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stylesispunk · 2 months ago

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"Blind Faith" | part i

Priest!Joel Miller x nightclub dancer!reader

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summary: Running away from your home, you found a small town to stay. Once there, you met people and the priest, Joel.

wc: 5,2 k

warnings: age gap (Joel is in his late 40s, reader in her late 20s), religious conflict, a crisis of faith, temptation, forbidden attraction, forbidden romance, eventual smut, social expectations, nightlife themes, the contrast between joel's and your world, protests, mentions of exile, mention of politics. For clarification, reader is Latina on this one.

a/n: Hello. I wanted this story to be something beyond a forbidden romance between two people, after reading books and watching things I wanted to recall that reader's background comes from her being an activist. I want to approach all the topics with all due respect and I hope you do too, nevertheless, those are not going to be the main center of the story.

Happy reading and please tell me what are your thoughts about this one.

You had built a life most people only dreamed of. A life filled with passion, purpose, and the kind of joy that comes from doing what you love. You were surrounded by friends who understood you, a family you cherished with every fiber of your being, and a career that made waking up every morning feel like stepping into a dream.

You had studied dance at university, dedicating years to perfecting your craft until movement became your language, your art, your very identity. But you didn’t see yourself just as an artist, you were educated. You had spent your life asking questions, seeking answers, and standing for what was right. Politics fascinated you, not as a distant game played by men in suits, but as something alive, something that shaped the world around you. You were drawn to justice, to fairness, to the fight for those whose voices were drowned out by oppression.

Protests became as much a part of your life as well as performances. You had stood in the streets, chanting until your voice was hoarse, raising signs, raising awareness, raising hell when it was necessary. You believed in change, in the power of people united. But belief alone was never enough to stop what came next.

The illusion of safety shattered the moment power fell into the wrong hands. The men who took control of your country did not tolerate opposition. They did not welcome free thought or voices that questioned their authority. People like you, the educated, the artists, the teachers, all who had seek justice, were dangerous but because you couldn’t be controlled. Because you saw through their lies.

You remember the night your world collapsed. The hurried whispers in the dark. The fear in your mother’s eyes. The way your brother’s hands shook as he cut your hair, disguising you in a desperate attempt to buy you time.

He drove you to the airport as your heart pounded, then, you boarded that plane, leaving behind everything you had ever known. Your home. Your family. The life you had built.

And that is why you ended up here, in a bus driving to a foreign city located in California. The bus rattled as it rolled into town, the low hum of the engine filling the silence of the nearly empty cabin. You sat near the window, watching the Californian sun stretch across the dry fields, golden and endless, nothing like the dense, humid air of home.

Home.

The word sat heavy in your chest, a place you could no longer name without feeling the weight of exile pressing against your ribs.

This town was small, quieter than you expected, but that was good. You needed a quiet, a place to disappear, to become no one, to not be recognized. You stepped off the bus with only a battered leather suitcase and a name written on a slip of paper.

The paradise, a nightclub where a friend of a friend had said you might find work.

You pulled your coat tighter around you, though the air was warm. You must have learned to move carefully, to keep your eyes down, to not be recognized. But you couldn't help glancing up at the church as you stepped off the bus.

That’s when you saw him.

He was standing on the steps, speaking to a woman holding a little baby in her arms. There was, a priest, dressed in black, with tired eyes and a kindness in the way he bent his head to listen. He looked up, meeting your gaze for the first, just for a fleeting second. Then, his gaze left your eyes, leaving you with a weird feeling, warmth rising up to your cheeks.

You pulled the slip of paper from your pocket, staring at the name scrawled in fading ink staring at the name scrawled in fading ink. The paradise.

When you lifted your gaze again, the priest wasn't there anymore.

You sighed and adjusted the trap of your suitcase over your shoulder, feeling anxious creeping upon your skin as you try to picture your life in a foreign place.

You looked towards the church in the front of the street, where the priest had stood minutes before, perhaps trying to look and answer to your questions. You weren't a religious person, but you did believe in calls, and you felt the pulling thread forcing you to walk towards the church, as if something were calling you, perhaps someone.

Your feet found their way to the old church at the edge of town, its stone walls worn and cracked from years of standing against the wind. It loomed tall and hollow, the kind of place that had seen more sorrow than joy. You hesitated at the entrance, your heart beating faster than you liked.

Why am I even here? you thought. But the pull wouldn’t let you turn away.

You stepped inside.

The stained glass cast soft, fractured colors onto the worn wooden pews, painting the empty space in hues of crimson, gold, and deep blue. The scent of burning wax and old books filled your senses, grounding you in a place that felt both foreign and strangely familiar.

Your footsteps echoed as you moved deeper inside, the vast silence of the church swallowing every sound. You weren’t sure what you were looking for, an answer, a sign, something to tell you that coming here wasn’t a mistake.

The priest where nowhere to be found, so you took seat in one of the wooden benches, perhaps waiting, perhaps resting.

You got yourself comfortable, the sleep catching upon you. Your body felt heavy, exhaustion creeping into your bones the moment you allowed yourself to rest. The weight of the suitcase by your side, the long journey that had brought you here, it all pressed down on you at once. The church, with its quiet stillness, felt like the safest place you’d been in weeks.

That was where Joel Miller found you.

On a quiet evening when the chapel was empty, save for the flickering candlelight and the faint scent of incense clinging to the air. You were curled up on one of the wooden pews, arms folded beneath your head, chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep.

He cleared his throat, but you didn’t stir. He hesitated before reaching out, tapping your shoulder. “Miss?” His voice came softer than he expected. “You can’t sleep here.”

"Father, do you always wake up strangers like this?"

Your voice was thick with sleep, eyes blinking against the dim glow of the chapel’s candlelight. The air smelled of old wood, wax, and something faintly metallic, like rain on stone. You looked young like this, your face soft, but Joel knew better. You shouldn't be older than thirty.

"You can’t sleep here," he repeated.

You smirked, rubbing your eyes. "Didn’t know God kicked people out."

Joel exhaled sharply. The world outside was changing, rock ‘n’ roll, free love, protests, women in miniskirts. But in this town, in this chapel, things were supposed to stay the same.

This town hadn’t met those changes.

Joel stood over you, stiff-backed, his fingers still hovering near your shoulder from where he’d tapped you awake. He shouldn’t have noticed the way your legs stretched across the pew, the way your blouse, too low-cut for a place like this, shifted as you moved, leaving no place to imagination.

Joel exhaled sharply. Lord, give me patience.

"This isn’t a shelter," he said. "If you need a place—"

"I'm not homeless" Your tone was firm and final, as if you were done, but there was something else in your voice too, something he couldn’t quite place, but it hinted sadness. "I just got into town," you admitted after a beat, glancing toward the stained-glass windows, dark now with the night. "Didn’t know where else to go. At least not tonight."

Joel studied you, his chest tightening."Are you in trouble?"

A small, humorless laugh left you. "Depends on what you call trouble."

Silence filled the chapel, thick and unmoving. The rain had stopped, leaving only the distant hum of the highway beyond the hills.

"You shouldn’t be here," he said finally. But his voice had lost its authority, had softened just enough that he felt the weight of it settle in his own bones.

“Why?” You asked

Joel exhaled slowly, shifting on his feet. He looked down at you, his expression unreadable, but there was something in the way his jaw tensed, something he was holding back.

"You can’t stay here," he said again, voice firm but not unkind.

You sat up properly this time, stretching your legs out in front of you, your boots scraping against the floor. His eyes flicked to them, brief, barely noticeable, you caught it, but you chose not to say anything.

"Didn’t mean to cause a problem," you said, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

"You’re not a problem," he said, then hesitated. "But this isn’t a place for…"

You arched a brow. “For what? For a woman like me?”

For someone wearing boots and a blouse that clung a little too tight, a skirt that rode too high when you stretched out.

He didn’t utter that the sentence. Instead, he sighed, raking a hand through his hair.

"Where you planning on staying tonight?" he asked.

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "Haven’t figured that part out yet."

Joel frowned. "You got family here?"

"No father, I don’t."

"Friends?"

"No."

His gaze flickered, something unreadable passing through it. So, you’re alone.

You weren’t sure if that unsettled him or if it was something else.

He shifted again, exhaling through his nose like he was about to say something he’d regret.

"There’s a place near the church," he finally said. "A small guesthouse. Church used to use it for traveling pastors, but it’s empty now. You can stay there tonight."

You studied him. "Why?"

His brow furrowed. "What do you mean, why?"

"I mean, why help me? You don’t know me."

Joel was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was quieter. "That doesn’t mean I should turn you away."

You held his gaze, searching for something in it—hesitation, reluctance. But there was only conviction.

And yet you could feel something else there, buried beneath all that righteousness behind his clothes.

Something you hadn’t named yet.

"Alright, Father," you said finally, standing up. "Lead the way."

He hesitated, just for a second. Then, he turned, stepping toward the chapel doors, and you followed.

Back at his house behind the church, Joel lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. The wooden beams above cast long shadows in the dim glow of the lamp beside his bed. He should’ve been sleeping, his body was tired enough for I, but his mind refused to settle. It was noisier than ever.

His thoughts kept drifting back to something else, to you. To the way you’d looked at him when you stood up from that pew, like you already knew he wasn’t as correct as he pretended to be.

To your voice, husky with sleep, the way you stretched without a care in the world. To your legs.

Joel shut his eyes. Lord, give me strength.

It had been a passing glance, barely a flicker of a thought, but now it gnawed at him.

He had seen a lot of things in his years as a priest. A lot of people in need, a lot of wandering souls. But he wasn’t blind. He could recognize beauty when it was right in front of him. And tonight, for the first time in a long time, it wasn’t just his faith speaking.

It was something else. It felt dangerous.

He turned onto his side, sighing through his nose. This was just another test. He’d seen men struggle with temptation, had guided them through it. This was no different.

You were just a woman in need. That’s all. That’s all.

And yet, sleep never came easy that night.

The early sun cast long golden beams through the chapel windows as Joel made his way to the guesthouse. He carried a small plate of toast and eggs, as a gesture of hospitality. He thought about last night, on how he hadn’t offered food or a cup of tea.

He wanted to show kindness, but the second he stepped inside, he knew.

The bed was made, the blanket neatly folded. No sign of anyone.

And on the small wooden table by the window, a note.

Joel set the plate down and picked it up, his fingers tightening around the paper.

"Thank you for your help, Father."

That was it. No name, no explanation. Just a quiet departure, as if you’d never been there at all.

Joel exhaled slowly, staring at the empty room.

Something settled deep in his chest, something that felt too much like disappointment.

He was afraid of the fleeting feelings coming to him. Because last night, he’d told himself you were just passing through. But now, standing here, he wasn’t sure he believed it.

You were strong and brave enough this day. When you found yourself in the front of the paradise, the neon light flickered weakly in the daylight, music pulsed behind the doors, muffled but steady, a heartbeat beneath the night.

You inhale deeply, pushing the door behind.

The club smelled of sweat, perfume, and cigarette smoke. It wasn’t alive as you expected to be during the day, but there were men in tight pants, women in flowing skirts, people who existed somewhere in between, all shining under the low, colored lights of the place.

This wasn’t the kind of stage you were used to. But it was something.

Behind the bar, a broad-shouldered man with a neatly trimmed beard was pouring whiskey into a glass, his gold rings catching the light. He spotted you instantly, eyes narrowing slightly before softening.

“You must be the new girl,” he said, voice thick with an accent she couldn’t place.

You hesitated for a moment, but then you nodded.

The man wiped his hands on a towel, then leaned over the counter, studying you.

“You dance?” He asked.

You lifted your chin. “Yes.”

He smirked. “We’ll see about that.”

A warm hand touched your back.

Your turned to find a woman at your side, tall, dark-skinned, with a shimmering dress that clung to her curves. Her lipstick was deep red, her eyes lined in black.

“Come on, cariño,” the woman purred. “Let’s get you ready.”

You swallowed, but you followed her backstage.

Backstage was a blur of colors, perfume, and laughter. The other dancers moved around you effortlessly, adjusting their costumes, fixing their makeup, teasing each other in rapid-fire whispers. You stood still, taking it all in. People here were wild, free and beautiful, and you smiled at that.

The woman who had led you back, Carmen, handed you a black slip dress. It was simple, barely more than a tiny thing of fabric, with thin straps that draped off your shoulders.

“You need shoes?” Carmen asked, watching as you slipped it over your head.

You shook your head “I’ll dance barefoot.”

Carmen raised a perfectly sculpted brow but didn’t argue. “Suit yourself.”

The music outside shifted, growing louder. Your stomach tightened.

You had danced for crowds a thousand times before, but never like this. This wasn’t a stage with velvet curtains, with polished floors and orchestrated movements. This was something raw and new for you, something meant to be felt rather than admired.

You exhaled slowly.

You’ve already lost everything. What’s left to be afraid of?

A hand touched your shoulder. She turned to find Carmen smiling. “You’re up next, estrella.”

The lights were dim when you stepped onto the small, elevated platform.

The club wasn’t packed, but there were enough people to make the air thick with murmurs and expectation. A few heads turned, eyes gliding over you as you took your place.

You closed your eyes.

The music started, a slow, sultry rhythm, deep bass vibrating through your bones.

And then you moved. At first, it was instinct. The slow bend of your knees, the gentle sway of your hips. You let the music guide you, feeling it the way you once had in the studio, back when you were still the dancer, before you became the fugitive.

Your arms lifted, fluid and controlled, your body following in careful, deliberate motions.

And then you forgot to be careful. You turned, arching into a spin, the hem of your dress fluttering around your thighs. You let your feet move the way they had been trained to—pointed toes, precise steps, every motion a whisper of the ballerina you once were.

A gasp rippled through the crowd.

Someone murmured, “Mierda… she can dance.”

You barely heard them. For the first time in months, you felt like yourself again. Not a girl running, not a girl hiding, but a girl who had been born to dance.

You let yourself go. By the time the music ended, a hush had fallen over the club.

And then—applause. You stood there, breathing hard, your skin glowing under the soft red lights.

When you stepped down from the platform, Carmen was waiting, grinning.

“Dios mío,” she said, shaking her head. “Where the hell did you come from?”

You just smiled. You didn’t have an answer for that. But for the first time since you had arrived, you felt like you had found a piece of home to stay in.

The night air was warmer as you made your way back to the church, the scent of warm pastries wrapped in cloth filling your hands. The applause from the club still echoed in your ears, the feeling of movement still lingering in your limbs. You felt light. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt less lonely.

You paused at the entrance, looking up at the towering stone structure, its stained glass barely illuminated by the sunlight. The contrast was almost laughable.

The dancer and the priest. A contradiction in itself.

With a breath, you stepped inside.

He was there, seated at one of the pews, his back turned to you. His posture was stiff, as if he’d been deep in thought, or perhaps in prayer.

“Father.”

