disinfect it?”

“Oh…I just–...washed it with some water. The school nurse wasn’t there today so I just had to pick her up early.” 

“Mm, I see,” you say, “I can take a look at it. I have some neosporin in my purse.”

She lets out a relieved sigh, like she was secretly hoping you would make the offer. “Thank you. Really.” She gently pushes on her daughter’s shoulder. “C’mon Juno. Go inside and set your homework up on the table.”

Juno cranes her neck up to look at her mom. “Mommy, can I have a snack first? Pop-tart!”

“If your uncle has them in the pantry, then sure,” Sana says, and immediately upon hearing those words, Juno rushes inside the house with giggles filling the air. “But only one!!” Sana yells out to her in a strict tone, and you watch with amusement as Juno skips off before returning your attention back to Sana.

“Sooo…” she starts, a small hint of hesitation playing on her usually prim face, “I suppose we’re sisters now. Sisters-in-law.”

Your eyes widen and your shoulders stiffen. It was at least a good thing that Gojo told his family already that you two are married, because it seems that most of his extended family live here in this town. At least, you know that his sister’s family and his parents live here. Better to be heard from him directly than to run into you randomly living at his house all of a sudden when they drop by. You’re sure his family has questions about this extremely sudden marriage to say the least. You’re not sure how much they’ll try to pry, but you hope it’s not much, because you’ve never really been a great actress. “Yes. Yes, we are.”

“Mm,” she hums pleasantly at you, nodding slowly and peering off into the house beyond your shoulder, “say…I’m, um, just a little…surprised by how sudden this all is.”

“Hmm?”

“With you and my brother,” she says straightforwardly. “Obviously, you must know he’s been married before, but it’s…a little odd, it feels like just yesterday when he told us he was…getting a divorce. And now he’s married again.” She trails off when she has some sobering thought that flashes through her head. “Oh gosh, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m blabbering about this. I’m just–...I’m just thinking out loud. It must be a sore topic.”

“Oh, no, no, not at all. No worries,” you say with an awkward laugh, “I’ve, um, come to terms with it?” You try your best to come up with a believable response.

“That’s good,” she says while she runs soothing circles with her thumb over the skin at her elbow, “well, some love moves faster than others.” She displays a well-meaning smile on her face. “I’m really happy for you two.”

For some reason, your heart warms. Like when the lines of reality and imagination blur, and so you’re left here with a truly comforting feeling. Only it’s fleeting and temporary, like escapism. “Thank you,” you say softly. And after a moment, “by the way, I’m really sorry for…Satoru and I not having a proper wedding. We just wanted something simple.”

She lets out a small scoff. “Oh, gosh, don’t apologize for that. I’m sick of weddings. I was so glad I didn’t have to peruse yet another wedding registry this year. There are only so many toaster ovens I can buy.”

You’re a little surprised by the humor from her, but the two of you let out small laughs in unison at the doorstep.

Sana glances at her watch. “I have to get going. Call me if you need anything, okay?” 

You nod. “Sure. Thanks.”

You close the door slowly, watching her briefly through the stained glass window as she heads towards her car and gets inside before promptly driving off. 

There’s the sound of ruffling heard and then the sound of things falling off a shelf towards the kitchen. You turn on your heel and head in the direction. “Junooo,” you call out, “where are youuuu?”

“In here!” she chirps from the pantry room. You turn the light on to see her standing in the center with a couple boxes of cereal fallen around her. She’s holding an empty box in her hand. “The pop-tart box is empty,” she says with a pout and sulk of her shoulders as she makes the most :(( face you’ve ever seen a child make.

“Oh no,” you say, grabbing the box from her and inspecting the inside, “your devious uncle must’ve eaten them all in a manic episode.”

“What is a manic mean?” she asks you as she looks up, rubbing her ankle with her other foot.

“Oh, it’s like…crazy? He went crazy?”

She giggles at the thought.

“If you’re hungry, I can make you something,” you offer.

She shyly nods her head but her grin fully rounds her cheeks before she darts off towards the kitchen. 

You find her standing near the kitchen island, trying to get up onto one of the bar stools but to no avail. You come up behind her to pick her up then set her down on the seat, adjusting it so it’s a little higher. 

“What do you want me to make?” you ask her as you come around to the other side of the island and set your elbows up on the cold marble, leaning over to place your chin in your palm. 

“Um…” she brings her index finger up to her bottom lip in thought, “pancakes? Can I have blubbery pancakes?”

“Huh?” 

“Um…” she starts again, “last time, when I eated them at your house. Um, when I ated them at your house,” she tries to correct herself, “I really liked them.”

“Oh!” you perch up from your bent over position, “I remember! The blueberry pancakes. Aww, Juno, you remember that? How sweet.”

She becomes a little bashful and glances down at the her lap.

“Okayyy,” you say, placing your hands on your waist as you look around at the kitchen, “well I’ll have to see what ingredients I’m working with here, but hopefully I can make them for you.” You tilt your head at her before pointing a finger. “Have you ever seen the show Chopped?” 

She sits up straight with excitement. “Yes yes! Me and mommy love it.”

“Good. Let’s pretend I’m working with a mystery basket here,” you say, and then you turn around to open Gojo’s fridge. 

You can learn a lot about a person based on what the inside of their fridge looks like. You’re surprised to find the inside of his looks…sparkly? That was the only way you knew how to describe it. With clean shelves that reflect the bright lighting off the plastic, plastic that looks as mirror sheen as glass. As your eyes take in the contents inside, you notice he has some leftover thai food at the front, most likely leftovers from as recent as last night. One of the produce drawers is filled to the brim while the other is mostly empty, and you notice he separates them by leafy stuff vs. veggies. The leafy stuff is the drawer that’s filled to the brim, and you just know he’s stressed out over how to use all of it up before it starts wilting. Must’ve been on sale, you think to yourself. To the right of the fridge, there are an insane amount of orange juice cartons, and you notice he drinks the same one as you–pulp free with the added vitamins and calcium that’s made for kids. Although maybe he has an excuse for it, since he has a five-year-old niece. There’s a few containers of meal prep stacked up at the back of the fridge that look like some sort of arrangement of quinoa, chicken and Mediterranean vegetables. And then there’s just a bunch of assorted cans of beer throughout the fridge, which you assume are to appease the diverse preferences of his friends whenever he has them over. 

You grab a couple of eggs from the egg carton, placing them on the counter along with a stick of butter plus a half-full carton of milk, and peer deep into the fridge past the wall of condiments to eye for any fresh fruit such as berries, but you don’t see any. You try the freezer and are relieved when you see he has some frozen blueberries in there.

“Okay!” you shut the fridge. “Just need to grab a few more things from the pantry room and then I’ll make you your pancakes, okay?” 

Juno nods enthusiastically. “Um. Can I get my backpack?”

“Sure.” You pick her up off the bar stool to set her down on the ground and she runs to the coffee table in front of the TV to grab her things as you head to the pantry room. 

Flour, sugar, baking powder, all tucked in your elbows as you carry the ingredients back to the kitchen before dropping them onto the counter and picking Juno up to place her on the barstool again. She starts to lay out her glittery pens and pristinely sharpened pencils in front of her as well as a packet of papers. 

“I can’t believe they’re giving Kindergarteners homework these days…” you mutter under your breath as you grab a bowl. “Juno, wanna help me crack the eggs?”

“Yes!”

“Let’s go wash our hands then.”

As you mix all your ingredients together and Juno continues to stare at her papers with her face awfully close to them (does she need glasses?), you think to yourself what a nice little life this is. Although you haven’t been able to spend the day at your house like you were hoping you would, since you could finally have it for yourself, it was nice to spend it at Gojo’s. It was something different, something refreshing, something grounding. An escape that you needed. 

“Um. Auntie y/n?” Juno calls from behind you as you flip a pancake at the stove.

“Yes sweetheart.”

“How is mommy?”

“Hmm?” you hum. “My mommy?”

“Yes!”

“Oh you are just the sweetest thing. She’s doing okay. She’s just a little sick still.”

“When I’m sick,” Juno speaks up with a childlike enthusiasm in her voice, “my mommy gives me grape soor–...stir–” she struggles with the word, “shrup, ah, syrup! Grape syrup. It makes me better.”

“Ohhh honey, I know,” you coo as you try to match her enthusiasm, placing two little pancakes onto a plate for her. “When you get the sniffles, right?”

“Yes! Maybe your mommy will be better too if I give her some of my grape syoorup?”

You stop in your tracks, staring down at the food you were just plating.

The innocence of a child. It was hard to stay strong in the face of it. When you were younger, you probably would’ve thought that a magical potion would make your mom all better, too.

You turn around to face her. “Well,” you say, clearing your throat a little to fight the knot that you find is twisting it, “I think,” and now you’re blinking away the faint sheer of tears as you press your lips into a thin smile, your soft soft above a whisper, “that that is a wonderful idea.”

Juno gobbles up her blubbery pancakes with the extra maple syrup on them and you watch her take every bite. There was something satisfying about seeing a little kid eat so well. The sight made you feel well-fed on their behalf.

“Alright,” you say with a small grunt as you pick Juno up and set her down onto the ground, then take her hand to lead her over to the carpeted family room. “Let me take a look at this scrape of yours.”

Juno’s hand tugs slightly when you try to pull on it, so you turn around to see that she has stopped in her tracks halfway through the trek to the other room.

“What’s wrong?” you ask her.

“I don’t want you to see it…”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s ugly.”

“Juno,” you tug on her hand a little, “I have to see it so that I can clean it. Otherwise you might get sick. A type of sick that even grape syrup can’t fix.”

She looks up at you with curious eyes, not fearful ones. 

“There is sick like that?” she asks you.

“Yes. Now give me your arm.”

Juno follows you to the family room and stands still, the front of her jutting out slightly as she pouts, a display of her remaining disapproval for you taking a look at her scrape. You get down onto your knees and slowly undo the bandages, unwrapping the layers one-by-one before the end falls off and you’re staring at a 4x2cm superficial abrasion on her arm, and when your thumb lightly swipes at the skin underneath it, Juno winces from the pain.

You also notice she has a bruise on her left upper thigh, right below where the hem of her shorts end.

“You…only fell onto your right side, right?” you ask her.

“Mhm,” she nods.

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

“How come you have a bruise on your left thigh then?”

Her eyes widen slightly with shock and her head quickly snaps down to look at her thigh. “Um. Um. I don’t know. Um. Um.”

“Juno,” you say, trying to muster up a strict tone, but she refuses to make eye contact with you anymore as she stares at the carpet beneath her. You gently grab a hold of both of her wrists. “Sweetheart. Look at me.” Her eyes slowly lift up to meet yours. “I want to help you, but I can't help you unless you’re honest with me.”

Her big eyes blink at you slowly and her bottom lip quivers slightly.

“How did you really hurt yourself?”

She immediately starts bawling. Full on sobs that echo throughout the room and startle you slightly as the tears freely fall down her cheeks and she struggles to wipe them off with her left arm, but they only drip down her elbow.

“Oh–” you stutter, holding her by her shoulders, “Juno–”

She sniffles. “They–” she hiccups, “they pushed me…they always push me.”

“Who pushed you?? Who always pushes you??”

She sucks in a deep breath as she continues to cry and you struggle to wipe at her tears for her with the pad of your thumb. “The–hic–girls at school. They’re so–hic–...wahhh…they’re so mean.”

“They pushed you on the playground and that’s how you got this scrape and bruise?” you ask her.

She nods as she slowly begins to come down from her outburst, her remnant sniffles and short sharp inhales showing that she was struggling to breath. You run to grab some tissues and then come back, holding them to her nose before she blows into them.

“Oh sweetheart…I’m so sorry,” you say to her.

She suddenly runs into you, hugging you tightly, and you’re momentarily surprised before wrapping an arm around her too and then gently patting at her back.

“How long has this been going on?” you ask her.

“Mm…ever since I–hic–ever since I got on T-ball team…but they couldn’t get on.”

“Oh…” you coo, gently rubbing her back now. You’re not a mom, you’ve got no fucking clue how to navigate this sort of situation. But you can try your best to give some advice. “Juno, you have every right to feel happy and safe at school.” You gently pull her away from the hug so that you can look at her face. “And it’s okay to stand up for yourself and against anyone that is being mean to you. Don’t let them take that power away from you.”

She nods slowly, her lip quivering slightly again.

You sigh slowly before giving her another hug. “And we’ll work out something with your mom too, okay? She can talk to the teachers.”

“No!” Juno shrieks, pulling away from you suddenly. You blink at her. “No. Please don’t tell my mommy.”

“W-Why not??”

“Because–” she stutters, “um…I want to tell her myself. Because I lied, and mommy always says to me to not tell lies. So I have to fix it myself.”

You tilt your head at her, frowning slightly. You’re not exactly sure how much autonomy over such things you should be granting a five-year-old, but you decide to give her the choice. You hold your pinky finger out to her, “you have to promise me you’ll tell her though, okay?”

She nods and wraps her pinky around yours. 

After getting her scrape cleaned up and tended to, Juno spends the next hour or so watching My Little Pony on the TV as you clean up the mess you made in the kitchen. And as you’re staring out into the backyard while wiping down the cutting board, the sound of the doorbell ringing makes you jump with a startle and breaks you out of your trance.

You were prepared to open the door to find Sana standing at the entrance, but instead you’re met with the sight of a different woman.

Much older, and with all the same features, it doesn’t really take you long to figure out who she is.

“Ah! There she is!” the woman chirps out. “I’m—”

“Juno’s grandmother,” you finish the statement for her.

“—Satoru’s mother,” she instead says.

You both blink at one another.

“Well,” she chirps, “I’m both!”

Gojo’s mother appears to be a kind woman, and it’s evident that being gorgeous must run in the family. Although she has aged features, they’re still beautiful in a graceful way, where people would take a look at her and think of aging as a privilege and not a curse. Her eyes are somewhat feline, different from the roundness of those you’ve seen in her family, and her hair is a shimmering silver all around with a pretty silk press layered hair style that flatters her frail jaw. She was wearing a French-style button up dress with a rather gaudy belt around her waist, and you catch the scent of her lilac perfume even while she’s standing three feet away.

She puts her hands on her hips and has a forced smile on her face. “My son gets married and he doesn’t even tell me a peep about it, or introduce me to his new wife! I have to come all the way over here myself!” she exclaims, and her tone is like she’s trying to play it off with nonchalance but the stiffness of her features makes it look like she’s losing her mind. “Well,” she clicks her tongue, “he’s always had the penchant for never sharing anything he ever does with me.”

“Ah…I’m so sorry, Mrs. Gojo,” you say to her, unsure why you’re apologizing, but there was this energy to her that made you realize she had a skill for making people feel apologetic in her presence.

“No worries! Not your fault. I’ll deal with him later,” she says, her smile growing to where it almost fully crescents her eyes in a frightening way that almost sends a shiver down your spine, “anywhoooo,” she takes both of your hands into hers, “you’re very beautiful, and you have a very lucky-looking nose!”

“Lucky?”

“Yes, yes. You will bring luck to our family.”

“Thanks?” you say, trying to manage a smile.

She takes a step closer to you. “Tell me, what do your parents do for a living?”

“Oh! Um, well, my mom is retired, but she used to be an art teacher. My dad is in the food business, but uh, I haven’t spoken to him in years ever since my parents got divorced.”

“Ah,” she says curtly, her face blank as if she couldn’t think of a single thing to follow up with after that. She peers past your shoulder. “Where’s the little princess?”

“She’s just inside grabbing her things.” You gently slip your hands out of her hold and turn around to face the inside of the house. “Juno!! Do you need help?”

“No!!” she calls from the kitchen.

“Say, my dear,” Gojo’s mother speaks up, “why don’t you and Satoru come by for dinner this weekend? Jun and Sana apparently have some important news they’d like to share with the family, and I offered that we all hear it together over a meal. This way you can meet your father-in-law too!”

You take a deep breath in, realizing that this fake marriage agreement involves a lot more deceit than you ever thought it would. “Sure. Yes. I’d love that. Let me know if I can bring anything.”

“Wonderful!” she exclaims, just in time for when you feel Juno brush past you towards her grandma, hunching over slightly with her backpack’s weight. Gojo’s mother pulls you in for a hug which entirely startles you and you slowly wrap your arms around her as well. “It’s so lovely to have a daughter-in-law. Oh, I am just so happy to have you in our family.”

She lets go of you but still keeps you close by a delicate hold of your elbows, a gleeful smile on her face as she looks you up and down slowly.

“Bye, auntie y/n!!” Juno squeaks out, hugging your leg, and you pat at the top of her head. Her grandmother finally lets go of you and takes Juno’s tiny hand in her frail one, and you see them off to the car.

By the time you make it back inside the house, you let out a deep slow breath, one that you didn’t know you were holding in, as you lay your weight back on the front door. You feel a pressure in your head from your dwindling social battery and all these tricky encounters.

So, you’re part of a whole other family, now?

That. Is. Frightening.

.

.

.

[end of chapter 3]

a/n. ah!! hope you enjoyed this ihm chapter :’’) sorry if it seemed like a bunch of random scenes lolol i swear it’s all set up for stuff that will happen down the lineee. i just be yappin so the word count ends up kinda high. hope to see you in the next one!! <3 love u all. also it’s my frank ocean anons bday today so i dedicate this chapter to themm 🫶🏼💕 manifesting dilf gojo for u bb for anyone curious about why reader is a bit paranoid w potentially being busted for her fake marriage, i had another reader that was curious about this too so i answered them here if you'd like to check it out :)

➸ take me to chapter four!

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[ja3yun]

Melting Point | Bonus Chapter

ice skater!sunghoon x gf!reader warnings: smut (mdni), oral (f.rec), pussy muncher hoon is back, unprotected sex, very bad descriptions about ice skating, cheesy and wholesome (not sorry one bit), not proofread, if i missed any lmk! w.c: 12k synopsis: with sunghoon and minhee competing at the winter olympics, you're in the most romantic city in the world. your nerves are strung high for both of them but your boyfriend has a surprise once everything is said and done. masterlist** a/n: hi! my melting point lovers, this is for you and only you! i hit 4k followers on this blog and i thought, what better way than give my lovely people a bc of the fic that got me my first 1k followers! plus, i missed them like crazy and i felt like this was a nice wrap to their story. as always, comments, feedback, reblogs and likes are all welcome.

** if you haven't read mp then this will probably not make sense to you but if you really wanted to, you could read it as a stand alone. this is also dedicated to 🌊 anon bc no one loves mp quite like them 🙏🏻

Kicking your feet, you sit at the edge of the hotel bed, watching your boyfriend pack the last few costume pieces into his gym bag. He looks so pretty in front of you; his dark hair is freshly cut but still long enough that some of his fringe dangles in front of his face. His body is strong and dependable, just like always, and his concentrated look adds cuteness to him despite his typical handsome charm. 

The room is filled with the quiet rustle of fabric and the faint scent of his cologne, wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. Your heart swells with affection as you watch him, every detail etching itself into your memory - the ripple of his muscles under his shirt, the furrow of his brows, and the gentle way he handles even the most delicate pieces. 

"I miss you," you blurt out, the words slipping past your lips before you can stop them.

Sunghoon stops packing and looks up, his thick eyebrows raised in confusion. "Sweets, I'm standing right in front of you," he says, pointing to himself with a puzzled expression and a small, amused smile playing on his lips.

“I know, but we’ve hardly seen each other,” you begin, rising from the bed and approaching him with a slight pout. “We’ve been in the most romantic city in the world for the past four days, and I’ve seen you for a collective twenty minutes.”

Chuckling softly, Sunghoon shakes his head. “I mean, I am competing at the Olympics. That kinda requires my attention,” he explains, though the playful glint in his eyes betrays the lightness of his tone.

“I require your attention,” you counter, sulking slightly, though you’re aware of the unfairness in your complaint. He’s been relentlessly training for the biggest and final skate of his professional career, and here you are, feeling neglected because he is rightfully busy. You should be cheering him on and savouring every moment you get to spend together, especially since the competition is this afternoon.

Despite your unreasonable grumbling, Sunghoon's expression remains warm and understanding. With a gentle sigh, he pulls you into his embrace, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and resting your head against his chest. You can feel the rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat and the slight rumble of laughter he’s holding back, a comforting vibration against your ear.

"Paris isn’t all that anyway. I mean, what is there to see anyway? Nice restaurants? The Louvre? The Wall of I Love You? Sounds awful if you ask me." The sarcasm in his voice is dripping with humour, each word teasing you softly.

You lift your head to look up at him, unable to suppress a smile at his exaggerated complaints. His eyes, filled with a mix of affection and mischief, meet yours. “You’re impossible,” you say, shaking your head but feeling your heart lighten.

Sunghoon leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “And you’re my favourite distraction,” he murmurs, his breath warm and reassuring against your skin. “But I promise, Sweets, after this competition, we’ll have all the time in the world to explore Paris. And I’ll make sure to give you all the attention you deserve.”

His eyes gleam with the love he always shows you, but there’s a subtle shadow of uncertainty behind them. Though you haven’t been able to spend much time together since arriving, you’ve been by his side for months leading up to this moment. You understand how much this means to him.

Sunghoon’s training for this prestigious event has been nothing short of gruelling. Hours upon hours spent perfecting his routines, pushing his body to its limits, and honing his skills have left little room for anything else. It was his decision to leave the competitive world of figure skating after the Winter Olympics, shifting his focus to coaching and leading a less hectic life - a choice he is content with. However, this final performance carries immense weight, and the pressure is almost suffocating. Once it’s over, he can finally breathe, but for now, his lungs and heart are trapped in a cage of nerves and anticipation.

“How are you feeling about it?” you ask softly, pressing gentle kisses over his heart, hoping to soothe the tension you know is building inside him.

“Fine,” he replies, but the tightness in his voice betrays him.

You give him a pointed stare, silently urging him to be honest with you. His facade crumbles, and he lets out a heavy sigh, nodding reluctantly. “Shitting myself. If I fuck up, I don’t have a chance to redeem myself. This is what I’ll be known for forever.”

The weight of this final performance hangs heavily on Sunghoon’s shoulders. The relentless drive to be perfect, to deliver a flawless routine, feels almost unbearable. The thought of a single misstep, a minor flaw, is paralysing. He knows that in the world of figure skating, this performance will be his legacy. The pressure to be remembered as a champion, to leave the ice with no regrets, is a relentless force pressing down on him. His heart races at the mere thought of stepping onto the ice, every nerve in his body taut with the anticipation of the moment that could define his career.

“Hey,” you say softly, cupping his face in your hands and forcing him to meet your gaze. “You’ve already proven yourself time and time again. No matter what happens, you’ve achieved so much. I believe in you, and everyone who loves you believes in you too.”

He shakes his head, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. “It’s not just about what I’ve done. It’s about how I finish. Everyone remembers the ending, and if I screw this up...”

“You won’t screw it up,” you interrupt gently. “You’ve worked so hard for this. You’re more prepared than anyone else out there.”

“But what if I’m not?” he asks, his voice trembling slightly. “What if I stumble, or fall, or miss a beat? This is my last chance to get it right. There are no do-overs.”

You tighten your hold on his face, bringing his forehead to rest against yours. “Listen to me, Sunghoon. You’re human. Perfection isn’t the goal, that is still the lingering words of your mum talking; it’s about doing your best and knowing you gave it everything you had. You’ve done that already. You’ve pushed beyond limits, and you’ve inspired so many people, including me.”

He closes his eyes, absorbing your words. “I’m so scared,” he admits, his vulnerability laid bare. “What if it’s not enough?”

“It is enough,” you say firmly. “You are enough. And no matter what happens, I’ll be right here, proud of you. Always.”

It’s not often you see your boyfriend doubt himself like this, not since his mum has been out of the picture and he has actually started to enjoy skating again. But you can understand why he is so nervous and self-diminishing his abilities. This is the Olympics, something that he has been dreaming about since he was a little boy. That would put a weight on anyone’s shoulder never mind it being the definitive.

You lean up and press a tender kiss to his lips, pouring all your love and reassurance into the gesture. He kisses you back, his grip on you tightening as if drawing strength from your unwavering support. When you pull back, you see a flicker of resolve in his eyes, a reminder of why he’s made it this far.

Sunghoon’s expression softens, a gentle smile spreading across his face. He nuzzles his nose against yours, a sweet and intimate gesture that makes your heart flutter. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he murmurs, his eyes glistening with affection as they lock onto yours.

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, feeling a wave of warmth envelop you. “Well, good thing you don’t have to find out,” you reply, your voice laced with both tenderness and playful teasing.

He pulls you closer, his arms encircling you in a protective embrace, his fingers digging gently into your t-shirt. “I love you,” he whispers, his breath warm and comforting against your ear. “So freaking much, Sweets.”

“I love you too,” you murmur back, letting the words settle between you like a shared secret.

Sunghoon’s smirk suddenly makes an appearance, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Alright, but seriously,” he says, leaning back slightly to meet your gaze with a teasing glint. “Who are you rooting for to win? Me or Minhee?”

The question catches you off guard, and you blink at him in surprise. “I’m rooting for both of you, obviously!” you protest, your tone a mix of exasperation and disbelief.

Sunghoon arches an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Come on, Sweets. Let’s say the stakes are higher. Gun to your head, who takes the top podium: me or Minhee?”

You let out an exasperated sigh, swatting at his chest playfully. “You’re ridiculous, you know that? Minhee is my brother but also my client. It’s literally in my job description to root for him!”

Sunghoon chuckles, the sound resonating deeply from his chest, warm and infectious. “So, what you’re saying is, if it weren’t for your job, you’d be rooting for me?”

You roll your eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips despite your best efforts to stay serious. “None of you will let this rivalry go, huh? It’s like you both live for these little competitions till this day.”

Shrugging, Sunghoon picks up his bag, slinging it effortlessly across his shoulder. "Old habits die hard," he replies, a sly twinkle in his eye. He reaches out and pinches your cheek gently, his touch light but affectionate. “But I’ll just say you want me to win.”

As you open your mouth to retaliate and defend yourself, he leans in and plants a quick, playful kiss on your nose. The unexpected touch makes your face flush with a delightful mix of embarrassment and affection. You blink up at him, momentarily disarmed by his endearing gesture.

Sunghoon’s grin widens, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Gotta go,” he says, stepping back with a playful wink. “Remember, I’m competing right after Minhee, so try to stick around that area so I can see you. Can’t win without my good luck charm rinkside.”

He makes his way toward the hotel door, his confident stride carrying him with an air of excitement. Just before he exits, he glances back over his shoulder, his eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and warmth. “I love you, Sweets.”

“I love you more, Hoon.”

_____

The moment Sunghoon walks into the changing room, he is hit by a mix of heat, sweat, and deodorant. It’s not like he isn’t used to it, every sports locker room is the same, even when he used to share it with the hockey boys at the Albion. Sunghoon is a particularly clean person, however, so the sight and scent are still disgusting to his senses.

What is a sight for sore eyes though, is his best friend Minhee sitting under his assigned peg as he ties the laces of his black, shiny skates, his facial expression serious though the task is mundane and easy to carry out. 

That’s the thing about competition day, everything is charged to 100 and even the simplest of actions can feel like a monument. And since this has been Minhee’s ambition - even competing at the Olympics never mind winning - he is feeling the pressure like he is a car under a compressor, two seconds away from being crushed scraps and thrown into the heap with the rest of the junk.

Despite that, when he hears someone approaching, he looks up to see his rival-turned-friend-turned-rival for one last day and plasters a smile on his face, hiding the tension in his frame.

“Hey, Hoon,” he greets simply, straightening up to look at him, squinting his eye slightly at the overhead light casting a heavenly glow around the skater. He doesn’t know what watt they have in Paris bulbs but he sure as hell misses the dullness of the Belmore, never complaining about the flickering yellow and burnt bulbs again.

Returning his smile, Sunghoon sits beside him, clasping a hand onto the boy's shoulder and rubbing it slightly, emitting a similar feeling to a brief massage. “Hey, Min.” 

“How is my lover this morning?” Minhee winks, enjoying the relief from Sunghoon’s hand. He knew he should have taken up the offer for Wonyoung to give him a full body massage, but he didn’t want to get too loose, or the real reason, fuck her until his alarm blared cruelly in the morning.

Shaking his head, Sunghoon retrieves his hand and sighs, running it lazily through his locks. “Shitting a brick, to be honest. You?”

Spitting out a laugh, your brother nods. “Same. Once this is over do you want to get into construction? I’m shitting enough bricks to build a mansion.”

The sarcastic notion allows Sunghoon to relax and laugh alongside his buddy, the air a little lighter with the ease of the conversation. For Sunghoon, growing up with no friends in this field meant he only had his mum to confide in, who wouldn’t even let him air his worries, stating that it created a negative mindset and would ruin his chances. So having Minhee by his side is a welcomed change.

Your brother and boyfriend have gotten so close since Nationals that you have practically become the third wheel when they are together. You understand, though; as much as you love and empathise with the gruelling training and pressure, you will never understand them the way they do one another. 

And with Minhee now crazily in love with not only your boyfriend but his girlfriend Wonyoung, it means you get to spend time with her too.  She’s been teaching you how to skate and sharing insights from her own experience managing herself, which has been incredibly helpful for your role as Minhee’s manager. You love having her around, and double dates have become some of the highlights of your life.

Unzipping his duffle, Sunghoon begins to retrieve his handmade costume, looking at it with unfiltered awe. Rina outdid herself this time, the black sheer top with black and red gemstones splattered over it in the shape of a deconstructed heart fits perfectly with his heartbreak-themed performance. You had come up with the idea to skate to a song that signifies farewell but nothing obvious like Adele or Lewis Capaldi, something that people would remember. Eventually, after listening to hours of playlists curated on Spotify, some named after ex-lovers or ‘songs to get over One Direction too’, he finally settled upon Porter Robinson’s Goodbye to a World. It’s not what he is used to, the electronic track a stark contrast to his usual melodic symphonies, but with the song signifying a bittersweet end that promises brighter days ahead, he couldn’t think of a better song.

Once your best friend and Sunghoon’s self-proclaimed stylist heard the song, she came up with this jewelled masterpiece. She felt heartache with a slice of redemption in the lyrics, hence, the heart isn’t broken or whole, it is simply there to feel how it wants to as it trails up his side and over his chest.

Minhee glances over at the top and smiles brightly. “Looks good, man. I’m going to steal her once you retire,” he jokes, but there’s a hint of seriousness in his eyes. He had already messaged Rina the moment he found out she was the one who designed the famous blue National outfit.

“I’m sure she’ll be more than willing,” Sunghoon replies fondly, hooking the top behind him. “She’s changing her final project to costume design. You can be her model. Just be prepared to give her some freebies from those new brand deals you have.”

Ever since you became Minhee’s manager, you’ve done a far better job than your mom did in her 15-plus years of managing him. Brands lined up at the door as soon as Nationals were over, eager to partner with Korea’s number one skater. The initial wave of attention was overwhelming. Your first day on the job was filled with countless emails about potential sponsors and multiple love letters asking you to play matchmaker.

But you made it clear to Minhee that these decisions were his to make. After years of your mom forcing him into deals he didn’t care about for quick cash, you insisted that he choose the ones he genuinely wanted, and you would handle the details. Being the brother you know and love, the first sponsor he accepted was Aston Martin. The promise of a new car to impress Wonyoung was too tempting to resist.

Laughing, Minhee nods in agreeance to Sunghoon’s statement, already planning to steal some cosmetics from the Black Rouge shoot he has in two weeks. 

Finishing up his laces, your brother stands and checks the stability of his skates, wobbling back and forth a few times. “I can’t believe we need to get dressed and everything just to wait around for hours,” he complains, thinking about the long wait ahead. The pair have at least 5 hours to wait before they can even take to the ice, and with no practice rink like the Nationals, it’s a waiting game.

“I know,” Sunghoon agrees, beginning to get changed, discarding his casual clothes. “Y/N was hinting at spending some time together this morning. I felt so bad leaving her when I could have taken her to that La Bossue cafe she was talking about on the plane here,” he says regrettably, sleeking his black slacks on.

If anyone understands, it’s Minhee. This is his and Wonyoung’s first holiday together, even though they’re both competing. He wants to spend time sightseeing and kissing her outside Sacré-Coeur Basilica.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he picks up one of Sunghoon’s skates and starts unhooking the strings. This is a trust that had to be rebuilt, especially after what happened between them, but it’s a gesture Minhee likes to do as a constant apology for his previous actions.

“How is my Bubs anyway?” Minhee asks, referring to you. Your absence when he woke up this morning meant he hadn’t seen you yet. It’s not very professional from a client-manager perspective, considering this is the biggest skate of his life, but he’ll let it slide since Sunghoon probably needs your presence more right now.

“Adorably clingy and beautiful as always,” Sunghoon replies, his tone filled with adoration as he recalls your pout when he said goodbye this morning.

The love painted on Sunghoon’s face makes Minhee’s expression fall into fake annoyance. The older skater pretends to gag, a running bit he does whenever you and your boyfriend get a bit too mushy for his liking.

Once Sunghoon has his sparkly costume fully on, he notices Minhee’s antics and rolls his eyes. “Oh, get over it, Min. We’ve been together for over half a year now,” he smirks, snatching his skate from Minhee.

“Don’t I know it? I’ve been stuck watching you both eat each other’s faces for the past four months,” Minhee grimaces in disgust.

“Well, I hope you haven’t been watching me eat your sis-”

“Right, that’s my cue to get the fuck out of here,” Minhee interrupts, raising his hands in mock surrender. The playful banter and easy camaraderie between the two skaters are a testament to how far they’ve come. Sunghoon's laughter fills the room, rich and genuine, a sound that brings warmth to the moment.

“I’ll meet you out there, save me a seat,” Sunghoon says, settling back onto the bench to lace up his skates. His fingers move with practised precision, threading the laces through the eyelets with ease. He glances up briefly, his eyes meeting Minhee’s, a silent communication of mutual respect and friendship.

Minhee pauses at the door, turning back with a mischievous grin. “Do you want anything from catering?” he asks, his eyebrows quirking in a playful challenge.

Sunghoon’s response is immediate. “Yeah, grab me a chocolate muffin.”

Minhee’s expression shifts to one of exaggerated horror, his eyes widening theatrically. “The ones Henrik guards with his life? You want me to die?”

A smirk tugs at the corners of Sunghoon’s mouth, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Minhee laughs a deep, infectious sound. “Give me a kiss and I’ll think about it,” he teases, leaning in with puckered lips, his face comically close to Sunghoon’s.

Sunghoon pushes him away with a playful shove, shaking his head in mock exasperation. “Get out of here, you idiot,” he chuckles, his tone filled with affectionate humour.

Minhee backs away, still laughing. “Alright, alright. I’ll see what I can do about that muffin. But if Henrik comes after me, I’m blaming you,” he says, pointing a finger at Sunghoon before disappearing out the door.

Sunghoon finishes lacing his skates, a fond smile lingering on his lips. Talking with his friend like this has helped ease some of the lingering apprehension and doubts in his mind. If Minhee can remain calm, or at least fake it, when this skate means just as much to him, then Sunghoon can do it too.

He’s going to make everyone proud out there, especially himself.

_____

You stand nervously next to Minhee, holding his hand impossibly tight as you both await his first Olympic skate. Honestly, you might be more nervous than him. For months, you have watched him batter and bruise his body attempting to perfect the hardest move in his routine—the Quadruple Lutz.

At Nationals, Minhee did the impossible and landed a quadruple Axel, a feat almost unheard of in figure skating. The moment was surreal, the entire arena holding its breath as he launched himself into the air, his body spinning at a dizzying speed. For what seemed like an eternity, he hung in the air, a blur of motion and grace. When his blades touched down on the ice with a clean, precise landing, the crowd erupted into a deafening roar. It was his greatest achievement, a moment of sheer perfection that few skaters ever reach.

Despite this triumph, Minhee knew better than to put his faith in landing it again at the Olympics. The stakes were higher, the judges more stringent, and any minor mistake could cost him dearly. The fluidity and overall performance were crucial here, and a fall on such a difficult jump could overshadow the rest of his routine. Instead, he had decided to go with the Quadruple Lutz—a move that, while safer than the quadruple Axel, was still incredibly challenging and demanding.

For months, he has landed on his ass, the echoes of his chosen song "Home" by Daughter becoming his laughing track until finally, he was able to do it with some ease. Minhee has a habit of getting his blade caught in the toe before launching, a flaw that Coach Kim has grilled him over time and time again because it is a stupid mistake that can easily be remedied.

That is what is weighing him down. He feels confident in his routine, but that one slip could be the difference between standing on a podium and leaving with his tail between his legs. Resting your head on his shoulder, you offer silent encouragement as you see one of the coordinators come over, signalling that it's almost time.

"Minhee," you whisper softly, lifting your head to meet his eyes. "I believe in you. You've worked so hard for this, and you've overcome so much. No matter what happens out there, you’re already a champion in my eyes.”

He turns his head slightly to look at you, his eyes reflecting a mix of nerves and gratitude. "Thanks, Bubs. That means a lot," he murmurs, a small, appreciative smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You squeeze his hand gently, your thumb brushing reassuringly over his knuckles. "Remember, it’s not just about the jumps. It’s about the story you tell out there. Skate like you’re sharing a piece of your heart with everyone watching. And if you get nervous, just think of Wonyoung and me cheering you on. We’re with you every step of the way."

“Y/N, you’re not gunning for my job too are you?” Coach Kim interjects with a teasing tone, poking his head from behind Minhee. You were so wrapped up in nerves you almost forgot he was there. “She’s right though, Min, performance is key here, if you think you can’t do any of the jumps, substitute it and we’ll take the deductions. They will be less than if you crash.”

Minhee takes a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. He nods, a determined glint returning to his eyes. "I don’t need to sub, I can do everything,” he replies with arrogance but you can see the tremble in his chin as he speaks, nerves seeking their way out of his body in any way they can.

“You have been spending far too much time with Park, your cockiness is extra heightened.” Coach Kim slaps him on the back, touch lingering there for added assurance. If anyone believes in him as much as you do, it’s Coach.

The coordinator gives the final signal, and Minhee stands up, releasing your hand but not before giving it one last, firm squeeze. "See you on the other side, Bubs," he says with a wink, trying to infuse some lightness into the moment.

You watch as he heads towards the rink, feeling a mix of pride and anticipation. "Go get em’, Mini," you whisper under your breath, knowing that whatever happens, Minhee is ready to give it his all.

He steps onto the ice, and the world narrows down to the crisp sound of his skates carving through the surface and the soft, haunting melody of his chosen song filling the arena. The starting pose is simple yet powerful: Minhee stands tall and poised at the centre of the rink, his back straight and his gaze distant. His arms are extended slightly, creating a frame of elegance around him. The music begins softly, and he closes his eyes for a brief moment, drawing in the calm before the storm.

As the music swells, Minhee starts his program with a series of intricate footwork sequences. His movements are fluid and precise, every step and turn executed with grace. His body flows seamlessly from one movement to the next, the choreography reflecting a deep, emotive connection with the music. The audience is captivated by the narrative unfolding on the ice—a story told through every glide, spin, and leap.

Minhee’s first major element is a series of spins, beginning with a fast, clean camel spin. He transitions into a sit spin, his body folding gracefully as he maintains a steady, controlled rotation. The audience watches in awe as he moves effortlessly between the spins, his form perfect and his speed unbroken.

The anticipation builds as he nears the pivotal moment of his routine - the quadruple lutz. Minhee takes a deep breath, his focus sharpening as he glides toward the takeoff point.

He picks up speed, his skates slicing through the ice with powerful, rhythmic strides. As he approaches the takeoff, you can see the concentration etched on his face. The quadruple lutz requires a precise and powerful launch, and Minhee’s years of hard work have led him to this moment. He performs a deep, smooth edge before leaping into the air.

From your vantage point, the moment feels almost surreal. You can see the determination and the slight tension in his body as he completes each rotation. His landing will determine the success of this routine. As he descends, his blades graze the ice with a delicate touch. You watch with bated breath, the entire arena silent, waiting for the impact.

He lands the jump cleanly, his body absorbing the impact with a controlled grace. There is a brief pause as he glides out of the jump, his movements smooth and confident. The audience erupts into gentle applause, filling the arena. Minhee’s face lights up with a mix of relief and elation, his eyes briefly searching the crowd for a glimpse of familiar faces.

When he comes across yours, a blur due to the rapidness of your jumping, he knows he’s done enough to make you proud, which wouldn’t be hard, but it’s nice to see you buzzing with glee now that he has successfully landed his hardest move, giving him enough confidence to finish his performance with intentional but relaxed tension.

As the music reaches its climax, Minhee performs a series of intricate step sequences, his footwork sharp and precise. His movements are quick and expressive, reflecting the emotional high point of the routine. He concludes with a final pose - his arms extended, his body arching gracefully as he holds the position for a heartbeat before the music fades.

The final note lingers in the air as Minhee holds his ending pose. The arena is a sea of applause and cheers, and Minhee takes a moment to soak in the overwhelming response. He smiles, a mixture of relief and pride evident in his expression, as he skates to the edge of the rink to greet his coach and the one person who has been by his side every step of this journey.

You watch with tears of joy in your eyes as Minhee glides toward you, his performance complete. The routine has been a triumph, a testament to his dedication and skill. Whatever the final score, you know that this moment will be remembered as a defining achievement in his career. After all, he had just performed a flawless routine at the Winter Olympics.

Minhee approaches the side of the rink and his face reflects a mix of relief and exhilaration. He bends down to carefully slip on his protective blades. The clinking sound of the skates against the ice seems to punctuate the end of his extraordinary performance. Once he's secured his blades, he makes his way toward you, his steps light but purposeful.

Without a word, you rush forward and envelop him in a tight, joyous hug. The embrace is fierce and full of unspoken pride and admiration. Minhee’s arms encircle you, holding you close as he buries his face in your shoulder. For a moment, the world around you fades away, and it’s just the two of you, wrapped in a cocoon of shared triumph and emotional release.

When you finally pull back, you can see the glistening in Minhee’s eyes, his smile wider than you’ve ever seen. “You were incredible,” you whisper, brushing a stray tear from your cheek.

He grins, his eyes sparkling with happiness. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Bubs.”

“Sure you could have, you’re the Kang Minhee after all.”

“Who is nothing without the Kang Y/N,” he retorts, ruffling your hair playfully as the emotions in his body swirl and threaten to overflow through his eyes. But he holds it together, knowing that he still has to wait for the score, easily the most nervewracking part.

As the scores are about to be announced, you both sit with Coach Kim in the waiting area, hearts racing in unison. The scoreboard flickers to life, and the crowd holds its collective breath. The numbers slowly come into focus, each digit reflecting the culmination of months of hard work and dedication.

You glance at Minhee, who is watching the scoreboard with a mix of hope and anxiety. The realisation that he has done everything he possibly could, that his performance was nothing short of spectacular, brings a surge of pride and love.

The first number flashes, followed by another, and then the total score is revealed: '324.60'. The audience erupts into a thunderous roar, and you can barely contain your excitement. Minhee’s face lights up with an ecstatic grin as he takes in the numbers, a little dumbfounded to believe it.

Your eyes quickly scan the leaderboard, and you see the name Yuga Kagiyama at the top. The Japanese skater has posted an even higher score, placing him just ahead of Minhee. But Minhee’s score is nothing short of extraordinary, putting him in a close second place. The competition is fierce, but Minhee’s performance has clearly made a significant impact, and with only Sunghoon and one other skater to take to the ice, his chances of snagging an Olympic medal are high.

“You did it, Minhee!” you exclaim, hugging him tightly again, overwhelmed with pride. Your brother is about to be an Olympic medalist, something you have heard him go on and on about since you were little, and here he is achieving it with you by his side.

You and Minhee embrace, the weight of the moment sinking in. Your eyes brim with tears of joy as you hold your brother, feeling his heart pounding against yours. Coach Kim wraps an arm around both of you, his normally stern face softened by pride and emotion. The three of you stand there, on a small triumphant island amid the chaos of the cheering crowd.

Coach Kim gives Minhee a shining smile, his voice thick with emotion. "You've worked hard for this moment, Minhee. This is your victory. You've earned it with every drop of sweat and every ounce of effort."

Thankful, Minhee puts his hand on Coach Kim’s shoulder and sighs a final breath of relief, happy to have the pressure off his shoulders. "We did it, Coach," he murmurs, a smile playing on his lips. Coach Kim nods, giving Minhee a firm pat on the back, his pride evident.

After a few more moments of celebration, officials signal that it's time to move. As you're escorted towards the exit, Minhee suddenly stops and jerks his head back towards the rink.

"Sunghoon is on next," he says urgently, his eyes locking onto yours. "He’d want you there. Go be by his side."

You hesitate, looking around. "But they won't let me since I'm not part of his team." The rule is that only managers and coaches can be at the rinkside to see off and greet their skaters, and since you are none of those things, the chances of you being able to sneak back and be there for him are slim.

Minhee shakes his head, determined. "He's only got Coach Lee, trust me, he needs you there with your disgusting puppy love eyes to give him support," Minhee jokes, pushing you back the way.

You laugh despite your nerves, touched by Minhee’s playful yet sincere encouragement. "Alright, alright, I'm going!" You rush back towards the rinkside, heart pounding with a mix of excitement and anxiety. The official looks puzzled as you approach, but you quickly explain, "My boyfriend, Sunghoon, he’s on next and it’s his last ever skate before retirement and if I’m not there by his side I would be such a shit girlfriend and he would never forgive me and we would break up and then you would be responsible." 

The words tumble out your mouth at record-breaking speed, hearing the announcer already calling out your boyfriend’s name through the tannoys. You don’t mean to guilt trip the poor girl but you’re desperate and couldn’t live with yourself if you didn’t try. Either this works or you will throw a tantrum until she has no choice.

Luckily, The official nods quite willingly, allowing you through. “If anyone asks, I never let you by,” she whispers in a thick Parisian accent, stepping aside to let you bolt through. With a quick thank you, you weave through the throngs of cameramen and other personnel to find Coach Lee standing with his arms crossed and face serious.

Once he sees you, his expression lightens, and he tucks you in under his arm. "Glad you made it, Kiddo," he says, his voice low. "He'll be happy to see you here. Give him an extra boost."

Sunghoon glides onto the ice, his face a perfect blend of focus and determination. The music begins, his ears infiltrated with the electronic beats as he hears every word, ready to skate his last competition and start a new life, one where you are his main focus and not the ice.

Sunghoon starts with a series of fluid crossovers, gaining speed before launching into a triple axel, landing perfectly with barely a sound on the ice. The crowd gasps and then applauds, already captivated. Without missing a beat, he transitions into a combination spin, showcasing his flexibility and control, his body a blur of movement. He looks regal out there, the gems from his top catching the light and adding another layer of beauty to it.

As the music swells, Sunghoon prepares for his next big element - a quadruple toe loop. This was difficult for him, something Coach Lee had suggested as his power move, which he spent forever perfecting, both in the rink and out. For a few weeks, he even attempted it on a trampoline to get the projection right. He was so dedicated to making this work that you feel his nerves bouncing off each glide on the ice and straight to your chest.

You hold your breath, watching as he launches into the air, rotating four times with precision before landing smoothly, his blades slicing the ice like a whisper. You resist the urge to cheer loudly, knowing it can throw him off, so instead, you settle for the audience etiquette of light applause.

He moves into a complex footwork sequence, his feet dancing in intricate patterns across the ice, each step perfectly synchronized with the music. His expression is intense, every movement telling a story of passion and struggle, triumph and heartache, beginning and end.

The middle of his routine is marked by a stunning triple lutz-triple loop combination, each jump executed with flawless technique. His body seems to defy gravity, hanging in the air for what feels like an eternity before descending gracefully back to the ice.

Sunghoon's artistry shines in the next segment, a series of choreographic elements that flow seamlessly, his arms and upper body movements expressive and emotive. He glides across the ice in deep edges, his body language conveying the emotion of the music, drawing the audience deeper into his performance.

As the final crescendo of the music approaches, he gears up for his closing element, a breathtaking quadruple salchow. He takes a deep breath, pushes off, and flies into the air, rotating perfectly before landing with strength and grace. The audience erupts in applause, unable to contain their awe at the sheer perfection of his routine.

Sunghoon finishes his performance with a dramatic final pose, the music reaching its climactic end as he holds the position, his chest heaving with effort. The arena is filled with the sound of thunderous applause and cheers, the crowd on their feet in a standing ovation.

He bows deeply to the audience, his face flushed with exhilaration. When he straightens up and turns around, his eyes immediately find yours. His expression changes instantly, his eyes widening in surprise and joy. A brilliant smile spreads across his face, mirroring the elation in your heart.

Without a moment's hesitation, Sunghoon skates over to you at speed, his movements as graceful and powerful as they were on the ice. He reaches you in what feels like no time, pulling you into his arms with a mix of laughter and tears in his eyes. It was the perfect passing-the-torch moment, leaving the ice behind to run to you and your future together.

"What are you doing here?" he questions, still trapping you in an iron grip, his voice filled with amazement and joy.

"I couldn’t not be here, it's your last skate," you explain, your voice trembling with emotion. "I had to see it up close. I had to be here for you."

His grip tightens, his head burying into the crook of your neck, grounding himself in your presence. "Thank you," he whispers, his voice breaking. "I’m so fucking happy you’re here.”

You hold him tightly, feeling the rapid thud of his heart against yours. Tears of pride and happiness stream down your face as you soak in the moment, the culmination of all his hard work and dedication. He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours, and you see the deep gratitude and love reflected in them.

"You were perfect out there," you say, your voice thick with emotion. "Every single moment was incredible. I've never been so proud of you."

“I love you like crazy,” he confesses with the same amount of passion he put into his routine. His lips find yours in a kiss filled with fervour and emotion, the world around you fading away. The noise of the crowd, the flashing cameras, and even the bright lights of the arena all dissolve into a blur as you lose yourself in the kiss.

Sunghoon's hands cup your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears on your cheeks. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, feeling the heat and intensity of his love. The kiss deepens, each of you pouring all the emotions of the night into this singular, powerful moment. It's a kiss that speaks of triumph, of shared dreams, and of a future together that you both can see so clearly.

When you finally pull back, breathless and flushed, you rest your forehead against his, your eyes locked onto his. "I love you too, Sunghoon," you whisper, your voice full of conviction and tenderness. "More than anything."

Just then, an official approaches, reminding Sunghoon that it's time to get his score. He looks at you, a mixture of reluctance and determination in his eyes. "I have to go," he says, his voice steadying. "But meet me in the hotel lobby at 7pm? I have something planned for you,” he says ominous, a mischievous glint twinkling in his dark orbs.

You mindlessly nod, head racing to come up with conclusions to his riddle. But you know better than to try and guess what Park Sunghoon has in store, instead, you give his lips one final kiss before letting go. “I’ll be there.”

He nods, taking a deep breath as he turns towards the judging area, taking the same spot that Minhee did moments ago. He just had to get in the 310s to get bronze, which is by no means feet. But you know he secretly wants the gold, knowing that it’s the perfect icing on the cake for his career. 

You glance up at the board, nervously switching between biting the skin around your fingers and your lip. Of course, you were nervous for Minhee, but he had at least one more shot at Olympic gold, Sunghoon didn’t. That mounts immense anxiety onto your chest, hoping that he can achieve victory the way he wants.

The first number flashes on the screen, followed by another, and then the total score is revealed: "331.75." The audience erupts into a thunderous roar, the sound almost deafening.

Sunghoon's eyes widen in disbelief and joy as he takes in the numbers. 

He won…first place.

The realisation is gradual, knowing that no matter how good the next skater is, beating a score like that is near impossible, with their average being 287.20, he knows he’s secured gold. Jumping up from his seat, Coach Lee crushes him in a bone-breaking hug, lifting him so his skates are off the ground. 

“My fucking champ! I knew you could do it!” he shouts loud enough that the cameras pick it up and probably has to be bleeped to the millions of viewers on the other end, yet, you know they can probably make out how excited and proud the coach is despite the redacted words.

Laughing, Sunghoon nods, eyes roaming the area for you. He wants you to be the first thing he sets his sights on because, without you, this wouldn’t be possible. Your expression is a mix of gratification and pride, your gazes meeting as they whisper poems of love and adoration, even through the distance. 

He owes you his entire life for making him see the joy in this strenuous sport once again, and he is going to do everything in his power to repay you for it, and he has his entire life to do so.

_____

Waiting in the lobby at precisely 7pm, you anticipate the arrival of your gold medal-winning boyfriend. In the time between his victory and now, you’ve managed to doll yourself up a bit. While he and Minhee were training the past few days, you took some time to go shopping, picking up a few bits and pieces. Your brother is generous with manager fees, so you can afford to spend a little extra while you’re here.

Now, you are clad in a stunning black Krysta Tulle Mini Dress, reminiscent of the one you wore at your award ceremony back in August, but this one is a bit shorter and more revealing. Sunghoon earned it, after all, and the least he deserves is some cleavage with whatever he has planned.

Speaking of his plans, you’re still in the dark about what he has in store for you. Your mind wanders to the obvious choices like the Eiffel Tower—perhaps he’s managed to get a private dinner booking like you see in movies, or maybe the Louvre instead. Perhaps he’s planned a romantic walk across the love lock bridge; although you can’t participate and adorn the bridge with a new lock that signifies your love, it’s still romantic to see all the lovers of the past and how their stories are still shared.

Suddenly, there is a gentle tap on your shoulder. You turn around to see your boyfriend standing there, looking as handsome as ever. His hair is styled in the side parting you always liked, with that one strand curving over his face, somehow highlighting the bridge of his nose which you love so much. Those freckles mark frequent kissing spots.

You’re glad you decided to dress up because Sunghoon is wearing a fitted suit, chic and beautiful, perfectly matching the city’s aesthetic. He looks like a vision, your mind swirling with love and a hint of desire. You’re just a girl, after all—it’s only natural to see your man in a suit and the first thing you want to do is rip it off.

Sunghoon’s breath catches in his throat as he takes in the sight of you. His eyes widen, and for a moment, it’s as if the entire world falls away, leaving just the two of you standing there in the softly lit lobby. He’s always known you were beautiful, but tonight, dressed in stunning frills under the gold-hued lobby of this overly expensive hotel, you look breathtaking.

His heart pounds in his chest, and he feels a wave of emotions wash over him - pride, adoration, and a deep, overwhelming love. The dress hugs your curves perfectly, the short length showcasing your legs, and the neckline draws his eyes to your exposed collarbones and the soft swell of your cleavage. It’s alluring without being overt, and he can’t help but marvel at how effortlessly you pull off such a look.

“You look...wow,” he finally manages to say, his voice filled with awe. His eyes trace over you, taking in every detail - the confident way you hold yourself, the sparkle in your eyes that mirrors his own excitement, and how your heart is beating in synch with his. 

He steps closer, his hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “I want to fuck you so bad,” he whispers, low enough that only you can hear it.

A laugh erupts from your chest before you swat him with your hand. “You are not getting out of taking me out in Paris just because you can’t keep it in your pants. You roll your eyes to convey annoyance but it’s hard to even feign being stern with him when you were thinking the exact same thing about him.

That fuck buddy sex drive you had never left once you got into a relationship, that much is evident.

“Well,” Sunghoon says, taking your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours, “I’m not exactly taking you out in Paris.” He turns around, leading you back the way you came from. His sheepish tone is accompanied by an apologetic look flashing across his face as he walks you towards the elevator.

“Hoonie, I swear to god, if you made me get all dressed up just to take me back to your hotel room to fuck, I will be so mad. I-,” you struggle to think of a bargaining chip in this fight. “I won’t let you eat me out ever again.”

Sunghoon stops dead in his tracks, turning to you with wide eyes and an even wider mouth, his free hand dramatically resting over his heart. “How dare you threaten to take away my favourite activity? That is cruel, so cruel, even for you.”

You can't help but laugh at his theatrics but by Sunghoon’s standards, this is actually quite tame considering the cards you have dealt. He can’t go three days without being between your legs so the punishment you would inflict by taking that away from him is worse than any torture interrogation method. 

“Well, you deserve it if you think you can just drag me back to your room.”

Smiling and slightly proud, Sunghoon resumes his position, walking you to the lift and pressing the button. “It’s not my room. It’s a surprise. Just trust me, okay?”

Of course, you do trust him, but your heart beats quicker as you realize you really have no idea what you are getting yourself into.

Stepping into the elevator, Sunghoon presses the rooftop button and you eye him curiously. “The rooftop?” you question, but before you can guess further, he pulls you close, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Shhh, don’t try and spoil the surprise I worked so hard for,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss your neck. His lips trail soft, teasing kisses from your jawline to your collarbone, each one sending shivers down your spine.

“Sunghoon,” you whisper, a mix of adoration and desire in your tone. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and the anticipation is killing you. His hands roam gently over your back, pulling you even closer until there’s no space left between you. The warmth of his body and the intoxicating scent of his cologne make it impossible to think straight, any questions about the roof now gone.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open. Sunghoon reluctantly pulls away, yet a satisfied smirk sits on his lips as he leads you out onto the rooftop.

To your surprise, the usually bustling terrace is completely empty. Instead of the usual crowd, there is a single, elegantly set table for two. Soft fairy lights twinkle around the perimeter, casting a warm glow. A bottle of champagne sits chilling in an ice bucket on the table, and beyond it, the Eiffel Tower stands majestically, its lights shimmering against the night sky.

You walk forward, admiring the view of the city from this vantage point. It’s full of night tourists and young lovers who share the same depth of feelings as you and Sunghoon do. Never has a place taken your breath away. Granted, you haven’t ventured much out of your home country, but this is unlike anything you could have imagined.

Leaning over the stone balcony, you let out an almost inaudible 'whoa' and cherish the view. “Sunghoon, this is beautiful. How did you manage this?”

He chuckles, pulling out the cork of the overly-priced champagne. “I have my ways. Why would I take you to something a million and one couples do when I can give you something unique?” Sunghoon’s pouring skills leave much to be desired, the overflow of the liquid spilling onto the ground, splashing on his shoes.

Although it should slightly ruin the moment, you can’t help but tear your eyes away from the city and laugh at the less-than-aesthetic scene before you. Sunghoon looks up at you with a sorrowful expression and hands you the damp glass anyway.

“You know, I was aiming for elegance,” he says with a playful pout.

Taking the glass from him, you grin. “I’ve learned you can only do elegance when it comes to skating, it’s okay, baby.”

He relaxes, the tension easing from his shoulders as he joins you at the balcony. Together, you raise your glasses, the Eiffel Tower twinkling in the background. “To you,” he grins brightly, tilting his glass to be clinked with yours.

“To me? Shouldn’t it be to your gold medal?” you ask a little incredulously. This night should one hundred percent be about your boyfriend and his deserved win, so why on earth is he cheersing to you right now?

“My gold medal doesn’t mean anything compared to you.” Sunghoon is so sweet with his words, to the point you wonder if he came straight out of a romance novel. But knowing your boyfriend better than anyone, you have a sneaking suspicion about something, more precisely about something possibly around his neck.

Narrowing your eyes, you lower your glass and hold it close to your chest, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You’re wearing that medal right now, aren’t you?” you challenge, a playful grin tugging at your lips.

Sunghoon attempts to play it cool, shaking his head with a feigned look of innocence. “What? Me? No way. I’ve not got an ego,” he says, but the slight twitch of his lips gives him away.

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a knowing look. “Sunghoon, I can see right through you.”

He sighs, realizing there's no use in denying it. With a sheepish grin, he dips his hand into his shirt and pulls out the gleaming gold medal, letting it sit in the lights for a moment before tucking it back in. “Fine, you caught me,” he laughs.

You give him a weird look, your confusion evident. “Why are you wearing it under your shirt?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, a playful glint in his eyes. “What? I like the way it feels,” he admits, a boyish grin spreading across his face. “Not everyone has a gold medal.”

You shake your head in disbelief, eyes rolling as you take your first sip of the golden liquid. With the city of love sprawled out beneath you and the Eiffel Tower twinkling like a thousand stars, the moment feels perfect. Sunghoon wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer as you both gaze out at the stunning view, savouring the magic of Paris and the joy of being together.

“You know,” he begins, placing his flute down, “I also like the way you feel,” he breathes out seductively, both hands twirling you to face him. As mesmerising as the city is, the look of need in your boyfriend’s eyes trumps it all.

His hands rest on your hips, fingers gently kneading as he draws you even closer. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. “How did I get so lucky?”

You smile, feeling a flutter in your chest, like a million butterflies have just escaped their cocoons and are roaming free around your ribcage. “I’m the lucky one,” you reply softly, tracing your fingers along the edge of his jaw.

Sunghoon’s eyes darken with intensity as he tilts your chin up, capturing your lips in a slow, passionate kiss. The world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in each other’s embrace. The night air is cool against your skin, but his touch is warm, grounding you in this perfect moment.

The kiss deepens, becoming more fervent with every passing second. Your heart races as his hands roam your body, caressing and squeezing in all the right places. You clumsily place your glass down beside his, but it’s hard to concentrate because his hands are everywhere - one gripping your waist, the other sliding down to cup your ass. He pulls you closer, pressing your bodies together, his need palpable in every touch.

His mouth moves hungrily against yours, each kiss more intense than the last. You can feel his desire, his longing, in the way he devours your lips. Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, as if you can’t get enough of him and the only way to be satisfied is to crawl into his skin. His kisses trail down your jawline, nipping and sucking gently at your skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

When he reaches your neck, you gasp, your head tilting back to give him better access. He takes full advantage, his lips and teeth working magic as he moves down your throat. His hands grip your hips tightly, pulling you against him as he nibbles and licks at your sensitive skin. Your breath comes in short, desperate gasps, the sensations overwhelming.

Just when you think you can’t take any more, he drops to his knees in front of you. Panic flares in your chest, and you glance around, worried about being seen. “What if someone sees?” you whisper, your voice shaky with a mix of fear and excitement.

Sunghoon looks up at you, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Then I’ll make sure we put on a show,” he murmurs, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing your dress higher. The thrill of his words sends a shiver down your spine, and you can’t help but tremble in anticipation.

He hooks his fingers around the waistband of your panties, pulling them to the side. The cool night air hits your exposed skin, making you shiver. But his touch is warm, his fingers gentle as they slide against your most sensitive places. He looks up at you one last time, his eyes filled with desire and mischief, before he leans in, his mouth pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss against you.

The sensation is electric, his tongue teasing and tasting, driving you wild with need. Your hands grip the stone balcony for support, your legs trembling as he works his magic. He’s relentless, his mouth and tongue working in perfect harmony.

Just like the first time he ever tasted you, he’s losing himself in your flavour, manually putting your legs around his shoulders to allow him deeper access to your dripping cunt. The juices that are leaking from your body are better than any gold medal. Each cry that passes your lips is accompanied by more of your sweetness coating his tongue.

You can’t help but grip his hair now, holding him in place as he lavishes attention on your aching clit. He savours your taste, his tongue flicking and circling with expert precision as he laps you up. Long, slow licks are interspersed with quick, teasing flicks, sending waves of pleasure through your body. He knows exactly what you need, and he gives it to you without hesitation.

Sunghoon's mouth moves with purpose, sucking gently at your clit before delving back with his tongue, exploring every inch of you. He hums against your skin, the vibrations adding another layer of sensation that has you arching your back and moaning his name. The heat builds inside you, an inferno that only he can control.

He intensifies his efforts, his tongue pressing harder, his movements more deliberate. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you steady as you writhe against him, completely lost in the pleasure he’s giving you, forgetting that with every mewl of his name, there is a greater risk of this entire hotel knowing what you’re up to. Your breaths come in short, ragged gasps, the tension coiling tighter and tighter within you.

Finally, the tension that’s been building inside you snaps, and you cry out, your body shaking with the force of your release. Sunghoon doesn’t stop, his mouth and hands guiding you through every wave of pleasure until you’re spent, leaning back against the balcony for support. Sunghoon shoulders most of your weight as you fold in on yourself, your feet still dangling over his broad shoulders.

Sunghoon wastes no time. He gently places your feet back on the ground and rises to his full height, his eyes dark with desire. He captures your lips in a searing kiss, and you taste the remnants of your own release on his lips, mingling with the champagne. It's intoxicating, the mix of flavours and the intensity of his kiss making your head spin.

All apprehension goes out the window as you begin to undo his trousers, your fingers fumbling with the button and zipper in your eagerness. You pull out his cock, feeling its hard length throbbing in your hand. His eyes remain locked on yours, the connection between you unbreakable as you guide him to your entrance. The city lights behind him create a halo around his head, making the moment feel almost surreal.

He pushes into you slowly, and your breath hitches at the sensation. Your eyes remain focused on one another, the world around you fading into the background. The feeling of him filling you is overwhelming, the connection between your bodies electric. The city behind you twinkles in the night, a backdrop to the raw, passionate scene unfolding.

Sunghoon starts moving, his pace quickening as he finds a rhythm that makes you both gasp with pleasure. Your body responds to his every touch, your legs wrapping around his waist to allow him to reach deeper. His thrusts become faster and more desperate, the sound of skin against skin mingling with your moans and the distant hum of the city below.

"God, you feel amazing," he groans against your ear, his voice thick with desire. "I could stay inside you forever."

You grip his shoulders tighter, your nails digging into his skin as you feel the pressure building again. "Sunghoon," you whisper, your voice breathy and needy, "don't stop."

"I won't, I’ll never stop fucking you. I’ll never stop loving you," he promises, his thrusts becoming even more intense, each one sending waves of pleasure through your body. His hands roam your back, one slipping down to squeeze your ass, the other tangling in your hair to pull your head back, giving him better access to your neck.

In a moment of heated passion, he takes his gold medal from around his neck and places it over yours, the cool metal resting against your heated skin. He uses the ribbon to pull you closer, bringing your lips together in a bruising kiss. The weight of the medal and the intensity of his gaze make you feel like the most precious thing in the world.

Leaning on the balcony behind you with your elbows, you try your hardest to jerk your hips in rhythm with his, the motion causing him to hiss into your mouth as he tip punctures your cervix a few times, giving him a taste of something more. It’s too dangerous to throw your legs over his shoulders and have you balancing on the edge, he never wants to put you in danger, so he thinks if the next best thing.

Without warning, he flips you around, pressing your front against the cool stone of the ledge. He enters you again from behind, his thrusts more intense, driven by a primal need. The contrast between the roughness of his movements and the serene beauty of the city below is stark, making the moment even more exhilarating.

You brace yourself against the balcony, your moans echoing in the night as he pounds into you with relentless enthusiasm. His hands grip your hips, guiding you back onto him with each thrust, his cock hitting deeper than ever before. The force of his movements sends shivers down your spine, your body completely surrendering to the pleasure he's giving you. The city behind you is a blur of lights and sounds, but all you can focus on is the man who is driving you to the edge once more.

Sunghoon's hands grip your hips with a possessive strength, his fingers digging in as he drives into you with a relentless pace. Each thrust is purposeful, his body moving with a precision born of passion and familiarity. His breaths come in staggered gasps, his face pressed against your shoulder, lips brushing against your skin. The rough stone of the balcony presses into your chest, adding a contrasting chill to the searing heat of his body. The city lights below seem to blur as the intensity of the moment takes over.

"I'm gonna love you until the day I die," he growls into your ear, his breath hot and needy despite the sweetness of his words. The weight of his desire is palpable, sending shivers down your spine. "I can’t wait to make you mine."

His words are a catalyst for the pleasure that courses through you, intensifying with each powerful thrust. Your body is on fire, a taut string being pulled to its limit. You can feel the pressure building to a breaking point, the sensation almost overwhelming as he keeps up his relentless rhythm. The sheer force of his movements pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

"I'm yours," you gasp, your voice barely audible over the sound of your own moans. "I’m already yours, Hoonie." Your hands grip the railing tightly, knuckles white, as you brace yourself against the force of his thrusts. The night air is cool against your heated skin, a stark contrast to the burning desire you feel.

Sunghoon’s breath becomes ragged, each inhalation coming in quick, shallow bursts. His fingers slip around your body, finding their way to your clit with a precision that makes you cry out. The touch is electrifying, sending jolts of pleasure through you with every stroke. He moves his fingers in tight, swirling motions, applying just the right amount of pressure to drive you wild.

The combination of his skilled touch and the unrelenting rhythm of his thrusts is too much to handle. Your body trembles violently as you spiral into another intense climax, the sensation causing you to scream his name into the night. The release is all-consuming, leaving you feeling as though you’re floating in a sea of pleasure.

The intensity of your release acts as a trigger for Sunghoon, who is lost in the frenzy of the moment. With a final, deep, and forceful thrust, he comes inside you, his body tensing and shuddering as his climax overtakes him. His grip on your hips tightens, his muscles flexing as he rides out his orgasm. He collapses against your back, his breathing ragged, and you can feel his warmth spread across your skin.

Both of you pant heavily, your bodies slick with sweat. The city below remains a beautiful, shimmering backdrop, but the focus of your world is now on each other. The contrast between the intensity of your passion and the serene beauty of the Parisian night is almost surreal.

Sunghoon pulls you gently against him, his lips trailing soft, tender kisses along your neck as you both come down from the high. His hands caress your sides, a soothing contrast to the earlier fervour. “I love you so much, Sweets.”

The confession passing his lips isn’t new and you’ve heard it umpteen times just today but somehow this one means a lot more than previous. Maybe it was the setting or the fact his cock is snuggly inside of you, but either way, you cherish it just like the rest.

“I love you, too, Hoonie.”

Sunghoon’s movements are gentle as he pulls out of you, his touch tender and careful. He reaches for a soft napkin from the table, using it to clean both of you with practiced, considerate strokes. The contrast between the cool fabric and the warmth of his skin creates a soothing sensation, a calming end to the intensity of your shared experience. His eyes are locked onto yours with a depth of affection that makes your heart swell. It’s a gaze so filled with love and tenderness that it feels almost surreal, as if you’re both suspended in a perfect, unblemished moment.

“This was perfect, Sunghoon,” you murmur, your voice soft and filled with genuine appreciation. The night has been magical, a blend of romance and intimate connection that feels like a dream. “Thank you.”

Sunghoon’s face lights up with a beaming smile, his eyes twinkling with an emotion so raw and pure that it almost makes you catch your breath. He shakes his head in a modest gesture, though the joy in his expression is unmistakable. “Believe it or not,” he says with a playful glint in his eye, “this wasn’t what I had planned.”

“Oh?” you reply, your curiosity piqued as you watch him with a mixture of surprise and intrigue.

With a dramatic flourish, Sunghoon reaches into the pocket of his suit and retrieves a small, elegant box. He presents it to you with a blend of excitement and nervous anticipation, his hands trembling slightly. “I have something else for you,” he says, his voice a blend of excitement and tenderness.

Your fingers tremble as you take the box from him, the weight of the moment sinking in. You open it slowly, revealing a delicate necklace with a beautiful ring attached. The ring sparkles softly in the low light, its beauty undeniable. Sunghoon’s eyes are fixed on you, his expression a mixture of hope and love.

“I wanted this day to be unforgettable,” he begins, his voice steady but emotional. “When I first saw you that day, crying in Belmore, I knew I needed to protect you from anything and everything bad in the world. I know, our start was rough and we had way too many close calls that tore us apart. But we did it, we got through it which makes me think we can really get through anything.”

He breathes out slowly, before taking his glass from earlier and downing it for dutch courage, causing you to laugh through the bubble of emotion in your throat. 

“I thought now, that everything is done and I’m not going to be Ice Prince Park Sunghoon that I need a new title and that could be Y/N Kang’s husband?” The smile grows on his face as he imagined being addressed in such a way, wearing it as a badge of honour. “So I got you this. You can wear the necklace for now, and when you’re ready to be my wife, you can take the ring off and put it on your finger.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you take in the significance of his gesture. The necklace is elegant, the ring a symbol of commitment that transcends the ordinary. Tears of joy well up in your eyes, and you struggle to find the right words. “I don’t know what to say,” you whisper, overwhelmed by the depth of his love. “This is...it’s beautiful.”

Sunghoon’s gaze remains locked on you, his expression a blend of adoration and nervousness. He watches as you carefully lift the ring from the necklace and slide it onto your engagement finger. The fit is perfect, and as you look up at him, your smile radiates happiness and awe. “What if I’m ready now?” you ask, your voice trembling with emotion.