He turned sharply at your voice, his dark eyes immediately landing on you. For a moment, he said nothing, just studying you as if trying to figure out why you had come back.

You held up the bundle in your hands. “I brought you something.”

His gaze flickered to the wrapped pastries before settling back on your face. Slowly, he stood, walking toward you with careful, deliberate steps. When he got close, the faint scent of smoke and candle wax clung to him.

“You didn’t have to,” he muttered, but he still took them from you. His fingers brushed yours briefly, warm, rough, calloused. The hands of a man who had worked long before he had ever been a priest.

You shrugged. “It’s a thank-you. For helping me yesterday.”

He watched you for a beat before nodding. “Did you find a place to stay?”

“I did.”

He didn’t ask where. He just looked at you, waiting. Maybe he wanted to know. Maybe he already had an idea.

You weren’t going to tell him either. Instead, you smiled. “Don’t eat them all at once, Father.”

Joel’s eyes flickered down, lingering for a second longer than they should have. You noticed.

It was brief, so brief you might have convinced yourself you imagined it. But you didn’t. His gaze had traced over the curve of your waist, the way the fabric of your blouse rested against your skin, the gentle swell of your collarbones. The flicker of something unreadable in his expression disappeared just as quickly as it had come.

He cleared his throat, shifting his weight. “Do you—” He hesitated. “Would you like to talk?”

You raised a brow. “Talk?”

He nodded, tilting his head toward one of the wooden pews. “If you want.”

A small part of you wanted to tease him, ask if priests usually invited strange women to talk in dimly lit churches. But you swallowed the thought.

Instead, you sighed, walking past him and settling onto the worn wooden bench. You crossed one leg over the other, tapping your fingers idly on the surface. Joel sat beside you, close, but not too close.

The silence stretched between you, heavy but not uncomfortable.

“Is this the part where I have to confess my sins?” you asked, breaking the quiet.

Joel exhaled through his nose, almost like a quiet laugh. “Only if you want to.”

You studied him for a moment. The way his hands rested on his lap; fingers curled slightly as if he wasn’t quite at ease. The tension in his shoulders, the quiet restraint in his posture.

You tilted your head. “What about you, Father?”

His gaze lifted to meet yours.

“What do you believe in?” you asked.

Joel didn’t answer. His jaw clenched, something shifting in his expression. He looked away, staring at the rows of empty pews, at the altar beyond. Instead, he let out a slow breath, his fingers drumming idly against his knee. Then, without looking at you, he asked, “Why’d you come here?”

You blinked at him. “Here? To the church?”

He nodded. “Last night”

You considered lying. It would be easier. But something about the way he was looking at the altar, like it held answers he wasn’t sure he wanted, made you tell the truth.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I just… felt like I had to. Like, something just called me, you know?”

His gaze flicked to you then, studying, searching. “You’re not religious.” It wasn’t a question.

You smirked. “Is it that obvious?”

Joel didn’t return the smile. He just kept watching you, unreadable. “Then what are you looking for?”

That was a harder question. Peace? A sense of belonging? A place to rest? You weren’t sure.

You hesitated, then shrugged. “Something different. A fresh start.”

Joel hummed, thoughtful. He leaned back slightly, stretching his legs out in front of him. “And you think you’ll find that here?”

You sighed, tilting your head toward him. “What’s with the interrogation, Father? Trying to save my soul?”

This time, he did smile. Barely. Just a flicker of amusement in his expression. “I think your soul is doing just fine on its own.”

That shouldn’t have made your heart stutter the way it did.

Joel shifted, bracing his elbows on his knees. His voice was quieter when he spoke again. “You got people looking for you?”

Your breath caught. There it was. The question you’d been dreading.

You glanced away, suddenly very interested in the cracks in the wooden pew beneath you. “No,” you said eventually. “No one’s looking.”

Joel didn’t press. He just nodded slowly, like he had believed you.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The church was silent except for the occasional creak of wood settling, the distant sound of footsteps from somewhere outside.

Then Joel inhaled, shifting beside you. “You should be careful.”

You turned to him, frowning. “Why?”

His jaw tightened. He hesitated, then sighed. “This town—it’s small. People notice things.”

Your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral. “And what have they noticed about me?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. His gaze dropped to your hands resting in your lap, then back up to your face.

“Nothing,” he said finally. “Yet.”

The word lingered between you, heavier than the silence that followed.

“What about?” you asked, “What do you notice about me?”

Joel didn’t answer at first. He just looked at you, eyes unreadable, something working behind them, something you couldn’t quite place.

You held his gaze, waiting, heartbeat steady but slow.

Then, he exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly. “I noticed you don’t like talking about yourself.”

Your lips quirked. “Maybe I just don’t like talking to priests.”

That got the barest huff of amusement from him. “Could be.” His fingers tapped lightly against his knee before he added, “But I think it’s more than that.”

You arched a brow. “Oh?”

Joel nodded, his voice quieter when he spoke again. “I think you’ve been running from something”

That made your stomach tighten.

Your first instinct was to deny it, to smirk, roll your eyes, brush it off like he was just another man who thought he had you figured out. But Joel wasn’t just another man. And the way he was looking at you, like he could see past whatever mask you were wearing, made it harder to lie.

Your fingers curled slightly against your lap. “And what makes you think that?”

Joel leaned back slightly, stretching one arm along the pew. His eyes didn’t leave yours. “The way you don’t settle,” he said simply. “Not even when you’re sitting still.”

The words sent something sharp through your chest.

You swallowed, looking away, suddenly feeling too seen, too exposed. “Maybe I just don’t like these wooden benches.”

Joel hummed, like he wasn’t convinced. But he didn’t push, instead he smiled at you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The dim glow of candlelight flickered against the stone walls, casting long shadows across the empty church.

Then, finally, Joel shifted beside you. “Did you eat?”

The abrupt change caught you off guard. You blinked, glancing at him. “What?”

His expression was unreadable again, but his voice was casual when he repeated, “Did you eat?”

You frowned. “Why?”

Joel sighed, shaking his head. “Because if you haven’t, I got food in the back.”

You tilted your head, a small smirk playing at your lips. “Are you asking me if I want to eat these pastries with you, Father?”

Joel huffed, shaking his head as he glanced down at the bag of pastries still resting between you. “You brought them” he said gruffly. “Seems only fair.”

You pretended to consider it, tapping a finger against your knee. “Well, I supposed I must take you for a man who shares.”

He shot you a look, one that might’ve been stern if not for the flicker of something else in his eyes. Amusement, maybe. Or something deeper, something you weren’t ready to name.

“Don’t make me take it back,” he muttered.

You bit back a grin, shrugging as you reached for the bag. “Well, if you insist.”

Joel stood, nodding his head toward the back of the church. “Come on. I’m not going sit out here and eat in the dark like some kind of—” he gestured vaguely before shaking his head. “Just come on.”

You followed, the sound of your footsteps echoing against the stone floors. The air was warmer in the back rooms, less hollow than the empty church.

Joel pulled out a chair for you at a small wooden table, and you sat, watching as he grabbed a couple of plates and a knife.

“Tea?” he asked.

You arched a brow. “Didn’t take you for a tea drinker.”

Joel shot you another look. “Or coffee. Pick one.”

You hummed, pretending to consider. “Tea.”

He nodded, setting a teapot on the stove before sitting across from you. The candlelight flickered between you, soft and warm.

You broke off a piece of pastry, popping it into your mouth. “Not bad,” you admitted.

Joel took a bite himself, chewing slowly. Then, he glanced at you,

You weren’t looking at him, too focused on the pastry in your hands, the way the flaky crust crumbled against your fingers. But he was looking at you.

He hadn’t meant to, not like this, not for this long. But there was something about the way you sat there, elbows on the table, the candlelight casting soft golden hues over your skin. Something about the curve of your lips as you chewed thoughtfully, the way your lashes lowered when you focused.

You were different. A fresh breath in a town that had long gone stale, where faces blurred together, where days passed without change. But you—

You weren’t part of this place. Not yet. And maybe that was what drew him in.

His gaze flickered lower, just for a second. The delicate slope of your collarbones, the soft neckline of your blouse that dipped just enough to hint at what lay beneath. He swallowed, jaw tensing, and forced himself to look away, to focus on something else, the flickering candle, the steam rising from the kettle.

“You’re quiet,” you murmured, your voice pulling him back.

Joel cleared his throat. “Just thinking.”

You tilted your head, studying him now, those sharp eyes of yours peeling away layers he hadn’t realized were there. “About what?”

He could’ve lied. Could’ve told you something simple, something easy.

Instead, he exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Nothing important.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. You didn’t push, just took another bite of pastry.

And Joel? Joel tried not to look at your lips when you did.

The teapot whistled, breaking the silence. Joel pushed back his chair, a little too fast, the legs scraping against the wooden floor. He muttered something under his breath, maybe a curse, maybe just an exhale—as he stood and turned toward the stove.

You watched him, chin resting in your hand, fingers tapping absently against your cheek.

He moved with quiet fast, pouring the hot water into two mismatched mugs, the steam curling up between you like an unspoken thought.

“Sugar?” he asked.

You hummed, pretending to think. “Do you have honey?”

Joel shot you a dry look but opened a small cupboard, rummaging until he found a half-used jar. He set it down in front of you, his fingers brushing the edge of your mug as he did.

You wrapped your hands around the warm ceramic, taking a slow sip.

Joel sat back down, quieter this time, his elbows resting on the worn wooden table.

You tilted your head. “So, do priests always offer tea and pastries to strangers passing by?”

A corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile. “No.”

You raised a brow. “Just me, then?”

Joel held your gaze, something unreadable flickering in the depths of his brown eyes. Then he looked away, took a slow sip of his own tea.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just you.”

You set your cup down gently, the porcelain clinking softly against the table. "Thanks for being so kind to me." you said, your voice low, more than just for the tea and pastries. It was for the quiet, for the refuge, for something you couldn't quite explain.

Joel didn’t respond right away, but you saw the faintest shift in his posture, the tightness in his shoulders easing just a little. His eyes flickered back to yours, and there was something different about the way he looked at you now, less guarded, almost as if he’d let a small part of himself slip into the space between you.

He nodded, almost imperceptibly, then reached for the teapot, his fingers brushing the warm ceramic. "You don't have to thank me," he said quietly. "It's... it’s nothing."

But you both knew it wasn’t nothing. It never was.

Behind his intentions there was always kindness, but now something new flickered.

A temptation threatening his faith, like the world had set on fire the moment you glances met for the first time and he wanted the flames to catch him to be saved by you.

tags: if you want to be removed, you're free to tell me.

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i-like-writing-stuff · 8 months ago

Text

never changing [ five hargreeves x reader ]

a/n: hi y’all! it’s been a hot minute since i’ve been on here, but after the absolute shit show that season 4 was, some sparks ignited in me to write up anything to take my mind off it 🙌

its not anything crazy, just fluff and banter since i haven’t written anything in years so it may be as poorly redacted as this season lmao

summary: five and y/n attend their niece birthday party together, yet separate

“Happy birthday, little Gracie!” You smiled widely, trying not to drop the wrapped present box as the six year old girl jumped into your arms, “Oh my gosh, look at you! You’re just getting prettier by day, aren’t you?”

You had just got off work in a hurry to make your appearance at the little girl’s birthday party at a decent time, in spite of the amount of paperwork you managed to bury yourself in lately. You knew how much it would have meant for the celebrated one to show up and you couldn’t bear to let her down, especially on her birthday.

After spending most of your life working for the Commission, and then a decent amount of time exhausting yourself in trying to stop multiple Apocalypses, your last six years have been pretty quiet as a lawyer. You really wanted to get out of the whole assassin thing, but at the same time couldn’t exactly move on from the thrill of the work field. Your career as a lawyer took off really well these past years, but inevitably it came along with the cost of always being stuck at work, so whenever your niece got the chance to see you, she was truly enthusiastic.

“Auntie Y/N!” She wrapped her tiny arms around your neck, engulfing you into a tight hug, “You are here!”

Nonetheless, these six years have been truly and undeniably the most peaceful time of your life for as long as you could remember.

“You literally saw each other the other day,” Five raised a brow, watching you and the celebrated one act as if you hadn’t seen each other in years.

You and the little girl shared a look, before rolling your eyes and turning to glare at the man next to you. Ever since Grace learned how to talk, you and her would gang up on her uncle for your amusement, especially since he was so keen on entertaining the banter.

These past six year have gone by in the blink of an eye, yet at the same time at a slow and steady pace. You spent most of your time working anyway, but still kept in touch with the seven siblings you’d grown to love.

Some in different ways than others.

“Uncle Five, you’re always more excited than me to see Aunt Y/N,” Gracie waved him off, making you burst out laughing, “Jealousy isn’t a good look on you anyway.”

“What is a good look on him anyway?” You smirked, making the little girl laugh, as Five swept her into his arms;

“Okay, munchkin, it’s your birthday today, but tomorrow I’m going back to bullying you,” He joked, causing you both to laugh, before the two shared a hug before you, “You’re lucky your gift has no return policy.”

The party had already started by the time you made it there. The playground was huddled by other kids around Grace’s age, along with their parents. The music was playing loudly over the laughter of children and you were pretty sure that most of the family had already arrived. It was not the most ideal gathering, but you tried your best to keep in touch with most of the family to your best capabilities.

“Y/N, I’m so glad you could make it!” Luther smiled, appearing from the crowd of guests, immediately giving you a big hug as his niece was still wrapped around Five, “Haven’t seen you since Thanksgiving!”

“Big shot lawyer doesn’t always have the time to stay in touch with family, huh?” Diego teased you, following suit, as you rolled your eyes, dropping off his daughter’s gift in his hands.

“Big shot delivery driver doesn’t know the phone works both ways, huh?” You smirked, putting your hands on your hips.

Diego laughed out loud as he gave you a hug, always in the mood for a back and forth short banter with you. After all, you truly were family, even if you didn’t always have the time to be present in the Hargreeves’ day to day lives. You may have met them in the original timeline in 2019, when you accidentally time traveled with your former partner at the Commission, Five, but after all you’ve been through, you didn’t need to have grown up together or be blood related to be considered that. And you truly were grateful for each and every single one of them, in spite of the many differences over the years.

After everything that’s happened six years ago at Hotel Oblivion, everyone went their separate ways. Allison was back with her daughter while trying to further her acting career and also help Klaus stay on the sober line, Viktor had moved to Canada where he opened a bar, Diego and Lila had three kids, Luther was “professionally dancing”, Ben had some run-ins with the law and Five, ironically enough, was working for the CIA.

“Well, you two are as annoying as always,” Ben told you and his brother, making Diego roll his eyes as he walked towards the gift table to set down your present.