Sunghoon’s face softens, his eyes shimmering with tears of joy as he reaches out to cup your face in his hands. His touch is gentle and reassuring, and he leans in to press a tender kiss against your lips. “If you’re ready now,” he mumbles against your lips, his breath warm and comforting, “then I’m ready for forever.”

The world around you blurs into insignificance as you both embrace, the enormity of the moment enveloping you. The city lights below shimmer like a vast constellation, their brilliance echoing the love and joy that fills your hearts. In the perfect Parisian night, amidst the twinkling lights and the soft glow of the Eiffel Tower, you and Sunghoon stand together, united by a love that feels as boundless as the city itself. The promise of the future stretches out before you, a journey you’re ready to embark on together, hand in hand and heart to heart.

perm taglist (sorry if you didnt read the series): @immortalvee @sunpov @heeseungspookie @monstanctiny21 @strawberrysavi @diorsyun @heexzbae @yzzyhee @baekhyunstruly @zeeloveshee @haechonly @berryblog @no-mannerism @jaehoonii @notevenheretbh1 @shawnyle @addictedtohobi @emberuby @nctislifue @lilyuwon @skzenhalove @heeshlove @idkdykilr @chocminteu @y4wnjunz @rikibun @parksunghoonsgf @branchrkive @brownsugarbaybee @xxbluestrifexx @bambangan @dollyyun @iluvikeu @deobitifull @yawnazzz @st1llm0nster @woorcve @heeseungsbm @star-hoon

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 ICARIAN

FEATURING: beast dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dazai had known he was flying too close to the sun, he should have stopped himself while he still had the chance. {wordcount: 11.5k; fem!reader, romance & tragedy}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: installment fiveeeee otherwise known as part 2 of installment four LOL! ugh guys i'm dragging myself thru the trenches right now i'm so miserable - i wasn't even up to posting this today i won't lie but </3 i pulled thru </3 if only barely. fun fact this is actually only a 3 scene chapter but the second scene is just MASSIVE. i wasn't up to restructuring so you guys are just going to get it as it is. this is also unedited because i just wasn't up to it so bear with me regarding mistakes. JUST TO REMIND YOU ALL: the last installment is DELAYED - i have 3 finals next week and haven't had the time to finish it. it will be up by the end of may </3 sorry guys. wow this actually is attempt number three trying to post this correctly - i'm so shot

IMPORTANT NOTE FOR 17 & UNDER FOLLOWING THE SERIES: partially copy and pasted from badlands - if you guys read badlands, you know the deal. y'all knew what you were getting into. this is the smut chapter. but again, i'm not going to ask y'all to not interact/read a whole 12k chapter just because there's 4k words of smut, but i am going to say here the smut is in the SECOND scene. there is very little plot development in the smut itself, so i ask you guys, again, to respectfully scroll past it. i'll make the sentence when the smut starts red like this so you know that's when it starts, and then you can continue reading at the next divider. thank you for understanding! there is NO plot development in the smut, i'll reiterate that at the end where i put the summary in badlands, i restructured to make sure none of it was in it.

SMUT WARNINGS: unprotected sex, dazai cries </3 poor baby, sub!dazai, as always pussy drunk!dazai, bit of overstim on dazai's part too, jfhsuhdfsu i will say it starts on the bathroom floor so that might be a bit gross to some of you but dazai hardly even uses his apartment anyway so trust it's clean. bear with me. it just flowed from there i had to go with it. the story writes itself, i'm only the scribe. LOL let me know if i missed anything, i might have

SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST READ: BADLANDS SIDE A

Dazai is hardly listening to the conversation at hand. They’ve been going back and forth for thirty minutes about inconsequential matters. Tolstoy is getting increasingly heated as he goes tit-for-tat with Nabokov, evidently the tripartite alliance between the Russian mafias is not quite enough to quell all of the bad blood that’s simmered between them, but something about the situation isn’t sitting right to Dazai. He can feel it in his gut, swirling in the depths of his chest—something is wrong but he doesn’t know what.

Mishima looks equally put out, gaze trained on Tolstoy and Nabokov’s conversation, occasionally looking back at his executives. Cao seems bored, head tilted back against the red cushions of the round booth as he smokes a cigarette; in all regards, he seems relaxed, but Dazai notices the way the fingers of his free hand are tense on the table, as if he’s bracing himself for something.

Something isn’t right.

Dostoevsky is cunning. Intelligent. He’s been lethally sharp in every universe that the other Dazais have encountered him in. He wouldn’t send Tolstoy and Nabokov into this meeting with them at each other’s throats like this without an ulterior reason. Dazai is missing something critical; he knows it’s not something as simple as wanting to give off the appearance of a divided front as means to get Dazai and Mishima to lower their guard. Nothing is that easy. There’s some ulterior motive that Dazai has to figure out.

Cao’s presence. Tolstoy and Nabokov’s blatant hostility toward one another. Mishima’s words from earlier, warning him that something seems to be brewing, that Tolstoy and Nabokov had been on edge since he arrived at the event hall. Dazai’s head hurts, and he can’t focus, not when you’re in the other room without him.

Already, he feels as if he’s been separated from you for too long, he’d been hoping this meeting was only going to last thirty minutes at most, and it’s been thirty minutes already and hardly any progress has been made. If Dazai didn’t know any better, he’d think that…

He’d think that Tolstoy and Nabokov were stalling.

At once, Dazai starts catching onto the things that he missed. The way Nabokov keeps glancing up at the clock on the wall above Cao. The way Tolstoy’s gaze keeps flickering to his phone. The way Cao’s attention seems to be elsewhere. 

Cao Xueqin. A Dream of Red Mansions. A scrying ability.

His heartbeat slows and Dazai blinks. Once. Twice. Blood roars in his ears as his gaze twists down to where his phone is laying on the table in front of him, on its face. Tachihara should have texted him to let him know that he got to you. Him or Chuuya. He usually reports to Chuuya anyway, so Dazai figured that Chuuya would’ve gotten the confirmation. He turns his head to the side to look at the executive from the corner of his eye, trying to keep his breath as slow and steady and natural as possible when he realizes that Chuuya is frowning with furrowed brows, looking at his phone. Unsure.

Dazia reaches for his own phone, fingers deceptively steady despite the way his insides are curdling with a sudden jolt of anxiety. His eyes zero in on the top right corner of his phone. No signal. Dazai has been to this event hall countless times in this life and dozens of others—there’s always service throughout the building. 

Unless it’s being jammed, that is.

Dazai’s blood runs cold, gaze dragging from his phone to the door that leads to the hallway connecting to the event hall where you are. He feels as if he’s been doused with icy water and lit on fire all at once. For a second, he doesn’t move—he’s not sure if it’s anxiety or fear, or both, but he knows it’s because you’re out there and Dostoevsky is plotting something while trying to keep him out of the picture in this meeting. 

He should have known better. Mishima had assumed that Dostoevsky wasn’t in the building—he had his three best scouts prowling the whole building trying to place the real leader of the tripartite but had failed. Nabokov had apparently told him that Dostoevsky had to stay back to handle residual business in Russia, a blatant lie, one that has had Mishima on edge all night.

The one with the overcoat. The clown.

Dazai stills as he remembers the white haired man who hung around Dostoevsky in some of the other universes. Not all of the other Dazais encountered him—in fact, Dazai thinks there were only half a dozen other universes where he met the man, he can hardly remember his name, but when he did…

Spatial linking. Of course Mishima’s men hadn’t been able to hunt down Dostoevsky. Dostoevsky would’ve predicted that the Sun and Steel would seek out the mastermind with their scouts. He used the clown to enter the building without anyone knowing after the scouts finished their hunt.

Dazai had missed a critical piece on the board.

Dazai rises to his feet abruptly, mind numb, eyes distant, and lips parted to speak but no words escape them. Tolstoy and Nabokov exchange a sharp, pointed look, pausing in their hostilities, and Dazai knows. He knows.

Dostoevsky is going after you. 

He hears Chuuya and Kouyou calling after him but it sounds like a distant buzz. His throat feels clogged, his heartbeat is erratic and uncontrollable, his ears are ringing. His surroundings are blurry, a part of him doesn’t even know where he is: the event hall, your apartment, in the cafe below the Armed Detective Agency, it’s all blurring together.

This is it.

His vision swims and his head spins. The hallway seems impossibly long, much longer than it was to walk to the room. He can hear Chuuya spitting curses, scrambling out of the room, and he’s sure that his other executives and the other mafiosos aren’t far behind, but Dazai’s mind is on a single track. He doesn’t know how fast he’s moving—fast enough that Chuuya is chasing after him but can’t catch him. Something is heavy and cool in his hand—his gun—numb fingers moving to click the safety off.

This is it.

He might enter that hall and find you dead, slumped over the bar he’d last seen you sitting at, blood splattered across your face. Limp, cold. Just like you were on your bedroom floor. In the booth at the cafe. He’s pulling you from the water. He’s screaming for Yosano when he’s with the Agency. He’s screaming for Mori when he’s with the Mafia. Sometimes he’s alone, and he has no one to call for help, so all he can do is hold you and cry. 

It’s his fault. He knew this would happen from the beginning. He knew that being with you would lead you to the same fate that you’ve met in every other universe because of him. He knew that being with you would be your death sentence, but he couldn’t stop himself. 

His vision swims again, the red and gold patterns on the walls of the event hall are indistinct blobs, he feels someone try to grab his wrist—Chuuya, probably—but Dazai rips himself free and pushes himself into the event hall.

He ignores the eyes on him and the way people all instinctively move away from the sight of him with his gun out, he’s sure he must look deranged but he’s hardly even keeping himself grounded to this reality. Pages pile around him, every single one has variations of the same scene that’s haunted him for almost eight years written on it; one is being written before his eyes, he can see the words appearing on the blank sheet. He needs to find you before it’s complete. He has to stop it.

His eyes cut across the room, toward the bar he’d last seen you at, and you’re there. You’re there. It’s almost enough to make him scramble to put his gun away, cover up his steep spiral of paranoia even if you are looking right in his direction and see the gun in his hand. He can hardly come to terms with the consequences of this, how you’re seeing him right now, because his gaze tunnels right in on the person sitting next to you and his world comes to a halt. 

He lifts the gun. He ignores as people shriek and scramble to the edges of the room. He ignores the look on your face as he moves closer to where you’re sitting with Fyodor Dostoevsky. He ignores the way Chuuya and Kouyou and Piano Man have all skid to a stop somewhere behind him, trying to figure out what to do. Dostoevsky’s hand is mere inches away from brushing against your body, it would only take the slightest movement and you would be dead. It would be a game of who’s faster: Dazai’s trigger finger or Dostoevsky’s ability. Dazai’s always been quick to pull the trigger but now, faced with your life on the line, when he should be at his best because of what’s at risk, he finds himself scared and unsteady. 

He can’t lose you. He can’t watch it happen.

He paces toward you slowly, steadily, he swears each step he takes echoes across the suddenly silent event hall. He doesn’t stop until the muzzle of his gun is pressed against the back of Dostoevsky’s head.

“Stand up.” Dazai’s voice is deceptively cold and steady for the rage and fear that’s clawing at his chest, threatening to take control.

Dostoevsky turns his head to the side to look at Dazai, faint amusement in his eyes. “Are you sure you really want to do this here, Dazai?” 

The mocking lilt his voice takes is almost enough alone for Dazai to pull the trigger. And if that wasn’t, the way Dostoevsky smiles at Dazai like he’s won is certainly enough to push him over the edge.

Before he can, he feels Chuuya grab his bicep hard. 

“You can’t do this here,” he hisses quietly. “If you kill him now on neutral territory, we’ll have all of the mafias in the Eastern Hemisphere coming after you and the government on your ass. You can’t do this here and you can’t do it in public.”

Dazai doesn’t care. He doesn’t care how many mafias come after him for killing on neutral territory when invited as a guest. He doesn’t care that the government will come after him for such a blatant murder. All he cares about is getting Dostoevsky away from you.

“Chuuya is right,” Kouyou murmurs, low enough for only Dazai to overhear. “We can cover this up as is. If you pull the trigger, there’s no hiding what happened here. You know better than this, boy. You won’t be the only person this affects if you do this. Think of her. She will be implicated for coming here with you. Lower the gun and let us handle sweeping this under the rug.”

Dazai can’t even bring himself to look at you. He’s scared of what he might find. But he doesn’t even consider lowering the gun, not until Dostoevsky raises his hands and slips off the bar stool to step away from you. Even when he does, Dazai keeps it trained on him, still tempted to blow his head right off his shoulders.

“I meant no harm,” Dostoevsky says smoothly. “I was intrigued, wanted to know the girl who’s managed to capture your interest. I must say, I see the appeal. Beautiful and intelligent, you have quite the eye, Dazai.”

Dazai’s lips stretch into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s not kind, and it’s mildly feral, and Dazai’s pretty sure he must look entirely deranged from the way Dostoevsky’s eyes widen in a mixture of surprise and entertainment, just enough to be noticeable.

“If you ever go near her again, I’ll put a bullet through your fucking skull, Dostoevsky.”

He should do it now. He should. Fuck Chuuya and Kouyou’s warnings, he should put a bullet in his head and be done with it, move onto handling Christie so that both of the major threats to your life are gone. But he can’t. If he takes this opportunity now, if he kills Dostoevsky so blatantly on neutral territory, the Pale Flame and Three Deaths will come at him in full force, and Dazai is sure the Red Chamber won’t be far behind them with Cao’s recent interest in expanding his business into Japan. And you’ll be caught in the crossfire of all of it, Dazai has ensured that by bringing you here. Dostoevsky must have accounted for all of this. He knew that Dazai would be put in a situation where either way, whether he kills him or lets him go, he’d be throwing himself onto a blade. 

Is that it? Killing you wasn’t the goal, was it? Exposing Dazai was. Forcing him into this impossible decision.

Did he really just fall into Dostoevsky’s hands so easily? Even with all of the forewarning the other universes have given him?

It’s you. You always make him reckless, his mind is never as sharp whenever you’re involved, muddled with thoughts of you, plagued with spirals of paranoia and anxiety that make him double guess himself. It’s like this in every universe—he becomes stupid, he becomes rash, he becomes careless. It’s you.

You.

Suddenly very hyper aware of your eyes on him, Dazai lowers his gun, gaze turning in your direction. Dostoevsky lets out one last snide comment, something toward you, telling you ‘don’t you see’ but Dazai doesn’t even process it, heart in his throat as he looks at you. He doesn’t know what he expects—fear, betrayal, even anger. He’s not prepared for the emptiness. He can’t read a single emotion on your face, your eyes eerily void of any feeling as you stare at him. 

He says your name quietly. His voice cracks. He should be embarrassed, so many people watching the scene play out, so many of his enemies and allies and subordinates, and he’s staring at you like a lost child with an unsteady voice, but he can’t bring himself to care. The fingers of his free hand are trembling, and the ones wrapped around the grip of his gun are so wound so tight that his knuckles are white. 

You’ve never looked at him like this before. Not in any universe. 

He thinks he might throw up. 

You’ve been mad at him before, scowling at him whenever he distracts you from your work and snarling whenever he makes messes that he never cleans up, but your eyes always stay soft in spite of the venom you spit. He’s seen betrayal on your face a few times before, screaming at him through tears when he got a bit too close to a successful attempt, cursing at him for trying to leave you, but you hold him so gently that it makes up for the harsh words. You’ve been scared of him once, when he lashed out so badly during one of his slumps that he nearly hurt you, but even then, you were more concerned for him then you were scared for yourself, speaking to him softly to settle him down.

He’s never seen this. He wants it to go away. Desperately.

“I’d like to leave,” you finally say after a few moments of silence, and your voice is so vacant of emotion that it leaves him feeling even more sick.

Dazai nods, because he can’t bring himself to speak. 

He holds his hand out for you, waiting for you to take it.

You don’t.

You haven’t spoken a word since the event hall, and Dazai doesn’t know what to do. He used to find peace in silence—for years, he’d become accustomed to it, isolating himself from everyone around him, keeping everyone at arm’s length. The most he ever spoke was a few sentences to give out orders to his executives; his voice had become hoarse and raspy over the years of self-imposed isolation, unused to being utilized. But the past few months with you have utterly obliterated any semblance of comfort Dazai had found in solidarity. 

It’s become entirely intolerable, the silence is making him sick with anxiety; he has hundreds of lifetimes worth of memories with you and he can’t even vaguely predict what to expect from you right now. You’ve been tense and cold since leaving the event hall. Dazai tried to open up a conversation in the car once but found himself promptly ignored. Chuuya tried to say something to you but only received the same cold shoulder. Even Albatross tried to lighten the mood when the four of you got in the car, but all you did was stare out the window with your back to Dazai. 

Now, you’re back up in his penthouse with him. You haven’t sat down. You’ve hardly budged from where you’re standing near the elevator—Dazai wonders if you’re scared of him now, if you want to be as close as possible to the only exit in fear of him lashing out at you. The thought makes him even more nauseous.

He doesn’t even know what to do with himself. He doesn’t want to sit down, he’s uncomfortable standing in the living room, waiting for you to say something, and he can’t bring himself to try to break the silence because if there’s one thing he learned very swiftly, it’s that he can’t handle being ignored by you. He’d prefer anger and hate to the stonewall iciness you’re giving him.

He can’t even fathom what you might be thinking right now. You’re not looking at him. You’re staring at the window that looks over the city, he can see the bright flashing lights from Cosmo World flickering faintly in your eyes. It’s so quiet that he can hear the distant honking of horns, police sirens coming from the streets below. 

He just wants you to say something, do something. Yell at him. Scream at him. Hit him or punch him. Anything is better than this. 

It feels like an eternity before you finally move away from the elevator. You still don’t speak, but Dazai watches raptly as you make your way into the kitchen. You fling open the cabinets, searching for something, and Dazai’s lips part to ask what you’re looking for but he decides against it. You stop with your jerky movements when you catch sight of the numerous bottles of sake Dazai has stored in his cabinets—room temperature, because Dazai can’t stand cold drinks, they make his teeth hurt. He watches you struggle to uncap it and his body itches to move toward you to help but he knows it won’t do any good. It’ll probably just piss you off more.

When you get the cap off, you’re immediately bringing it to your lips. One. Two. Three. Four large gulps before you put the bottle back down on the counter and turn to look at him. The emptiness in your eyes is gone, replaced by something caught between hurt and anger and betrayal. It makes his heart sink, but he thinks it’s preferable to the emptiness.

“You lied to me,” you finally rasp out, shaking your head as you pace behind the counter. There’s a whole length of a room separating the two of you and Dazai longs for your touch but he forces himself to stuff his hands in his pockets and keep still. “You lied to me, Dazai.”

“Osamu,” he corrects quietly without thinking, not liking the switch up. He’d finally gotten you to call him by his given name earlier in the night, he doesn’t want to lose it so quickly.

For the briefest of seconds, the hurt and betrayal in your eyes disappears and only fire rages in them. “Dazai,” you spit out pointedly. 

Dazai almost draws back, not having expected that. In all of the other universes, you’ve always been gentle with him even when you’re livid. You speak his name softly, even with a tight jaw and fisted hands—his given name, you’ve never used his surname against him like this before. Probably because most of the major fights he had with you in those other lives, it was months into the relationship; it’s only been a few weeks in this life so of course-

Dazai realizes, a bit dizzy, that he’s about to lose you.

You found out too soon. You found out through Dostoevsky, through Dazai's own loss of control. You found out in the worst possible way and you found out too soon.

Dazai is about to lose you.

“Okay,” he murmurs, not wanting to test your temper anymore, giving in as a means to try to soothe your anger, regardless of how much it might wound him because being wounded is nothing compared to losing you. “Dazai.”

His compliance seems to do nothing to quell your anger from the way you just scoff and shake your head again, looking away from him. You stare out over the city, dozens of emotions cloud your expression but Dazai still can’t predict what you might do next. He feels out of his depth, in murky waters with an anchor tied to his ankle.

“I knew it, you know?” you finally say quietly. “I knew it from the beginning, honestly, but I kept making excuses for you. I mean, the guns. The secrecy. You weren’t really subtle about it. Did you think I was stupid, or something?” 

“Never,” Dazai says honestly, without hesitation. He sees your gaze flicker down to the ground at his words, but you don’t make any move to speak again so he takes the opportunity to, in hopes that you’ll finally listen. “You’re the smartest woman I know. I-”

You interrupt him with a sharp laugh, it’s loud and almost cruel, and Dazai turns in on himself at the sound of it. He feels small and unsteady, like a child who’s being scolded by a parent. When you look at him again, your eyes are wide and wild, half-crazed in sheer disbelief. You don’t believe him. Of course, you don’t. It’s plainly displayed on your face. And why would you anyway? He’s given you every reason not to. 

“If you think I’m so smart, why didn’t you think I would figure it out?”

He tries to say that he knew you would. That he’s been living in fear for weeks that you’d finally see him for what he is but when he opens his mouth to say it, no words leave him. Like he’s frozen in fear, ice crawling through his veins, stones weighing on his tongue; he can’t respond, and he knows that he’s only condemning himself more. He tries to force something out but he can’t even make the barest hint of a sound. The mindkiller. He’s never responded well to fear, much less when you’re involved. 

You click your tongue, as if to solidify that his silence proves your point, or maybe you know what he can't bring himself to say and you just don't believe him. His stomach churns again, and dread spreads through chest when you say: “If I’m so smart, and I was going to figure it out anyway, why didn’t you just tell me?”

“You would have left.” Dazai is finally able to speak, but he speaks the wrong answer, clearly, from the way you let out another humorless, breathless laugh, eyes wide in disbelief. You look at him like he’s the most audacious man in the entire world. Maybe he is.

“Yeah, I would have,” you agree and Dazai flinches. “Without hesitation, without even looking back. And now, I can’t because you made me fall in love with you without even warning me about what I was getting myself into.”

Dazai’s heart should be leaping through the roof at your confession, but if anything, he feels even worse. His throat feels clogged and his chest feels so heavy. You’ve never regretted falling in love with him before. Not in any lifetime.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out, because he doesn’t know what else to say. The words are still foreign on his tongue, he doesn’t think he’s ever apologized to someone in this life before the last twenty-four hours.

“No, you’re not,” you say bitterly, looking away. “Isn’t this what you wanted? For me to care so much about you that when you finally tell me who you are and what you do, I won’t be able to leave.”

Dazai stares at you, lost. He remembers how just the other day he was finding comfort in the way you could read him so easily, knowing he didn’t have to speak for you to know what he needed at the moment. He thinks he hates it now, because you’re finally reading deeper into his soul and seeing him for the sick, twisted monster he really is. Just like he feared from day one. Manipulative. Selfish. Undeserving. His fingers tremble in his pockets, nails biting into his palm so deep that he can feel blood trickling down his skin, but not even the stinging pain can distract him from the numbness spreading through him. 

“I didn’t-”

“Didn’t what?” you interrupt him. “You didn’t think I’d be upset? You didn’t think I’d be angry? Or maybe you didn’t think it would happen this soon? Is that it, Dazai? You thought you’d have more time to win me over in hopes that I’d take the news in stride. News flash, Dazai, no amount of time or charm would have made me accept this easily. Accept you easily. How could I ever accept any of this?”

Nausea rises to his throat so suddenly that he almost gags. He feels dizzy, taking a step back so that his back is against the wall, keeping him steady. Your last words echo through his head over and over again, he can’t escape them. The one person who’s always accepted him in every lifetime, the only person he was ever able to find a home in—how could I ever accept you? 

His cheeks feel wet, his eyes are wide as he stares at you. He doesn’t know how to respond to that. He doesn’t even think he could if he knew how to respond to that. His lungs are burning and his throat feels so swollen that even just the thought of trying to speak is painful. 

You let out a sharp breath, caught between a hysterical laugh and a sob as you press your hands to either side of your neck and pace across the kitchen. “What am I supposed to do, Dazai?” you ask, voice hoarse. “What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

He thinks it might be a rhetorical question, but he still forces out: “Don’t leave me.”

You scoff again, louder and harsher this time. Dazai’s eyes flutter shut as if to futilely minimize the blow. “I wish leaving you was still an option for me.”

Oh. He’s going to throw up. 

He wants to blame it on the alcohol he drank earlier in the night. He wants to blame it on the stress of the past few weeks. He wants to blame it on anything but this, even though he knows damn well that this conversation is what triggered the bile that rises to his throat. He forces himself to move, nearly tripping over his feet to get to the bathroom because he doesn’t want you to see him vomiting up his guts.

He hardly makes it to the toilet, crashing to his knees and clutching at the seat as he dry heaves. Nothing comes up—he hasn’t eaten enough the past few days to have anything solid in him, too busy with preparations—but he can’t stop gagging, eyes stinging with tears and throat burning. He doesn’t know how long he stays crumpled at the toilet, losing track of time entirely, a part of him just wants to stay there forever so he doesn’t have to go back out and face you. 

Evidently, he doesn’t have to go back out and face you because you come to him. 

He’s gagging again when he feels your hand brush his back, hesitantly at first and then firmly. Your touch is warm, and Dazai thinks he must look pathetic as he turns his head to the side to look at you. Your expression isn’t as harsh now, your eyes are still conflicted but your face is softer. After a moment, you take a seat on the floor next to him—you don’t say anything, but you let out a soft puff of air as you slip your arm around his shoulders once he stops heaving. 

He crumbles into your chest, body collapsing against yours. You wrap your arms around him, and at once, the numbness starts to fade away. His fingers clutch at your dress desperately, afraid that you’re going to disappear, but you only hold him tighter. You bury your face in his hair, forehead pressed to the top of his head.

“You’re so unfair, Osamu.” Your voice cracks, you’ve lost all of your fire, but Dazai finds no solace in it.

“I know,” he croaks out, throat scratchy and voice wavering. “I know.”

And then words are spilling from his lips before he can stop them, jumbled and hardly intelligible and he’s not even sure that you’re understanding what he’s saying but he can’t stop himself: “I tried. I tried to stay away, I tried so hard, you don’t understand. I knew it would turn out like this, I knew I would ruin you so I tried to stay away, but I’m selfish. I’m so selfish, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I knew better, I’m going to-you’re going to-”

The panic is returning, the words he wants to say but can’t push out are too damning: I’m going to get you killed. You’re going to die because of me. Dazai is breathing but the air isn’t getting to his lungs, his chest burns, and now even with your arms around him, the numbness is returning. It’s rapid now, spreading from his chest to his arms, down his abdomen to his legs; it’s going to consume him entirely, he can feel it, he can-

Oh.

Your lips press to his. Tilting his head back to angle his face up toward you, you lean down and press your lips against his, swallowing his words, his air, his panic. One of your hands cup his cheek while the other cradles the back of his head, Dazai can hardly kiss you back, his lips feel cold and prickly, but his eyes flutter shut as your lips move slowly and carefully against his.

Not for the first time, he thinks that he doesn’t deserve this. Especially not now. He tastes something wet and salty against his lips—he doesn’t know if you’re the one crying, or if he is, and he doesn’t want to know, so he forces himself to move. His arm feels heavy and clunky, and his fingers feel stiff, but he’s able to bring them up to your face, palms cupping your cheeks as the tips of his fingers tangle into your hair. He kisses you until his lungs are screaming for air, and even as he starts to feel lightheaded, he kisses you still, because your lips are the only thing able to push away the numbness overwhelming him. 

When you break away from him, you keep your foreheads pressed together, nose nudging against his. You share the same thin sliver of air and Dazai feels dizzy, he wants to kiss you again but he doesn’t think he’s capable of moving yet, so he only stays crumbled in your arms, waiting for you to grace him with your lips again. 

“I wish I still had the chance to be a better man,” Dazai says hoarsely, honestly, gaze searching yours desperately. “I would be. For you.”

Please believe me, he thinks to himself helplessly, because it’s the truth. He would try to be. For your sake. He might fail, he might be too far gone, his soul corrupted beyond salvation and his blood black beyond purification, but he would try. He would try so hard for you. But he can’t, not in this lifetime, not without risking everything he’s strove to protect since coming in contact with the Book. He has to stay the criminal, the monster, the demon so that you and Odasaku can live out your lives here. Until Dostoevsky, Christie, and any other person that could turn out to be a threat to either of you are killed, Dazai has to keep playing this role. He has to. 

You don’t respond. Dazai thinks it’s because you don’t believe him and it makes him feel sick again. His lips part to repeat himself but you only press yours against his, as if to silence him. 

You don’t believe him, the kiss confirms it, and his heart sinks but he can’t even bring himself to protest, to insist that it’s true. Instead, he decides if he can’t prove it through his words, he’ll prove it through his actions. Even though his limbs still feel leaden and clumsy, he forces himself into a better position, sitting up a bit more and bringing both of his hands up to cup your cheeks. He tilts your head back, leaning into you and slowly pressing you back against the floor and distantly Dazai recognizes that this is not the place for this but the thought is only fleeting, he’s too lost in the feeling of your lips against his and your body pressed to him.

And you let him ease you back against the floor. You let him tilt your head back and when his tongue darts out to swipe against your bottom lip, you part your lips for him. He doesn’t have to knock your knees apart, because you spread them just enough for him to slot his hips between them to keep your bodies flush. He wonders if you can feel how clunky his movements are—his fingers still feel heavy against your face and he can hardly hold himself up above you. He hopes he’s not crushing you with his weight, he might be, but you don’t seem to care. 

He pulls back to ask if you’re okay with this but you chase his lips and he lets out a soft, muffled noise when you tug gently at his bottom lip and bring your free hand up to cup the back of his head, fingers tangling with his hair, pulling him back down to you. You drag your lips from his to slide them down his neck to the edge of his bandages. He twitches a bit at the feeling, wondering if you’re going to ask to take them off, but instead, you just trail your lips back upward, nipping at his jaw, and he shudders.

And then he finally hesitates, pulling away and not letting you chase after this time. He weighs his options in his head anxiously. He feels like he should do something, that he owes something—a lowering of a mask, a show of vulnerability, you’re entitled to at least that much after everything he’s done. Aren't you?

You give him a curious look and he tries to respond—he does, his lips part for him to speak but nothing leaves them. He swallows thickly, eyes fluttering shut as he braces himself before trying again, bringing one of his hands to yours and wrapping his fingers around it gently, lifting it from his chest to the bandages covering the left side of his face.

“Take them off,” he tells you, voice hoarse and shakier than he would have liked.

Your eyes widen, and he shudders a bit when your fingers smooth against the bandages, uncertain. “Are you sure?” you ask him softly, bringing your other hand to his opposite cheek, cupping his face in your hands again, eyes searching to make sure he means it.

Is he sure? Dazai doesn’t know. He can’t speak again as he stares down at you; a part of him is nervous, and he doesn’t even understand why. You already know who he is, what he is, but a part of him still fears that once you actually see him, something will change. And it’s ridiculous, so many other universes you’ve seen him without his bandages and you’ve never made him feel uncomfortable about it. But you’ve also never used his surname against him during an argument in the other universes, you’ve never regretted loving him, and you’ve certainly never wished you could leave him. 

So, yeah, he thinks the anxiety of you removing his bandages and then seeing him in a different light might be more of a possibility in this universe than any other one. His body is more covered in scars than not, and he knows it’s not attractive; he thinks if he sees your expression shift in a negative way when the bandages come off, it might shatter him entirely.

Just the face bandages then, he bargains with himself, swallowing thickly as he forces himself to nod. You sit up from where you’re still laying back against the tiles, propping yourself on your knees to shift closer to him. 

Dazai thinks his heart might be in his throat when he feels your fingers unclip the clasp holding the bandages together around the left side of his face, eyes fluttering shut as you slowly unwind them from around his head. He isn’t sure why he’s so nervous for this part—there are no scars on his face, but he still feels distinctly vulnerable, like he’s giving you a window into himself that might reveal more than he means to. He can barely breathe as he feels the last of the bandages fall to the floor, he can hear you push them to the side. 

Still, he keeps his eyes shut, counting each second that passes. He’s anxious, can’t even bring himself to look at you until you cup his cheeks again. 

“Look at me,” you say quietly.

Dazai does as you ask, he always does. He doesn’t know what he expects when he opens his eyes to meet your gaze; he prepares himself for the worst, for a twisted expression or thinly veiled pity, but he finds none of it. Rather, your eyes are soft and fond, tracing over his face, looking between each of his. He can feel the pads of your fingers gently brushing over his cheekbones, tracing absent patterns.

“You’re so handsome, Osamu,” you whisper, one of your hands sliding behind his head, intertwining with his hair. “Why do you wear them?” 

Dazai doesn’t know how to answer that. His throat feels swollen at your words, eyes a bit misty and fingers trembling against your thighs. Instead, he breathes out, “Kiss me.”

And you do. 

God, when you kiss him again, it’s so intense that it has his head spinning. He doesn’t know how long he sits there kissing you, back against the cabinets with you half in his lap. It could be a few seconds, or a few minutes, or a few hours—he has no concept of time whenever his lips are against yours. It’s only when you press your hand against his shoulder, murmuring for him to get up, that he finally pulls himself away from you.

Dazai forces himself to push up to his feet—it’s much more difficult than he thought it would be, nearly tripping over his own feet, but you follow him up to your feet, steadying him when he almost tumbles over. You bring your hand up to rest against his cheek, fingers gently toying with the edges of his hair. He leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment before he forces himself to look you in the eye. 

“You’re so frustrating,” you say softly, but all of the fire is gone, replaced by that same soft look you’ve directed toward him—not him—hundreds of times before. “You are so frustrating, Osamu.”

His throat feels tight again, the sound of his name on your lips causing a wave of warmth to spread through him, the numbness slowly subsiding.

“I know,” he whispers, swallowing thickly, and you sigh, gaze averting to the side for a moment before you look back at him. He still can’t fathom what you might be thinking and it scares him.

But then you kiss him again, your other hand coming up to his other cheek and his hands fly to your waist, holding you close. You walk him backward, out of the bathroom and into the hallway. His back hits the wall and you press your body close to his, and this time it’s you whose tongue is darting out to brush his bottom lip, urging him to part his lips for you. He does, and he thinks he might be in heaven when he feels your tongue dip into his mouth, sliding against his tongue. His eyes flutter shut, rolling back just a bit when you trace the back of his teeth with your tongue before sucking gently on his bottom lip.

Your hands slide down from his face to his chest, over his jacket, down to his waist. Your fingers hook in his belt loops and Dazai groans as your lips ghost from his down to his jaw, breath shaky as trail slow, wet kisses to the sensitive spot behind his ear. He can hardly do anything but follow along as you guide him from where he’s been backed against the wall into his bedroom, dazed and entirely consumed by your touch. His head already feels a bit fuzzy, breath hitching as your teeth graze his pulse point, kissing down to the edge of his bandages and then across his throat.

He barely even knows where he is until he feels the back of his knees hit his bed and he topples backward until he’s laying flat on it. His chest is heaving, head dizzy and breath shaky as you straddle his waist. You don’t kiss him again and Dazai wants to drag you down for another but he can’t even bring himself to move. His body refuses to cooperate, nervous that he’s going to make the wrong move.

“Do you want this?” you finally ask after a moment, voice raspy as one of your hands squeeze his gently, as if to get his attention. 

Dazai’s brows furrow a bit, lips parting to respond but for a second, no words leave them. You wait with the patience of a saint as Dazai tries to process what you’re asking and respond to it. After what feels like an eternity, he nods once. Of course, he wants it. You search his eyes as if to make sure he’s not just agreeing to agree, and once you’re satisfied, you continue you with: 

“And do you trust me?” you ask softly, your gaze gentle as it searches his face for the next answer.

Dazai doesn’t hesitate this time, and he speaks as he breathes out, “With everything.”

He can’t tell what you’re thinking, but your expression is still soft and your touch is still gentle as you run your thumb over his knuckles. Dazai doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the gentleness you show him. You lift your hand to cup his cheek and he leans into your touch, throat spasming beneath his bandages as he waits for you to say something. 

“Let me take the lead then,” you say quietly, his eyes widen a bit at your words. “I want to try something.”

He watches you carefully for a moment, guarded and studying you. He thinks this might be another first, and the thought alone makes him feel a bit giddy because he can’t recall any other life where you’ve ever been the one to take the lead like this, especially the first time the two of you sleep together. You look a bit anxious the longer he goes without responding, so he nods and says, “Okay.”

He’s pliant beneath your touch as you lean down to press your lips against his; he lets out a soft, muffled noise when he feels your hips shift, unintentionally grinding down a bit on his straining cock. He’s more hesitant this time in the way his lips move against yours, unsure of what to do with himself. His fingers twitch from where they're resting on the bed, itching to grab your hips but not wanting to make the wrong move.

This has happened every time one of you tries to take the next step, either he gets interrupted or he ends up getting cold feet because he’s scared of doing the wrong thing and making you uncomfortable. And it’s ridiculous because Dazai has so many memories, he should know at least vaguely what you like and what you don’t like but he thinks having the memories are a double-edged sword because he overwhelms himself if what ifs: what if he assumes you like something and you end up not liking it in this universe, what if he does something that you only liked after the two of you have been together for a while and you’re uncomfortable with him doing it because you’re not as comfortable with him. Maybe Dazai is just overthinking it all but how can he not when you’re involved. He wants everything to be perfect for you. 

“Is this okay?” you whisper, separating your lips from his just enough for him to answer your question. Your breath mingles with his and Dazai can hardly think straight; it’s hot, dizzying, there’s something so intimate about it that it makes his body fuzzy.

“Yeah,” he says, eyelashes fluttering as he looks up at you. “It’s okay.”

You kiss him again. His lips move against yours desperately, needy, he’d be embarrassed if you weren’t matching his energy, but you are. He can feel your fingers tugging at his hair, your hips grinding down against his. Every time you start to pull away, he lifts his head from where it’s laying flush against the pillows, chasing your lips. 

He needs you. His hands slide from your thighs to your waist, keeping your body pressed to his. He’s needed you since the day he came in contact with the Book and learned about you, since the day he met you at the club, maybe even since the day he was born even if he hadn’t known it at the time. He thinks his entire life has led to this, to the two of you being together; your souls have been entangled since the moment you were born and he isn’t sure how he ever thought a life without you was possible. 

“I need you,” he gasps against your lips, hips jerking up just a bit to try to alleviate the pressure building in his lower abdomen, desperate to reach down and unbutton his slacks, but wanting you to make the first move.

Whatever nerves that have made him get cold feet all of the other times the two of you have tried to take the next stop are long gone. You don’t give him any time to wonder if he’s doing the wrong thing—the fingers of one of your hands intertwining with his dark locks, just tight enough to make him hiss into your mouth, eyes rolling back at the pleasant sting. Your other hand slides across his chest, even through his dress shirt, your fingertips seem to scorch through to his skin, leaving his body tingling everywhere you touch.

“You have me,” you tell him, breathless, and Dazai can’t bite back the noise that slips from his lips, wanton and obscene, borderline pornographic—if he was any more coherent, he might be embarrassed but he can’t find it in him. Not when he’s finally getting what he’s wanted after all of this time. 

His hands fly down to his slacks, he fumbles with the button and zipper before yanking them down just enough to free his cock and he watches as you sit back on his thighs, eyes wide and lips parted as your gaze focuses in on his cock, watching as the leaking precum dribbles down his length, alongside the vein running along the underside of his cock. 

“Please,” he breathes out, fingers biting into your thighs as he bunches your dress up to your hips, another low moan spilling from his lips just at the thought of what’s about to happen, lashes fluttering.

You don’t even take off your panties, clearly driven by the same desperation that he is as you slide them to the side and position yourself above his cock and Dazai gnaws at his bottom lip when he feels the tip pressing against your entrance. He can feel how wet you are already, so drenched that your slick is dripping down the length of his cock. His hips stutter up instinctively, but instead of pushing inside, his cock slides between your folds and he whimpers, arm flying to cover the lower half of his face. You don’t let him, fingers wrapping around his wrist to pull his arm from his face and pin it to the mattress above him.

“Don’t hide yourself,” you say softly.

Dazai thinks there must be stars in his eyes as he looks up at you. You’re so beautiful, lips parted as you pant softly, an adoring expression on your face as you look down at him. He loves you. He loves you, god, he loves you more than he’s ever loved anything in his life; he thinks that nothing the other Dazais ever felt for any of the other yous could ever compare to how he feels for you.

When his tip starts to push into your tight hole, all he can let out is another loud, lewd noise; his head falls back against the pillows. His ears are ringing, but distantly, he can hear you gasp. His vision is blurry as he forces himself to look up at you but Dazai thinks you look otherworldly with your head tilted back as his cock starts to stretch you out, lips swollen and wet from the kisses you’d shared. He thinks he must look insane, pupils blown wide and eyes wild as he tries to focus on the sight of you. All of the clever wheels that usually turn within his mind are crumbling.

His fingertips leave crescents in your thighs as you sink down on his cock slowly—too slow, it leaves his head dizzy as your warmth slowly envelops his length. He’s imagined this so many times before. Dozens. Hundreds. He has so many memories of the feeling of your body flush to his, thighs over his shoulders as he fucks you deep and slow, swallowing your moans, but he thinks that nothing compares to this, the sight of you above him, watching your body tremble and face shift as his cock stretches you out. He barely refrains from letting out a string of strangled curses, barely able to hold his eyes open to watch you. 

You give yourself a moment to adjust, and when you do, you look down at Dazai. He thinks he must look a mess—chest heaving, breath erratic, eyes heavy and lidded and entirely glazed over—but he doesn’t care, not with the way your hand slides up his abdomen, fingers tracing patterns along the bandages covering his body. You look beautiful—you always look beautiful—but you look extra beautiful right now, and he thinks he could stare at you forever and never tire of it. 

Experimentally, you roll your hips—it’s still slow, agonizingly slow—and Dazai throws his head back, another obscene moan spilling from  his lips.

“Fuck,” he gasps, his fingers falling from your thighs to twist the sheets below him, knuckles white. “Feels so good. So good.”

You let out a hum that’s caught between a moan and agreement as you continue the slow rolls of your hips, hands sliding up and down his abdomen in a way that’s deceptively innocent and soothing compared to how his cock is dragging along your walls. His body shudders at the feeling of it, heat pooling in his abdomen so quickly that it has his whole body tensing as he tries to push it away. 

“You’re so perfect.” Words spill from his lips, more of a babble than anything else as you lean down to ghost your lips over his jaw, nibbling over the bandages covering his Adam’s apple. It bobs beneath your teeth as he lets out another shaky noise. “S’like you’re made for me. I’d do anything for you. Anything. You know that, right? Anything you want, it’s yours.”

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, clawing at the sheets and occasionally reaching for your thighs, and he doesn’t know what to do with his body, hips jerking up at an erratic pace, like he’s trying to meet your pace but his body simply can’t match the slow rolls of your hips, desperate for more. He doesn’t know how you’re so put together—maybe you’re not, he can see through a blurry vision how your lashes are fluttering with each roll of your hips, breath shaky, but you’re just not as far gone as he already is.

“Anything?” you murmur, and he can feel your lips curve up against his neck.

“Anything.” His breath hitches, fingers reaching for your hips as he rocks his up into you, a desperate attempt to get you to pick up the pace. “‘d give you the whole world, burn it for you, anything you want, I’d give it to you.”

His hands slide up from your thighs to your waist as you lean down to press your lips against his in a deceptively innocent kiss. He tries to chase your lips as you straighten up but you don’t let him, one of your hands curling around his throat—not choking him, but firm enough that it goes right to his cock, lips parting in a silent moan—while the other braces back on his thigh.

He thinks that nothing could have prepared him for the feeling of you picking up the pace. His breath hitches, he chokes over a moan, stars sparkle in his vision as the tip of his cock presses deep inside of you. You sigh out his name and Dazai thinks this might be the closest he ever gets to heaven: you on top of him, cock buried to the hilt in your cunt, the sight of your blissed out face above him as his head spins. 

“Oh, fuck,” Dazai cries out, back arching and hand flying to cover his face again but the hand you have on his thigh flies forward to snatch his wrist before he can, pinning it back above his head. Dazai’s eyes roll back, you’re leaning over him entirely now, leaning most of your weight on the hand that’s pinning his wrist but the new angle adds pressure onto how you’re squeezing his neck, paring his airways just enough to make his lungs burn. “More. Faster, fuck, I-ah-”

His voice falls off into another moan, head falling to the side to press his cheek against the pillow. He thinks drool is starting to pool at the corner of his lips but he doesn’t care, he can’t even think at this point, too lost in the lewd sound of skin-on-skin, the sloppiness of his cock fucking deep in your cunt, your soft moans and gasps, lost in the feeling of your tight walls clamping down on his cock, the warmth, the wetness, your fingers digging into his wrist and the sides of his neck. He wants to tell you that he needs more but the words are garbled, entirely unintelligible. 

He forces his eyes back open, feeling the tears spilling over his cheeks just from the intensity of it all, the intensity of you. You’re gentle with him even when your hand is wrapped around his throat and his cock is splitting you open—he can feel the soothing circles you rub with your thumb, he can see the way you’re searching his face to make sure he’s okay. Dazai is just so overwhelmed that he can’t stop the way his next moan breaks into a sob; acutely realizing just how deprived he’d been of any type of care or love before meeting you, and forcibly coming to terms with the fact that he is never going to be able to go without this again, without you again. He’d known it to some extent before this, the thought of losing you and the light you bring him has made his stomach churn violently but this…

He’s torn from his thoughts when you suddenly stop the rolls of your hips, halting the spreading heat in his lower abdomen desperately. The noise that escapes him is something caught between distress and betrayal, dark eyes wide as he looks up at you questioningly, but the expression on your face makes his breath catch. Your hand slides up from his throat to cup his cheek, your other hand releasing his wrist so that you can hold his face between your hands, thumbs wiping away the tears spilling over his cheeks.

Distantly, Dazai recognizes that he’s still choking over sobs and that’s probably why you’ve stopped and that only rips his chest apart more because of course, you’re still putting him above you—even when you’re mad, even when you’ve just fought, when he’s betrayed you in a way that should be unforgivable, you’re still kissing away his tears and putting aside your own needs to take care of him

He doesn’t deserve you. Not in any universe, but especially not in this one.

He thinks he could stay here for eternity. Fuck the rest of the world. Fuck the Port Mafia. Fuck his plan. He just wants to stay here with you, your lips brushing his, sharing the same sliver of air. He leans into your touch, groaning against your lips when he feels your walls spasm around him.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes out, unsure if you can even understand him. “You’re so-”

His words fall off into another moan, and he can’t control his hips as they thrust up sharply against yours, another string of incoherent curses escaping his hips as your breath catches and you straighten back up, head falling back as you gasp his name.

Your nails dig crescents into his upper thighs through his bandages as you brace yourself back against them. You move your hips again—faster, this time, harder, and Dazai thinks his head is in the clouds. He’s so deep inside of you that he can feel everything, jaw falling slack as heat spreads through his body too rapidly for him to get control over. He wants to throw a hand over his mouth to muffle the lewd, pitched moans spilling from his lips but he can’t drag his hands from where they’re clawing at your hips, desperately trying to help you meet him with each thrust.

“I-hah-shit, I’m gonna-fuck-”

He slurs out your name and several obscenities, trying to warn you that he’s going to cum when he feels his cock twitching inside of you and his abdomen tensing, but you only lean down to press a lingering kiss to the corner of his lips and Dazai is gone. He wants to watch you, he tries, but he can’t hold his eyes open, they’re half-rolled back as he chokes over moans of your name, hips stilling as he cums deep inside of you. His body twitches, expression twisted as he presses his head so hard into the pillow that he thinks he might permanently indent it. 

His head is spinning, lungs burning, sweat beading at his forehead and hair matted to his face—he thinks he’s never cum so hard in his entire life; all of the nights he spent alone, desperately trying to fuck his hand to the thought of you in attempts to mimic how you’ve made all the other Dazais feel, to give himself some semblance of the pleasure you’ve brought him in other lives to hold him over on particularly lonely nights, they’ve never felt like this.

You don’t stop, even as he squirms and lets out jumbled pleas beneath you, body shuddering at the overstimulation but you’re too lost in chasing your own high now. He spasms beneath you, nails digging into your thigh as you fuck his cum deeper inside of you, bouncing on his cock desperately. He doesn’t care that the sensitivity is pushing his body to the brink, letting you use him however you want if it means he gets to see you like this. 

Dazai’s head feels light, pins and needles pricking his body—he thinks he might pass out but he forces himself to hold on, enraptured by the sight of you on top of him with your eyes half-rolled back, lips parted and throat bared to him. Your tits are half-spilling out over the low-cut of your dress and Dazai thinks you’re fucking divine. The only holy thing in this godless world. He wants to spend the rest of his life worshiping you.

“I’m gonna-” you gasp, head falling backward as one final roll of your hips that has your clit grinding against his pelvic bone sends you spiraling over the edge. 

Dazai wants to sear the image of you behind his eyelids, watching as your nails drag against his thighs, drawing red lines even through the bandages, back arching, head tossed back—your body is trembling violently as you cum on his cock, expression twisted and entirely blissed out, sobbing over his name. He chokes and gasps at the feeling of your cunt tightening around his sensitive cock again, jaw tight and spots dancing in his vision as he’s so abruptly pushed over the edge a second time, the coil in his abdomen tightening and snapping all within the span of a few seconds.

He’s still reeling when he feels you slump forward onto his chest, burying your face in the crook of his neck, shivering in the aftershocks of your orgasm. He’s only half aware as he instinctively brings his hands up to rest on your hips, rubbing soft circles of your hip bones to try to soothe you. 

He shudders when you press a kiss to his neck right at the edge of his bandages, and then tilt your head up to press another on his jaw. One of your hands comes up to caress the back of his head, fingers carding through the dark locks in a way that has his eyes drooping shut. 

“We’re not done with this conversation,” you finally say after a few moments of silence, voice soft, breaking the silence. Dazai stiffens a bit, lips parting to respond but no words leave them. “... but let’s just lay like this for a while first, okay?”

He lets out a shaky breath, still not entirely convinced that he’s not going to lose you, so he lets his eyes flutter shut as he nods. He may as well bask in this for as long as he can, and if you notice the way his fingers dig just a little deeper into your skin after your words process, you don’t mention it. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, “okay.”

Dazai wakes up the next morning and you’re nowhere to be seen. The bed is frighteningly cold next to him and his heart is instantly in his throat. He doesn’t waste a second before he’s sitting up in bed, looking around, eyes wild and heart racing. He doesn’t settle down, not until his eyes fall upon where you’re sitting curled up on the chair of the desk he never uses, eyes trained on the dark clouds outside the window, the beauty of the sunrise wilted by a morning storm.

“His intention was to make me leave you.” You’re not looking at him, but you must have heard him sit up. “Fyodor Dostoevsky. The things he told me, they were to make me leave you.”

Dazai doesn’t move an inch, throat swelling. He forces himself to ask, “What did he tell you?”

He isn’t sure if he wants to know.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say—Dazai thinks that it definitely does, but he bites back the questions that rise to his tongue because you’re clearly not about to budge on your answer. “Who is he?”

“A monster,” Dazai bites out, bitterness seeping into his tone as he leans back against the headboard, eyes still trained on where you’re curled on his chair, gaze distant. “You have to stay away from him.”

“Well, I didn’t intend on seeking him out,” you say it so dryly that Dazai nearly finds humor in it. Nearly. The smile that rises to his lips is mirthless at best. You turn to look at him, finally, and Dazai finds only cool indifference on your face; the fondness, the softness, the gentleness from last night are all gone. He wonders if you regret it, but he doesn’t let that thought linger, it’ll only make him sick. “... He doesn’t seem like the type to give up.”

“He never is,” Dazai murmurs, ignoring the brief, questioning look you direct toward him, mind drifting off to all of the Russian’s incessant attempts to take you from him in all of the other universes. “Did he tell you what his plan was?”

Dazai doubts it, but maybe there was something he said to you that shed some light to it.

“He didn’t have to,” you say quietly. “He wants Yokohama, for whatever reason—couldn’t figure that out, I think he’s looking for something—and clearly, he has to get through you to get it. He thinks the best way of getting through you is by taking me away from you first. That’s what I’d gathered from how he was talking at least, what he was saying about you, the way he was phrasing it. I’d put together enough on my own during the night to fill in the blanks. He told me things about what you’d done as… what you’d done as boss of the Port Mafia—things you’ve done to enemies… to allies. He told me that I’d see the real you as soon as you realize that the meeting he set up was a farce; that the mask you put up would crumble and I would see you for the demon that you are.”

Dazai doesn’t respond, jaw tight as he averts his gaze to the window—he’d played right into Dostoevsky’s hands. He can hardly bring himself to look at you; he wonders if you do see him differently now that the cloud from the night before has worn off, but he can’t bring himself to ask. Now’s not the time anyway, there are more pressing matters.

“... He’ll come after me again, won’t he?” you ask quietly. “Getting me to leave you willingly didn’t work. If he’s so set on me being the trigger to your downfall, then he’ll come after me again.”

He would. As he always has. Of course, Dostoevsky would try to get to him through you, he’s tried it in every universe, and Dazai hadn’t been careful enough. He hadn’t been smart enough. He’d known this was going to happen and was still arrogant enough to believe he could somehow prevent it. He was a fool, and he was a fool at the cost of your safety. He doesn’t know how to respond to you, he doesn’t want to confirm your suspicions, he doesn’t want to admit that this is all his fault, that he knew this would happen and was selfish enough to pursue you anyway.

“... I’m scared, Osamu,” you finally say quietly, and you suddenly look a lot smaller from where you’re sitting on his desk chair, hunched over with your knees tucked to your chest. “I’m really scared.”

Dazai’s heart claws up to his throat and he pushes himself out of bed, still dressed haphazardly in his suit from the night before. He makes his way over to you and kneels in front of you, hands curling around your ankles as he looks up at you.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he tells you, voice a bit more raspier than he intended for it to come across as. “I don’t care what I have to do to ensure it, how low I have to stoop. I will not let anything happen to you, do you understand?”

Your eyes meet his, and he can’t help but notice that doubt still riddles your gaze as you search his face, as if you want to believe him but can’t bring yourself to. A pit starts to grow in his stomach, wide and gaping as he realizes that this is all really about to happen, and one mistake on his part could lead you to the same fate you’ve met in so many other worlds because of him.

Finally, the doubt slowly clears as you let out a soft breath, nodding, and Dazai inhales sharply, laying his forehead against your shin as he lets his eyes slide shut.

He won’t let it happen. Not again. 

again there was NO plot development in the smut - you guys didn't miss out on anything, pinky swear. i restructured the scene to fit the only notable scene (bandage removal) into the part before the smut, so if that felt a little forced, that was why </3 it wasn't supposed to be there. i was struggling trying to figure out how to move it upward a bit. the only arguable "plot" development was dazai letting go of his control freakiness to let her take the lead

[hannyoontify]

casual - yoon jeonghan

member | childhood best friend!jeonghan x fem!oc

genre | fluff, angst and angst and lots of angst, childhood best friends to ???

word count | 12k

synopsis | throughout her childhood, jeonghan was the one constant in jeong-ah's life. he was her rock and she was his. but there was always an unspoken tension between the two, something that made jeong-ah's stomach flutter and her pulse race. was it casual, like jeonghan said? or was there a possibility of it being something more?

warnings | kissing, a bit of cursing, oc is insecure abt her freckles, jeonghan and oc are both lowk products of the ultimate asian immigrant ‘tiger-mom’ parenting stereotype, jeonghan smokes half a cigarette

playlist | i also ended up making a playlist for this fic too bc i was so into it so here!

notes | inspired by this post from a while back AND I KNOW. PEOPLE HATE OC’S BUT PLEASE. js hear me out for this one. pls.  also a huge huge hugeeeeee thank you to the literal freaking best @fairyhaos for beta-ing this long ass fic. you’re seriously the best ilysm!!  and last but not least, happy birthday jeonghan!! thank you for always bringing a smile to our faces and gracing us with your love and presence.

Was it casual when you called my biggest insecurity beautiful stars?

“Shhh,” Jeonghan pressed his finger against his lips, stopping me from reading my paragraph aloud. “I think we won. Everyone else fell asleep.”

I looked up from The Last Olympian, the latest book of the Percy Jackson series that we were reading together, to see what he was talking about. All of our younger siblings were asleep in a messy pile of tangled blankets, pillows, and limbs on the floor next to the bed Jeonghan and I were currently lying in.

“We win the bet every year. Should we make them do the dishes this year?” I whispered. Jeonghan opened his mouth to say something when we both heard footsteps in the hallway outside. We frantically scrambled for the blanket and hurriedly tugged it over our heads, just in time as a parent opened the door to Jeonghan’s bedroom.

“They’re asleep.”

“As they should be,” another voice chimed in. “They’re still kids, pulling an all-nighter isn’t good for them.”

I couldn’t hear the first parent’s response as they closed the door and retreated back downstairs. Jeonghan poked me in the rib to grab my attention and once I was looking at him, he wiggled his brows, which I immediately took as a bad sign. He reached behind and pulled out a flashlight, shining it directly into my eyes.

I suppressed a yell and raised my arm to smack him. “Don’t-” Smack. “Do that.” Slap.

Jeonghan laughed and grabbed the side of his arm where I had hit him, jutting his bottom lip out into a faux pout. “I’m sorry, Jeong-ah. Will you forgive me?”

“No.”

“Even if I let you read the rest of this chapter?”

I paused to think about it. “... Okay, fine.”

With that, I grabbed the novel and flipped through until I found the page we last left off on. Jeonghan dimmed the flashlight to its lowest setting and aimed it towards the book as I began to read aloud in a quiet voice about Percy taking a swim in the River Styx.

We were lying on our stomachs with Jeonghan’s blanket over our heads as we delved further and further into the realm of Greek gods and goddesses. Every once in a while, one of us would shift and move around to try and get in a comfortable position. Eventually, we found a position we were comfortable with–our legs on top of one another and Jeonghan’s head resting on my forearm as I read aloud.

Thank God the chapter I was reading was a longer chapter. I didn’t like it when Jeonghan read out loud–not necessarily because he was bad, he really was good and read at a good pace–but because he liked to do this thing where he had these ridiculous voices set for all the different characters and he would overdramatize everything. I didn’t know how he remembered which voice belonged to which character, but it was funny and it never failed to make me laugh(or lose concentration).

Eventually, I had to shake Jeonghan off my arm because I was slowly starting to lose feeling in my hand. “Hannie, your big, fat head is about to get my right hand amputated.”

“Ouch, that was a bit too harsh, don’t you think?” Despite acting offended, Jeonghan immediately lifted his head off of my arm, which I appreciated, and lay back down on a pillow right next to my arm.

“Sorry, but the truth hurts.” I smiled and got back to reading.

Jeonghan kept his eyes trained on my face as I continued to read about how Percy was barely able to survive an attack from Ethan Nakamura, at the cost of Annabeth’s well-being. Jeonghan’s tendency to stare at me wasn’t new, and at this point, I was pretty used to it. Most often than not, he wasn’t even staring–he was just spacing out, thinking about something I’d never be able to comprehend, like quantum physics or something. 

Once I reached the end of the chapter, I looked over at Jeonghan, who was now fixated on the back of my hand. “Hannie, did you even hear anything I just read?”

“Uh-huh. River Styx. Curse of Achilles. Morpheus and Hecate. Ethan Nakamura.” Jeonghan responded in a soft voice.

“Are you-”

“Jeong-ah, I’m too tired to read. Can we just lie here?”

“... Okay.” I put the book down and shifted onto my back but Jeonghan stayed on his side, facing me.

I peeked outside the blanket. It was nearly midnight and the night sky was so clear I could nearly see every crater on the moon’s surface. A navy to black gradient night sky was the perfect backdrop for the full moon tonight. The bright, yellow glow from the moon provided enough light in the room for me to recognize all the silhouettes on the floor. I heard a small snore from the pile and smiled.

Retreating back under the blanket, I discreetly snuggled into Jeonghan’s side. Our only source of light was the flashlight, which was shining above our heads.

Jeonghan reached for my hand and I let him as he began lightly tracing indiscernible patterns onto the back of my hand. This went on for a while until I couldn’t ignore the tingling sensation anymore and I giggled at the feeling.

“Hannie, it tickles. What are you doing?”

“You have freckles?”

Oh, he was talking about the tiny freckles I had on the back of my hands. They had been there for as long as I could remember and it had always been an insecurity of mine. I remembered, when I was younger, my dad used to gently hit the back of my hands every night as a way of getting rid of those “damned” freckles. I hated it.

Because of society’s beauty standards, I learned to be ashamed of my freckles as I grew older. The longer I had my freckles, the more I grew to hate them. My mother always told me that it was because I didn’t apply enough sunscreen before going out and I was thankful for the wintertime because my freckles were less visible in the sun than they were in the summer and I learned to hide them from the sun as much as possible. 

So I was surprised that Jeonghan had even noticed the freckles in the first place, especially because it was December and my skin hadn’t seen the light of the sun for a couple of days now, thanks to the rainy weather.

“Um, yeah. I’ve had them since I was young,” I pulled my hand away and stuck it behind my back. “Ignore it, they won’t disappear no matter what I try.”

“No, Jeong-ah, they’re beautiful.”

“What?”

“They’re beautiful.”

“No, they’re not.”

“Yes, they are.”

“Why?”

Jeonghan laughed in what seemed to be frustration. “Jeong-ah, those freckles signify you. Your experiences and your growth, why are you embarrassed of them?”

“I don’t know. I was always told they were ugly and something to be ashamed of.”

“Jeong-ah, this just might be my most favorite part of you.”

“Really? Not my hilarious, sexy, bodacious humor?”

“What the fuck does bodacious mean? Regardless, yes.”

“But they’re like… little moles?”

“So? I have moles.”

“But it’s like a whole bunch of them in the same area and it’s gross.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.” 

“No, it isn’t.”

“Then what is it?”

Jeonghan grabbed my hands and stared at the tens of freckles that were distributed along the backs of my hands. I hated them.

“They’re… beautiful, glowing, tiny stars.”

“... What?”

“Beautiful, glowing, tiny stars sprinkled across a wide expanse of a night sky that is you.”

A pause. 

“Are you sure you’re a sixth grader because that was deeply poetic, Hannie.”

“You make me a poet.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry, was that weird?”

Not at all, I thought to myself. My heart had begun to beat erratically and I was pretty sure I knew why.

“No… I like it.”

“Good. But-” Jeonghan suddenly let go of my hands so he could reach above his head and stretch. “I’m getting tired, JeongJeong. Let’s go to sleep.”

“Okay. Good night, Jeonghan.”

“Good night, Jeong-ah.”

That night, I fell asleep with my head pressed against Jeonghan’s side as his fingers gently ran across the skin on the back of my hands, over my new favorite part of me, soothing me into deep slumber with a familiar warm and tingly feeling in my heart and stomach.

Was it casual if I still think of you when I see lemons?

“Hi, Mrs. Yoon! It’s so good to see you!” I greeted Jeonghan’s mother with a tight hug and a grin. 

She hugged me back and smoothed her hand through my hair with a sweet smile. “How are you, sweetheart?”

“I’m doing great!”

“No boyfriend yet?” she asked jokingly. I chuckled along with her and Jeonghan rolled his eyes. 

“Mom, don’t bother her with questions like that. C’mon, Jeong-ah, let’s go to my room.”

As we retreated further into the house, Mrs. Yoon yelled from the kitchen, “Make sure to give her a tour of the house!”

The Yoon family had moved again recently, so it was only natural for Jeonghan to give me a quick house tour. Passing by the living room, I noticed that our younger siblings had already situated themselves by the coffee table with their dolls and toys. I smiled at the sight.

The last part of the tour was his room. It looked eerily similar to his old room but at the same time, it was completely different.

“Woah, your room is so big.”

Jeonghan sprawled out against his bed. “Yeah, it’s great. Especially since I don’t have to share rooms with my older brother now,” He looked around his room with a proud look on his face. “I have a basic layout down, but I still want to move around some things and decorate.”

I jumped into his bed, joining him on his comforter. “Ooh, with what?”

“You know, pictures and posters of basketball and football.”

I hummed. “You better have a picture of us together.”

“How could I forget?” Jeonghan rolled his eyes at me sarcastically and I laughed. “But I already have a Packers poster-”

I threw my wadded up ball of socks I had just taken off at him. “I’m telling you, Raiders are better.”

“Ew, get your nasty socks and opinions away from me.” Jeonghan threw my socks back at me with a disgusted look and I laughed. “I know it’s your opinion, but your opinion is just plain wrong in this situation.”

“Whatever, Hannie. You know I’m right.” I stuck my tongue out at him and looked up at his ceiling.

His new ceiling didn’t have the glow-in-the-dark stars he had in his old room and I frowned. “Hannie, you don’t have your stars anymore.”

He looked at me, confused. “What stars?”

“Our stars. The glow-in-the-dark ones we put up at your old house?”

Jeonghan rubbed his hand along the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah… I just thought they were getting a bit childish for me now.”

My frown deepened. “Childish? What do you mean, childish?”

“I mean, we’re eighth graders now, Jeong-ah. We’re gonna be high schoolers soon and I think glow-in-the-dark stars might be a bit too childish for a high schooler.”

My face fell. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry, JeongJeong.”

I tried my best to smile and brighten up. “It’s okay, Hannie. It’s personal preference. It’s your room, not mine.”

“Thanks. Well, do you wanna get started on math?”

“Okay! You better be a good teacher.”

Jeonghan laughed as I climbed off his bed. “No promises, JeongJeong.”

For the next hour and a half, Jeonghan and I sat on the floor of his new bedroom, solving algebra equations. He was sitting across from me, and I stared at him whenever I thought he wasn’t looking. I don’t know when it happened, but something about him had changed.

His shoulders seemed more broad and his facial features had somehow sharpened. We always knew that Jeonghan had attractive facial features, but when he was younger, he was much softer and adorable. In the past few weeks I’d seen him, he seemed more adult-like. Was this what puberty did to a person?

Sure, I already knew about the effects puberty had—I wasn’t exactly a late bloomer myself. But to see Jeonghan, my best friend who used to get bathed in the same sink as me before either of us could talk, having a taller, lankier build made me feel something in my stomach.

The fact that I had a crush on Jeonghan for a while now was no big secret either. All of my friends at school knew about it (thank God he went to a different school), and even my sisters and his younger sister knew too. Just a couple weeks ago, I confided in his sister about my not-so-little crush on her older brother.

Initially, Sua was a bit grossed out by the whole thing. Her brother? Out of all people? Despite feeling weird about it, she told me that she always thought we looked good together and she had always rooted for us for as long as she could remember. 

I had laughed when she said the last part, but that night, I tossed and turned in bed all night as I imagined what my life would be like if we were together. Would he pick me up every Wednesday like he always did, but with flowers instead of packets of algebra equations? Would he hug me more often instead of the awkward occasional side hug we did ever since I started puberty?

There had been so many instances where I considered gathering up the courage to tell him about my crush on him, and I always thought I had a chance, too. There was something about the way he looked at me whenever we were playing Mario Kart that told me he considered me more than a childhood friend.

Out of the blue, Jeonghan set down his pencil. “Wanna take a break?”

I looked up from my worksheet with a meek smile. “Please?”

He laughed and stood up, helping me up with him. “Come on, I haven’t shown you the backyard yet.”

My eyes widened with excitement. “You guys have a backyard?” 

“Mhm! There’s a lemon tree too. It belongs to the neighbors but they told us we can take from it whenever we want.”

I excitedly followed Jeonghan out into the hallway, living room, and to the backyard. It wasn’t the most spacious backyard I’d seen but there was enough area for all of the kids to play. 

I looked around, observing the trees lined up against the fence. “Where’s the lemon tree?”

“Try looking for it.” Jeonghan shrugged and walked around the backyard aimlessly.

I playfully rolled my eyes and began looking through the different trees to try and look for the lemon tree. The sun was hot and bright, making me feel sticky and gross. The forecast wasn’t joking when it said that summer was finally here, because the early July heat was making me sweat like no other. 

“Jeong-ah, a little birdie told me that you have a not-so-little crush on me.”

I froze in my tracks. “What?” My heart was racing at what felt like a hundred miles a minute and I frantically searched for something to say.

“Is it true?”

I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt with a nervous laugh. “Um… it depends?”

“Depends?” Jeonghan looked at me with an unreadable expression.

“Yeah? I mean it depends on a lot of things, right? Like your definition of like and my definition of like might be different and what do you mean by little bir-”

“I like you too,” Jeonghan interrupted my rambling with a smile. “Follow me, I’ll show you the lemon tree.”

I was so stunned that I could only wordlessly follow Jeonghan to a small space between the wall of his house and the wooden fence separating his backyard from the neighbor’s. 

At the edge stood a small lemon tree that hung over the fence. The actual tree itself was planted on the neighbor’s property but it had received so much love and care that its branches grew up and over the fence onto the Yoon property. 

“Woah… It’s so pretty. I can see some lemons beginning to ripen,” I reached up on the tips of my toes but the closest lemon was still too high up for me to reach. From behind me, Jeonghan laughed at my feeble attempt and effortlessly reached up for the lemon, ripping it away from the branch. 

My breath got caught in my throat at the way Jeonghan was looming over me. I was always the taller one when we were younger; when did he get so tall? He wasn’t that tall yet but there was a noticeable height difference that made my heart flutter. 

Jeonghan handed me the lemon and I thanked him with a small smile. “Jeonghan, about what you said earlier…”

He turned around to face me with a shy smile. It was obvious he was blushing by the way the tips of ears and his cheeks were flushed with a shade of bright pink. “Yeah, I like you. And Sua told me.”

“Why, that little—” I was about to storm into the house to give his little sister a piece of my mind, but because the walkway was so narrow, I wouldn’t have been able to pass without Jeonghan moving out of the way. I took a few steps forward, expecting him to get out of the way, except he didn’t.

“Can you, like, scooch? So I can—”

“I really want to kiss you right now,” Jeonghan said seriously. His eyes held an intense and serious gaze I had never seen from him before. The Jeonghan I knew was playful and lighthearted. Right now, whatever this was, this was the complete opposite.

“You should, if you really want to,” I managed to say breathlessly before Jeonghan took a step closer and captured my lips with his in one, swift movement. He placed a hand on my cheek, gently guiding my face up so my lips would be pressed gently into his.

I’d always been a hopeless romantic for as long as I can remember. I always dreamed of the perfect first kiss with the perfect person. It would be romantic, it would be swoon-worthy, and it would be everything I had ever seen and heard of from the books and movies.

Like fireworks. I always read about the fireworks feeling a person would get when they’d kissed ‘The One’ for the first time. I’ve always wondered when I would be able to kiss ‘The One’ and what those fireworks would feel like.

There were almost 8 billion people in the world. Statistics and studies show that an average human being meets about 80,000 people while they live. That would mean one only meets 0.00001% of the world’s population in their lifetime, which means I had almost 0% chance of meeting ‘The One’ in my lifetime. How lucky would I be, if the first person I kissed would be my last, because they were ‘The One’ for me? 

The moment Jeonghan’s soft lips touched mine, everything within me collectively exploded. An indescribable feeling blossomed within my chest, spreading all over the rest of my body. After what felt like years of imagining what it would be like to be kissing Jeonghan, it was finally happening. I was kissing Jeonghan and he was kissing me, and the rest of the world seemed to slip away. Jeonghan let out a small exhale and I felt the soft tickle of his breath beneath my nose, which made me giggle. 

My heart felt so full but so empty simultaneously as I poured everything I had within me for Jeonghan into this kiss. I felt like floating but Jeonghan kept me grounded with the way his soft lips were firmly pressed into mine.

I eventually reluctantly pulled away to catch my breath. Jeonghan ran a hand through his hair with a dazed look in his eyes and I grazed my lips with the tips of my fingers. They were still tingling from the sensation of kissing and I secretly hoped this feeling would never disappear. 

Jeonghan slipped a hand against my lower back and pulled me closer, pressing my body against his as our lips brushed together for a second time. I sighed against his lips, which made him laugh. 

“Did I just witness Yoon Jeonghan and Kim Jeong-ah kissing?” We heard a loud voice yell from above us. Immediately pulling away like two similar polar charges repelling against each other, Jeonghan and I scrambled to act nonchalant but it was too late. 