“Please try to stay out of prison at least for the remainder of the year,” You joked with the man, making him roll his eyes as he hugged you loosely, “There’s only so much favors I could owe the DA.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Ben groaned, “I don’t even know why they let you work at the law firm since you still look like a prepubescent with no boobs. Even Five got a growth spurt.”

“I sized up to B recently, thank you very much,” You nudged his shoulder, before placing your hands on your chest in an offended manner.

“Okay, Gracie, not a conversation you’d wanna hear,” Five spoke up, putting his niece down, “Your aunt needs to learn some etiquette on how to act around children.”

“Funny coming from you,” You couldn’t help but wave him off.

You didn’t come in with Five at the party, but as fate had it, you did run into him as you were parking your car. He had just gone out to his brother’s dusty van to bring inside some more cookies for the guests. You kept in touch with him as well, but not as often as you would have liked. It’s not all that serious, but given the fact that you were a lawyer still climbing your way to the top and him being a top notch CIA agent, you didn’t exactly have the time to hang out.

At least, not as much as you’d have liked.

Five was watching you with a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and his hands in his pockets. He had the same look on his face as always when watching you. He had the same smile when he saw you in combat for the first time during your first mission for the Commission together, the same look in his eyes when you appeared for the first time in 2019 alongside him in your teen bodies. The same posture he had when he met you again in 1963 after months of not seeing each other.

He wore the same love on his face while looking at you when you and the siblings split up after the events at Oblivion.

And never once did you notice that.

Not once in these past six years you let your feelings surface.

“You know Grace is my niece too, right?” He couldn’t drop the small smile even if he wanted to.

“Since when are you such a family man?” You raised a brow, trying to keep a confident composure.

“Oh, something changed in me between the first and third time I traded the world for my siblings,” He lightly shrugged his shoulders, making you roll your eyes at the sarcastic remark.

You two never changed.

“Please, I was there for the twins birth,” You waved him off.

You rarely see Five, and even when you do you always try to act normal, as you do around the rest of the Hargreeves. Everyone tried to get you two together at first, since the apocalypse was over and there was no reason for you to not get together, right?

You really wished it was that easy. In hindsight, maybe it was. But you couldn’t take any chances in losing Five forever if something were to go wrong. Maybe some would see it as something stupid, or as if you wasted so many years, but to you- mentally, you were almost seventy, while physically nineteen. You had so much time ahead of you now, all that mattered was to get a stable career first.

Five let a chuckle escape, shaking his head in disbelief, as he looked at the floor for a couple of seconds. When he looked back at you, you tried to keep your composure. You couldn’t help but feel pathetic that after all these years, your heart still skipped a beat whenever he’d look at you.

“You’re doing that thing again where you forget that some other people are still around, guys,” Luther raised his hand, grabbing your attention once again.

“I got bored of watching seventy year old virgins,” Ben shrugged his shoulders, “I’m gonna go get shitfaced.”

“Always a delight seeing you, Benjamin,” Five said, as Luther followed the ex-tentacle boy suit to make re he was not about to actually get drunk;

“This is a six year old’s birthday party!”

You giggled, watching the two brothers speed away while arguing amongst the kids in the crowd. When your eyes laid back on Five, who was intently watching you, you couldn’t help but feel a small blush creep its way in your cheeks.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Spit it out, Hargreeves.”

“I said it’s nothing!”

“Fuck you.”

“Why?”

You watched him dumbfounded for a couple of seconds because of the only answer he could come up with, before walking away, hoping he would follow you.

When he did try to keep up with you, you looked away to hide the proud smile. Even after all these years, things were still the same with him. He was still so eager to spend time with you, he was still smiling at you and entertaining your conversation.

“Aunt Y/N, Uncle Five, come play in the ball pit!” Gracie ushered you from afar, already tucked in the plastic colorful balls.

“You heard the birthday girl!” You smiled, grabbing his hand to drag Five after you.

Even after all these years he would instantly lock his fingers with yours.

#the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy x reader #five hargreeves #five hargreeves imagines #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves imagine #tua x reader #tua season 4 #the umbrella academy imagines #the umbrella academy season 4

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yamujiburo · 1 year ago

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Why I Love Hanamusa

I get this question very frequently but have never given a really in depth, definitive answer. All just kinda implied through my comics and spread out asks. So here's this I guess! Long post ahead:

First, as a Pokémon fan in her mid 20s, I love seeing a ship where the characters are both in their mid/late 20s. Already, they’re much more relatable to me and my current experiences. Most Pokémon ships are between preteens, which can be cute but ultimately don’t interest me as much as they used to when I was a kid myself. Not enough to get super invested in and draw a lot of fanart for anyways haha.

I’ll also start by saying that canon doesn’t always influence whether or not I’ll ship something. I’m much more drawn to potential. Could the characters work together? Do their personalities work together in a nice way? I feel like this so much of fanon is anyways. Especially with queer relationships because they’re rarely depicted in the first place. A lot of the context for these ships is usually up to the fans to piece together or make up in general. And that’s the fun part to me!

Jessie and Delia have only met in the anime a handful of times. Any interaction they’ve had has either been pleasant, or just a typical Team Rocket interaction, with Delia dismissing them/not seeing them as a threat. Already a great jumping off point for me since, truly, they don’t have any actual beef or true, ill feelings towards each other. It’s not TOO out of the realm of possibility for them to potentially fall for each other. “But Jessie chased Delia’s son around trying to steal his Pokémon!” That’s where that dismissive and aloof attitude that Delia has comes into play. I’ll go more into Delia’s whole deal a bit later but I do think this aspect of her personality is a large reason why this ship can work. It’s not that she doesn’t care that Jessie has a bad past, but she can tell that, on the inside, Jessie’s a good person. And, in a scenario where Jessie is trying to become a better person, is forgiving enough to give her a shot. I feel like this is such a solid foundation for a ship. A character who has done wrong but is trying to be better and another character who is willing to help them be better. A classic dynamic!

It’s not just one-sided though; where Jessie is the only one benefitting and learning from the relationship. I believe Delia could get a lot out of being with someone like Jessie. To understand why, I think it’s important to know these characters’ respective backstories.

Jessie is an orphan/foster child who grew up in poverty. Her mother Miyamoto (from The Birth of Mewtwo) was a Team Rocket operative herself, who went on a mission to find Mew. In order to do this, she had to leave Jessie when she was just a toddler. Unfortunately, Miyamoto went MIA on her mission leaving Jessie to more or less fend for herself. Jessie went through life with zero stability, evident by her MANY different careers and constant moving around. It’s implied in the show that she went from foster home to foster home, and later in life tried being an idol, weather girl, florist, wine connoisseur, actress, most notably a nurse and finally a Team Rocket field agent. And even while in Team Rocket, she, James and Meowth were always doing odd jobs to get by. We see that Jessie used to be a sweet kid, and even adult, but the world and her circumstances repeatedly did her dirty, leading her to become the character we know today. Hot tempered, mean, selfish, etc. But despite this, her soft side does still shine through for the people and Pokémon she cares about. She is incredibly loyal.

Delia, unbeknownst to a lot of fans, also had a rough past (see Pocket Monsters: The Animation). Like Jessie, she had a lot of dreams and aspirations like wanting to be a model and even a trainer. But when she was 10, her mother didn’t let her, telling her that she had to stay home and learn to run the family restaurant (she’s an only child). Delia’s father left her and her mother to be a trainer, and never returned. When she was 18, she married Ash’s father and became pregnant shortly after. But right after Ash was born, he also set off to be a Pokémon trainer. And soon after that, her mother passed away, leaving Delia with just the restaurant and baby Ash. This gives so much context to Delia’s attitude in the show. We see that Delia is pained whenever Ash leaves on a journey, but she never shows that pain to anyone. ESPECIALLY Ash. She’s very quick to shoo him off when he shows any sign of wanting to go on another journey and even when he returns home, she acts more excited to see Pikachu than him almost every time. Without all this backstory, it’s easy to just read this as a funny gag, BUT with context, I think it really shows how quickly Delia shuts down and detaches in order to not confront her own feelings. She’s afraid of losing people and getting hurt again.

All that said, I think Jessie and Delia provide each other with EXACTLY what the other needs.

Aside from becoming rich and famous, Jessie’s biggest aspiration is to get married. In my opinion, this is more so an underlying want for love and stability. There is no one more stable in the show than Delia. Delia’s lived in Pallet her whole life, she’s worked at the same restaurant since she was young and she is always there when Ash comes back home. She has all the love, patience and stability Jessie needs and craves. While forgiving, Delia’s not stupid and can keep Jessie in check. Delia’s also just an angel, which I feel, would make Jessie want to be better. And on top of all this, on more of a surface level, Delia’s a chef and excellent cook. She shows love through cooking and Jessie, who grew up poor, regularly starving and eating snow, happily receives that love. Jessie’s able to live a happy and healthy life with someone like Delia.

Delia, as stated, is very stable. Likely pretty monotonous and solitary, especially living in such a small town like Pallet. This isn’t a bad thing but it’s a little sad when you consider that Delia also had dreams of traveling, being a model and a trainer. She had to give up so many dreams in order to fulfill her duties as a restaurant owner and mother. And even now, when Ash is off on his journey, she feels the need to always be home and be that stable pillar, leaving behind any ambitions she had, thinking it’s too late for her (she’s only 29 btw). But then along comes Jessie, dangerous, passionate, an absolute firecracker. Someone who’s whole life has been about chasing dreams and either, never giving up on them or finding a new dream to chase. Upon learning about Delia’s past aspirations, I could see Jessie pushing her towards them, letting her know that life’s too short and she has nothing to lose from trying. On top of this, Jessie’s also loyal. She, James and Meowth are depicted as doing anything for anyone who gives them food or shows them kindness. Delia does both so there’s no way Jessie would leave her. This fulfills an essential need for Delia, who is afraid of the people in her life leaving her.

There’s so much potential for mutual growth and learning between these two and I adore that. They compliment each other, they help each other and they bring out the best qualities in one another.

I’m not really sure how to end this and I could truly talk about them even more but I don’t want this to be tooooo long haha. OH I could end it with maybe the most funny aspect of this ship that I've brushed over and also what drew me to it in the first place. Jessie. As Ash’s stepmom. THE END.

#hanamusa #hanamusashipping

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jesuistrestriste · 1 year ago

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♡ Cooking & Cleaning; Art Donaldson x Reader ♡

nsfw! (18+) cw: service sub!art donaldson, dom!reader, afab/fem reader, use of ma'am as an honorific, brief food play, oral sex (reader receiving), begging, handjob, brief edging, praise, degradation, multiple orgasms (character receiving), dry orgasm

wc: 6.3 k (whoops)

note: this was pulled from the most depraved parts of my brain. i refuse to be held accountable for the absolute filth this contains ! :)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆.

The very second that your key is in the apartment door and you're finally home, you find your legs nearly collapsing underneath you as you step inside and kick off your black kitten heels.

"God," you groan, shutting the door behind you before you move to peel your chic new blazer off of your shoulders. You toss it onto the coatrack nearby and bring a handful of your fingers up to your forehead to rub at it tensely, sighing deeply.

It had been a long day at the USTA (United States Tennis Association) office, and all you wanted to do was come home and see your husband.

After Art had lost several important and consecutive tennis matches, as well as his confidence on the court (despite his actual tennis skills still being phenomenal -- he just psyched himself out too much), he had decided to give up his life as a professional athlete.

At first, this devastated you. Not only did you love your partner and believe in him throughout his career, as well as believing in his very real ability to eventually win the US Open, but this decision of his also meant that your position as his coach would become obsolete..

You actually became quite anxious about you and Art's future at the time.. you had needed a purpose, and so did he. You both were just those kinds of people; you and him both wanted to feel that you were contributing to something bigger than just yourselves, and that you were being useful to someone or something.

Luckily, his many previous years of successful tennis playing had scored you and him a shit ton of wealth. Like, genuinely a lot. You were beyond grateful, but you still wanted a life of your own. You didn't dare to think about the idea of becoming a stay-at-home wife while he went out and did whatever he wanted. Yuck. It just wasn't for you.

Your fears and inner turmoil about this change in your lives were quickly eased once Art had sat you down about two weeks after he had left his tennis career behind. He had taken your hands in his, smiled softly like he always did, and told you that he wanted to stay at home and take care of everything in it while you went out and continued your career in the field of professional athletics.

Of course, you immediately and excitedly agreed with the idea of this new plan, and then that was that!

You two developed new lives and new roles as people over a short period of time, but it didn't take away from the love you two shared. That always stayed consistent and at the center of everything.

Eventually, after a month or so of coming home from your new job to Art doing things like vacuuming the wooden floors of your guys' expensive New York apartment, or making elaborate protein-packed smoothies for the gym sessions that you two still did together, you came to realize that the whole "house husband" persona was actually kinda hot.

He had realized it too. Quicker than you had, actually. In fact, he can distinctly remember the overwhelming feeling of heat that had pooled deep in his gut the first time he had ever served you a home-cooked meal after you came home from a long day at your new job. He had gently rubbed your sore feet that night while you ate, and then suddenly couldn't find a way to deny how this new practice of.. servicing you.. made him feel.

I mean, God, he loved doing that stuff for you.. cooking.. tidying.. pampering.. washing.. he would do it all. You knew that he worshipped the ground that you walked on—reminding yourself constantly of the time he had admitted to you during sex that he believed he would be "nowhere without you"—and you devoured the increased sense of power that came with it every. single. time. It eventually became very easy and comfortable for you to let him take care of you. You grew hungry for it.

And then this persona of his, over time, dissolved into something much more intimate..

After tossing your blazer on the rack and rubbing at your temples, you drag your pantyhose-covered feet across the floor and into the kitchen.

Your nose is instantly filled with the aroma of fluffy, vanilla sweetness and a bit of nutmeg. you sigh happily as you turn the corner and see Art standing over a mess of what appears to be flour and sugar in a large bowl on the kitchen counter. He looks over his shoulder briefly with a smile as he mixes the dry ingredients together with a whisk.

“Hey, hon,” he grins, before turning back to look down at his current baking project.

you shuffle up behind him and hug him, your cheek pressing against his warm upper back as your arms reach to wrap gently around his abdomen. You sigh deeply.

“Hey, babe.. ‘m so tired. It was such a long day.”

He laughs softly, which shakes you a bit as you hold him.

“What’d your colleagues do now?”

You shake your head against him, groaning dramatically.

“I don’t want to talk about it.. what are you baking? It smells good in here.”

“Nothing crazy, it’s just some holiday cookies. I found the recipe online this morning after you left.”

“How many are you planning to make? There’s already some in the oven,” you ask, peeking around his frame from behind to see him set the bowl aside and wipe his hands on the apron he’s wearing. (It was white with small pink hearts by the pockets. You got it for him when he started cooking for you everyday, and he used to feel weird about it. He said it made him feel “slightly emasculated”, but he quickly grew to absolutely adore it. It was just another way for you to claim him as your personal chef. One night before you got home, he jerked off while wearing it, but he would never tell you that.)