Jeonghan’s older brother, Jeongmin, was staring out the second floor window with an absolute shit-eating grin. “Jeonghan and Jeong-ah, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes the love, then the marriage-”

Jeonghan groaned, annoyed by the whole situation, as he ran a hand over his tired and blushing face. “At least I can say I’ve kissed someone now.” Jeonghan mumbled.

“I heard that!”

When we walked back into the house, my heart soared at the thought of having a boyfriend. Jeonghan was going to ask me to be his girlfriend and I could already imagine the look on my friends’ faces. Awe, shock, surprise, happiness? I was so excited, I couldn’t contain my joy as I bounded into the kitchen to get a drink of water.

Jeonghan trailed behind me. His steps were slow and hesitant and I turned to face him with an expectant look in my eyes. It was going to happen, Jeonghan was going to officially ask me to be his girlfriend. 

I handed him a cup of water and as he took a sip from the cup, I eyed him expectantly. After almost ten years of pining—

“So, do you want to get back to practicing derivatives now?”

At that moment, I thought my entire world had just shattered and I felt the ground underneath me open up and swallow me whole. Hell, I wish it would’ve instead of leaving me standing awkwardly in front of Jeonghan who was pretending like everything that happened in the past 10 minutes had never happened.

I guess Jeonghan noticed my reaction because he reached for the back of his neck with an awkward smile. “Our placement test is coming up and I want both of us to be really prepared, you know? I really want us to go to the same school.”

I swallowed back the bitter sting in my eyes and nodded. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

Jeonghan and I went back to his room where we spent the rest of the afternoon in complete silence, only with the occasional ‘Did I do something wrong in this equation? I keep getting a decimal’ to interrupt the silence.

Was it casual when you risked getting in trouble for my sake?

When my eyes fluttered open, the first thing I was able to register in the dark was Sua’s sleeping form on her bed. As I waited for my eyes to adjust to the dark, I sat up from my sleeping spot on the floor. To my right, I was barely able to make out my sisters sleeping a few feet away from me and I felt a cold hand press into my cheek.

“You awake, squeak?”

My eyes had somewhat adjusted by now, but I was unable to recognize the squatting shadow in front of me. But I immediately knew it was Jeonghan.

I nodded and rubbed at my eyes with the back of my hands. “What time is it?”

“Five minutes before midnight. Come on,” With Jeonghan’s help, I stood up and we stumbled out of Sua’s bedroom and into the dimly lit hallway. “Follow me.”

Jeonghan grabbed my hand and dragged me downstairs. The entire first floor was fully dark, save for the Christmas tree in the corner next to the fireplace that was still up. The bright crystal lights illuminated the walls and ornaments in a whimsical, fairytale-esque light.

“Jeonghan? What are we doing?”

The taller boy didn’t respond. He simply walked to a small door on the side of the staircase we just took. The door was barely tall enough to fit a sixth grader, definitely not two high school sophomores.

“When we moved into this house, I found this room. It’s kind of like Harry’s room in the Dursley’s home,” Jeonghan said. He opened the door, and inside was a cozy nook overflowing with pillows, blankets, and… basketball posters. Of course. 

I giggled at the LeBron poster that had begun to slightly peel off the wall but followed Jeonghan inside. The room was just big enough to fit the two of us, but even when we were sitting at the opposite sides of the room, our knees would probably be touching. Jeonghan situated himself on one side of the room and patted the empty space next to him, motioning for me to sit down next to him.

“What is this place?” I plopped down on the floor next to him.

“My space. When I need a break from studying or the cello, I come here. It’s pretty cozy, huh? I decorated it myself.” Jeonghan puffed up his chest proudly and I laughed.

“Yeah, it looks great. The LeBron poster with the fluffy pink pillows. Very… you.” I fingered the throw pillow next to me and Jeonghan let out a small sound of frustration.

“I told Sua I didn’t want pink but she insisted… I wanted gray pillows,” Jeonghan groaned. He rested his head on my shoulder and pouted. I gently patted his head to console him.

“It looks great, Hannie. I promise.” 

“You should ask me why we’re in here instead of sleeping like everyone else.”

I let out a sigh that ended in a laugh. “Okay, Jeonghan. Why are we in here instead of sleeping like everyone else?”

Jeonghan immediately straightened up and turned his body to face me, and I mirrored his movements. The way he looked at me with shining, excited eyes reminded me of the same 5-year old who enjoyed pulling on my pigtails and showing me his Pokemon cards.

Despite growing a lot in the past decade, there were still some parts of Yoon Jeonghan that never seemed to change. For example, that mischievous look on his face whenever he was about to do something he wasn’t supposed to. 

“Wait here.” Jeonghan disappeared outside and I couldn’t help but smile at his excited, almost child-like demeanor. Resting my head against the wall, I looked up and saw the sloped ceiling decorated with glow-in-the-dark stars.

The door opened and Jeonghan reappeared with a single cupcake, a match, a candle, and two mini party hats. “I know we all got in trouble by our parents today so we can’t celebrate New Year’s, but I still wanted to do something for you. I know how much you love New Year’s celebrations.”

It was true. When all six of us had gotten in trouble earlier that evening because Jeonghan convinced all of us to try and help him set up a booby trap in his grumpy neighbor’s driveway, I was greatly disheartened when our parents decided that our collective punishment would be a bedtime of 9:30 and no New Year’s celebration.

I was particularly more upset than the others because my parents had promised me a year ago that this New Year’s celebration would be the year where I finally got to try champagne.

“Jeonghan, I-” I faltered. I couldn’t find the words to describe how grateful I was to have him at that moment. 

Jeonghan scrambled to sit in the empty spot next to me. “You can thank me and be impressed later, just put this hat on. We only have a minute left.” He snapped on his own party hat before sliding its identical piece over my own head.

With a shaky hand, Jeonghan struck the match and lit the candle that was stuck atop the cupcake. We had made these cupcakes earlier today, with the help of our siblings. It had always been a tradition of ours. My family would go over to the Yoon family’s house for the New Year’s and we would spend the night.

Jeonghan, his older brother, and I were the older ones so we usually resorted to playing video games, board games, and baking while our younger siblings played with toys or watched TV. Our time together was always fun and a big highlight of my winter break every year.

But two years ago, when Jeonghan and I kissed under that lemon tree, something changed. Our conversations became more stiff and awkward and he seemed to avoid me and my text messages more often.

When I consulted my mother about this situation (minus the kissing part), she had laughed and told me, “It’s because both of you are going through puberty now. It’s okay, it’s natural! Your relationship is going to return to normal in no time.”

Albeit it did take two years and a global pandemic for the two of us to be back on speaking terms again, but I was thankful to have my best friend back.

Jeonghan looked at me with a bright smile as he softly began to count down, his phone propped up against the wall so we could keep an eye on the clock. The single flame of the candle seemed to reflect the hundreds and thousands of stars that Jeonghan held within his eyes. His long lashes fluttered against his pale cheek bone and that tear-shaped mole on his right cheek that I had always been fond of. 

“Five… four…” I joined him in the count down, our hands holding the small cupcake together. 

I’d grown to accept the fact that Jeonghan wanted to pretend that kiss never happened. I did a lot of thinking and reflecting during our time apart to realize that it was our silly pre-pubescent emotions that had gotten the best of us in that moment. It never meant anything.

There was also a period of time when I questioned everything. He was the one who had brought up my feelings for him first, confessed to me, and brought up kissing first. 

But I also knew the answer to that. The summer we had kissed was the summer before we entered our freshman year of high school, and Jeonghan was under immense pressure from his parents to get into this prestigious academy in our town. The only way a student was permitted to attend this school was by passing an admissions test that thousands of students across the state took as an attempt to attend the school.

I had also wanted to attend that school. They had an exceptional instrumental music program and I had always dreamed of being in the same orchestra as Jeonghan. Him on cello, me on violin. My idiotic eighth grade self had even imagined ourselves performing together in our senior year of high school; Jeonghan would be first chair cello and I would be concertmaster.

But those foolish hopes and dreams of mine were crushed when Jeonghan passed the admissions tests with flying colors while I received an emergency surgery the same day for an unexpected case of appendicitis. My parents and I had begged the school for a re-take, explaining that I was physically unable to come and take the test, as well as the other retake test days because I was recovering from surgery. The school said they couldn’t make any exceptions and so I didn’t have any choice but to go to my local high school five minutes away from my home instead of the state-recognized academy Jeonghan was going to attend 20 minutes away. 

“Two… one! Happy new year!” Jeonghan cheered. “One, two, three!”

11 years of friendship helped me to immediately recognize Jeonghan’s intent when he began counting again.

When he reached 3, the two of us blew at the single candle and the flame flickered for a moment before it disappeared, leaving a small trail of white smoke in its wake. Jeonghan pulled the candle out of the cupcake and I dipped my finger into the frosting and smeared it across my best friend’s cheek.

Jeonghan smiled with a mischievous glint in his eyes before dipping this thumb into the white frosting and spreading it across my forehead. “Simbaaaaa.”

We both erupted into a fit of childish giggles as I tried to smear another glob of dense, sweet frosting onto his face, but he dodged my hand successfully. And because Jeonghan was blessed by the genetic gods and had much longer arms than I did, he was able to reach over and smudge another spot of white frosting onto the top of my nose.

“Ewww!” I cried loudly.

Jeonghan tried to shush me but it was too late. We heard a door upstairs opening, and a pair of footsteps moving down the stairs. Jeonghan and I held onto each other with bated breaths and when we heard the footsteps slowly fade away, we let out a quiet sigh of relief.

“Maybe they’re just grabbing water or some-” As Jeonghan whispered into my ear, the doorknob of the small door rattled and opened, revealing Mrs. Yoon, half disheveled with a face mask.

I clamped a hand over my mouth to suppress the giggle that was threatening to spill as Jeonghan fumbled to find the right words. “H-hi, mom. We were just-”

“Out. Both of you. Now.”

Uh oh.

(We ended up being grounded by our respective parents for the rest of the winter break but it was okay because that was the best new year’s celebration I’ve ever had because it was with Jeonghan.)

Was it casual when you said you believed in fate because of me?

“Do you believe in fate?”

My sudden question must’ve startled Jeonghan because he flinched in his desk chair before adjusting his glasses to look at me. He was busy studying for the SAT so I decided to keep him company by lounging around in his bed with a book since I had passed the SAT on my first try.

“Why do you ask?” Jeonghan responded, returning his gaze back to the workbook laid out in front of him.

I shrugged, even though he couldn’t see me. “This book that I’m reading right now, it’s talking about fate and how it’s real because there’s some incidents in the world that simply can’t be coincidences.”

Jeonghan hummed in thought but didn’t respond. Comfortable silence filled the room as the question and possibility of fate hung heavily in the air, before he spoke again. “I think fate exists.”

“Really? Why?” I lifted my face to face him and this time, it was Jeonghan’s turn to shrug.

“I think some things are simply meant to be. Everything I’ve experienced, the people I met, and the lessons I learned all have a profound impact on my life and my sense of self. I think everything in my life happens because I need it to happen in order for me to fulfill my life’s purpose, whatever that may be.” He pressed his pencil against his lips. “Okay, then riddle me this. Why shouldn’t fate exist?”

I tapped my finger against the cover of the book in thought. “Hm, I guess you’re right. I think fate exists in the world, just not in my own life.”

Jeonghan set down his pencil this time, which meant he was fully invested in the conversation. “What makes you say that?”

I flipped over onto my stomach and looked at my best friend who was watching me intently from the other side of the room. His recently bleached hair was a tousled mess from all the different times he had wrangled his hair in frustration with wrestling the SAT problems in the past two hours. The black square glasses I bought him last Christmas sat neatly on the bridge of his nose. He looked good.

“I don’t know. Nothing really ‘fate-worthy’ has really happened in my life.” I made air quotes with my fingers as I spoke. “There hasn’t been a coincidence where I was so shocked, I thought, ‘This can’t just be a coincidence.’” I guess something I said had amused Jeonghan because a corner of his lips curled up. “What? What’s so funny, Yoon Jeonghan? Mr. Valedictorian?”

He threw his eraser at me. “Don’t call me that. I’m not going to be the valedictorian.”

“Helloooooo, you were literally called into the counselor’s office during summer break so she could tell you the final requirements you needed to fill to become valedictorian. What do you mean you’re not getting it? If anyone deserves that title, it’s you.” I caught the erase he threw at me and tucked it into the book I was reading to save the page for later.

“You don’t actually mean that.” Jeonghan fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. “I- I failed the SAT three times already, and even you passed-” He paused and glanced over at me. “Shit, sorry, Jeong-ah. I didn’t mean it like that.”

My eyes narrowed at his words. Although we’ve always been friends and never had any sort of rivalry except for the lighthearted competitions we did to motivate each other, there was always an unspoken tension between us when it came to academics. 

When I was younger, people called me a child prodigy. I never needed a tutor or extra lessons to stay on top of my classmates and peers. My parents also never pressured me to study or have a thriving academic career. Their philosophy was that as long as I found joy in learning, that was enough for them. I was my own catalyst, rather than my parents. I wanted to push myself further and further to see how far I could go, how much I could achieve on my own. 

Jeonghan was the opposite. He didn’t find studying or school fun; he preferred to play basketball outside with friends or take a nap. On his own, Jeonghan didn’t struggle to keep up, but he also wasn’t one of the best. Much different from my parents, Jeonghan’s parents considered education the most important thing to a person. I witnessed them ridiculing Jeonghan countless times for his ‘poor’ grades and performances and made constant comparisons to me and his brother. 

He initially tried to fight back their expectations, but after his older brother was given special admission to Harvard as a junior, Jeonghan accepted his fate and began to focus on his studies. While I began to neglect my studies from an academic slump stretching along the past few years, Jeonghan was thriving and he was able to easily surpass me within a short amount of time. 

As for my slump—the cause of it was unknown. My parents and I struggled for years to find some kind of reasoning for the sudden drop in my grades and my lack of motivation. I dropped all my honors classes because I struggled to keep up and I was soon dropped from the list of contenders for valedictorian’s for my graduating class. I was disappointed in myself and beat myself up for it, but Jeonghan always encouraged and consoled me with that smile of his. 

Although all my academic prospects seemed to no longer be in reach for me, seeing Jeonghan receive recognition from his school and parents made me happy. He had always wanted to make his parents happy; seeing him glow from all the praise from his parents was more than enough for me.

The possibility of Jeonghan considering me his competition had never crossed my mind. I always thought this competition was something that was forced between our parents. I never deemed him as an opposition, but did he?

“Even I what? Even I, the more stupid one out of the two of us, passed the SAT on the first try? Really?” I sat up on the bed and threw the book down incredulously.

“Jeong-ah, you know I didn’t mean it like that.” He ran his hands through his stupid, gorgeous-looking hair again.

“Yes, you did,” My voice was biting and laced with venom as I pointed an accusatory finger at Jeonghan. “Did you always see me as competition, Jeonghan? Another opponent for you to beat so you could look good to your parents and win a sliver of their favor? I think you and I both know that Jeong-min is always and forever going to be their favorite. He got into Harvard as a junior, for Christ’s sake.” Harsh and angry words that I didn’t mean began to brew like a storm within me and slowly started spewing out of my mouth.

“I’ve always been willing to lose to you if it meant seeing you happy. I’ve noticed the way your parents reacted whenever you did something better than me. I’m not dumb, but I’m willing to let go of my ego and pride and lose to you every time if it means getting to see you smile more. Because we’re friends and because I care for you. You’re important to me and seeing you happy is more than enough for me.” I swallowed a shaky breath and the next words came out weaker than before. “Even if that meant, although I’ve been in love with you for the past at least decade of my life, pretending that the kiss we had in eighth grade and whatever the fuck that happened during the winter break of our sophomore year and any other moment that kept me up at night in our 15 years of friendship, never happened. Even when we’re able to find each other in a big crowd and lock eyes and be able to understand what the other person is thinking with a single glance. Because you seemed more comfortable that way. 

“I pretended like nothing ever happened. I even dated a more than decent guy to try and get over you. I broke a good person’s heart because I was trying to forget you. Do you know what Seungcheol said to me when we were breaking up? He said that the way that he looked at me was the way that I looked at you.”

“Jeong-ah...” Jeonghan stood up from his chair but I raised a hand to stop him.

“Don’t do that thing where you soften your voice and look at me with the most gentle and caring eyes because you know the effect that it has on me and even though I know you don’t mean it, I’ll soften up again. No.”

Glancing down, I fidgeted with the fraying hem of my shirt. The thinning threads of fabric rolled between my fingers, similar to the thin, invisible string within me that was stressed and twisted, ready to snap, and I was suddenly painfully aware of how silent the room was. I wanted to leave.

When I looked back up, Jeonghan sighed and took off his glasses to set them down on his desk. 

“You asked me if I believe in fate.” My silence served as a ‘go ahead’ for him to continue. “I believe in fate because you’ve been by my side for almost 16 years now. The moment I gained consciousness as a baby, you were in my life. Hearing you call my name in that sweet voice of yours and giggling because of how similar our names were, even though I was too young to understand the concept of love, I knew we were going to stay by each other’s sides for a long time. 

“Our names and personalities, we were made to balance each other. When I went too far with my pranks, you were the one to knock some sense into me and I was the one to always teach you the rules of video games. I taught you how to play Minecraft on the Xbox and I was your first (and only) kill in Fortnite and Valorant because your parents refused to let you play games. I don’t know when or how it happened but I slowly began to believe that I was made for you. I was breathed into existence in this universe to be yours. We have nothing and everything in common, and I think that’s exactly what we’re supposed to be. 

“The moment you kissed me under that lemon tree six years ago, from then on, you’ve owned my heart. Not a single minute or second after that moment, have I ever not belonged to you. Every inch of me is yours. My heart is yours. I’ve always been yours.” 

At some point during his speech, Jeonghan had begun to cry. Tears were streaming down his face as he silently took a step towards me. When he noticed that I wasn’t stopping him, he took another.

I didn’t respond and simply searched his face for any signs of deceit or lies. There were none.

“You don’t mean that…” I whispered. Jeonghan took another step towards my direction, my heart. The string loosened. “Then why did you pretend like nothing happened after we kissed? I was waiting for you to ask me to be your girlfriend. I was so happy but you never brought it back up so I thought you thought it was a mistake or—”

“I was scared. Scared about what that kiss meant for us and what would happen in the future. I missed my timing and I was planning to ask you the next time I saw you, but before I could, my brother ratted us out and told my mom about our kiss. Obviously, my mom went ballistic and asked me how I could even think about girls during such a crucial time. She pressured and pushed me more than before so I wouldn’t get distracted.” I don’t know when, but Jeonghan had somehow reached the foot of the bed. He was merely inches away and I found myself craving for the comfort of his touch.

“Oh my God, so it was all my fault. I’m so sorry, Jeonghan.”

Jeonghan reached out and grabbed my hands with his own. His cheeks were wet from his tears and his hands were cold, as always, seeking the warmth and comfort from me as he always did for the past 15 years.

“None of this was your fault, Jeong-ah. My mom didn’t blame you, either. She thought I was the one who had gone crazy and thought I was going to throw away everything that I had ever worked for and built, for you.”

I held my breath.

“And I would. Every single time, in every single lifetime.”

I felt my own tears welling up. “Jeonghan…”

“If you ask me to fail this SAT and go to community college or whatever college that you’re going to, then I would do it without any hesitation. I don’t care about being the black sheep of the family or constantly being compared to my brother. I’m willing to do anything and everything for you.”

“Jeonghan…” At this point, the tears were spilling out of my eyes with no thoughts of stopping. “Hannie…”

From a young age, Jeonghan got cold easily. Whenever our families went camping together, he would be the first to put on an extra layer of clothing and shiver in the chilly evening weather after the sunset. Jeonghan made it a habit to seek warmth from two sources of heat during these times: the fireplace and me.

He always insisted on sitting next to me in front of the bonfire even though my younger sibling needed help sticking their marshmallows onto their roasting stick. Jeonghan would always swiftly help them with shivering hands before nudging my side of the chair with his and asking for my hands with a gentle, pleading look in his eyes.

As we got older, I often pretended to be annoyed and rolled my eyes at this gesture but never said no. How could I say no to the one boy I’d always loved?

I’d never known what it was like to not love Jeonghan. He had a playful and silly nature from a young age. He constantly played tricks on me and our younger siblings but he was also really gentle. Jeonghan loved animals and would handle any kind with the utmost gentleness and care I would see exhibited from a human.

He also had a really soft side. Jeonghan cried often. We both even had matching tear moles on our right cheeks, right below our eyes. In Korean traditional beliefs, it was said that tear moles meant the person would cry or shed tears easily. That was probably why Jeonghan and I cried so much together when we were younger.

If I fell down and hit my head, Jeonghan would start crying before I did. We were only three years old. Our parents had always laughed and joked that we were somehow spiritually connected from how in sync our emotions were from the moment we had met.

I couldn’t remember the very first time I’d met Jeonghan since I had been too young, but I heard stories. We were barely two years old when we met and at the time, there was a blanket that I was attached to. And even at that age, I guess Jeonghan had a mischievous side because he snatched up my blanket at the first opportunity and crawled ran away with it to hide it somewhere.

I immediately became one with the activated sprinklers out in Jeonghan’s front yard and began crying non-stop. Jeonghan, who was barely three years old, started crying with me before he disappeared behind the couch and brought back my blanket. And according to our parents, that marked the beginning of our friendship.

Here we were, 15 years later. I was kneeling on Jeonghan’s childhood bed and the owner of said bed currently had his knees pressed up against the wooden frame. This was the bed where we had napped together, read together, shared countless stories together, cried together, and laughed together. This rickety, worn-down furniture alone represented our countless years of friendship and companionship together.

“Do you-” I choked back my tears. “Do you love me?”

Jeonghan let out what sounded like a heartbroken sigh. He let go of one of my hands and rested his cool palm against my hot and still-wet cheek. “Jeong-ah… There hasn’t been a day where I haven’t loved you. My earliest memory of my childhood was you, in that yellow rubber duck swimming suit in our backyard, playing with the sprinklers. I think we were five?”

I smacked him in the arm with my free hand. “Seven. It was the summer break before second grade.”

Jeonghan grinned the same exact grin that had made me fall in love with him a hundred times over. It was lighthearted and boyish and it reminded me of summer. “Right. You were always better with time.” It was innocent and it made his eyes crinkle and curve into crescent shapes. “Do you remember Inside Out? We bawled our eyes out to that movie.”

I smiled at the memory. We did. During the scene when Bing Bong died, Jeonghan and I were holding onto each other and sobbed like newborns in the theater.

“As we left the theater afterwards, I remember thinking that if there was an alternate universe where our brains worked the way it did in the movie, you would have your own island and core memory in my brain’s headquarters.”

A brief pause.

“I love you, Jeong-ah. I’m sorry it took me so long to say it. You’re my first love and I will never stop loving you. To me, you’re the water for my desert, the warmth I crave when I’m cold, and the syrup to my waffles.”

I was still crying. “Pancakes are better.”

“You’re wrong, but I’ll let this one slide because the point is, I have loved you and I will continue to love you with every fiber of my being, even if you’re wrong about pancakes being better. Every atom and every cosmic dust that I am composed of belongs to you. I love you.”

If my tears were a trickle before, they were a pour now.

“Do you love me too?” Jeonghan’s voice was so gentle and soft, I almost missed his question over my snotty tears.

I nodded vigorously, afraid that my voice would fail me, as his thumb gently wiped away my tears.

“Can I kiss you?” Jeonghan’s bright eyes searched my bleary ones and I nodded again.

With almost no hesitation, Jeonghan dipped his head to press his lips onto mine. Despite his hands being cold, his lips were warm and full of love.

6 years later and I was finally able to kiss the same boy I had been in love with for most of my life, once again.

Our kiss was wet from a mixture of both of our tears. If our first kiss was rushed and awkward and passionate, this was the complete opposite. Everything about it was slow but it also felt like everything was moving so fast at the same time.

We moved as one. There was no need to come up for air when the oxygen that I’d been missing was back. Right there, in front of me, with his eyes closed and tears running down his cheeks.

It was a short kiss that only lasted about 15 seconds, but within those 15 seconds, all of our unspoken emotions and feelings and love from the bottom of our hearts were poured out from the deepest parts of our souls to the other.

My tears had stopped at some point and I placed a hand on Jeonghan’s shoulder to balance myself when we heard a loud thud from downstairs.

We jumped from where we were and reluctantly pulled away from each other. “What was that?” I asked shyly.

“I’m not sure…” He looked just as confused as I was but there was an unmistakable look on his face that told me everything that I needed to know. Jeonghan loved me and he meant it. That kiss under that lemon tree meant the world to him, like it did for me.

“I think we should go make sure—” My words were abruptly cut off by a sudden ringtone. I reached for my phone and saw that my mom was calling me, which was weird, since she was downstairs. “Hey, Mom. Is everything okay? We heard a loud noise—”

“Pack your stuff and tell your siblings to hurry up. We’re leaving.” My mom’s voice was different from what it usually sounded like. It was strained, as if she was going to burst into tears at any moment.

“Okay… but are you okay?”

“I’m okay but we have to leave. You have five minutes.”

“Oh, okay,” I ended the phone call and shrugged at Jeonghan who looked just as confused as I was. I was secretly disappointed that our time together was cut short. “I need to go. I think an emergency came up.”

I guess Jeonghan could sense my disappointment because he lifted my chin with his fingers and pressed a quick kiss to my forehead. “It’s okay. We have plenty of time, and I do really need to study for the SAT.”

I nodded and climbed off the bed. After quickly gathering my siblings and bidding good-bye to Sua and Jeong-min, who all seemed as confused as we were, my siblings and I left Jeonghan’s house in a huff and a hurry.

My mom’s face was a bright shade of red as she hustled over to our car, mumbling under her breath angrily about something.

Once we were all in the car and the engine was running, my youngest sibling asked the question we were all currently thinking: “Mommy, are you okay? Did we do something wrong?” 

My mom forced a strained smile through the rearview mirror as she pulled out of the parking lot. “It’s nothing, darling. The adults were talking and we had a bit of an argument.”

Her grip on the steering was dangerously tight and I rested my hand on top of hers. “Mom, I’ll drive. I think you need to decompress, otherwise you’ll land all of us in the hospital.”

She let out a shaky breath and nodded.

As we drove back home, I couldn’t help but glance over at my mom. She was a strong woman and knew how to stand her ground. I began to wonder what had happened between her and Jeonghan’s mom for her to get so shaken up. I shook it off and told myself to ignore it since it was none of my business.

After that day, a bright sunny day during the summer before our senior year, my family and I would never again step foot inside the Yoon family’s home. Jeonghan would mysteriously block my number and we would never contact each other again.

Epilogue.

I nervously tapped my fingers against the steering wheel of my car. Next to me, my graduation cap and gown was in a rumpled up pile in the passenger seat and the weight of my hoop earrings felt eerily similar to the heavy weight in my heart. 

Jeonghan always liked it when I wore hoop earrings.

Last night, I had received a text message from an unknown number with an invitation to Jeonghan’s academy’s graduation. Attached to the invitation was a screenshot of a QR code that would be used as my admission ticket into the ceremony. The message read:

‘Jeonghan got valedictorian. I was barely able to convince my mom to get a spare ticket for you. It would mean a lot if you showed up.’

Initially, I thought it might be a scam but my friends managed to get me to snap out of it. The message was too detailed and personal to be a scam, and there was nothing the unknown number would gain from me attending this graduation.

So here I was now, in Jeonghan’s prestigious, state-recognized academy’s parking lot. The sun was beginning to set and I still hadn’t gathered the courage to get out of my car. My graduation was in the morning and I had dinner plans with my family at 8 pm. Why was I wasting my time here?

I bumped my head against the steering wheel and let out a loud groan. What was I doing here?

I let out a deep breath. “Okay, Jeong-ah. You’re here because Sua invited you. Jeonghan’s graduating and he’s giving a big speech as the valedictorian. You’re here to support him as an old childhood friend. Nothing else.”

I forced myself to get out of my car and make my way towards the stadium. The seats inside were already packed, and after being waved through by security, I searched the seats for an empty spot. Eventually, I found an empty seat at the very top of the bleachers, hiding in the shade of the press box. The ceremony had already started when I entered, so the football field was filled with navy gowns and various skin-tone colored dots.

As different superintendents and student leaders made their way to the front to make their speeches, I tried my best to focus but there was a trembling within me that I couldn’t withhold.

When it was finally Jeonghan’s turn to speak, it seemed as if the entire stadium had erupted into cheers for him, but all I could manage was a feeble clap or two. As he took center stage, seeing him on the big screen at the end of the football field made my blood run cold and I felt the muscles and guts inside me squeeze and tighten with anxiety. He looked the exact same, but better.

He had dyed his hair back to black and it was cut short again. Gone were his days with a mullet, and as he spoke, I felt like I had gotten kicked in the stomach. His voice was the exact same as I imagined it. My friends called me over dramatic earlier today, saying that it had only been a year since I’ve seen him; he wasn’t going to be that different. 

But they were wrong. That was one year of absolute no contact. The last time we hadn’t gotten that far without seeing each other was during the pandemic, but even then, we were constantly calling or texting each other. This was the first time we had absolutely no contact since we first met. 

Jeonghan was the most decorated student out there, and there was no doubt about it. Despite being in a school full of high-achievers and students who did more extracurriculars than I could count on my fingers and toes combined, Jeonghan had somehow managed to do it all. 

There was a slight breeze, which was unexpected since it was late May, but the breeze helped me cool down as the sun began to further set beyond the horizon. The stadium lights began to turn on, one by one, as Jeonghan began to wrap up his speech.

Shit. I had completely missed the speech. I was so busy reminiscing and thinking about Jeonghan that I had missed his entire speech. I racked my head to try and see if I could recollect anything but all I could remember was him talking about the Eagle Scouts.

Goddamn it, Jeong-ah. I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my palms. I was sure Sua had invited me to the graduation because she wanted me to hear his speech and celebrate her older brother becoming valedictorian.

The rest of the ceremony was a blur. As hundreds of students crossed the stage in the same cap and gown with a bright smile on their face, I blankly sat through it, trying to stay strong until the end so I could say hi and congratulate Jeonghan. The bouquet of flowers in my lap rustled in the wind as the night grew colder and the sun disappeared. The stadium lights lit up one by one, and the ceremony was done.

The principal of the school stood from his seat to congratulate the students and present to the audience, the class of 2024. Everyone rose from their seats to applaud and I followed suit. As the recessional began to play from the band, fireworks lit up the sky and everyone cheered in celebration at the sight of the students throwing their caps. 

I teetered my way out of the bleachers. My feet were aching and wobbling from the pain of wearing heels all day. I should’ve brought spare shoes.

The crowd was slow and unmoving but I was eventually able to leave the stadium and look for Jeonghan and his family. His school’s campus was vast and every square inch of the school quad seemed to be littered with different students in the same cap and gown congratulating one another, crying, and taking photos with their loved ones. I felt awkward in my white dress, black heels, and limp bouquet of flowers. I was practically dressed identically as this one girl who had just walked past me. The only difference was the cap she had on her head, the tears in her eyes, and the robe she was wearing. 

I spent the next 45 minutes scouring every area of the campus. I wasn’t necessarily unfamiliar with Jeonghan’s school since I had visited a couple times for youth orchestra rehearsals and the different times I had picked him on Thursdays so we could go get frozen yogurt and study together afterwards.

Jeonghan was nowhere to be found. My feet were crying out in pain, similar to how my heart yearned and cried for the love of my life who had disappeared on me a year ago. My right heel had already begun to blister and I could feel the back of my dress digging into my skin uncomfortably. I limped across the quad again and noticed how much more vacant it had become. Most families had left after taking pictures, so there were a lot fewer people than before. 

I felt something within the pit of my stomach and I prepared myself to turn on my heels and return to my car when my phone rang with a new notification. It was from the same unknown number that had sent me the invitation, and this time, they had sent me their location. That must be where Jeonghan was.

I practically sprinted across the campus, following the blue dot on my screen to try and get to him as fast as possible.

I heard him before I saw him. Before I turned the corner into a secluded hallway, I heard Jeonghan’s laugh, the same laugh that haunted me every night in my sleep, echo through the empty corridors. Was this what it might’ve been like to go to school with him? To be able to recognize him in the hallways solely based on his sounds?

Fixing my hair and dress, I tried my best to look presentable before stepping forward and seeing Jeonghan smoking with his friends.

Jeonghan? Smoking?

My brain short-circuited as I tried my best to connect the two dots. Jeonghan was smoking? He was always the one who made faces when he saw people smoking on the streets and swore to never touch nicotine or tobacco in his life.

He seemed to recognize me right away because he dropped his cigarette butt on the floor, squishing it with the heel of his shoe before walking towards me.

As Jeonghan got closer, I could immediately smell the pungent scent of the cigarette that wafted off of him and I tried my best not to gag. 

“JeongJeong?” His voice was impossibly soft. The cap that was on his head earlier was gone and his dark hair was a tousled mess, much different from what it looked like during the ceremony. “You came?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Of course I came, Hannie. You were valedictorian, how could I miss that?”

Jeonghan seemed to visibly swallow. He opened his mouth to say something before closing it again and whipping around to face his friends. “You guys go ahead first. I’ll catch up.”

After a collective chorus of goodbye’s, it was just the two of us. Jeonghan eyed the bouquet of flowers that seemed to have wilted in the past 2 hours. “Is that for me?”

“Uh, yeah! Here you go.” I handed the flowers to Jeonghan with mannerisms similar to a kindergartner giving her favorite crayon to her first crush to share. “Congratulations, you deserve it.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, thanks…” He trailed off with his eyes trained on the floor.

“So…” I started as an attempt to fill in the awkward silence. “What are your plans now?”

Jeonghan shrugged. “I got a full ride to John Hopkins University. I’m going undeclared but I want to be an anesthesiologist when I’m older.”

I couldn’t help it, my jaw dropped open. “John Hopkins? Full ride? Holy shit, Jeonghan. Congratulations. I knew you could do it.”

The boy in front of me grew shy and rubbed the back of his head with a hand. “Yeah… I wasn’t expecting it either. I got lucky.”

“Lucky? No, you earned that, Jeonghan. Seriously. I’m really proud of you.” I smiled at him and Jeonghan smiled back.

“Thanks, Jeong-ah. It means a lot coming from you,” Jeonghan smiled shyly and looked at me with an expectant look in his eyes. After a beat of silence, he opened his mouth to speak again. “So… what’d you think of my speech?”

Speech? Oh, God. I opened my mouth and closed it again, searching for the right words to say that were general enough to compliment him but not too general so he wouldn’t notice that I had completely spaced out thinking about him during his speech.

What did valedictorians usually talk about during their speeches? I racked my brain for ideas. Usually, a particularly sad story from their childhood and how that motivated them to pursue education. No, that wouldn’t work. Jeonghan was a highly private person, he wouldn’t expose his deepest, darkest secrets and traumas to the entire school like that. Different difficulties and setbacks they faced during high school? No, I can’t think of any examples on the spot. How much have they grown and changed as a person over the course of four years in high school? Perfect.

“I thought it was really good! I really resonated with the part where you talked about growth and change. We all make mistakes when we’re younger but the best thing we can do is bounce back from that by learning from our mistakes and moving forward.” I smiled at him again. “It was great.”

Something about Jeonghan’s demeanor changed, almost as if his facial expression darkened. “Really?”

I nodded, maintaining that same smile on my face. “Mhm. I resonated with it a lot—”

Jeonghan cut me off. “Not a single objection? No notes? I left a few mistakes in there on purpose to see if you would notice them.”

“Nope, it was great!” 

Jeonghan squinted his eyes at me. He took a couple steps back and glanced at his phone screen. His current attitude and his attitude from a few seconds ago were completely different. What happened? Did I say something wrong about his speech?

“Well, I need to get going now…” He took another step back. “Thanks for coming today, and um, have a great life, I guess.”

Great life? I thought we were going to make up and be friends again, or maybe even more than friends. I still had to ask him why he blocked my number and contact on every single platform possible.

“Wait, Jeonghan—” He stopped in his tracks and turned back around to face me. “Shouldn’t we talk about what happened? About us?”

Jeonghan scoffed. “Us? There is no us.”

It felt like my heart was stabbed with a kitchen knife and twisted around at hearing those words. “What?”

He rolled his eyes. “Can you not speak English? I said, there is no us.”

“No, no. The last time we talked, you—you told me you loved me. And I told you that I loved you too,” I shook my head in denial. “You professed your love for me with such beautiful words, what do you mean—”

“It didn’t mean anything, Jeong-ah.” Jeonghan’s voice was cold. It was nothing like I had ever heard before. His voice was usually soft and gentle, almost angelic with every word he spoke. Even when he yelled in the past, his yells were docile.

“What?”

“What don’t you understand? It was just casual. We had a casual thing going on because it was convenient and we were both lonely.” Every word Jeonghan said felt like they were being spat out. Like they were dirty and he couldn’t believe he had to say these words out loud.

“Casual? No, no, Jeonghan. None of it was casual. What we had was—”

“It was casual, Jeong-ah. That’s why nothing happened between us for 16 years. It was casual and it was convenient. Last time we talked, I got swept up from the overwhelming stress of studying for the SAT and college applications. I apologize if I led you on in any way, shape, or form.”

“Jeonghan…” I struggled to find the words to speak. “I don’t understand—”

“I said everything I needed to say. I don’t know if there’s any other way for me to convey what I said so you can understand, but I really hope you have a great life. You were a really good childhood friend. I think I’ll be able to hold onto a few good memories of this shithole thanks to you.”

Jeonghan walked away, further distancing himself from me in the empty corridor we were standing in. When he reached the end, he glanced over his shoulder. “I hope you have a great time at a community college.”

That was the final blow that had shattered my heart into a million pieces. He disappeared in the moonlight as he turned the corner, leaving me all alone in the dark.

Jeonghan knew how much I hated the dark.

I walked back to my car, heart numb and feet heavy, as I stumbled every few steps from the pinching pain of my heels. On the windshield of my car, I noticed a small envelope addressed to me. I tore it open to see what was inside.

To. Jeong-ah

Hi, Jeong-ah! It’s been a while... I hope you're doing well.

I’m sure you were surprised when you first received my text. Sorry if I scared you, I got a new phone a couple months back but even then, I know we never had the kind of relationship to privately contact each other, that was more a Sua and Jeonghan thing.

I invited you to Jeonghan’s graduation because of his speech. He worked really hard on it. I probably shouldn’t tell you this but he even cried on some days because he missed you so much. I know it’s not your fault, but cutting contact was almost one of the hardest things he ever had to do. Jeonghan wasn’t himself for a while after that.

I know Jeonghan’s my brother and he’s like really gross and disgusting and stuff, but you guys always seemed so happy together, even when we were younger. I remember Sua once told me that her future relationships were going to look like whatever you and Jeonghan had going on. (And so far, she hasn’t even come close LMFAO)

I invited you so that the two of you could try and make amends. You’re both adults now so whatever happened between our parents shouldn’t affect our own relationships.

Thanks for coming, Jeong-ah. I know for a fact it meant a lot for Jeonghan too.

I’ll see you at the wedding, I guess? (lmao i’m just kidding)(unless…?)

Warm regards,

Jeong-min

reblogs and feedback is always appreciated! ^-^

tags: @fragmentof-indifference ; @minvxq ; @straykidsstanforeverandever 

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + twenty four

authors note: this one gets pretty heavy. the next two chapters will also be heavy at points. please heed to cw/tw's.

cw/tw: fluff, angst, brief discussion of childhood sexual assault and child abuse, scene of violence against women

*this author does not condone nor support intimate partner/domestic violence.*

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 12k

“Roman…” His name leaving her mouth is the perfect combination of breathy and whiny. “We–re gonna be late.”

For the first time in what feels like an hour, Roman lifts his head from her neck. She hates how noticeable the absence of his mouth is. “You really think I care about that?”

No. She knows he doesn’t care. But, she also dislikes being the reason for them being late. Because she's certain he has plans afterwards, and it doesn’t sit well with her knowing that she could play any type of role in any inconvenience he may encounter.

Her eyes shut as he brings his mouth back to her neck, sucking the spot that he’s clearly realized she has the most visceral response to. Toes curling, clawing at his shoulders and arms, it’s hard to tell who’s enjoying this more. Him or her.

Still, she manages to protest. “But, I—I care.”

Big hands traveling her body, she sighs quietly when he cups the swell of her breast giving her a gentle squeeze that has her thighs unintentionally gripping his waist. “You should have thought about that before you put this damn outfit on….”

Said outfit isn’t anything crazy, nothing fancy, just a cropped, sleeveless hoodie and dark yoga pants. However, it's the stretchy material that clings to clearly every part of her that he seemingly finds irresistible. Namely her ass and chest. Still, it's the typical type of outfit she would wear to train, which is exactly where they should be headed to right now. Though it seems her husband has another much more carnal destination in mind.

Blush growing, she tries again. “Roman, I—I’m serious.” His tongue circling across her inflamed skin as she groans against him. “You’re gonna l–leave another mark.”

“Good.” His response doesn’t entirely surprise her. Neither does the explanation. “You’re mine, and everyone needs to fucking know that shit.”

Mine

There’s something about that, something about his delivery, so strong and borderline aggressive that makes her insides melt a tad. Makes her smile grow. A good bit, she’s certain, stemming from the fact that it still blows her mind sometimes that a man like Roman Reigns could want her. Does want her. Even with all her….baggage.

He wants her.

Loves her.

For some reason, this makes it a bit easier to slide into that space of comfort and indifference he has regarding time and obligation. Makes her arch her chest into him as he stays true and firm to his determination in leaving her with his mark. 

Though she’s not sure just what about this current situation makes her decide to bring this up now, it’s something she knows she really shouldn't push off anymore.

“R–Ro?”

He makes a sound against her. “Yes?”

“I—I need a favor.”

He sighs against her, lifting his head from her neck to match her nervous gaze. “Solana, doing things for you is never a favor.” He brings his hand to her chin, thumb caressing her skin. “It’s my job as your husband.”

His response, thus far, chips away some of the anxiety. Some. “But, this—this is kinda big.”

Eyes narrowing slightly, he asks, “how big?”

It feels kind of silly, Solana briefly dropping her gaze to his black shirt that’s stretched against his broad chest. “I—I need money.”

Roman just looks at her for a second, a huge smile breaking out on his face. “You need money?” 

She nods. Slowly. “It’s—it’s a lot of money though.”

“I think we have different definitions of what a lot is, but go on.”

He’s probably not wrong, but that doesn’t negate the fact that the proposed amount of money probably needed is substantial compared to the average loan. Solana sits up fully, forcing Roman to also stand upright. He tugs her to the edge, her hands on his chest. “It’s…..it’s for Dr. Stratus.”

At that, she’s clearly lost him. “You need money for your psychiatrist?”

“Not—not like that.” Solana closes her eyes, taking a deep breath as she tries to gather her thoughts. “The girls were telling me they overheard that Dr. Stratus couldn’t secure an investor to keep the facility going and may have to shut down.”

He remains confused. “Okay…..”

“Roman, I don’t want that to happen.” She closes her eyes, thinking back to some of the information Gail has provided her as well as readings from her book. “Did you��did you know that 1 out of every 6 American women has either been raped or survived of an attempted rape?” Closing her eyes, she murmurs, “I was one of the ones.” Taking another breath, she notices his expression is darker. “But there are a lot more ones out there, Roman, and they need help just like I did. Dr. Stratus has a really great thing going, and I don’t—I don’t want to see it go away. I want—”

“Okay.”

She frowns. “Okay?”

“I’ll do it.”

Her stomach flutters. “Really?” She’s not sure what she was expecting, but for some reason, him so easily agreeing seems almost too good to be true.

Roman shrugs, pushing back some of her hair. “It’s important to you, and it clearly is, so I’ll do it.” That’s it. Nothing else. Just acquiescence.

“But, you don’t even know how much—”

“Doesn’t matter. You want it. I’ll make it happen.”

It’s overwhelming, really. Solana didn’t really think he would be upset with her request. She figured he’d want or need to think about it, which makes sense given it’s probably going to be in the six, maybe even seven figure range. But, that’s not the case. Instead, he’s just agreed without a second thought simply because she wants it.

Because it’s important to her.

Eyes watering, she throws her arms around him, hugging him. “Thank you.” It’s such a simple thing to say for such a big task. But, she also means it from the deepest part of her. For a man who doesn’t seem to think he’s a good person, she thinks the world of him. 

The same way she’s certain their child will. 

“While we’re on it, there’s something I need to talk to you about, too.”

And just like that, her smile is wiped, Solana pulling back and looking up. "Oh—okay.”

Something tells her she’s not going to like what she’s about to hear.

Roman’s intense eyes are focused on her, his index finger tracing along her jaw. “I have to go out of town next week.”

Yeah……definitely not something she wanted or expected to hear.

“Oh.” It’s all she knows how to say initially. Finally, more words arrive. A necessary question asked. “Where are you going?”

He hesitates. “Italy.”

Her eyes widen. That definitely isn’t what she expected him to say. Domestic travel was the guess, international never even being something that crossed her mind. “Italy?”

He nods, explaining on the edge of a heavy sigh. “I have some…..business to take care of with the Cosa Nostra.”

Solana is quiet, sitting on his words, partially hoping he’ll say more. Granted, it’s not a necessity as she’s able to piece the puzzle together herself. “That’s why your cousins were here that night…..isn’t it?” His silence is all the answer she needs. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“No.” Though his answer is immediate, there’s something about it that was too instantaneous. Like he blurted it out without even thinking about it. “Just…..something I need to handle.”

It’s a bit manipulative. She knows this, but it’s hard for her to have something like this sprung on her and not ask any follow up questions. “Can….can I come with you?”

Again, his response is something she already guessed before even fixing her mouth to ask. Another heavy sigh as he gently cups her cheek. “Not this time.”

“Because it’s dangerous.” And there’s the manipulation component. Solana has realized that will always be the dealbreaker for Roman when it comes to her. Safety. So, him saying no makes her concerned not for her wellbeing. 

But for his.

Anxiety growing, she asks, “are the twins going with you? You can’t go alone.”

“I won’t be alone.” That helps her feel a little better. Just a little. “But, they’re not coming. I need them here. Handling shit.” It’s hard for Solana to wonder if any part of what went down between Roman and Jey has impacted this decision for them to remain here while he travels abroad. 

Still, that’s another thought for another day. She has a much bigger issue at hand.

“So who—”

“Solana.” Roman’s voice silences the next set of anxiety riddled questions scheduled to leave her mouth. He lowers his volume, his tone softer than anything anyone outside of her would ever hear. “I’ll be fine.”

For some reason, that only cranks her anxiety up from a 6 to a solid 8. And it’s without much thought, she finds herself asking, “do you have to go?”

He truly looks apologetic. A visible thing that also matches the verbal. “I’ve been pushing it off. I can’t push it off anymore.”

She swallows, emotion thick and bubbling. “Because of me?”

“Because of a lot of things, Sol.” And to her surprise, there’s some semblance of emotion present in his voice as well. “The—the story with that side of my family is…..complicated.” As it seems are most things when it comes to his family. Either side, apparently. “Trust me, going there is the last thing I want, but it needs to be done.”

Solana hates this. For a lot of reasons. The biggest one, however, is because she just knows there’s something he’s not telling her. A key part he’s omitting, probably for fear of worrying her. Never mind the fact that she’s already an anxious mess thinking about him being so far away without at least the twins there to have his back. She’d bet this Dwayne and Matteo person will be present, but she doesn’t know them. Doesn’t trust them. Doesn’t trust them to have her husband’s back. 

Not like Jimmy and Jey.

Even with the altercation between Roman and the latter, she still believes in her heart of hearts they’d look out for each other.

Like brothers.

“How long will you be gone?” Because trying to convince him to stay or even allow her to accompany him is the equivalent of beating a dead horse. 

More hesitation. “A week. Maybe two.”

The duration truly could be worse, and it makes sense such a long trip wouldn’t warrant a short turnover, but that doesn’t make the idea of him being gone for that period of time any easier to stomach. 

When she says nothing, he brings his other hand to her hair, pushing a section behind her ear. “Nia will stay with you until I return.”

And the surprises just keep coming. “Nia?” She knows the list of people Roman would ask to do such a thing is pretty limited, nonexistent maybe, but Nia is the last of the last she’d have considered. “She—why would she agree to that?”

Nia’s behavior around and toward Solana has shifted moderately since their first meeting so many months ago. She’s still not the nicest, per se, but Solana has learned a large part of that is nothing personal. It’s just Nia. So, while she’s not against it, she does, however, not understand it. 

“I told you before, people do what I want them to do because no one wants to deal with the alternative. Nia is no different.” Forced. He’s forced her to do this. That’s all Solana took from that, the frown on her face deepening it. “She’ll really just be here to administer your meds and make sure you get to therapy.” 

And she figured as such, figured that would be the basis as to why he would ensure another person is present in his absence. Still, Solana can’t stop herself from trying to broach an option she’s almost certain he won’t want to hear.

“Ro, I don’t—I can take care of that mys—”

“No.” It’s so firm and final. Even his gaze has shifted into something almost hardened. “That’s not an option.”

She figured it wasn’t. She also wonders, however, if it ever will. It has to, at some point. Solana wants to also ask why it can’t be Bayley again, or even Naomi, but it’s most likely to earn her the same type of shutdown. 

If not worse.

Roman steps back, guiding her off the bathroom counter. Standing back on her own two feet, Solana is taken back for a second by the almost instant lightheaded feeling that comes over her. Or less lightheaded and more…..exhaustion.

“You alright?”

She looks up, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. I’m—I’m good.” That’s debatable, because Solana is all of a sudden feeling exhausted from literally doing nothing but making out with her husband. 

Roman, as expected, looks unconvinced. “You sure?” He goes into his spiel that she’s heard at least three times now. “You know you don’t have to jump right back into things. I still think you should take more time off—”

“No.” Her hand shifts to her stomach, Solana grateful this doesn’t seem to trigger something for him. “I—I want to fall back into my routines.” Even more, and most important, if she truly is pregnant, Solana doesn’t want to waste any time left she has to do so before being too far along to train.

But, he can’t have that explanation. Not yet.

And now she has to figure out just when said explanation can occur, because how does she tell her husband they’re expecting days before he’s set to go out of town for possibly two weeks?

Damn.

————

“You’re late.” It’s the first thing to come out of a smirking Bayley’s mouth as Solana walks in with Roman into the training area. ‘But, the outfit is cute.”

Solana smiles at that, a bit of a laugh leaving her considering Roman nearly had a heart attack at her outfit when she stepped out the bathroom. Hence why they’re late. Among…..other reasons. 

“I’m sorry. We got caught up with something.”

“Mmmhmm,” Naomi sounds with that knowing look. “I’m sure you did.”

Solana looks away, wanting and needing to hide her blush as Roman asks in an annoyed voice, “where is he?”

“Here.” The four of them redirect their attention to the sound of Jimmy and the other two men he’s with: Jey and Carmelo.

Naturally, Solana goes to observe the indirect interaction between Jey and Roman, searching for any sigh of contempt. It’s definitely there. She can see it in the way Roman’s shoulders tense and how Jey looks away, Solana noticing the faded bruises on his face as well as the bandage over a still healing cut.

Swallowing, Solana moves over to them. “Hey.” 

Jimmy pulls her into a side hug without needing initiation, but it’s not missed upon her how Jey seems to hesitate to hug her, the tension in his body as well as the way he almost awkward way he clears his throat and looks away. 

She tries not to make too much of it, but it’s hard not to.

Carmelo steps forward, giving a nod. “Ma’am.”

That makes her smile return. “I told you before, you can just call me Solana.”

“Ma’am is fine,” Roman’s deep voice cuts through, Solana not needing to turn around, hearing his heavy footsteps behind her. “You’re late.”

Carmelo swallows. “I’m sorry—”

“I don’t care,” Roman is instantly dismissive, focusing his attention on his wife as he goes into an unnecessary introduction. “Solana, this is—”

“I know,” she cuts him off with a gentle smile, explaining, “I met him at the party.”

At that, Romans’ thick eyebrows cave inward. “What?”

“He was there, Big Dog.”

‘“I–I was there, sir.”

Roman scowls, completely ignoring his cousin and the other irrelevant man. “He was?” He looks over at his wife, asking, “you invited him too?”

Solana nods. “I asked the twins to invite whoever it was you found to help me train, because I wanted to meet him beforehand,” she explains, turning to Carmelo again, “thank you again for—agreeing to help me.”

Carmelo opens his mouth, unsure just how to express that he didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter. Or one at all. 

“He was there the whole time,” Naomi shares from where she stretches on one of the mats, Jimmy focused on her ass as she bends over. 

“You were too busy trying not to kill and cuss everybody out,” Bayley walks over, earning a hardened look from Roman that she pays no mind to. “Alright, so Solana is obviously a small human being, but she’s fast and hell and can maneuver quickly. That makes her hard to catch. Those are her strengths. She’s also pretty damn good with a knife.” Solana is a bit unsure how to feel about that part. “But, she’s only ever trained with women, hence why you’re here, Melo.”

“She also wants to learn how to do the spear.”

Roman’s statement earns a round of surprised expressions from everyone except Carmelo.

He looks terrified. “The—the spear?” He gestures with a crooked, slightly trembling index finger. “From—from you?”

“Who the fuck else?” Is Roman’s objectively rude reply, Solana having to stop herself from placing her hand on his forearm. He could try to be a little nicer. 

“You supposed to get a spear from him?” A new voice sounds, Solana not recognizing the man with a deep complexion, multiple piercings and an….interesting hairstyle. He shakes his head. “You gon die!”

Solana’s mouth drops as Bayley and Naomi laugh aloud. Jimmy is the one to ask, “R Truth, where did you even come from?”

He scowls, pointing downward. “Boss man said meet him here.”

“I said at the office, Truth. Not the Warehouse.” Jey finally speaks, Solana realizing it’s the first time he’s done so. He sounds annoyed, and she’s not sure if it’s just because of the scene unfolding before them. Or something that he’s clearly still not over.

“Yo? Forreal?” Jey runs his hand over his face. “That’s—that’s my bad.” He looks to Roman, nodding. “Tribal Chief.” He looks at Solana, again nodding, “Mrs. Tribal Chief.” He then gestures to the rest of the group. “Ya’ll be safe now.” Pointing to Carmelo, he adds, “‘cept’ for you, you already dead.”

Solana has so many questions, even as this strange man walks away, Jey muttering something incoherent before he seems to follow after this R-Truth person. 

Once those two men are gone, Carmelo nervously clears his throat. “Tribal Chief, if I can, who better to train her than y—”

“Shut up,” Roman says it so lazily. It’s as he crosses his massive arms over each other that Solana has to briefly look away, finding herself growing….distracted. He’s so damn muscular. “She’s comfortable with me. That won’t help her learn.”

Roman easily transitions into providing basic information about the spear, best ways to time it, stances, ways to land it and whatnot. She’s following, as best she can, at least. Because this exhaustion she’s experiencing is making it ten times harder to be present in the moment, and that’s made evident by the gap in her focus when one moment Roman is explaining, and the next he’s rushing towards Carmelo.

Solana gasps as Roman spears the other man with a ferocity and intensity that seems almost animal-like.

Eyes wide, hands over her mouth, Solana has to wince at a pain she didn’t even experience. But, one didn’t have to be on the receiving end of that to know it had to hurt like hell. 

Roman stands up so unbothered and nonchalant, readjusting his almost always perfect bun.

“Gotta give him his props. No one does a spear quite like Roman,” Bayley chuckles, arms crossed as Solana continues to stare in shock.

Jimmy casually walks by and peers over an unmoved Carmelo. “Ayo, Uce, I think he dead.” The faintest sound of pained whining fills the air, prompting Jimmy to correct himself. “Never mind. He alive.”

“Barely,” Naomi mumbles.

“He shouldn’t be so weak,” is Roman’s pompous defense as he redirects his attention to a still startled Solana. “Make sense?”

There’s a brief delay in between the time she nods slowly and speaks. “But, I—I don’t think I can do that.”

A small smile falls on Roman’s face as he explains, “it’s not going to be the exact same, Solana. I’m significantly bigger than you. Plus, spearing a man is different than spearing a woman.”

“What if I need to spear a man?”

His expression hardens as he affirms, “he’d have to get through me first to fucking touch you.”

Solana doesn’t say anything after that. Just waits for Carmelo to recover as they transition to the one-on-one portion. Solana is rolling her shoulders, trying to get in as much stretching as she can to hopefully loosen up her body more and shed away the almost fatigue she’s feeling.

It’s unfamiliar and inconvenient as hell considering what she’s about to do.

She’s in earshot range too when Roman grabs Melo’s arm and warns in the chilliest tone, “leave one fucking mark on her, and I’ll break every bone in your goddamn body.”

A heavy sigh leaves her body. She understands Roman’s protectiveness, but truthfully, Carmelo is doing them a favor. He doesn’t have to be here. 

Then again….maybe he does.

She doesn’t put it beyond her husband to threaten people on her behalf. 

Not in the slightest.

And on one hand, she’s partially grateful for the obvious care and mindfulness Carmelo is utilizing as he trains with her, it’s definitely helpful from her trauma standpoint. Helps for them to not be as physical as she typically is with Bayley and Naomi. 

However, it's painfully obvious that Carmelo is doing his damn hardest to minimize any and all physical contact between the two of them. A part of her appreciates it, but a larger part of her finds it a bit annoying. It’s sparring. Not interpretive dancing. 

Solana manages to swipe Carmelo off his feet, growing a bit frustrated when he intentionally takes longer to get up. “This doesn't help me,” she sighs, hands on her hips as she takes a second to steal a much needed breath. “Roman, can you please tell him—”

She’s cut off by being swiped by her ankles, tumbling forward to the floor. Carmelo is suddenly over her, flipping her onto her back, Solana not hesitating to move her knee between his stupidly open legs. He groans from the impact, and she takes that opportunity to bar her forearm across his neck, switching them so that he’s on his back with her hovering over him.

However, anything more is cut short by that small interaction alone knocking the wind out of her.

Climbing off him, she moves onto her hands and knees, eyes shut and head dropped. Neither from feeling triggered or even being in pain, just exhaustion.

She’s so damn drained. 

In what feels like seconds, Roman is at her side, hand on her back. “Solana, what’s wrong?”

She shakes her head, answering quickly, “I’m just—tired.” More than what’s normal for her. Training is usually draining, but considering they haven’t even been at it that long, she’s confused as to why she’s getting so winded. Lifting her head, she offers a small smile. “I’m fine.”

“No.” Roman dismisses it with the quickness, directing to the others. “We’re done for the day.”

“Roman, I’m fine. I’m just—probably out of shape.” Maybe, but this feels beyond that. She’s just so fatigued. He helps her to her feet, Solana trying to bargain, “at least let me finish with Bayley?”

He’s not hearing it. “No. You clearly need to ease back into things.” She frowns. I thought I was. “Head to the showers.”

“Roman—”

“He’s right, Solana,” Naomi suddenly sounds, walking over with Bayley. “You’re clearly tired and just need to ease back into and relearn some things. That’s okay. We can do this another day. When you’re at 100.”

“Or maybe she can just continue to train with ya’ll—”

And in perfect synchronized dismissiveness, Roman, Bayley, and Naomi all shut Carmelo down with a simple, “shut up.”

It cracks a smile on Solana’s face. The fact that the majority of them are in agreement is enough to make her realize that they’re probably right in that she should try another day. Maybe even easing back into it. Not necessarily the part about relearning. She remembers everything. Recall is not the problem. This fatigue is, but a part of her is starting to think she knows what it might be.

Just why she’s so fatigued.

And in true Jimmy fashion, he blurts out with the ill timed question, “aye, Soso, what’s for dinner today?”

————

“So why exactly are you fighting again?”

It’s not the first time she’s asked this question. No, it’s been posed at least three different times prior to this occurrence. Just different wording. A different question that’s garnered the same kind of answer every single time. 

A part of her recognizes this, but a part of her also doesn’t care.

Solana has always been under the impression, and has essentially been told by several people, Roman included, that he doesn’t really fight in the ring anymore. That he doesn’t need to. That he doesn’t have anything to prove to anyone, and those words came from him directly.

So, she was and still is, confused when he told her of a match he was competing in. The theme of the fight night being Bad Blood not helping much. At all.

Still, there was no way in hell she would miss attending. Even if her presence wasn’t something that’s technically mandatory. She wants to support him. She’s just nervous about the notion of him being in the ring again, recalling the last time she witnessed such a thing. It was brutal and bloody, and while he came out with the win, relatively unscathed, it still makes her nervous. Because there’s always a chance something can go wrong.

Because she always worries about him, and she’s pretty sure she always will. So long as he is who he is.

Roman, however, couldn’t give two shits about this fight with Drew. Tonight is more of a political move than anything, Roman needing a very public and brutal display of his prowess to remind everyone why he sits at the Head of the Table. It’s truly just an added bonus that he gets to kick the shit out of Drew in the process.

Or worse.

Roman is more focused, borderline distracted, by Solana. The sexy red dress she has on leaves little to the imagination with the low neckline, tight fit, and short length that stops about mid-thigh, rolling even higher as she’s propped on the bathroom counter. Her hair is pinned up, and her makeup is on the lighter, almost undetectable, side. His preference. She’s stunning with and without it, but there’s something he enjoys most seeing her in her natural state.

She just looks good as hell, and if not for the importance of this evening, he’d say fuck this damn match and Drew and spend the rest of the evening with her. A much more desirable and preferable option, truly. But, duty and obligation before anything. 

Even his fine ass wife.

Roman waits until he’s slid the black hoodie over his head, smirking a bit at the slight disappointment that appears on Solana’s face at him no longer being shirtless. He decides to slide through that crevice of brief deflection.

“You know the same way you look at me is the same way I look at and think about you.” He’s walking toward her, big hands carefully spreading her thighs so he can step in between her legs. This close, he’s granted a perfect view of her equally perfect breast. “All the damn time.”

He’s unsurprised when her cheeks redden nor when she says anything. “A challenge was issued, and I need to send a message.” That’s a much simpler way of explaining the full scope of just what tonight is, but he also doesn’t want to bombard her with information she doesn’t necessarily need to know.

She licks her lips, and he hates how sexual such an innocent act looks, especially when he knows that’s not her intent. “What—what kind of message?”

A potentially brutal, bloody message, but painting that picture for her beforehand might create some unnecessary anxiety. “A message that won’t need to be repeated.”

That seems to register for her as she asks, “Are—are you nervous?”

That actually makes Roman laugh. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt that emotion. It’s been years. Many decades. Moving his hands to her waist, he tugs her closer to him. “I don’t get nervous, Solana.”

“Ever?”

“Naw.”

She’s still looking at him with that same level of trepidation, maybe even a bit more heightened actually. “But….but you’re still careful, right?” It seems like an otherwise silly question with an obvious answer, but Roman can see where she’s coming from. The fear that fuels it. “Like….like you pay attention and stuff?”

“Of course,” his answer is gentle and patient. Two things reserved strictly and solely for her. “Solana, I’ve been fighting my whole life. I know what I’m doing.”

Her eyes widen, and he just knows he’s in for an unnecessary apology. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean—”

“Baby.” Yup. Just as he predicted. Bringing his hand to the back of her neck, Roman extends that tenderness, explaining, “I know what you meant. You’re worried, and you shouldn’t be. I’ve got this. Alright?”

She nods a little, and he’s relieved to see some of her apprehension has melted away. With the hand still on her hip, he gives her a light squeeze. “Come on.” Roman stays close as she carefully slides off the counter, her heels giving her a bit of a height boost, but not enough to make a substantial difference. He still towers over her.

And it’s in looking down at her from this angle, and the quick glance of her ass in this dress through the bathroom mirror, he makes a face. “Then again….” Roman slides his hand from the back of her neck, down until he’s palming and squeezing her ass. “Maybe this will be a bit of a distraction.”

“Roman!” She yelps, and he groans at the feel of her. She’s so damn fine and thick in all the right areas that it doesn’t even make sense.

He moves to take her hand, kissing it before guiding her out of the bathroom. “Come on. Before your fine ass makes us late.”

She giggles, holding onto his arm while he hits the light switch. “I didn’t even do anything.”

Roman says nothing, because if only she fucking knew.

If only.

————

Solana was half expecting to be separated from Roman once they reached the warehouse, him needing time to prepare for the fight and whatnot. And while the latter part was true, the first wasn’t. She’s thoroughly surprised when he instead guides her to the back with him to his sizable, impressive locker room.

Roman directs Solana to make herself comfortable, which is almost impossible to do.

It’s hard because she can’t stop thinking about the fact that her husband is going to be in the ring with that man who looked like he would have killed Roman right there on the spot, if he could. The same expression she’s certain he’ll have tonight when it’s just the two of them. 

A part of her is starting to wish she would have sat this one out. Stayed home tonight. Her hand falls to her stomach. That irksome, borderline nauseous feeling has been with her all day. On and off the past week, really. Since trying to return to training earlier in the week. She’s certain a chunk of it has been nerves, but the rest of it, maybe most of it, she’s almost certain, is early onset pregnancy symptoms. 

Just thinking about the fact that a baby, her baby, their baby is growing inside of her belly warms her entire soul. Temporarily distracts her from worrying about Roman. To wondering. Wondering which of his features their child will inherit. Will he or she have his dark, raven, wavy hair? His smoldering brown, almost hazel like eyes? Will the baby take after her brunette locks? Her nose?

In all honesty, she only wants a healthy child. That’s the most important thing, but it’s also hard for her to not lean more on the side of wanting the baby to be a boy. She knows how important producing an heir is. For the Bloodline. For Roman. Especially with how he’s gone above and beyond to keep pressure off them, off her regarding their lack of an heir.

It’s the least she can do for him. He deserves it. 

And she’d love more than anything to give it to him.

Roman stepping back into the vicinity briefly pulls her from her thoughts.

“You alright?”

Naturally, her hand falls from her stomach as she manages a small smile and nod. “Yeah.” She takes in his appearance, noticing his hair is wet and drenched, water droplets rolling down that nearly perfect body she’s grown to love pressed against hers. Not even just for sex. Just in general. Roman’s touch is calming to her. 

Climbing down off the table where she sits, she moves over to him. “Are you?”

He chuckles, hand to her hip. “Always.”

She has to believe that. 

Solana goes to kiss him when the Wise Man walks back in, forcing her to settle for a hand to his cheek. “Be careful.”

He clearly hears the presence of someone else and only nods, his eyes conveying the unspoken ‘I love you.’ She just offers him a warm smile before she retracts her hand and moves to leave the room, only providing her husband’s chief advisor a quiet ‘hello.’

Security escorts her up to the same VIP seating area as the last couple of times she’s attended events like this at the Warehouse. And as usual, Bayley and Naomi are already sitting and waiting for her. 

“Had to give your man that good luck quickie right before, huh?”

Bayley’s comment makes Solana blush and aware of the hickey on her neck she didn't even bother trying to hide. Or the one near her breast. 

“She didn’t deny it either,” Naomi snickers, playfully shoving Solana. 

Instead of acknowledging their innuendos, she utilizes an actual productive use of time. “I was thinking.”

“Listening,” Bayley responds, the two ladies keenly focused on the new topic. 

“Roman has to go out of town next week for……business.” She tries to not think too much about that. It’ll only spike her worry. 

“Who’s going to stay with you?” Naomi asks, gesturing to the two of them. “He didn’t ask us.” 

Solana swallows. That's definitely something she wants to work on with him. The fact that he still blames them for what happened. “Nia.”

“Nia?” 

To be fair, Solana had a bit of the same reaction when Roman first told her his cousin would be staying with her. She’s certain it was…..an interesting discussion, to say the least.

Solana shrugs. “She’s not that bad.” And it’s true. Solana has received much worse from people, in terms of treatment. “And it’s really just….to give me my medicine and stuff.” Because Roman seemed vehemently against and shut it down so fast when she even approached the idea of being able to handle it on her own. Not that….not that she can blame him, per se. “But, I was thinking. What if we went to Isla Mujeres for the weekend? Like that girls trip we were talking about.”

“You talk to Roman about it?”

Solana shakes her head, explaining. “Nia would be with us, so I’m sure he’d be fine.” Because she is. Now, if Nia doesn’t come along, then that’s another story. Though something tells her that once she tells Roman she wants to do this, he’ll find a way to make Nia go along with the plan. 

“I think it could be fun,” Naomi shares, rubbing her hands together. “From the pictures you showed us, the beach looks beautiful.”

“It is,” Solana smiles. “I want to invite Cam, Mickie, and Melina too.”

“So do it,” Bayley encourages. “It’s your girls trip. You decide on the guest list. Melina has always been cool. I didn’t know she…..struggled the way she does, but I’ve always liked her.” Solana is appreciative of Bayley’s handling of Melina’s mental health struggles. “And Cam and Mickie seem cool too.”

“They are,” Solana agrees. They really helped her time spent in the hospital and the treatment facility go a lot easier than it could have been. 

As per usual, conversation flows naturally between the ladies only to minimize once the night begins, all three paying attention to the various matches, mostly the ones that pertain to the Bloodline. 

So, really, Jimmy and Jey’s tag team match against two men that Solana doesn’t recognize, which, of course, the twins come out with the win for. And Roman’s match, the last of the night, because no one comes after the Tribal Chief.

The complete shift in energy when Roman enters the space is truly something to behold. His power and dominance is felt in every square inch of the building. Undeniable excellence and power penetrating almost. She can’t take her eyes off him, his face stoic, determined, focused.

She can see why he doesn’t get nervous. He seems so in his element in this space. Even as Drew comes out with that same level of determination, an almost hatred splayed across his face as he looks over at Roman with ardent vitriol.

Her husband, however, is unbothered.

As he is with most things in life.

Still, the fact that Drew is about what and what with Roman in regards to build and size has her anxiety festering. She knows and has seen for herself how flawless Roman is in the ring. That doesn’t mean she can’t worry though. Can’t wait for this to all just be over with so they can go home.

So she can start figuring out just how she wants to tell him about the pregnancy.

But, that’s a then thing, and this is very much here and now.

The sound of the bell fills the Warehouse as the boisterous crowd continues to erupt, excited to see their Tribal Chief in action.

If only she could relate. 

For the most part, the match starts off as expected, Roman being in the lead, staying one or several steps ahead of Drew, expertly dodging or countering hits. Solana is practically on the edge of her seat, chewing on her bottom lip, watching every single piece of the fight. From Roman’s steps to Drew’s lunges to the way both men who seem too large for life go at it like two titans.

Of course, despite looking like one, Roman is no God. He’s still a man, a man who takes several hits from Drew, one making Solana wince. However, she learned from the night of WarGames, Roman hates being hit. It only pisses him off more than he naturally is at any given point. 

And that’s proven in the increased brutality of Roman’s hits, Drew being the first to have blood spilled as Roman smashes his head in the steel staircase. 

It’s a quick shift though that she somehow misses, because Drew suddenly has Roman in a painful looking headlock. One he seems to take too long to get out of, for her comfort. 

Solana moves to the absolute edge of her seat, panic starting to set in the longer Roman’s airway is restricted. And then she sees the way Drew’s mouth moves, the snarl and subsequent smirk as he says something to Roman. Roman’s briefly stunned eyes flickering to hers, but it’s so short, too short to process. Because just as quickly as he was looking at her, he’s managed his way out of the headlock, sending the other man to the ground. Roman wastes no time jumping on top of him, gaining and taking full advantage of the upper hand, raining blow on top of blow on Drew with a pace and aggression that seems almost inhuman.

The light blue of the mat is suddenly splashed and splayed with blood. Drew’s. Roman’s chest and fist also stained, Solana wincing a bit as even from a distance she sees the way Drew's face has become almost disfigured by blood, bruising, and swelling. 

He’s clearly lost consciousness, but that doesn’t stop Roman.

No, instead a deep frown falls on her face as she watches Roman move outside of the ring and lift up the metal staircase that he brings back into the ring with him. She turns her head right before the impact between the steps and the unconscious man.

Unalive man, because there’s no way Drew is still breathing. Not with the severity of the beating. 

Bayley and Naomi are clearly also taken back by witnessing a live murder but clearly do their best not to make it a thing for her sake. She’s appreciative, but it still doesn’t delete her confusion towards Roman’s behavior.

Overkill. Barbaric. Sadistic, almost. 

And with all of that, the confliction she’s experiencing, Solana can only think of one thing, what the hell happened in that ring to bring about that kind of rage in her husband?

————

Roman doesn’t say much to her.

It’s not surprising. She’s not quite sure what there is to say. Him viciously beating a man to death isn’t, at the core of it, something that needs explaining.

That doesn’t stop her from trying to almost dance around the subject. Asks him if he’s feeling alright, if he wants her to fix him anything, and things of the sort. It doesn’t do much. His responses are minimal, a few words to each statement, at best.

It bothers her to know something is bothering him, that he won’t talk to her, but also, Solana can admit she’s not sure how to talk with him about this.

She’d certainly do her best though, if he was actually willing to open up to her. 

She doesn’t force it though, just welcomes his arms around her as they lay in bed, eventually falling asleep together. 

However, Dulce does what Dulce does best and wakes up in the middle of the night, politely reminding her parents of her small bladder. Regardless of her sleep intrusion, Solana is grateful to be able to escort their puppy out of the room without disturbing her husband’s much needed and deserved sleep. 

But, it’s as Dulce seems to take her sweet time finding the perfect spot to relieve herself that Solana frowns. Lifting her hand to her breast, she’s taken back by the tenderness of the touch. New and out of the norm. 

Another……symptom?

Even with the night’s unexpected events, as much as she’s trying to not allow herself to get too excited at the possibility of being pregnant, it’s hard not to. Especially with the strange onset of symptoms she’s been experiencing all week. Some seen before or during her cycle, but some new and unfamiliar. And a quick google search confirmed they in fact could be early pregnancy symptoms.

But still, Solana has gained enough self-introspection to know that a negative test would be…..difficult for her to process. Something she doesn’t really even want to think about, hence why she’s not allowing herself to fully acknowledge that she’s probably pregnant.

Because the alternative would be…..not the desired outcome.

It’s as she observes the backyard, seeing the reflection of the lights above the pool that a random thought crosses her mind. A question, rather. Would they have to cover up the pool when the baby starts crawling? What other changes around the house would have to be implemented for safety reasons? Most definitely, they’d have to stock up on those baby proof outlet covers. And maybe even block off the staircase.

Something tells her any child of her husband would be mobile. On the run. A small smile settles on her face, her hand falling to her belly as she once again mentally puts together what their child will look like. Him. Her. Both of them.

Both would be her preference. Roman would be a close second.

Dulce’s short legs carry her back into the house, her wagging tale eliciting a smile and small laugh. “Good job—”

“Where the hell were you?”

Solana jumps and gasps. Outside of his sudden presence in the living room startling her, Roman's tone and volume indicate a level of irritation that doesn’t quite compute. Doesn’t make sense. Where else would she have been? 

Confused, she answers, “Dulce had to use the bathroom...”

This didn’t seem to be the answer he neither wanted nor needed. His expression is sharp. “So you went out there alone?”

This brings a frown to her face, a contrast to her almost jovial disposition not even minutes prior. Solana points out in a calm voice, “Roman, I–I always go alone.”

“Not anymore.” She can’t protest, because he adds. “Wake me up, and if I’m not here, let her use the damn crate.”

“But—”

“You heard what I said!”

His voice bounces off the walls and echoes through the hall, but it’s Solana’s jump away from him that seems to trigger something for Roman. His expression immediately softens. “Shit, I’m sorry, I–I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

She says nothing for a good minute before quickly deciding that beating around the bush isn’t the way to go in this situation.

She needs to be direct.

“Ro….what happened tonight?” 

She’d briefly played around with the idea of bringing it up to him or letting it lie. Obviously, the latter is not the best route to go. “You….you were off. You lost control, and that’s….that’s not like you.”

In the ring is when she’s noticed he’s most controlled, never allowing his emotions to cloud his judgment and actions because he recognizes the detriment it would cause. Yes, he’s violent and brutal, but it’s still controlled. Not tonight. …tonight she saw that impulsive, emotion driven man she’d heard whispers about over the years. Tonight, she saw him take a man’s life, and not in a controlled methodical way, but in a moment of pure rage and spontaneity. 

She’d never tell him this, never allow it to leave her mouth, but for a split second, it scared her. Solana wasn’t naive enough to truly think that his kindness or love toward her made him any less of a cold-blooded killer. And she knows, without a shadow of a doubt that he would never hurt her or direct his anger towards her.

But.

 But, the look in his eyes tonight…it was as if he had no soul. 

And that….that is what scared her. 

His gaze darts to the corner of the room, an intentional act to avoid her own, she’s sure. “He pissed me off.”

“Ro….people piss you off all the time, and you don’t beat them to death like you did him.” It’s such a strange experience, speaking with him so casually. Solana can still recall the tightness in her chest every time she was in the vicinity of this man, the fear she struggled to manage when even looking at him, often keeping her gaze downward. And now, she’s pushing him on what is obviously a lie. Or a deep state of denial. “He—he said something to you.” That’s when he finally sets his eyes on her. “I–I saw it.”

“Does it matter now?” 

“Yes—yes, it does, because you just snapped at me for taking our dog out to use the bathroom, something I’ve done for months now.” It’s not until saying that aloud that a thought crosses her mind. “Was—was it about me? Did—did he say something about me?” And when he says nothing, doesn’t deny it or push back or even snap at her again that she realizes that’s exactly what it was.

And it confuses the mess out of her. 

What could have been said to cause him to react so violently? Even more, how could it have been any different from the shit talking they all do in the ring?

“I don’t—I don’t understand.” Her eyes follow him as he moves toward the living room, sitting on the edge of the sofa. Tentatively and without much thought, her legs carry her toward him, but she stops just shy of being at arms length. Noticing this, Roman motions her closer with his index finger. And as soon as she’s close enough, he tugs her onto his lap. Seeing the conflict in his eyes, she moves her hand to his bicep. “Baby, please talk to me…..”

Like many, if not any, interaction with her comforting urge, Roman finds it difficult to deny her. He struggles to push back those words that have secretly haunted him even hours after he put a permanent end to McIntyre. 

“You really think you can keep her safe?” His cruel taunt, wicked smile revealing the blood building in his mouth, coating his teeth. “She’ll die just like rest of your fucking fam—”

“Ro…”

And it's her soft voice that pulls him from the memory as he shares with her what was said. “He said I couldn’t keep you safe, that you’d die like the rest of my family.” She gasps. Whatever was said had to have been bad and most likely somehow about her. She just didn’t know it would be that.

Shaking her head, she pushes his hair back. “He was just…he was just trying to get in your head.” And I think it worked. Solana would never verbalize as such to Roman, but it’s a thought she can’t dismiss. She’s never seen him this bothered. “Nothing—nothing’s going to happen to me, Ro.”

“I told you before that I don’t—I don’t feel things like you. That I don’t—feel anything.” She remembers it vividly. That conversation between them that was during the early days of their love story. Something that feels so long ago now. “I was wrong. I’ve—I’ve always felt anger, but now I’m feeling other things too, and I don’t know how—” He stops himself, clearly changing directions. “I’m sorry I did that in front of you—”

“It’s fine, Ro. I—” Because despite that brief second of ear, her first and foremost concern is him. It’s always him. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

He’s quiet for a moment, sharing in an almost unsure voice. “I count your pills every day before I go to bed.” She’s still, unmoving, unsure how to process such a thing. Because she knows why, exactly why he does that. And it nearly breaks her heart in fucking half. “Losing you is the only thing in this fucking world that scares me.” Voice shifting into something desperate and almost vulnerable, he says with all the conviction. “Because, I can’t lose you, Sol.” His gaze is on her, burning with determination. And need. “I won’t.”

“And you won’t.” Her hands move to his face, beard bristling against the skin on her palms. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?” She places an almost tentative, chaste kiss to his temple, noticing how his eyes close after. As if he’s more at peace. “Roman, I am with you until my dying breath, and that won’t be happening anytime soon. Not for you. Not for me.”

And not for their child growing inside of her.

“Why don’t—why don’t we go see Fetu this weekend?” It’s technically early Saturday morning already, and Solana returns to work Monday, but even just a day or two spent with his aunt could probably make a difference for her husband who she sees needs to get away. “Or even if you just go—I can stay—”

“No.” His voice is still low, but it’s not as weighed down. She’s grateful for at least that. “She’d be pissed if I showed up without you.” The hint of humor in his voice makes her heart swell. 

“We’ll go.” It’s not necessarily a suggestion anymore. It’s a plan. “You’ll clear your head, and everything will be better, okay?” He looks at her, nodding quietly. Solana makes a mental note to make sure to pack one or two pregnancy tests, because what better way to break the news to him than being able to tell Fetu right after? Together.

It seems like a perfect plan to her. 

Noticing Dulce has already left and went back upstairs, Solana suggests the same to her husband. “Let’s go back to bed, okay?”

It’s then that Solana realizes his hand on her hip is moving in slow, soothing circles. She can’t tell if it’s for his comfort or hers. Placing her hand over his, she gives a gentle tug, moving off his lap but never allowing her hand to leave his. 

His movements are slow initially, but he stands up and allows her to guide them up the stairs and back into their bedroom. Solana easily resumes their earlier sleeping position, grateful and thankful when he kisses her temple and murmurs, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” 

The exact moment when she falls asleep, or even when he does, is unknown. But what is known is when she’s woken up to the sound of grunts and muttered protests.

“I’ve gotta….save…them.”

Solana blinks and rubs at her eyes. “Ro?”

Sitting up, she sees him twisting and turning, an almost distressed look on his handsome face. Her heart drops. A nightmare. He’s having a nightmare.

Naturally, Solana moves her hand to his shoulder, shaking him a bit. “Roman, wake up.” She might as well have done nothing, because he’s continuing to stir, mumbling in Samoan. Voice so low that even if she did speak the language, she wouldn’t hear him. 

Without thinking twice about it, Solana climbs on top of him, straddling him as she continues her efforts to awaken him. “Roman, baby, please wake up.” It’s both familiar and unfamiliar. She knows this struggle very well. Has lived through it almost her entire life, but she’s never been on this end. Been on the side of watching someone go through it.

Least of all, Roman. 

And she hates it. Hates it with everything in her because she knows how heavy and devastating it is to be sucked into reliving trauma. That’s why she ups the ante, raising her voice and essentially hitting him on his shoulders.

“Roman! Wake u—”

“No!” 

It all happens so fast. Almost too fast for Solana to truly process what’s occurring in the moment. It’s only afterwards that she can recount it, can recall what just happened, can process that at the same time she went to try to save him from himself, Roman shot awake with an instinctive swing, a natural, almost protective thing that results in Solana shoved to the edge of the bed, mouth open, holding onto her face. 

It’s an instant stinging sensation, a dull, throbbing pain that she hasn’t felt in some time and never anticipated feeling as a result of her own husband. 

A husband who is now awake and also aware of what just happened. His widened eyes and open mouth are on her as Solana winces a bit and flexes her jaw, trying to gather herself. He’s up. That’s the only thing that matters. 

“Oh my God.” She’s not sure she’s ever heard Roman sound so horrified. “Solana—”

Her name is enough to pull her back to him, Solana climbing on his lap, shaking her head as she cups his face. “It’s okay. I’m—I’m okay—”

“I hit you….”

Even him saying it aloud seems and feels wrong to Solana. “No, baby—you were having a nightmare. It wasn’t like that—”

“I hit you, Solana.” He’s not even looking at her, looking down, perplexed, disturbed with himself, clearly trying to sit on this unfathomable thing. 

“Roman, I’m fine. Really.” Her face is throbbing, and she’s certain she’ll have a bruise come morning, but it’s nothing compared to what she’s received in the past. From the actual hitting she used to be on the receiving end of. From her dad and brother. “Ro, I did the same thing to you, remember? I—I ripped out your stitches.” It’s something she felt horrified at herself for in the moment. Probably close to what he’s feeling even though she’d rather he not because he’s done nothing wrong. “Baby—”

Shaking his head, Roman lowers her hands from his face. “I’m sorry.” She goes to reassure him that he’s fine, that she’s fine, but Roman is fast, easily moving the blankets off him, forcing her to the side, off him. 

“Roman, no—” She scrambles off the bed as he goes for the door of their bedroom, effectively planting herself in front of it. “No, you’re not leaving.”

He closes his eyes, his voice almost desperate. “Solana, please.”

“No!” Raising her voice wasn’t an intentional thing, just a result of her own emotions brewing in this moment. She’s not even thinking about herself, about the pain in her face. She’s just thinking about the man in front of her who looks disgusted with himself. “Roman, I am fine.”

Because she is.

Because even with all of her trauma, having been hurt so deeply and badly by men, Roman unintentionally striking her didn’t fill her with an ounce of fear. Didn’t make her want to put as much distance between them as possible. Didn’t have any effect on how she sees and feels about him.

She could only focus on him and how distressing his nightmare must have been to result in such a response. 

“I hurt you….” It’s the way his voice almost wavers with the word ‘hurt’ along with his fraught countenance that has her chest tightening. She’s never seen him look so upset, and the fact that it’s solely directed toward himself is gut-wrenching. 

“No,” her voice catches in the back of throat, eyes watering. She reaches up and cups his face. “Baby, listen to me. You could never hurt me.”

Something flashes in his eyes, something akin to anger as he asks in a tight voice, “But, I did." She shakes her head, ready to stand here all night trying to convince him that he’s not in the wrong when he takes it a step further. “How is it any different from your dad and brother?”

It’s an active effort to not back away from him, to not drop her hands and for no reason other than putrid disgust. Disgust that he could even fix his mouth to say such a thing. To put himself into that category. 

Solana swallows, specifically choosing each and every word that leaves her mouth. “Roman…I was raped. Violently. For—for hours. I couldn’t—I couldn’t walk afterwards.” She hates talking about this, hates reliving the horrors just from recounting, but she’ll do just about anything to wipe away that gutted, guilty look on her husband’s face. “Wes—Wes was the reason I first started cutting myself, because—” She closes her eyes, having never said these words aloud to anyone. “Because he made me do it. He said it was my—my punishment for getting our mother killed. And eventually….eventually I started to believe him, so I just started doing it to myself, because I thought it was what I deserved.” Another deep, shaky exhale. “My own father tried to kill me.” Roman’s expression slips into something in the vein of surprised. Confused even. Horrified, mostly. “I tried to run away once, and he put me in the hospital for two weeks and told me that if I ever tried to leave again that he’d— he’d make sure to finish the job.”

Roman doesn’t say anything, and truth be told, she’s not sure she wants him to. She just wants him to listen, really listen and allow her words to penetrate his thick layer of undeserved guilt. “You are the first man in my life to never hurt me the way I’ve been hurt, so don’t you ever fucking say again that you hurt me or put yourself in the same category as those bastards. You are nothing like them.” Because she’d rather walk barefoot on burning coal for the rest of her life than for him to ever even think he’s in the same group as them. “So, please, please just—” 

Solana feels it rising, traveling up her body at the most impromptu time. “Shit,” she curses, slapping her hand over her mouth as she dashes to the bathroom, hitting the light, barely making it to the toilet that, thankfully, is already open and ready for her to deposit what feels like everything she ate that day into the commode.

It’s such a miserable, uncomfortable experience, more or less dry heaving over the toilet in the middle of the night. 

Just added to the list of unfortunate things that have happened. A heavy wave of exhaustion washes over her as she lays her head down on her arm that’s stretched across the toilet seat. She feels like shit, and it has nothing to do with what just happened.

If only she could tell her husband that.

Because Roman is suddenly behind her, hand on the small of her back, asking if she’s alright. Glancing over at him, she shakes her head, mustering up a quiet excuse of it probably being something she ate.

He doesn’t look convinced, and Solana knows it’s because he’s somehow connecting this to what just happened. She’d give anything to be able to wipe that belief from his mind, to tell him it’s just morning sickness, a common pregnancy symptom.

Because with all of the dots connecting, there’s no doubt in Solana’s mind. Any test would just be a formality. She knows her body. 

She knows that she’s pregnant.

But, something tells her that telling Roman this will only make things worse. Make him feel even more guiltier than what he’s already experiencing. Would kill him to know he ‘hit’ her while she’s carrying his child. 

This isn’t the way she wants to tell him, either. Not like this. No, it needs to be…..special. After all he’s done and probably had to put up with in order to explain them not producing a child after almost eight months of marriage. She can’t announce it like this. 

He deserves better.

The wave passes as Solana stands up and flushes the toilet, moving over to the sink to brush her teeth, praying that’s the extent of it. For now, at least. Roman is watching and observing her closely the whole time. 

Mouth clean and stripped, somewhat, of that bitter aftertaste, she takes his hand and guides him back to their bedroom. Gratitude fills her when he doesn’t protest the way she practically climbs on top of him, her body resting on his, an intentional position to prevent him from trying to leave out without her noticing. 

“Stay with me….” It’s the only thing that leaves her mouth, a soft but firm delivery. It’s the only thing she wants and needs in this moment, for his arms to remain around her, holding her, the same way she’s holding him. 

The way she'll always hold onto him.

————

It’s purely a stroke of luck that allows Roman to wake up at the call of his biological clock and find that Solana is no longer atop him but sleeping on her side, back toward him, deeply immersed in much deserved slumber. 

But, it's not even a minute later that a heaviness overtakes him as he’s quickly reminded of what happened. Of what he did. What he did to her.

Roman doesn’t hesitate to carefully climb out of bed and move to Solana’s side, hitting the switch on the lamp for a clear presentation. Something he wasn’t ready for. Not in the slightest.

“Jesus Christ….”

Dread fills him all over again with the illumination of the lamp on Solana’s nightstand. Gives him a full, unobstructed view of the left side of her face. A not even fully formed, nasty looking bruise marring her features.

Roman knew that he had to hit her hard, that she had to be downplaying the impact, but the big ass, dark bruise can’t hide the hideous truth. The extent is ugly and evident. It’s a fucking miracle he didn’t fracture or break something. Because he absolutely could have. Not that that makes a huge difference, because regardless of the severity, he hit her. 

He fucking hit her. 

It feels undeserving, the way he reaches his hand to gently caress her marred face. His stomach clenches as he mutters the three words that could never change, lessen or take back what he’s done.

“I’m so sorry….” Because he is. Because Roman’s list of regrets in life is minimal. Less than the average person, of this, he’s sure. But this, what happened last night is easily at the top of that list. He doesn’t hesitate to turn the switch off, not wanting to have to see the consequences of his horrific actions, even if he should.

Even if he should have to face it. Should have to be faced with the one thing he swore he would never do.

Because that’s exactly what he’s done.

He doesn’t bother waking her up for her medication. Just leaves it in a small, ramekin-like bowl for her to take whenever she wakes up. With the night she had, he hopes she sleeps for a couple more hours.

And he’s grateful for the time he has to himself, to workout, to shower, to think, to act. Even if it’s all a bit of a blur.

Years. It’s been years since he’s experienced that type of rage. Since he’s blacked out like that. Because that’s exactly what happened. Roman remembers Drew’s ominous threat, recalls the beginning of the beating, but most after that is blotchy. Blurred. And the last time he felt that way….was the night he killed Rhodes' family.

Not that he regretted it then or now. Even Drew. No, what he regrets and doesn’t know how to process is that he lost that control in front of his wife. That he lost it with his wife, resulting in her battered face. 

Despite the horrors of trauma she’s experienced at the hands of men in her life and the fact that what happened was unintentional, it doesn’t negate what he did. It was wrong, and she didn’t deserve it. 

She doesn’t deserve to put up with any of the shit he’s dealing with right now.

What happened with Jey was something he hated having to do in front of her, but this….this is entirely different.

A line was completely crossed.

And it can’t happen again.

Much later that morning, closer to noon than anything is when Roman finds her in the kitchen changed out of her pajamas and into short shorts and a shirt. Normally, he’d be focused on how good she looks and how much he appreciates seeing her confidence grow to where she doesn’t try to hide her body. But, it’s hard with the dark bruising on her face.

She’s clearly in the middle of fixing something but walks over to him, warm smile on her face as she places her hand on his chest. “There you are.” She leans up and kisses him, sharing, “I was wondering when you’d come out. I’m fixing us lunch right quick before we get on the road.”

She turns back towards the counter right as he says her name. “Solana—”

“Do you want anything in particular?”

“Solana.”

“I can make—”

“Solana.” He says it a third and final time, seeing the way she pauses. Deflection. It’s intentional. She can clearly tell something is wrong. With a slow turn to look at him again, it takes everything in him to not look away. The fucking bruise. “I’m leaving tonight.”

Her small smile immediately drops into a deep scowl. “Wh—what?” He briefly redirects his gaze, focusing on the laces of his sneakers instead of the disappointment he knows he’s about to lay on her. “You want—you want to get on the road tonight?”

He takes a deep breath and forces himself to bite the bullet. There’s no need in stretching this out. “No, Solana, I’m—I’m flying out to Italy tonight.”

Nothing could have prepared him for the gutted look on her face. She’s clearly confused, smartly pointing out, “but—but you said you weren’t leaving until next week.”

His jaw clenches as he answers so calmly. “Plans changed.”

Her gaze is intense, her eyes never leaving his. “The plans changed or you changed them?” He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t have to. She already knows the answer. Solana swallows, eyes watering as she walks over to him. “Please don’t do this. Roman, what happened wasn’t your fault. I’m fine.”

“Solana, you are not fine. Have you seen your face?” It’s not intended to be harsh, and the coarseness in his tone is truly directed to no one but himself. “I know my strength. You know my strength. It’s a fucking miracle it’s not worse than what it already is. If I had hit you hard enough and at the right angle—”

“But, you didn’t.” She knows exactly what he’s getting at, and she refuses to allow him to travel down that dark 'what if' road. “Ro, I know you’re upset with yourself, but please don’t do this. You don’t need to leave. I don’t want you to leave.”

And deep down, he doesn’t want to leave. Would love to stay here and just go see his aunt with his wife, but that won’t solve anything. It’s putting an old band-aid on an open, deep wound. He needs to separate himself so that he can turn his feelings completely off. Disconnect and detach. 

Or sort through in a way that is violent and unacceptable here. Especially around Solana.

And that’s exactly what being in Italy, being around those people, could do for him. 

Roman tries to explain as such to his wife without going into too much detail.

“You’re right. I do need to get away. But, going by Fetu isn’t going to help this.” It’s not going to help, because he doesn’t have an abundance of confusion he needs to sort through. He has anger, aggression, rage. All unlocked by fucking McIntyre that he needs to do away with, and being around his aunt, cousin, and even wife won’t do it. “We can go when I get back—”

She closes her eyes. “Roman—”

“Solana.” He’ll be honest, he expected her to not be happy with his decision, but her level of emotionality seems on the higher end of normal. She seems more emotional than usual. “I love you.” And he always will. “But, what happened last night can’t happen again.”

He won’t let it happen again.

“What if—what if I leave?” She suggests, Roman frowning at the almost desperation in her tone. “I can go stay with Naomi or Bayley for a couple days. Give—give you space.”

“Solana—”

“Hell, even Nia, if that would make you feel better.”

“Sol—”

“Just please.” Her voice cracks as she grabs onto his shirt, begging almost, “please don’t leave me.” She buries herself into his chest, Roman holding her, wanting to assure her that he’s not leaving her. He’s leaving the situation to get a clear mind, to figure out what he needs to do. 

Because he wasn’t lying when he said there’s nothing in this world that scares him more than losing her. Than something happening to her. 

He just could have never anticipated that he could ever be a direct reason for something happening to her.

That something bad—or worse—could happen to her at his hands.

Because he swore he’d always protect her. 

And he always will.

Even if that danger is himself.

Even if it means doing what neither of them may want but is ultimately what’s best for her. 

Even if it breaks the heart that will always belong to her. 

Whether they’re together or not.

[makoodles]

tìtunu | tsu'tey (part 3 | nsfw)

pairing: tsu'tey x human fem reader

word count: 12k words (oops)

warnings: alien courting rituals, misunderstandings, oral sex (fem receiving), size difference, p in v sex (get some, big boy!)

summary: Perhaps the Sky People had injured him beyond repair when they had hurt him and pushed him from their enormous metal bird. 

That is the only reason he can think of to explain why the one person who has captured his thoughts so wholly is you, the little human demon that is constantly lurking around the Omaticaya camp.

(in which Tsu'tey doesn't consider the cultural differences when it comes to human x navi courting, but is very determined anyway)

read it on ao3

aaaaand i actually got the third part finished early, so i figured i'd just upload it! please peep the rating change (we're officially getting porn in this chapter lmao x).

also! i totally forgot that na'vi also need breathing masks in human spaces, so lets just pretend that their limit for human atmosphere's is WAY higher alright

part one | part two | part three (nsfw) | part four (nsfw) masterlist

You have no idea what’s going on with Tsu’tey, and it’s driving you crazy.

In the beginning, it was crystal clear what he thought of you. Your presence around the village was met with the same curled lips, narrow-eyes, and disdainful scowls that Tsu’tey reserved for all the humans occupying his home planet. You don’t take it personally; you’re only an interloper on Pandora, after all, and you have to work to gain his respect. 

You’re not afraid to admit that you have a big fat crush on him. Who wouldn’t?

He’s one of the most beautiful people you’ve ever seen, alien or not. His face is just so pretty, with such big golden eyes and proud features. His wide, toned shoulders and slim narrow waist send your thoughts scattering to the wind when you’re around him. You’ve tried everything to try and capture his attention. You try makeup, you try wearing one of your silly little sundresses (one of the few luxuries you had brought to Pandora), you try flirty jokes. None of it seems to work.

You’re not sure when the dynamic between you really starts to change, but you certainly notice when it does. His stares began to turn less hostile, although no less intense, and some of his sharp edges had begun to soften. He doesn’t snap as often anymore, he doesn’t insult you all that much (nicknames notwithstanding), and he allows you to follow along beside him some days as he carries out his duties in the village. He remains as stoic and inexpressive as ever in your presence, but it’s thrilling for you that he doesn’t simply send you away when you try to spend time with him.

But the real catalyst seems to be the night he had tried to feed you with food cooked from the village’s own cook fire, and you had so rudely vomited it right back up. It was one of the most mortifying moments of your whole life, and you’re certain that he’ll never forgive you for it. 

He ignores you for days afterwards, retreating into the village and refusing to come and see you even when you try to seek him out. It’s humiliating, but the cold shoulder doesn’t last for too long. However, what comes after that is even more confusing.

The man runs so hot and cold that dealing with him feels like suffering from constant whiplash. One minute he’s ignoring you, the next he’s seeking you out in the forest and sending away the other scientists just so he can make you watch him fish. Then he’s bringing you little gifts and you start to think that maybe, just maybe, he’s actually picked up on your crush on him. 

Is it insane to wonder if perhaps he might actually return your interest? You’re desperate enough that you’d accept any sort of interest from him, even if it was just morbid curiosity. It probably doesn’t bode well for your self-respect, but you think that you’d be quite content to be the subject of his experimentation, if that’s what he wanted.

The necklace is what makes you really start to wonder what the fuck is going on.

It’s beautiful, Na’vi in make and design, and it fits you so perfectly that it’s like it’s been made especially for you. You fall in love with it the moment he presents it to you, unable to believe that something so lovely has been crafted with you in mind. 

And then, after having been gifted with the jewelry, he lets you touch him more intimately than you’ve touched anyone since you came to Pandora. You can hardly believe your luck – he’s usually so harsh, so firm and unrelenting, that you thought he would crush you like a bug underfoot if you ever dared to touch him so familiarly. But he lets you, encourages you even. 

You think you may have blacked out a little from the sheer thrill of touching his velvety blue skin, the firm definition of his pectorals, his narrow waist, and his soft, whip-like tail.

But you must have gone too far, because he had whipped away from you like you were diseased. He had practically fled from you, throwing some lame excuse about seeing you tomorrow as he ran.

It’s humiliating. If you had any sense, you would keep to yourself for a few days after you had groped him so boldly. 

And yet, you find yourself wandering the forest just outside the Na’vi settlement the following day. 

You’re close enough to the village that Tsu’tey could find you if he wanted, but you also have enough distance to preserve some of your dignity – you really don’t want him to think you’re stalking him. If anyone happens upon you, you can say that you’re gathering samples to study. That’s your job as a xenobotanist here, after all.

As you wander the area close to the village, you catch a glimpse of a group of bladder polyps that poke out of the dirt in regular intervals. Utterly captivated, you sink to your knees for a better look.

They look just like blue rocks, but you know that the Na’vi use them as a food source both for them and for their animals. They’re glowing a much brighter colour than the usual dull blue that you’ve reported on the little glowing plants before, and their bioluminescence is pulsing in slow, soothing intervals.

You are, after all, a professional, and your scientific curiosity outweighs your desire to wander until you ‘accidentally’ stumble across the large, handsome warrior you had become so enamoured with. You shuffle onto your belly, personal mission abandoned, and begin watching the behaviour of the plant life in wide-eyed awe.

Luckily you bring your field kit with you everywhere, and it’s with poorly disguised eagerness that you dig it out from where it’s clipped to the belt on your utility trousers. It’s difficult to get as close a look at the polyps as you’d like thanks to the damned breathing mask, but you’re still able to press your face right up to it as you begin tracing out a rudimentary field sketch.

You’ve never seen the bioluminescence act quite like this, pulsing in a regular sort of rhythm like rolling waves, and you jot down as many notes as you can in a messy, excitable scrawl. After just observing the soft pulsing phosphorescence for a little while, you manoeuvre yourself onto your belly and wrestle your tablet out of your rucksack. Laying flat like this isn’t the most ideal position for you to be in from a security standpoint, but it’s the only way that you can get the angle you want for the video that you want to take.

There’s no telling how long you had been laying there, watching the little plants pulsate with soft light. You think you might fall into some sort of daze, because you lose track of time as you fall into the familiar, comforting routine of documenting the flora’s behaviour. But your peace doesn’t last forever.

You’re not sure what it is that pulls your focus away from your work. It’s not like there’s any sudden noise or real change in your surroundings to catch your attention, but you feel the sudden and unavoidable weight of someone’s gaze resting on your back, and you yank your head up to try and find it, blinking.

For a moment, you wonder if you had imagined it. But then a figure moves in the trees to your left, and your heart lurches as your brain finally processes the appearance of the large, semi-camouflaged form of the Na’vi watching you.

“Tsu’tey!” You blurt, staring up at him with wide, startled eyes.

He’s looking down at you with an odd sort of look on his face, his head tilted to the side as he watches you. He doesn’t look all too impressed to see you laying out on the ground on your belly.

“What are you doing down there, Säsrätx?” He asks, one of his ears twitching.

Säsrätx. It’s one of his many nicknames for you – it means annoyance. It lacks the bite that it used to have. Now, he sounds almost fond. Or maybe that’s just your hopeless optimism hearing things.

When you don’t immediately explain, he frowns. “You will get yourself killed, alone in the forest like this.” 

That rankles a little. You’re aware that you don’t look like much now, considering that you’re just over half his height and covered in mud from laying on the ground, but you’re capable of handling yourself. You’ve been working with Pandoran flora for nearly two years now, after all.

You frown, a little offended. “I’m studying the plants.”

When you point at the bladder polyps at your feet, he follows your finger and his expression turns a little scathing. He doesn’t appear very impressed with your work.

“That is rawp.” He says, eyeing the mud stains down your front. “It grows from animal waste.”

You freeze. “What?”

Mortification settles like a thick cloud over you. This is just fucking typical. First you vomit in front of him, then you grope him and make him uncomfortable, and now you show up in front of him covered in shit. This is just perfect.

“Oh god,” You whisper, pulling at your standard-issue tank top as your body grows hot and prickly with embarrassment. 

You want to sink into the ground, to hide yourself from his intense golden eyes, but that humiliation wars with professional curiosity and the thrill of learning something new.

“So it uses manure as a direct food source?” Your fingers twitch towards your journal so you can record the information. “That’s rare, even for a halophyte! And it’s edible, right?”

Tsu’tey’s expression flickers for a second, before falling into scowling disapproval. “Vrrtep, stand up out of the dirt.”

You hardly hear him, too busy peering at the roots of the polyps. “What are the root systems like?”

Before you can get properly absorbed in your observations, two large hands enclose around your upper arms and you yelp loudly as you’re tugged to your feet. He is easily twice your size, and the casual display of strength sends a thrill of excitement rushing through you and leaves you breathless as you’re set on your feet. 

You stare at him like a total moron now that you’re standing in front of him again. God, he’s so tall, so strong and pretty, and his little white luminescent freckles are glowing in the shade of the forest.

“You are dirty.” He mutters, reaching out tug at your soiled top.

Your toes curl in your shoes. “Um- yeah. Sorry.”

His eyes fall on your neck, still adorned with the choker-like necklace he had given you only the day before. His expression flickers, and his hand drifts from your top to your jewellery, tracing over the woven plant fibres. 

Your breath catches as you watch him right back, captivated by the strong curves of his face and the sweet little glowing dots all over him. You lean forward without conscious thought, relishing the feeling of his huge hand tracing around your throat and chest.

But just as you’re beginning to get excited, he hastily removes his hand. 

“Come with me.” He says, his voice low and calm and rumbly. “I will show you my hut, and clean you up.”

Your heart leaps, and you nod immediately. God, how could you refuse him that? He’s inviting you back to his house so he can clean you up. You can only pray that he’s giving you the signals that you think he is, and that you’re not reading too much into things.

Unlike the last few times you’ve followed Tsu’tey around the forest, padding along behind him as he bizarrely keeps his back entirely and firmly turned to you, this time he reaches out and takes a hold of your arm. He keeps his grip firm but light, not enough to hurt but enough to guide you firmly and keep you by his side. 

As you stagger along at his side, your brain gets stuck on the heat of his very large hand on your arm. He’s so strong and so much bigger than you, and you feel supremely stupid for the way that you’re blushing. You absolutely hate yourself for the places that your thoughts are currently jumping to.

You’re so busy eyeing the way his very long fingers curl around your arm that you don’t look where you’re going, and end up tripping over one of the large roots that stick out of the ground. If not for his hold on you, you likely would have fallen on your face. 

He says something in Na’vi that sounds like a curse, and then grabs at your other arm with his free hand before you hit the ground. Using both hands, he hauls you up with an ease that makes your stomach quiver.

“You are like blind talioang, crashing around and making noise like a fool,” He says. Though his words are harsh, his tone sounds almost amused. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” You stay, sounding distinctly strangled. “I’m good.”

He hums in acknowledgement, and doesn’t pull his hands away from you. His thumb strokes over your upper arm in a movement that seems absent-minded, but sends your hopes soaring. That’s an incredibly familiar gesture, right? That can’t just be platonic, surely?

You have to snap back into yourself, trying to regain some sense. You’re hot and sweaty and frazzled from the jungle air, and he’s just found you laying in animal shit. He is definitely not looking at you with any sexy undertones right now, as much as you’d like him to be. The kindness of his gesture in bringing you back to clean you up should be enough for you.

Tsu’tey’s tree hut is, as it happens, located in one of the enormous trees just at the edge of the village. The Omaticaya have built their temporary settlement around the Well of Souls, their houses located high up in the foliage and branches of the forest above them. It is impressive engineering and craftsmanship, and you stare up at the wooden structures with awe as you approach.

However, a problem reveals itself to you as you get close to the tree where Tsu’tey’s home has been built.

“How do we get up to it?” You ask, tilting your head all the way to stare up at the canopy of trees over your head.

At the question, Tsu’tey goes still. In fact he seems to freeze entirely, his muscles tensing and his back going ram-rod straight. The reaction is a little unnerving – you wonder if the question was offensive somehow.

“I-” He begins, and then breaks off. His brow is furrowed, and he looks from you to his hut overhead with a look of dawning frustration mixed with an odd sense of horror. “I had not considered this.”

“Considered what?”

“How you would get up.” His ears twitch as he glares up at the tree as though it’s personally offended him. His head snaps back to you, his tail lashing around his ankles. “I will fix this.”

“Oh,” You blink, surprised by his consideration. There’s no real reason he should be that concerned about you being able to get you to his house, but you find yourself smiling at his kindness all the same. “Don’t worry about it.”

“It is not worry,” He says firmly, bending down so that he is looking you straight in the eye. His expression is solemn and intense. “It is a promise. I will fix this.”

“Okay.” You say. It sounds as though you’ve just been punched in the stomach. God, does he even know how he sounds right now?

He’s so damn intense, but you decide to take a chance. You swallow thickly, and make a suggestion that you pray isn’t going to get you punched. 

“I could, um…” You begin haltingly, “You could probably lift me up, right? You’re pretty big, and strong, and-” He turns to look at you, his expression as carefully neutral as ever, and you falter. “Or- you know what, that’s a terrible idea, never mi-”

You don’t even get to finish. Tsu’tey steps forward and reaches for you, and in a movement that sends your head spinning he picks you up and tosses you over his shoulder. You let out a startled squeal and grab at his shoulders, clutching at his neck as he steps forward and begins to haul himself up the tree.

You had meant that he could carry you piggy-back-style, not in a fireman’s carry, but you can’t find it within yourself to complain. You’re a little preoccupied with the flexing muscles in his back and the bulge of his biceps, and when one of his large hands wraps around your upper thigh under your ass to keep you steady you damn near jolt right out of his arms..

By the time he reaches the upper branches where his hut has been built, you feel as though you’re about to squirm right out of your skin. His hand is so big and warm and rough, and though he’s just trying to make sure that you don’t fall off his shoulder to your death, you can’t help but imagine his hands on you in other, more intimate situations.

By the time he reaches the upper branches where his hut is and sets you back down on your feet, you feel as though you’re about to lose your mind. You’ve never necessarily had a size kink before, but right now you feel as though you’re going insane.

You half-stagger as you attempt to keep your balance now that you’re standing, and Tsu’tey places his hand at the base of your spine to steady you. You flush with embarrassed heat, and look up at his face – he looks as implacably indifferent as ever, which makes you wonder if you’re imagining the tension between the two of you.

“Come,” He murmurs, reaching for your hand so he can tug you into the enclosed space of his hut. “I have something for you.”

You perk up at that, excited. “Another gift?”

Finally, his expression shifts to something other than neutral calm. He looks pleased, a little smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Yes.” He says simply.

You beam, delighted. The Na’vi as a people seem to have a culture that revolves around gift-giving. You can’t count the amount of little flowers and cute rocks that you’ve been given from the Na’vi children that run around, and you happily save everything you receive. But the gifts from Tsu’tey are so thoughtful, and mean so much more than any of the other little trinkets you receive from the children.

When you step into the woven reed-like lean-to, you pause. The inside of Tsu’tey’s home is nothing like what you had expected. The Na’vi are usually fans of wide-open spaces and open skies, and their homes are usually open-plan and sparse inside due to all their spare time being spent outdoors. But Tsu’tey’s home is cosy, the floors and walls cushioned with spongey leaves and woven mats. 

From the ceiling, bioluminescent flowers and plantlife hang in bunches like tiny little fairy lights, and your mouth drops open admiringly as you step in and gaze around. There are gaps in the woven walls, allowing for an airy atmosphere and a beautiful view of the forest and the village below. The whole place is beautiful.

You turn back to Tsu’tey, and you’re startled to find that he’s already watching you. He’s barely even blinking, watching every expression on your face with near-frightening intensity. It looks as though he’s waiting on you to say something, and you realise that you should be polite and compliment his home.

“It’s so beautiful here,” You say earnestly, offering him a smile. “Wow. You must have spent forever decorating! It’s incredible.”

Tsu’tey relaxes, tension leaking out of his shoulders so obviously that it’s almost comical. His tail is raised and his ears are high and alert – not for the first time, you wish you were able to interpret Na’vi body language.

“You like it.” He says quietly. He sounds pleased, which makes you flustered in return – it’s terribly flattering that your opinion matters so much to him.

“Oh, I love it!” You’re probably hamming it up a little at this point, but sue you. You’re all alone with a huge sexy blue alien that has been touching you in a potentially suggestive manner, and you’ve already humiliated yourself several times in front of him. You don’t think you can be blamed for trying to redeem yourself a little here.

Tsu’tey’s ears twitch again, and his expression seems to lighten a little. He still looks pretty serious and scowly, but his eyes are softer now.

His home is only made up of one room, and most of the space is taken up by what looks almost like a bed, but it’s not like the usual hammock-type pieces that the Omaticaya usually sleep in. This piece is made from plant fibres, just like most things that the tribe uses, and it looks almost like a makeshift mattress. It’s huge, bigger than even a big guy like Tsu’tey would need, and it looks impossibly soft. You stare at it curiously. Why would Tsu’tey use something like that? He’s always struck you as somewhat of a traditionalist.

Tsu’tey is still watching you, so you tear your eyes away from the bed and smile bashfully at him.

“Um.. could I get cleaned up?” You ask. You’re beginning to get seriously self-conscious in your soiled clothes – even through your exo-mask you can smell the animal waste.

He hums. “Demanding thing.”

It doesn’t sound like a complaint – if anything, his mouth is twitching. He turns and makes his way towards the bed structure, leaving you flustered and embarrassed. There’s something laying on the bed; you only notice it when he pulls it carefully up into his hands and turns around to present it to you.

At first, you think it is tendrils from one of the purple plants you’ve seen in the forest. But then you look closer and realise that the tendrils are beaded, and the full thing begins to take shape. He’s offering you clothes. Na’vi clothes.

It would be rude not to take them, so you accept them and peer closer at the fabric. It is very pretty, a soft lilac colour, but you can’t imagine how on earth it’s meant to go on you. There don’t appear to be any straps. The loincloth is simpler, more similar to Tsu’tey’s, but you feel yourself growing warm just at the thought of changing into this in front of the big man in front of you.

He’s still watching you closely, looking for any reaction, and you really don’t want to disappoint him. For some reason, you feel that it’s incredibly important to react correctly right now.

“Thank you.” You say politely, before fidgeting a little. “Um..”

You wait a moment, before realising that he’s not going to turn around. Why would he? The Na’vi do not share the same sense of self-consciousness about their bodies or nudity that humans have, and no doubt he would be confused if you asked him to look away.

You clear your throat, and push your inhibitions aside. He’s not going to care – to him, it’s just a strange alien body in front of him.

You start with your cargos. Wriggling your way out of them, you leave them on the floor as you slip into the loincloth material. You leave your panties on for comfort and a little added security. To your surprise, the loincloth fits perfectly.

Next comes your soiled tank top, and you pull that overhead and drop it to the floor with the trousers. You hesitate a moment before unclipping your bra and adding that to the pile too, but that’s as far as you get on your own.

You look back to Tsu’tey a little nervously. He’s still watching you, though he has stepped back and sunk down to sit on his hunkers near the bed. Even hunkering like that, he’s as tall as you. It feels like being watched by a large predator, and you feel blood rush to your head as you raise your arms nervously to cover your breasts.

“Could you help me put this on?” You whisper. It’s loud in the thick atmosphere that lays between you, and for the first time you notice the way his hands are gripping his thighs.

He doesn’t answer verbally. Instead he beckons you over, and you step mincingly closer before handing the chest covering back to him.

“There are no straps.” You laugh a little breathlessly, fighting to sound casual. “I can’t figure it out.”

Tsu’tey’s big hands are beginning to feel familiar to you, and you can’t figure out whether you want to relax into him or tense from the electrifying touch. You hold your breath as he reaches out and begins to fix the tendrils over your breasts and around your neck.

His touch feels positively searing. You have to keep fighting to remind yourself that this is non-sexual for him – he’s just doing you a favour by helping you out with the clothes. You don’t want to be an absolute freak by making it weird.

If it weren’t for the fact that Tsu’tey’s large hands keep brushing your tits, you might be a little bit more interested in the way the tendrils that make up the top adhere to your skin. As it is, all you can do is stare at him like a total moron. He is so close like this, allowing you to gaze at his face and take in all the details you’ve never noticed before.

“There.” He says quietly, and his breath ghosts over your skin. “That is better.”

The garments hardly offer you any coverage at all, and you can feel the heat in your cheeks as he drops his gaze down the length of your body to examine how it fits you. 

You clear your throat and step back before you do something terribly stupid like lean forward to kiss him. You’re terribly flustered, and you have no idea what to do with your hands. The worst part is that no matter how embarrassed you get, Tsu’tey remains completely calm and unflappable with his cool expression. 

You’re hyper-aware of the fact that you had literally been rolling in shit, so you move to your utility trousers and begin rooting around in some of the enormous pockets. It’s embarrassing that you’re so aware of how you smell, but you dig out the small bottle of body spray you’ve been carrying around everywhere with you. It’s sweet vanilla scented, and it’s probably a pretty pathetic attempt to make yourself appear more attractive to him, but you’re really grasping at straws here. You spritz it quickly on your neck before turning back to him. The sweet smell makes you feel a little more confident, and you face him with a little smile. 

“It’s very pretty,” You say, stroking over the velvety soft material of the loincloth around your waist.

Tsu’tey looks smug, but only for a moment. Then his expression turns confused, and his nose wrinkles.  

“What is that?” He asks.

“What?”

He leans forward, and you stare up at him with big, hopeful eyes as he comes close to you. “You smell… strange.” 

You blink. “Oh. Sorry, I just- I sprayed perfume.” Your smile turns hopeful. “Do you like it?”

His eyes are so big and so golden, it feels as though you could just fall right into them and get lost forever. God, you’re down so bad.

“No.” His nose wrinkles. “I do not like it.”

“Oh.” You say again. Your stomach sinks a little – you’re beginning to feel like a total idiot. You can’t even get it off now that you’ve sprayed it on yourself. Fuck, it’s like all you can do is continuously sabotage yourself.

Tsu’tey takes a single step back, and for a wild moment you panic thinking that you now smell so repulsive to him that he’s attempting to escape. As it turns out though, he’s only stepping back so that he can take a look at you in the thin top and tiny loincloth. You’re practically nude – the top is little more than a decorative nipple cover, and the loincloth seems to have been fashioned for someone your size from half a regular loincloth. You probably look ridiculous, and you feel mortifyingly exposed under his intense gaze.

“Do I look like a Na’vi?” You joke in an attempt to cover your awkwardness. You even hold your arms out like you’re showing off your new outfit, despite how naked you feel.

“No, ma’yawntutsyìp.” Tsu’tey says with a snort, fixing one last strand of your top before withdrawing his hand. “You are too odd-looking for that.”

Oh.

You are unfamiliar with the word he’s just called you, but the second half of what he’s said has your stomach plummeting to your feet.

You feel your smile freeze on your face. “Oh! Right!”

Oh shit, you’ve never felt like such a fucking idiot before in your life. How stupid of you. Why would you even ask that, what were you expecting him to say in response?

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing at you. He must have noticed your change in demeanour, but judging by his big eyes and the flick of his ears he can’t figure out why your mood has changed.

You feel like an idiot, so you just force a smile. It probably just looks like a grimace, so you hurriedly clear your throat.

“Thank you very much for the clothes.” You say. “And for showing me your home. Um. It’s all very lovely and very kind of you. But I should go now.”

Tsu’tey has been listening to you carefully, but his brow collapses into a frown when you finish speaking. 

“I did not mean to-” He begins, and his voice has taken on an odd sort of tone of contrition. For some reason that’s even more mortifying than everything else, and you rush to cut him off.

“It’s fine!” You say quickly. “No worries, really! I just- I should be getting back.”

Tsu’tey hesitates, his gaze dropping from your face to the necklace around your throat, before clenching his jaw and nodding.

“Very well.” He says, a little stiffly. “I will take you back.”

The new science outpost is pretty janky in comparison to the state of the art technology that had made up Hell’s Gate, but it’s home all the same and the other scientists there watch your comings and goings with the tired exasperation of a vaguely disapproving auntie or uncle. It’s difficult to find any real privacy, so they end up aware of your interests whether you want them to be or not. That just so happens to include any embarrassing crushes.

The outpost itself is just one long prefabricated building, sectioned inside with steel walls into laboratories and workspaces, and a large open area for living. In an attempt to achieve some level of personal privacy, most people have erected makeshift curtain walls and hung them from the ceiling to section their bunks off from the rest of the space.

You spend the next several days hiding out in your own little curtained off bed bunk, trying to smother your mortification under your pillows. The other scientists exchange knowing glances (it’s not as though your crush on Tsu’tey was a secret), but mercifully they’ve decided to leave you alone. You spend days wallowing in self-pity as you attempt to stitch together the scraps of your dignity. You only emerge from your curtained off little living area to get food or use the bathroom and shower before scurrying back into the safety of your private area. You can’t escape the feeling that the other inhabitants of the science outpost find your embarrassment terribly funny.

It’s difficult not to feel discouraged. You’ve been trying so hard to drop hints and send out tentative feelers in an attempt to determine how receptive Tsu’tey may be to your feelings, yet you find yourself at a total loss. 

You had really thought he was interested when he started giving you all those little gifts and bringing you foraging and fishing with him, and you had been certain that he meant something by giving you the pretty necklace that you now never took off, but now you’re just not sure. You’ve embarrassed yourself so many times in front of him, and he thinks you’re weird looking, so why would one of the most handsome, brave, and skilled warriors in the clan be in any way interested in a Sky Person like you?

And yet he’s gotten so touchy recently! You groan into your pillow – you have to wonder if perhaps you’re reading too much into things just because you want him to be interested in you.

On the fourth day of your self-imposed exile in your bed, you hear your name called by one of the older botanists who’s working out in the main laboratory. You elect to pretend you didn’t hear her. You hope that perhaps she’ll give up if you don’t answer immediately.

It doesn’t work. In fact, she simply calls your name again, louder this time. Oddly, she sounds a little bit more frantic this time, too.

“What?” You shout back, voice muffled by your pillow.

“Come here! He says he won’t leave until-”

The scientist’s voice is cut off by a louder, deeper, familiar voice.

You shoot up in bed, nearly knocking the laptop playing comfortingly old human films right onto the floor. That sounds like- but there’s no way-

“Wait!” Comes another scientist’s frantic voice. It sounds like Norm. “You can’t just-!”

The curtain that sections your own makeshift space from the rest of the living area is pulled back with such force that the whole wire fixing it to the ceiling snaps and it all goes tumbling to the floor. Standing there (although standing may not be entirely accurate considering he is hunched over almost comically in order to fit inside the space) is Tsu’tey.

You nearly scream. You’re just laying around in your unmade, messy bed in nothing but an enormous t-shirt and an old pair of underwear, your hair is a mess, and you’re pretty sure there’s crumbs all over the mattress. This is most certainly not the sexy, attractive image you would like him to have of you.

“What the fuck-!” You start to yell, panicked.

Norm is standing just behind Tsu’tey, glancing from you to the huge Na’vi man with an expression that suggests he would like nothing more than to disappear. Without his Avatar’s body, he looks hopelessly tiny next to Tsu’tey.

“Will I- should I go and get Jake-?” He asks uncertainly, darting a look in your direction.

“No.” Tsu’tey snaps with such force that Norm looks as though he’s about to get bowled over. “No Jakesully.”

“Got it.” Norm squeaks.

Tsu’tey turns to you again, his expression collapsed into a visibly frustrated scowl. “You will talk to me.”

You swallow thickly. You’re pretty sure he’s furious with you, but damn. He looks so good like this, all scowly and strong and pretty. The cramped interior of the science outpost makes him look even bigger, and your eyes are stupidly drawn to the contours of his chest and abs.

“Got it.” You echo Norm, though even more pathetically.

Norm wavers where he’s standing. “Right. You’ve got this sorted, then?”

“Uh.” You say, a little hesitantly. “Yeah. I got this.”

Tsu’tey turns his scowl on Norm, and it intensifies tenfold. “Leave.”

Norm doesn’t wait to be told twice. He practically scampers away, and after he disappears from sight you can hear the heavy, pressurized door to the living area whoosh shut. In the ensuing silence, you can hear him yelling at everyone to get out. You realise he’s clearing everyone out of the outpost; your stomach gives a nervous sort of tremble at the thought.

Tsu’tey steps forward, still looming over despite the way he’s hunching, and you scramble to get out of bed and straighten out your oversized t-shirt.

“I- I’m sorry, it’s a mess in here-” You blabber. Ridiculously, you find yourself attempting to make your bed.

“Sit.” Tsu’tey intones, and your legs practically buckle beneath you without conscious thought as you take a seat on the edge of your mattress.

You thought that Tsu’tey would be even angrier once he was alone with you, but the opposite appears to be true. He has relaxed slightly, and his expression has shifted a little further towards confused frustration. He comes to a stop just in front of your bed, settling into a crouch at your feet. Even crouching, he is taller than you, and you swallow thickly as you stare back at him.

“You are difficult," he begins with a frown. “And confusing. I do not mind this – it pleases me, on some level. I do not mind that you are demanding. I am capable of pleasing my mate, and I will show you this. But you must tell me what exactly to do to please you. I am not used to Sky People.”

That absolutely blindsides you, and you let out a strange wheezing gasp of disbelief. Mate? Please you? What the fuck is going on? What is he talking about?

He continues before you can demand an explanation. “You have not returned to the village in many days. Have I upset you?”

“I-” you choke, grasping onto one part of what he’s said and disregarding the parts that you’re having trouble understanding. “Difficult? Confusing? I’ve been- I’ve practically been making a fool of myself trying to get your attention!”

His expression changes. “My attention?”

“I’ve been-” Ridiculously, your voice wobbles. “God, this is all just so embarrassing. All I wanted to do was spend time with you. I wanted you to like me. I’ve been trying to make myself look pretty with make-up, I've been trying to wear my nice clothes, but none of it has worked! You hate my perfume, you think I look gross-”

“No!” He jolts forward so rapidly that you startle, shuffling closer to the bed so that he’s eye-level with you.

You take a breath, watching him carefully as he reaches out to lay his hand on the necklace that sits above your collarbones.

“I do not think this.” His voice is rough and low, his eyes fervent as he watches you like he’s begging you to listen to him. “I swear, I do not.”

“You-” Oh fuck, now you’re snivelling like an absolute loser. “You think I’m weird-looking, you said so-”

“No.” Tsu’tey responds. His voice has turned strained and a little frenetic, and he reaches out to grasp your jaw in his enormous hand so he can turn your face to look at him directly. “You are- I think you are lovely. Yuey, ma’yawntutsyìp.”

His hand nearly encompasses your whole face, and you lean into him reflexively as you blink the tears from your eyes. God, you don’t even know why you’re crying. It’s ridiculous, and you’re terrified that Tsu’tey will think you’re a total idiot.

When a single tear overflows and streaks down your cheek, Tsu’tey jolts forward yet again as he places one knee on the bed and climbs up. He’s huge, almost twice your height and width, and yet he’s so gentle as he cups your face and wipes desperately at the tear track. The two of you are pressed close together in the tiny space of your bed, and the proximity makes your breath  catch in your chest.

“Ma’muntxatu,” He murmurs, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours. He translates, “My mate. I am meant to care for you. Why would you hide yourself from me instead of telling me you were feeling this way?”

Your brain just about grinds to a full halt. This is the second time he’s mentioned the word mate – what the fuck is going on? You stare up at him, almost afraid to ask what he’s talking about in case you ruin the moment.

“I-” You gape at him, bewildered.

“I understand the Sky People have different customs,” Tsu’tey says seriously; his expression suggests he doesn’t regard these customs very highly. “But here, mates share their burdens.”

“Mates.” You repeat with a gasp, head spinning. Is that what’s happening here? 

He hums, and his soft, velvety nose nuzzles at your temple. Despite his size, he handles you with such care that you feel like something delicate to be treasured.

“I do think that you are unusual looking,” He murmurs, his voice so low that it rumbles right into your chest. “But I also find you attractive. You think I would have put effort into courting someone I did not desire?”

Courting. Slowly, all of your interactions over the last few weeks begin to reframe themselves in your head. The little gifts, the hunting, the walks, the increasingly bold touches. The necklace. You had thought that he might perhaps be nudging you to show subtle interest – you had never considered there may be something deeper, such as an alien courting ritual.

And yet, it’s not the mate part that your mind has gotten stuck on. “You desire me?”

He groans, and the sound rumbles through your chest and down into your stomach. “Of course.”

When his hand comes to settle on your necklace again, you swear you nearly combust. He’s done this several times since he had gifted the piece of jewellery to you, but this time the connotations of the touch steal your breath away. His hand is so big that it overlaps the necklace and frames your throat, and you stare up at him with your lips softly parted. 

You realise that this is the first time you’ve been in front of Tsu’tey without your exo-pack. He can breathe your air for far longer than you can breathe his, and now your bare faces are almost touching.

You give into the desire that’s been hounding you for months now, and lean forward to boldly press a kiss to his mouth.

For a split second, you wonder with a thread of panic if you were being too hasty. Were you moving too quickly? Perhaps he didn’t actually want to kiss you-

Your thoughts are cut short, because it’s almost like Tsu’tey was just waiting for you to make the first move. 

He surges into you, his huge hands engulfing your face as he kisses insistently at your lips, nipping lightly at you and humming and purring against your mouth. It’s frantic, passionate, overwhelming, and your eyes practically roll back in your head as you allow him to kiss you stupid.

When one of his big hands drops from your face to your thigh and wraps around the soft flesh there, you let out an embarrassing sort of breathy whimper against his mouth. It feels like the culmination of all your hopes and desperate dreams over the past few months, and you can hardly believe he’s actually kissing and touching you like this. It almost feels like a wild dream.

He pulls back at the sound, and looks at you. He pauses. His ears flick and his pupils flare wide, and in that moment you wonder exactly how much of his body language has flown over your head due to the simple fact that it is alien to you.

His long blue fingers tangle in the thin, worn material of your old oversized shirt. His voice is gruff and gravely when he says, “I do not like this. Where is the tewng I gave you? I want to see you wearing it again.”

“You don’t like my shirt?” You ask, dazed.

“I do not,” He bends his head and nips at the hinge of your jaw, causing you to jerk into him. “You look better in the clothes of the People.”

You laugh breathlessly. “I can- I can take it off.”

“Yes,” He mutters, his ears twitching. “I would like that.”

A thrill runs through you at that. He’s so big and pretty and sexy and he’s sitting in front of you telling you that he desires you – it’s enough to send your head spinning into the atmosphere. You don’t think you’ve ever moved to strip so quickly in your life, and you toss your ugly old shirt to the floor.

A little tremor seems to run through Tsu’tey as he watches you, now laid bare before him in nothing but an old pair of cotton panties. His eyes are burning into you, all molten gold and heat. You’ve never had a partner watch you so attentively, curiously, and appreciatively before.

“Ma’muntxatu,” He whispers. His voice is still low and gravelly, but his tone is cautious. “What comes next is mating, fully. If you are not ready-”

“I’m ready.” You gasp stupidly. God, you don’t think you’ve ever been so ready for anything in your life. You’ve been dreaming for months about being given a chance with him, and you’d literally rather die than waste this opportunity.

Tsu’tey has always been pretty difficult to read. His facial expressions tend to be pretty limited to scowls and smug smirks, but even now you can spot the brightening of his eyes. His smile has an excited edge to it, and the luminescent freckle-like dots that cover his face seem to glow brighter in the dim alcove of your bunk.

His palm is big and rough and warm when it comes up to settle over your exposed breasts, and you arch your back to try and push further into his hands. Tsu’tey is tall. Taller than any other partner you ever had before, and that alone does things to you. He dwarfs you as he leans over you, and when he climbs fully onto the bed with you the springs creak ominously. His mass hunches over you, and makes you feel tiny as his head drops down to nuzzle at your bare belly.

You make a strangled little sound, your thoughts whiting out at the idea of his huge hands touching you properly. God, you’re so wet and so stupid.

He rumbles again, deep in his chest. “I can smell you, ma’yawne. You smell so sweet.”

His fingers hook into the hem of your underwear. For a moment he seems to get distracted by the soft cotton fabric, pulling at it curiously, before he gets impatient and starts tugging at them earnestly. There’s an ominous ripping sound, and you feel the cheap stitching give way until his strong hands.

“Holy fuck.” You breathe, staring up at him with wide eyes. He’s just torn your fucking panties right off you.

He buries his face into the juncture of your shoulder and lays a hot, biting kiss on your throat, leaving you hot and shuddering beneath him. His lips travel to the sensitive flesh just beneath your jaw just as one of his hands enclose around the soft flesh of your upper thigh.

“You are very soft,” He breathes, his nose tracing a path down your neck to your sternum, right between your breasts. “Softer than anything I’ve ever felt. You are so- I do not know the word. You are… less firm, than Na’vi women.”

You gasp a laugh as his fingers brush your nipples. “Squishy, is the word I think you’re looking for.”

When his palm lays over your breast, the dry roughness of his hand covers almost from your navel to your collarbones. Your whole body clenches at the thought of even one of his big fingers inside you. You can’t even bring yourself to be embarrassed at the pathetic little noise that’s escaped you, because the sound brings a smug little grin to his face. 

“Squishy.” He repeats, and he sounds approving. His trailing hands leave tingles in their wake, and it’s so overwhelming that you don’t know whether to push into them or shy away.

“Touch me,” You whisper, thighs splaying open as his wide frame settles between your legs. “Please-”

You don’t need to plead; he moves to do as you ask immediately, his hand sliding down to cup your sex between your legs. You’ve only just started to relax into the mattress, delighted with the contact, when he pulls back and pushes himself down further.

To your bewilderment, he lays one of his hands on the inside of your knees and pushes it to the side. You move to sit up, exposed and mortified, but his grip on your legs keep you pinned in place. His head ducks down, and he squints at your pussy. 

“What are you doing!” You yelp, mortified.

“I wanted to see if you looked the same as a Na’vi down there-” He cuts himself off when you slap at his head, pulling back with an offended frown as he catches your swinging hands. “Why are you hitting me?”

“Stop looking at me like that!” You hissed, hot from a shameful sort of arousal. “It’s embarrassing!”

Tsu’tey’s grin turns wolfish, and you just have time to take a breath before he leans in and murmurs, “I plan to do more than look, little demon.”

His long thumb rubs soothing, maddening circles around your clit and making your hips jump to try and increase his pace. The rhythm is nice, but it’s not nearly enough.

“Can you-” You start, brow furrowing as you reach for him. Your hands settle on his shoulders, and you pull ineffectually at him. “Please, I want to touch you too-”

He presses a kiss to your lower belly, and you feel the scrape of his teeth against your naked belly. He’s grinning.

“I knew you were a demanding little thing.” He whispers against your stomach, before biting at your hip bone and making your hips jump again. “Be patient.”

“Okay.” You choke out stupidly, struggling to keep yourself still.

The next kiss Tsu’tey gives you is directly between your legs, right where you’re growing wet. It's such a surprise that you choke a cough, hips jolting towards him without conscious thought. The beads in his braids trail over your bare skin, tickling you.

Tsu’tey just sends you a tiny lopsided smirk, as though he knows exactly how desperate you are right now. A single dimple appears in his cheek, before it disappears from sight as he buries his entire face between your legs.

Your entire body jerks in surprise. His tongue is hot and wet and so much bigger than any human tongue you’ve ever experienced. The texture is a little rougher too, and as he licks at you it feels like liquid fire erupts through your nerves. Your hips twitch and chase after his touch, but he keeps you in place with a single big hand spread across your belly.

"Oh my god," You gasp, tilting your head back into the mattress. "Oh fuck-"

You can feel the bastard's smile pressed up against your core, but only for a moment before he licks all up the length of your pussy. You’ve never felt anything like this before — it's red-hot molten pleasure, and he’s so big that it feels like the whole world starts and ends with his mouth and his tongue.

When he pulls back, only an inch or so, you nearly cry out in protest.

“Hush,” He murmurs, turning his head so that his lips brush against your inner thigh. 

"Tsu’tey," You gasp, bare chest heaving. "Please-"

You hardly even know what you’re asking for, but you bury your fingers in his neat braids and hold on tight. He seems to take your grip on his hair as encouragement, because he makes a rumbly sound in your throat and sucks at your clit hard.

You let out a little scream, startled and overwhelmed by how unbelievably good that feels. Your back arches right off the bed as you push into Tsu’tey’s mouth; you don't even have time to worry that you might be too insistent, because his hands only hold your thighs spread with ease. He even takes both of her legs and tucks them over his shoulders — whether it's to give himself a better angle to lick at you at or whether it's to allow you to hump against his face easier isn't clear, but you appreciate it all the same.

Distantly you’re aware that Tsu’tey’s own hips are moving against the mattress, and you let out another soft moan at the realisation that he’s rutting against your bed as he licks into you. His rough, wet tongue rasps against your clit in a way that is so damn overwhelming that you feel like you’re melting, a thin layer of sweat glittering on your skin as you writhe against his face.

When one of Tsu’tey’s big fingers begin to press into you, you let out a truly pathetic sort of moan. Even a single one of his fingers offers a stretch that has you squeezing your eyes and rocking into him eagerly. His mouth is so hot and eager and big that it feels as though he’s trying to swallow you whole even as his single finger cautiously stretches you wide.

"Tsu’tey," You manage to say, your voice high and wavering. "I want- I want you to.."

He lets out a soft noise against you, then pulls back to look at you with wide, shining eyes. He licks his mouth like a cat with cream, and blinks innocently.

"What do you want, ma’yawne?" He asks, his voice rough. Though his mouth has pulled back, his fingers continue kneading insistently at your pussy.

"I want-" You say, then choke a gasp as a second finger begins to push into you, your legs squeezing tight around his hand. "Just- I just want you to-"

Tsu’tey bends his head and curls his tongue against you again, focusing on your clit. "Just what? You must tell me how to please you-"

"Oh, for fuck’s sake!" You curse, slapping at his shoulders as impatience wars with pleasure in your lower belly. "Have sex with me, dickhead!"

His expression goes slack momentarily with surprise, before he laughs breathlessly. 

“Yes,” He whispers, his teeth bared in a feral sort of smile. “I can do this.”

He sits up then, towering over you as he reaches down to remove his tewng in one smooth movement. You get distracted by his sleek muscles and slim waist, and you reach out automatically to stroke a hand over his warm velvety skin. He shudders slightly under your fingers, and reaches eagerly to pull you right up off the bed and into his arms as he settles back against the mattress with you atop him.

God, the size difference between you sets your head spinning; you end up straddling his thighs, your legs splayed out on either side of his narrow hips as he keeps your naked body pressed tight against his. You’re so wet and needy still that all you can do is rock desperately against him – the length of his cock is pressing against your thigh, hot and hard, and you squeeze your eyes shut tight as you realise just how big he is. Fuck, is he even going to fit?

Apparently, Tsu’tey is thinking the same thing. 

“You are small,” He murmurs as he noses at your sweat-slick temple. “I do not want to hurt you.”

A lightbulb moment strikes, and you push gently at his shoulders as you say, “I- hang on, I have-”

He lets you go, albeit reluctantly. When you scramble off the bed, naked as the day you were born, and scurry over to one of the other bed bunks, Tsu’tey reclines back on your mattress and watches you with a heavy, heated gaze. His gaze on you feels like a weight, and you grow flustered as you start pulling out drawers in the dresser you’re searching.

“What are you doing?” He demands – out of the corner of your eye, you can see the way his tail swishes impatiently. He’s so confident in his own nudity that it makes you blush.

“This is Steiner’s bunk, and I know that he has- aha!” You cry out in triumph as you pull out the little bottle of lube you knew he had squirrelled away.

Tsu’tey just blinks blankly at it, clearly not comprehending why exactly you’re so pleased. Despite his confusion, his mouth twitches as you bound back to the bed and leap up to join him. 

You crack the lube open. Admittedly you’re a little too eager, and the gooey liquid leaks all over your hands, but no matter. Judging by the sheer size of the weapon between Tsu’tey’s legs, you’ll need every last drop of that lube. Tsu’tey himself is eyeing the lube mistrustfully, though he doesn’t pull away from you when you reach for him.

“What is it-” He starts to ask, before baring his sharp teeth in a hiss when your slick hand closes around his cock. His hips buck against you so violently that it startles a breathless laugh out of your mouth.

“It’s lube,” You breathe, enraptured by the sight of your own hands stroking his cock. It’s almost comically large in your grip, the same rich blue colour as the rest of him but for the tip which is flushed a pretty pale lilac colour. “It’ll help.”

It doesn’t seem like Tsu’tey is in the headspace to argue, because he just lets out a cut-off little groan before tilting his head back. Encouraged by his reactions, you reach one slick hand down between your legs and begin to stretch yourself out. Truthfully, there’s not all that much work to do. Tsu’tey had already begun stretching you on his own fingers, and you’re so aroused that you open up easily. Besides, you’re a little impatient; Tsu’tey is letting out breathy little pants and bitten-off growls, and you don’t want to wait anymore. 

“Okay,” You breathe, pushing yourself up on his body and swinging your legs around his trim hips. “Okay, okay, let’s go-”

“Easy,” He says quietly. Despite his very obvious signs of arousal, his voice is soothing enough to have you going lax against him. “We will go slow.”

Slow definitely isn’t what you want right now, but he’s right. Judging by the size of his cock where it’s pressing insistently between your legs, slow is the only way you’re going to be successful here.

For a split second, you start to doubt yourself. But then Tsu’tey’s big, four-fingered hands come to settle on your hips, wrapping almost the whole way around you, and your doubt disappears as your stomach clenches in excitement. 

As soon as the head of his cock presses against your folds, you take a breath and hold it. You had wondered if the amount of lube you had used was overkill, but as soon as you begin to bear down you realise that nope, you definitely needed that lube.

Tsu’tey swears, deep and rough as he throws his head back against your bed. The tendons in his neck are straining, but he manages to hold perfectly still as you sit astride him and lower yourself slowly but steadily down his cock.

“Fuck,” You wheeze, grabbing at his broad shoulders for balance. The stretch is intense, almost all-consuming. Your mind has gone blank, thoughts narrowed down to nothing but the size of him as the slow, inexorable stretch of it has your breath catching in your throat.

“Easy,” Tsu’tey says again, but this time he sounds distinctly strained. His self-restraint is admirable – you can see from his clenched jaw, the sweat on his brow, and his shallow breaths that he wants so desperately to move, but he keeps himself entirely still as you attempt to adjust to him.

You’re taking deep, careful breaths. It feels like you’re about to crack, but when you glance down you find that he’s not even halfway in. The stretch is starting to sting, but you’ve been stretched well and the excess of lube is helping to dull it – it’s nothing you can’t breathe through.

Tsu’tey’s fingers flex around your waist, and he lets out a quiet groan as he edges his hips forward, rocking his cock another inch inside of you. When he finally bottoms out inside you, the sweet ache of the stretch has you leaning forward and burying your face into his defined pectorals and groaning into his chest.

“Are you-” He starts, before breaking off with a stifled groan. His hands flex around your waist again, a little rougher than before but not hard enough to hurt, before he starts again. “Are you alright?”

You don’t answer immediately. Truthfully, you’re trying to catch your breath. Your chest is heaving as you pant, and you can feel your own body trying to suck him in further but there’s nowhere else to go because he’s filling you up so completely. The ache is fading, and you find your hips humping back against him subconsciously..

“Yes,” You moan, face still buried in his chest. “Yes, I’m so good.”

Tsu’tey laughs, a breathless little chuckle, and you think it might just be the loveliest sound you’ve ever heard. Encouraged by his reaction, you lift yourself up a few inches so you can ease back down. You repeat the movement a few more times, and then you’ve established a steady pace of fucking yourself on his cock.

Even as you’re riding him though, you can't help but look down to admire the view — the expanse of his torso stretches long and lean beneath you, musculature tensing as you roll and undulate on top of him. His eyes are bright and glassy with arousal as he watches you move, his gaze flicking rapidly over you as though he can't decide what part he wants to watch the most.

Eventually his eyes settle on your face, and he moans softly as you plant your hands on his chest for balance and begin to move faster. The muscles in his thighs ripple as he strains his hips forward to meet yours, though he’s still fighting to keep himself contained. You pay no mind to the way he tries to meet your thrusts, focusing on grinding desperately against him, trying to get his cock to hit just right.