“I don’t really know,” he shrugs and chuckles sheepishly, “there are twelve baking right now, but I thought that maybe I could make some for our neighbors.”

You chuckle softly, your hands disconnecting from their place on his stomach to reach down and give his ass a small squeeze. He jumps a little at the feeling, embarrassed laughter bubbling up in his chest.

“Where’d all this holiday cheer come from?” you smirk, pulling back from your position against his back to lean your hip against the counter. You just wanted to look at his pretty face. Your eyes quickly fixate on the fact that he’s got a bit of flour on his flushed cheek.. It’s only a small puff and smear of the white substance near his jaw, but for some reason it starts a flame in your lower stomach. There was just something about the way he got a little messy when he cooked or baked for you.

His cheeks plump up in shape ever-so-slightly as he grins at you.

“I don’t know.. I had time before you got home- I mean, well, before i thought you’d get home, and so i thought I’d just-”

You take a step forward, nodding at his words while your body is now only inches from his. You look up into his glassy blue eyes.

“You thought you’d just.. what?” you purr, your hand coming up to caress his lower back.

He swallows thickly, briefly looking down at the mess on the counter before he looks back to you. His body temperature is steadily rising as he feels your fingertips caress him over his loose t-shirt.

“I just thought I’d make some more,” he whispers.

You lean in, reaching your other hand up to gingerly hold the side of his neck while you press a kiss to it.

“You’re such a sweetheart, aren’t you?”

He nods, slowly, his eyelids fluttering slightly at the feeling of your mouth on him.

“I..I mean, yeah, I guess.”

You lean in a bit more, sucking softly at his neck. His head lolls a bit forward, and you nip at him when the sound of his shaky breathing reaches your ears.

You pull back, a small smirk covering your face as you look up at him.

His focus darts from your eyes to your lips as he reaches both of his hands out for your waist, but he’s rudely interrupted when the timer for the oven goes off— cookies are done.

You both nearly jump out of your skin at the sound; the incessant beeping pulling you both out of the thick fog of tension between your bodies and minds.

“Shit,” he mumbles, flushing pink from his cheeks to the tips of his ears as he turns off the timer at the top of the oven and moves to hastily grab an oven mitt from the lower drawer.

He pulls open the oven door, and you step back to watch him pull the tray out and set it on top of the stove area.

He sighs, pulling off the mitt and setting it aside as he leans over the cookies. His eyes are inspecting each one, and he has a very focused expression plastered on his face. He was as much of a perfectionist in the kitchen as he used to be on the court, that was for sure.

Your body moves in to stand beside him, also peering down at the tray of gorgeous golden-brown cookies. You place a hand on his upper back, rubbing it encouragingly.

“These look incredible,” you say, smiling at him.

He nods, still inspecting them, “They look better than I thought they would.. I actually messed up earlier and accidentally added three-fourths of a cup of sugar instead of two-thirds..”

“They look perfect, don’t stress.”

He looks to you, his gaze meeting yours and then suddenly everything was back to how it was before the timer went off. His hands reach for your waist, squeezing at your hips as he looks lovingly down at you.

“Be proud of yourself, Art.. you did a good job,” you laugh softly, your hands reaching up to cup his face. He pulls you closer.

“I am.”

“Are you?”

“Mhm.”

“Good.”

You suddenly get a very filthy idea.

“Can.. can you tell me what the recipe called for?”

His brows furrow slightly as he seems taken aback by your request, his cock already starting to stir to life in his sweatpants just from holding your body. He didn’t want to talk about the damn cookies anymore.

“What?”

You roll your eyes, one of your hands dropping from his face to reach around the fabric of the front of his apron and grope him over his sweats. Your other hand moves down too, but just to gently hold the side of his torso. His whole body jolts forward and his lips part instantly.

“You’ll like where this is headed, trust me. Just talk to me.. tell me what you did to make the cookies look so perfect..”

He breathes unsteadily, his fingers digging into your waist as he feels your hand start to work his cock up to a full-blown, hot, twitchy erection.

“I.. uhm.. I just..” he breathes out, his eyes growing lidded as he absentmindedly bucks up against your touch, still trying to maintain eye contact as pleasure starts to flood his senses, “one cup of b-butter.. ngh-!.. two cups.. two cups of flour… and then- ugh!- two.. two-thir-r-ds.. of..”

His voice trails off, shaky and low and broken as he hangs his head a bit, leaking incessantly into his boxers. It was that easy for you to work him up.

You frown, “Uh oh.. come on, baby, don’t go nonverbal on me that quick.. we’ve just barely gotten started…”

A small whimper leaves his chest as he tries to finish his words, “Two-thirds, I m-mean- three-f-fourths of a c-cup of.. s-su.. sugar… one teasp’of vanilla.. and.. o-one.. teaspoon of nutm-eg.”

You smile, stroking his cock over the fabric of his pants, “Good boy.. God, you’re so pretty when you’re slurring for me..”

He moans obscenely, melting at the praise while he feels his length grow suddenly intensely hot. A certain kind of numbness starts to creep over his crotch before his hands are flying from your hips to your wrist.

“Wait! W-Wait!” he gasps, his eyes squeezing shut as he blows a concentrated shaky breath from his lips, his fingertips digging into your arm.

Your eyebrow lifts and you smile as you take in the way his body shakes and shudders as he holds it in for you. He knows how to behave.. what would make you happy.. what would make you disappointed.. After all, he’s been trained by you in more than just tennis.

“Close?” you whisper.

His body starts to slowly relax again as he regains some of his composure. He blinks his eyes back open slowly, looking into yours.

“Very,” he groans.

You pull your hands from his body, and he whines softly.

“Take off the apron. Put it on the floor.”

You’re sure you’ve never seen him move so fast— his hands reaching behind his back and undoing the tied string. Then, he pulls the apron off over his head, tossing it off to the side. He watches you study him with parted lips, and he bites onto his own.

“Now take your sweats off for me.”

He does as he’s told; his shaky fingers reaching down to slip his pants down to his lower thighs, and then down to his knees and ankles, and then he steps out of them. He kicks them gently next to where the apron was thrown, now making a mess of grey and white fabric where both items pooled on the kitchen floor.

You step close to his body, cupping his face before running a hand through his messy strawberry-blonde locks. But it doesn’t take long for your eyes to travel solely down to the bulge prominently pressing against the inside of his navy boxer briefs. You run a fingertip up and over the outline of his dick, relishing in the way it makes him shake. He was now just in his tee shirt, boxers, and white socks, while you stayed fully clothed. But not for too much longer.

"My pretty husband.." you coo to him, making his lips part to let out a few uneven breaths. You glance around his frame and notice a bowl off to the side that had remnants of the soft cookie dough from the first batch of the cookies. You smirk.

You lean forward and swipe your thumb along the inside of the bowl, gathering some of the sugary, buttery mixture on your digit. His gaze remains lidded and locked onto your face, not finding any importance in your hand's movements at the kitchen counter. You bring your thumb back in, showing him what you did.

He spares your thumb a quick glance, but then his eyes are back on yours, and then your lips, and then the way that your breasts are peeking out from the low-cut collar of your work top. You bring your thumb up to his mouth.

"Open," you whisper.

He does as he's told, parting his lips further and leaning in to encourage your finger to slip past them.

You push your cookie dough-covered thumb into his mouth, feeling him immediately begin to suckle on it; his tongue swirled over it, and his eyes fluttered shut right after they began to roll back. His brows furrow, and a couple of faint whines bubble up out of him as the taste of his homemade sweetness melts seamlessly on his palate.

While your thumb is in his mouth, you push it down softly on his tongue.

"Knees, baby," you say breathlessly.

Art knew this command like the back of his hand.

Effortlessly and steadily, he dropped down to his knees one after the other, keeping your digit in his mouth the entire time. He didn't dare let it go. He moved to sit on his calves.

"Good job.. good boy..."

He whimpered, the vibrations of his pathetic sounds causing your hand to buzz slightly.

"I want your mouth on my cunt.. can you do that for me, darling?" you purr, running your hand through his hair for a moment. He nods around you.

"Y'sh, m'm.." he mumbled, trying his best to speak while still relishing your touch with enough attention.

You pull your thumb from the heat of his wet mouth, and smirk as you watch his lips chase after it.

"What was that?"

You already had a good idea about what he had murmured, but it was just.. best to be sure.

"Yes, ma'am," he gasps out softly, his eyes glazed over.

He reaches up and pulls at your skirt, shimmying it down and over your ass and thighs, letting it fall to your ankles. You kick it aside, and lean your back against the countertop. Art positions himself on his knees so that he's on the floor in front of you, looking up at you. His hands shakily reach up to the sides of your pantyhose, his tongue licking out over his bottom lip. He digs his fingers into the taut fabric and looks up at you once more, beginning to pull them down.

Immediately you grab his wrists, halting his movements. His eyes look up into yours, worried that he had made a wrong move, but you shake your head with a soft smile.

"You can rip them."

He doesn't even mean to, but he moans when you give him permission to be a little desperate right now.

In an instant, his strong hands are pulling needily at your tights, causing them to rip from your crotch to your lower thighs. He hooks one of his index fingers into the inside of your panties, his thighs tensing up at the feeling of your wetness, and then he's pushing them to the side. His tongue rests out over his bottom lip as he leans in, holding the back of your leg with his free hand as his eyes flutter shut and he engulfs your heat with his mouth.

"Oh, fuck-!" you yelp, reaching down to tangle your hands in his soft curls, "fuck, fuck, that feels good, Art, don't stop.."

He moans, his eyes squeezed shut as he lathes his tongue up and down and over your wet hole. He lewdly sucks and swallows your slick that's quickly spilling over his tongue, trying to focus harder on your pleasure (and less on the feeling of his cock throbbing rapidly in his boxers.. he can feel himself leaking).

You remove your hands from his hair and move to unsteadily grip the countertop, your back pressing hard against it. Art hums around you in his mouth, moving his tongue up to lick sloppily at your clit. He opens his eyes, his brows furrowed, and looks up at you.

"God, you're so good at this.. you're doing so well.. i'm getting.. close.." you breathe out, studying the upper half of his face while the lower half remains buried in your pussy.

He doubles his efforts, smushing his face deeper against you, his lips pursing to suckle against your sensitive nub as his grip on your leg tightens. Art has half a mind at that moment to just scoot forward a bit and slot your ankle between his thighs, but he won't. You came first, in his mind. Literally, and figuratively.

You sling the leg that he's holding over his shoulder, giving him more access, and then you begin to feel an overwhelming, hot numbness creep over your lower half..

"ANGH!" you moan loudly, squeezing your eyes shut as your body begins to shake. Your fingers grip the kitchen counter so hard that you're afraid you'll break a nail.

"I'm going to cum, Art..!"

"Mm! Mm-mm!"

"I'm.. oh my god.... I'm... I'm-! Cumming-!" you whine, feeling your orgasm crash over you.

"MM-!" he laps at your pulsing cunt, squeezing his eyes shut before forcing them open so that he can watch the way your beautiful face moves to contort in ecstasy.

You groan and whine as your orgasm's aftershocks are uncomfortably prolonged by Art's relentless tongue, and your hands release the marble countertop to reach down and grab two soft fistfuls of his hair. You try to tug his head back from your cunt, but he just closes his eyes and presses his nose and mouth further against your core. The repetitive movements of his tongue over your folds cause lewd, wet noises to fill the kitchen.

"Art... A-Art..! Enough!" you slur out as the pleasure from before starts to melt into a prickly sting of oversensitivity.

His eyes flutter open and you shoot him a warning glance as he peers up at you.

"I said enough, yeah?" you snap, "stand up."

He immediately pulls his mouth away from your sticky body and stands up on shaky legs. His eyes look downward, guiltily avoiding your gaze, as he wipes at the clear slick covering his chin with the back of his hand.

You try to catch your breath for a moment, studying his chest as it heaves up and down -- him trying to catch his breath all the same. You reach out and take his lower jaw softly in one hand, forcing him to look at you properly.

"You got a little fucking greedy there for a minute.. didn't you?"

He bites his bottom lip for a second, nervously chewing on the inside of it as he debates what answer he could give that would result in the least amount of punishment from you.

"Did you hear what I said?" you whisper coldly, taking a step closer to him as your hand grazes against the erection standing proudly in his underwear.

His body automatically jolts forward, and he lets out a shaky breath as his brow twitches. "Yeah.. I did.." he huffs out.

You smirk, wrapping your hand around him over the dark blue fabric, "And what do you think, hm? Were you being greedy?"

He looks deep into your eyes, his lips parting as he feels you start to stroke him. He tries to stop it, but his hips start to shallowly buck against your grasp, and now he can't get any words out. He wants to, but he just.. he really can't.

You roll your eyes.

"You know what I want you to say, honey. Use that big brain of yours."

He moans softly, his hands coming up to hold the sides of your upper arms as his eyes grow lidded.

"I'm.. I was being greedy.. I'm greedy," he moans lowly, thrusting into your hand a bit quicker and with a tad bit more abandon.

"Yeah, yeah you are. You're a greedy little whore for this, aren't you?"

He nods slowly but repeatedly as his brows pinch together and his breathing picks up.

"Yesss," he says brokenly, his voice straining a little as his moans start to become whimpers and whines, "I'm.. s' greedy for you.. jus' for you.. mm..!"

You nod and smirk up at him as his face becomes pinker and pinker, "That's it, pretty boy.. good job. You like when I stroke your pretty cock?"

He lets out an obscenely loud moan as his abdomen curls in over itself a bit, his hands gripping the sleeves of your work top and pulling helplessly at the fabric as he feels a spurt of precome burst into the inside of his boxers.

You chuckle a little as you watch him visibly get closer to his climax, but then he suddenly releases the hold on one of your sleeves and urgently grabs the hand that's moving over his clothed length.

You look down to where his hand holds yours, and he lets out a filthy whimper as he pulls your touch off of him and then urgently pushes your hand past his waistband and down into the front of his boxers. You gasp at his seemingly impulsive actions, feeling your fingers finally come into contact with his slicked-up cockhead. Your fingertips just barely brush over his hot, leaking slit.. sliding over a thick glob of pre.. and then he's being sent over the edge. To the average person, the touch would be essentially imperceptible, but not to him.. not to Art. He was just far too sensitive.

Your husband lets out a startled cry as he doubles over your frame in front of him and frantically moans, his whole body trembling and tensing as his balls draw up, "I'm cumming!"

You don't even have time to really process what's happening until you feel your hand being covered in warm fluid, the substance dripping down your fingertips as Art basically comes untouched. You look up at him, dumbfounded, before you feel your abdomen grow warm and tingly. That was kinda.. hot?

"Jesus, baby," you whisper breathlessly as his hips jolt a few more times before stilling as he gulps air down into his lungs, "didn't realize you were that worked up.. that was a little quick, no?"