He’s watching you with such fierce interest that it’s overwhelming, and you lean forward to kiss him again. It’s still so surreal that you can kiss him, that this is something he wants to do with you. 

When you lean forward to kiss him, the angle shifts and all of a sudden he's hitting the spot that makes your knees go weak. Your thighs are already burning from the exertion of riding him, and the liquid heat that shoots up your spine every time you sink down on him has your breath catching in your chest. 

Your breathing is beginning to become interspersed with gasping moans as you feel your stomach tightening, the muscles in your legs beginning to clench up. You’re minutes away from getting a cramp in your thighs, but the pressure building in your belly is almost overwhelming. You’re so close, you don't think anything could convince you to stop now.

“I-” You gasp, and your words come out on a whimper. “I’m going to- please, please, please-”

You had been close before, when Tsu’tey had his head buried between your legs with his mouth suctioned to your cunt, but now you swear your vision whites out every time hips grind up into you.

“Yes, ma’yawne,” Tsu’tey grunts, watching your face eagerly, “Go ahead. I have you, I see you.”

When one of his hands creeps between your legs so that he can tease at your clit, you shudder hard. The pressure in your belly begins to tighten into a knot, and the pleasure begins to crest over you.

There’s a soft pressure around your waist, and you realise that his tail has come to wrap around your belly as your orgasm hits you for real. Your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open as you clutch at Tsu’tey’s beaded hair, rocking against him desperately as you shake apart in his arms. Your legs quake so dramatically that you can barely keep moving, and you let out a choked sob as the orgasm rips through you.

You’re still gasping and shivering from the aftershocks when Tsu’tey shoves himself up. His arms wrap tight around your back as he spins, keeping your hips locked together as he switches your positions so that you’re the one on your back beneath him.

“I have to- May I-” He starts, stuttering uncharacteristically. His hips are twitching as though he can’t quite control them, and his eyes are a little glassy as he pants over you.

He looks half-feral, desperate and sweaty and trying so hard to keep himself under control. It’s impossibly sexy, and you nod wildly.

“Yes!” You gasp eagerly. “Yes, you can keep going-”

He doesn’t need any more encouragement than that. One of his hands snakes under your back and curls around your waist to pull you up against him as he begins to set an even, cautious pace. With the other arm, he's balanced himself on his forearm beside your head for leverage as he drives into you, beginning to pick up speed. He’s still being careful not to hurt you even as he begins to lose himself in pleasure. He looks totally blissed out, his eyes a little unfocused as he lets out soft breathy pants.

Tsu’tey grunts, his arms pushing your legs up and to the side, and then suddenly he’s fucking into you for real. All you can do is gasp against him as the breath is driven straight out of your lungs by his desperate humping. Despite the size of him, he fucks you with an ease that is startling – your legs lock around his slim hips as he rocks into you, clutching at him as he quite literally fucks you into your mattress. You find yourself shoved up the bed by his thrusts until you have to throw your arms up to grab the headboard in order to prevent yourself from being driven right into it.

It’s beginning to get overwhelming, your orgasm making you over-sensitive and shivery, but you breathe through it – you want to give him this, and you desperately want to feel him come in you. With shaking hands, you cup his face carefully as he rolls his hips against you, his chest pressed to yours. His eyes flicker open and dart to yours, golden and heated as he pants; it’s so intimate that it nearly steals your breath away entirely.

You’re not sure what drives your next move – truthfully, you think it’s an action borne entirely from instinct. 

With one hand cupping his jaw, your other arm snakes around his shoulders and trails through the braids that are beginning to loosen from the upstyle he had them pulled back. Your fingers tentatively brush against the braid that protects his neural queue – thinking back to the day you had been exploring his body so carefully, you take a chance and tug lightly at the queue.

Tsu’tey’s reaction is almost instantaneous. A moan is punched out of him, and his eyes roll back in his head. His hand flexes and fists into the sheets by your head, his hips stutter and falter as his brow pinches, and then you feel him coming inside of you.

“Oh.” He chokes, his head dropping down to rest between your breasts as his hips roll unevenly, riding out his pleasure in the cradle of your legs. He rocks into you until it grows to be too much for him, and he goes still with his face buried in your tits.

“Fuck.” Is all you can manage to say in reply, closing your eyes and breathing heavily. 

A beat passes, the two of you breathing heavily, before Tsu’tey raises his head to regard you carefully. “Are you okay, ma’yawne?”

Your pussy is feeling achy from being stretched so wide, and you’re definitely going to have trouble walking tomorrow. Your hips ache and your muscles burn, and you lay flopped on the bed like a ragdoll. You’ve never felt so happy in your life.

“Yes,” You whisper to him, a grin beginning to stretch wildly across your face. “I’m amazing, actually.”

Tsu’tey returns your smile, sharp teeth revealed as his full lips peel back in a pleased, feral grin.

Now that he’s stopping fucking into you, the silence that falls over the room makes you realise just how damn loud your mattress springs were. It’s a wonder that the weight of Tsu’tey alone hasn’t brought your whole bed crashing down to the ground.

Tsu’tey must notice the same thing, because he makes a dissatisfied sound as he pulls out of you and moves to settle down beside you. In one smooth move, he pulls you right up against his chest as he lounges back against the pillows as though he belongs there.

“I do not like your kelku,” He mutters, nosing into your sweaty temple before brushing his lips against your skin in a kiss. “It is not suited to you.”

You let out a breathless laugh, allowing your head to drop against his chest heavily as his long, strong fingers begin stroking soothingly over your bare back.

“No?” You ask, closing your eyes as you laze comfortably against the length of his large, nude body. There’s something impossibly comforting about being all wrapped up in the body of someone twice your size that is so dedicated to treating you as though you’re built from spun sugar. You feel like you’re something precious, someone worthy of being protected.

He hums, tracing delicate little shapes in between your shoulderblades. It’s amazing that such big hands could be so gentle, especially considering just how thoroughly he’s fucked you. 

“My kelku is better.” He says decisively, his nose wrinkling in a sneer as he peers up at the snapped wire hanging from the ceiling where he tore your privacy curtain down. “You will be more comfortable there.”

Dear god, was he asking you to move in with him? You raise your head from his chest just so you can blink at him, bewildered. He’s watching you expectantly, ears twitching; he clearly expects a response.

“It’ll be a pain to bring my oxygen reserves for my exo-packs over.” You say, the only thing you can think of.

He makes a face, as though he thinks that is a silly concern. “If you need it, we will bring it.”

As simple as that. You bite back a smile. Well, damn. Why the fuck not? You don’t think you could refuse him anything even if you wanted to, especially when his ears twitch as he awaits your verdict.

“Alright,” You whisper, lips curving. “Your bed definitely looked more comfortable.”

Tsu’tey grins, his eyes bright and fervent as he wraps one arm around your back and hauls you up so that you’re laying flat over the length of his body, your chest pressed to his. He’s so tall that his legs are hanging off the edge of your bed, his feet pressed flat against the floor.

It’s difficult to kiss considering you’re both smiling into each other’s mouths, but it’s also one of the sweetest and most rewarding kisses you’ve ever experienced. 

“Ma’yawntutsyìp.” He murmurs into your mouth, one of his large thumbs brushes your jawline tenderly.

He’s called you that before; right before calling you odd-looking that day that you had gotten so upset and discouraged by what you thought had been unrequited interest. You had assumed it meant something similar to the little nicknames he always used, säsrätx or vrrtep, annoyance and demon.

“What does that mean?” You ask as he kisses you one last time before allowing you to bury your head sleepily in the crook of his neck.

“Precious one,” He translates, and you can feel his sharp smile against the top of your head. The warm weight of his hand comes to settle over the woven necklace around your neck, just like all those times before; this time, you feel the significance of the gesture. “It suits you, my small one.”

[asumofwords]

Lighthouse - Sailor!Aemond x LighthouseKeeper!Reader - Mini Series 4/4

Summary: You work as a lone Lighthouse keeper on a small island just off the coast. Everyday was the same routine, tending to your duties and the lamp with not much time to spare. But what will happen to your routine when a storm rages across the sea, and a handsome man washes ashore?

Warnings: This fic is 18+. Readers discretion is advised. Warnings will be added in their relevance. She/Her Pronouns. Pining, kiss, angst, anxiety, fingering, smut, pussy eating like a champ, creampie for days, creampie, longing, dirty talk, love, fluff.

Note: Good lord, this is a long one, and also the final chapter! It's sitting at 12k words, so settle in for a hefty piece because I refused to cut it down or into two. Thank you all so much for your love and support of this mini series, I have had so much bloody fun writing it! I hope you enjoy how I have ended it, and hopefully now I can do some one shots for once in my damned life hahaha. Anyway, enjoy!!! <3

Final Chapter: Inevitable Ends, New Beginnings

The first thing that you noticed as you woke was a soreness between your thighs, a dull ache that throbbed with your heart beat, eyes slowly opening to the early morning light.

The room had a light blue glow to it, the sun only just beginning to rise over the sea and lands behind you, casting your little sanctuary in a cerulean tint. 

The second thing that you noticed when you awoke that morning was that you were alone.

You turned in the sheets, eyes surveying the room in search for the silver head of hair you had grown accustomed to seeing almost every waking moment, but he was nowhere to be found, though there was evidence of his presence being there.

Bar the small marks on your skin, the smell of him in your sheets, and the soreness between your legs, your clothes that had been strewn on the floor were now neatly folded on your chest at the side of the room, and the lack of breeches and tunic told you that Aemond was already up and dressed.

A moment of anxiety crawled through you.

Had he left you?

But then you remembered that he had no way off of your island, unless of course he swam, which you very much doubted he would be desperate enough to escape you to do that. But then there was the reason for his absence that early morning that began to spiral out of control in your mind.

Had he slipped out of bed? Tiptoeing as quickly and quietly as possible to not stir you from your sleep because he regretted last night, and could not bare to face the shame and embarrassment of seeing you? 

Had your moment of weakness tainted his stature in society? 

Would he beg that you tell none other? 

Not that you knew anyone from where he was from, but still, the inferiority of your birth gnawed at your conscience and creeped through you like the bitter sea winds.

Did he get his fill and was now avoiding you at all costs? 

Was he repulsed in himself for laying with you? 

Did he wish to pretend that it did not happen? 

Was his early departure to find the time and wherewithal in himself to gather strength to not feel ill upon looking at you? 

Sure, men of his breeding were sometimes known to lay between any woman’s legs, but it was usually one of equal standing and not at all someone of your status. And if last nights activities were any reference, there was no doubt within your mind that he had in fact lain with women before, once, twice, more, if his skills were any indicator. But perhaps they had been Ladies of his court back home, women of good breeding in high society, and for him to have been with you, well that would be akin to rolling in the mud.

You pulled yourself from bed and dressed yourself nervously, shaking your runaway thoughts, fingers stumbling over your buttons, pulling hastily at the laces of your boots, all too tight for your feet to be comfortable.

When you walked into the living space, you found that the glasses and whiskey had also been put away, no longer on the table where they had been left that evening, and atop the coal stove sat your kettle, steam rising from its nozzle. 

Beside the door, your large coat was hung on its hook, and the hook beside it, which had recently held your fathers old coat, given to Aemond to keep him warm on the breezy island, was now bare. At the absence of the coat, you knew that Aemond was to be outside, and decided to go out in search of him. 

Perhaps he left early to see what he could salvage of your boat, desperate to rebuild it himself and risk another encounter with the waves in an effort to get away from you. Or perhaps he had-

You walked to the lighthouse, the only place he could possibly be besides the beach that was empty with few planks of wood and what remained of his ship that hadn’t been re-swept out to sea.

Dew covered your boots, kicked up from the soft strands of grass with every step you took. The air was cold, and as you breathed, a cloud of your breath puffed in front of you, white and soft that dissipated before your eyes just as quick as it came. 

The large door to the lighthouse creaked open, and then clunked shut behind you, echoing up the spirals of stairs, no doubt alerting him to your presence. You slowly began to make your way up the never ending steps, the only time in your life in which you had dreaded it and found each one to be harder than the last.

Would he run?

Would he scorn you for seducing him? Bewitching him? Tempting him?

Or would he let you down gently? Telling you the dispiriting truth that you both knew; That he was a Lord and you were not of good breeding, and he would have to go and be wed to his advantageous bride that awaited him back home, and that laying with someone like you was a grievous mistake indeed.  

Your heart beat in your chest rapidly, gut churning as you picked at the skin at your nails nervously. 

When you got to the top of the lighthouse's small landing where the lamp was held, you spun in search of him, spotting the figure of the sailor, bent over the small desk in the corner, quill in hand. 

His long hair was pulled back in a loose braid, tied together with a piece of ribbon from one of the bags of food William had delivered to you. You watched as his hand moved swiftly across the page of your log book, pointer and thumb delicately holding the quill as ink pressed into the parchment with a neatness and precision that could have only be attained from proper schooling.

Hearing your approach, Aemond lifted his head to face you. Stray strands of silver hair hung in front of his face, swiftly tucked behind one of his pale ears as he gazed at you.

A small smile pulled at his lips, eyes crinkling in the corners. 

All anxiety, all worries, any trepidations about his reaction after your coupling from the evening before were swept out the window when he stood straighter, smile pulling wider at his lips.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” He placed the quill in its holder, leaning down to the book to blow at the ink gently before he took a step toward you, “You needed the rest.”

Be still my beating heart.

You smiled at him shyly, watching as he came closer towards you, hand twitching at his side as though it longed to reach forth and close the gap between you.

But it didn’t.

“You should have woke me.” Your hands clutched each other tightly in front of your skirts, embarrassment licking at your neck. How could you have ever doubted him?

Aemond shook his head at you, “No need. You have already taught me what needed to be done.” He turned to face the table again, picking up the log book to hand to you, “I’ve logged the weather for the morning. Checked the lamp and oil reserves. All is well.” 

You took the book from him, watching as his finger reached to graze yours gently, sparks flying up your arm. His writing was neat, swift and soft loops pulling in a slant as he correctly and proficiently logged the winds, skies, seas and temperature. There was not a thing missing, and he had even written note of his predictions of the weather for the rest of the day.

He stepped closer towards you, heat radiating off of him, “Besides, it’s only fair since I spent the night teaching you something new.”

Heat rushed to your face, hands clutching the logbook tightly as you looked away nervously, hearing his soft chuckle before his head dipped, hands coming to grasp the log book from your own, fingers purposefully covering yours, “Do you want to double check my work?” He asked softly.

You shook your head underneath him, stepping back, letting him take the log book from you to place back on the table, “No, I trust you.”

At your words, a softer smile pulled at his lips, before he held his hand out in the direction of the stairs, “Shall we? You’ve not eaten yet.”

“How did you-“

“-You would have seen I was gone and come straight for me. You’re a naturally curious person, and no doubt had a myriad of questions or things to say. I wondered if you would have felt some sort of fear to wake up alone after what we did last night.”

Heat rose in your cheeks again, and you cursed yourself mentally for ever doubting him, for ever doubting yourself, “I thought perhaps you would have made a mistake. You are a Lord, and I-“

“-You are far more than what you believe. I have not met anyone quite like you. Your birth and rank mean nothing to me.” Aemond’s hand reached forward to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, warmth spreading through you at his words.

You couldn’t look at him, casting your gaze down to your hands as your eyes prickled with tears. How could he be so kind to you? How could he be so understanding? So calming? 

As your thoughts began to race away from you again, Aemond uttered your name, causing your gaze to raise to his.

“Stay with me. Do not let your mind run away from you.” His seeing eye flicked back and forth across your face, the other unmoving, “Come. Let's eat.”

-

Aemond had walked with you by your side back to your cottage, and together you ate your breakfast, talking quietly to one another, through the initial shyness that swallowed you, about anything and everything you could to avoid talking about the evening before and what it meant for you, and despite his obvious desire to discuss it, he did not push the conversation and allowed the pace to suit your needs.

And that was how your days passed, not quite dismissing what had happened, nor acknowledging it outright like before, but knowing that it had changed the space between the two of you. The dynamic had changed once again, the way you began to dote on each other changed, or more so, him doting on you more romantically.

For every morning that passed, you would wake to an empty bed to find him in the lighthouse before the sun would rise, logging the weather and checking upon the lamp. Even times where he would stir you from your sleep in the middle of the night as he left to keep an eye on it, or telling you to take rest and go to bed if you had been with the lamp in the late hours.

What was more, was that Aemond no longer slept upon the small couch, and nor did you, the both of you comfortably sharing your bed together in the cold of the night. At first you had been nervous, but Aemond had behaved as though the two of you had slept in a bed together for years, simply telling you that the two of you should retire for the night and sliding beneath the covers, opening the other side for you to crawl in after. 

Your initial thought at the behaviour was that he wished to dive between your thighs again, to lick and suckle at the crux of your legs or thrust himself between them, but not once had he pushed for it, or been untoward, in fact, he seemed to open the possibility of a second time to be entirely under your control. 

Not that he didn’t touch you, no, he would slide behind you and tuck you beneath his chin, arm wrapped around your middle to keep you close to him, lips pressing featherlike kisses atop your crown when he thought you had fallen asleep, fingers tracing your curves with a featherlight touch during the night.

The shift was not only different for the dynamic between the two of you and your new living arrangements, but different in your own duties. No longer did the work of the island consume your every waking moment and thoughts, for now you had time to sit, to read, to get a good nights rests and spend more time attending to smaller more menial tasks, like repairing clothing that you usually wouldn’t have time to, or cleaning the cottage throughly. You also felt yourself smiling more, laughing more, enjoying life and what Aemond brought to it. 

It was simple, nothing extravagant of course, but above all, content. It was in those quiet moments when he would tell you a tale of sailing or more sanitised story of his youth, small smile on his lips, did you realise that you were happy. Happier than you had ever been, and in every hour that passed spent with him, a warmth within grew. 

A warmth for him grew.

It wasn’t until you had insisted that Aemond sleep the early morning and for you to tend to the lamp did you realise just how much time had passed. 

You were up the lighthouse on the circular gallery that it had outside, leaning against the railings as you looked out at the water, watching as the dark blue waves rocked softly against the cliff below, and even more gently towards shore, which was slowly becoming illuminated with the sun. But that was not all that was illuminated.

There on the rocking waves, was a row boat, off in the distance, making its way towards you.

It was not an unfamiliar boat, nor was it manned by an unfamiliar man.

William was rowing towards your island, reprieve supplies in tow which he delivered on time, every time, but this time you had forgotten what day it was, how much time had passed since he last came, too preoccupied with the new and exciting presence that had landed upon your beach. 

With swift steps you made your way down the spiral case and sped to the cottage.

What would William say when he saw Aemond?

Would he be shocked?

Would Aemond be compelled to leave?

Would William send word to Aemond’s family and alert the town, thus speeding up Aemond’s farewell?

You selfishly didn’t want him to leave, and almost wished William had forgotten about you, just this once. And there it was, that ache in your chest once again at the thought of him leaving, at the very real knowledge that he would leave, and that you would be alone once more.

When you entered the cottage, Aemond was seated at the table, cup of steaming tea in his hand with another in front of him at your seat waiting. 

Waiting. 

He was waiting for you, with fresh tea made. 

Your eyes welled with tears before you swallowed them down, a lump in the back of your throat forming. You almost didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want to see the excitement light in his eye in knowing that he could go.

That brilliant violet eye, a colour you had never thought to be true on a person until you saw him, a colour in which made your heart fill with warmth and stomach full of flurry, looked up at you, smile at the ready until he saw your anxious demeanour. 

Your shifted on your feet back and forth before pulling your coat off to hang at the door awkwardly. 

Sensing your anxiety, Aemond straightened in his seat, “What is it?” His smooth timbre crackled in the air, your back facing him as your face crumpled.

You swallowed and steeled yourself as you turned to sit with him at the table, pulling out your chair opposite to him as you sat quietly, grasping the hot mug in your hands.

“Is there another storm coming?” His voice wavered as he asked, lingering fear of storms still clawing painfully in his mind. The visions of the waves, the darkness, the screams of his men, the water entering his lungs, the-

“A man comes.” Your voice pulled him from his memories, fingers tightening on the sides of the mug, “William. He brings my reprieve.”

Aemond’s silver brows pulled into a frown, “You sent word of my presence.”

It wasn’t a question. 

It was an accusation. 

“No.” You shook your head, and watched as he visibly relaxed, “I wouldn’t have sent word unless you asked. William brings my reprieve every fortnight or so. We have been so busy I,” You gnawed at your lip, “I forgot. I thought we would have had longer, but now I suppose when he comes, you can go with him. Take lodge in his home.” You sipped the hot tea to swallow your nervous rambling, but still it broke forth, “I have a friend, a fellow sailor. Dalton Greyjoy, he could take you close to home, another port, anywhere to help. I don’t have money to pay for your passage, but he likes me well enough to perhaps do me this one favour. Or mayhaps you could offer gold on your arrival, I’m sure-“

“-You wish for me to leave?”

“No. But I know you must.” Your heart clenched in pain, you lowered your gaze to the mug of tea in your hands, watching the steam slowly rise from it, “You have a family waiting for you, worried for you. I do not wish to keep you here knowing that I may be causing you pain, or your family pain in the unknown.”

If you had raised your eyes to meet his, you would have seen Aemond frown lightly, but you didn't, so you hadn’t.

“You do not keep me here, and my family are not of your concern.” A beat, “Nor mine.”

Silence wrapped around the both of you as you refused to meet his gaze.

“When shall he arrive?”

You swallowed, looking at the small clock on the mantel, “Within the hour.”

Aemond nodded in your periphery, chair scraping beneath him as he stood, “Excuse me.”

His footsteps echoed on the stone flooring as he made his way to the door, pulling your fathers coat onto his shoulders before he left, no doubt waiting at the small alcove or beach to watch William arrive. 

You stared at the clock for some time, watching as the minutes ticked by, arm moving across its face slowly. But now that he was gone, away from seeing you, you allowed yourself to feel the ache that had crashed inside of you. Tear after tear fell down your cheeks silently as you watched the clock, the heat of the mug that lightly stung your palms, slowly but surely turning cold. 

He would leave, and you would be alone. 

Alone. 

Again. 

And he would leave and marry another.

Not you.

It shocked you that the thought of him laying with another, holding another tightly to him, caressing her, kissing her, smiling at her in ways that only you had seen thus far, made your stomach feel as though a knife was twisting itself inside. The lump in your throat sharp as though a dagger had been thrust through flesh and sinew, obstructing you from swallowing or breathing.

It felt as though you were losing him again. 

You didn’t know why, you couldn’t reason with it, for you had never known him before, but that day on the beach, as he lay lifeless in the sand, you had lost him. 

And then he had come back. 

And now he was to leave once more, and no more would he laugh in your small four walls, nor would he wake you with tea, or twist in the sheets beside you. 

No more would his hand linger upon yours, or his lips, or-

As another tear fell, the door to the cottage opened, and your hands quickly swiped up the wet tracks left behind on your cheeks. Rapid steps moved into the room as the door clunked behind.

“Your friend has arrived.” Aemond breathed, looking at the redness of your eyes and un-wiped tears on your chin. 

You swallowed, that dagger still lodged in place and nodded your head to stand, averting your eyes from his as you brushed down your skirts, “I suppose then I should fare you well.”

All that you could hear was the crackling of the fire and the beat of your heart thundering in your ears. You knew if you looked up at his face, to look into his lilac eye, to gaze upon his soft lips and sharp edges, that you would fall apart.

And so you didn’t, keeping your eyes averted to the corner of the room near the fireplace, wishing for it to be over. Wishing that he had never washed ashore so that you wouldn’t have to bear the heartbreak of him leaving. 

Because that’s what it was, you realised in that moment. 

Heartbreak.

“I’m afraid I will have to ask for your generosity once more.” Aemond breathed, and you blinked, slowly raising your eyes to meet his. His seeing eye searched your face as he breathed heavily, “I feel I may be succumbing to illness. I am falling- I feel,” He swallowed, “I feel compelled to stay. If you’ll have me. If not for a while longer.” His chest rose and fell visibly beneath the coat, hair cascading over his shoulders like waves of water.

He wished to stay?

Here?

With you?

Aemond blinked at your silence as his shoulders slumped slightly. He shook his head, looking to the floor, “Forgive me. That was too much to ask of you-“

“-No.” You shook your head, “No, not at all. If you,” You swallowed thickly, “If you feel unwell and compelled to stay, who am I to cast out a Lord in need?”

Relief washed over the two of you, and an unspoken air of gratitude floated amongst the space. You fought the urge to smile, to laugh, to jump with joy at the prospect of him staying longer. Of wanting to stay longer, of the thought that perhaps staying here with you was better than the prospect of going home to his family. 

His previous words echoed in your head.

Let me stay dead a while longer. 

Was this his staying dead a while longer? Avoiding his duties that awaited him when he returned home?

“Will you tell William of my presence?” His voice broke you from your revere.

You blinked.

Would you?

“Did you wish for me to?”

“No.”

You breathed a silent sigh of relief, “Then I shall not tell William of your presence.”

Aemond shifted on his feet, before nodding, “Thank you.”

You gave him a hopeful smile in response.

-

William arrived not too long after your agreement with Aemond for his extended stay, and hidden presence. You watched on from shore as he pulled his boat up the sand, his warm eyes crinkling at the sight of you.

“Y/n, my girl!” He called out to you, trudging up the sand to you as he pulled you into a tight embrace which you returned heartily, head tucked against his chest. 

Ever since your father had passed, William had become a father figure to you, but he had always been like that. Or at least like an uncle, a man who cared and loved you just as much as he did his own. You considered him family, and he considered you one of the same.

“How have you fared? We worried for you with that storm." His hand gripped your shoulder tightly, "Celia was beside herself with worry, pacing about the fire each night. Thought she would have burnt a hole in the floors by the end of it.” He chuckled, pulling away to look you over as you smiled up at him.

“As you can see, I am alive and well. The sea did not swallow me this time round.” You smiled, and turned to help him pull his boat further up the beach to unpack the supplies.

“Not all were so lucky,” William cast a glance to the remaining debris from Aemond’s ship, “Large pieces of hull washed ashore, we worried the ship had run aground atop the lighthouse.” His voice grew morose, “A few men washed up on the beach, but none survived the storm.”

You nodded solemnly, pulling a large bag of flour from the row boat as you lined it up on the grass with the others, “Debris landed here too. The ship sunk just off of the horizon in the thick of the storm. The sea took all.”

William hummed sadly, “Unbelievable storm that, not even Lord Greyjoy had seen a storm so large. Did any find their way here?”

You straightened, heart beginning to race in your chest. You swallowed and carefully thought of your next words, “One. Though he succumbed to waves like the others.” 

The lie made you shift uncomfortably. You didn’t want to lie to William, but you didn’t want to go against Aemond’s wishes either.

A large hand grasped your shoulder and tightened softly, “There was nothing you could have done. We saw the lighthouse day and night through the storm and thats how we knew you were safe. Celia dragged me to the beach in the rain to make sure it was on as proof of your wellbeing.”

You nodded, “It would take far more than a storm to stop me or the lamp.”

William chuckled, a crackly laugh that was familiar and warm, “Don’t I know it. Now, are you going to make this old man a drink, or do I have to beg for one.”

You laughed at his words, picking up the sack of flour and other bags of food and supplies, leaving the large crates for him to carry, “Come on then, before the Gods take you.”

-

After doing multiple trips and talking along the way, the cottage was now filled with supplies and food for the next fortnight. Flour and dried meats and other items were strewn on the counter and in the kitchen, leaning against the walls and shelves, whilst small jars of pickled foods and jams made by Celia were neatly lined in a small crate on the table.

When the two of you had begun to drop the supplies into the cottage, you held your breath, hoping that Aemond had made himself scarce and out of the way as you came in and out. Thankfully, your bedroom door was for once closed, and you assumed Aemond was keeping himself quiet inside. 

William sipped at the warm tea you made him as he seated himself in the chair that had become Aemond’s, long stocky legs stretched out in front of him as he rubbed a knee with a hand, working some invisible pain or injury out of it.

“Place looks good,” William commented, eyes roaming across the room, “You’ve been busy.”

You hummed in reply, lifting the mug to your lips. 

If only he knew. 

But William’s gaze stopped by the door, eyes locked onto something as he wordlessly stared. 

Shifting in your seat you turned to face it, stomach dropping. 

Beside your empty hook, was the other.

And hung on it, was your fathers old coat.

Aemond’s coat.

Your head turned back to look at William, mouth opening and shutting as you tried to think of an excuse, as you tried to think of a way to explain as to why there was a man’s coat hung on your door when you had supposedly been alone. And as you opened your mouth to explain yourself, to make up some poor take of an excuse, William beat you to it.

“I miss him too.” His voice was lower than it had been before, “Did you keep all his belongings?”

Your heart pounded in your ears, and a pang of grief moved through you. 

Your pa.

He thought you had his coat out because you missed him.

And whilst you did miss him, you were thankful that that was what William thought of it, and not that there was a man living with you, currently hiding in your bedroom. Though, that would be a hard thing for William to believe, even if you told him.

You nodded, “It seemed a waste to be rid of them.” You sipped your tea, wondering where this conversation may lead you. 

William gave a gruff sigh, “Do you not get lonely here? You’re all on your own. A woman your age should have a companion, someone to talk to at the very least. A cat even.”

You raised your eyebrows at him, “Are you suggesting I marry someone? I have my pigeon, but she’s not very talkative.”

The sea weathered man raised his shoulders, “You’re not getting any younger.” His words irritated you as he continued, “Not that you’re not capable of doing this on your own.” He explained, watching as your eyes narrowed on him, “You’ve proven yourself more than capable for that. I just,” Another sigh, “I know this isn’t what your father wanted for you.”

“Wanted for me?”

“He didn’t want you here, trapped. He wanted you to see the world, to go out and meet someone. He hoped you would settle down, start a family. He did not want to bear the burden of the lighthouse onto you.”

You looked down at the table, “It’s not a burden.”

“I know.” He said, but it didn’t sound as though he believed you, “But how often do you get to do things for yourself?”

You gave him a small smile, “I am perfectly content here, I don’t see why I should have to marry.”

“I’m not saying you have to, I’m merely suggesting the option.”

You hummed, “Well, not many men would like to live this life, nor are they prepared or knowledgable enough for it.”

Except for Aemond.

William laughed, crows feet becoming deeper, “I know you think men are a burden, if not a waste of ones time, but you never know, one may just wash ashore and change your perspective.”

Your breath stilled in your chest.

Did he know?

“What about Greyjoy?” William clicked his fingers, “The Dalton lad.” “His eyes always looks for you when he comes to town. Asks after you; Where you are, who you’re with, what you’re doing. Nice lad.”

“Nice enough.” You shifted uncomfortably, “But his heart belongs to the sea, and he would scarcely be home. What life would I live raising a child with a father who blows in with the tide? Not to mention, he has, shall we say, fleeting affections for others.”

William snorted, “I wouldn’t say his affections for you were fleeting, but aye, he is a man of the sea through and through. And those Greyjoys are known for their whoring.”

You guffawed, “William!”

“What?” He looked at you incredulously, “I speak the Gods honest truth. He wouldn’t be my first choice for you, but Celia-“

“Ahh.” You leant back in your chair, “Has Celia been playing the matchmaker of late?”

The older man grumbled, “When has she not? She tried to suggest Edmund Pyke-“

“-The fish mongers son?”

“Aye.” William shook his head, “Meek young man, too meek for the likes of you. I told Celia you’d eat him alive.”

A huffed chuckle fell from your lips, “Not much to devour. If I remember correctly, he stands half your size. Quiet boy.”

“Indeed. Always a shock when you hear him speak, like a mouse’s fart.” The man teased, draining the rest of his tea in one gulp, “But a man like that is no match for a woman like you. You need someone who can take what you give.” His eyes softened as he looked at you, “I doubt any man would be worthy of you. You are so very much like your mother; kind, soft.” A grin pulled at his lips, "But then you are frustratingly stubborn like your father and argumentative to a fault. And Gods awful at making tea.” He grimaced.

“My tea is perfectly fine, thank you very much. If it is so horrible for you to drink, then perhaps you should make yourself scarce.” You bit the insides of your cheeks to stop yourself from smiling, and William did the same, until finally he burst into a howling laugh, hand on his stomach as his head bent backwards.

“Oh no,” He grinned, standing with a grunt and pop of his knees, “I don’t worry for you marrying a man, I worry for the poor soul who will have to marry you.” 

You stood to meet him, “Then you needn’t worry, for I see no husband on the horizon by the name of Greyjoy or Pyke.”

William raised a brow, “Just those names then?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, “Be quiet, you.” You smacked him on the chest lightly, letting him pull you in for a final hug.

-

Slowly you walked William back to his boat, chatting quietly amongst yourselves as you went to shore, helping him to drag it down the sand to the water, the little vessel swaying in the small waves, the sun slowly beginning to set in the horizon.

“Now you take care of yourself, you hear me? Come to town and visit when the weather is fare. The girls would love to see you.”

You nodded, promising to come soon, hugging him once more on the sand. 

William took one final gaze at you, eyes searching your face with an almost unreadable expression to it, “You’ve changed.” He pushed his boat further into the water before sitting to face you, rowers in hands as his boat rocked side to side on the small waves, “You’re lighter. Brighter. Before the storm you were dull, but now…” His voice trailed off in the wind as he rowed himself backwards slowly, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were in love!” He called out, boat moving away from the beach.

“A good thing you know better!” You called out after him, heat rising in your neck and face as your heart began to race in your chest, “Give my love to the girls!” You waved and he nodded, your feet stepping back to avoid a small wave that dragged water up to your boots, “And tell Celia to stop trying to marry me off like a prized mare!”

“I’ll do no such thing!” William yelled back laughing, before finally he was away. 

-

You stood on the beach, watching the man grow smaller and smaller as he made his way back to shore. Your feet had begun to sink into the sand, damp seeping in through the sides before you decided to return back to the cottage. 

When you entered, your bedroom door was open, and Aemond was in the kitchen, pumping water in the dry sink to wash the two cups and put them away. As he heard your approach he turned his head toward you, though not fully.

“He seems a decent man.” He stated softly, hands scrubbing the tea from the cups.

You smiled softly, “He is. I grew up with him. Always visiting me and pa whenever he had the chance. And when pa died, he became a father to me.”

Aemond hummed, “He cares a lot about you, as if you’re his own.” Aemond grabbed a cloth and dried the mugs placing them back on the shelf, “It’s good to see decent men being decent fathers.”

You nodded and smiled. You knew from what Aemond had told you that he did not have a good relationship with his father, and you were more than fortunate to not only have one, but two father figures in your life who had been nothing but loving to you.

And whilst you thought of memories of your pa and William, the air in the cottage shifted.

Aemond dried his hands and turned to face you, his posture stiff, face pulled into a hard line, “You didn’t tell me that Dalton was pursuing you. You would let me leave on his ship with him without saying as much?”

There was something in his eye and the way that he spoke that made you shift on your feet nervously. 

You began to pull your coat from your shoulders, “Pursuing is an exaggeration.” You lied to yourself, “Dalton has no desire to ask for my hand, nor has he ever expressed any desire. His family are Lord’s. He himself is a Lord. His family would never approve of my-“

“-But he wants you.” Aemond said lowly, stepping forward, looking down at you from his nose, “Desires you. I heard William say that he seeks you out, asks after you. It’s clear there is something there between you.”

Your brows furrowed, “Do you make a habit of listening in on others conversations? There is nothing between me and Dalton. I have known him all my life, and to this day nothing has happened. He is scarcely in town, always on the seas exploring new lands, new women. His interest in me is purely physical, I assure you.”

“And is it reciprocated?”

You blanched, blinking up at him, “Reciprocated?”

Aemond’s jaw twitched as he looked down at you, “Do you desire him in the way he desires you? Do you wish for him to touch you?” His voice dropped lower as he stepped towards you, hand coming to tuck loose strands of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering at the skin of your neck, “To taste you?”

You couldn’t think. 

Couldn’t breathe.

Stuck to the floor as you looked up at the silver haired man whom you now realised was jealous. 

His lilac eye had darkened as he looked down his nose at you, sharp features illuminated harshly by the fire behind him. His lips were pulled into a stiff line, and his chest rose and fell shallowly.

“Well?”

You blinked again, and cleared your throat softly, “No.” You whispered quietly to the room, watched as his brows furrowed in disbelief, “Once I had.” You admitted watching as his jaw ticked, “But that was before I met you. It feels a long time ago, and it was merely a passing thought, one bred by the desire to not be alone.”

At your words, Aemond seemed to relax, his lips softened and brow evened out, though his jaw remained clenched, “And are you alone?”

Your head cocked to the side.

Alone?

But he was standing right with you.

Right in front of you.

“No?”

Aemond huffed a small humourless laugh at your response, clearly you had misunderstood him. 

“Do you feel lonely? With me here?”

You licked your lips, feeling the warmth of his body come closer as he stepped forward, fingers at your neck sliding to the back, tangling themselves into your hair as he pulled you closer. His mouth was a breath apart from yours, his eye on your lips as you heaved uneven lungfuls, waiting for your answer.

You tilted your head upwards, lips brushing against his softly, the feeling sending warmth settling into your gut as you chased his embrace. But Aemond did not let you close the gap, and moved his lips away, awaiting your answer yet again.

As soft as a whisper came your answer.

“Not anymore.”

Aemond’s lips met yours as soon as the words left your mouth, chasing yours in a heated kiss, the hand at the back of your neck tangling in your hair tightly as he pulled you impossibly closer, other arm wrapping around your waist to pull you against him, almost lifting you onto his own feet. 

His lips felt like a breath of fresh air, a fire within you set ablaze with each passing moment. You chased after him as much as he chased after you, your hands desperately pulling his tunic closer to you, neck craned up on your tip toes to reach.

The sailors hands came to the front of your dress, teeth nipping at your bottom lip causing you to gasp. His tongue took advantage of your parted lips, licking into your mouth at the opening. You moaned warmly, feeling his hands pause at the buttons at the front of your dress. You nodded sharply, not willing to part from him to verbally give an answer. 

With practised ease, he began to pull at the buttons one by one, slowly opening the front of your gown. When it was finally undone down to your navel, you parted for air, a wave of realisation crashing over you.

“The lamp.” You breathed breathlessly, rearing your head back to look up at Aemond, night had begun to fall outside.

His eye was half lidded, pupil expanded across the lilac, and a soft pink dusted on his cheeks, “Already lit.” He mumbled before crashing his lips back against yours. 

You made a startled squeak, and wondered briefly when he had had the time to go light it in your absence. But any lingering questioning you had were lost when his large hands scooped under the front of your collarbones and up to your shoulders, slowly sliding the gown down your torso, freeing your arms as he went. 

He stepped back to look over you, goosebumps rising on your skin as his heated gaze roamed over your breasts and body. His lips were pink and swollen from your embrace, and the pupil of his eye expanded.

Feeling a spur of confidence, you undid the small belted laces at the back, letting the heavy dress and skirts fall to the ground beneath you in a puddle.

Aemond was on you in a second, the room tilting as you were suddenly picked up, legs automatically wrapping around Aemond’s hips as he hungrily kissed you, all teeth and tongue and impatience, neediness bleeding through the both of you in a rush of desire.

It was as though wildfire had caught in the space between, and it burnt at you both hotly, the flames licking higher and higher on your bodies, an all consuming need. 

Your need for him burnt.

“Bed.” He murmured into your lips, speedily walking to the room before he dropped you onto the bed with a bounce.

You gazed up at him through your lashes and watched as he pulled his tunic from over his head with one hand in one swift movement, your eyes roaming down his lean body.

Pale littering of scars were on his chest and arms, and your gaze moved lower still to the trail of hair that lead to what was beneath his breeches, the memory of it causing your core to clench around nothing.

Aemond breathed heavily looking down at you before he pulled you to the edge by your feet, a squeak rising from your chest as he loomed over you. 

With haste, Aemond unlaced your boots, throwing them away alongside the stockings he rolled down your legs impatiently. Then came your stays, which did not survive his large, weather worn hands, which tore the laces from their holes, ripping the material at the seams. 

You gasped loudly as he did it, not truly knowing the strength he had hidden, which was then smothered by his wanting mouth, body climbing on top of you as he kissed and nipped sharply at your lips with his teeth, hips pressing down into your own as he ground into you.

Heat settled in your gut with each thrust of his hips, his hardening length brushing against your sensitive pearl each time, sending shooting sparks of pleasure up your spine. The kiss consumed you, heat rising in the room as the both of you gripped and pulled at each other desperately, Aemond only breaking the kiss to pave a path down your neck, stopping every so often to suck or bite at your flesh, marking you which caused you to mewl beneath him. 

He sunk lower and lower on the bed, pulling up your slip with his hands as he settled between your thighs once again, your hands gripping the sheets of the bed as you looked down at him. His eye was already on you, watching your face as he breathed cool breaths against your bare core. 

You whimpered as he blew air onto it, cold on your throbbing bud as he smirked up at you, “Sīr lōz.”, He cooed, swiping two fingers gently up your slit, parting your folds.

A finger pressed down on you, watching with delight as you squirmed beneath him. You bucked your hips up towards his lips shyly as he blew against you again, smirking at how you whimpered and writhed, desperate to alleviate the ache that had been building within since he captured your lips with his. 

“Is something wrong?” Aemond smirked, rubbing his fingers through your folds, but never quite touching you were you needed him.

“Please.” You whispered, hips seeking his fingers desperately.

“Please, what?"

You shut your eyes tightly, embarrassment coursing through you, "Please, Aemond."

The man chuckled gently, pressing a kiss just above where you needed him, watching as your eyes opened to look down at him again.

"Syt ao? Mirros.”

Aemond ducked his head between your thighs, hand on either side of your thighs, holding you open for him as he licked a wide stripe up your centre, tongue flicking against your bud.

Your back arched from the bed, eyes screwed shut as pleasure shot through you. The Targaryen moaned into your folds, beginning to lap at them hungrily, thumbs holding you open for him so that he focused on your pearl. 

“Iksā sīr vok syt nyke.” Aemond groaned, two long fingers finding your entrance, slowly beginning to push inside of you. 

Your breath hitched as they entered, immediately curling up to the soft spongey spot inside of you that he found last time, memorising each and every inch of your body and the reactions that you made when he licked, sucked, pressed or rubbed against it. 

The sounds he made as he lapped at your core was filthy, depraved, and down right ravenous, moaning into your cunt as pleasure wound tightly in your belly, his ministrations slowly but surely pulling you towards the edge, no doubt assisted by his low rumblings in his mother tongue.

“Nyke jorrāelagon ao.” He gasped against your thigh, watching his fingers disappear inside of you as he began to fuck them at a faster pace, wetness coating your thighs and the bed beneath you “Gaomā daor gīmigon ziry,” He kissed at your thigh looking up into your eyes with an intensity that made the breath in your chest still, “Yn iksi vēttan naejot sagon.”

Your hips bucked, one hand releasing the sheets to card through his hair, his lilac eye momentarily shutting as you pulled lightly at the strands, a hum vibrating his chest, “Common tongue, please.”

“More tongue?” Aemond responded cheekily, eyebrow raised at you, and before you could quip back, he was back to using his mouth on you, sucking your pearl into his mouth as his fingers did not slow, the tension in your gut about the break. 

“Oh.” You breathed, mouth open, “Oh Gods. Oh- fucking Hells.” Pleasure raced through you violently, and a long pealing whine flitted from your lips as you reached your peak.

Aemond sucked your bud into his mouth as he flicked his tongue against it, fingers fucking inside of you speedily through it, the wet squelching of your release loud in the room with each thrust of his hand. Your grip in his hair tightened and you pulled, still falling from the precipice he had brought you to, a deep grunt vibrating into your already sensitive core. 

“Aemond- Nng- Please. Slow down.” You whined, writhing as the pleasure soon turned borderline painful, too overstimulated to function.

With a final broad wipe of his tongue, the silver haired man ceased his movements, allowing for your body to finally slump into the pillows, a light sheen of sweat covering you. 

Your eyes slid shut as you huffed a laugh, whimpering lightly when he pulled his fingers from within you. Aemond placed wet kisses to the top of you mound, your hip bones, and then to your stomach which he revealed by pulling your slip up your body. 

Only did your eyes re-open when he kept lifting the slip up over your breasts, his mouth coming down to capture a pert nipple in his mouth. He rolled it with his tongue, teeth lightly holding it in place as he slotted his hips against you once again.

You moaned, hands sliding down his sides to his breeches which were still very much on his hips.

“Off.” You breathed, tugging at his pants, his mouth releasing your nipple with a soft pop.

“Patience, byka perzys.” Little flame, Aemond chuckled, shifting to drag his breeches down his legs, kicking them off the bed along with his boots. 

When he laid back against you, his hands moved to your shift again, pulling it over your head, leaving the two of you bare before each other once again. His head dipped and captured your lips, the taste of yourself on his tongue tart and musky.

Swiftly, Aemond used his thighs to part your own, moving them over the top of his as he lined the hard tip of his cock up with your soaked entrance.

Without pause, Aemond slid inside of you, catching your gasp in his mouth as you stretched around him. There was only the slightest of stings this time, your body far more relaxed than the first time.

The head of his cock pressed against your cervix snugly as he pushed to the hilt, the feeling of fullness spreading within you and up through your gut. You don't think that you could ever get used to such a feeling, such an all encompassing fullness that would forever shock you.

Aemond didn’t wait to give you a chance to adjust, and began to thrust himself through your silky walls immediately, sparks of pleasure beginning rippling up your body. A large hand held your hip, whilst the other buried itself in your hair, tilting your head further back for him to dive his tongue into your mouth, flicking at your own as you messily grabbed and kissed one another.

Feeling yourself begin to jolt up the bed, you lifted your legs and wrapped them around his waist, pulling him deeper and closer to you, desperate whine moving through you as his hips clapped against yours.

It was frenzied, fiery, and with each smack of his hips, you felt your wetness spread against his thighs and hair at the base of his length, his pelvis rubbing against your sensitive nub.

“Sīr ȳrda.” He moaned, head dipping into the crux of your neck, hand on your hip skimming to the globe of your ass, squeezing it as he fucked you harder, grunts spilling from his lips growing louder.

“You feel so good.” You whimpered, hands clawing at his back sharply as you felt a familiar coil within begin to wind again, “Please.”

Aemond raised his head to look down at you, your gaze meeting his. With his thumb, Aemond began to swirl small, wet circles into your pearl, accelerating your oncoming release. The lilac of his eye looked almost black as he lowered his voice to you.

“Take it from me.” 

Pleasure coursed through your veins. Blinding white heat pummelling through you as you reached your peak below him.

“There you go.” He cooed, watching as your release crashed over you.

Aemond tumbled over the edge with you with a cry. Your nails dug into his back as he sped up, looking down intently, mouth slack as he watched you come apart from below, not once breaking your locked gaze.

His forehead pressed into yours as he slowed, the throbbing of his length inside you and warmth of his spend filling you causing a smaller wave of pleasure to race through you, your walls clamping down onto him. Aemond hissed before coming to a stop, the both of you panting heavily, bodies going slack, the weight of him on top bringing you an odd sense of comfort.

Carefully Aemond rolled off of you, his cock sliding out from your sensitive walls as he lay on his back, pulling you into his side to tuck your head beneath his.

You curled into him immediately, as though you had done it a million times before, fitting perfectly at his side. You wrapped an arm around his middle, lifting a leg to hook over his hips, which he held and sooth his his hand. 

Your entire body was buzzing with the after mass of your release, limbs feeling heavier than they once were. The two of you sweaty and satiated, whilst small little huffs of joy breathed into the space as you both fell into a comfortable rest.

 -

Another week goes by, and soon enough, it had been almost a month since Aemond washed ashore on your island. 

Almost a month since the largest storm you had seen raged across the horizon and into the headlands.

Almost a month since you had nursed a man back from death and back to the living.

Almost a month since your heart began to grow fond of the man. 

Almost a month since you had grown content with Aemond’s presence. 

Things had changed again, not in any negative way, but things became more passionate, more heated, more tender.

Aemond would touch you whenever he could, hold you whenever he could, hand pressed against yours. Lips to yours, or your cheek, or forehead, and his his hands would seek you in gentle caresses that would set you alight and wanting for more.

And he always gave you more.

He seemed to be insatiable, never quite getting his fill, and whatever he had awoken inside of you was equal in fever. 

You noted that his personal preference was to be between your thighs, lapping at your folds whenever he could, pulling peak after peak from you whether on your bed, or the couch, against the table or walls or doors or kitchen bench. And even, on one occasion, in the lighthouse, pressed against the bricks with a leg hitched over his shoulder. 

Aemond never seemed to get enough of it, always insisting on it before he would sink himself inside of you. You had asked him why once, and he had flushed, stating that it was to prepare you, but when you had asked again, he said that there was no greater sweetness in all the lands he had travelled to than your, so eloquently put, cunt. 

Not that you minded, in fact, it began to be a favourite pass time of your own. 

When you had woken that morning, it wasn’t to your usual bodily clock, rising before the sun after years of habit, but rather to the warm and wet sensation that prodded and swiped between your legs.

You rose with a moan, and then a deeper one as you found Aemond between your thighs kissing your centre like a man starved. It didn’t take him long to get you to reach your peak, and when you had, he had smiled almost smugly, and stated that that was all he needed to eat for the day.

But the newfound intimacy and exploring each others bodies wasn’t all that you enjoyed in your shifting tides together. Each moment spent with Aemond you learnt more about him. Piece by piece he would reveal new information to you. A new memory, a new story, a new piece of knowledge about the mysterious man that you would itemise and lock away in the back of your mind to create a larger picture of the man in front of you.

You spent hours reading together when not working, for double the hands makes for swift work, and you found that for the first time in your life, you had the ability to sit down, to breathe, to not have every waking moment thinking about the lighthouse and only the lighthouse. And in those moments of breath and thought, you realised how much you truly had been missing out on in life. 

You had thought you had been content alone, but the more time you spent with him, the more time you spent reading or hearing about his own adventures, you realised, much to your dismay, how you longed to do the same. But you couldn’t ever leave, for no-one would man the lighthouse after you, at least no-one you would know to be so proficient. Unless it was William himself, but he had a wife and daughters and a job of his own, and you would never ask him to do such a thing for your selfish wants and imagination.

And so you were content in savouring each moment you had with the sailor whilst he was still there, laughing loudly over whiskey as he told you of a story of his older brother losing a wooden sword match with one of his nephews, or another time in which his brother Aegon had grown so drunk at a family event, that two maids had to assist him to bed, dropping him halfway up the stairs as they went.

You learnt that his sister, Helaena, was a sweet and gentle woman with a soft and kind heart. She had, what he called, a nervous or paranoid disposition, and often believed her dreams that things were to happen, the family taking no notice to her fretting. Though he did note, with an ashen face, that she had warned him once about a danger beneath the eye. 

Had she meant the eye he lost?

Or the eye of the storm which led to his ships demise, and almost his own?

Aemond did not know.

His mother, you learnt, Alicent, was a stern and pious woman, heavily religious and intent on him performing his duties and marrying a young Lady from a neighbouring land. Though at times she seemed to be somewhat overbearing and traditional in his retellings, when he spoke of her, there was a deep fondness in his eye, and it made you all the more disappointed in yourself for having kept him away from them.

During his stay, Aemond kept his promise to you, teaching you what he could of High Valyrian when you had the chance. It was a struggle to start, but you picked it up quicker than you had thought you would. 

He would praise you for your pronunciation, which only led you to want to do better for him, his words of affirmation doing something to your heart and body, which resulted in you mumbling words and phrases beneath your breath every chance you had to perfect them. 

You also learnt that he had an older sister, estranged, not talked about and something that was clearly a taboo for the sailor, but when he did mention her, it was to note that her High Valyrian was more advanced as their father had spent ample time teaching her, but not his four other children.

Aemond was, for the most part, self taught, besides the help of a lone tutor which Aemond noted was poorly. 

Each time he shared a piece of himself to you, your heart longed to go with him, to see the famed Keep where his family resided. To meet his mother Alicent who was such an important person in his life, as well as his sister Helaena. You wished to meet Aegon, to see if he truly was as bumbling as Aemond had told you. 

You wished to see the foods they had, imported from foreign lands you couldn’t pronounce, to walk the Gardens of the Keep, to see the ashen barked Weirwood tree in his Godswood, to try a starfruit, which Aemond had a craving for almost every second day, the shape and flavour a wonder to you. 

You wished to be a part of his life, a part of his family, and a tiny, foolish part of you thought that perhaps you could. But the more rational side knew that it could not be, that you were of low rank, and you could not leave the lighthouse unmanned, and as each day passed with this heavy revelation, came the looming of a dark cloud above you.

-

The fresh scones you had made were still soft and fresh, Celia’s jam spread thickly on top as a treat for the both of you that morning. The cottage was cold, but the heat of the fire radiated warmth around the two of you, a subtle wind whistling past the windows outside. 

Despite the bright mood the two of you had, started by Aemond waking you up between your thighs, that cloud still loomed over the top of you, dread and anticipation of what was to come nipping at you like a hound.

“Celia makes great jam. I should like to thank her one day.” Aemond hummed, popping a small broken piece of scone into his mouth to chew, licking the jam off the pad of his thumb after he swallowed.

You nodded, smiling, though it didn’t reach your eyes, “You should thank her yourself in person. I am sure she would like to meet a real Targaryen.”

His eye searched your face, “One day.”

“But when?” You swallowed, preparing your speech which you had practiced over and over in a loop in your head, finding some way that would make him want to stay, to make him want you.

The silver haired man frowned, placing the rest of his scone on his plate as he sat himself straighter, “When?”

“Yes. When.” The lump in your throat grew larger with each passing second, “You have a family, duties, a life. Your mother must be beside herself with worry and grief, and I fear that I am taking you from that. I fear I am creating pain for you all.”

“Taking me?” Aemond sounded confused, eye swiftly searching your face as you straightened in your chair.

“I do not wish to…force you to stay here, or corrupt you into thinking I could be anything other than this.” You watched as his frown deepened, lips pulling into a thin line, “I cannot keep you here as much as I wish to.”

His frown softened, “You wish for me to stay?”

“Kessa.” (Yes) You said quietly, “But I know it is not the reality we live in. You are a Lord, I am-“

“-Why do you always bring up my rank?”

“Because it means something. If your family found out that you have been here, with someone like me, the talk alone could ruin your potential list of decent wives. Your future. I fear I have already tainted-“

“-Tainted?”

“Yes, I-“

“-Why do you believe yourself to ever be capable of tainting me?” Aemond’s voice was stern, colder than before, as though angry at your words. You looked down at the table shyly, focusing on the scone smeared with jam.

“You do not think you could stay here forever, do you?”

Aemond huffed air through his nose, “I can do whatever I like. Go where I please, see who I wish. For now, my family believes me to be dead, and even if I was known to be hale and healthy, I can still do as I please.”

“But your mother-“

“-My mother,” Aemond began, voice softening, “Will one day come to understand.”

You shook your head, confusion coursing through you, “I don’t understand.”

Aemond’s jaw tensed, teeth pressing sharply against each other before he adjusted himself to sit even more impossibly straighter, “Do you believe in the Gods?”

Your eyebrows knitted together, “Of course. I would not have prayed to them if I did not.”

“Then you must believe the Gods control our paths and fate.”

Paths and fate?

What was he talking about?

“Yes, I believe so. But I don’t understand what the Gods have to do with you needing to go home.”

Aemond took a deep breath through his nose, his hand on the table as fingers flexed and then curled back into a fist, dropping into his lap out of sight, “My ship sunk for a reason. I do not believe that it happened without purpose. I drowned and came back for a reason. You prayed to the Gods to save me, and they did.” His tongue peeked out of his lips to wet them, and your heart began to race in your chest, “The Gods gave me a second chance at life and brought me straight to you.” He shook his head, silver locks falling over his shoulders, “Before you, I was unhappy, but with you? I have never been so content. So… at peace.”

Tears prickled at your eyes, your own hands twisting in your lap, “Please do not say such things to me, Sir. My heart cannot bear it.”

Aemond leant forward, “But it is the truth. And mine own heart cannot bear the thought of leaving here. Of leaving you.”

A tear fell from your eye, sliding wetly down your cheek as you looked at him, his figure blurred in your vision, “You cannot want me.”

“I can. And I do.”

A sob fell from your lips as you looked at him, “This is cruelty, Aemond. You cannot- You can’t- Your family would never allow it. You cannot say these things to me, do not give me false hope. Do not give me reason to believe.”

Aemond's hand lifted on top of the table, palm up, offered to you. 

You looked at his palm, and the soft smooth skin there, and wished to mark it. You wished to mark him so that he could never leave, so that he could never be without you without evidence of you existing.

“False hope would be to say that I could ever leave here with my heart intact.” His hand waited for you on the table, “Please.”

Another tear fell from your cheek, “You cannot want a life like this. You cannot want a life with me. I have no money, I cannot ever leave, I would never trap you here with me.”

“You could never trap me in the first place. I am yours.”

I am yours.

Another sob fell from your lips, chest aching at the thought of losing him, at the thought of him leaving you. That this declaration would be for naught, that he had not truly thought this over, but deep inside of you, you hoped, dreamed, begged the Gods for his words to be true.

Aemond’s hand slid off the table and back into his lap as he stared at you, silence creeping across the table.

“I am just as much yours. Irrevocably.” You breathed, watching as relief flooded Aemond’s face, “But I cannot ask this of you. Not when you lose so much if you do.”

Aemond stood from his seat, swiftly coming towards you where he knelt in front of you, forcefully taking your hand in his as he looked up into your tear filled eyes. His thumb brushed over your knuckles soothingly, his other hand briefly coming to swipe a tear from your cheek before meeting the other that held yours.

“You are not asking me to do anything, byka perzys.” His words came swiftly, eye searching your face as tear after tear fell down your cheeks, “And if you were, I would do it. A thousands times over, I would do it. If you asked me to walk back into the sea, I would do it. For you, I would do it.”

“Aemond,” You shook your head sadly, mouth opening again to argue, but he interrupted you.

“-I want to stay.” His hands gripped yours tighter, “Here. With you. I want to be with you. Always.” He swallowed thickly, “If you’ll have me.”

Your blood thumped loudly in your ears as you looked at him. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t speak, mind going a thousand miles an hour. 

He wanted to stay.

He wanted to stay here.

With you.

“Please do not turn me away. The fate of the seas would be kinder.” His voice cracked, and your heart ached.

There was no turning back, no moving from this conversation without an outcome. 

It all just depended on which path you wished to go. Which path your heart ached for most, and that was for him to stay. But would it come without consequences? Would his decision to stay be a mistake he would come to resent you for? 

You had nothing to lose, he had everything to.

But the way he was looking at you, the way he was patiently and nervously awaiting your answer, watching as tears continued to fall from your eyes, not just out of grief, but sheer overwhelming love for the man knelt before you, offering all that he was, sacrificing all that he had, and for you.

A small smile cracked on your lips, and you watched as his eye became hopeful. Your hand lifted to his cheek, caressing it softly to cup his jaw as you looked him over; his lilac eye, the sharp aquiline of his nose, the way his plump lips pulled sharply at its peaks. Never in your dreams could you have imagined such a man, and never in your life did you think to imagine that a man such as him could be yours.

And it was in that moment that you made your decision.

You smiled, small sobbing laugh escaping your lips as you rubbed a thumb against his skin, feeling the smooth stubble beneath it, “The Gods brought you to me.” You whispered, eyes searching his face for any sign of regret or trepidation, and when you found none, you continued, “Who am I to turn you away?”

And there it was, that full smile that you had grown to love. 

Aemond’s lips pulled widely revealing his teeth as he beamed up at you. 

Never had you felt such joy, such elation inside of you at the sight, your heart feeling as though it became full, a fire settling into your chest raging as it always did with him, for he always made it feel as though he set you alight.

“Avy jorrāelan.” Aemond declared softly with a smile, his eyes crinkling in the corners, lilac dancing with admiration, the unseeing eye reflecting the light of the sun outside like a cloudy morning sky. 

He sat up on his knees and leant forward, face coming towards you before his eye shut, and his lips met yours in a passionate kiss. Your hands grabbed his face, and he did yours, diving his fingers into your hair, holding you to him gently as he slowly sought your lips with his own. 

It was not rushed, it was not frantic, but patient, the both of you knowing that you were no longer running on limited time. No longer stealing moments together before the end.

No longer was there a looming departure of his presence in your life, and as though a breeze from outside swept inside the house, the dark looming cloud that had situated itself above you cleared.

When finally did you part, breathless and giddy, a curiosity took over.

“What does that mean?” You questioned, burning desire to know eating away at you, “What you said?”

And there was that smile once more, and you knew in your heart what it meant after that.

“You will know soon enough.”

Translations:

Sīr lōz - So wet

Syt ao? Mirros - For you? Anything

Iksā sīr vok syt nyke - You are so perfect for me

Nyke jorrāelagon ao. I need you

Gaomā daor gīmigon ziry, Yn iksi vēttan naejot sagon - You do not know it, but we are made to be.

Sīr ȳrda - So tight

Avy jorrāelan - I love you

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the general tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

@blackswxnn @marihoneywk @targaryenrealnessdarling @namelesslosers @aemondsfavouritebastard @dahlias-and-marigolds @aemondsbabygirl @toodlesxcuddles @jemmaagentofshield @malfoytargaryen @bellaisasleep @aaprilshowers @assortedseaglass @elizarbell @xpersephonex @lijeno @likeanecho344 @coffeeobsessedtrencher @diannnnsss @lexwolfhale @notasockpuppetaccount @at-a-rax-ia @spinachtz@marysucks-blog @generalkenobitrash @zenka69 @shygardengalaxy-blog @kittendoll05 @300nightmare003

[cry4mina]

Take Me Back to Eden - Euclid - Part 7

Take Me Back to Eden Series Page

Angst/Fluffy Moments

Word Count: 12k

Summary: After the events of the last chapter, reader finds themselves in a spiral of self hatred as they wait for their beloved to wake up, unbeknownst to them - someone is lurking in the shadows.

TW: Hospitals, spiraling, big sads, talks of death, some happy moments!, knives, talks of guns, talks of abusive relationships, broken glass, aaaaaaand talks of drinking and cheating. I think that's everything?

AN: Two more parts after this one and the story will be complete! I feel like I say this all the time but I never really thought this story would evolve into the series that it is now and I'm so grateful for all your support and kind words along the way! <3 <3 I truly hope you all have a lovely evening! I'd love to hear your predictions on what you all think is going to happen next!

A sharp jolt crackling through your chest wakes you violently, like lightning crawling through every vein cardiovascular system, forcing your eyes open. The fluorescent lights shine down on you, the beeping of machines, someone crying, and the rocking movement overwhelm your senses.

“We got her back! Okay, Y/n! You need to stay with me now, okay?” concern laced in the voice as that spoke to you.

Your vision is still blurred, eyes barely opening when you use as much energy as you can to keep yourself from passing out again. A familiar voice breaks through the machine’s whirring.

“Is she going to be okay?!” Momo is frantically barking at the EMT, seemingly trying to get information from him but unable to hold back the panic in these circumstances.

The rocking of the larger vehicle wakes you up just a little more but not enough to be full cognizant, bringing nausea along with it. Body unmoving as your eyes fight to keep the sliver of sight they have when your brain flashes the last few memories you had before you passed out…

Nayeon, with a smoking gun in her hand pointed past you.

Mina with crimson running down her torso and going pale…

“Mina?” croaked out between heavy breaths from the oxygen machine placed on your face.

“Wait!” Momo snaps at everyone who’s speaking around her, you hear silence again.

“Y/n?” her hand fills yours, feeling her lean into you to make sure she can hear what you’re saying. It must be pretty bad if she’s reacting this way.

“Where…is…Mina?” gravelly and with everything you could muster.

Momo sniffles, you can feel her head down and it on your arm. She sighs heavily before bringing her head back up, aware that she might not have time to fully explain what’s happening. The unanswered question haunts you for a moment.

“She’s on her way to the hospital. You both lost a lot of blood…they don’t know….they don’t know if she’s going to make it, Y/n. She was…shot in a pretty severe place…” tears spilling from her, sobbing at the information she had.

Tears roll down your face, reviving the crystalized blood coating your skin from the circumstances you were just in, dripping and reigniting it’s liquid form as it spills down around you.

If Mina…doesn’t survive…

The dread consumes you instantly. Would it be your fault if she didn’t make it? You were the one who was with her, you were the one who was supposed to protect her, but was it enough? Trying got you here…trying got you in this ambulance with both you and her getting rushed to the emergency room.

How could you stomach losing Mina like this? At the hands of one of her best friends and over…you?

“Nayeon…” whispered through the sadness and the anxiety filled thoughts that consumed every cell in your body.

The silence between her sniffling tells a lot, but not enough.

“Momo…do the police have Nayeon?” a little more aggression out of you, even in this state. You want to make sure that she can’t touch you or Mina ever again.

“Where is she?!” hissed out in an anger that Momo has never seen from you, even in the state of hurt you were in, the rage permeated the vessel you were trapped in.

The only two things you could feel in this moment: Fear and Fury. They walk hand in hand through your mind while patiently waiting for someone to answer your question.

Machines around you start furiously beeping again. Eyes still fighting to stay open but you’re so exhausted that staying awake feels impossible with the frames of darkness around your vision.

“Ma’am, I understand that you want to speak with her but we need to make sure she stays awake.” the EMT started putting needles in your arms.

“Get the crash cart ready! We might lose her again!”

Again?

Momo is in hysterics, understandably so. Wondering how much she witnessed, it would be hard for anyone to see someone they cared about in the position you were in. Imagining the lasting impact of finding the mess of the room that it all happened in, you sigh as the tears keep flowing.

All of this is too much. Too much on everyone around you.

Too much on Mina.

Too much on you.

You're slowly drifting into a dream-like state when what little blood you have runs absolutely cold, the ice that froze hell over ransacks your veins expeditiously. Eyes flying open as your heart pumps faster and faster, a chemically impersonated panic attack brought on to keep you awake.

“Y/n, listen to me. We are on the way to the hospital and it’s imperative you stay awake. I gave you an adrenaline shot so your heart might race. This is normal. Okay?” his voice is fading in and out of your range of hearing.

“So…tired…” breathlessly escapes you.

“Y/n, we are almost there, just please listen and stay awake.” Momo’s sobbing sounds physically painful and drenched in fear.

Fighting as much as you can, you try to count the lights to stay awake, forcing yourself to focus on anything that wasn’t the weight of your eyes or the pounding in your chest.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Suddenly, you’re pulled feet first out of the vehicle, continuing to try and count things as your eyes fight you.

Vision goes as black as the night sky above you while you’re being pushed through the hospital, feeling the gurney bumps over the tracks of the automatic doors you hear glide open.

“We need 2 liters of O negative, stat!” shouted from your right hand side.

Your hearing is fading, replaced by the ringing that you got familiar with when the gun went off. A wave of panic swings through you, hands going up to reach for anything you could grab. This takes all of your energy and you fall into a deep calm sleep.

—

Void. Darkness. Silence.

Familiarity seeps in through your pores as your eyes calibrate to the surroundings, deja vu reflecting what once was in your mind, yet again. The same small metal table, the same figures sitting around it.

Sighing, unable to hear the huff of your wit’s end, you start to walk. Knowing exactly who the figures are before you even approach the table. Cautiously walking towards the shadows sat, almost waiting for something. Maybe, someone?

Both turning their head at you, the faces exactly who you expected, Mina and Nayeon. Mina smiles at you, the glow of her illuminating the endless ether. You have to stop moving to fully take in the essence of her.

Long dark wavy hair that frames her face and torso, welcoming eyes that melt you in the warmth she radiates, that small smile she is giving to you, and the way she gracefully reaches her hand towards you…peace.

The calm washes over you, just like the last time, as you approach her. The other figure at the table shows itself again to be Nayeon, eyes black, the smell of sulfur, the rage emitting off of her skin and the possessiveness that she always carried try to overshadow the care that was brought by Mina.

“Oh, Y/n, it’s great of you to join us.” ethereally leaves Mina’s lips.

“Yes, isn’t it pleasant to have my personal whore here?” hiss between Nayeon’s razor sharp teeth, contorted voice layered in anger and hatred.

“Don’t.” stern and powerful as it leaves the angel's lips.

A bright stream of light beams down from the nothingness, penetrating Nayeon’s chest cavity. She wails out into the void, breathing heavily.

“Do you think you can just take her from me? She’s my favorite piece of meat!” arms lengthening, mouth largening as Nayeon’s body contorts into a tall, lanky, sharp looking demon. Horns growing and snapping into shape, hooves clomping down into the cement harshly as she stakes her claim.

Mina is unaffected by this gesture of power, sending another few beams of light through Nayeon, setting what they touch on fire. Nayeon screams, loud enough to shake the table and it’s settings, rumbling them onto the floor.

Bloodied barbed wire shoots up from the floor, alive in its movements as it wraps around Nayeon’s wrists, slamming her into the ground and tightening with every second. More barbs shoot up and fix themselves around her torso, pulling her even further into the floor.

A demonic shriek can be heard through the hellfire and brimstone, Nayeon crumbles into stone before you, leaving nothing you coated in this dust and ash.

Mina is calm, cool, and collected. Standing up and yanking on your hand, you swing around and land chest first against Mina.

It starts drizzling pure clean water, Mina just holding you close while you look up to observe the rain falling from nothing. It starts picking up, washing the dust off your body.

Both of you soaking wet, standing in this mysterious rain after the monster has been slayed - there’s only one thing left to do in this fairy tale.

Boldly grabbing the sides of her face and bringing her lips to yours. Her eyes were surprised at this gesture but reciprocated the moment of passion before pulling back.

“Wake up” barely over a whisper and in a voice that isn’t hers.

“Please, Y/n, wake up!” Momo?

“WAKE! UP!”

“Don’t worry.” in her own voice, echoing against the walls of your brain before the light around Mina shines its brightest, consuming both of you.

—

Blinking ferociously, your eyes open to bright fluorescence hanging above you.

“Oh thank GOD” Momo throws herself on you before you can even understand what is happening, you wince at the weight of her unsure of what your wounds were.

“Sorry, Sorry!” She hugs you tightly before removing herself from you. Dahyun is seated, allowing you time to get your bearings before coming over to you and placing her hand in yours.

“We are so happy to see you’re awake!” smiled lightly, eyed red and swollen.

She has been crying…

“Where…is…Mina?” croaked out through dry lips and barely any energy as the worry for her consumes you.

“She’s in surgery…” Momo sniffles at the words she spoke.

There was an uneasiness about the way her voice wavered.

“…what did the doctors say?”

“The bullet penetrated her lung…they’re going in to remove it…She lost a lot of blood, Y/nnie…There’s a good chance that she might not…make it.” choking on the last few words as she forced them out.

The droplets fall from your eyes when you register what she’s said…Mina might not make it?

Thinking about the ambulance, thinking about how Momo gave this information to you there as well but it didn’t really connect in your brain until now…This event of Mina getting injured was avoidable…If you just kept your distance from her when Nayeon went crazy, maybe she wouldn’t be where she is….Maybe Mina would’ve been safe from her…

The pit of your stomach flips, all the stress of what happened has come back full force and is slamming all of your fear back into your chest, making friends with the pounding of the headache you have.

“Nayeon?” puffed out of your weak body, wondering if shew as far away and in police custody.

“Is she awake?” an all too familiar voice breaks the moment.

You look up to see who it was, a bouquet of lotus flowers covering the face of the person. They are placed down on the small table at the foot of the bed and the person steps out from behind the display, revealing herself to be Ms. Park Jihyo.

Tensing immediately, you struggle to lift yourself up higher in a move of defense. Momo sees this and puts her hand on your shoulder.

“Just hear her out, you might be surprised at what she says.” smiling and nodding before heading out of the room with Dahyun.

Jihyo stands in the room, looking at the ground before she grabs one of the uncomfortable foldable chairs from the walls of the room and scoots it closer to you.

You try to keep a straight face in her presence but can’t help but shed a few tears as this human who knowingly hurt you sits in front of you, elbows on her knees and hands together as she tries to plead her case.

“I’m sorry, Y/n…I know that this is a lot and has been since everything came out but I think I need to tell you what happened the night that rock flew through your window.” she makes eye contact with you, showing a serious demeanor as she shifts back into her seat trying to find some sense of comfort in the discomfort of this situation.