He moans softly, still feeling your fingers graze him inside of his boxers.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to.." he says, his breathing hitching in his throat as he tries to get the words out in spite of the pleasure still thrumming through his veins. He was still rock hard.

You smile, quickly using your clean, opposite hand to pull his boxers down to his lower thighs. His length slaps up lightly against his stomach before bobbing out in front of him, a tiny pearl-like bead of cum still leaking from his tip. He sighs shakily as he looks down at himself, and then up at you. You wrap your cum-covered hand around the base of his shaft, causing Art to jerk forward from sensitivity. He pulls a sharp breath in, his face scrunching up a little as he tries to control his body.

"I'll let you cum again," you start, watching his eyes light up, "but! you need to give me a warning this next time, okay? I want a clear warning, love."

He nods at your words, a more serious expression plastering over his face, "I will, I promise.. I.. I can give you a proper warning, ma'am.." he whispers.

And with that, you slide your hand from his base to his tip in one smooth motion, your thumb gliding over the head.

"GAH-!" he shudders forward, hissing in pain for a moment before he starts to moan again.

"You okay? Can you handle this?" you ask, your tone soft but seductive as you try to tease him but also legitimately check in. You two were always good at looking out for the other's wellbeing during your sessions together; the exchange of love and tender-care came easily to you both-- it was never something either of you had to question.

He nods, "Yeah, yes-ss, I can t-take it.." he slurs a little, watching your hand move up and down over his throbbing length.

"Look up into my eyes, darling," you purr, your hand starting to pick up speed, "does it feel good?"

He meets your eyes, his blue ones swimming with lust and desperation as he felt the beginnings of his second orgasm start to creep in, "Yes, fuck-! Yes! It feels so fucking good--!" he whines.

"Remember what we just talked about?"

He nods fervently, sucking his plump bottom lip in between his teeth as his focus darts from one of your eyes to the other. You speed up your hand, squeezing his shaft a little more to give him some pressure that you assume he needs.

He keens instantly, a loud moan rumbling from his chest as his thighs start to shake and his eyes squeeze shut.

"Art," you murmur in a seductive but warning tone.

He shakes all over, nodding his head, before his back stiffens up and he becomes incredibly tense. You keep your hand moving at the same fast pace, hoping his memory today is as good as his stamina.

"I'm going to cum," he whispers quickly, bringing his hands up to hold onto your shoulders as he pulls you closer.

You smile in approval, leaning in close to his ear and breathing warmly against his skin as you speak softly, "thank you for telling me, angel. do you want to cum for me?"

He nods, whining out a hasty "mhm". He lets out a breathy moan as he feels your hot words against his upper neck.

You press a chaste kiss there, and then you slide your hand up to gently grip his shaft while your thumb moves to rapidly swipe over his frenulum.

"Come."

And he does just that.

Art's back arches as soon as your one commanding word reaches his ears, cumming uncontrollably with an abrupt cry of pleasure. At first, his body is incredibly rigid as he lets go, his brows pinched up together as he feels the first, pulsing waves of his orgasm hit him, but then the full sensation of his release hits him and his whole body shudders deeply. He lets out little breathy moans and gasps as he relishes in the bursts of pleasure rolling over his cock. You slow your thumb down a bit as you watch him spurt rope after rope over your hand and onto the kitchen floor as he comes undone for you a second time.

"Fucking hell," you moan, now going back to stroking him fully instead of just rubbing a digit against his tip.

He grits his teeth in an instant, being pulled from his afterglow by the feeling of your hand forcing him back into a feeling of overstimulation. "Ah-! Ah!.. T-Too much, too much," he whimpers, his hands instinctively reaching down from your shoulders to push at your hand that's currently working him towards a third, uncomfortable orgasm that he's not even sure he wants anymore.

You use the hand that's not stroking him to move his hands away from your occupied one, giving him a small shake of your head.

"Hands behind your back, please. We're not done yet, okay?" you coo.

He quickly follows orders, moving both of his hands behind his back and away from his aching length, although not without letting out a sniffly whine of protest first.

"Please, ma'am.. I'm.. I can't do it I can't do it-- I'm-- AH!"

You cut off his soft moans of agony with a brief squeeze to the base of his dick, looking intently up into his eyes through your lashes.

"If you really want to stop, baby," you tilt your head teasingly, "you can always use the safeword, yeah?"

He bites his lip before he lets out a warped cry, his head lolling backwards in the same instant. You stop moving your hand.

"Art, darling," you whisper to him comfortingly.

He brings his head back upright to look down into your eyes, his face blank with pleasure; he almost looked drunk. His eyes were glazed over, his cheeks were pink, his hair was a mess, and his lips were parted to let out harsh little breaths of air as he tried to regain some semblance of being grounded in his own, ruined body.

You reach your free hand up to cup his jaw, brushing your thumb over the side of his face.

"Does it really hurt that bad? You know that you can be honest," you whisper, now a little concerned that maybe you pushed him too far.

He thinks for a moment before shaking his head slowly and swallowing a bit of drool that he realized has been collecting in his mouth for the past minute or so, "N-Just a little.." he breathes out.

You nod, giving him one soft stroke of his come-covered cock. He gasps and his torso jolts at the sensation, faint tears springing to his eyes.

"Sorry, sorry," you hum, "should we stop here then? I think maybe that would be best for you.. you've already done so well for me.."

The latter half of your sentence, that subtle bit of praise, gives him all the motivation he needs to want to unravel again.

He looks down at his still-hard cock, and then back up at you, and shakes his head. His tongue pokes out over his bottom lip and wets it as he tries to collect his thoughts.

"No.. no, I can do- I can go again, ma'am.. I pro-promise.." he slurs out, thrusting up into your hand.

You raise a skeptical brow at him and his movements, keeping your hand still.

"Are you sure? You know that I won't be upset with you if you want to stop, Art."

He shakes his head again, his lip trembling, "Please."

You smile softly and start to move your hand up and down over his cock again. Despite his previous indications that it was painful, the feeling has now seemed to morph back into unfiltered pleasure as he lets out a high-pitched moan of your name. He babbles endlessly, a mixture of pleas for more, letting out repetitive mumblings of "feels good", and "yes", and an assortment of stuttered expletives.

It doesn't take long for Art to get close again.

"I think 'm gonna come again," he mumbles, letting his eyes fall shut as his head slumps forward against your shoulder. You stroke him quicker, focusing on his hypersensitive tip as you feel a drip of precome come out.

"Oh? You want to come again?" you tease coyly.

You could be cruel sometimes. He had known that this part was coming eventually.

He shakes his head against the crook of your neck with a whine, "don't do this, please.."

You stop your hand at the base of his cock, halting his orgasm just as his load started to rise up his length. Art bites back an obscenely loud moan of protest that is dying to be let out..

"No, no no noo," he squirms against you, repetitively shaking his head as his face remains buried in your neck.

"You know what you need to do, darling."

"Please," he moans, "let me come.."

"You want to come?"

"Yes."

"You do?"

"YES..!"

"How should I make you come?"

"Can y- keep stroking my- I want my cock to be- I-" he mumbles incoherently.

You place your free hand on the back of his head, pushing your fingers pleasurably into his hair as he trembles against you.

"You want me to keep jerking you off? Hm?"

"Y-Yes-ss!" he moans out brokenly, using every bit of restraint within himself to resist the urge to move his hands from behind his back and relieve his aching parts.

He would never do that, though.. no matter how much he wanted to. He would always follow your wants and needs first. Those were most important to him.

"Ask me for what you need again. Nicely; just the way I like it."

"Please, can I come?"

"Again."

He whines, his hips involuntarily bucking up against your stilled hand wrapped around him.

"Please," he sobs, "can I please come for you?"

"Yes, honey, you can come."

You start to stroke his cock once again, and within just a few pumps Art is releasing again. Even though you can't see them because his face is still in your shoulder, his eyes roll all the way to the back of his head as he lets out a couple pitiful squirts of white, sticky liquid over your hand. "Ooh, that's it.. good boy.. are you my pretty little slut?"

When Art hears this, he isn't exactly sure what happens, but it's like the orgasm that's already halfway finished just completely starts over.

"Ohh my fucking- oh my god-dd-! Ugh! HNGH-!"

It's like every single nerve ending in his body is lighting up at once, and he can't do a damn thing about it.. he can't stop it...

His legs nearly go limp underneath him, and he has to lean further into you to prevent himself from collapsing.

Art then releases the most pornographic moans you've ever heard and tenses up in your hold all over again. You're not really sure what's happening until he--

"I'm cumming again! I'm cumm-m-ing-! Again! Ohmyfucking--! GOD!"

He whines and sobs against your body, his arms still held behind his back as you feel his cock jump and pulse in your hand again. This time, nothing comes out. It's odd because it's clear that he's cumming for a fourth time, but there's nothing to show for it.

You slow your hand but continue to stroke his length which is now covered in the creamy-white filth of his previous loads. His cock softens a little, but you're unsure when his orgasm ends because, again, nothing is coming out.

Art's frame suddenly begins to jerk around every time your hand brushes over his tip, and he lets out a hiss of discomfort through his gritted teeth and a sniffle afterwards. As soon as you hear that, you know he's done and you quickly remove your hand. Any extra stimulation and he'd genuinely start to cry. You could save that for another time.. if he wanted you to.

You move your other hand from his hair to his clothed upper back and rub small, comforting circles over it.

"I've got you," you whisper, "you did such a good job, baby. You just came dry for me."

He nods, sniffling wetly and exhaustedly.

You continue to rub his back for a minute or so in silence as he comes back down to earth; the pleasurable waves of his release's aftershocks allowing him to bask in the ebb and flow of it all as he tries to calm his ragged breathing.

"I feel weak," he groans softly.

You nod, "I'm right here, you're okay.. take some deep breaths for me, honey."

He nuzzles deeper against your neck and sighs contentedly, the fuzziness in his head starting to dissipate with your caring words and gentle touch.

"You're my good boy," you whisper, pressing your cheek against the side of his head.

"Mhmm," he hums, "always for you."

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆.

notes; WOAH. ok. so this has been like months in the making by now i think..? but i finally finished it :D thank u so much to everyone who has been patiently/loyally waiting for this one after i teased it for over a month on this blog 😭 + thank u to anyone who gave me some kind words of encouragement when i had to put this aside for a while. i luv u guys !! <3

reblogs are always allowed + appreciated!

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darlingdaisyfarm · 3 months ago

Text

｡°✩ for academic purposes only .ᐟ.ᐟ

Every month Ford experiences the same cycle: scientific curiosity, self-restraint and complete obliteration. He should’ve known better

tags: nsfw, Ford Pines aka uterus researcher, established relationship, nerdy Ford, periods, cycle, journaling, mentions of sex, period sex, breeding kink if u squint, Ford's notes

i would like to personally thank the female reproductive system bc this is the only reason this fic exists

JOURNAL ENTRY — CYCLE ANALYSIS BY DR. STANFORD F. PINES, PH.D. (MULTIPLE FIELDS), AUTHOR OF JOURNALS 1, 2 AND 3, MAN OF SCIENCE, CURRENTLY IN AN INCREDIBLY GRATIFYING AND SCIENTIFICALLY ENLIGHTENING RELATIONSHIP.

SUBJECT: (your name), hereafter referred to as my darling, my sweetheart, my love, my starlight (edit later, leave for now), follows a standard 28-day cycle, but their body’s response to each stage is something i cannot help but study with rapt fascination

STUDY FOCUS: menstrual cycle behavioural & physiological analysis (personal, HIGHLY CONFIDENTIAL!!!)

OBSERVATIONAL PERIOD: (start date - present)

FOR SCIENCE & DEFINITELY NOT BECAUSE I’M OBSESSED

INTRODUCTION:

oh, my starlight, if you ever find this... i am a dead man. but in the interest of science (and, let’s be honest, my own hopeless fascination with you), i must document this properly. perhaps i should hide it somewhere impenetrable, but then again, i do enjoy re-reading my notes and recalling particularly... captivating instances. must deliberate further.

the goal of this entry? to analyse, in the most thorough and detailed manner possible, the profound effects of your cycle, particularly your most intimate needs and behaviours!

(personal note: this is entirely scientific. definitely. well. mostly. fine, i just want to remember every last detail of you and the way you change through each phase, but can you blame me? you are the most enthralling subject i have ever studied.)

It is a truth universally acknowledged that i, Stanford Filbrick Pines, have been fortunate enough to conduct one of the most fascinating, perplexing and occasionally overwhelming studies of my entire academic career. This, of course, refers to the ongoing, deeply personal and intensively hands-on analysis of my partner's menstrual cycle and its profound effects on both their physiology and our shared... extracurricular activities.

(hands-on research is, naturally, a critical aspect of any thorough investigation. i am, above all, a diligent scientist.)

HYPOTHESIS: her cycle influences not only her physiological state but our shared activities in ways that, if charted correctly, could allow for optimal... performance calibration.

(note: i should really not phrase it like that. sounds terribly perverse. i am a scientist, not a deranged old man. though, considering my reaction to certain phases of this cycle i fear i may be both)

PHASE ONE: FOLLICULAR (DAYS 1-14, PRE-OVULATION)

The luteinizing hormone (lh) surge initiates ovulation and its effects on behaviour are undeniable.

PHYSIOLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS INCLUDE:

• Estrogen levels increase, this means brighter eyes and faster speech. Energy levels rise noticeably, leading to an increase in spontaneous affectionate behavior as hand-holding, lap-sitting, casual nudity. I am holding myself together. barely

• Playful disposition increases, resulting in (very welcome) teasing remarks, touches, and moments of flirtation.

• My sweetheart is adorable, she moves so much. Paces while talking, gestures wildly, kisses me mid-sentence before running off to do something else.

(PERSONAL NOTE: My partner's thighs. have i ever properly documented my fascination with them? i should dedicate a separate entry. but her thighs during this phase are soft and firm, strong but yielding. When she wraps them around my waist, i momentarily lose my ability to process coherent thought.)

Arousal is present but manageable. My love enjoys teasing, initiating long, drawn-out foreplay, but not rushing into things. A preference for languid, exploratory touches, lazy morning sex where she can take her time riding me while still half-asleep.

PREFERRED POSITIONS & BEHAVIORAL NOTES:

• Tends to straddle me while talking, seemingly unaware of its effects. (This is a problem, i cannot concentrate.)

• Kisses are more playful than desperate.

• Lower cervix position = deeper penetration is easier, but subject’s own preference leans toward grinding rather than thrusting.

Overall: delightful Somewhat distracting, but so attractive.

PHASE TWO: OVULATORY PHASE (DAYS 14–17, PEAK FERTILITY)

PERSONAL NOTE: Oh. Oh no. Oh yes.

I am a mere man, defenseless against these biochemical weapons of seduction.

PHYSIOLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS INCLUDE:

• touch frequency escalates, subject initiates physical contact at a staggering (and frankly overwhelming) rate, often in seemingly innocuous ways that, due to my unfortunate hypersensitivity to her presence, result in considerable mental derailment.

• spontaneous arousal occurrences, seemingly triggered by voice depth, prolonged eye contact or even minor dominance cues

• her behaviour changes entirely. she becomes insatiable. restless. demanding.

• physical responsiveness is heightened, tactile stimulation along the spine, lower abdomen or inner thighs elicits a near-instantaneous shivering reaction.

• specific positional preferences emerge:

deep, cervix-targeting angles become more desirable, despite previous sensitivities.

• my darling climbs onto my lap, straddles me, kisses me until i can no longer form coherent thoughts. (note: i have, on three separate occasions, nearly dropped whatever i was holding due to this. once, it was coffee. another time, a priceless extraterrestrial artefact. the third time, my own dignity.)

PERSONAL NOTE: i find myself gravitating toward her like a man under some primitive compulsion.

PERSONAL NOTE: she told me, quite bluntly, that she “needs to feel me ruin her“ and then proceeded to climb into my lap and grind against me until i blacked out momentarily. truly, i have never been more in love.

OBSERVABLE SIGNS OF OVULATION:

• skin luminescence enhancement (note: skin is glowing. literally. did i hallucinate that? no. confirmed under direct lighting. biologically unfair!)

• heightened blood circulation leads to noticeably rosier cheeks, increased nipple sensitivity and a subtle but consistent warmth in the lower abdominal region.

• cervix sits higher, softens significantly; vaginal walls remain in a persistent state of involuntary contraction. arousal response time is astoundingly low, mere seconds of stimulation elicit immediate lubrication. (note: nearly passed out the first time i confirmed this.)

• body appears primed for contact; she leans into touch more, presses against me absentmindedly, makes these little “ah” whimpering noises if i pull away. (note: this is devastatingly effective at reducing my cognitive function to near-zero.)

MORE BEHAVIOURAL OBSERVATIONS:

• heightened assertiveness (dear god.)

• sustained eye contact (i am sweating.)

• subconscious body language cues, what means increased proximity-seeking, enhanced hip sway while walking (i am so normal about this. so incredibly normal.)

• direct verbal cues. e.g. "Ford, come here. sit down. let me straddle you." (???????)

• tactile seeking: my darling cannot stop touching me. fingers constantly curled into my clothes, tracing my chest, sliding under my coat. at one point, she pressed her face against my neck, inhaled deeply and whined. (note: i lost the ability to speak for a full minute.)

• vocabulary exhibits a marked increase in expletives and breathier, higher-pitched intonations. (example: during an encounter last night, she gripped my wrist, dragged my hand between her legs, and in a very insistent tone, said: “Ford, please, please, i need you, i need your mouth, your fingers, fuck, do something“ )

MORE DIRECT QUOTES FROM SUBJECT:

"Ford, if you don’t fuck me right now, i am going to lose my goddamn mind."

"I need you inside me. Now. No, i said now, why are you taking notes, oh my god—“

Unintelligible noises followed by what i can only describe as a feral growl.

PERSONAL NOTE TO SELF:

• do not attempt to maintain professional detachment. it is already lost.

• i swear, my starlight could ask me to hand over my life's work in exchange for kissing her ankle and i would do it without hesitation.

Most devastatingly, she becomes particularly receptive to deeper penetration and—

(note: pause. breathe. do not combust while writing this.)

The increased cervical softening allows for an absolutely devastating depth. She can take every inch of me, every grind against her cervix without discomfort. In fact, she moans for it! Begs for it, pulls me closer, gasping into my mouth, her nails biting into my back, telling m—

(note: take a cold shower.)

Scientifically speaking, her body is in peak condition for conception... and im fully aware of this fact, because every time she tightens around me, i—

(note: for god’s sake, Stanford, edit this later.)

EXPERIMENTAL OBSERVATION: INTERCOURSE DURING OVULATION

PERSONAL NOTE: i am not a young man but good lord.

SECONDARY PERSONAL NOTE: i need to start doing cardiovascular training if this is going to continue.

By compellingly, sexual appetite during this phase escalates significantly. Vocalisations become more uninhibited, involuntary muscle contractions increase, lubrication levels heighten and orgasmic response is intensified.

additional note: psychological implications are equally profound. subject’s confidence peaks, decision-making speed increases, and overall emotional resilience is heightened.

my sweetheart looked in the mirror today and said she looks beautiful. so proud of my love!:)

TEST ENVIRONMENT: my bedroom

SUBJECT STATE: ovulatory phase, heightened sensory sensitivitу

FORD PINES STATE: near-critical (hypothesis: excessive arousal may cause cognitive collapse. further testing required.)

POSING & ANGLES ANALYSIS:

BACK-ARCHED, HIPS LIFTED (MISSIONARY VARIANT)

• her legs wrap around my waist immediately, locking me in place. (potential psychological factor: subconscious desire for security??? note: must investigate further. once i regain coherent thought post-orgasm)

• verbal responses increase by 63%. (examples: "oh my god, oh my god, Ford—“ , “please, please, deeper—“, ”you feel so fucking good—“ etc.)

• cervical pressure is heightened (noted increase in breathy whimpers + desperate fingernail digging into my back)

• direct quote: “Ford, oh my god, deeper, i can feel you in my stomach—” (instant system failure on my end.)

• notable reaction when wrists are pinned above her head triggers rapid pulse, dilated pupils, small, breathy "oh—oh, god—" sounds. (note: physically difficult to maintain composure. potential solution: don’t maintain composure at all.)

• deep penetration, cervix stimulation. position: legs over shoulders. mating press, I think it’s called? anyways. EFFECT: immediate physiological surrender. my darling trembles, clutches at my arms, lets out a breathless, high-pitched little whines and, frankly, i nearly black out from how tight she gets. (note: jesus Ford.)

FACESITTING (I am a ruined man.)

• her hands in my hair, breathy little moans every time my tongue moves. (note: muscle control significantly reduced. fascinating!!)

• grip on my hair tightens when i lap at her clit. (involuntary response: bucking forward. possibly subconscious attempt at deeper pressure?)

• when i grab her waist and press her down harder, she makes this high and loud moan. (note: if i were a weaker man, i would be dead now)

STRADDLING, HIPS ROLLED FORWARD (COWGIRL VARIANT)

• optimal clitoral stimulation (highly enjoyable for both parties)

• direct quote: “Just—just let me use you, okay?”

ON HER SIDE, LEG HOOKED OVER MY SHOULDER

• deep angle, excessive wetness and overwhelming intimacy

• one of our favourite

• direct quote: “mmh, feels so good like this—so full.” (i nearly perished.)

BACKSHOT POSITION (EXTENDED DEEP-PENETRATION STUDY):

• initial hypothesis: deeper angle = greater cervical stimulation = heightened pleasure response

• confirmed within seconds. (note: DEAR GOD)

• subject reaction was immediate, sharp gasp upon first thrust. “f—fuck, Ford—ahh, god, right there—” (approx. 5 seconds in.)

“harder—please, please, deeper—“ (approx. 10 seconds in.)

loss of verbal coherence entirely (approx. 20 seconds in.)

• secondary observation: gripping her hips tighter makes her whimper. lifting her slightly higher makes her sob. both are important scientific findings!!

CERVICAL & WOMB-BASED RESPONSES:

• during ovulation, cervix sits higher and softens.

hypothesis: so subject can take deeper penetration with heightened pleasure rather than discomfort!

• confirmed within minutes. (note: will require many, many additional tests.)

• increased suction effect!! vaginal walls clench rhythmically, pulling me deeper. (note: brain ceased function entirely.)

• post-orgasm aftershocks. body remains hypersensitive, resulting in continued involuntary clenching even after climax

ADDITIONAL PHENOMENA:

• reduced patience for direct verbal requests for “breeding,” “filling,” “stuffing,” and other absolutely ruinous terminology.

• noteworthy psychological change. my darling displays an urgent need for full mating contact, requesting (or rather, insisting) that i “stay inside her” for extended periods following climax.

• direct cervical stimulation leads to involuntary whimpering, eye rolling, toe-curling and full-body tremors.

• personal weakness: gasping "right there, right there, right there" when i find the precise angle.

• frequent biting. of me. everywhere. lip marks on my neck, my lips, collarbone. teeth sinking into my shoulder while she’s clenching around me. (i am barely holding myself together.)

• if whispered praise is added (e.g., "you’re so good for me, sweetheart. taking me so perfectly."), subject exhibits full-body shudder and involuntary clenching.

DAY 15. ovulatory window confirmed. direct quote: “Ford, darling, put a baby in me.”........

oh. oh no. at that moment, i momentarily lost all ability to form rational thought. my cognitive processes flatlined. my only active function was a reaction i cannot, in good conscience, document further.

DIRECT RESPONSE (APPROXIMATE, AS MEMORY WAS COMPROMISED): incoherent groan and desperate, feral sort of growl.

PSYCHOLOGICAL IMPACT AFTER INTIMATE INTERCOURSE

• my sweetheart exhibits increased need for physical closeness, wrapping arms around me, nuzzling against my chest, making small, satisfied sounds

• ..... notably, i appear to be suffering the same symptoms

CLIMAX ANALYSIS (Stanford its 4 am, go to slee-)

• observable full-body tremors. internal muscular spasms. impossible to quantify pleasure levels. scale is inadequate.

• immediate cognitive dysfunction:

post-ejaculation speech delay (~12 seconds).

• loss of motor function (i collapse.)

• mild dissociation... ("did that happen in real life or was that an interdimensional hallucination?")

my partner's response: laughter and lots of kisses to my jaw and cheeks

PHASE THREE: LUTEAL PHASE (DAYS 17–28, PRE MENSTRUAL)

my darling gets so sensitive, becomes more prone to snuggling, less prone to teasing. libido fluctuates, but when it spikes, it is sudden and intense.

PERSONAL NOTE: there is nothing more arousing than her needy little whines when she pulls my hands to her chest and begs me to touch her...

NOTABLE BEHAVIOURAL PATTERNS:

• my love's body craves touch, warmth and closeness. she nuzzles into me, sighs when i wrap my arms around her. she likes to lay against my chest, my hand on her stomach, whispering soft praises

• partner exhibits heightened emotional sensitivity, cravings for both physical closeness and specific foods (namely chocolate, pickles, and, perplexingly, peanut butter straight from the jar.)

PERSONAL NOTE: she wrapped herself around me like a koala for two hours yesterday. i had work to do. i did none of it! none!

• sexual behaviour, as mentioned earlier, changes too. desire remains, but preference for gentler stimulation, extended foreplay, full-body contact. intimacy rather than urgency

• preference for slow, deep sex love making. (lengthy sessions. multiple orgasms. excessive praise.) strong desire for full-body contact. (chest to chest, fingers tangled, whispered affirmations.)

• occasional bursts of frustration where she demands to be "fucked properly" (????)

PROGESTERONE RISES, INCLUDING:

• metabolic increase when subject’s caloric intake rises; a preference for carbohydrate-dense, sodium-rich foods emerges, possibly due to fluctuating serotonin levels! (personal note: adorable little thing)

PET NAMES INTRODUCED DURING THIS PERIOD:

“sweetheart” (first observed: day 19, after she clung to my arm for 45 minutes and refused to let go while I was attempting to type.)

“honey” (first observed: day 22, when she started nesting in my sweater like a small irritated woodland creature)

“my love” (first observed: day 25, whispered against her hair while she buried herself under the covers and only emerged when I bribed her with hot chocolate)

"my poor, sweet, overdramatic thing" (day 26, when she claimed she was “literally dying” because I made her get out of bed for two minutes)

MORE OBSERVATIONS:

• subject requires constant touch, if no direct contact is made, pouting will occur.

• breasts become unbearably sensitive. (this has led to certain.... incidents. in which i was scolded for touching when i was explicitly given permission. this is unfair!)

PREFERRED POSITIONS & BEHAVIOURAL NOTES:

• will climb onto me at any given opportunity. (even while i am working.)

• slow, deep wnd intimate contact. heavy emphasis on cervical stimulation, warmth, closeness.

• soft praise required. frequent affirmations, reassurances. (she is particularly receptive to hearing how “beautiful” she is. which is, frankly, an objective truth.)

PERSONAL NOTE: her emotional state during this time, I ADORE IT. my darling needs comfort, touch and reassurance, and, well, i am only human. if she asks me to hold her, i will. if she asks me to lay on top of her and just be warm, i will. if she tells me she wants to feel full, wants to feel every inch of me keeping her safe wants me to tell her how much she is loved... well.

SECONDARY PERSONAL NOTE: she really, really likes when i call her “smart girl”

PERSONAL NOTE: i have no complaints. zero. none. absolutely none :)

MENSTRUAL PHASE (DAYS 1–5, ACTIVE BLEEDING)

initially, i had hypothesized that sexual activity during this phase would be uncomfortable or at the very least, unappealing to the subject. i was incorrect.

shedding of the endometrial lining initiates vascular dilation, heightened temperature and uterine contractions.

PRIMARY OBSERVATIONS INCLUDE:

• temperature regulation is disrupted, subject experiences fluctuations between feverish warmth and sudden chills. skin remains notably softer during this phase

• muscular fatigue, increased joint tension, my darling often seeks massage therapy, sustained compression (weighted blankets, my own body weight), and slow movement assistance.

• experiences waves of pain and discomfort, interspersed with unexpected surges of desire.

• blood viscosity is fascinating!!!!! color shifts from bright red (early days) to a deeper hue with occasional clotting (mid-phase). i have documented firsthand how the consistency changes during... se- various activities.

My sweetheart currently suffering the full physiological impact of uterine lining detachment, fluctuating between lethargy, irritability and an insatiable craving for attention, pressure, and snacks.

SCIENTIST’S DUTIES DURING THIS TIME:

• food preparation (nutrient-rich, iron-replenishing meals)

• pressure application (via full-body weight or strategic abdominal massages)

• endless patience (tested frequently)

EXPERIMENTAL CULINARY TRIALS

Partners nutritional intake fluctuates wildly during this phase. one moment, she craves salt; the next, sugar. she has, at times, demanded both simultaneously (a truly confounding biological mystery).

DAY 2 OF MENSTRUATION. my partner appeared lethargic, burrowed into blankets, making small, distressed noises whenever she moved

direct quote: “Ford, if i don’t get mac & cheese in the next ten minutes, i will die.”

counterargument: “you literally just ate an entire chocolate bar, honey”

Partner’s rebuttal: long, drawn-out groan followed by burrowing deeper and a tragic little sigh of suffering.

conclusion: i made the mac & cheese. i am weak

PERSONAL NOTE: my darling told me, quite shamelessly, that orgasms help her cramps. i told her, quite honestly, that i would be happy to conduct further research in this area ;)

DIRECT QUOTES FROM SUBJECT:

“Ford, it helps the cramps, please, this is literally medical.”