“Nayeon was…violently upset when we ran into you and Mina at the cafe. She was punching the dashboard of my car the entire way to your apartment…she still had your location. I didn’t like that she did that but honestly…” Jihyo’s voice cracked, eyes reflecting something you had never seen in her before back to you as she forced herself to make eye contact through the discomfort that sat on her chest.

“…I have always kind of…been scared of her, you know? Like she has this intensity that’s just really hard to say no too and when she was raging about seeing you and Mina together…I just didn’t know what to do so I listened to what she said. We went to your apartment and we watched you and Mina walk in together…Nayeon got…quiet and told me to leave so I did.”

Fear, her eyes were reflecting fear.

Jihyo is visibly shaken and remorseful through reliving the events as she spoke them to you, rubbing her hands up and down her face aggressively to smear the intensity of the conversation off.

“We went back to the apartment you both lived in together…I tried to calm her down by massaging her shoulders but she…got angry when I called her “baby”...she told me I would never be you and then she pushed me to the floor…a-a-ggressively.” Shuttering through the dread that was weighing her down.

“After that…Nayeon just got up and left.” Choking on her words as the spilt from her lips.

Jihyo was practically sobbing while sharing the trauma she had endured that you were unaware of. Knowing full and well that Nayeon was an abuser to you, the only moment you really thought she could be a monster to Jihyo as at the cafe…when Jihyo was crying behind her as she tried to seduce you again…in front of her.

She had been affected by this situation just as much as you had. Her eyes hold similar pain that yours did when you and Nayeon first split. It was hard to see, even on someone you were upset with.

“When she came home…things happened…and the cops showed up. She fake cried and told them that I made her go with her, that I was violent and controlling of her. She said that I was the one who had the idea…I tried to tell them it wasn’t me, but they didn’t listen because she was hysterically bawling her eyes out and acting like I had threatened her. They took me to jail after that…she called me after I got bailed out and told me that she was breaking up with me because she was going to exterminate the problem…so she could be with you.” completely serious in her tone, even through the trembling of her voice.

“So you called the police?” still raspy in the way you asked, the puzzle pieces have finally found their place.

“Yes. I called the police and Momo to tell them what was going on…I tried to call you and Mina but neither of you answered…Y/n, I’m so sorry. I really am. I truly loved the friendship we had and I don’t know if we can ever get back to that but I'm very willing to try to fix this…that time we spent at the park, everything I said, I meant. I never wanted to hurt you in this. I just felt so stuck.” sobbing as she makes her apology, genuinely distraught about all of this.

“Hyo…I need to know how this actually started. How did you and her end up…together?” a small ache in your chest reminds you of the confrontation in the elevator. The anger and hatred you felt then was still present to some degree.

“The drunk one night stand part was true…but it was before she met you.” her eyes down at the ground, a semblance of a smile lingers on her face at the nickname you called her.

“She told me when you met and said that she had no intention of it being serious with you. We went on tour and Nayeon couldn’t put her phone down, always texting you and calling you on Facetime… I knew that it was something serious then but when we got back and had that party, it was just different.” making eye contact with you again, voice quivering while she’s holding back even more tears.

“That’s why I called you that night…because I thought you were who she wanted and not me. I just wanted her to be happy. But when we were out of town…she would purposefully ask to be roomed with me. We would get drunk, it would happen again and we would just pretend like it didn’t.”

“My feelings got involved pretty early on and I told her but she was insistent on being with you and I respected that. She would tell me that you broke up and then when we got back, she would say you were together again.”

“Jihyo, this is the first and only time we ever broke up…” whispered to her in the smallest breath, hoping she wouldn’t hear you or at least wishing you didn’t have to tell her the whole truth.

It was hard to see her like this, baring her soul for you to see, dripping in guilt and anger.

“I know that now. I know that she was using me for when you weren’t around. But you can see why I had a hard time getting away from her…and she wasn’t ever as violent as she was the night that we saw you at the cafe…I think that’s when it truly clicked for me that she was dangerous.” Jihyo’s breathing is picking up, she’s on the verge of a panic attack when you see the blood under her nails and knuckles that were bruised.

“Jihyo…what happened to your hands?” whispered in fear of the answer.

“I came to the banquet…when I heard that first shot and saw everyone rushing out of the building, I saw Momo trying to get the members out a side door. We saw each other and I pointed to the room. She ran over and we went in together.” her voice is trembling as she tells you more of what happened.

“When I saw you passed out in Mina’s arms…and what Nayeon did to Mina, I got so angry.” She’s in hysterics now, trying to steady her own breathing and self regulate so she can tell you the information you were owed.

“I tried so hard to get her to stop…and put the gun down…I don’t even know where she got that fucking gun. I punched her to try and get her to stop but she just kept going…I got the gun from her, and was trying to fight her off but she tackled me to the floor. She got on top of me and choked me…I couldn’t get her off me, Y/n.”

Jihyo is now sobbing, trembling and looking very nauseous. Completely drowning in herself when she finally releases the memory that is burnt in her brain for the rest of her life.

“Y/n…I shot her.”

“What?”

“I…shot Nayeon…”

“…Jihyo, you shot Nayeon?”

“It was the only way I could stop her…she would’ve killed me if I didn’t…I feel so guilty. I feel so fucking guilty.”

Jihyo’s face falls into her hands, violently sobbing at the fact that she killed someone she loved, even if that love wasn’t returned.

The sting of this information was something incomprehensible, a grief blending inside your torso, the gut wrenching twist of your stomach, ruining the home where the butterflies once lived and flourished for Im Nayeon.

Your ex-girlfriend of three years.

The girl you thought you’d spend the rest of your life with.

She’s just…gone.

Even with everything that happened between you and Nayeon, you are having a hard time wrapping your thoughts around her being dead. Barely only finding out about how crazy she actually was, the version of her that was sweet and loving still saturates the predatory acts and violent tendencies she exposed to everyone in the end.

Shifting up in your seat weakly, you rotate your legs off the side of the bed. Bare toes touching the cool ground as you try to stand up. Feeling every single bruise and wound left in the altercation. Jihyo stands with you, putting her arms out so she can help you balance yourself.

Without hesitation, you pull her in for the hug you both needed. Crying in each others arms as you both try to process the death of your abuser.

“I’m so sorry Y/n. I’m so fucking sorry.” wept into your shoulder.

“I am too, Jihyo. I am too.” sniffling while you release all irritation you had with Jihyo. She was a victim of Nayeon, just like you. Maybe there was hope for that trust had, to be built again.

Maybe.

“Y/n? Can we come in?”

Both of you turn to look at her, when the entirety of Twice minus Nayeon and Mina walk in with sorrow in their eyes and more flowers in their hands. Worry being on the forefront of their minds. We are all grieving this loss, we are all fearful of the future.

“Jihyo…”

“Yes, Y/n?”

“Thank you.”

Momo is smiling behind the crowd, holding Dahyun’s hand and watching as the girls come in and sit scattered around the room. Jihyo still in the chair near the bed you crawled back in, Sana sitting at the end of that bed across from her, Chae in the big comfortable chair by the window, Jeongyeon is standing and looking a little anxious and Tzuyu pulls up a seat next to Jihyo.

“How long was I asleep?” not knowing what day it is, or what time it was. The sun seems to be either rising or setting and you can’t tell which.

“About 12 hours.” Momo chimes in from the doorway, checking her phone to see the time. She’s got a weird air about her, something is off.

“Momo, what’s wrong?” knowing she’d normally be as close to you as possible in this situation.

“I’m waiting for a phone call.” anxiously blurted across the room.

Everyone is silent with their heads down, whatever this was putting Momo on edge was eating at everyone in the room.

“The police don’t speak Japanese here…so I had to call Mina’s parents…” another piece of your heart breaks off for every syllable of the sentence.

Her parents…her brother…

Dread sinks your heart down to your stomach, weighing like cement in your gut. Skin prickling into a million stipples, remembering the last moment you saw Mina.

Tears rolling down her cheeks.

Blood spilling from her chest.

Then darkness.

Unable to help yourself, you start sobbing uncontrollably.

This was all so overwhelming, trying to process everything that had happened. Nayeon with the gun pointed at you, the person you were with for so long had not only threatened your life, but wounded you beyond what you thought possible.

Weeping as you think about what she had put Mina through. Mina just wanted to be there for you and you found some safety, Nayeon tried to take that away and might’ve been successful…

The doctor walks into the room, looks around and sees all these people around you crying with you and his eyes widen, intimidated by the 8 people who peered up at him as he entered.

“Uh…I can come back later…if you’d prefer.” raising the clipboard by the side of his head, pointing it back towards the door nervously.

“No no, it’s okay. You can come in.” waving him into the room so he can say what he needs to.

“Is it okay if I talk about your medical diagnosis in front of…uhm…” gesturing to the girls scattered around the room.

“Yes, that’s completely fine.” assuring him that he could continue.

“Okay, Ms. Y/n…so we are looking at a concussion, you’ve got 16 stiches on your scalp, 3 broken ribs, and a few lacerations and bruises. I suspect you’ll be sore for a while but you should make a full recovery. You should thank whoever kept the pressure on the back of you head…you had an artery grazed in the…incident and that pressure saved your life.“ The Doctor hesitates as he reads off the clipboard, it looks like he’s wondering if that was the right thing to say.

“I’ve written a few prescriptions for the pain and swelling, but you should be good to be released within the next few hours. Do you have any questions for me?” clicking his pen and putting his clipboard down by his side.

That’s a lot of information to digest.

“I do but I don’t think you’ll be able to tell me…” softly stated back to him.

“I take it it’s about your friend? The one you came in with?”

Nodding your head as the tears fall again, you’re too worried about Mina to not try to get some information out of him.

“I can’t really tell you anything specific without permission, I would need permission from the emergency contact to do so.” the Doctor sighs,

“You have my permission.” Momo raises her hand from across the room, nodding to him, respectfully.

The Doctor nods his head back, his body language shifts into something less pleasant.

“Ms. Mina is out of surgery and the surgeon over seeing her said that it went very well.” He moves his weight to the other leg, crossing his arms and looking at the floor.

“She lost a lot of blood…even with a blood transfusion she wasn’t very stable, we revived her a few times on the table.”

Everyone is frozen at this news, breath held and the whirring and beeping of the machines around you is the only thing keeping all of you present.

“She had a punctured lung from the bullet wound in her chest. We did manage to remove the bullet and patch her up just fine, but with her being unstable…we had to put her in a medically induced coma.”

Everyone gasps in unison, the worry behind everyone’s eyes reflects the deep love of a friend and loved one, who is now in a state of deep sleep for an unknown amount of time.

Jihyo takes over now, directing the conversation and asking what we all wanted to know.

“When will she wake up?”

“Well, that depends…we have her on a 24 hour watch to make sure she can stabilize on her own. She’s on a ventilator to insure proper oxygen intake. Once she stabilizes, we can wake her.”

The Doctor looks around the room and sees many sets of distraught eyes looking back at him.

“I know this is a lot of information, but rest assured we are doing everything we can. I’ll give you some space, but Miss Y/n, I’ll have the nurse bring in your release paperwork soon.” He turns out of the room, swiftly walking to where his next patient was.

It’s silent, everyone can’t seem to wrap their heads around what is happening, yourself included. Everything that happened to Mina would’ve never taken place if you hadn’t hung out with her. If Nayeon hadn’t seen you together she would be okay…

Sobbing quietly to yourself, the girls look at you with saddened eyes, Momo knowing exactly what’s going through your head. Walking up to you and sitting down, she wraps an arm around you, letting you cry openly on her shoulder.

Everyone follows suite, walking up and wrapping their arms around everyone to create a group hug that all of you desperately needed.

“Please, let me have some space.” quietly said into Momo’s neck.

“What do you mean, Y/n? We are all here for you.” confusion in her words, cocking her brow at you to try and understand what you meant.

“This is all my fault.” whispered through the cascade of bitter hatred for yourself that spilled from your eyes.

“No, it isn’t your fault Y/n! This is Nayeon’s fault.” Sana insists, mad that you would even think that you had anything to do with the outcome of this.

Believing that was something you would never do.

“Y/n, it’s so obvious that you care about Mina…You would never intentionally put her in harms way.” Jihyo rubs your shoulder trying to ease you of the mind set that was turning your brain into a web of connections that was weaved in hatred for yourself and Nayeon.

“If you and Nayeon had never seen us at this cafe, it would’ve never happened…I should’ve just ordered in that night. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” choking on your tears, coughing, and wincing at the searing pain that erupted from the contractions of your muscles around your broken ribs.

The feeling accumulated from everything that happened poured out of you like steaming lava, burning and aching your chest as the rage of another thing you care about possibly being ripped out from underneath you catches fire under your heart.

Momo is holding you against her, rocking you and trying to comfort you as Dahyun ushers the other girls out into the hallway to let you have this moment.

“Hey, hey. Look at me…” Trying to catch your eyes as they drift to the floor.

“…I said look at me, Y/nnie!” Momo grabs your faces and forces you to look at her, tears heavily coating your cheeks as your eyes blur at the pressure you’re putting on yourself to hold yourself accountable for nothing done wrong.

“You didn’t do anything. Nothing. Not a single thing to deserve any of this. None of this is your fault. Not even close.” pulling you back in immediately for another hug that sucks the life out of you.

Mourning the memory of a Nayeon that never existed and mourning what Mina is going through just from being too close to you…It was too much for you to handle in the state you were in. Physical and emotional wounds compounding into a broken person being held up by those around you.

Just as you’re about to speak, Momo’s phone rings. She let’s go of your hug in a panic to look to see who it is.

“Shit, I have to take this. I’ll be right back.” jumping up off the bed to step out of the room, her eyes brimming with tears as she answers and steps away.

Alone with your thoughts, you think back to how safe Mina made you feel and how unsafe she was when she was with you. How could you have allowed this to happen? Why weren’t you shot instead of her?

A nurse walks in while you’re lost in these thoughts.

“Alright Ms. Y/n, will you please sign these release papers? I’ve brought your medications in this bag so you should be all good to go home. The doctor suggests plenty of rest until your ribs heal in 2-6 weeks.” cheerfully beaming at you like you hadn’t just been through the most traumatic event of your life.

How could someone be so…sunshine at a time like this?

Signing the documents she brought you quickly, she points to a bag that hung off the side of one of the folding chairs.

“Your friend, Ms. Minatozaki, brought you a change of clothes…what you wore to the event is considered evidence now…You are free to change and go home.” The nurse triple checks your paperwork and walks out of the room, closing the door behind her, leaving you to get changed.

Standing up, wobbling as you gain your balance and wincing at your weight of your own body. Gripping the chair that Jihyo left next to your bed, you grab the bag and tug out the clothes that she brought for you.

Knowing that Momo was the only one with a spare key to your apartment, you knew that Sana would have gone and done exactly what she said to do. Your favorite pair of sweatpants and a hoodie that looked unfamiliar…it’s not one you recall.

Picking it up, you pull the arms to the side and take a good look at the sweater.

“A catholic school in Japan?” confused at the lettering on the sweater, you lay it on the chair and slip on the pair of sweats.

Reaching down slowly to grab the hoodie, you lift your arms up - trying not to cause further damage to yourself and cautiously let it glide down into you.

As the fabric passes over your face, you take in the smell and instantly know who it belongs to.

Mina.

Lifting the neck of the sweater, you take a long inhale of her scent and a calm washes over you that you had become accustom to.

“I wish you were awake.” softly spoken to yourself, wiping a tear from your cheeks with the sleeve.

Momo comes through the door again, her eyes wide when she sees the sweater.

“That must have been Sana’s doing…” a small chuckle as she sees you’re dressed.

“Are you ready to go home?”

“I’m not going home.” pushing past her to get to the hallway.

“Y/n, you need to rest.” concern lays thick in the words as she cocks her head at you, seemingly frustrated at your lack of cooperation.

“She didn’t leave me…I’m not leaving her.” taking a slow step to not lose your footing.

Momo watches as you slug down the hallway to sit with the other girls who are patiently waiting for Mina to wake up. Sana smiles up at you when you sit next to her, instinctively putting her arm around you to support some of your weight.

“Thank you for this.” tugging on the front of Mina’s hoodie, trying to smile up at her but you end up biting your lip to hold in the tears.

“Sana…”

“Yeah, Y/nnie?”

“I’m scared.” the breathed statement is so quiet that’s it’s a miracle she heard it.

Leaning in to hug you, she tightens as much as she can without hurting you. Both of you have tears dripping down you face - sharing the moment of fear with each other and some how strengthening the bond that was already in place.

—

Days pass like it’s nothing. Sitting still in that same hospital chair while the world goes on around you. No sleeping, no eating…simply waiting for the doctors to say anything about Mina and her state.

Food is offered to you at every meal, you decline it. The nausea of the unknown clouds your stomach and the idea of any flavor makes you sick. You can only focus on Mina.

Momo walks up and sits down next to you, she rubs your back and you snap out of the dissociative state you sat in for days on end. The trance breaking leaves you realizing how much time had gone by and how much you had been neglecting yourself.

“Hey, come with me?” offering her hand to you and leading you to the room where Mina was.

Two older people, seemingly her parents are sitting in the room across from the bed where Mina sleeps, with tears streaming down their faces.

The man looks up at you, standing and then bowing to you - you return the bow as best as you can, before he starts saying something in Japanese to Momo and then looking at you.

“He wants you to know that he’s seen you sitting outside…he wants you to sit in with him and Mrs. Myoui from now on.” Dr. Myoui says something else to Momo and she translates the same.

“He knows about you and Nayeon, he is really sorry that this happened to you and wants you to know that he doesn’t blame you. “ Momo’s voice cracks as he begins speaking again, he seems to get teary eyed as he continues on, sniffling and clearing his throat as he tries to stay strong.

“He says that Mina had spoken about you…and that she really cares for you. Judging the state you are in, injuries and all, it seems that you really care about her too…and he wants you to be here with them because it’s what she would’ve wanted.”

Stepping up to Dr. Myoui, your jaw quivers trying to hold the tears inside but you can’t help it. He leans in and hugs you gently, all you can do is weep in his arms.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so so-sorry!”

Momo translates it and he offers reassurance that Momo translates for you.

“Please go home and eat, get some sleep and when you come back we will be waiting for you here, okay? If anything happens, I’ll call you.” Half translated and half just an instruction from Momo.

“Thank you.” Releasing from the hug, Mina’s mom stands to offer you a hug, you accept the warm gesture happily.

Mrs. Myoui holds you tightly before pulling back from the hug and rubbing your upper arms.

Catching your eye contact before your head could fall to the floor, she wipes the tears off your cheeks- even with her own falling. A wordless exchange of affection that was a sign of acceptance and care, even her parents were amazing. You can see where she gets it from.

Momo puts her hand on your back, guiding you out of the room.

“Can we go to you and Dahyun’s house instead? I really don’t want to go to that apartment right now…” looking down at the ground while you walk as fast as your body would allow.

“Of course.” patting your back lightly and leading you to the exit from the hospital.

—

When you get to the house, the dogs scramble to greet you. Boo and Dobby come toppling over each other to get their love and affection. Momo goes into the kitchen and you go to the guest bathroom to take a shower.

Being anywhere but at the hospital leaves you feeling guilty, unable to cope with the idea of Mina waking up before you could get back. It makes you nauseous.

The one who accentuated your sense of self after all the trauma Nayeon left behind…she meant so much to you in such a short amount of time - how could you feel anything but shame and guilt?

Showering in your condition was difficult. Physically, mentally, emotionally…it was almost unbearable. Watching as the water as it revives the dried blood from your scalp and carrying down the drain, you relive the silent scene of Mina getting shot by Nayeon over and over again.

Standing in the hot shower and letting the water rinse you, you can’t imagine what would happen if you closed your eyes. What horrific scenes would play on your eyelids while you tried to rest? That and the anticipation of new about Mina kept you from resting in anyway, not even able to relax your body and unclench your back.

Stepping out of the shower now feeling better as you were clean, putting on a pair of jeans and Mina’s hoodie after toweling off, you are consumed with guilt and riddled with shame at the fact that you were here with Momo and Dahyun…and Mina was still in that same bed sleeping against her will just to fight to stay alive.

Walking out into the kitchen, you see that Momo had made you a plate of your favorite food. Her and Dahyun sit at the table and wait for you to come sit with them.

Eating in silence, there’s nothing really to say. All of you are worried about Mina…though they are also worried about you.

You haven’t eaten in days and you were just playing with your food, rolling the array of delicacies around and barely tasting any of it.

“Y/n…I know there is a lot going on right now, but you need to eat something so you can heal properly and fuel yourself.” Dahyun breaks the silence with a slice of care, unintentionally adding to the remorse.

“We care about you and so does Mina…she would want you to eat…”

Jaw tensing, you zone out at the sound of her name, triggering the events to play back through your mind like a film reel that would never stop spinning. Looping over it’s self in complete silence.

“Y/n?” nudging your shoulder, Momo sees your eyes focus back on her.

“It should have been me…” softly before standing up and walking right out the front door, leaving your phone and everything you were truly feeling on the table.

Hearing Momo and Dahyun yelling your name, you just keep walking down the street towards the hospital.

—

Overcast skies drear over your head as you walk towards downtown towards the hospital. There wasn’t much movement on the streets even in the evening.

Unaware of how time is passing, one foot in front of the other takes you far. Without your phone you had no clue what time it was or if anyone was trying to get ahold of you. Regret pangs your stomach when you realize that Mina might have woken up in this time…you should’ve brought your phone with you, but it’s too late to turn back now.

It had to be early afternoon, assumptions made from the light that seeped through the fluffed up grays that block the suns view - the outside grey matching the grey that was alive in your chest, molting into a virus that would infect the rest of you as time goes on - until your own ray of sunshine woke up.

Thoughts of Mina cloud your every waking moment, reminiscing about the last few days spent together and how she made you feel. The stark contrast between what she is and what Nayeon turned out to be made your shattered heart sting as the pieces dug into your chest, piercing your flesh in the sharpest way.

Tears brim in your eyes, threatening to spill over as you cross the street. A car comes out of no where, pulling up to you. The back window rolls down and a familiar voice shouts at you.

“Y/n!”

Turning around, you see Chaeyoung hanging out of the back of the car waving you down.

“Are you going to the hospital?”

Nodding your head gently, the energy that you would normally bring was long sucked out by this traumatic event and there was no will to make anymore.

Chae pops the door open from the inside and slides over to the other seat, waving you into the car.

Hopping in to the back, the driver continues on his path.

The silence is calming, even if it does spark the cyclical thoughts - the agonizing overlay that led you to having to go to the hospital to begin with. You can feel Chaeyoung looking at you as your eyes unfocused.

“It’s not your fault.” Cracking through the walls of the theater playing the film of the banquet in your mind, Chae scoots into the middle seat, wrapping her arm around you and trying to comfort you.

“She would be so pissed if she knew that you were blaming yourself for this, you know?” Eyebrows cocked at you.

She’s right.

“She’s a fighter, Y/n. Mina will be awake soon, she’s not going anywhere.” Hugging you tightly for reassurance.

“Thank you.” meekly spoken to her as she rubs your back.

“I think I’d like to walk the rest of the way, it helps me clear my head. It’s only a few blocks, right?” the misery in your eyes is alarming to her, the look on her face says it all.

“It is, I’ll see you there…right?” A warm smile following, making sure you were agreeing. It was very apparent that everyone was worried about you.

The car comes to a halt, opening the car door, you make your promise to Chaeyoung.

“I’ll see you in a little while.” Sliding out of the car carefully, not to agitate your bruising further.

Just as you’re about to close the door, you hear Chae call you by name.

“Y/n?”

Cocking your head up, you see her eyes blur.

“Please be safe…she’s going to want you when she wakes up.”

Biting the inside of your lip, tears welling up as you close the door to the car and it drives off in the direction of the hospital.

Blinking a few times, you see your liquid grief blends into the rain that was starting to fall. The heavy drops couldn’t compare to the destress that weighed down your skin.

Almost as if you’re walking in slow motion, you trudge through the sky’s sporadic droplets and make your way down the road. Taking the time to really try and process what had happened to you over the past few months.

Revisiting the memories of what had happened was like swallowing a branding iron. Nayeon not being anywhere near who she said she was, ruining everything you had built with her. Jihyo playing a part in it but being a victim in Nayeon’s wrath.

And Mina…the innocent bystander that just wanted to make you feel safe and cared for.

How could you ever forgive yourself for what happened with her? It was a miracle no one was blaming you when the gun was pointed at you…maybe if you would’ve heard Nayeon out at the apartment the evening before then none of this would’ve happened…

The sky opens up, releasing a torrential downpour onto you and your thoughts, weighing your clothes down but it was hard to notice considering the heft of the emotions you were carrying.

The constant silent replay of the bullet that put Mina where she is and Nayeon with the smoking gun before it all just fades to black…

A loud clap of thunder snaps you out of your own mind, you can see the hospital from where you are. Focusing on the doors, you take your slow steps towards the building, eager to be in the room where Mina sleeps so when she wakes up, she knows that you’re there for her, like she was for you.

—

The doors slide open, revealing the fluorescent lights that you had woken up under a few days prior. Dripping rainwater onto the tile, the soft thwaps give you something to focus on while you make your way to the elevator.

The external sounds help to drown out the misery and anxiety that saturates your soul. The digging of the elevator, the click of the button, the tapping of the rain on the windows around you, the sliding of the doors and the people around you creating the white noise that scream over your thoughts as you try to keep yourself from violently shaking.

Everyone is here, Momo and Dahyun must’ve drove here knowing this is where you’d end up. Chae arrived safely and Jihyo, Jeongyeon, Tzuyu and Sana were already present.

Walking to the group, you notice Mina’s parents are out of the room and everyone is sobbing…

Running up to them and wincing at every step, the panic overrides the pain of your injuries.

“What happened? Is Mina okay?” choking on your words.

No one answers.

Your heart sinks, anxiety coursing through your veins brings a need to get inside that room. Mina’s father puts his hand on your shoulder, trying to comfort you words that are out of your realm of understanding as the girls try to compose themselves so they can explain.

Reaching for the door immediately, you try to push it open to find it locked.

Having no patience in this moment, you slam your hands on the door - shaking the it inside the frame and trying to get whoever was in the room to let you in.

“One moment, please!” an unfamiliar male voice chimes through the door seemingly frustrated.

“I don’t have a moment! Open the fucking door!” the panic in your voice is so eminent that everyone around you freezes and looks over at you. It’s the first time they’ve seen you this way, aside from the banquet but even then, your anxiety did not show itself this way.

“Y/n…let them do their job.” whispered by Momo, grabbing your shoulder and pulling you away from the room, putting space between you and the answers you craved.

“But…Mina, I-”

The door opens and the unfamiliar voice reveals himself to be the doctor. He steps to the side of the frame and goes to speak with Momo so she can translate for Mina’s parents, everyone else just looks at you and waits to see what you do.

You face the door and take a deep breath.

The unknown of behind the frame scares you, terrified of what was going to be on the other side of it. The gloom sits on your chest as you attempt to take another deep breath, eyes stinging as they try to create more tears but you had cried so much already that you seemingly had run out of them.

Taking a step into the room, you can’t bring yourself to look at the hospital bed. The machines are beeping so that’s a good sign but you’re so worried about what you were going to see that you needed to do this in steps.

Step 1: Walk in the room.

Step 2: take a deep breath.

Step 3: Turn to look at Mi-

“Y/n?” the smallest, most angelic hoarse whisper cuts through your list of what to do next, pushing you into the 3rd step before you could say it to yourself in your head.

“Mina?!” whipping around to the bed, you see Mina awake, looking exhausted and smiling at you with tears falling from her beautiful eyes, streaming down her perfectly porcelain cheeks.

“Mina!” forget the injuries, forget then soaked sweater, forget everything. Nothing else matters but this human in front of you who was finally awake.

Running to the right side of her bed, you shed her sweater and crawl on top of the sheets to lay next to her. Burying your face into her neck, wrapping your arms gently around her and sobbing into her.

“I th-th-thought I l-lost y-you. I’m so s-s-sorry for everything.” sniffling and trying to compose yourself so you can talk to her, holding her face as you wipe the tears off it.

“I sh-should’ve never p-put you in that s-situation, you deserve s-so m-much more than this, I’m so fucking sorry.” falling apart completely in her arms as you held each other.

“I thought I lost you too, Y/n. I’m so happy to see you.” pulling you in closer to her, you can feel the reverberation of her weeping through her body as you just take the moment to hold each other.

“None of this is your fault! You couldn’t have known that Nayeon was going to go off the rails like that. Do not blame yourself for anything that happened…it wasn’t you, it was her. Okay?” kissing the palm of your hand gently as she cradled you.

“Sit up for me.” Mina coos.

You comply immediately, keeping a hand on her while fixing yourself to the upright position.

Mina cups your face, turning it to the side to see your healing bruises, her lower jaw quivers as she attempts to hold back more tears, trying to get an idea of how bad your wounds were. Tilting your head down to see the stitches on your scalp - she loses the will to keep it together.

Mina is in full hysteria, sobbing as she runs her thumb over your bruised cheeks. You wipe the tears from hers again, grabbing her forearms and gripping them lightly as you go to reassure her that you’re fine.

“Wh-what else?” her raspy voice choking out, sighing and trying to regulate but interrupting you before you can get the sentence out.

“3 broken ribs, 16 stitches on my scalp and a few bruises to my face and stomach. The doctor told me that had you not held the back of my head, I would have died…So thank you for saving my life, Mina…what did they say…about you?” fearing the worst as to what could be…what Nayeon inflicted on her after you fainted.

“Punctured lung and a few cracked ribs. They told me to take it easy for the next few months and that I might get winded easily until my lungs heal. I can’t lift this arm until the muscles heal either but…I would do it again.” sniffling as she calms, realizing you both are okay, she removes her hand from your face and holds a few of your fingers instead.

“You would do it again?” confused in what she meant.

“Y/n, I have admired you from a distance for so long. I watched her take the light from your eyes and I was blessed to see it return. I would take that bullet a million times over if it meant keeping you safe and keeping the glow you have alive.” reaching up to cup your face again, pulling you towards her and placing her lips on yours gently.

Solar systems collide with the energy exchange that was this moment, your lips meeting after all the worry you both experienced for each other. It’s like all the trauma that you both endured melted off your bones, dripping into pure lilac care and comfort for one another, allowing both of you to forget about everything you endured together, even if it’s just for a moment.

Her heart monitor beeps uncontrollably as her heart races, prompting everyone to run in anxiously when they hear the sound of the chirps from the machine.

Separating for only a moment, you both look over at everyone and share a giggle together. Everyone is smiling at you, just happy to see the light between the two of you again.

“Sorry for the scare, everyone…” Mina’s face beams red in the embarrassment from making everyone worry, but that doesn’t stop her from doing what she wanted.

Pulling you back to her, she kisses you in front of Twice and her parents. It was soft and sweet and it contained every comfort you craved in the last few days of living in the unknown, even if the action did surprise you.

It was a welcomed and lovely surprise.

—

After a few hours of talking and sitting together, the Twice members leave to change and get some rest but not before Momo can give you your phone. Wanting Mina to spend some time with her parents, you try to stand and go with Momo to give her some space, but Mina wouldn’t let go of your hand.

“Please stay. I want you next to me.” gripping you tighter and tugging you back to her.

Climbing back onto the bed, you lay with her while she speaks to her family. Unable to join the conversation because of the language barrier, you simply lay next to her and keep her hand in yours.

The sound of her voice brings is a calm to you that you feel like you’ve been missing for years. Body relaxing next to hers, you face her on your side and slowly drift into a peaceful sleep you hadn’t known for days.

—

A buzzing wakes you, jolting you out of your sleep and immediately causing a disgruntle energy to settle in your body. Reaching over to the table next to Mina’s hospital bed, you admire her calmness for a moment, sleeping so peacefully, and your heart soars.

Realizing it was just you and Mina in the room, her parents must’ve gone back to their hotel to get some rest, you grab the phone and look to see an unfamiliar number on the screen.

Swiping to answer, you groggily say your greeting to be met by something unexpected.

“Hello?”

“Good Morning, This is the sheriff’s office and we are looking for Y/n L/n.” the thick southern accent familiar in the way it speaks, this must be the officer from the other day.

“This is she.”

“Well, Ms. L/n, I wish we were calling for better circumstances but unfortunately, that is not the case. Your apartment was broken into and torn apart. Are you currently available to come down and see if anything is missing?”

“What?!” your voice wakes Mina up, she quickly realizes that something is wrong and she’s sitting up next to you.

Putting the phone on speaker, you wait to hear what the officer has to say.

“It looks like they broke in through the window in the kitchen, it also looks like every room has been trashed…I suggest you get down here as soon as you can.” the officer is not aware of the events that had happened just a few days prior.

“I’m currently in the hospital waiting for my girlfriend to be discharged.” Mina perks up at the statement, turning red and blushing.

“We both were in a bit of a targeted situation and are a bit beat up. How long will you be down there?” inquired so you can cooperate in the situation.

“Targeted situation? Does this have to do with that rock with the note from before?” the officer seems to be concerned, realizing that this is way bigger than he realized.

“Yes. Im Nayeon tried to kill us at a friends banquet a few days ago. She was shot…and is…uhm��” realizing that Mina didn’t know about what happened with Nayeon yet.

“Well, she’s dead, sir.”

“What?” Mina gasps at this information, tears welling up as the processes what you’ve just said.

“I’m going to pull the reports for this incident, give me one moment.” the officer says, hearing typing on the other end of the line.

“It looks like she’s very much alive. There are reports that she was taken to the hospital across town and was in police custody but she escaped two days ago and her whereabouts are unknown.” the words ricocheted off your skull and down into your chest.

“What did you just say?” looking over at Mina, who is wide eyed and shivering as she tries to cope with how overwhelming this situation is.

“You should probably get here, Ms. Y/n. We will wait for you.” as he hung up the phone.

Looking over at Mina, you are both in shock.

“I saw Jihyo shoot Nayeon before I passed out…I remember that…but…why did she want to hurt us? Why did she hurt me? ” Mina’s eyes shift back and forth as she recalls what happened that night, the trauma settling in her brain from the betrayal of someone who once was her sister.

“We thought she was…gone. We all thought that she was…” cut off by the hinges of the door squeaking.

Watching as the door to the room opens and the nurse who did your discharge paperwork steps in with a clipboard for Mina.

“I’ll let you do the paperwork, I’m going to step outside and call Momo to let her know what’s going on.” Standing up with a sense of urgency and rushing past the nurse.

“Please hurry back.” Mina chimes as the nurse fills her in on care she would need.

The phone chirps back to you as you wait for Momo to answer. It’s early so you know you’re waking her and Dahyun up but this was an emergency.

“Hello? Y/n? Is everything okay?” Dahyun answers Momo’s phone, worried about you and Mina.

“No. Nayeon’s alive and not in police custody. I think she broke into my apartment and trashed it but Mina is signing her paperwork for discharge now and we are going to head over there.” Giving her the information that was given to you.

“What?! I’ll wake Momo, we can meet you there.” Already hearing Momo grumbling in the background.

“Let me take care of the apartment stuff. We will get a hotel somewhere and call you from there to meet us. I fear we won’t be safe until she’s caught.” Voice shaky as the fear penetrates you.

“Okay, just call us when you can.”

“I will call you soon, I promise.”

Hanging up the phone and spinning around to see Mina standing and struggling to change her clothes, not being able to lift her arm was hindering her mobility.

It breaks your heart into tiny pieces, watching her try to do something so basic by herself but hindered by the wound Nayeon inflicted.

Walking back in, you shut the door behind you and help her get dressed. Being her arm for her, slipping her pants on and finagling her sleeves of her sweater so she can slip the arm that she can’t lift through it and be somewhat comfortable.

“What aftercare did the nurse give you?” Grabbing the bag of her things and her hand before leading her out of the room to the door.

Both of you taking it slowly despite the mess at your apartment and the imminent threat of Nayeon, she could be anywhere. The most important things were safe, you and Mina. Everything else is replaceable.

“Just changing bandages and making sure it’s sterile. Stuff my Dad taught me, very easy.” reassuring you that she had it handled.

“Teach me how to do it once we get somewhere safe?” Offering to help care for her as she did for you when you needed her.

Protect her and care for her, that’s all you wanted.

“Of course, baby.” Leaning in to kiss your cheeks as you walk out of the hospital, just happy to be with each other again.

“To your apartment?” Looking up at you as you hail down a cab.

“To the apartment. Can you call your parents and make sure they’re somewhere safe? I don’t want anyone else hurt in this…” worrying about their safety, you can’t handle anymore hurt to loved ones especially after the kindness they showed you.

“I’ll call them on the way.” pulling her phone out of her pocket and scrolling through her contacts.

“Also, your girlfriend, huh?” Making eyes at you and smirking before looking back at her phone and clicking on her Mom’s contact ID.

“I- well I-…uhm.” Stammering and embarrassed, you hadn’t exactly asked her to be your girlfriend yet…

“I like the way that sounds, can I keep that title?” Winking at you, she lifts her phone to her ear to speak with her family about what comes next.

“Please do.” giving her the biggest smile you’ve shown in days.

—

Arriving at the apartment, you see the crime scene tape and the sheriff outside. You and Mina thank the cab driver before getting out and walking up to the officer.

“Ms. Y/n! Thank you for coming so quickly, will you please walk through the apartment and let us know if anything is missing?” Ushering you inside with Mina, he seems to be in a hurry.

All the windows are broken, the couch has been sliced up with a knife, the TV is shattered and the game consoles you had purchased were in pieces in the living room floor. Sighing at the sight of this, you knew it would only get worse further into the house.

The kitchen was covered in shattered dining ware, all your new plates and cups in ruins on the floor. The sink missing chunks of the tub of it and the water spraying everywhere, creating puddles on the floor.

Thinking back to when Mina cleaned the floor after the window shattered and bandaged up your foot on the island that now was coated in broken ceramics…you were just starting to make happy memories here, why would someone ruin this?

Everything is broken tossed around like it was nothing…the only thing left untouched was the black mug that you had matching with her…

Gasping at each room you went into, you made your way to the bedroom to see what else she could’ve done. It’s astonishing to you that someone who was just beaten and shot could do this much damage to a property.

The bed is in shreds, just like the couch. Headboard broken and falling off the frame. Clothes everywhere, thrown around and in pieces just like the rest of your belongings.

Mina grips your hand tighter, refusing to let go of it as you realize that everything you owned was completely dismantled at what you assumed to be Nayeon’s hands and a very sharp knife.

“We can replace it all, I’m not worried about any of this.” Kicking around the fabrics of what were once your favorite shirts and shoes.

“Y/n?” Mina’s voice quivers as she points to the wall.

Heavy red spray paint spelling out, “Sorry she’s gone but you’re mine.”

“What the fuck…” a chill runs through your spine, you knew it was Nayeon the minute you walked in but this…this felt like such a threat, making you nauseous and fearful of how much farther she would take this.

“We need to get out of here.” Turning around to leave and pulling Mina with you, when you feel a vibration in your pocket.

Pulling your phone out, it’s an unknown number…

Waving over the officer to show him the phone, he hands you a device that clicks into the charging port of the phone, explaining that it would track her location via cell towers and then encourages you to answer the call on speaker.

“Hello?”

“Did you like my art on your walls, my love?” Giggling manically at herself, you sit in silence.

“What do you fucking want, Nayeon? Haven’t you done enough already?!” Seethed through clenched teeth as you watch the sheriff signal you to keep her talking.

“Awh baby, are you mad at me? Sorry about your little girlfriend…she was just collateral damage, a pawn in a bigger game. So is your apartment but don’t worry, you can still come home. I miss our showers together, don’t you?” somewhere between manic and seductive, her strange attempt to get you back to your old home was threatening and violent.

You’re unsure how far she’s going to take this and you don’t want to find out what the last resort is after what she’s already done.

“I told you I don’t want anything to do with you.” Trying to keep calm when in reality the storm brewing in your chest could’ve blown the roof off the apartment, ruining it further.

“Look…she’s dead. Gone. I shot her where it counted, so just come home where you belong. With me. Don’t you want to come home to me again, baby? I broke up with Jihyo…it’s over between us. It’s only you, my love. Only you and me.” trying to conceal her tears from you, but you can see and hear right through them.

This was always about control.

The cops puts his hand up, signaling that they had her location.

“You either show up here in the next few hours or else.” The grit in her voice scares you more than you’d ever admit out loud.

“Like what, Nayeon? What else could you possibly hurt me with?” snarky in your response, knowing that you had the upper hand and she wasn’t aware of that.

“Well…don’t forget I know where Momo and Dahyun live. You have 2 hours to get here. No cops. Just you. I love you.” The phone beeps, indicating she’s hung up on you.

Mina has a look of horror on her face, leaning in to hug you. Feeling her shake in fear sparks a rage in you that you cannot explain.

“Is she actually at the old apartment?” The officer nods his head yes.

“I’m going over there. Follow behind me and come inside 15 minutes after I do, do you want me to wear a wire?” to the sheriff, he nods his head again.

Mina is hasty in her protest, practically slamming her fist down on the counter as she spits her argument at you.

“Don’t you fucking dare put yourself in harm’s way again! I thought I lost you the first time and I don’t want to even imagine what losing you would feel like, please…just let them handle it.” Holding back her sobs, she’s distraught and almost inconsolable.

Hugging her as tightly as you can without sparking pain in both of you, you rub her back in reassurance and kiss the top of her head. Holding you so tightly, she refuses to let you go at all, keeping you in her arms, where she would argue you belong. To that you had no rebuttal.

“I’ll be safe, I promise. And you are safe because she thinks…” the words get caught in your throat.

“…she thinks she killed you…I can’t let her go after Momo and Dahyun, I won’t let her go after them.” kissing her forehead and then reminding her of the one key part of this plan of you going to your old home.

“Besides…I’m just a distraction.”

[randomdragonfires]

Time Can't Stop Me Quite Like You Did - Part Four, An Interlude

Text divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | The music blares and everyone’s out of it, but she turns and sees him. Detached from it all, Aemond stands on the balcony with a cigarette dangling lazily from his lips - watching the party unfold, watching her. The realization hits her as their eyes meet.

It’s him. It’s always been him. 

WARNINGS | 18+; SMUT; Angst; Non-Con and Violence Elements; Use of Substances and Alcohol; Complicated Relationship Dynamics.

PAIRINGS | Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Reader [MAIN]; Modern!Daeron Targaryen x Reader; Alys Rivers x Aemond Targaryen

WORD COUNT | 12k

Check out the art created for this fic by the lovely, talented and so very kind @azperja here!  

AUTHOR'S NOTE | This chapter does not pick up where chapter 3 left off. This is a short interlude that looks into Aemond and Alys and how they came to be, and what it is that keeps them together. Or atleast, this is my attempt at writing a complicated relationship that was doomed from the get go. The next chapter is the last one.

I do not entertain comments that so obviously reek of hate, an intent to provoke or misogyny of any kind. The fact that I've learnt to expect this is sad as it is. Be nice, or be civil and constructive and open to conversation. It's not hard, really. This is, after all, just a silly story. :)

MORE THAN A YEAR AGO - AEMOND POV

"Of course I'm here. It’s summer vacation, and it’s only one of the biggest gallery openings in the country," Wylde said with a grin. He was still new to Oldtown, while she was heading into her final year of school at King’s Landing—but they both knew where they belonged in the world. He would eventually take his place at the top, running one of the oldest commercial institutions in the realm. She would become a prominent socialite, wielding her family’s art connections with pride and skill, possibly on the arm of one of the men in this room.

For a fleeting moment back home, he had wished that man would be him. But that had passed—or so he liked to believe.

"Hm."

"Anyway, I have to make my rounds, shake hands," she sighed, as if already exhausted by the thought. "Most of them will try to get to my father through me, hoping for a chance at our family’s paintings for their displays." She paused, her expression softening. "My plane to King’s Landing leaves soon after, so I might not catch you to say goodbye, okay?"

She leaned in on the tips of her toes, instinctively brushing her lips against his cheek, a gesture so familiar it felt natural. His skin warmed under her touch as he held onto her for a moment, before letting her go and watching her slip into the crowd.

"It was nice to see you, Aemond," she said, giving him one last smile before she disappeared among the other guests.

He watched as the crowd welcomed her with open arms. And why wouldn’t they?

Aemond stood quietly near the back of the gallery, his head turned as he swirled his wine and pretended to be interested in the pieces around him. But his focus had already drifted.

From across the room, she had become the only thing he could think about.

She was magnetic in a way that defied simple description. It wasn’t just her beauty, though he could hardly deny that. There was something in the way she moved - fluid, deliberate, as if every gesture, every glance, was part of a conversation only she knew how to conduct. Aemond watched as she floated through the crowd with an easy grace, her black dress brushing the tops of her heels - not revealing, but just enough. 

But it wasn’t her appearance that intrigued him the most. It was her detachment. The way she seemed to occupy the room and yet remain entirely separate from it. Like she knew she was better than the herd. How can she possibly not? He knew it, and he’d barely known her for ten minutes.

He studied her carefully, trying to decode the way she interacted with her surroundings. The other guests barely held her interest, even her husband - Brynden Rivers, the artist on feature - who was basking in the attention of his admirers, seemed peripheral to her thoughts. She would smile and nod at the right moments, offering polite responses when addressed, but her eyes - sharp, dark, endlessly curious - always strayed back to the art. It was as though she were in search of something she hadn’t quite found, or perhaps she was testing the art itself, waiting to see if it would reveal anything worth caring about.

He found himself wondering what she saw. What was it that drew her attention so intensely? Was she, like him, disillusioned by the pageantry of it all? Or was she simply beyond it, a part of a world he hadn’t yet glimpsed?

Aemond’s eyes lingered on her, captivated by her subtle confidence. He could tell she knew he was watching - how could she not? And yet, she gave no indication that she minded. Instead, there was a knowingness in her movements, a quiet acknowledgment of his gaze that sent a strange thrill through him.

Almost as if she moved just for him.

As she turned from the group around her to admire one of the larger paintings, she glanced over her shoulder, her eyes meeting his. It was fleeting, just a flicker of recognition, but the brief moment stretched out in Aemond’s mind. She didn’t look away immediately, nor did she smile - there was something almost challenging in her gaze, as though she were testing him, daring him to keep watching.

And he did.

Their eyes met again several times as the night wore on, each moment charged with tension that had heat penetrating him through his black turtleneck. He couldn’t place it - this feeling that they were circling each other from opposite ends of the room. They had not spoken a word, yet it felt as though they were in conversation, their glances exchanging ideas, questions, provocations. What was she thinking? Did she feel this pull too, or was she simply toying with him, amused by the attention of a younger man?

She leaned in to whisper something to her husband, her lips barely moving, and Aemond felt an unexpected surge of jealousy - irrational, yes, but undeniable. She was so at ease, so unattainable, yet there was something in the way she kept looking at him, as if she wanted him to see her just as much as he wanted to understand her.

He’d never, in his entire life, felt like this before.

Their eyes locked again, and this time her lips curved into the faintest smile, not of politeness or pretense, but of acknowledgment. She knew exactly what she was doing, and Aemond, for all his careful control, felt the thrill of the chase. It wasn’t just desire - though there was plenty of that - it was the curiosity that gripped him. Who was she? What did she want from this night, from this life? And why did it feel like, in this crowded room, they were the only two people who mattered?

There was a moment when their gaze lingered just a little longer than before, the silence between them almost deafening, despite the buzz of conversation around them. Aemond felt something stir deep within him, a strange excitement, as though this unspoken challenge had a life of its own. What was he to her? Just another man in the gallery, or had she singled him out the way he had her?

It wasn’t until she broke the connection - turning back to the painting in front of her - that he realized he had been holding his breath.

Aemond had been standing in the corner of the gallery, nursing a drink that had long gone flat. His eyes drifted back to her, stealing glances, trying to untangle the mystery she presented without making it too obvious. He couldn't quite understand why she fascinated him so much, but her presence demanded his attention.

Then, it happened.

She moved.

At first, he thought she was simply changing her position to get a better view of a painting, but when their eyes met across the room for the third time that evening, something shifted. She wasn't just glancing anymore - she was walking toward him.

Aemond’s heart rate spiked. He forced himself to remain calm, to not show his surprise, but he could hardly believe she was coming up to him. The crowd of art enthusiasts seemed to blur, and the distant hum of voices faded into nothingness as she neared. He couldn't help but track every step she took, as though each one was part of a dance he hadn’t learned yet.

And then she was there, standing in front of him. Up close, she was even more striking than he had imagined - her features sharp and graceful, with an aura of confidence that was almost magnetic. She had an air of quiet authority, but not in the way the old-money elite around them carried themselves. Hers was different, more subtle, more powerful.

“Aemond Targaryen,” she said, her voice smooth and knowing, as though they were already well acquainted.

He blinked, still processing the fact that she was speaking to him at all. “You know me,” he said, though it wasn’t exactly a question. It made sense - he was a Targaryen after all, but still, something about her saying his name with such ease unnerved him.

“To no one's surprise, yes.” She smiled, the corners of her lips curling up in a way that was almost teasing. “You didn’t think I’d notice the only one in this room who's barely looked at the art?”

The comment threw him for a moment, but then, intrigued, he leaned in slightly. “A room full of some of the finest art, and yet you’ve been watching me,” he pointed out. 

Did she notice him before, the same way he’s noticed her?

For a moment, her dark eyes sparkled with amusement. “Alys Rivers,” she began, letting the name roll off her tongue slowly, as if inviting him to puzzle it out.

Aemond’s brow furrowed. "Rivers?" he muttered, almost to himself, trying to jog his memory. The name wasn’t entirely unfamiliar, but he couldn’t quite place it. And then it came to him - he hadn’t heard that surname in relation to anyone important in his world. 

“Strong,” she corrected softly, the name falling like a small bomb between them. “My maiden name is Strong.”

Aemond’s eyes widened as the realization hit him. Strong. Of course. Lionel Strong, the headmaster of the school he attended for years. Harwin Strong, whose presence in Rhaenyra’s life had always been whispered about, and whose children were a constant point of rumor and speculation.

She is a sister to them both. How had he not known of her all this time?

His gaze snapped back to her face, searching for any sign that might have connected her to that family before, but there was nothing immediately obvious. “Lionel Strong...” he said aloud, piecing it together, more for himself than for her benefit.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “Lionel is my half-brother. Harwin, too.”

He exhaled slowly, letting the weight of it sink in. It was like a secret door had been unlocked, revealing more about her than he ever could’ve guessed. She had roots in his world, in his life, that had been there all along, just hidden beneath the surface.

Alys smirked, clearly enjoying the way his mind raced to catch up. "Surprised?"

“More than I’d like to admit,” he replied, a slow smile pulling at his lips as he found himself even more intrigued than before.

Aemond leaned back slightly, still processing everything. His mind, usually so sharp and analytical, felt slower than usual in the presence of Alys Rivers - or Strong, as she had just revealed. But as much as her family ties surprised him, it didn’t change the allure she carried. She was still an enigma, now with even more layers to uncover.

Alys shifted her gaze to the painting nearest them - a sprawling canvas of abstract forms, colors bleeding into one another in what he deduces as an intentional mess. “So, what do you think of the work?” she asked casually, her eyes tracing the chaotic lines as if she already knew exactly what he was going to say.

He tilted his head, not willing to offer anything up too quickly. “It’s… bold.”

“Bold,” she repeated, her lips quivering. “That’s a safe assessment.”

“I suppose it is,” he conceded, allowing himself a small smile. “But it’s honest. What about you? You seem like someone with stronger opinions on art.”

“I do,” she admitted, folding her arms across her chest as she took in the piece again. “This one... it’s my husband’s.”

Her words hung in the air, and Aemond couldn’t stop the faint sting of jealousy that crept into his chest at the way she said ‘husband’ - with a sense of familiarity that only came from many years of being tied together. He glanced back at the painting, trying to find some reflection of the man behind it.

“Your husband’s quite the artist,” he said, keeping his tone even, but his interest was undeniable.

Alys nodded, her gaze still on the painting. “Yes, he is. Brynden is one of the best, I suppose, but you don’t need me to tell you that. Everyone else here already has.” There was something dismissive in her voice, a casual indifference that caught Aemond off guard.

He narrowed his eyes slightly. “And what do you think of his work?”

Alys tilted her head and gave a half-smile, as though considering the question for the first time. “It’s... fine. I appreciate what he’s trying to say, but it doesn’t speak to me in the way art should.” She paused, then turned to him, her dark eyes finding him with a sharpness that left him momentarily breathless. “But you already guessed that, didn’t you?”

Aemond smirked, amused by how easily she read him. “It’s a little obvious. The way you talk about him, about his work… It’s almost as if you’re disconnected from it.”

She met his gaze, unflinching, her smile growing. “You’re observant, aren’t you? That must be exhausting.”

He chuckled softly, unable to help himself. “I’ve been told as much.” There was something thrilling about it - this mutual understanding, this wordless challenge.

“So,” he said, redirecting the conversation with purpose, “if your husband’s work doesn’t speak to you, what does? What kind of art do you appreciate?”

Alys turned away from the painting, her attention fully on him now. “The kind that demands something of me. Something that won’t let me look away. I want to be moved, even unsettled. The sort of art that makes you question everything you thought you knew.”

Aemond’s eyes flickered, intrigued. “You mean the kind that unsettles you in the same way a person can?”

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a sly smile. “Exactly. Sometimes, the most impactful art is the kind that forces you to confront things you’ve been avoiding. It’s messy, uncomfortable, but unforgettable.”

He found himself nodding in agreement, feeling the conversation dip. “I suppose that’s why art and history are so closely linked. Both make you confront uncomfortable truths. The more you understand the world, the more you realize how fragile everything is.”

She sighed softly, as though she’d found someone who shared her exact thoughts. “Yes, and that fragility - that’s where the beauty lies. When you can’t control it. And when it’s gone, you’re left wondering why you didn’t appreciate it enough.”

They weren’t just talking about art anymore, and both of them knew it.

“And history,” she continued, her voice softer now, “is like the ultimate piece of art, isn’t it? Layered and complex, full of contradictions. No matter how much you study it, there’s always something more to uncover.”

Aemond nodded, his gaze intense. “It’s a reminder that nothing is permanent. Not power, not legacy, not even love.”

The way he said it, the quiet certainty in his voice, made Alys pause. She studied him for a long moment, as if searching for something behind his words. “You’re quite young. Do you really believe that?” she asked, her tone challenging, though her smile remained.

“Of course,” he replied easily. “Everything has its limits.”

As their conversation deepened, they moved through the gallery, eventually stopping in front of a painting that caught Alys’s attention. The piece was striking - two figures, intertwined in an abstract embrace, their forms blurring at the edges, as if they were dissolving into one another. The colors were bold, almost chaotic, bleeding into one another in a way that suggested both unity and dissolution.

Alys tilted her head, her lips curving into a thoughtful smile. “What do you make of this one?”

Aemond studied the painting, the mingling figures, the way their outlines seemed to waver as if they could hardly contain themselves within the frame. It was both intimate and unsettling, a reflection of connection and the inevitable loss that comes with it.

“It’s fascinating,” he said, voice measured. “There’s something about the way they’re almost… becoming each other. But it’s not peaceful, is it? It’s like they’re losing themselves in the process.”

She nodded, eyes still fixed on the canvas. “It’s about boundaries, I think. How much of yourself are you willing to give before you start losing pieces of who you are?”

Aemond glanced at her, sensing the weight behind her words. “Isn’t that what love does, in a way? It strips you down, forces you to let go of your boundaries until you’re not sure where you end and the other person begins.”

Alys met his gaze, her eyes sharp, thoughtful. “But that’s dangerous, isn’t it? Giving up so much of yourself. Maybe that’s why so many people cling to the idea of monogamy - one person, one connection, to keep things simple. Less risk.”

Aemond raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Do you think monogamy keeps things simple?”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Not at all. Monogamy is just another way of complicating things, if you ask me. The idea that one person can meet all your needs… it feels like an illusion.”

He considered her words, watching her closely as she turned back to the painting. “So you don’t believe in it?”

Alys shrugged, her smile a little mischievous. “I believe in connection. But I also believe in freedom. Sometimes, those things don’t go hand in hand.”

Aemond’s gaze lingered on her, his mind swirling with the implications of her words. “Is that why you don’t believe in monogamy?”

She didn’t answer right away, instead turning to look at him with that same sly, knowing smile. “I didn’t say that - I can’t, given that I am married. But I don’t think it’s the only way to live.”

Aemond chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “I think monogamy works for some people. But for others... perhaps it’s just another form of control.”

“And what about you?” she asked, her gaze locking with his, challenging him again. “Do you crave control, Aemond?”

He didn’t answer right away, but the intensity of her gaze made his heart race. “I think we all do, in some way. It’s human nature.”

Alys took a step closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “But sometimes, the most exhilarating moments come when you let go of control. When you surrender to something - or someone - you can’t predict.”

Her words sent a shiver down his spine, and for a brief moment, he felt the air between them grow charged. The flirtation between them had evolved into something far more potent, far more dangerous.

“Are you speaking from experience?” he asked, his voice lower now, the distance between them shrinking.

She didn’t break eye contact, her lips curving slightly. “I think you know the answer to that.”

Aemond glanced around the bustling gallery, the laughter and chatter of art enthusiasts fading into a background hum as his focus narrowed back to Alys. The way her eyes sparkled, the slight tilt of her head, and the intoxicating warmth of her presence drew him in like a moth to flame.

In a bold, instinctive move, he reached for her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers. The contact sent a jolt through him, a mix of excitement and nervous energy. Her skin felt warm against his, soft yet somehow grounding, and he marveled at how effortlessly their hands fit together.

Without a word, he began to lead her away from the crowd. They slipped through a doorway and into an empty stairwell. As they stepped into the dim light, Aemond turned to face her fully, their hands still clasped. He felt a rush of exhilaration, the act of holding her hand feeling significant, almost intimate. 

“What now?” she asked, her voice low and playful, her gaze unwavering.

He hesitated, caught in the intensity of the moment, the gravity of her presence. He reached into his trouser pockets for a cigarette and lighter, and soon there was the ashy smell of smoke around them. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I want to find out.”

The smoke from Aemond’s cigarette curling lazily into the quiet space. He took a drag, exhaling slowly as his mind raced, the sharp taste of nicotine mingling with the tension. He kept his gaze on the blank space ahead, the smoke filling the air around them. She, however, hadn’t taken her eyes off him. He could feel it—the way she watched him, measured him, waiting to see what he would do next. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable; it felt charged.

He took one last drag before carelessly flicking the cigarette to the floor, grinding it under his boot without a second thought. The small, defiant gesture felt freeing, as though he was stamping out a part of himself—his restraint, his hesitation. He turned to face her again, her gaze steady, her lips slightly parted as if she was waiting for something.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The world outside the stairwell ceased to exist. Then, with a low exhale, he stepped closer, his eyes locking with hers. It was a split second of tension before he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers. The kiss was slow at first, exploratory, testing the boundaries between them. But the moment her lips parted, the intensity between them flared to life.

Aemond pressed her back against the cold, hard wall, the warmth of her body against his heightening his awareness of every touch, every breath. His hands moved with purpose, one sliding up to cup her face, the other finding her waist, pulling her closer. As the kiss deepened, his fingers traced the line of her neck, her collarbone, before they slipped lower, teasing the hem of her dress.

She let out a soft gasp as his fingers found their way between her thighs, and he swallowed the sound with his mouth. There was no hesitation, no awkward fumbling—only the smooth, practiced confidence.

Her hands clutched at his shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of his coat as he continued, the rhythm of his fingers drawing soft moans from her lips. He could feel her tightening, her body trembling as she reached the edge. His thumb brushed over her in just the right way, and that was all it took. Alys stifled a cry as she came, her body arching against the wall, and Aemond kissed her again, this time slower, more tender, as if savoring the moment. Her breathing slowly evened out, and Aemond felt a strange sense of calm wash over him. Neither of them spoke. There was no need for words. 

They simply stood there, foreheads pressed together, sharing the stillness as the world outside continued to move without them.

Aemond had spotted her almost immediately as he entered the courtyard of the university, the gathering of faculty and students milling about in conversation. He had been here long enough to know some faces but not enough to blend in completely. Most of them were talking about papers and projects he couldn't care less about, not today.

And then there she was.

Alys Rivers. Standing among a group of intellectuals, professors, and lecturers—all older, some of them even more seasoned than she was. They looked at her with respect due to someone who held both knowledge and authority. But Aemond? He couldn't help but view her through a lens far removed from the polite deference that the others offered. He could still taste the memory of her kiss, still feel the warmth of her body beneath his fingers.

From where he stood, he could tell she’d seen him, even though she was pretending not to. Her posture had stiffened slightly, her smile at whatever quip had been made by one of her colleagues was just a bit too strained. But it was her eyes that told him the truth—fleetingly, they flicked in his direction, locking onto him for the briefest of seconds before quickly darting away.

And in that brief glance, Aemond knew. Something had changed.

The gaze she gave him wasn’t the smoldering intensity he remembered from their night in the stairwell. It wasn’t the playful challenge or the simmering heat. No, it was something colder, more distant. Her eyes held a reservation that hadn’t been there before, a guardedness he couldn’t quite place.

It made him want to tear himself apart.

He could feel a knot of frustration building in his chest, knowing what that look meant—she had figured it out. That he was just a student here, not some intriguing enigma from outside her world. She had likely put it together: that he was young, still tethered to his academic life, and most probably someone she could regret ever getting involved with.

His feet carried him forward on instinct, not even aware of what he would say or do. He just needed to close the distance between them. But as he approached, he could sense her retreat, even from across the courtyard. She didn’t move away physically, but in every other way, she had already begun to pull back.

The light in her eyes when she’d looked at him the night they first met—the spark that had drawn them together so easily—was dimmed now, like she was shielding herself from it. He could feel the walls she was putting up, the distance she was trying to create. And he hated it.

Aemond finally stopped a few feet away, his eyes fixed on her, willing her to look at him again. To acknowledge that this wasn’t over, that what they’d shared wasn’t something she could just forget. But Alys barely glanced his way, her attention deliberately on the conversation around her, offering a polite smile to some professor who was undoubtedly droning on about some obscure piece of art history.

She wasn’t ignoring him. That would have been easier to handle. No, she was acknowledging him just enough to let him know that she had seen him—but not in the way he wanted.

It was a calculated withdrawal, a signal that this—whatever this was—couldn’t continue.

He clenched his fists at his sides, frustration boiling beneath the surface. He didn’t understand. She was Alys Rivers, confident, self-assured, worldly. And now she was shrinking back, locking herself behind the very walls he thought she had long since broken down. He knew she was regretting it, regretting him. Regretting the way she had let herself lose control with him.

But Aemond couldn’t let that be the end. He wouldn’t let her slip away that easily, not after what they’d shared.

His jaw clenched as he took a deep breath, watching her from across the space. He could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him. This was a woman who had opened a door in him he hadn’t even known existed, and now, she was shutting it without so much as a word.

He wouldn’t allow it.

Not yet.

Three nights.

Three nights had passed since that brief, fleeting glance across the courtyard. Alys had been there, wrapped in her distant composure, surrounded by those professors and intellectuals as though nothing had ever happened between them. But the space between them had spoken volumes—more than any words could. She had pulled back, retreated into the safety of her old life, her mind likely full of regrets.

But Aemond couldn’t let it go. The memory of her—of that night, her breathless sighs, the way her body had responded to his touch—had been burning in the back of his mind since. He had tried to shake it, tried to focus on the mundanity of university life, but the tension gnawed at him, unraveling him from the inside.

Tonight, it was too much.

Driving through Oldtown’s winding streets, the engine of Vhagar thrummed beneath him, a low growl matching the storm raging inside. He knew where he was headed before he had even set out, his body moving on instinct. He had to see her again. He needed answers, something more than that cold look she’d given him.

He parked down the street from her house—small, secluded, the same one where they’d fucked for the first time. His hands gripped the steering wheel for a moment, the echoes of that night replaying in his mind. He remembered every touch, every word, the way her laughter had turned to breathless gasps.

But tonight would be different. He wasn’t sure what he would say to her. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted from her. All he knew was that he couldn’t let her fade away like this—not without understanding.

The quiet crunch of his boots against the gravel as he approached her front door made his pulse quicken. His heart hammered in his chest, and for a moment, he almost turned back. But his hand was already lifting, knuckles tapping lightly on the wood.

When the door opened, she stood there, looking nothing like the composed and untouchable woman from the gallery. Her hair was down, soft and tousled, falling around her face, and she wore sleep clothes—an oversized, faded shirt and loose pants. Glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. She must have been reading. He had to know what she’d been reading. What had captivated her mind enough to distract her tonight, of all nights? He so desperately wanted to ask.

But he couldn’t.

Because when Alys saw him standing there—her face wilted. It was like watching her defenses crumble in slow motion, a mixture of resignation and regret playing out in the slight downturn of her lips, in the way her shoulders sagged ever so slightly.

“Aemond,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but before he could speak, she grabbed him by the arm and tugged him inside, glancing quickly at the dark street behind him to make sure no one had seen.

She closed the door with a quiet click, sealing them both inside.

His eyes followed her, drinking in every detail. The loose fabric of her shirt, the way her hair moved with each step, and the quiet way she carried herself now, so different from the confidence she had exuded at the gallery and that night in the stairwell.

She moved to the kitchen, her steps quiet but purposeful. Aemond stood behind her, watching as she reached for a small coffee pot, her movements practiced and deliberate, as if she were stalling for time. The familiar hiss of the coffee beginning to brew filled the silence, but Aemond’s eyes remained fixed on her. His heart still pounded in his chest, an anxious rhythm that echoed in the quiet space between them.

He wanted to ask why she had pulled back. Why did she change so quickly? He wanted to know everything—why she had retreated, why she was here now, brewing coffee in the middle of the night as though they were nothing more than casual acquaintances.

But most of all, he wanted to know if she regretted him.

Aemond stood there, watching her small, quiet movements. The coffee pot sputtered softly, the scent of fresh grounds filling the kitchen, but all his attention was on her—the way her shoulders rose and fell with each breath, the way her fingers tightened momentarily on the countertop as though she was trying to steady herself. He couldn’t resist the pull any longer. His body moved before his mind could catch up.

Slowly, deliberately, he crossed the space between them, closing the distance. His chest brushed against her back, and he could feel her tense, though she didn’t pull away. His hands found her waist, fingers tightening just enough to hold her there, to ground both of them in this moment. She exhaled, a soft sound that almost broke him.

Aemond lowered his head, his lips grazing the delicate skin at the nape of her neck. He could feel the faintest strands of her hair brushing against his face, tickling his lips as he kissed the smallest, most intimate part of her. His breath was warm against her skin, and he felt her body shift—just the slightest tremor beneath his hands.

Her grip on the countertop tightened as she whispered, “Aemond… this isn’t right.”

He paused, his lips hovering above her skin as her words cut through the haze of desire between them. Slowly, she turned around to face him, her expression a mix of guilt and something more difficult to define. Her eyes searched his, lingering for a moment before she looked down, as if she couldn’t bear to hold his gaze for too long.

“I teach at Oldtown,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. “You’re a student. I didn’t know... I never knew.”

She was visibly conflicted, her hands pressing flat against the counter as if to steady herself against the weight of her own words. “This... this isn’t right.”

Aemond’s brow furrowed, his jaw tightening in frustration. “You teach art history,” he countered, his voice sharp, but controlled. “I’m in economics. You don’t teach me.”

Her eyes flicked back up to his, but there was still a shadow of doubt there. “It doesn’t matter. The lines are blurred, Aemond. We’re from the same world, the same institution. It complicates everything.”

“And what?” He leaned in closer, his voice low and heated now, laced with frustration. “Because we’re in the same place, suddenly this—” his hand tightened on her waist, “—suddenly this isn’t real? Or doesn’t count?”

She shook her head, but her breath hitched as his grip became firmer. “No, it’s not that—”

“Then what?” He demanded softly, his mouth inches from hers, his words a mix of desperation and desire. “What is it that makes you think this is wrong?”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her hesitation, the conflict in her gaze, only fueled his frustration.

“I need you, Alys,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I need you to make me feel alive.”

The vulnerability in his words hung between them, raw and unguarded. For a moment, neither of them moved. The kitchen was filled with the quiet hum of the coffee pot, the only sound punctuating the thick tension.

Alys exhaled shakily, her gaze softening. She reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her face, her hand lingering there as though she was holding herself together. “Aemond...” she began, her voice quieter now, more fragile. “You don’t understand how dangerous this is.”

“I don’t care,” he whispered, stepping even closer, his lips brushing against hers. “I don’t care about any of it.”

Their lips collided with a fierce, almost desperate need. His hand slipped from her waist to the small of her back, pulling her closer, while her fingers gripped his shirt, pulling him toward her as if she couldn’t fight it anymore. The kiss was electric, a surge of everything they had been holding back. All the conflict, all the tension melted into the heat between them.

When they finally pulled apart, their breaths were ragged, their foreheads pressed together. Aemond’s heart pounded in his chest, and he could feel hers too, fast and erratic against him.

“I can’t keep doing this,” she whispered, though there was no conviction in her words. “I can’t…”

“You can,” he murmured, brushing his lips softly against her cheek, his hand still resting on her back. “You can.”

She let out a soft, conflicted sigh, her head resting against his chest for just a moment before she stepped back slightly, enough to put some distance between them. “I hope you’re right,” she said softly, her eyes searching for his once again, though this time, there was a trace of hope.

Aemond lay on his back, his chest rising and falling in the slow, steady rhythm of contentment. Beside him, Alys stretched languidly. The sheets had slipped down, revealing the smooth curve of her back and the hint of tattoos peeking along her spine—small, deliberate symbols that only made her more intriguing.

Months have passed since they began what she calls a clandestine affair, and yet, he supposed he’d never get used to the feeling of being able to hold someone as exquisite as her.

He turned his head slightly, studying her in the faint light, the way her hair fell messily over her shoulders, the way she seemed completely at ease in the quiet space between them. 

She shifted, rolling onto her side to face him, propping her head up on her hand. Her eyes, dark and sharp as ever, flicked up to meet his, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I was thinking,” she began, her voice low and languid, “about the mural at the Starry Sept.”

Aemond raised a brow, his lips curving into a small smirk. Of course she would talk about art history after a night like this. “Oh?” he prompted, turning fully to face her, his arm resting beneath his head. “What about it?”

Alys leaned closer, her voice dropping into that tone she used when she was fully in her element—an intoxicating mix of mystique and allure. “The mural depicts Aegon’s Conquest, but what most people overlook is the subtle inclusion of symbols that reference the Valyrian Freehold’s decline. It's not just a celebration of Aegon's victory but a commentary on the fall of an empire—and, perhaps, a warning about the fragility of power.”

He watched her intently, captivated by the way she spoke, her words moving effortlessly between history and art, tying together themes in a way that made even the most obscure details seem relevant, significant. She was always like this— her intelligence wrapping around him in a way that made it impossible to look away.

“You think it was intentional?” he asked, his tone genuinely curious. “The decline of Valyria, woven into the heart of a Westerosi victory mural?”

Alys smirked, her fingers tracing small, idle patterns on the sheets. “I do. Art isn’t just about what’s obvious—it’s about what’s hidden, what’s suggested. Power, love, history—it’s all layered. And those who know how to look will always find more than what’s on the surface.”

Aemond chuckled softly, shaking his head in amusement. “You’ve quite the understanding of it all.”

Her smile widened, a little more playful now, her fingers brushing over his arm. “Maybe. I should, given that I teach it.”

He felt a rush of admiration for her, this woman who could so effortlessly transition from a fierce intellectual to someone who could make him feel utterly insignificant and yet completely seen at the same time. She was unlike anyone he had ever met.

“You’re wasted in Oldtown,” he said suddenly, his voice quieter, more serious. “You should be part of the think tank at the Citadel, teaching them all how to see the world the way you do.”

Alys laughed softly, shaking her head. “The Citadel doesn’t want women like me, Aemond. They want their history clean and simple. But the way I see it… history is messy—it’s complicated, just like everything else.”

He couldn’t argue with that, not when she had such a profound grasp of the chaos beneath the surface of things. He reached out, his hand sliding into her hair, tugging her just a little closer. “Messy can be beautiful,” he murmured, his voice a little rougher now, his thumb brushing over her cheek.

Her gaze softened slightly, her sharpness dimming just a little in the warm intimacy of the moment. “You’re full of surprises, Targaryen.”

He smirked, leaning in to kiss her softly, their lips brushing in a slow, deliberate way. When he pulled back, he caught the way her gaze lingered on him, as though she were sizing him up, trying to decide if she should let him in a little more.

“So,” she said after a moment, her voice softer but still holding that edge of curiosity. “If Westerosi art is a reflection of its history, what do you think it says about you? About the Targaryens?”

Aemond tilted his head, considering her question carefully. “It says that we are a people obsessed with legacy. Everything we do is about ensuring our names, our houses, are remembered. Even our art is full of dragons, of conquest and fire—it’s about showing power.”

“And what about you?” she asked, her eyes locked onto his, searching. “What do you want your legacy to be?”

He paused, the question hanging between them. For a moment, he wasn’t sure how to answer. His whole life had been spent chasing power, chasing recognition. But here, in this moment, with her, he felt something shift. Something deeper, more personal.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice quieter, more vulnerable than he had intended. “But I think I want it to be more than just a name in the books.”

Alys studied him for a long moment, her expression softening. She reached out, her hand resting on his chest, just over his heart. “Maybe that’s the first step. Realizing there’s more to life than what the world expects from you.”

Aemond’s heart beat a little faster under her touch. That’s when it hits him. For the first time, he wasn’t chasing power, authority or perfection.

He was chasing her.

“There's always this sense of danger, of forbidden pleasure. But people are drawn to it.”

She set her plate aside, her fingers brushing absently over the arm of the sofa. “In most of the stories, it’s either villainized or fetishized. Affairs are always catastrophic, or they’re seen as something scandalous, and yet… they’re everywhere. The stories, the songs, the histories—they all revolve around love triangles, mistresses, lovers. It's as though the idea of being with more than one person is at the center of so many lives, but no one ever talks about it openly.”

Alys turned toward him, her eyes sharper now, more focused. “That’s because monogamy is a construct. It’s a way of controlling love, of organizing it into something neat and manageable. But love isn’t manageable, Aemond. It’s messy. It’s wild. And sometimes, it doesn’t fit into one person, or one life.”

There was a quiet intensity in her words, the kind that made him listen more carefully. “And you?” he asked, his voice soft, probing. “What about your own life?”

Alys sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she set her plate down on the coffee table. “Brynden and I—we’re not monogamous, though we were, once upon a time. We’ve been married for over a decade, but we realized early on that there were things we both wanted, things that didn’t always align.”

Aemond frowned slightly, not quite understanding. “But if you love each other…”

She smiled, but there was a hint of sadness in her expression, a kind of resigned wisdom. “We do love each other. We care deeply about each other, we love each other. But we’re not in love. Not in the way that most people expect or demand from a marriage.”

Aemond’s eyes darkened, a flicker of something dangerous passing through his mind. “So, you just… see other people? Without it affecting you?”

Alys shook her head, leaning forward slightly. “It only works if both people are one hundred percent okay with it. That’s the thing, Aemond. You can’t force this kind of relationship. Brynden and I have different things we need out of life. There’s very little I can do to satisfy myself if I have to compromise for him. The same goes for him too. He’s my best friend. We’ve found a balance, a way to live together and still have space for ourselves.”

She glanced at him, watching his reaction carefully. “But it’s not easy. It takes a lot of trust. And it doesn’t always make sense to people who see love as something that has to be exclusive.”

Aemond sat back, his lips curling slightly in that familiar way when his mind was working through something, his ego surfacing. He couldn’t help himself. “I suppose I’m lucky, then,” he said, a faint note of arrogance in his voice. “To be the one who gets to benefit from that.”

Alys’s expression froze. Her eyes widened, and for a moment, the warm, intimate atmosphere between them cracked. She stood up abruptly, her voice sharp with disbelief. “Lucky?” she echoed, her gaze piercing. “You think this is about luck? Do you have any idea how hard it is to maintain something like this without everything falling apart?”

Aemond realized his mistake the moment the words left his mouth. He shot to his feet, his hand reaching for hers. “Alys, I didn’t mean—”

But she pulled her hand back, shaking her head, her frustration evident. “No, you don’t get to reduce my life, my choices, to something as simple as luck.”

He stepped closer, his hands moving to her shoulders, his voice softer now, more genuine. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, leaning in closer. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Alys stared at him for a long moment, her chest rising and falling with restrained emotion. He could see the tension in her, the wariness that came with it all. In a rare display, her years showed.

Without a word, Aemond leaned in and kissed her, his lips capturing hers in a way that was both apologetic and filled with longing. She responded, hesitantly at first, but then with more intensity, as though she were letting go of something. His hands slid to her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested against each other, their breaths mingling in the quiet space. Aemond held her close, his fingers brushing over her sides, and he spoke softly, almost reverently. “I meant what I said, Alys.”

Alys closed her eyes for a moment, her breathing steadying as she absorbed his words. She sighed softly, her fingers brushing lightly against his chest. 

“I know.”

Aemond lay beside Alys, his shirt barely clinging to her, the fabric slipping off one shoulder, exposing her pale skin. She moved beneath the sheets with a languid grace that only made her more irresistible. His fingers skimmed over her body, memorizing the dips and curves, the way her skin felt like silk under his touch. Every breath she took was a silent invitation, every brush of her lips against his a reminder of what had just transpired.

Her scent—something faintly floral and utterly intoxicating—clung to the air, mixing with the musky scent of sweat and sex. Aemond felt suspended in the moment, tethered to her in a way he hadn’t anticipated. His gaze drifted from the ceiling to her face, watching as she nestled deeper into the bed, her hair splayed out across the pillow like a dark halo. The way she looked in his shirt, the way she wore it so effortlessly, made his pulse quicken. Everything about her was sensual, down to the simplest gestures, like the lazy curl of her fingers as she reached for him, grazing her nails along his chest.

Her lips brushed his once more, a teasing kiss that made his head spin, like she knew just how far she could push him before he crumbled beneath her. There was an ease to her movements, a confidence that drove him wild, made him want to lose himself in her all over again. She shifted slightly, her thigh brushing against his, the heat of her skin sparking something primal within him.

But then her voice cut through the haze, soft and matter-of-fact, as if she were commenting on the weather. "I’m going to see Brynden tomorrow."

The words struck him like a slow-burning match, igniting something deep inside. The stillness in the room suddenly felt suffocating, the heat they’d shared now turning into a simmering tension. His hand, which had been gently tracing the curve of her waist, stilled. Aemond’s pulse quickened, but outwardly, he gave no sign of the fire starting to rage inside him.

Brynden. Her husband.

He tried to keep his breathing steady, but the thought of her with someone else—him—was enough to send a surge of possessiveness coursing through him. Aemond prided himself on his ability to control his emotions, to keep them tightly reined in, but this was different. 

She wasn’t just anyone. She was Alys. And the idea of her in another man’s bed, even if it was her husband's, twisted something deep inside him.

A thousand thoughts raced through his mind as he stared at the ceiling, trying to keep his jealousy in check. He didn’t have any right to feel this way. She had made it clear from the beginning. He knew what this was, knew the rules—yet none of that mattered in this moment. Not when the image of her leaving his bed for Brynden was clawing at him, filling him with a need he could barely control.

Alys shifted beside him, her fingers trailing lightly down his chest, as if she were unaware of the storm brewing inside him. But she always knew. She was far too perceptive not to notice the tension that had settled between them.

She tilted her head up, her eyes locking onto his, and there was a playful glint in them. “Are you jealous?” she asked, her tone teasing but laced with curiosity.

Aemond’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, he didn’t respond, his fingers now gripping her waist with more intensity than before. He swallowed hard, the words tasting bitter on his tongue, but he couldn’t hold back. “I just fucked you, and you’re telling me you’re going to see someone else tomorrow.”

Her laughter was soft, almost like a sigh, but it stoked the flames inside him. She pulled away slightly, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. “You always knew what this was,” she murmured, her voice gentle yet firm, as if she was reminding him of the rules they had both agreed to.

He turned his head, staring down at her. She looked so effortlessly beautiful, so at ease, but the casualness of her words only intensified the gnawing jealousy inside him. You always knew what this was. Maybe he did, but hearing her say it aloud, hearing her reaffirm the boundaries that she had always been so careful to maintain—it made him feel helpless in a way he hadn’t expected.

His mind couldn’t help but wander, the images of what tomorrow would bring gnawing at him. He thought of her with Brynden, imagined them together, tangled in sheets that weren’t his. Would he touch her the way Aemond did? Would he know the places to kiss that made her gasp softly into his mouth? Would he know the way she liked to be held, the way she would bite her lip when she was just on the edge of ecstasy?

Would he even care?

Or worse, did he know better than him?

Aemond’s grip on her waist tightened, his possessiveness flaring, and before he could stop himself, the words tumbled from his lips. “Are you seeing others as well? Or is it just me and Brynden?”

Alys paused, her fingers stopping their idle movements as she looked at him, her gaze thoughtful. She didn’t seem surprised by his question, as if she had been expecting it. “Right now,” she said slowly, “it’s just the two of you.” Her lips curved into a small smile, one that sent a thrill through him despite the jealousy simmering just beneath the surface. 

The fact—that men would come running if she wanted them to—remains unsaid.

Aemond’s lips pressed into a tight line as he absorbed her words. Of course they would. She was magnetic—her beauty, her intelligence, the way she moved through the world with such ease—it was impossible not to be drawn to her. But even knowing that didn’t make the tightness in his chest any easier to bear.

He sat up slightly, his hand trailing up her back, fingers brushing over the exposed skin where his shirt had slipped down her shoulder. He wanted to pull her close, to keep her here with him, but he knew he couldn’t. No matter how much he wanted to be the only one, to claim her in a way no one else could, he knew the limits of what he was allowed.

This arrangement works because everyone knows where they stand.

She smiled softly, pulling him down to her for a kiss, her lips warm and inviting against his. But as she pulled away, her gaze lingered on his, and there was something knowing in her eyes, something that told him she understood all too well.

“I meant it,” he whispered, his voice low, rough with the weight of everything he couldn’t say. “I am jealous.”

Alys didn’t say anything, but the soft look in her eyes said enough. She knew. She had always known.

And he should have too.

Aemond had spent days trying to shake the feeling, trying to claw his way back to the control he’d once prided himself on. But the jealousy gnawed at him, a constant, gnawing tension in his chest. He hadn’t seen Alys since that night—had barely even let himself think of her—but she was everywhere. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her lying in his bed, felt her skin beneath his fingers, heard her voice as she casually mentioned her husband’s name, as if it were nothing.

He tried to drown himself in distractions—meetings, late-night study sessions, endless hours at the gym—but none of it worked. The silence of his apartment felt louder than ever, and every time he glanced at his phone, he half-expected to see a message from her. But it never came.

Not until Wylde’s name appeared on his screen.

He was standing by the window, mindlessly staring at the city lights when the familiar vibration startled him from his thoughts. He glanced down, and for a brief, disorienting second, his heart stopped. The photo of her flashed on his phone—a candid shot she had sent him months ago, a sunlit snapshot of her by the cliffs, her eyes gleaming with mischief and an easy smile that always made him feel lighter.

His stomach flipped, warmth spreading through him at the sight of her name.

It was as if all the heaviness he had been carrying suddenly lifted, the fog of jealousy and frustration dissipating in an instant. Without thinking, he grabbed the phone and answered, bringing it to his ear.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, a hint of surprise in his tone.

He leaned into his pillows on the bed as she talked, her singsong voice making him feel lighter with each second. His cigarette burned idly between his fingers, ash falling unnoticed to the floor as he listened to her voice on the other end of the line. It had been days since they’d last talked, and the sound of her now felt like a balm to his burned heart.

“So, I tried that new coffee place you told me about,” Wylde said, her voice light, teasing. He could hear the smile in it. “The one with the ridiculously overpriced pastries.”

He smirked, taking a slow drag of his cigarette. “And?”

She sighed dramatically. “Never again. I’m convinced you only recommended it for the aesthetics.”

Aemond chuckled softly, the tension in his chest loosening just a fraction. “Maybe. The coffee’s not terrible though.”

“Not terrible? I’ve had better instant coffee.”

There was a pause on her end before her tone shifted, more thoughtful now. “So… Daeron talked to me today.”

Aemond’s fingers stilled on his cigarette. “And?”

“I don’t know. He apologized, and we talked. One thing led to another and I told him I loved him.”

The warmth that had spread through him a moment ago began to ebb as she continued.

“I asked him why he never said anything, and he said he didn’t want to hurt my feelings.”

“Hm.” He lit another cigarette, the click of the lighter distinct even through the phone. He could picture her so clearly, lying in bed with the phone pressed to her ear, her face soft with thought. He flexed his knuckles as he always did when he needed to keep his hands busy, the tension creeping back into his muscles.

“And then we just… I don’t know. We just sort of sat there for a bit.”

“Hm.” He inhaled slowly, letting the smoke fill his lungs, waiting for her to continue. Aemond had never been one to rush her, especially when it came to things like this. He imagined the awkward silence that must have hung between her and Daeron, and it stirred something low in his chest.

“We didn’t say much after. I was too embarrassed to continue, and he seemed tired. We just finished our drinks and then he insisted on walking me home.”

Aemond didn’t respond right away. He let the silence stretch between them, processing her words. His thumb absently flicked at the filter of his cigarette as he stared out into the dim city skyline, feeling the familiar weight settle on him. The thought of Daeron, after everything, still having a hold over her – it bothered him more than it should. He knew it was irrational, but knowing didn’t make it any easier to shake.

He shifted in his seat, the leather of his jacket rustling faintly. 

A slight creak of her bed sounded through the phone as she shifted. “Are you still there?” she asked, her voice softer now.

“Yes,” he replied, his tone quiet, more subdued than before. He hesitated for a moment, flexing his knuckles again before asking, “Are you… do you still have feelings for him?”

The question was out before he could stop it, and immediately, he regretted how vulnerable it made him sound. He tried to keep his voice even, but he wasn’t sure if he succeeded.

There was a pause on her end, the kind that made his chest tighten. He could almost picture her expression—surprised, maybe, but not angry.

“It hasn’t completely gone away,” she finally admitted, her voice measured. “There’s always going to be something there. But no, not quite as I used to.”

He took another slow drag, the smoke clouding his vision as he exhaled. Good. Maybe it’s time to focus on other things. Other people.”

He hoped his voice sounded casual, like it didn’t matter much to him either way.

“Yeah. Maybe it is,” she replied, her voice softer now, as though she was giving the idea some real thought.

Aemond let the silence stretch between them again, and this time, it felt a little lighter. He could feel the tension that had gripped him earlier easing. The jealousy that had been simmering for days was still there, but now it felt manageable, less like a gnawing ache and more like a dull throb he could ignore.

“Speaking of other people,” she said, her voice taking on a teasing lilt. “Have you made any new friends at university? Met anyone interesting?”

Aemond felt his jaw tighten for a second before he forced himself to relax. He could almost hear her smirking through the phone.

“Yeah,” he said after a pause, his voice deliberately noncommittal. “A few people.”

“Oh? Anyone special?” she pressed, clearly enjoying the chance to prod at him.

He hesitated, and the pause was long enough that he knew she’d pick up on it.

“Hm…”

“Aemond,” she said, exasperation seeping into her voice, though he could tell she was smiling. “Is that a yes?”

“Perhaps,” he replied, knowing it would drive her crazy.

“Come on! You can’t just say ‘perhaps’ and leave it at that. Tell me!” she urged, her voice rising with excitement.

He sighed, trying to hide the smirk playing at his lips. “There’s someone. But it’s nothing serious.”

“Someone? What’s their name?” she asked eagerly.

“No.”

Her laughter bubbled through the phone, warm and familiar. “You’re no fun.”

“Nothing much to say,” he countered, taking another drag. “It’s… too soon.”

She sighed dramatically, though he could hear the smile in her voice. “Fine, but you owe me details eventually.”

“Maybe,” he said, his tone lighter than it had been in days.

“I’ll hold you to that, you know.”

Aemond couldn’t help but smile this time. He could picture her so clearly, lying there in bed with that mischievous glint in her eyes. “We’ll see.”

“I’m tired. Good night, Aemond,” her voice was soft, gentle, as though the day’s weight had finally eased off her shoulders. There was something warm in the way she said it, something familiar that made him pause.

“Good night, Wylde,” he murmured back, his own voice laced with a quiet fondness he hadn’t meant to let slip.

As the call ended, the stillness of the room settled over him. Aemond leaned back in his chair, staring at his phone for a long moment, her name still glowing on the screen. The corners of his lips lifted slightly as he thought of her. Even now, after everything, she could still make his chest tighten with just a word. He flicked the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray, watching the embers smolder and fade.

For a moment, his mind drifted back to last summer. How he almost told her when they sat in her bed before he left, how the words had been on the tip of his tongue so many times. The late nights they’d spent talking, the stolen glances when she wasn’t looking—he’d convinced himself it was just a crush, a fleeting thing. But the way his heart would flip whenever she smiled at him, or how his pulse would race when her hand brushed his... Maybe it was something more. He’d wondered if, just maybe, she’d felt it too.

But then he left. And in Oldtown, everything changed.

Alys.

Aemond closed his eyes, feeling a familiar heat coil in his chest at the mere thought of her. Gods, Alys. She was unlike anyone he’d ever known—intense, dangerous, and undeniably captivating. He remembered the first time they met, the way her eyes had seemed to see right through him, peeling back layers he hadn’t even known were there. And before he knew it, he was tangled in her, in whatever it was they had together. It wasn’t love, no, but it was something—something that gripped him hard and wouldn’t let go.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply. Even now, his heart still flipped when Wylde called, but it didn’t beg for her the way it did for Alys. With Wylde, it was soft, warm, comforting. But with Alys... oh gods, with Alys it was something else entirely. The heat between them, the way his body craved hers—it was raw, electric, and it consumed him in ways that were almost terrifying.

And yet... he thought of Wylde, her soft pining after Daeron, how she still held onto the hope of something that had never truly been hers. It infuriated him in a way he couldn’t explain. He hated that she didn’t see how beneath her it was. Daeron, who despite being his own brother, would never be someone who would give her what she deserved. She didn’t see it, and maybe she never would.

His thoughts flickered back to Alys, to the way he’d let himself get caught up in her. He hadn’t intended for it to go this far. He didn’t need commitment, he didn’t need to belong to anyone. Not when he had someone like Alys—someone who didn’t ask for anything more than what he could give. What they had worked for him. It was perfect, just the way it was. So why did his mind keep slipping, why did the thought of Wylde still linger, hovering just at the edge of his thoughts?

He clenched his jaw, pushing the thoughts aside. It didn’t matter. Wylde was still tied up in Daeron, in whatever heartbreak she was clinging to. And Alys... Alys was what he needed. She gave him exactly what he wanted without the complications, without the demands.

The next night, Aemond found himself standing at Alys’ door, barely able to breathe as she opened it. Her eyes widened slightly in surprise, and before she could say anything, he was on her, slamming the door shut with a force that echoed through the room.

His hands were on her in an instant, pushing her back against the wall, his lips crashing down on hers with a hunger he hadn’t realized had built up inside him. The kiss was fierce, unrelenting, and she barely had time to gasp before he was lifting her, his fingers digging into her skin, his body pressing against hers.

He didn’t stop to think, didn’t slow down, didn’t give her a moment to ask what was happening. He just took the way he liked. Her breath was ragged, matching his own, her nails digging into his back as she responded with equal fervor.

This was what he needed.

She twirled a strand of dark hair between her fingers, her eyes locked onto him as he talked about the upcoming summer trip to Valyria. Aegon’s relationship with Sara Snow had opened doors that were otherwise sealed shut for nearly everyone else. A summer expedition to the ancient, forbidden land—one that was so deeply tied to his heritage—felt like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and yet the anticipation thrummed through his veins in a way that was almost... understated.

“You’ll see things no one’s seen for centuries,” Alys said. Her gaze flicked over him as if she was sizing him up, wondering how deeply the land’s mysteries would affect him. “If you’re lucky, they’ll let you wander off the program. See the real Valyria, not just the parts the academics have planned out for their research.”

Aemond’s lips twitched in a half-smile. “Sara Snow runs a tight ship. There’s not much leeway. But Aegon mentioned there might be an opportunity if I slip away during one of the less critical site studies. She’s obsessed with the subterranean temples. It’s the landmarks I’m after—those that would bear the sigils or icons linked to House Targaryen. Dragons. The Three-headed Beast.”

Alys leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand, intrigued. “You think the old sigils might still be there? Carved into stone or etched into relics buried beneath volcanic ash?”

“I have a feeling they would be,” Aemond murmured, his eyes flickering with a hint of excitement. “The Targaryens came from there. It’s in our blood, our bones. The architecture, the ancient monuments, it would all tie back to our origins. Even if some of it’s eroded or destroyed, Valyria’s foundation was built on the backs of dragonlords.”

Alys’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “Keep your eyes open for anything that seems... too deliberate. Valyrian artisans were methodical. They hid their secrets in plain sight, but only for those who know where to look.”

He nodded, his mind already racing through what he’d studied about Valyria—the imagery, the symbolism, the deep-rooted history he was about to walk into. His excitement was tempered, though, controlled as always. Aemond’s passions ran deep, but they were guarded.

As they continued to speak, his phone buzzed softly in his pocket. He almost didn’t reach for it, but something told him to look. The moment he saw the name on the screen, his expression softened, the tension in his body easing in a way Alys had never quite seen before.

“Who is it?” Alys asked, noticing the subtle shift in him.

Without answering, Aemond gave her a brief, almost apologetic smile as he slid his thumb across the screen and lifted the phone to his ear.

“Wylde,” he greeted, his voice warmer, softer than it had been in the last few hours. “What’s up?”

Alys raised a brow, watching as he leaned back in his seat, a trace of amusement flickering in her dark eyes as she observed the man in front of her transform into something gentler, less guarded.

More so the boy that he is.

Her voice was muffled, but Aemond listened intently, nodding along as if she could see him. His eyes brightened subtly, the corners of his lips twitching as she told him about her graduation gown fitting.

“Finally packing for Oldtown, huh?” he asked, a rare note of quiet excitement in his voice. “Good.”

There was a pause as Wylde spoke again, and Aemond’s gaze flickered toward Alys for a brief moment, remembering that he wasn’t alone. “I’m with someone right now, but I’ll call you later, alright?”

She said something else, something lighthearted, and Aemond’s lips curled into a small, barely-there smile as he ended the call.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket, and when he looked up, Alys was watching him with that same knowing smile that made it clear she’d picked up on everything.

“Wylde?” she asked casually, though her tone was tinged with curiosity.

Aemond didn’t answer immediately, his features slipping back into the cool detachment he was known for, but Alys could see the faint trace of warmth still lingering in his eyes.

“She’s an old friend of the family,” he said, his voice measured, but Alys didn’t miss the way his fingers flexed slightly, as if he was still holding onto the echo of the conversation.

Alys leaned back in her seat, smirking. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you smile like that before.”

Aemond’s gaze met Alys’s, cool and steady, the warmth from moments before already fading as if it had never existed. His fingers absently flexed against the edge of the table, and he gave a small shrug.

“It’s nothing,” he said, his voice returning to its usual controlled cadence. “Doesn’t matter now.”

Alys didn’t say anything for a moment, just continued to watch him with that knowing smile, her lips curving as if she saw right through him. She leaned forward slightly, her dark hair falling over her shoulder as her eyes locked onto his, sharp and unreadable.

“Doesn’t it?” she asked, her tone teasing but with an edge of curiosity, probing.

Aemond’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. “No. It doesn’t.”

He picked up his cigarette from the ashtray and took a slow drag, the smoke curling lazily between them. Alys tilted her head, her smile widening just a fraction, as if his denial was amusing to her. She didn’t push further, though. That wasn’t her style. Alys knew when to press and when to let things be. She had him figured out well enough to know that some things were better left unspoken.

“Alright,” she said finally, her voice soft, almost soothing, though the amusement in her eyes never quite left. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs casually. “If you say so.”

Aemond exhaled slowly, the smoke dissipating into the air between them, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. But Alys’s smile lingered, just on the edge of her lips, like she knew something he wasn’t ready to admit even to himself.

Two months later, she stood at his doorstep in Oldtown.

“Hey, missed me?” Wylde said, her voice light, that familiar carelessness in her tone that always managed to put him at ease. The way she looked at him—like nothing had changed—made something in his chest shift, the way it always did.

She stepped forward to hug him, and he held her for a moment longer after, his hands resting on her shoulders. "Have you moved into your new place yet?" he asked, trying to sound casual, as if her being here wasn’t undoing everything he had told himself.

As if he hadn’t spent months imagining this exact moment and wondering how it would feel.

"The boxes are in," she replied with a shrug, her eyes meeting his, bright and untroubled, unguarded in a way that made him feel like he could breathe again. "I should probably start unpacking soon."

He nodded, a small smile forming. "Let me know if you need help."

Her eyes softened, and she leaned back slightly, as if assessing him. “How was Valyria?”

And then, it all unraveled. The way she said it, like she genuinely wanted to know, like she’d missed hearing about his life. He began talking, and for the first time in what felt like a year, he felt that spark of excitement again, the kind that came naturally around her. He found himself smiling in a way he hadn’t in months, feeling the weight lift off his shoulders as he told her about the trip, about the ruins and relics, his voice lighter than it had been in so long. She listened, leaning in, her eyes tracing his face like she was searching for something she’d missed.

He didn’t even realize he was still holding her. He hadn’t let go, and his hands were warm where they rested on her, like something slotting into place. And suddenly, for the first time since he’d moved here, everything felt right.

Lighter. Like home.

He was fucked. Completely. He could feel it now, the rush of everything he’d tried to bury for months rising up, all at once.

How did he ever convince himself he’d gotten over her?

MASTERLIST

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[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.1 gojo satoru sent you a message

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot

ᰔ chapter. 1/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 1.3k (short one to start off, but the rest are longer)

a/n. welcome to this pilot chapter! this was originally going to be a one-shot but i got way too carried away and ended up planning out a whole series. i hope you enjoy!

nav. masterlist

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

|| 2:13AM Gojo Satoru has requested to follow you

You blink the sleepiness in your eyes away as the harsh light of your phone hits your face. Somewhere in the middle of the crazy dream you were having, you heard your phone incessantly pinging and eventually woke you up to make you realize you forgot to turn the ringer off before going to sleep. Among all the spam email, iCloud storage warnings, and news headliners, there was one notification in particular that had you wondering if you were still dreaming.

“Ugh…y/n, please, turn your phone off,” you heard your roommate Mina mumble in the twin sized bed at the other end of the room as she shuffled her pillow above her head so that it covered both of her ears. You glance out the window of your shared apartment, peering at the pale moonlight, before your tired and heavy eyes travel back to your phone and press on the Instagram notification.

Suspecting this was maybe some prank account, you clicked on the small icon in your inbox that took you to a profile page. Gojo Satoru, Senior at University of Tokyo, Business Major, D1 Soccer #10, SAE. 12k followers, 172 following, 38 posts. 

Still thinking you’re dreaming, you accept the follow request and watch as the number on his following increases by one, now 173. Your thumb swipes up on your phone as you take in the square images of his profile. Pictures of him and his friends recreating memes…food that he’s eaten recently…frequent vacation posts in exotic countries…and a whole lot of what seemed to be professionally taken soccer photos of him striking goals and hitting balls with his head in mid air. You have put a lot of effort into your own Instagram photos (despite your modest 464 followers), mostly posting compilation slideshows of your favorite film photos that you’ve taken recently, yet somehow his feed looks much more inviting than yours.

You turn onto your side and continue to look through his photos. 624 comments, 373 comments, 958 comments. Many were from his friends trying to embarrass him, and many others were from girls that probably wanted him to notice them. You noticed he only really replied to comments from his friends. 

You knew who he was, of course. Gojo Satoru was one of the most, if not the most, popular guys on your college campus. When you got to college, you thought the whole “social hierarchy” thing would be over but it still seemed like there were certain groups of people that almost everyone knew about, "elite" individuals who other students could only dream of associating with. At UTokyo, the fraternities and sororities practically owned the place so of course Gojo was well-known since he was a member of the school’s most iconic frat, SAE. Not to mention, the school adored its soccer team–undefeated since 2012–and Gojo Satoru was the most talented center forward the division has seen in years. 

But as for why he requested to follow you, a film major that doesn’t play any sports and isn’t even in a sorority, well you’re just not sure. 

It’s then when you get yet another notification. 

“Oh my god, y/n, turn it off!” Mina mumbles into her mattress. You click the side button to turn off the ringer. 

|| 2:24AM Gojo Satoru sent you a message 

Your heart starts to beat a bit faster as you quickly slide to your DMs page. You notice three unread conversations from a few of your friends, probably from when they decided to send you their entire explore page, and then you see a little (1) next to your message requests box. When you open it, you see his icon in your inbox. It’s a simple picture of him in his soccer jersey, his smile wide as one of his team members who was mostly cropped out of the photo seemed to be putting him in a headlock. You see the first few words of the message.

|| 2:24AM Gojo Satoru: Hey, sorry if this is weir…

You’re about to click on it when you stop yourself. It was really late at night and you didn’t know if you wanted to entertain a conversation with this man you knew literally nothing about (at least on a personal level) and weren’t even sure why he was messaging you in the first place. Plus, he would see that you’ve read it and so you would feel anxious to respond. But there was no way to see his full message unless you opened it. Even though you considered this to be weirdly intimate since it was a message sent at two in the morning, you figured that was probably normal for the likes of people like Gojo Satoru, who probably were out drinking and partying until five in the morning every night, regardless of any 8AM lectures or not. 

But unfortunately, curiosity always kills the cat (that’s the expression, right?) and so you click on his message. 

|| 2:24AM Gojo Satoru: Hey, sorry if this is weird…I don’t think we’ve ever met before, but my buddy’s really into your roommate, and he’s tried to invite her out to our frat’s house parties but he’s had no luck. Think you could convince her to come this weekend? You’re welcome to come too, of course

You blink in surprise before rolling your eyes, not entirely sure why you were expecting any different. Maybe Mina wasn’t budging on his friend’s advances because she wants to be asked out on an actual date, and not to some house party. But you figured frat guys wouldn’t really understand that. Besides, how did he know that you were her roommate? You’re just about to type a response when you see three little dots in the left side corner, indicating he was typing, and you hold your breath.

|| 2:27AM Gojo Satoru: Here are the details

And then he sends you a post from what looks like his fraternity’s Instagram page. There’s an address, a time, the name of the DJ and girls get in free bolded at the top. You realize you’ve never even been invited to a fraternity’s house party until this very moment. 

You briefly consider not responding to him and just setting your phone back down on your nightstand, rolling over, and falling asleep. But you find your fingers moving on their own to type.

|| 2:31AM You: you’re messaging me to help your friend get with my roommate?

There’s an uncomfortable two minutes where there’s no response from him and for some reason your anxiety is through the roof. You remember the countless times you’ve heard people describe Gojo Satoru in passing: there’s just something about him that demands your attention. 

His notification pops up at the top of the Instagram app when you were scrolling through reels to distract yourself and you accidentally clicked on it too fast. 

|| 2:33AM Gojo Satoru: Uh, yeah? 

You sigh as you ponder the proposition. You don’t even know for sure why Mina wasn’t really responding to his friend’s advances, maybe the guy was a creep or just not her type. And even if she was somewhat interested in him, she’s already refused to go to any of their frat’s house parties, so how would you be able to persuade her? 

You finally convince yourself you’ve had enough of Gojo’s messages for the night and you’ll choose whether or not you want to revisit the topic again in the morning, until another message flashes across your screen.

|| 2:38AM Gojo Satoru: What can I do to get you to convince her to come this weekend?

You bite down on your lip at his question, and an idea flashes through your mind.

|| 2:40AM You: i’ll find a way to convince her. my terms and conditions will come later

He responds in a second.

|| 2:40AM Gojo Satoru: Deal 

a/n. dude literally slid into your DMs lol. thank you for reading! i also post this story over on AO3, if you're more into that format, but i just wanted to start posting over here on tumblr too. hope to see you in the next one!

➸ take me to chapter two!

[ja3yun]

Melting Point | P.SH | CH.5

brother's rival!sunghoon x fem!reader warnings: fluff, angst, confrontation, minhee lovers i am so sorry, no smut this chapter, injury, anything else lmk ch.5 synopsis: life is good for you and sunghoon after you become official, yet, things take a drastic turn very quickly, and you're stuck between love and loyalty. wc: 12k previous | masterlist | next a/n: hi! so this is where the shit gets real icl. i loved writing this chapter honestly, it holds a place in my heart but tbh, the whole series does. not many warnings or whatever and i don't want to spoil anything here so...enjoy! likes, reblogs, feeback are all welcome as always <3 thank you so much for the support, ilyasm.

As you flip through the pages of your Successful Event Management book, your attention wavers, consumed by thoughts of your boyfriend. Despite your efforts, the words on the pages seem to blur together as your mind dances with images of him. Each time the realisation hits that he's officially yours, you find yourself involuntarily twirling a strand of your hair, unable to contain your giggles or the playful kicks of your feet. It's almost unsettling how deeply he occupies your thoughts, and now that you can call him your man, it's as if the intensity has multiplied tenfold.

Over the past week, Sunghoon has been immersed in training, preparing for Nationals, leaving little time for your usual moments together. But you understand, what with Nationals coming up, he has to be prepared for it. Your understanding doesn’t mean you don’t miss him any less though. This time apart has been the longest you’ve gone without seeing him in the past 4 months and it feels agonisingly long.

It’s just past October and you probably missed him most at Halloween, wishing you could have dressed up with him and gone to Rina’s party together, but he couldn’t cancel the trip to Japan he had. If it were any other schedule, he would have blown it off but everything had already been booked, he just couldn’t get out of it.

You loved your boyfriend's willingness to drop everything for you, even if it was often unnecessary. When you told him you nearly broke your ankle while walking down Rina's stairs in 6 inch heels and a bottle of Pinot in hand, Sunghoon instantly left his training and came to check on you. You told him about the incident so you could both laugh at how stupid you are but he didn’t find anything funny, not until he saw you were okay and giggling with Rina as if nothing had happened. 

That’s one thing that’s slightly changed since becoming official, Sunghoon is way more protective of you. Truth be told, he’s always been protective, he can just showcase it more now.

You adored him in every way a person can be adored. All his flaws, all his perfections, he was all yours.

A ping from your phone pauses your idle daydreaming.

My Hoonie ♡

9:10pm: look outside

It’s ominous but you can't resist the pull to glance out the window. Swirling out of your desk chair, you're met with the unexpected sight of Sunghoon, grinning from ear to ear and waving animatedly, as if beckoning you to join him outside.

Why the fuck is he here? He normally texts you to meet him at the corner of the street so he’s out of sight of your family.

Keeping Sunghoon a secret has been surprisingly easy these days, given how rarely you saw Minhee. You sent your brother a play-by-play of what occurred at the ceremony, along with a few pictures, but he hasn't spoken to you since his brief 'Nice' text response. You tried to initiate a few conversations with him about it, asking if anything was bothering him, but he just replied he was busy with training.

He no longer takes you to train with him, but you can't put all the blame on him; you've been telling him you're too tired for weeks to accompany him; he probably just assumed you'd keep saying the same excuse.

You missed him even though he was only across the hallway.

You quickly put on the jumper Sunghoon had given you, grab your phone, and slip on your shoes as you prepare to make a discreet getaway. With your family still inside the house, you turn the front door handle with full caution, making no sound as you sneak out to meet Sunghoon.

"What are you doing here?" you whisper urgently as you greet him.

Sunghoon brings you in for a kiss while his hand cradles the back of your head, answering your question with his actions rather than his words. He missed you, that’s all there was to it. 

"Are you free?" he murmurs against your lips, his kisses lingering, "I want to take you on a date."

You pull back slightly, taken aback, "A date? Why all of a sudden?"

"I realised I haven't properly treated you to a date," Sunghoon admits, a tinge of guilt evident in his tone. The ill-timing of officially becoming a couple and his intense training schedule for Nationals made it look like he was putting in no effort now that he had you. He never intended to spend less time with you, it’s just what happened. 

You lean back to look at him sceptically, “We’ve been on plenty of dates, Hoonie.”

"Shh, just let me take you out, please?" he playfully feigns annoyance, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes.

Looking back at your home, you consider the options available. On one hand, there's a mountain of tasks awaiting your attention now that the new school year has kicked off. On the other hand, there's the tempting prospect of spending time with your beloved.

Was it even a question?

"Do I need to change?" you ask, casting a critical eye over your attire: his hoodie, some well-worn leggings, and slightly battered shoes—hardly your typical date ensemble. Sunghoon inspects you, pinching your leggings to rub the fabric thoughtfully, “What are you doing?” you ask quizically, raising an eyebrow.

"Just checking the thickness," he replies, turning you around and lifting the hoodie slightly to inspect the material covering your butt. "They'll do," he declares, giving your ass a playful slap to signify the end of his examination. "I have a pair of your other leggings in my car. We could layer," he suggests with a grin.

You don’t have a clue what he’s planning but it can’t be good. 

Sunghoon interlocks his fingers with yours and walks you to his car up the end of the street. The air is growing cooler now that it's early November, so all you can do is sigh with happiness as you take your seat in his warm car. 

With the early November air turning crisp, you sink into the warmth of his car seat, unable to suppress a contented sigh. Over the past few weeks, Sunghoon has allowed you to personalize the interior of his car to your heart's content. 

It started with a simple addition—a plush teddy bear seatbelt cover to cushion the strap that always seemed to bite into you. But it quickly escalated, evolving into a display of your quirks and interests: stickers adorning the glove compartment, a bobblehead of Cinnamoroll dangling from the dashboard with a matching Tuxedosam counterpart on his side, and even a change in the air freshener scent from ocean breeze to peony and cherry blossoms. Each addition is a testament to your bond and the little ways you've woven your lives together.

His life was covered in you, and he has never been happier.

Since the award ceremony, Sunghoon's skating demeanour has noticeably lightened, shedding the weight of perfectionism now that he has your unwavering support echoing in his ears and he knows you mean it because when he glances over to you in the stands, he sees the pride in your eyes. Coach Lee has commented on it a couple of times, saying how his Nationals performance might be his best yet and to keep up the good work. With you by his side, Sunghoon finds joy in skating again, rediscovering the passion that initially drew him to the sport.

"So, where are we headed?" you inquire, fastening your seatbelt and tuning into the radio.

Sunghoon starts the car and pulls away, his hand resting reassuringly on your thigh, "You'll find out soon enough," he replies cryptically. Normally, surprises catch you off guard, leaving you feeling unprepared—an impromptu birthday party is one thing, but this unexpected adventure is an entirely different story.

He chuckles at your attempt to decipher his plans, giving your leg a playful squeeze, "Sweets, I promise I'm not leading you into a cornfield and abandoning you there. You'll enjoy it, I swear."

“A cornfield is so specific, now I don’t trust you at all”  you tease, your tone laced with mock suspicion, though there's a hint of genuine curiosity beneath it all.

As the drive progresses, a sense of familiarity settles in, and when the car pulls up at Belmore, you twist in your seat to face him. "Belmore?" you query, eyebrows raised in surprise. His only response is a knowing nod, a roguish smirk playing on his lips.

"Baby, no offence, but watching you train isn't exactly my idea of a romantic date. And if it ever did count, I think we've been on far too many dates for only being together a month," you point out with a playful yet pointed look.

Sunghoon parks the car and switches off the engine, turning to you with a grin, "So, you don't consider our friends-with-benefits phase as being together?" he counters, raising an eyebrow. "Because technically, we've been together for like four months."

"No, our 'fuck buddy era' definitely doesn't count," you retort, stepping out of the car.

"That's a shame," Sunghoon muses, a playful glint in his eyes. "I had grand plans to whisk you away for our six-month anniversary in January. I guess I'll just have to enjoy Jeju on my own," he shrugs nonchalantly, locking the car before striding towards the main building, gym bag slung over his shoulder.

You quickly fall into step with him, looping your arm in his, a gleam of merriment in your eyes. "Well, I suppose we could round it up to four months," you offer, hoping he was just joking about going himself.

You're not about to let the opportunity for a trip with your man slip through your fingers, even if he's just teasing. You've been dropping hints about wanting to hike Hallasan Mountain and go tangerine picking on Jeju Island so often that he's actually started a 'Jeju Jar' where you contribute money whenever you mention it.

Sunghoon graciously holds the door open for you, and Miss Barbara's cheerful wave as she recognises you only adds to the excitement bubbling within you.

Miss Barbara has been in on your little secret love affair since you made it official, her only bribery she requested to keep it a secret was a bag of Revels on top of her usual Toffee gift. 

"Hi, Miss Barbara," you greet her warmly as you approach the reception desk.

"Hello, Y/N, Sunghoon. How are my favorite forbidden lovers?" she exclaims with a twinkle in her eye, settling back in her chair.

Sunghoon chuckles, shaking his head. "It's not quite as dramatic as you make it out to be, Miss Barbara," he replies with a good-natured smile, though the receptionist waves off his comment. She's fond of weaving your relationship into a romantic narrative, a tale of two star-crossed lovers defying societal norms to be together. It's a bit over the top, but it gives her something to gush over.

"We're doing well. Is anyone in there?" you inquire, grateful for Miss Barbara's discreet support. With her on your side, it's easier to gauge just how obvious your affection for each other can be. While you don't hide your love in everyday life, at the rink, you're more cautious. The last thing you need is for any of the coaches or, heaven forbid, your families to catch you in a moment of intimacy. That could set you both back to square one.

Keeping it a secret until after Nationals wasn’t just for the benefit of Minhee, but also for your own sanity. If one of your mothers found out, that would be it, you would never hear the end of it. 

“Nope, all free. Coach Kim just left and not another soul in sight.” Miss Barbara confirms.

"Thanks, Miss Barbara. This was a spur-of-the-moment thing, so we'll make sure to bring you double sweet treats tomorrow," Sunghoon promises, knowing full well she's eagerly anticipating her goodies.

"Triple and I'll let you in on a little secret," she counters, arms crossed expectantly. Sunghoon nods in agreement, intrigued, "The coaches are planning to bring you and Minhee in tomorrow for peer review and a Nationals run-through, to ensure you're both in top form for the competition in two weeks. It's a new method they want to try to strengthen your connection, especially since you're both going to be on the same Olympic team," she reveals, her tone filled with anticipation.

Your eyes widen in shock as Miss Barbara's words sink in. "Wait, Minhee and the Olympics?" you repeat, the idea sounding both fitting and surreal at the same time.

"Oh yeah, he's been putting in a ton of hours here, especially in the last three weeks. Coach Kim believes he's more than ready," she confirms with a knowing smile, leaning in conspiratorially. "But shh, it's a surprise. The coaches plan to break the news to him when he places in the top three at Nationals."

The news hits you like a wave of emotions. It's beyond perfect - your brother finally achieving his lifelong dream after years of hard work and dedication. A sense of pride and happiness swells within you, threatening to overwhelm your senses.

Suddenly, you get a strange feeling because the more you think about how excited you are for him, you realise Miss Barbara has just said he's here a lot, but you didn't know that. Although you may not have seen him recently, you should be aware that he is spending his time here. You used to know his entire schedule.

“Was my mum here with him?” you inquire, a hint of concern in your voice.

"No, he's usually by himself or with Coach Kim. Didn't he mention it to you? I was wondering why you haven't been with him like usual," Miss Barbara explains, her tone sympathetic.

Sunghoon notices the discontent written across your face, assuming it's because of the impending peer review with Minhee tomorrow morning. Wrapping his arm around your waist, he gently guides you towards the rink. "Thanks for the heads up," he acknowledges gratefully.

As he leads you into the arena, you can feel the excitement draining from your shoulders, leaving you feeling deflated. Sunghoon hates seeing you like this. He wishes he could simply pluck the negative thoughts from your mind and replace them with happiness, but all he can do is offer distraction.

"Sweets, wait here for a minute," he murmurs, planting a kiss atop your head before darting off to the back rooms to fetch some necessary tools for your impromptu date, leaving you to wonder what surprises he has in store.

A few minutes later, Sunghoon returns, his excitement palpable as he practically skips towards you, hands hidden behind his back. The mischievous glint in his eyes sends a shiver of apprehension down your spine, "Sunghoon, what's going on?" you inquire warily.

He stops in front of you, a wide grin spreading across his face. "You aren't going to watch me train," he announces, revealing a pair of pristine white ice skates and a deep blue helmet from behind his back, which he then presents to you, "I'm teaching you how to skate."

The look on your face is one of absolute shock. You have already told him how your mum had tried to get you on the ice when you were little and it wasn’t pretty, you can barely walk in the skates never mind glide on the ice. Did he forget this was the one thing you explicitly said you couldn’t and wouldn’t do?

Noticing your lack of enthusiasm, Sunghoon's arms drop to his sides, a hint of disappointment flickering across his features. "Come on, it'll be fun! I'm a great teacher," he insists, trying to persuade you. Taking the skates from his hand, you inspect them apprehensively, feeling a surge of fear at the sight of the gleaming blades.

"Look, baby," Sunghoon begins, his voice softening as he places a hand on your shoulder. "You've mentioned how you never took to the ice well, but it occurred to me today that maybe that's because your mum had all these dreams about the Kang siblings dominating the figure skating world. That's a lot of pressure for a seven-year-old. But this... this is just for fun. A simple, free lesson from South Korea's greatest skater who promises to never shout or get impatient with you," he reassures, placing a hand over his heart in a solemn pledge.

It’s true you suppose, there would be no need to feel a weight on your shoulders to be as good as Minhee or have your mum telling you how easy it was and that you just weren’t trying hard enough. 

The sparkle in Sunghoon's eyes only adds to your resolve to give this a shot. He wants to share his love for the sport with you, and you can't help but feel touched by his enthusiasm. If he's willing to keep both feet firmly on the ice, then maybe, just maybe, you can brave this adventure.

"Fine, but I'm not jumping under any circumstances," you bargain with a playful glint in your eye. The last thing you want is to end up flat on your back on the ice. If Sunghoon can promise to keep you grounded, then you'll give it a try.

Sunghoon’s face radiates with glee once you accept his date idea, which is good for him because he doesn’t have a backup. He sits you down on the bench and helps you put on the skates, fastening them tightly. He goes over the warnings every skater gets about new skates, and how they need to be broken in so they might nip at the skin. He’s already tried to stretch them out for you by making Wonyoung wear them for a little while when she warmed up. 

Once both of your skates are securely laced up, Sunghoon swiftly puts on his own, his familiarity with them evident in his speed. He's had these skates for a year now, and they've never failed him.

"Put your helmet on, babe," he instructs, handing it to you. You look at it with disdain, but he catches your expression and intervenes, "I get that it's not glamorous, but the last thing I need is for you to smash your head open," he reasons, gently placing the helmet on your head and fastening it securely.

"I don't want to fall in the first place!" you protest.

"I will always catch you, I promise," Sunghoon reassures you, leaning in to press a kiss to the top of your helmet, as if it were your head. He offers a gentle smile, "Plus, the rink just got Zambonied, and they'll be peeved if you dirty up the nice ice with your blood."

"Sunghoon!" you exclaim, a mix of exasperation and affection in your tone.

______

Seventy minutes into the lesson, and you've only stumbled twice. The first time was when you initially stepped onto the ice, resembling one of those cartoon skits where the character can't find their footing and begins flailing everywhere. The second stumble occurred when you attempted to march in place, a simple task that somehow became a challenge on ice. Despite Sunghoon's assurances that you couldn't fall, you seem determined to prove him wrong, even in moments like these.

Nonetheless, you have made progress. Sunghoon has painstakingly taught you how to forward glide and perform a snowplough stop, which seemed impossible given your previous difficulties on the ice. Granted, he's been hovering only centimetres behind you the entire time, waiting to catch you if you fall, but progress is progress.

Now, he's introducing you to forward swizzles, a manoeuvre with a deceptively cute name that you're convinced spells disaster for you. With Sunghoon's reassuring grip on your arm, he explains the technique. "You're just going to do a forward glide and then kind of push your feet outward and then bring them back in a circular motion. Like this," he demonstrates, making it look effortless.

Of course, he makes it look like it’s the easiest thing in the whole world, like using a knife and fork, but he's dealing with a girl who can't even distinguish her left from her right or drive a go-kart without crashing it. This venture into forward swizzles feels like a daunting challenge, but with Sunghoon by your side, you're determined to give it your best shot.

Sunghoon skates to face you, taking both of your hands as you attempt to master the forward swizzles. For the most part, you're actually not too bad at it. But as confidence starts to swell within you, you let go of his hands, only to teeter dangerously on the edge of a fall once more.

True to his word, Sunghoon is there to catch you, his grip firm and reassuring.

Determined to get it right, you take a deep breath, calming your racing heart, and try again. Sunghoon can't help but admire you in this moment. Most people would have thrown in the towel by now, but he knows you're doing this not just for yourself, but for him too. It's a realisation that fills him with a profound sense of affection as he watches you concentrate intently, your tongue sticking out in concentration as you execute a few more forward swizzles with his assistance.

"That's it! My girl is so good at this," he praises, but you shoot him a pointed look. It's not angry; it's more of a silent plea for him to refrain from speaking and distracting you while you're focused. Understanding the cue, Sunghoon promptly stops talking, allowing you to concentrate.

As you cheer and sway joyfully, a surge of euphoria washes over you, you're briefly swept up in the exhilaration of your performance. But the laws of physics are unwavering, and the slippery ice beneath your skates is unforgiving. Without warning you lose your footing and collapse hard onto the ice, your head creating an unnerving thud as it hits the icy surface. Maybe the helmet was a good idea.

"Shit, Y/N!" Sunghoon's voice rings out in panic as he rushes over to you, his expression etched with concern. He kneels beside you, quickly assessing your condition and helping you sit up. Despite the impact, all you can do is laugh. What was once a terrifying prospect - falling on the ice - is now a source of amusement.

"I'm okay," you assure him between fits of laughter, patting the helmet atop your head. "Thank god for this piece of shit helmet, that's all I'm saying." But Sunghoon's expression remains tense, his worry evident, "It's okay, baby, I promise I'm fine. Let's take five, hmm?" you suggest, reaching out to stroke his cheek in a comforting gesture.

Sunghoon nods silently, sitting beside you on the cold ice, both of you ignoring the chill seeping through your clothes. He removes his gloves and places them on your hands, a small but tender gesture that sends a flutter of warmth through your stomach, despite the icy surroundings.

"You're actually pretty good at this, Sweets," Sunghoon compliments, taking your helmet off.

But you brush aside his comment, a question that's been nagging at you for a while now finally bubbling to the surface. "I have a question," you begin, ignoring his compliment. "Why do you call me Sweets? Like, you've called me that since you started skating here."

Sunghoon's face flushes with a deep red blush as he gazes up at the rafters, gathering his thoughts. "I've been calling you that for a lot longer than that," he confesses quietly.

"What do you mean?" you press further, turning your body to face him, curiosity piqued. For all the time you've spent together, you've never questioned the origin of the endearing nickname.

He exhales softly, a nostalgic grin spreading across his face as he begins to reminisce. "Do you remember when you were 14, and you confessed to me with a packet of sweets and a makeshift card?" The memory floods back to you, each detail vivid and clear. "You came up to me at one of the Youth competitions and gave them to me - a packet of Love Hearts, I think.” You want to protest but the more he speaks about it, the more the memory comes back to you.

Back then, you had mustered up all your courage to ask him out after years of secretly admiring him. You knew it was a long shot, considering Sunghoon was the most sought-after skater in the Junior division, but you took the chance anyway. You had even dressed up in your best outfit and attempted makeup—a slick of lip gloss from a teen magazine and a touch of mascara you'd pilfered from your mom's makeup bag.

"You knocked me back!" you exclaim, feeling a surge of offense, "I poured my heart and soul into that card, and you didn't even spare it a glance. I remember now!"

Sunghoon shakes his head defensively, "I did look at it! And I ate the sweets too," he tries to argue back, but the realization only seems to deepen your offense, "Wait, no! I know I said no, but... I had my reasons, okay?"

"Oh yeah, what?" you challenge, shaking your head sassily, eager to hear his explanation.

"I... It doesn't matter, does it? Look who won?" Sunghoon smoothly redirects the conversation back to the present day, "You've got me whipped for you."

You raise an eyebrow, conceding that he does have a point. He is your boyfriend now, albeit five years later than you originally wanted—or eleven years, if you count all the time you spent pining over him as a kid.

"Exactly," you agree, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips. "If you told fourteen-year-old Y/N Kang that Park Sunghoon would be desperately in love with her now, I think she'd pass out." 

Silence.

Deafening silence.

Sunghoon stares down at his skates, eyes wide and mouth dry. The weight of his confession hangs heavy in the air, catching both of you off guard. He hadn't anticipated the words to spill out so spontaneously, and he's never felt more vulnerable in his life.

Park Sunghoon loves you. He is in love with you.

The arena seemed to vibrate with the weight of his confession, wrapping you both in startled stillness. You can't comprehend it - Sunghoon didn't just say he loved you; he confessed to being desperately in love with you. The enormity of his admission takes your breath away, bringing back memories of your 14-year-old self, who would have had no idea how to deal with such a discovery. Even at 19, the reality of his love has you spinning.

"You love me?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, unable to tear your gaze away from the ice beneath your feet. The words hang in the air, heavy with disbelief and wonder.

Finally, Sunghoon meets your gaze, his own expression a mixture of apprehension and hope. Seeing the beginnings of a smile tug at the corners of your lips eases some of the tension in his chest. He had thought his love for you was obvious, but he had never found the courage to say it out loud before.

"I do," he affirms, his voice soft but unwavering.

“How long?” you inquire, stealing a glance at him.

Sunghoon chuckles softly, a playful gleam in his eyes as he picks up the helmet and spins it in his hands. “Ah, I can’t tell you that,” he teases, “If I do, you’ll never get your head back in this.” His laughter lightens the mood, but you're not satisfied with his evasive response.

Snatching the helmet from him, you firmly place it back on your head. “See, now you can tell me. It still fits, and there's even a little room,” you declare, shaking your head to demonstrate how loose it is.

Sunghoon reaches over to fasten the helmet again, his laughter mixing with yours. His fingers linger on the strap, tracing it until he reaches your chin, gently tilting your head to meet his gaze. “It's been a long time,” he admits, his voice soft but earnest. The more animated your expression becomes, the more the doubt that lingered in his mind fades away.

You don't hesitate to seize the moment, pouncing on him and knocking him back onto the ice. Your chest presses against his as you pin him down, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss that steals the air from his lungs. Both of you are grinning like fools, reveling in the warmth and intimacy of the moment.

But there's still one final piece missing from this perfect moment.

“I love you, too, Sunghoon,” you whisper into his mouth, your words laden with sincerity. You hope he can feel the depth of your feelings, knowing that you're not just saying it out of obligation but because you truly mean it.

“It was me, by the way,” he admits sheepishly, catching your curious gaze. You silently prompt him to continue, which he happily does “The sweets my dad gave you all the time? I asked him to give them to you. You looked so miserable one day that I gave up the packet of Haribos my dad would sneak me. After I saw your face light up, I told him to just keep giving them to you instead.”

Your heart feels like it could burst with joy. Why hadn’t he told you this before when you brought it up at the cafe? “Why did you do that?” you inquire, searching for an explanation.

Sunghoon just shrugs, playing it off, kissing you on your nose to distract you from asking any more questions he wouldn’t be able to answer. 

You look at each other and exchange sweet, short kisses on each other's lips. The moment is filled with innocence, and pure love surrounds you. But as the rink's ice starts to seep into your bodies, you both realise that, while the kisses and giggles warm you up, the frostbite on Sunghoon's ass is getting a little too much.

He stands, offering you a hand up, which you gladly accept, trying not to wobble. His lips find yours again within seconds, whispering ‘I love you’ over and over like it's a sacred mantra. Even as he picks you up and spins you around, the words never falter.

Your feet dangle in the air, suspended and untethered, a sensation that terrifies you but this whole situation is. Being in love with someone as deeply as you are with Sunghoon, anyone would find it a little scary - that’s even taking out the impending conversation you’ll need to have with Minhee. You can’t believe someone like Sunghoon is even in love with you a little bit. You counted your blessings every day that he even bothered to spend time with you or ask you to be his girlfriend, this was just surreal.

“We should go, yeah? Especially if I have to show up your brother tomorrow,” he suggests, setting you down gently.

“Sunghoon, be nice to him tomorrow, yeah? Don’t provoke him. This is important for him,” you plead with him, your voice laced with concern. All you want is for Minhee to come out of tomorrow's session feeling confident and ready. If your boyfriend starts to poke fun at him, it'll only serve to undermine Minhee's focus and now that he has a chance to go to the Olympics, he needs to feel confident, not taunted.

Sunghoon follows you as you carefully skate off the rink, back to the security of the grated mats outside. “I’m going to give him the critique he needs, brutal or not,” he says, his tone tinged with frustration. Sitting on the bench, he begins to remove his skates. He knows you don’t mean it to sound this way, but your phrasing made it seem like tomorrow wasn’t as significant for him. A whole run-through of his routine in front of everyone to determine if he's ready for Nationals? That's just as crucial for him as it is for your brother.

Ridding yourself of the devil skates you massage your feet. You have a greater respect for anyone that has to wear them for more than an hour, “And that’s fine, but don’t be a dick about it. This could be our chance to sway his opinion of you and make telling him about us easier.”

“Well, are you going to tell him the same thing? Because he isn’t exactly friendly towards me either,” Sunghoon counters. He can't argue with your logic; building a bridge with your brother would make things easier for you both. However, he isn’t willing to let Minhee berate him without standing up for himself.

You sigh, feeling deflated by the conversation already, wondering why you even brought it up. “Sunghoon, please just be the bigger man here, for me. Can you do that?” you ask, your voice pleading.

Putting his blade guards back on with a forceful gesture, he lets out an exasperated groan. “No. I will do anything for you, Sweets, but I draw the line at letting him walk over me,” he asserts firmly.

“I’m not asking you to do that,” you insist, gently pulling his face to meet yours. “If he’s rude to you, you can defend yourself, but just don’t take it too far or say anything unnecessary, especially about his skating.” The tone in your voice, combined with your touch, begins to soften the tension in his body. He grudges how much of an effect on him, “Please? Because you love me?”

He sticks his tongue into the side of his mouth and swipes it along his inner lip, “Wow, are we playing that card now?” You nod, and a satisfied smile sits smugly on your face. It was a low blow, you know that, but when push comes to shove. Inhaling deeply he agrees reluctantly, “Fine, I will be nice to him. But it’s in no way is it for his benefit, I’m doing it for us.”

You’ll take it. It’s a start and every reconciliation has to start somewhere, “Thank you, baby.” You press a smooch to his cheek and stand up, locating your shoes and putting them on.

Glancing at your phone, you notice it's past 11pm and there are a couple of messages from your mom. She's letting you know that you can't stay at Rina's tonight because Coach has requested Minhee's presence tomorrow morning, and she wants you to be there too. And you want to be there, because right now you feel a little like a shit sibling missing out on his training when it used to be the one activity you looked forward to together. 

And he’s been all alone the whole time. What was going on with your mum these days? She would rather die than miss a Minhee schedule, even if it were just practice. 

Sunghoon hugs you from behind, reading your messages, “Don’t tell me the witch is cock blocking me?” 

That’s the other thing about him being your boyfriend, you’ve started to open up to him a lot more about your relationship with your mum and how thin the bond is. You told him about her moving you out of your old room to make way for Minhee’s trophies, how she made you skip Rina’s birthday to attend a dinner with a potential sponsor when you didn’t even have to be there, and so many other unfortunate occasions.

Sunghoon was seething each time you spoke about her because you’re her daughter, you’re meant to be the joy of her life and it sounds like you’re just an inconvenience. Truthfully, you hadn’t paid much mind to it before you said all your woes with her out loud, but Sunghoon doesn’t see it as casually as you do. 

“Guess tomorrow morning is officially happening then,” You say, messaging back a quick ‘okay’ to your mum, “I’m sorry, Hoonie, I can’t come back to yours,” You rest the back of your head on his shoulder as his grip gets tighter around you.

“Sweets, it’s okay. I just wish I got to fuck you good after I proclaimed my undying love for you finally,” he kisses down your neck, “Guess I’ll just need to take you home after I wipe the floor clean of your brother.” 

Angrily, you turn around, “Any more of that and you’ll not only not be able to fuck me, you’ll also be single.” You’re not messing about and Sunghoon knows it.

“Sorry,” He winces, rubbing your arms, “Force of habit. I promise tomorrow I will be on my absolute best behaviour!” he kisses you but you don’t kiss him back, still trying to keep your annoyed demeanour. “Aw, c’mon, baby, don’t be like that! I promise skaters honour and all that.”

“You better be, Hoonie,” you warn him, finally giving in and kissing him back once, just to let him think he can’t get away with it that easily, even if he can. 

As you walk out of the arena, he follows you, stooping down to whisper, "You're kinda sexy when you're mad like that." You know he's only half-joking, so you don't play into it because if you do, he'll make you angry more often since he knows you aren't able to stay angry. Instead, you say your goodnights to Miss Barbara and make your way to his car.

He’s a piece of work, but you wouldn’t have him any other way. You love him exactly how he is.

_____________________

Applying the last finishing touches of your makeup, you check yourself out. Today was a big day, so yes it’s a little extreme to get dolled up at 5am on a Wednesday, but you’re seeing Minhee and Sunghoon skate their Nationals routines in full today, so what’s not to be excited about?

If anyone had told you that today you would feel no nervousness about the both of them being so close to one another, you would have told them to pull the next joke out of their ass. There was no way that could happen but it is and Sunghoon promised to try and be civil with your brother. So now all your worries are on them and their skates. 

You’ve seen Sunghoon’s routine countless times, so you know what to expect, but Minhee was a whole different story. It still irks your heart that you haven’t seen your brother train, you feel awful, truly. You just need to cheer for him extra loud today.

You grab your tote bag, which has some extra panties since you're spending the night with your sweetheart, and head out of your room. His roommates have joked that you’re moving in since you’ve left so much stuff at his place including a toothbrush, clothes, shampoo and conditioner, and even a spare book to read if you wake up before him in the morning. Not like you meant to, just over time it happened.

As you reach the bottom of the stairs, you hear Minhee and your mum whispering about something, but it’s hard to make out the conversation. Carefully tiptoeing towards the kitchen, you hold your breath, trying not to make a noise. They don’t normally whisper, especially not at this hour, so whatever they're discussing must be important.

“I can handle it, Mum, I told you,” Minhee's voice is heavy with sadness. Has he always sounded this despondent, or are you just overthinking?

“Good. I've invested too much for you to Cave now. When we get there, you know what you need to do, right?” What is Minhee supposed to do? Cave doing what? What does he have to do? Skate?

There are so many questions that need answers just by this snippet of conversation. You press your back to the wall of the hallway to make sure you stay hidden, hoping for any sort of clarity.

“Mum, I said I got it.” he snaps back and leaves it there, packing his bag, “Did you let Y/N know about today?”

“About the run-through? Yes, I told her.” your mum pours herself a coffee into her reusable cup.

Minhee rubs his eyes, clearly exhausted. Now that you’re getting a good glimpse of him after a few weeks, he looks a lot thinner and the circles under his eyes are a deeper shade than normal, “I told you not to tell her, she doesn’t need to be a part of this,” he zips his bag and slings it over his shoulder.

Does he not want me to be there for his skates anymore? Is that why he hasn’t invited me?

You can’t make head or tail of the conversation or what they mean, but the last thing you want is for Minhee to shut you out. 

“Oh, Y/N there you are,” your mum spots you, foiling your plan to eavesdrop.

At the sound of your name, Minhee tenses, pausing in his tracks for a beat. He was acting so strange, it made you hurt for him. Your brother was so lively and now he looks like a shell of himself. 

Putting on a cheerful facade to conceal your concern, you approach Minhee and casually swipe half of the banana from his hand, as you would normally do. If he were his usual self, Minhee would protest loudly, demanding you to get your own fruit. But instead, he simply hands you the rest without a word.

“Both of you hurry up, we need to go,” your mum whooshes past you both and heads for the front door, leaving you and Minhee on your own.

“Hey, are you okay?” you ask, quiet as a kitten. 

Minhee nods his head once and brushes by you, not even glancing at you. The relationship you have with him is now feeling like you’re strangers. You don’t know what spurred this change on but you have a high suspicion it’s because of you.

Obviously, you don’t want it to be, but you haven’t really spent time with him recently or supported him the way you should have. He probably feels neglected, something you never want him to feel.

Taking hold of his wrist you stop him before he exits for the car, “Mini, I’m sorry for not being at your training sessions. Miss Barbara said that you’ve been going to the rink a lot, I should have made it to at least one of those.”

“It’s fine, Y/N. I don’t need you there.” 

That hurt. A lot. 

He finally glances down at you and sees your eyes flash with hurt, “I’ve been going spontaneously, you’ve been busy with school and…Rina. Our schedules don’t fit anymore,”  he plays it off but you’re his sister and you know he’s hiding something deeper in his nonchalant words.

Pulling his wrist from your grip, Minhee goes to the car, leaving you a lot more concerned for him than before.

As your mum pulls up to Belmore you see Sunghoon’s car already here. He must be getting in the practice he missed last night because of your date. You would feel guilty about it if it wasn’t his idea.

When the engine stops, there is a weird tension in the air as everyone has gone into covert mode. You want to break the silence but you can’t fathom what to say right now. 

"Minhee, I'm feeling good about today, do well," your mother says. Despite her words of positivity, her expression portrays a different mindset, as if she is just saying what she knows she should.

Placing your hand on his shoulder, you grin at him, "Do your best, Mini, that's all anyone can ask," He smiles back at you, acknowledging your words. What's strange is that he takes your hand and squeezes it, his eyes fixed on yours. Sibling communication is turned on; you just can't understand what he's saying to you.

Walking into the arena is a completely different vibe from last night, no peace to be found. The coaches are happily chatting about their prodigies; it’s nice to see them getting along considering they were also pushed together through this blending of rinks. You wished the same for Minhee and Sunghoon.

Speaking of Sunghoon, he isn’t anywhere to be seen, he’s not on the ice like you thought he would be. 

“Minhee, go get changed, me and your sister will be over there,” your mum points to the same two seats you’ve both occupied for over a decade, “Don’t fuck it up, I’m serious.”

How can she be so harsh? 

Minhee simply waves you both off, shoulders slumped. While you watch him retreat to the changing room, you scowl at your mum, a toxic taste in your mouth at how rude she is being. At the end of the day, Minhee was always her favourite child, and now she can’t even be bothered with him.

Deciding he can’t go out with those being the last words he hears, you excuse yourself and walk in the same direction. You say your hellos to the usual staff as you go into the back hallway, scouting the place for your brother.

Without warning, you’re being pulled back and pinned to the wall. You almost scream until you feel those perfect lips that belong to your boyfriend, smushed against yours. 

Perplexed by his actions, you look around to see if anyone saw you. Fortunately, you were hidden enough, “Hoonie! What are you doing?” 

“I needed a good luck kiss, that’s all,” he smirks, “What do you think?” he draws back and shows you the outfit he was planning to wear at Nationals and your natural reaction is to gasp.

The royal blue silk shirt was basic, but you knew it would spring to life once he got on the ice, and his black slim trousers had crystals embroidered down the side as well as all around the bottom, the gems a mix of white and three shades of blue. He really fits the description of Ice Prince.

Spinning around on his tippy toes, he awaits your response. He felt good in it like he was one hundred percent ready.

“You look like you belong in a museum,” Gawking at him, you cover your mouth, you haven’t seen him look so handsome in any skating costume before, “Why are you wearing it just now?” 

He shrugs, “Coach thought it would be good to see how it holds up since I went with a new designer,” he smiles, rubbing up and down his torso. The material feels so good, he’s grown a habit of touching it whenever he can, “I’ll need to thank Karina when I’m done.”

“Huh? Why?” 

“You’re looking at a Yu Jimin original, I’ve been told she’s going to be famous.” Sunghoon grins at your surprised face.

Your best friend made this outfit? Her talents never failed to amaze you but she had never let anyone wear the clothes she made, not even you unless she was sampling. How on earth did he pull this off? 

Inspecting the costume more carefully, you see Rina’s signature stitching aka the first one she learnt and stuck with because she can ‘always make it work’ and to be fair, she does. It really was hers and your boyfriend was wearing it. 

But she would never do it out of the kindness of her own heart, “How much did she charge?” you ask worried, Rina could easily have bumped up the price since it was Sunghoon, milking him of the money she knew he had.

“Not a penny,” He stands proudly, but you know him, and you know your best friend, so you give him a dubious look, “Well, it didn’t cost money, I gave her a matching Tiffany ring and bracelet set.” He throws the sentence out as if the jewellery didn’t cost 4 times the wages you got this month.

“Hoonie, What the fuck?” 

"Nah, I got these for free a while back. I was planning to gift you them for your birthday." Wearing a playful smile, you tilt your head back as you absorb the unexpected information of your given-away gifts. Sunghoon instantly becomes aware of what he's just confessed. "Then I realised you're worth more than free jewellery and I swear when I gave her them, it was in the most 'I don't love you, this is just to get on Y/N's good side by winning you over' kinda way." 

Sunghoon bats his long eyelashes after he stumbles over his words, nervous you might get the wrong idea. You didn’t though, you know he’s only got eyes for you. 

It does make you laugh and think about how lucky you are, “Thank you for trying to get along with her,” you leave out the jib about it being your supposed gift because you can see how hard he is trying. 

Sunghoon wants to be a part of your life, that much is evident, and he’ll do anything he can to integrate himself peacefully, cautious to not disrupt too much. Rina was an easy win because as soon as she saw the trademark Tiffany Blue boxes she was on his side. Plus, the chance to have her first-ever design worn on a televised competition wasn’t really an opportunity she could pass up.

“I just need to win over Minhee now,” he says, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and drawing you closer. But as you remain unresponsive, lost in thought, his concern grows. "Sweets? What's wrong?"

Your mind is consumed by the events of the morning with Minhee. It gnaws at you - his lack of confidence and timid nature seems perplexing, especially given Miss Barbara's assurance that he's practically a shoo-in for the Olympic team. If there ever was a time for Minhee to exude self-assurance, it's now.

Sunghoon shakes you a little, bringing you back, “Sorry, baby, I need to see Minhee.”

“Is everything okay?” Concern is painted on his face but you can’t let him worry over something that doesn’t involve him.

“It’s fine. Good luck out there,” you pull him for an unintentionally long kiss. He melts against you, using his arms to bring you into him, hoping his touch will give you some sort of comfort. Even if you don’t tell him right now, he knows when you’re ready, you’ll let him in on what has you this way.

Stepping out of the hiding spot, you briskly walk to the changing room to find your brother. You don’t want to cast a shadow over his day, not when this performance meant so much for him, but the anxiety and concerns embedded in your body need to be aired. You need to know what’s going on.

As you approach the room, Minhee is just walking out, head hung low. 

He quickly spots you and his eyes stretch wide, “What are you doing here?” he looks around urgently before looking back at you. 

“I just wanted to talk to you. Mum was way out of line back there and I needed you to know I’m proud of you, no matter what happens. You’ve worked so hard and I know how much this skate means considering it’s basically your ticket to the Olympics, and that’s always-”

Minhee interrupts you, “Wait, pause, what do you mean Olympics?” 

Shit. You had to tell him now, you couldn’t backtrack such a monumental piece of information.

“Miss Barbara told me that Coach Kim said you’re ready for it, and if you pass this and make it to Nationals, you’ll be offered a place on the South Korean Olympic team.” You blurt it all out at once and the smile on Minhee’s face grows bigger and bigger with each word.

“You’re not fucking with me, are you?” he asks, his tone in disbelief.