“Mmm, you’re so warm. No! don’t move, just stay inside me like that.”

SECONDARY PERSONAL NOTE: the psychological aspect of this is fascinating! the hormonal interplay of pain relief, emotional vulnerability, and deep, physical intimacy is something i should, theoretically, analyse further.

QUATERNARY PERSONAL NOTE: if i am not careful, i am going to end up proposing to this person during a study session.

of course reblogs/comments are always highly appreciated, but yeah, no pressure

#gravity falls headcanons #gravity falls fanfiction #gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #gravity falls x you #ford pines x reader #stanford pines #ford pines #ford pines smut #stanford pines x reader #stanford pines x you #gravity falls smut #stanford pines headcanons #ford x reader #ford pines x you

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t-a-a-1 · 2 months ago

Note

Can you do bayverse optimus ?Tlk if you can.It can be whatever you want i love your scrumptious writing hehe also ignore this if you're uncomfortable!^_^

Raindrops

Summary: Optimus asks you a very important question.

A/N: Written after the happenings of TLK. 4K Words

Raindrops

....

Everyday since he met you, he’s asked himself the same question.

“Would you come with me?”

It was a question he had imagined the answer to. A resounding ‘no’.

Optimus didn’t see any reason why you would want to go with him to Cybertron. Leaving your friends, family and career behind. All the commodities Earth provided you will be gone the moment you decide to come with him.

And it’s not like he offers you a beautiful home. Cybertron was hostile, after the war it had become ruins. He dreamed many times of showing you his home in its golden age. You would have loved the museums, the theaters, the libraries, the arts. Would you have loved them as much you love your planet? Would it be enough for you to want to stay?

“It seems Earth and Cybertron’s destiny has always been intertwined,” the sun is setting. Optimus looks at his home planet, now on Earth’s orbit. “If that had been any other celestial object, it would probably cause catastrophic events. But it seems like Cybertron was made to not disturb Earth’s gravitational pull and magnetic fields.”

Your field wasn’t physics but you had basic knowledge on how things worked. Just like he expected you to do, you started to ask the real questions. Something he was trying to avoid as long as he could.

“But I wonder if that’s because Cybertron currently lacks a core … Maybe once we are able to restore it, Cybertron’s gravitational pull will be too strong and destroy Earth.”

You look at him but he seems lost in thought. You didn’t blame him, having his home planet back must be unbelievable. After so many years of war and lost friends, what he always wanted is right here.

“When that happens, we’ll have to send Cybertron back to its original place in the universe.”

You expected him to continue the conversation some way or another but it's as if he wasn’t listening or rather he did not want to. Maybe he is tired of everything and wishes to leave immediately. Probably not wanting to deal with humans anymore.

Sighing heavily, you turn around, the wind moving your hair. The smell of the grass was strong and so a new aroma. It was hard to describe. Metal but alive. It was probably Cybertron. It didn’t bother you but it was different.

Looking back at Optimus made you realize that maybe he wanted to be alone. It is a lot of process for today.

“Well, then I guess this is goodbye–”

And suddenly, a servo is in front of you. Stopping you from walking any further. You look back, only to find Optimus’ faceplate extremely close to you.

“I-I … My apologies, I don’t know what took over me.”

It’s like you triggered something in him with your words. But you weren’t sure what. Now he looks confused and lost. As if I wanted to say more but can’t or don't have the words. You wanted to guess but your mind made you believe stupid ideas. Ones in which you prefer to not indulge any longer. They will only cause you unnecessary pain.

“It’s alright, you must be emotional. That’s all.”

You wait for a few seconds in which you could see Optimus’ blue optics in all of their glory. They were beautiful as they were mysterious. So close that you could see the small circuitry and cables that make up his optics. Such intricacy that you find yourself lost in them.

And then … you are ashamed.

“I must go.”

You say as you look away, expecting him to move his servo but he doesn’t.

“I must go.”

You say again and this time you see the hesitancy in his faceplace.

He slowly removes his servo and distances himself from you. His optics looks away and then looks at you in a repetitive manner.

“Do you–”

“I–”

“Oh sorry, you go first–” You raise a hand, trying to get his attention only to be interrupted by the Prime.

“No, you go first.”

It was awkward. And the fact that it was that way made you wonder what went wrong. In what moment did things between the two of you become so uncomfortable? Was it just the sudden realization of final peace? Was it too unrealistic for the two of you to believe? What is it?

“Nothing, I was just wondering if there’s something you wanted to say before I leave?”

Optimus servo clutch into fits. He opens his intake but nothing would come out. It was strange to see him this way. So confused, so … innocent. As if he was a kid trying to ask for another piece of cake. Too shy to ask and yet you find these small moments to be a treasure.

“I was just wondering …”

He hesitates again. He closes his optics and lets out a heavy vent. Turning his entire body around, you are unable to see his faceplate.

“When the time comes … Will you …”

His voice becomes so low that you are unable to hear him.

“What?”

You ask him, confused by his sudden lack of confidence.

“Will you … me?”

He says again but the loud wind and low tone voice weren’t helping the situation.

“... What?”

You ask once again, your voice gets louder, showing your clear annoyance at being unable to hear him.

“Will you come to Cybetron with me?!”

Suddenly, he turns around, you can see his faceplate again.

It was that expression again. One that you had only seen a few times. That of pure distress. Worriness. Anxiety. You had seen it before. During that time you had been captured by a Decepticon, badly injured and bleeding. His troubled expression was the last thing you saw before going unconscious.

But now? What was that distressed look for? What was he so worried about?

“I, I–”

What were you nervous for? Why were you stuttering? Your cheeks are getting hotter and you can’t speak. You can’t manage words. The expression on his faceplate had left you stunned as your brain tried to understand the reasoning behind it.

The longer you take to answer, the more pain is evident on his faceplate. His eyebrows squish together and his optics tremble. His lips formed a thin line that slowly became an upside down smile. He is begging you to end his torment and yet you know you have to tell him the truth.

It’s quiet around the hangar.

A small base had been built near Stonehenge. It was the logical thing to do after Cybertron had appeared above the ancient pillars. Although the American Government wasn’t too pleased to make negotiations with the British to let them have a base in their land.

You weren’t even supposed to be here but due to all the commotion in the last days, they let you stay. As well, Optimus and the rest of the Autobots enjoyed your stay. No one asked you when you will leave nor ever mentioned that you were a bothered. So you decided to stay for a couple of days until things settle down.

And because your boss had asked you to stay and bring back the full story when you are done.

“Are we just going to pretend Prime is ok?”

“Not like we can do much either or.”

They probably didn’t see you. As they were too busy talking to each other, carrying a few boxes of what you thought to be Energon. Meanwhile, you were typing on your laptop behind some piles of metal. It’s not like you were hiding but you rather found yourself a place where you could not be bothered when you needed to concentrate.

“I still can’t believe (Y/N) said no … I thought the two of them had a strong bond.”

“Yes but everything she knows is here,” Bumblebee puts down his box as Hot Rod walks close by. “Besides, they were too different … things wouldn’t work out.”

“But does she even know that Optimus’s processor has identified her as his Conjunx?” Hot Rod also puts the Energon box down and sits on top of it. “Boss-Bot won’t be able to attach to anyone ever again … Isn’t that a bit cruel?”

“Cruel?” Bumblebee inquiries. “His Conjunx is someone who lives a fraction of our lives. The universe enjoys the game and the Primes are the pawns.”

“And they know how to play well.”

It started to rain. It wasn’t unusual for rain to come and go in England.

The bots look at it with amusement. This was unknown in Cybertron. It will take a long time before they can rebuild Cybertron and go back home but this will be one of the things they will miss the most.

“What is a Conjunx?”

You came out of your hiding spot, behind the bots and they quickly stumble in their steps as they look down on you.

“What are you doing there?!”

“What is a Conjunx?”

You ask again, not caring whether Hot Rod or Bumblebee looked like they just had seen a ghost.

“You don’t need to know that,” Bumblebee quickly starts to walk away while Hot Rod keeps looking back and forth. He looks hesitant but doesn’t speak, waiting for Bee’s next action.

“You said Optimus saw me as his Conjunx,” you don’t move but rather speak loud enough for him to hear.

“Yes but there’s no need–”

“She should know,” Hot Rod interrupts the talking yellow Mustang.

“Optimus wouldn’t want it,” Bumblebee stops walking and turns to look at his comrade and you. There is certain determination in your eyes, letting him know that you won’t stop pushing it until you find the answers you were looking for. You had always been known for that, probably something Optimus likes about you.

“Optimus will die of sadness if she doesn’t know.”

Bumblebee doesn't say a thing but just ex-vents heavily.

“Would you stay with me?”

That’s what you wanted to ask but you already knew the answer. A resounding ‘no’. There was nothing for him on Earth. Humanity had once betrayed him and now he is doubtful. Humanity will help rebuild Cybertron and after that the transformers will leave. It would be a selfish thing to ask him to stay. You can’t ask him to give up on everything he fought for. His home, his family and friends, everything was on Cybertron. And you just were a human who wanted him to stay.

It’s still raining.

But that doesn’t mean you’ll stop looking for him.

Although you can already feel yourself getting sick. Your hair is wet and your clothes damp.

It wasn’t unusual to rain in England but you hated how unpredictable the weather was. The wind was also strong but the base was already too far away to back away now. You had to find him.

Suddenly, a truck you immediately recognized makes his way towards you. The bot you were looking for appeared in front of you but he aggressively stops and opens his pilot door, signaling to go in.

You didn’t hesitate and jumped right in. Optimus closes the door and starts driving away as you are welcomed with warmness. Although you were cold and tired, you didn’t wait any longer.

“I was looking for–”

“Have you gone mad?” Optimus asks, his voice showing his clear annoyance. “ What are you doing in the rain without proper protection?”

“What? That doesn’t matter, I was–”

You wanted to start asking questions but you started to sneeze.

“How can I leave knowing you are this helpless?”

And after that, all previous questions left your mind.

“Excuse me? I can take care of myself.”

“Your actions tell me otherwise.”

You roll your eyes, maybe he had a point. Running in the rain to look for him was probably not the best of ideas. But you were not about to tell him that.

“And what about you?” you sneeze again although more softly this time as to not to prove his point any further. “Aren’t you too told to be outside without an umbrella, you could be getting rusty anytime now?”

Optimus didn’t say a word. Your words will resonate at the back of his processor. He can’t believe he ever thought you would say yes to coming to Cybertron with him. You were right, he was an old rusty robot. Too many scars, too many mistakes and injuries. He can’t provide you with anything. Not even a family.

And yet he is selfish.

And you sneeze again.

And again.

“Great, I think I am going to get sick.”

He hates that word. Cybertronians also get sick but rarely. But humans are different. According to his research and observations, humans tend to get sick often and tragically a lot of them die.

Optimus didn’t want to say a word, his pride told him to stay quiet. That you don’t need his concern, you do not wish it nor want it.

But you sneeze again.

“I’ll be taking you to the closest hospital,” he says as he makes a turn, heading for the closest road.

“I am not going to the hospital, it's just a cold–”

“You are going to the hospital and it's final,”His voice is demanding but you don’t care.

“No, I won’t–”

“Why won’t you take my feelings into consideration?!”

His inside trembles. You could feel how his engine gets louder. The air coming from his vents got warmer and for a moment you felt your heart race. Out of guilt for making the Prime lose composure.

“What if you die?” he asks again. “What would I do after you are gone?”

The more he talks, the more desperate he sounds. As if he was living the circumstances he speaks of.

“Have you thought what my life would be like without your presence?” you feel the seatbelt across your chest get tighter. “Do you really wish for me to be tormented for eternity.”

“This isn’t about me going to the hospital, is it?”

He doesn’t respond, his silence answers your question.

“Let me out Prime, I want to talk to you, face to faceplate.”

He drives off the road and takes you to a heavy section of a nearby forest. Raining still, the tall trees prevent the rain from fully touching the ground. But some drops still make it through. Not like you cared about getting wet, you already were but Optimus had other plans.

Opening the door and removing the seat belt, you jump out of his alt form. You watch him transform, a scene you will never be tired of. It's beautiful as it is scary, yet he is gentle. He knows it can be scary and he moves slower, softly as if not to scare you.

Optimus doesn’t mass shift but he tries to see you at an eye-level. It must be uncomfortable for him and before you ask him why he doesn’t size-down, you feel him move closer.

He puts one of his large servo on top of you, protecting you from any rain from touching you.

“I want you to be honest with me,” you say as your breath is agitated, your heart pumping against your chest. “I need to hear it from you.”

“What do you feel for me?”

Without you knowing, Optimus’ spark is also pulsating strongly against his chassis. He moves his optics away for a second, only for them to return to look at you.

“You are a valuable asset to the Autobot cause.”

“Is that all?”

“You are also an important comrade.”

You didn’t expect him to fully understand what you were asking. But you were hoping he could read your undertones.

“I am giving you one last chance,” you say, your hands turning into a fist. You weren’t the best at this either and if you were honest, you didn’t know what you were trying to achieve. “Is that all you feel for me?”

The Prime has always been known to be eloquent. Especially with words. But when it comes to you, he loses all sense of vocabulary. It didn’t use to be that way. There used to be a time when you meant nothing to him but a friend.

But you had never stopped looking for him. After the attacks in Chicago, even after Sam’s death, an occurrence in which he blamed himself, you never stopped looking for him

What is it? Why did you do it?

“Look at the rain … Can you count each drop that falls from the sky?”

Optimus moves his optics to look at his surroundings. The rain, the trees, the beauty of nature. It cannot compare to you.

“No, I can’t,” you respond quickly, your face full of wonder.

“Then, you are the rain,” he says. “And I am trying to count.”

He sees your hands soften. Your expression had become awkward, with now avoiding eyes and pink cheeks. He has this need to hold you but respects your anatomy.

“I can’t tell you how I feel because there are not enough words to describe it,” he calculates his words but he finds himself taking longer to answer. “I could recite you all of Cybertronian poetry and yet that doesn't feel enough for me.”

You keep looking at him and he looks away. Your eyes were too beautiful and it distracts him immensely.

“But if you were to ask me to count each star in the universe I would,” he lets his spark do the talking, finally subsiding the yearning it has been holding for a long time. “If you asked me to bring you a star, I would bring you a constellation.”

“This old rusted body belongs to you but if you ask me for my silence and distance, I won’t retaliate.”

“And if I asked you to stay with me, on Earth, would you do it?”

You know it was a selfish question. You didn’t want to make him choose between his world and you. But you just had to know if there was a small possibility, a small chance that the life you had with him could still be a possibility.

After the accidents in Chicago, you had looked for him, only to find him broken. Sam’s death had affected him greatly but in that grieve of losing loved ones, something sparked.