Shaking your head, you mirror his vibrant smile, “No, you’re a shoo-in!” 

Suddenly, Minhee picks you up and squeezes you tight, laughing lightly. You shouldn’t have let it slip but seeing the sadness wash away from him was worth it, even if it ruined the surprise. Coach Kim is so confident in his abilities, and so are you, you just needed Minhee to believe it too.

He puts you down, running his hand through his hair, still processing the good news. Minhee whispers to himself how he can’t believe it. You’ve watched him work tirelessly for this since you were kids, and you also saw how disappointed he was when he missed out on the Youth Olympics, so seeing him now at 20 practically being offered a place on the team is a dream come true for both of you. All you’ve ever wanted was for him to succeed.

Looking behind you, Minhee’s face drops again. As you look to see what caused the sudden change, you see Sunghoon walking towards you both. For the first time in 4 months, you didn’t want to see him right now; Minhee was finally in better spirits and you can’t have Sunghoon ruining it now. But he promised to behave, to take the high road, so you trust him to do just that.

Sunghoon stands beside you, his hand goes to sit on your lower back instinctively but he catches himself, pointing to the rink instead, “Coaches asked if you’re good to go or if you need a warm-up?”

You can’t lie, you’re proud of Sunghoon for not making a snide remark about how Minhee would need the warm-up. It’s tiny, but it’s progress.

Glaring into his eyes, Minhee doesn’t say anything, biting his lips into a thin line and nodding in acknowledgement. 

What is up with him today? You know why Sunghoon is being a bit nicer, but where is Minhee’s sarcastic quip?

“Can I get in there?” Sunghoon gestures to the changing room, “Left my skates,” You move to the side but Minhee doesn’t budge, “Are you seriously going to make me walk around you?” Sunghoon scoffs.

Again, Minhee doesn’t move but you know it’s not in a defiant way, his face isn’t giving you the normal ‘I hate Sunghoon’ look, it’s giving you more of a concern concealed by a deadpan face kind of vibe. Strange. 

Sunghoon isn’t as attuned to your brother's emotions, so he takes offence to Minhee’s resistance to move and pushes him out of the way, “You’re pathetic, Kang.”

You bite your tongue down hard, trying to suppress the anger bubbling inside you. Although Sunghoon warned you already that if Minhee provoked him, he would snap back but he didn’t have to call him pathetic. 

Minhee clenches his jaw and fists, trying to calm himself down. You take the opportunity to rub his arms, soothing him a little, “Don’t listen to him, Mini. Go out there and do your best, yeah? Remember what I told you.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m basically going to the Olympics.”

“No,” you smile softly at him, “I’m proud of you, for everything you’ve achieved and everything you will,” Stepping to stand beside him, you push him towards the rink. The words might not mean anything to him, but you say every syllable with as much sincerity as you can. 

He takes off his blade protectors and skates onto the rink, doing a few laps to warm up. Seeing him glide across the ice, practising his jumps with ease. Miss Barbara was right, he has improved a lot and that’s saying something considering he was already one of the best skaters.

Sunghoon walks up beside you, his skates in one hand as the other takes yours, giving it a quick squeeze before he lets go, joining his coach on the other side. It was a quick moment no one would be able to see but Sunghoon saw the opportunity to touch you for luck just one last time before he had to pretend you meant nothing to him. The sooner you both tell Minhee, the better.

Going back to your seat next to your mother, she doesn’t spare you a look before asking where you went but you don’t bother answering her, choosing to focus your energy on Minhee. He takes his spot in the centre and shifts into his starting pose. He looked so elegant on the ice, even in his sports athleisure. You wonder how much begging and bribery it would take for Rina to make him a costume for his Olympic performance.

Coach Kim gives him a supportive thumbs-up as the music begins. From the bleachers, you see Minhee let out a nervous breath before he begins. His eyes scoot to you and your mum for a second and you use the time to smile and wave enthusiastically which seems to settle him.

As he starts his routine, you can see how his movements have been perfectly choreographed, his frame is poised and he showcases a seamless fusion of strength and elegance. You look to Sunghoon for a moment, who seems to echo your awed amazement. Minhee wove through his spins and intricate footwork with ease. It was like he was a painter and the ice was his canvas, painting the most delicate yet structured portrait. He was sensational.

Minhee looks to your mum mid-skate for approval but you already know she isn’t showing him what he needs, so he shifts to you, eyes never leaving yours as he hits his quadruple axel. The one move he’s been dying to get into his routine, the one move that burdened him forever because he could never land it, now he just achieved it with some ease.

Your hands are clasped to your chest, your face radiating a beam of joy and pride. You can’t believe he did what everyone told him was impossible for him to achieve. The expression on your face is just as elated as his.

He missed having you here to cheer him on, you can tell by the smile of appreciation on his face.

He finishes up his routine with a Biellmann Spin and ends the way he started as if he could continuously loop his performance - it’s been his signature for years.  The arena is silent as all eyes are on your brother as he relaxes from his pose and hunches over for breath. No one can quite believe the magic they just saw.

Surprisingly, Sunghoon is the first one to clap, a smirk on his face. He just witnessed a skate that might actually throw him off the top spot for Nationals, he had to respect it. You join in, standing up to jump and cheer his name. 

On cloud 9, Minhee skates over to Coach Kim who is eagerly awaiting to praise him, “Kid, you were incredible! Seriously, by far your best skate to date,” he roughly pats the skaters back and brings him in for a hug, “My kid is going to Nationals!” The moment was so sweet you naturally pouted before running down to meet him.

“Mini! Oh my god!” your voice pulls him away from his coach, the hug from him being replaced by you, “You did so good, I almost cried! Look at my eyes, I’m not lying,” you point to your face and true to your word, there are tears in the ducts of your eyes. 

Minhee ruffles your hair, “Thanks, Bubs,” he shines at the adoration he’s being soaked in, pure happiness circulating his body.

“You did well, Kang. I have nothing to fault.” Sunghoon’s voice booms behind you, his body pressing against yours as he congratulates Minhee, “Seriously, you’ve always skated well but it’s nice to see you finally bringing me some competition.”

Your brother pulls you from Sunghoon and tucks you into his side. It’s ironic how he’s protecting you from your own boyfriend. Minhee is on such a high, not even Sunghoon could ruin it for him but that doesn’t mean he has to say anything to him. He tightens the hold on your shoulder and walks you past Sunghoon. 

As he puts his guards back on, you take the chance to look at Sunghoon, mouthing him a ‘good luck’ and smile which he happily returns with a wink. He didn’t need luck, he was a pro, but now he does have to step up his game because if he doesn’t get the same reaction from the onlookers, his mum won’t let him leave the rink until he does.

Taking your seat, Minhee gives your mum a look to which she only nods. Was that all he was going to get from her? You seriously needed to find out what had turned them so cold to one another. But that’s future you’s problem, right now, you focus on Sunghoon while he puts on his skates.

He circles the ice, stretching his legs and arms, yet his expression is one of unknowingness. While he chips his skates into the surface a few times, he becomes uneasy. 

Regardless of how he feels, Sunghoon takes his starting stance, arms in the air and one leg spread out behind him.

Beginning his routine, the blare of Ocean Eyes plays through the speakers. The song, the routine, the outfit, everything was cohesive. Sunghoon has spent months preparing his Nationals skate, meticulously changing and adapting every detail to make sure it was perfect. You’ve watched him over the weeks and it’s nothing like how it is right now.

But not in the breathtaking way Minhee was, there was something wrong.

Sunghoon’s eyebrows furrow and as it’s coming up to his quad jumps, he skips them. Now you can confirm something is drastically wrong, nevertheless, he continues on, preparing for his flying camel spin. Whatever is going on, he’s doing his best to brush it off.

“What is wrong with him?” you whisper to yourself but your mother overhears it, smirking at you. 

“He’s thrown off by your brother, I imagine,” she says so casually but as you look at her, there’s a glint in her eye.

Just as Sunghoon completes the spin with a slight wobble, Coach Lee encourages him to keep going despite the apparent struggle. Determined, Sunghoon presses on, transitioning into a forward glide as he prepares for the upcoming triple loop. It's in that moment that everything seems to crumble beneath you.

As Sunghoon launches into his jump from his back foot, smoothly completing the rotations in mid-air, however, the performance takes a sudden turn upon landing – a moment of unease grips everyone watching, you included, as his ankle unexpectedly snaps at a 90-degree angle. The consequence is immediate and stark, leading to his descent to the ground. The hushed gasps of the onlookers echo at the sight of his body skimming across the ice. In the aftermath, Sunghoon holds his injured ankle, his face contorted in pain as he tries to move it.

He's badly hurt, unable to move from his spot on the ice, and the circumstances turn what should have been a flawless routine into an unexpected nightmare.

"Hoonie!" you yell, your heart pounding as you rush to the edge of the rink to assess the situation. Sunghoon is writhing in pain, tears pooling in his eyes, and you notice the blade of his skate has come off his boot - It must have come off when he landed. 

You need to be next to him, but before you can check on your lover, Minhee is quick on your heels, dragging you back. "Let me go," you're no longer concerned about how it will look if you go to check on Sunghoon; all you can think about is if he's okay. 

Minhee doesn’t listen, his grip tightening as he pulls you away. You struggle against him, feeling utterly helpless as you watch the commotion around Sunghoon unfold. Coach Kim, Mrs. Park, and others gather around him, their urgent actions heightening your anxiety. But Minhee is determined to remove you from the scene, forcefully guiding you through the doors and out of the arena.

Once in the car park, he releases you with a frustrated exclamation, his agitation evident in his gestures as he runs his hands through his hair. His eyes betray a storm of emotions, leaving you unsettled and desperate for answers.

“Minhee, what’s happening? We have to go back!” you insist, your voice tinged with desperation.

“We can’t, okay? Let’s just go home,” he responds, his tone strained, his features drawn with tension.

Sensing something amiss, you step closer to him, your heart racing with concern. “Minhee, please, tell me what’s going on. None of this makes sense,” you implore, your hands reaching out to him.

“It’s nothing, alright!” he snaps, his words too forceful to be convincing. “His skate broke, that’s all. I didn’t do anything,” he adds, his denial ringing hollow.

The straightforward solution would be for him to share what's going on, but the way he's shutting down makes it clear that direct communication is off the table. Your mind races back to the kitchen, recalling your mom's directive to Minhee to 'get it done.' Then, at the rink, she warned him not to fuck up. It dawns on you that this is more than just about the routine; something else has transpired. Yet, the connection between Minhee and a botched landing seems implausible. Skaters experience falls regularly; it's just a part of the sport. 

Unless he psyched him out but you were with each of them at different times and the only time they interacted was before Sunghoon went to get his skates from the changing room. Minhee acted super strange when Sunghoon asked to pass him like he was nervous about letting him in- 

Sunghoon’s skate…No, surely not. 

You take a cautious step back, your expression one of bewilderment. What you’re thinking couldn’t possibly have happened, your brother wouldn’t stoop so low, “Mini? You didn’t…”

"You're a liar." Minhee abruptly deters the conversation, leaving you much more puzzled than before. Tilting your head, you give him a sceptical look, but he only offers you a harsh stare, “Oh Mini, I would never do that, wasn’t that what you told me? You said that, didn’t you?” 

Okay, you've officially reached the top of your perplexity. What is he on about? “I don’t know what you mean?” you utter, awaiting any form of clarity. 

A visual cloud storms over his head, symbolic of his tone as he spits, “You’re dating Park fucking Sunghoon.”

How did he find out?

The weight of Minhee's accusation hangs in the air as you come to terms with the fact that your hidden relationship with his rival is now openly known. Your mind races, wondering who could have told him. To be honest, it could have been anyone at that point; you weren't being very secretive, merely keeping it low-key around those who knew Minhee. That was your first mistake, clearly.

The forced laugh that leaves his mouth is venomous, “You really ought to be more careful with your lies, Sis.” Retrieving his phone from his trouser pocket, he flicks through it until he finds something. As if viewing it for the first time, he gets angry again, shoving the device in your face, “You sent me it with the others.”

You’re faced with a picture, and not just any picture, the one of Sunghoon kissing your cheek at the award ceremony. The frozen moment captured in time reveals more than words ever could. Your heart sinks as the reality of your indiscretion stares back at you from the screen. The once-precious memory now serves as evidence. The tension in the air increases as you deal with the impact of your secret finally coming to light.

How could you be so stupid? You were so careful around him, always triple-checking everything and now it’s all up in flames.

“Mini-”

“Just tell me one thing, Y/N. Tell me you haven’t been seeing him since that night you got out of his car? That this started way after and you haven’t been with him for like 4 months?” his resolve has turned from one of anger to despair, desperate for you to tell him his suspicions are wrong.

But deception wasn't an option; lying to him now would only add more layers to an already tangled web. It was too complicated to tell him how you stayed away for a week, and how Sunghoon came to your rescue the night of Yeonjun’s party, and it was certainly not the right time to tell him how Sunghoon brought you back to life with his kisses and how he makes you feel like the most important person in the world. Revealing the true depth of your connection with Sunghoon would undoubtedly trigger Minhee, unleashing a storm far beyond fits of anger, something he couldn’t come back from.

The silence gave Minhee his answer, his face falling from anger to disappointment, “I fucking knew it.”

This is what you wanted to avoid the whole time, the reason you kept Sunghoon a secret in the first place. 

If he knew, he would do something rash like…

“Did you mess with Sunghoon’s skate? Did you do this because I’ve been seeing him?” It all starts to click into place but Minhee quickly shuts you down.

“It wasn’t that Y/N.” He dismisses.

“So it was you? You caused that? Minhee what the fuck?!” you shriek at his twisted confession. 

The revelation sends a shiver down your spine as your emotions mix with disbelief and confusion. This wasn’t the brother you knew, the one you grew up with and held so dear to you. 

The air thickens with unspoken words as Minhee rattles his brain for an explanation. His eyes portray the evident guilt he feels, a turbulent storm in the depths of his gaze. Any anger now dissipates with the wind as it blows cold on his face. His voice, when he finally speaks, carries the weight of regret, “Look, Y/N, it’s complicated; you have no idea what’s going on.”

“Then help me understand because right now it seems like you just tried to hurt Sunghoon because he's my boyfriend." The chill in your words reflects the icy breeze. The atmosphere is thick with tension, like a heavy curtain waiting to be dragged back to reveal the truth behind Minhee's aberrant actions.

Minhee’s anger washes his body again, muttering the word ‘boyfriend’ in disbelief before he speaks up, “The less you know the better, okay? Stay out of it.” With a swift turn, he attempts to walk away, yet his mind is unwilling to let the matter of you and Sunghoon rest. "Y’know, when you sent that picture, I was so angry I could have killed him, but as the weeks passed I was just so fucking disappointed you didn’t have the balls to tell me." 

This whole situation is so fucked up and there is nothing you can do to place everything in a perfect timeline that will help you understand his actions because he’s keeping something detrimental from you. If it wasn’t because Sunghoon and you are together, then what could it possibly be? If it was because he wanted to be at Nationals, it wasn’t Sunghoon standing in his way so it couldn’t be that. 

Before you can dwell on the situation further, your mum strides over, balancing both your belongings. "Will you two stop acting like children and fighting? You're not 5 anymore." She thrusts your jacket and bag into your arms and does the same with Minhee. "Get in the car."

“Mum, is he okay?” It’s a hopeful, albeit hesitant, question directed at your Park-hating mother. You know it's a long shot, but you chance it.

"He'll live. I doubt he'll make it to Nationals, though." She smirks, her reply tinged with dark humour that adds an unexpected dimension of tension. The revelation regarding Sunghoon's injury, delivered with that sneering twist, leaves you with a mix of anxiety for your boyfriend. 

She had something to do with this, that’s obvious. You just had to find out how and why.

taglist (closed!!): @heelee-01 @zerasari @beomgyusonlywife @iwaplant @monstanctiny21 @chiiiiiiiiis @minniejenseo @run2gyuz @jngwnlvs @haelahoops @capri-cuntz @nctislifue @jaehoonii @weyukinluv @skzenhalove @enhypenlovre @cherriruto @bambangan @who-tf-soddhi @nxzz-skz @nshmrarki @hotsforikeu @enhastolemyheart @erehkinnie30 @judeduartewannabe @neosexual @fakeuwus @positivelyinlovewithjungwon @tobiosbbyghorl @kimsunoops

[wonwoosthetic]

Helloooo

Can you write about the NANA TOUR with minnie? plsss (can you also include the reaction of carats to her waking up and her closeness with wonwoo)

series masterlist

word count - 12k

a/n: thank you for the request!! I was very happy to write Minnie into these episodes/parts bc omg even just watching them was so much fun already! I had to change up a few things, for example like them not waking up Minnie but her already being up, I hope that's okay :) at the end of the chapter you can find a link to some Fan Twitter edits, I hope you like them too :) if there's anything else you'd like to see, please let me know! Love you all! <3

[everything in brackets like this was added by me]

everything in italics wasn’t caught on camera, but is just for you <3

Go Together NANA TOUR 🌷Minnie

EP1-1. Don't Let SEVENTEEN Know

Yeongseok was getting every piece of information about the other members out of S.Coups. What will they be doing at 5 in the morning? Which members are going to be drinking most likely? Who will be the most excited? The leader of the idol group was giving him every answer in detail, knowing the rest of the group like the back of his hand.

"Who will have the best reaction when they find out we're going?"

The question was thrown into the room, making the wheels in Seungcheol's head start turning right away. It didn't take him long to have the answers, remembering each time the members had excitedly talked about the Youth Over Flower program even before they had the luck of picking it out of the hat as a prize for their hard work. 

The '95 Liner started listing off some of the brightest members of the group. At the, once again, mention of Mingyu, the producers couldn't help but chuckle, remarking that the leader had repeatedly talked about the taller member.

Amid their conversation and after a particular question from the producer, the two men realised that while Minghao would be definitely excited, he might also be possibly slightly disappointed in the trip. Seungcheol explained that it might surprise him that it would suddenly not only be him and Jun in Rome but he and the 12 other members. Na PD made sure to let the leader know he'd be looking out for the '97 Liner with an extra eye and keep him close.

A follow-up question from one of the producers behind the camera caught Cheol's attention.

"Other than Myungho-shi," he wondered, "are there any other members we need to take care of?"

For a second, 'Coups let himself think.

"Minnie."

"Minnie-shi?" The producer asked him again.

The '95 Liner nodded. "She... you'll see... she can get... how do I say this?" He wondered out loud. "She tends to look for a person for.. comfort? She wants to have someone right next to her that... she can trust and she can be comfortable with because... It's like... she gets like this and just wants to have someone that will... lead them well. She's just very careful sometimes," he explained. "Especially with this program because she won't trust you well at first," Cheol chuckled, "because of the past 'Youth Over Flowers' episodes."

[Leader who knows his members very well]

"Okay, okay... I see... So, Minnie will be clingy? Once she trusts us." Yeongseok questioned him further.

Cheol nodded. "Yeah, maybe... and it might seem cute, but don't let that fool you," he suddenly warned the older man, making him chuckle.

"W-What? What do you mean?" He laughed.

"She has a very strong personality," Coups smiled with wide eyes, embellishing his statement.

"Aaah," Na PD nodded his head. A memory made him chuckle again as he put his hand on the idol's shoulder. "She was already making deals with me during the first Game Caterer episode."

[Kids who like debating]

The comment made the leader laugh out loud and touch the older man's arm as he threw his head back in glee. Yeongseok joined him, chuckling along with the '95 Liner while some giggles could be also heard from behind the camera.

"That means she's comfortable with you, hyung. That's a good sign," S.Coups assured him with a nod. "If she puts up a fight with you, it means she likes you. Then she'll also be more fun."

Na PD took a deep breath in, "Aah, ok. That's good then, I guess... a bit confusing, but..." his eyes closed for a second as he chuckled before catching himself again. "Then I'll make sure to keep Minnie close to me as well. Along with Myungho and Mingyu."

"And anyone else?" The producer from behind the camera asked furthermore, clearly wanting to make sure that each member would be in good hands.

Cheol pressed his lips together before the next member's name rolled off his tongue. "Woozi?"

-

After knocking on the hotel door, S.Coups let himself in.

"You're so loud," he commented right as he entered, the camera not following him.

"Come in," Hoshi just ushered him inside. Followed by Joshua, who repeated it,

"Come in, come in."

"You're too loud," the leader told them again.

Minnie sighed softly, a smile evident through her voice, "I've been telling them that."

Mingyu interrupted her before she could say anything more. "But-" and suddenly started singing a random tune. The maknae was quick to join his hyung, coming up with lyrics that would fit the instrumentals the group was playing in the background.

"Did they wake you up?" The girl suddenly wondered.

Seungcheol shook his head, "I was already awake."

"Why are you awake at this hour?" She sounded clearly confused, maybe even slightly concerned, but the '95 Liner just brushed off her worry as he remembered the 'script'

"I think I lost my phone."

-

Dino was still in the middle of his written-on-the-spot song when he called the leader's phone as he asked him to do. Hoshi and Na PD were still in the hallway of the hotel floor when the phone rang. Unbeknownst to everyone but the '96 Liner, Yeongseok picked up the call and followed the idol back into the room, hot on his tracks.

After the two came in, the older man revealed himself to the six members who were in the room. Starting on the left side of the room, Seungcheol had taken a seat on one of the extra armchairs while Joshua and Seungkwan were occupying the couch and table right by the window. Mingyu had gotten comfortable laying on the bed, while Minnie was sitting up and the youngest decided to stand right next to the mattress.

Na PD barged in, still on the phone, "Coups-ya, how can you leave your phone just lying around?"

As soon as he came into view, the members jumped back in surprise. Joshua sat up straighter while Mingyu just continued to lounge off. Minnie's mouth was hanging open wide, gazing at the man in front of her with big eyes.

But he kept up his act, "How can you leave your phone lying around?"

Their leader had fallen into a fit of laughter, gripping his crunches tightly as he tried to collect himself again while the rest just looked around the room in a state of shock and surprise. With so many cameras on you all of a sudden, the expressions on each of their faces were understandable.

Hoshi joined Minnie on the side of the bed she had claimed, reaching out for the hand of the producer.

"Ah... wait a minute- we really... woah..." He kept on starting sentences and not finishing them.

"This can't be it," Joshua threw into the room, now also up and closer to the bed as all eyes were on Yeongseok, who held onto the '96 Liner's hands tightly as he talked.

"Hey!" He started, "This is what was promised."

Hoshi sighed out loud in frustration, "No, but our concert just ended yesterday-"

"Wait," Mingyu suddenly jumped in, scooching up further to the front of the mattress to stop right in front of Na PD. "Are we not going to Korea?"

The producer shook his head with a smile, "You can't go! That's not where you're going." Making the rapper's grin widen even more and eventually errupt into bright laughter as he threw his hands up and let himself fall back onto the bed. Even before his back hit the white sheets again, his arms wrapped around the girl who was still quietly in the background, hiding her mouth behind her hand that was covered by the black zip-up hoodie she was wearing.

"WOAH, that's so nice!" He called out happily, tightening his arms around her as if she was to thank rather than the man standing in front of the group.

-

Each member received a microphone to be clipped by the collar of their clothing and got to sit back down comfortably. Minnie decided to stay on the right side of the bed, her shoulder brushing against Hoshi's.

Everyone but the leader was still in somewhat of a bubble of the unknown, unsure of what would be happening next or where they would even be going even after they had started interrogating the producers and staff members about their schedule.

The performance unit's leader had another important question, "What's the thing where Myungho and Junnie are going to Italy, hyung?" 

"Myungho and Junnie are going to Italy," Na PD simply answered, making the girl's eyebrows scrunch in confusion.

"Ah, so separate-" Hoshi started but was interrupted by Seungcheol, who chuckled at the disarray of his members.

"No," he smiled, "You're going together."

"We're going?" The '96 Liner looked up at the older man, who seemed to be also very much amused at the situation, but one member caught his attention.

"Minnie-ya," he turned to the girl with a smile, who met his eyes, "You've been so quiet."

She chuckled to herself, taking a deep breath in. "I... I'm still in shock," making the other producers smile as well. "Are we really going to Italy?" Her big eyes were fixed on him, not even daring to blink, too scared for it all to be a dream and blinking would wake her up.

Mingyu had fallen to his knees, clasping the producer's hands into his, practically begging him to not be lying to them. He desperately wanted the news of their apparent Italy journey to be true.

"Can I tell them that?" The older man asked his fellow producers who nodded with multiple chuckles. So, he turned back to the '97 Liners who were still gazing up at him with expecting eyes. "We're going to Italy." He assured them.

With big smiles and eyes, Minnie and Mingyu turned to each other, giggling before the rapper let his head into her lap, his cheek brushing against the white silk of her pyjama pants.

[Dream destination of the younger ones?]

Very quickly, Yeongseok explained the next few steps that would involve waking up the other members who were sleeping and gathering them all in one room to let the program officially start.

Only problem: some of the members were still drunk enough to most probably hardly remember anything about the events the following day.

"Right now, I-" Dino explained, "We're kind of drunk."

"We are drunk," Joshua agreed, his voice just underlying the statement he had just given.

"It's okay," Na PD assured them. "Everyone's drunk."

"Noona isn't," the youngest pointed at the girl who had stood up and was straightening out the hoodie she was wearing.

Yeongseok looked over at her. "Minnie, you're not drunk?"

The camera focused on the female idol who shook her head. "No," she chuckled, "I was sleeping, but my phone kept going off," she explained. "These idiots were texting me to come over." 

[Interruption of her beauty sleep]

Her comment got a round of chuckles from the producers behind the cameras, making her smile and shake her head.

"So you haven't been here for long?" Shin Hyojung, one of the female producers, wondered.

"No," Minnie answered again. "I actually came like five minutes before you barged in."

"Woah," Na PD gasped, "So you could've caught us even before Hoshi..."

[Lucky timing]

"We really wanted her to drink with us," Hoshi walked over to the '97 Liner, linking his arm with hers.

"And I wanted to sleep," she added with a smile at the older member.

-

First on the list: Waking up Dokyeom.

The group, along with the producers exited the hotel room and rushed into the lobby, on their way to find the room of the other member. Minnie walked alongside the leader, Seungkwan was right in front of them, walking backwards so he could face the two.

"Pledis really does this?!" He continued to question the reality of the situation.

The girl shook her head, looking down at the floor before glancing forward again. "That can't be real. They can't just take us to Italy like that, right? Pledis wouldn't allow that."

"But they are," the leader stated, continuously laughing at the situation.

"That's crazy," she mumbled to herself, hugging her arms close to her torso

-

She had found the idea of barging into the other members' rooms entertaining, yet scary at first. She wasn't able to get the thought of them doing the exact same to her out of her head. 'Thank God, I was with the drunk part of the group...', Deep down, she knew she had to thank Dino and Hoshi for blowing up her phone and getting her out of bed because the situation could've gotten quite uncomfortable for quite a few people. These thoughts led to her staying in the background during their break-in into Dokyeom's room, choosing to laugh along with the members as they loudly shouted out for the '97 Liner to get up. 

With his bloodshot eyes, he was still looking around the hallway on their way out towards the next victim's room. He tapped the girl's shoulder, making her turn to the right, immediately a giggle tumbling from her lips as she took in his dishevelled look.

"Minnie-ya..." Dokyeom gasped, "Is this real? Are we really going?"

The female idol patted his back with a smile, "Yes, we're really going right now."

"Woah..." he breathed out as they stopped right in front of the producer's room.

Seungkwan reached out to unlock the door with the master keycard, but his hand was slapped away by the '97 Liner rapper.

"Just go!" The leader, from the back of the line, called out, "Just go in with 'Woozi!'"

"What if he's not sleeping..." Seungkwan wondered out loud.

After a few more moments of debate, the members agreed to let Yeongseok walk in first to wake up the '96 Liner by pretending he was one of their managers. Waking him up softly like one of the staff members was definitely the better choice rather than barging in and screaming at his face like they did with the main vocalist right before.

Na PD didn't need much convincing before opening the door and stepping in. Everyone was surprised by the brightness of the room due to the lights that were still on - hardly anyone expected Woozi to be still up at this time. Well... he wasn't exactly. Walking further into the hotel room, the group of idols and producers found the singer lying on his bed, no sheets covering his body, still in the clothes he had worn before, spread out on top of the mattress.

One chuckle after the other fell with each step they took further into the room. All the while Yeongseok kept up his act of their road manager, trying to get Woozi out of bed.

Clearly confused, the '96 Liner pushed himself off the bed, the sound of each member's laughter echoing through the room as they started surrounding him. Mingyu's distinct laugh bounced off the walls specifically.

Minnie's eye drifted from the flustered member who had just been pulled out of his slumber, to the table right next to the bed. She immediately laughed even harder than before, walking up to Hoshi to show him.

After smacking his arm, she pointed forward, "Look at his protein powder!"

"Ah!" The performance unit's leader laughed out loud, "His protein! Look at the protein!" He caught the attention of the rest of the people in the room. Each member started laughing even more at the mention of the massive box of protein powder he had brought along for their, in relation, rather short Japan trip.

The producer was still too dishevelled to form proper sentences, just clearly wanting to get the group out of his room and onto the next one.

"Woozi-hyung, why are your sunglasses on the bed?" Dokyeom commented once his eyes found the accessory lying close to the pillows. Hoshi had reached out and grabbed them, handing them over to Mingyu, who put them on the older member's face and pushed them up to keep his hair looking somewhat sane.

Minnie chuckled with a shake of her head, "Woozi-hyung might just be the most fashionable sleeper I've ever seen." Then she turned to the producer. "But without them, you currently look like a crazy scientist." Getting a sarcastic grin from him in return, as Mingyu hit her arm with a chuckle.

-

"To which door are we going next?" Yeongseok wondered right away, as soon as Woozi was ready to go. He had gotten into the flow of the Seventeen members waking each other up. Each time, using their creativity and knowledge about one another to come up with fun ways to rip them out of their slumber and surprise them with the news.

"The room next door is-"

"Wonwoo," Minnie finished the sentence of the staff member quietly under her breath. Not enough for the rest to notice, but the camera right next to her had caught it.

Mingyu's voice suddenly rang through their ears. "But- I'm sorry. We'll skip Wonwoo-hyung."

The girl's eyebrows scrunched in confusion as she looked at her fellow '97 Liner, "Why?" Followed by Na PD who threw the same question into the room, sounding slightly more concerned than the girl, who just seemed confused by Mingyu's sudden comment.

"I just don't think it's going to be funny," he told the older man before meeting the eyes of the female member.

Minnie opened her mouth, still a slight scrunch in her eyebrows, but as soon as she closed her lips again her eyebrows returned to a neutral facial expression. Dino was quick to react.

"No, no, no, Wonwoo-hyung is fun," the youngest commented, already ready to make his way to the next room.

The girl was next. "Mm, it's gonna be okay," she assured the rapper, speaking softly as she walked up to him. "We'll make it fun."

-

Arrived at the next room, Seunkgwan and Dino were the first in line, right next to the door. The '98 Liner was already holding the keycard up, excited to wake up the next member.

"Wonwoo?" Na PD asked them again to make sure.

The main vocalist nodded, "Yes, we'll go with Wonwoo."

The producer of the show had caught up with the two youngest, standing next to them as the Seungkwan reached out to knock.

Minnie had come closer, stopping between Hoshi and Dino, waiting for the singer in front of them to finally open the door.

For a moment, the group waited after Seungkwan had knocked on the door three times. Only that Hoshi had already become too impatient,

"We can just go in." Not even wanting to wait another second, making the girl next to him chuckle.

"Let's go in," Dino whispered along with the older member, ushering Seungkwan to just open the door. With a soft push down on the handle, they opened it. Before they let themselves in, Hoshi had pushed Minnie forward, right past the maknae, who added another quick whisper of,

"Noona, go in first."

With quick, yet quiet steps, the female member pushed the door slightly more open and stepped into the room right after flicking on the lights.

"Oppa?" She greeted him at first.

Dino followed right behind her, with Seungkwan afterwards, who held the door open for the cameraman.

"Wonwoo-hyung, they say we need to go," he commented as soon as he walked in.

"Huh?" A raspy hum came from the other side of the room.

While all the other members were toddling inside in a line, one after the other, Minnie's voice was caught by the microphone.

"Oh- pull up the covers," she hastily stated. "Cover your body."

"Why-" Wonwoo was about to ask her a follow-up question when Na PD's voice echoed through the room.

"Wonwoo-ya!" He called out as he revealed himself from the hallway, appearing at the foot of the bed, on which Minnie had sat herself down, while the rapper was holding up the covers over his chest. "It's time to go!" The producer chuckled at the reaction of the '96 Liner as he let himself fall back against the mattress. "Wonwoo-ya... why are your shoulders so wide?" He laughed as he got closer to the bed, his hands finding his bare shoulders that had gotten famous ever since their Game Caterer episode.

The female idol laughed along with her members, holding onto the massive block of a power bank and his glasses as her eyes switched from watching the group in front of them to the man to her right, still hiding underneath the white hotel bedsheets.

"They're definitely wider than Mingyu's!" Cheol commented with a chuckle, making the girl divert her glance over to the '97 Liner, who continued to stand still with what could almost be considered a pout on his lips. She tilted her head with a tight smile decorating her face.

Yeongseok's laughter and voice filled the room, "I think we need to cover him up!" As he tried to do exactly that by tucking the sheets closer to Wonwoo's side. "Stay like this! Stay like this right now!" Pulling them even higher up to his neck.

Not able to hold back a smile, Minnie carefully opened his black frames and tried to place them onto his nose, knowing just how blurry everything must have been for him, making the situation even worse. As they happened to fall slightly crooked, she reached out again to fix them. "Wait," she chuckled, "You have to wear them properly."

"Oh," Na PD looked at him, "Yes, wear your glasses, please."

While Seungkwan's attention was now on the magazines that had been placed on the nightstand, the girl seemed to have noticed the redness shooting to the tips of the rapper's ears, making her smile even wider as she tried to cover them with his hair, running her hand over them and through each strand. 

With a quick hand motion and moving lips towards the '98 Liner, he immediately knew what the girl had asked him to do.

"Ah- wait, wait, where are your clothes, hyung?"

"Oh, where are your clothes, Wonwoo-ya?" Yeongseok immediately engaged with them, looking around the room before the '96 Liner pointed towards the couch. He pushed himself up to sit up straight, the white blanket falling off his shoulders exposing just the very upper area of his torso.

"Oh? Hi, PD-nim." Wonwoo threw everyone off-guard at the sudden greeting. He had only now straightened his glasses properly and blinked enough times to get adjusted to the bright lights in his room. 

Along with Yeongseok, who greeted him as well with a surprised tone lacing his voice as their hands interlocked, Minnie chuckled with the other members at the conversation happening in front of them. With laughter, the girl let herself fall forward, the palm of her right hand hitting Wonwoo's bare skin and shoulder muscles.

After being handed a shirt, the rapper turned to the two members that were closest to him - for one, Minnie on his left, sitting on the bed, and Seungkwan still standing to his right.

"What is this?" He asked them, the corners of his lips curling up into a tired smile.

"Hyung," the '98 Liner started, "We're going."

"Youth Over Flowers is starting," the girl explained further, giggling once again as the surprised eyes of the '96 Liner met hers. 

"Going now?"

"Right now," she nodded, her hand still on his shoulder, only leaving it when he pulled the black shirt over his head and torso.

The quick comment, "That's my shirt," by Mingyu was met with a blank stare from the girl as she pressed her lips together, and quietness washed over the room. Wonwoo having to put on pants first, was the next big attention seeker.

While the rest of the group was debating who to wake up next, either Jun or Minghao, Na PD also admitted to his guilt of having to explain to the '97 Liner that he'd be going to Italy, not alone with his fellow Chinese member as he had thought, but with all the Seventeen members together. Minnie's hand was gripping the sheets, holding them up just slightly after she had noticed the struggle the rapper was having as he tried to put on pants without revealing himself to an entire camera crew and staff members.

-

They decided to go with Jun next. Apologising to him would be easier, or so Na PD thought before they barged into the '96 Liner's room, ripping him out of his slumber. Now, the producer was standing by the left side of the bed, his hands intertwined in front of him as he tried to find the right words.

"Jun," he spoke ever so softly, "I have something to tell you." The still dishevelled member looked to his right, trying to find the eyes of the older member while Dokyeom was trying to place the microphone onto the collar of Jun's shirt.

"I don't know from what point I need to start telling you," Yeongseok admitted, getting a round of laughter in return.

Minnie, who had taken her place next to the maknae, let her head fall onto his shoulder as the giggling shook both of their bodies.

"We lied about so many things," he admitted. "I don't know what to talk about first."

Jun let his eyes drift around the room, trying to find some explanation in the glances from his members, but they were all just smiling back at him in pure amusement. With a hand, he covered his mouth nervously.

"From what is it the truth?" He wondered, hoping to be able to figure out the starting point of what the producer kept on claiming to be 'a series of lies'.

"There's no truth," Minnie stated with a chuckle. "It's all lies."

"Hey!" Na PD turned to the girl, pointing at her with a smile, "Don't say it like that!"

"You have to be honest with him, hyung... He was so excited for the trip." She fought back, all while fighting her own giggles as Jun kept up his confused facial expression, switching between the two arguing parties.

"That..." He started once again, still flustered by having to admit to the fake schedule they had created for the idol group. "The... this program," Na PD finally let out. "That entire program."

Still slightly unsure of what exactly the man was talking about, the '96 Liner slowly nodded his head, "Aah... ah... okay..." Making the members around his bed chuckle.

The older man kept his stance with his intertwined hands, looking down at the performer with pure guilt written all over his face. He repeated his apology, explaining that the schedule wouldn't include the other two famous men, but the rest of his group instead. Trying to lift the mood by elaborating on how wonderful it is to be able to spend that time with the rest of his members was used to more so soothe him instead of the idol as Jun was still very much disoriented by the sudden intrusion.

"Do the members know too?" He wanted to know.

In chorus, they started explaining to him they had only just found out as well and weren't in on any 'plan' as he had thought.

Na PD placed a comforting hand on the '96 Liner's shoulder. "The people in front of your eyes right now," he started, "They didn't know anything 5 minutes ago." What he did leave out was the fact that not only were they unaware of the situation they'd be thrown into, but also unbelievably unprepared, as a rap battle seemed much more important.

The youngest of the group had another confession to make as he opened his mouth. "And hyung... I'm drunk right now." He suddenly revealed. The girl on his right wrapped her arm around his waist, patting his back as the room erupted in another round of laughter. Wonwoo was quick to jump into the situation, holding up his hand, showing four fingers that he moved around in front of Dino's face, a fond smile making his lips curl.

"Oh-" the maknae was surprised by the sudden action, "Three?" He called out, getting another chuckle from everyone in the room. Minnie's palm hit his chest with a giggle.

-

On their way out, onto the next room, the female member was interrupted in her conversation as the youngest called out for her.

"Noona!" He turned around to face her while she was walking a few steps behind them, next to Seungcheol. 

She hummed in response, "Hm?"

"I really wasn't too weird, right?" He stopped in his tracks to let her catch up with him before he interlocked his arm with hers. "You were the only really sober one, so please tell me. I wasn't too weird, right?"

With a tight smile on her lips, their looks met. "Well..." she started, already making the maknae close his eyes and groan in embarrassment. "You weren't weird. You were just being you. But you did start a rap battle all of a sudden," she recalled with a giggle.

"Ah...," he sighed, letting his forehead rest against her shoulder, "Noona, why did I do that?" 

Her lips formed a fond smile as she patted his back. "Don't worry about it. The people watching this will find it funny."

"Are you sure?" He asked her further, still with a slight sulk lacing his voice.

[Younger brother looking for affirmation]

She nodded, her hands brushing over his hair, making him smile.

-

The members had made their way into Vernon's room. Seungkwan had gone in first after the group was convinced that he the second youngest was actually still awake and not sleeping, like the rest had been. Inside, they were greeted with yet again the bright lights of the room, and, just like with Wonwoo, another two copies of their magazine cover on the table that Dino presented proudly to the camera.

The '98 Liner had himself fully covered by the white bedsheets, confirming the suspicion they had of him, like his fellow HHU member, not wearing anything to bed.

Mortified by the sudden amount of people invading his room, he had pulled the blanket up to his face. Even with Seungkwan's warning, nothing could've prepared him for this moment.

Minnie and Hoshi had joined him on the mattress, sitting down on the left side that was kept free while Na PD tried to get the younger member out of the comfort of the bed.

"I'm in such a dirty state right now," Vernon confessed, now hiding his entire face behind the safety of the sheets. "I'm only wearing this right now," he pointed to the thin piece of clothing working as a robe.

Yeongseok chuckled flustered. "Oh- you're only wearing that?"

Without a warning, Hoshi's hands suddenly travelled underneath the covers, getting a look of confusion from the girl in return. He patted around the mattress and body of the man underneath them when he suddenly nodded with a big grin.

"Ooh, he's really only wearing this," he told the rest of the room. The members and crew chuckled at his uncalled action. Shocked, but definitely not surprised.

Minnie, who kept her eyes on him, leaned closer to him, slapping his leg with an amused scoff, "You can't do that!"

Her fellow '97 Liner and rapper right next to them, hunched over in laughter, his hands falling to the shoulder of the performance unit leader, pushing him away.

They agreed to let him put on clothes first before they would move on to the next room. But the blanket still covering him turned out to be more of an obstacle than expected as he started squirming around, Na PD trying to lift the sheets to give him some more room to put on the pants that were handed to him. The movements seemed too funny for the group not to comment on them.

"Are you shedding?" Seungkwan was the first to comment.

Minnie smiled at his struggle. "You look like a transforming worm, Vernon," getting a round of chuckles from the members.

-

Getting Jeonghan out of bed was easy for the group. The '95 Liner was quick to play along and jumped into character almost instantly when Yeongseok was the first to walk into his room. He was up on his feet and ready to jump into action. You could've thought he hadn't even been sleeping.

"I don't know," Jeonghan mumbled, "I don't know how I am right now." While some of the other members were still focused on the magazines with his pictures on the cover. Somebody had placed a few copies of them on his table as well.

Na PD chuckled warmly, "You're very pretty right now. It's okay, it's okay." His assuring words made the vocalist nod and ready to go on to the next room.

Minnie sighed, "You could really wake up Jeonghan-hyung at any hour and he'll look pretty. That's so unfair." Followed by a slight sulk that was caught by the members. She was just about to turn around when Seungkwan's follow-up comment made her stop.

"Then you gotta work on your beauty sleep, noona." His words made her open her mouth but close it quickly, reminding herself of all of the cameras that were on them, so she just nodded. But a sarcastic smile was plastered on her face.

Woozi couldn't help but shake his head in amusement at the two. "Don't listen to him," he mumbled, patting her back before he turned around to leave them alone.

-

Next and final room: Minghao. The member Na PD was dreading to face, having to, once again, explain the situation and the lie they had come up with, making the '97 Liner believe he'd go on a trip to Italy with Jun alone, along with two other people from the entertainment industry. Well, now he'd get to enjoy the Italian flair with 12 of his members.

Standing in front of the last hotel room they'd break in, the debating started. How would they greet the member who was looking forward to the trip the most?

Seungkwan proposed that Yeongseok should go in first, clapping and congratulating Minghao on the trip. Jeonghan had the idea of letting the '98 Liner walk in first to wish him 'safe travels', but he stopped himself in the middle of the sentence, deciding that it would take too long to let one member after the other inside. Final decision: all of the barge in at the same time, clapping and celebrating. That would wake him up, for sure.

After one flick of the lights, the members rushed inside, their loud voices immediately filling the room as their claps bounced off the walls. Wide eyes welcomed them as Minghao looked around the room in surprise, taken aback by the sudden appearance of his members along with crew members he didn't recognize right away. Only after Seungkwan introduced Na PD, did the '97 Liner realise who was standing in front of him. He sat himself up to greet him.

Then it was time. The explanation.

Yeongseok started. "Oh, to be honest, Myungho-ya... there's something I need to apologise to you about."

As soon as the soft and delicate words, "What is it?" Left Minghao's lips, the producer stepped back. You would've thought he had to tell him Santa wasn't real by his reaction.

But after a moment of silence, he spilt the truth, explaining that Jun and his 'trip to Italy' was happening right at that moment, adding that the rest of the members were coming along too though. From her position next to S.Coups in the corner of the room, Minnie, along with the rest of the members burst into laughter when he started clapping and smiling almost painfully fake.

-

Minghao got dressed and the others got themselves comfortable around the room, spreading out onto the bed, and the couch, and some chose to stand up.

That's when Na PD spoke up again, "Okay, everyone's together, right?" A conversation easily followed. Hoshi started by explaining their fully packed schedule, which made the members realise that they would not even have the time to film 'Youth Over Flowers' at any point during that time, but the producer clarified the careful thought process that went into kidnapping the idol group and giving them a well-deserved break during such a busy time.

As the realisation of it happening right now hit Dino, he groaned and let his face fall into his hands, catching the attention of the girl. Minnie chuckled at the youngest antics, elbowing the leader on her right before she nodded towards the bed, where the maknae was contemplating all of his life choices.

"Look at Dino." Seungcheol joined her giggling, eyeing the youngest member carefully. "He's still drunk," she shook her head with a smile.

While Hoshi and Dokyeom discussed which month they had thought they'd get to film the program in, Shin Hyojung spoke up from behind the camera.

"Considering that, too," mentioning the packed schedule of the idol group. "we freed space for a week." Which caught the attention of each member.

Various gasps and hums echoed through the room.

"An entire week?!" Minnie wondered out loud in shock, getting a nod from the female producer in return.

"An entire week," she confirmed.

After she dropped the next lie, which had been the fake schedule they created for the entire week, another round of gasps could be heard from the singers. None of them could really believe the time and dedication the production crew had put into this - just for them.

"All fake," Seungcheol commented.

Minnie turned towards him. "Did you know about them being fake?!"

He was quick to shake his head, "I swear, I knew as much as you guys about this. I only found out a few hours before you."

"That's crazy..." the girl mumbled, her arms crossed in front of her chest, tightening the zip-up hoodie around her frame.

-

"I'm going to make some announcements," Na PD called out to get the attention back to the moment. "And we can talk about other things later!" Firstly, he let them know about their destination as only some of the members had caught onto where they were going - Rome, Italy. While sounds of surprise and happiness filled the room, Minnie stayed quiet and surprised Cheol when she suddenly wrapped her arm around his. The crutch made it slightly awkward, but it didn't stop her.

"Who has been to Italy?" Yeongseok wondered, getting a round of shaking heads in return.

"None," was repeatedly thrown into the room as different members answered him.

"No one?!" Na PD was well surprised by the answer. "Minnie," he caught the attention of the younger woman. "Not even you?" Expecting for at least her to have been to one of the most visited countries in Europe. But she shook her head as well,

"Not to Italy, no."

"That's why we picked it," another female producer explained from the other side of the room.

"We've never been to Europe," Seungkwan wined.

Woozi nodded in agreement, turning to Yeongseok, "We haven't been to Europe either."

Minnie's head dropped to Seungcheol's shoulder. He let go of his right crutch, using his now free hand to caress the arm she had interlocked with his.

Na PD's speech went on. "To be honest, Seventeen has had a really packed schedule up to now. I know that you had a really hard time." He got sounds of agreement and nodding heads in return. "You must've had no time to rest at all. So, the concept of this Italy vacation is different from our usual 'Youth Over Flowers'." He continued to explain the differences in the program the group would film. They wouldn't face any hardships, not suffer as they go along. It would be an 'all-inclusive package' for a real holiday.

"So, you just need to play. We searched and rented all places where we could play and enjoy. At breakfast, go visit stuff and eat delicious things. At dinner, we get together and play," he explained further. "We're going to spend a week like this." As expected, the members reacted in glee. Happy, surprised and yet still not fully believing things that good would happen to them.

Woozi was the first to question the sincerity. "We can believe this, right?" Which made Yeongseok turn to him in surprise,

"You can trust me! You can trust this!"

Minnie squinted her eyes jokingly. "I feel like that's exactly something that someone who'd try to trick us would say."

"No, ah-" He sighed and shook his head with a smile, "Really. Trust me with this." Turning to the other producers, he looked for help. "Tell them that this is right!"

After revealing the new name of the program 'NANA Tour', the group almost forgot it was too good to be true. But the following words from Na PD made them realise they may have started celebrating too early.

"Since our trip is an all-inclusive package," he stated, "there's nothing that you guys need to prepare."

"Huh?!"

The members started to look for each others' gazes, trying to find some sense in a moment of confusion.

"You don't need your bag or anything else," Yeongseok explained further. "The things you need are the clothes you're wearing and a cell phone. You don't need your wallet."

"Really?" Dokyeom asked out loud.

Minnie glanced at the man in confusion while mumbling to herself "But I'm wearing pyjamas." Her worried tone got a chuckle out of Seungcheol as he looked over to her, shaking his head.

But even with all the good news the group had gotten, bad news was about to follow as well.

"The problem is that we- our package's departure schedule is a bit early."

The girl opened her mouth to say something, but Woozi beat her to it as he pointed at the man on the bed.

"I'm saying that his eyes are scary!" Making the crew of producers and cameramen laugh wholeheartedly and zoom into Yeongseok's face.

"How could you let us leave us without anything on us?!" Minnie called out in frustration. "That's not right... You have something planned! Don't lie!"

Na PD couldn't help but chuckle, hunching over before holding himself up from the mattress by his hands. "No, I promise. We're going to go to Italy. But the problem is that we have to go kind of early!" He argued back.

A comforting hand found its way to Minnie's back as Cheol shrugged his arm out of her grasp to wrap it around her frame. Her eyebrows were back scrunched up in confusion as she whispered to the leader,

"I don't trust him." To which he chuckled.

"It's okay, you can trust him." But she just shook her head with a pout on her lips.

Her attention went back to listening to the producer as he spoke, "You guys are going to get dressed starting now and in three minutes-"

"What?!"

"In three minutes?!"

"Hyung!"

"This is so much fun," came from Jeonghan, who seemed to be the only one to enjoy the stress that was put on the group with that statement alone.

Na PD was quick to add, "Because you don't need a bag or wallet! We have all of your passports."

Right away, questions started coming from left and right.

"Can I still brush my teeth?"

"Can't I take a shower?"

"Is there underwear in the package?"

"Everything!" Yeongseok answered Dokyeom's question. "Just wear what you're wearing now-"

"I can't wear pyjamas to the airport," Minnie sighed out, running a hand through her hair with a deep breath.

Jeonghan grinned at her, "Don't worry, Minnie-ya. You make everything look fashionable."

With scrunched eyebrows, she glanced over at him, not able to hold back a smile once she came to sight with his.

As soon as Na PD gave the official 'ok' to split up and start getting ready, the members split up quickly. They rushed out of Minghao's room one after the other, trying to get to their own rooms as quickly as possible. Jeonghan didn't seem to be nearly as stressed as the others as he decided to stay back. Minnie was doing the same, standing still in her place next to the leader.

"Oh... oppa...," she sighed. Cheol immediately knew what she wanted to say, so he was quick to interrupt her, patting her back once again.

"No, go, go. Get ready. Change your clothes. I'll meet you downstairs," he assured her.

"Really? You'll still be here?" She asked further, getting a nod from him in response.

"Ok..." she mumbled. before she left, she hastily threw her arms around his shoulder, giving him a quick squeeze before exiting the room as well, thoughts of which clothes to take out of her suitcase already rushing through her mind.

-

She had already finished packing her luggage the evening before, right after the concert, wanting to spare herself the stress of packing it right before their flight back home. Therefore, Minnie's baby blue suitcase was already in the hallway, where she had to put it on the ground to open it.

"Ok," she thought out loud, "Rome is probably hot right now at this time of year... but I want to be comfortable on the plane. So... I'm not gonna wear shorts, but thin long pants. But a short shirt. That should be fine, right?" She looked up from her position on the floor, glancing at the cameraman, who just shrugged back. 

The girl chuckled and nodded to herself. "It'll be fine," she stood back up after gathering everything from her suitcase, including a pair of sneakers. "More important is... what will I take in my small bag," with a hand on her chin, she contemplated. "Sunglasses... maybe tissues... I can't bring make-up, right?" The cameraman shook his head. "Ok... that's... ok... but suncream. I'll need suncream. OH- and chapstick- hold on. I also need to brush my teeth..."

-

After Wonwoo, Minnie was next to enter the meeting room, getting greeted by Na PD immediately, and the '96 Liner along with S.Coups, Hoshi and Minghao who had already taken a seat on the chairs and couch. She had changed into a pair of jeans along with a slightly cropped white shirt and a grey cropped cardigan on top. A black hat was on her head, but she had taken it off once she walked in.

"Minnie, come in and sit," the producer ushered her inside. But something caught his eye. "Ah- Minnie-ya," at the sound of her name, the girl stopped in her tracks.

Yeongseok reached out his open palm. "Give me your bag."

Her hands found the handle on her shoulder in an instant, clinging onto it tightly.

"But I need it," she fought back.

With a sigh, the producer continued looking at her. "I promise you, everything you need, you'll get from us. Come on, give me the bag."

Hesitantly, the female member let the leather brush off her shoulder, before slowly handing it over. But just before Yeongseok could get a hold of it, she pulled it back, "Wait! Can I take out what I need?" 

A chuckle tumbled from his lips as she shook his head. Glancing over at the other members, he only found amused faces looking back at him. He took a deep breath, "What is it that you need so desperately?" 

As an answer, Minnie placed the bag on the console table on the left side of the room and started rummaging. Picking out the important things, she counted them, "Chapstick, sunscreen, and... sunglasses!" She showed the things to the producer, who nodded after inspecting them.

"Ok, ok, you can take them. If they fit in your pockets. Now sit down." With a nod and a quick, "Thank you," she went after his orders.

-

Na PD, Cheol, Joshua, Wonwoo, Dokyeom, Vernon, and Minnie made their way downstairs with the elevator. Stopping in the garage, where a car was already waiting for them. Just as they were about to leave, the '96 and '98 Liner of the Hip-Hop-Unit walking towards the vehicle first, Yeonseok calling out for S.Coups caught their attention and made them turn around again, almost forgetting that their leader wasn't going with them.

One after the other, the members said goodbye to him, hugging him one last time before they'd be on their way. Minnie stood still between him and the producer.

"Aah, you're not coming with us!" Vernon suddenly realised.

The girl pouted, "How the heck is he supposed to come with us with his injury?!" Clearly frustrated by the situation.

"I totally forgot about that," the younger member nervously chuckled. After individually making sure they had said goodbye properly, wishing him a comfortable ride home, it was Minnie's turn to hug him. Without a word, she threw her arms around his shoulders as Joshua patted the head of their leader. With a sigh, she let him go again.

"I don't like this...."

"Don't be like that, Minnie-ya," he nudged her. "Have fun in Italy. Be careful."

She nodded hesitantly, "I guess we will."

"You guess?!" Na PD gasped next to her, making the girl chuckle. "You guess?! We'll make sure that you guys have fun."

"Ok, ok," she nodded again. One last time, Seungcheol opened his arms to pull her in. Just as she was about to let go of him, the '95 Liner whispered something into her ear, to which she frowned at first as soon as they separated, but then she assured him, she had understood him. With a last wave, she bid him her final goodbye before she'd get to see him again in about two weeks.

[they will reunite well]

-

EP1-2. Off to Italy

Minnie took her place by the window, with Minghao on her right. The bus had started its engine and was about to start driving away. The members looked outside to see their CEO, managers, and most importantly their leader standing on the side, waving them off.

[bye bye]

With a sad smile, the girl waved back, nodding at S.Coups after he had motioned something with his hands. Her gaze didn't leave the window until everyone was out of sight. Only then did she let herself fall back against the seat, looking down at her hands with a sigh. Her fellow '97 Liner noticed her quietness and placed a hand on top of hers, making her look up.

She was greeted with the kind smile of her best friend, making her grin in return. He gave her hand a little squeeze, which she copied, quickly developing into a battle of who could squeeze the other person's hand harder. Even if it was obvious who would win, Minnie still put up the fight, grinning down at their hands, and just taking a moment to be thankful for the person to her right.

-

Hoshi, Wonwoo, and Minghao were sitting together at Incheon Airport, waiting for the connecting flight with Na PD, who was behind the camera they had set up, engaging in a comfortable conversation.

Minnie suddenly appeared from the background, joining the group on the floor, her phone in her grip.

"Did you talk to your mum?" Yeongseok asked.

The girl nodded with a smile. "I told her we're going to Rome."

He chuckled, "What did she say?"

"'Why not closer to us?'" Minnie changed her voice into a slightly higher tone, impersonating her mother. "'I could've brought you guys something to eat.'" 

[caring words of a mother <3]

The members around her started laughing, with Hao leaning onto her shoulder.

Na PD scoffed with a chuckle. "Does she think we won't feed you?"

Minnie shrugged, "I think she also thinks this will be more like 'Youth Over Flowers'." To which the producer laughed in return.

-

Deep in her slumber, the female idol was catching up on the few hours of sleep she had missed out on due to the intense rap battle her fellow members wanted her to witness.

[beauty sleep]

"Minnie-ya," a soft voice from the right spoke up. When she didn't react, a hand reached out to nudge her. 

The camera angle expanded, to expose Wonwoo, who was trying to get her to wake up. With one more gentle shove to her arm and a repetition of her name, his voice ever so soft, Minnie's eyes fluttered open. For a second, there was clear confusion written on her face, but as she looked to her left, she found the rapper's eyes already on her, she smiled.

"Hm?"

"Eat something before we land," Wonwoo spoke quietly, not trying to distress her as she tried to adjust her eyes to the brightness. Minnie nodded and with a quick click of a button, she let her seat straighten back up. 

"When do we land?"

"In like two hours."

"Ok," she answered, trying to hold back a yawn without any luck. Then she glanced at the clock. "Ah... I forgot about the time difference... it's evening now."

"Mm," Wonwoo looked away from his phone to glance over at her, "Are you still tired?"

For a second, the girl seemed to think about it. "A little bit. I hope I'll get to sleep."

-

EP1-3. First Step of the Travel

After landing and walking through the airport for a good bit, they arrived at the visa checkpoints. Jun and Minghao were separated from the group due to their Chinese passports, but what caught the members off-guard was when Minnie was directed towards a different line than them.

"Where are you going?" Mingyu asked the girl as he filmed himself.

"We took Minnie's EU passport, not her Korean one, so she has an easier way," one of the producers behind him explained to him. The '97 Liner nodded while watching her walk away.

The female member had gotten her own vlogging camera, filming the lower side of her face that was still covered by a mask. She didn't start talking until she came to a halt and pulled the mask down and the camera up to show her entire face.

"And now we'll wait. Because the members are gonna take a little bit longer than me." And ended her commentary with a smile.

-

Dino, Hoshi, and Wonwoo were the first to join her.

"Noona, you just walked through the gates!" The youngest called out as soon as they had caught up with her.

Minnie chuckled, "Yeah, it's like this within some countries in Europe. If you were born here."

"Aaah," he nodded. "Practical."

When she saw the vlogging camera Hoshi was holding up, the girl put her own one down, focusing more on her surroundings as they walked through the entrance/exit of the airport and out into the warm late summer air.

The rest of the members, besides Jun and Minghao, were already hot on their tracks as well and followed them to the bus that was waiting for them outside. Walking in, they greeted the driver before cramping together into the seats at the back. Vernon and Minnie decided to sit together with the younger member by the window and the girl by the aisle.

During their little gaming session, the girl decided to relax, mostly focused on her own phone, texting her mum about their arrival, sending a quick message to their leader and scrolling through Social Media.

When Minghao and Jun finally joined them on the bus, they were ready to leave. Right from the start, the producers could feel the energy coming from the group. Everyone was excited and most of them had slept enough on the flight, explaining their high energy levels.

"The name of the airport," a staff member suddenly spoke up, "is Leonardo Da Vinci Airport."

"Ooh, Vernonnie." Dokyeom's voice rang through the ears of the girl. Only a split second later, she started to laugh. The members quickly caught onto the comment by the '97 Liner.

"No, Leonardo da Vinci."

"Not that Leonardo, Dokyeom-ah," Minnie and Mingyu spoke at the same time, both smiling at the situation. It was only then that Vernon, the man in question, realised what was being said, making him chuckle as he ran a hand over his face.

During the rest of the drive, Na PD was in charge of entertainment. He started with the description of their accommodation, mentioning that it was an Airbnb they had booked. But before they would get to their housing, the crew had decided to make a quick stop by the Colosseum to take a group picture and let the idol group roam around a little bit.

The producer started them off with some facts.

"You all know what it looks like, right?" 

The group agreed in union.

"Round and pretty," Minnie added with a bright face. At the sound of her voice, Wonwoo turned his head to glance over at her, a fond smile on his lips.

"Right," the producer answered, "Round and... yeah, pretty I guess too." Making the girl chuckle. "It's a building that was built about 2000 years ago. It's an ancient theatre. Simply put an amphitheatre. There's an audience, and what do you think they did in the centre?"

"Duel," Wonwoo and Minnie answered at the same time. With grins, they glanced at each other, chuckling when their eyes met. European history had always been a big interest of theirs.

"Exactly," Na PD pointed at the two. "Duel. Gladiators would fight each other or a tiger vs. human."

The girl suddenly gasped quietly, "Hoshi-hyung..." Which only seemed to have reached the ears of the two '96 Liners next to her, who had turned to smile at the other one, clearly amused by the comment of the female member. 

-

After they arrived at the sight, the group quickly split up again into smaller portions, each member wanting to see and explore the ancient building for themselves.

Minnie stood still as her eye raked up and down the height of the Colosseum, astonished at what she was seeing with her own eyes.

"It's so much bigger than I expected for some reason," she commented out loud, catching the attention of Yeongseok, who had stopped to her left.

He nodded. "Mm, but you must be used to buildings like this, or not?"

The girl shook her head with a smile. "I don't think you can ever get used to this. Ancient buildings are always so shocking when get to see them in real life."

"The Eiffel Tower for you too? You must've seen that quite a few times already," he continued the conversation as the two made their way further around the arena.

Minnie chuckled, "Yeah, I guess so," she explained, "But it's a lot smaller than people expect."

"Oh, really?" To which she nodded.

"So, this," she pointed towards the building right in front of them, "Is... insanely beautiful. Especially now at night."

-

Once the idol group had gotten back together, the individual sightseeing coming to an end, they decided to try to give their leader a call, reminding themselves of the fact that the time in Korea was 6 a.m., so the chances of him picking up were slim. Explaining, why they were so surprised when Seungcheol did in fact pick up the call, revealing his tired face on the screen of Hoshi's phone.

"Oh, he picked up!" Dino called out, making the girl, who was still in awe of the arena, turn around.

"S.COUPS!" Jun shouted out in glee. Minnie chuckled, watching the screen, seeing how clearly tired the '95 Liner was, assuming they had ripped him out of his sleep and that ungodly hour.

"We came to the Colosseum," Hoshi explained to him.

"Is it fun?" The leader wondered, his voice laced with pure exhaustion and still deeper than usual.

"It would be more fun with you here," the girl smiled, getting a chuckle from him in return.

"Mh, I bet," he sarcastically answered.

The performance unit leader suddenly announced they'd be taking a picture, surprising Cheol over the phone, who did his best to do some kind of pose in his position on the bed. Even with his absence, a group picture with all of them together was necessary.

-

EP1-4. Something Happened in Their House

In groups, the members were ordered to leave the bus and start their seven-minute walk towards their Airbnb. Minnie was in the second group that got to exit the vehicle, along with Hoshi, Wonwoo, and Minghao. As soon as they stepped out and fell into their usual walking tempo, for comfort, the girl looped her right arm with Wonwoo's left - no reaction from him. The group easily fell into a natural conversation, commenting on what was around them, what they passed, and the warm weather they were lucky enough to catch during this time of year.

"I'm not normally sentimental," the '96 Liner from the Hip-Hop-unit suddenly stated. "But it's gonna become sentimental."

The female member nodded. "Because we're on our first real vacation as a group, minus Seungcheol-oppa. And in a really nice city as well." The three men agreed with nods.

-

When they finally arrived at their housing for the night, they got to walk through the apartment in the old building the crew had rented out for the group. Each room had its own charm and the members already knew it wouldn't be easy to choose. But then again, their individually designated rooms often get lost after nights of drinking and playing games, and suddenly four people are sleeping in a two-person bed. So the choices weren't all that important to the singers.

They decided to let faith decide and play a game of Rock-Paper-Scissors. The winner would get to choose first, then the second, and so on until each member had a bed assigned to them.

One after the other, the singers walked around until they reached the room they had chosen to sleep in. Dino and Jun had decided on the three-beds room, leaving one still free. That's when Minnie appeared from around the corner to glance inside.

"Ooh," she commented with a smile as she came in. "I don't think we've ever shared a room together in this constellation, right?"

Jun agreed, "Yeah, I don't think so."

"Noona, stay, it's gonna be fun," the maknae, who had already made himself comfortable on one of the beds that had gotten pushed together.

Minnie chuckled, walking in to throw her cardigan and the pouch she had taken from the plane, onto the mattress. "Of course, I'm gonna stay with you guys."

"Yeyy," Dino looked up at the older member, who smiled down at him. He was quick to sit up straight once he noticed she had gotten comfortable on the other bed right next to him. "Do you want to sleep by the window?" The youngest asked her.

"Hm?" Minnie wondered, turning to her right to see the window being closest to her bed. "I don't mind it."

"Okay," he nodded before throwing himself onto the sheets.

-

Minnie and Jun had left their assigned rooms. He had joined the four beds Joshua, Hoshi, Mingyu and Dokyeom-room, engulfed in comfortable conversations as they settled into their housing, while Minnie paid a visit to Jeonghan, Woozi, Wonwoo, and Seunkgwan's room.

The girl was sitting on the bed with the '98 Liner when Na PD surprised them with a visit. "Please wait in the room for five to ten minutes!" He announced as he waltzed in.

"Okay," he got a reply in chorus back.

As soon as he left again, the group started talking.

"His eyes are weird, I keep on saying this," Woozi commented, getting a round of chuckles from the members in return.

"They're spun around," Seungkwan added.

Minnie sighed, "I'm telling you, we still can't trust them. What are we gonna sleep in? We don't have any extra clothes." Her question seemed to get the roommates to thinking, the wheels inside their heads visibly starting to turn.

"Maybe... maybe they'll give us something," the youngest of them answered her with a shrug.

"But we're definitely gonna have to work for them," the '96 Liner stated. "They're not just gonna give us everything."

"Yeah, I don't think so either," the girl agreed, letting herself sink into the mattress.

-

After a few minutes, the members were called to gather in the kitchen. Walking in, they could already see that something had been set up.

"Tax-free?" Minnie wondered out loud as soon as she had entered the room. Joshua, who was already sitting down, turned to where she was looking at - a poster on the wall.

Slightly confused, yet intrigued, the girl took a seat opposite Woozi and next to Jeonghan, waiting for the next steps as the two main songwriters of the group grinned at each other. Both were still carrying only a small amount of trust with them when it came to the program they were filming.

Yeongseok brought in a shopping trolly, that he placed on the table the two were sitting on, revealing it to be filled to the brim and explaining the meaning of it to the group. As they hadn't had time to pack anything, aka the crew didn't let them bring anything other than what they could carry on their body, the producing team would provide them with everything they could possibly need. 

Ranging from toiletries to clothing or even electronics, the crew had thought of every single thing. The first thing they presented were T-shirts. But not just any shirts. Custom-made T-shirts for each member. The group gazed at the item of clothing with wide eyes. Every shirt had a different design, fitted to the member whose name was written across the chest. Cherries for S.Coups, dumbells for Woozi, and so on.

Next was underwear. A true essential.

"Hold on," Minnie suddenly stopped. She pointed to a pack of black underwear with a rim she only knew too well. "I have to work for the underwear I model for? I thought I'd get them for free." As they were Calvin Klein underwear the production team had packed for her, the girl was surprised.

"AH!" Seungkwan suddenly shouted out. "You don't have to remind us of that photoshoot!" Getting a round of chuckles from the members in return, and a sarcastic big grin from the girl.

"You're welcome!" To which the '98 Liner only glanced at her in disgust.

"I'm sorry, Minnie-ya," Na PD told her. "But you also had to work to become an ambassador, right?"

With a squint, she glared at the man to her left. "Touché," she mumbled loud enough for the other members to hear, who laughed at the conversation.

The show continued as he presented the rest of the containments of the bag: Kimchi (jongga, of course), dumbells for whoever would want to work out, cup ramyeon, shorts, shampoo, a NANA Tour guidebook, zip lock bags, fans, wet tissues, stir-fried gochujang, toothbrushes and toothpaste, a bag, merch, and even earphones.

Then, last, but most definitely not least, the producer pulled out an envelope, with a quick side-remark.

"Jeonghan-ah, you'll really need this. You're going to cry," he explained. "For all of you, filled with his heart S.Coups' letter." Without missing a beat, the vice leader of the group suddenly erupted in fake tears, his groans echoing through the room. The girl couldn't help but chuckle as she nudged him with her elbow. Once he returned back to his normal state and Na PD sat back, she leaned over to the '95 Liner.

"Cheol told me to choose the letter."

"When?" He looked down at her in slight confusion.

"When we said goodbye to him. He mentioned a letter, but I was so confused about what he meant. But it must be this." Jeonghan nodded, leaning apart again to avoid suspicion from the production crew.

After they were introduced to all of the items, the group was clearly intrigued by what they could get. They knew they could, but how? Well, definitely not for free, of course. Yeongseok explained they would have to play a game, earning item after item with each round they'd win. The game they had decided on was 'Human Zero'. A game Seventeen was somewhat familiar with, but since they hadn't played it in quite a while, the worries were accordingly high.

But as soon as the game started, every fear had made its way out of the window. The group was surprisingly good at the game Na PD had chosen. In each round, the members made the right decision with who decided they should and shouldn't stand up. They were very good. Too good in the producer's opinion. Suspicion rose.

Even when they asked Hoshi what number Yeongseok should shout out next, the idol group stood strong and won another round.

It went as far as that the members even individually promised to stand up, making him almost want to shout out '13!' but if there's one thing Seventeen was flawless at, it would be teamwork - and teamwork only worked amongst the team, individuals outside of the group wouldn't understand.

Even though the idol group won each round unexpectedly, even with repeated attempts to change the game's rules and make it less likely for them to win and to prove they weren't cheating, it was still as entertaining as everyone expected. The entire crew was laughing along with the singers, surprised by the unexpected win after win.

The planned five rounds quickly turned into fifteen with Seventeen winning each round and the production even adding products they could win. But just because it didn't turn out the way the crew had planned, didn't mean it was any less entertaining. If anything, it made it all that much more amusing. It was the living proof that Seventeen talked, slept and breathed a language only they could understand.

"Just take all of this," Na PD sighed in defeat as he pointed to the prices on the table.

With all the interesting things they had earned, there was one thing that was still a mystery to the group and they'd finally get to reveal.

Jeonghan got handed over the letter Seungcheol had written to his members. He opened the envelope and opened the piece of paper, a piece of plastic being the first thing to catch their eyes.

Minnie glanced at it. Her facial expression of confusion quickly changed into surprise as she realised what the '95 Liner had just picked up - Coups' credit card.

"Oh wow..." Jeonghan gasped out loud along with Dokyeom who looked at the letter with wide eyes.

"That's not a letter," the girl commented, leaning in to try and read the words that were written on the piece of paper the card had come in. He read it out loud.

"Thank you for picking my letter. I feel so sorry for you guys going without any preparation. You can use this card however you want. I will be waiting for you well in Korea. You can use this card however you want, okay? Have fun. I love you."

A round of claps and gasps in affection filled the room.

"It really is his personal card," Dokyeom pointed out.

"His personal card?!"

"Woah... he really is the best leader," Minnie commented. A round of heads nodded in agreement.

They decided on Dino to keep the card safe as he was already the manager of the pocket money they had received before their departure.

So after a long day of travels and finally also a game, the group was released.

"Since it's late, hurry up and wash up. Change into these clothes and let's rest well," he dismissed the members.

"Good night," Minnie's voice echoed through the room as some members clapped in appreciation

"Well done, guys."

"Great job."

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