Three years. You had lived with him for three years, in an isolated cottage. Where he could have all the dandelions he wanted. Where he could care for animals and the two of you would look at the stars and try to count them. Each one of them.

“If that’s what you wish,” Optimus says. “I would stay by your side as long as you would have me.”

“I can’t,” you look away this time. “I won’t ask you to stay with me.”

“You have a duty to complete and Cybertron is your home,” there is more to it. More doubts than you are able to articulate. “When you asked me to go to Cybertron with you, I said no because I don’t think I am worthy to be on your side.”

“Have my actions made you feel this way?”

“You are Optimus Prime … I think anyone would feel unworthy,” you pause, thinking about the earlier events. “But today, Bumblebee and Hot Rod told me that you see me as your Conjunx.”

Optimus opens his intake only to close it. He looks side to side, trying to evade eye contact. One of the few times you can tell he is shy. But him acting in such a way has also made your body betray you. You wonder if he can tell just how nervous you are.

“Does that mean — You do?”

“You weren’t supposed to know,” his voice is delicate with an apologetic tone. As if you had just caught him stealing extra energon from the resource room. “Without noticing, my processor had one day started the Conjunx Ritus and as time passed, we both successfully completed the requirements.”

“And before I knew it, my Spark belonged to you.”

“But we are so different.”

“And yet here we are,” he makes a pause and he hears the rain. He tries to calm down before asking his next question, knowing that this will break his Spark. “Does my affection displease you?”

“No, no, I just–” you stumble with your words. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Is there a possibility that perhaps, in your heart, you reciprocate my sentiments?”

And you stay silent. Mostly because you don’t fully know what is going through your heart and the implications behind it. Can this even be possible? Are your feelings even real? Can he comprehend what your feelings are? Can this … Whatever it is, be real?

“Please end my torment,” his faceplate looks to be in distress, his optics yearning. Longing for something unknown to the both of you. “Your silence makes me have hope and I don’t want to suffer when you destroy my delusions.”

Gently, you walk towards him. You reach out a hand and touch his faceplate. Rubbing your soft skin against his cold metal. You watch his optics close, his engine gets louder just a bit but you hear him. As if your touch had saved him, healed him from whatever his processor agonized him with.

“You are cold,” you say as you put your forehead against his faceplate. “Until you get warm, I’ll stay with you.”

Optimus didn’t need to ask further. You didn’t have to say anything either. He just basks himself into this moment. Not knowing what the future holds but he doesn’t care as long as you are with him. This moment won’t last forever but he wants to think that one day it could be true.

A moment were he believed he could spend eternity counting the raindrops and stars in the sky with you.

A/N: Sorry this took so long. I’ve seen all the Bayverse movies but TLK is a movie that is a bit hard for me to write about because I don’t understand it much lol. But I still hope you like this and that it's not too OOC?

It was fun to write this! So thank you so much for the request! :)

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boolger · 8 months ago

Text

A lapdog at a farm - chapter 1

AO3 link. next chapter -> Call of duty. Explicit, 18+, minors do not interact. read the tags. wc: 4,147

Maybe support me on kofi?🥺👉👈

Farmer!John Price x Hybrid!Reader, hybrid! Kyle Gaz Garrick x hybrid! Johnny Soap MacTavish x hybrid! Simon Ghost, John Price x Nikolai.

Summary: When Price was young and left his childhood home, a farm in the middle of nowhere in England, he didn’t enter the military. Instead he moved to London, got a degree and a good career, earning good money. He got you, a human dog hybrid as a pet, after feeling lonely - and you lived your best life for years, spoiled and pampered, Price’s lapdog who got praised at every party. Loved and fucked every night. That was until Price decided to return to his roots and go back to farming - dragging you along to the middle of nowhere, away from all the wonders of the big city. Expecting you to accept this sudden change in lifestyle and pretend to be a farm dog. Bad luck however, because you fucking hated it, and became more and more unruly. In hopes of getting you to calm down and to keep his live-stock and farm safe, Price then got three working dog hybrids - and all at once, your life was even worse than before.

tags: Rape/non-con elements, dub-con, dog!hybrid!people being kept as pets, alternative universe - farm, dark, farmer!John Price, working-dogs, punishments, mating cycles/rut/heat (no omegaverse), the dove isn't dead but its dying, reader is a brat, knotting, animal tails and ears, mentions of trauma, violence, angst, hurt/comfort, collars, rough sex, breeding kink, biting, threesome, foursome, everyone is fucking your honor, enemies to lovers, chubby reader, reader has a pussy

author's note: Hi sinners <33 Just a heads up; the reader is gonna be a spoiled brat. If you want a smart and sweet reader who isn’t mean at times, well. Bad news. This ain’t it.🥰The reader is she / her and has a pussy and is chubby. I tried my best to keep the descriptions somewhat vague otherwise. Reader is a cocker spaniel hybrid. I will tell the others along the way. In this universe, hybrids have ears, tail, claws beneath nails and canine fangs. There will be heats and ruts but there is no omegaverse. They will have personality traits of their dog breed and so on. Now. I know there aren’t wild wolves in the UK… but in this fic there is, ok? mwah.

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The countryside was peaceful compared to the city; the absence of the bustling streets and constant traffic, created a quietness that was indescribable.

Out here, at the new farm, the noises only came from animals that lived in the stables and barn or the occasional rumble as a tractor turned on. The wind caressed the never ending fields of wheat and the long rows of fruit trees, under which the goats and sheep walked most days.

The stress here wasn’t the same kind as in the city. Sure , there were stressful moments and sometimes Price looked like he needed to sleep for more than just the few hours he got everyday.

But he didn’t have to worry about the morning traffic, waiting in a queue for an overpriced, questionable tea or coffee. There was no need for him to wear a suit, no noisy, overfilled train cars in the underground. No crowded dog or hybrid parks, no meetings or rules to follow - except those John Price decided for himself.

He was happy, so much was clear to you. It had been three months since the move - Johnhad gone back to his roots, buying back the farm that his parents had used to own a little while ago, using some of his endless wealth on renovating the place. There was no step on the stairs that was loose, like it used to when he was a kid - sure they still creaked, but you weren’t afraid they would disappear from beneath you.

It was modernized, but most of the old charm left. Price fit right in; the furniture he had inherited and never believed he would use was suddenly in the living room. His knowledge of the business world was abandoned in the city, for the knowledge of farming that he still had left from his youth. John got a couple of farm hands and workers, who helped him with the big place.

It was like he reclaimed his own self that had been buried beneath the suits, ties and paperwork. Now he didn’t smoke his cigars from stress, but from pleasure, clearly much content.

It was like the farm had truly made John Price happy once more; his smiles more genuine, his true self stepping forth. Returning to his childhood home and taking over the farm had been the best decision Price had made. There was no question about it.

… and you hated every bloody day at the farm.

The early morning hours in bed with him, being disturbed by the farm waking up, the rooster crowing and John leaving the bed, giving you a pat in between your ears, taking all the heat with him. The constant bugs, the muddy stables and the big animals, the helpers who always teased you for not fitting in, the lack of friends you had out here. The foxes’ screams in the night, the wolves howling, and the cows occasionally mooing sounded like creatures stepping out of nightmares.

You were not made for farm life. Literally. Simply not made for it.

Some would argue that you, as a hybrid pet, didn’t have a say in it and sure , legally you didn’t. But you were a lapdog, an elegant pet. Not a farm dog. Created to be cared for and cuddled, you were a purebred cocker spaniel hybrid; you weren’t made to run around on a farm, following John on his duties And doing work.

Sure, you had the instincts to hunt a few things here and there, but it was mostly balls and the occasional bird or squirrel. You weren’t a guard hybrid, not really a working dog.

You had had enough trauma throughout your life - you deserved not to be forced into this! You had grown up being trained to be a lapdog, not a working-dog like you felt like John expected you to act like now.

You wanted John to be happy, you really did - you loved your Master! When he bought you a few years ago, when you were still aggressive and unruly (… more than now at least), you had thought he would tire of you like everybody else had. But with patience, rules, training, praise and punishment and a whole lot of sex later, you were a perfect hybrid pet for the city! People always praised how well you looked, laughing when Price said you were really a little troublemaker. You would follow him throughout the fancy apartment, on your daily walks, sometimes for meetings.

But why the fuck did it have to be a farm? He worked somwwhat the same time that he did before, genuinely seeming to enjoy himself. Forgetting about poor you!

Out here, there were no hybrid daycare that you would go to when he had long days, there were none of your playmates nearby, everything stank of animals and there were no places nearby for you to get your hair and fur styled and pampered! No nail technicians, no fancy cafes, no shops for John to buy you things in! No special made coffee or chef-made meals every other evening, no freshly baked croissants.

You felt like you had tried . You really had.

But after the first week, you had your first breakdown - and as the weeks passed, they didn’t stop. At first, John was sympathetic, like the perfect owner he was.

Cooing at you, kissing your forehead, as he gently scratched your ears. Kissing away any tears, saying it was okay - that you were just overwhelmed, that it would be okay. That you would come to like it out here.

Big fucking joke.

He had tried every trick in the book, in an attempt to please you and made you less upset, but as days turned into weeks and tantrums began to appear, you knew his patience began to disappear.

He followed professional advice and then the advice of the neighbors down the street, Rodolfo and Alejandro (who had caught you running away at one point), tried some of the workers’ advice. He had given you your own room, and it was mostly designed like your own, perfect to the pale green paint on the wall, all your toys and dog beds, your CDs - everything. He had tried hauling you along every day, trying to give you a routine to follow - but after two weeks, he gave up, not having the energy to deal with a tantrum that got worse and worse each day. He went on walks with you, fucked you silly, tried his best — and you didn’t want it.

No, you wanted to go back to your old life. Not this country life that you hadn’t signed up for, with horses that neighed loudly whenever you passed them; they were definitely going to trample you at the first chance, you knew that. You could hear foxes scream in the night, warning you of the dangers. The goats and sheep were so fucking loud and no you didn’t want to go pick fresh apples off the trees - had he seen the size of the spiders crawling on them?

When you in one of your biggest tantrums took off and bolted from the farm in distress, Rodolfo and Alejandro had almost hit you when you emerged from the corn fields onto the road.

You had cried the entire drive home, no matter what the two men had tried saying, especially as Rodolfo called Price in advance — your master was livid . The worst thing was, that it was not that kind of anger where he yelled at you before punishing you - no, this one was almost silent, a sharp grip on your collar as he dragged you along after thanking his neighbours.

He had belted you then, ignoring your crying and screaming, only stopping when you broke, sobbing and going quiet. He had explained it to you then, what could have happened, what dangers you could have ended in - and as you sobbingly apologized and tried to explain, that you wanted to go back to the city, John had sighed .

Said that he had pampered you too much since he got you, which had made you greedy and attention seeking. Which only made you cry more, as you hid your face in his neck, fingers digging into his shirt, ass cheeks burning.

“Spoiled rotten, little birdie,” he mused, though you could hear the softness in him, your tail wagging a little, hoping to get him to be less mad.

“‘M sorry,” you had whined in distress, upset with yourself as well, ears tipping down, “wanna be good but I don’t like it.”

Your rather dull escape attempt resulted in several things. An AirTag on your collar, so that he always knew where you were. A remarkable lack of treats, sex and then… the crate .

You fucking hated the dog crate.

Sure, it hadn’t been nice of you to bite one of his pillows into a simple pulp of fabric, feathers everywhere. Or create chaos in the kitchen… or get drunk on his fancy whiskey (that one had ended worse for you, hangover was a bitch and there wasn’t much sympathy from John). And yes, you might have ripped most of the flowers surrounding the house up, until one of the workers had caught you. Maybe pissing yourself in the middle of the living room while staring him in the eyes and ignoring his warnings had been a little…excessive.

But the dog crate? You hated that thing with a burning passion.

Hated it when he locked you up, ignoring your whimpers and whines, your promises to behave, ignoring your little howls as he left.

Mean. The farm had made him mean. Perhaps you had become a bit unruly too, but it was like he didn’t take your clear suffering seriously.

Mean and happy - unruly and suffering. What a pair you were. One of the workers, KAte Laswell, who was a big helper and often stayed over for dinner, suggested a fucking shock collar. You had growled, only stopped when John sent you a sharp look.

You had even heard him talking over the phone with somebody, saying that he didn’t want to rehome you, but he didn’t know what to do.

That had made you melt a little and you had cried as you had crawled into his bed a couple of hours later, begging him to not abandon you. Fears of never getting to see John again or being loved again by him made you cling onto him as he kissed away your tears, gently fucking you.

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It was a random morning a couple of days later, that you found him still in the kitchen, reading the newspaper, humming to himself while smoking a cigar.

He looked nice like this. Despite how he sometimes muttered about being too old, he wasn’t really that old. Late thirties, and perhaps it was the peace on his face or the sun rays that kissed him, which made him look younger. But still. There was a decade between you, but days like this, you were reminded that it didn’t matter.

“Are you going to stare all day or are you going to join me, Darling?” He asked teasingly, pulling you from your thoughts. You let out a little huff and kissed him good morning, receiving a pat on the ass before you sat down on your own seat. It had been a while since the two of you had eaten together - often he was up at the crack of dawn, so his calm behavior and gentle humming was unusual to say the least.

“Why are you not working?” You asked carefully, as you ate some of the bread, trying to ignore how it wasn’t a fancy sourdough one - though you were pretty sure he had picked it up from a local bakery in the village which was a little drive away.

“Because,” he put the paper down, then tapping some ash off the cigar into his ashtray, before looking over at you, a pleased smile on his face, “you and I are going on a trip.”

“A trip?” You didn’t even bother to be embarrassed about how your voice got higher with excitement or how your tail thumped against the backrest of the chair as you wagged it, “where are we going? When? Can we go now?”

Price had laughed, a happy sound that you knew not many got to hear; it made your heart beat a little faster, made you feel butterflies in your stomach.

“Well, we got to do a few things first to get ready, and you ,” he used the cigar to point at you, your tail wagging a little faster, “need to not freak out when I tell you where we are going.”

Despite the warning, tears streamed down your cheeks when he told you. John didn’t get mad as a part of you had expected; he knew your abandonment issues first hand, knew how you had been left behind before, from one bad owner to another.

“You’re going to sell me and leave me with a mean owner and I’m gonna die of hunger and thirst - and - and —“

“Not gonna leave you, princess,” John crooned, covering your face in kisses as you hiccuped and sniffled, clinging to his clothes, “you know that. My favorite puppy. Pretty girl.”

Despite your tears and small sobs, your tail wagged at his words, “silly puppy,” he mused with a smile, gently scratching your lower back, “‘m not gonna sell you. Ale and Rodolfo are looking for a hybrid, I figured we could go look at the auction as well.”

“What if - what if - what if you’ll like them more?” You sniffled dramatically, sure that your life was only going to become worse than it already was. One thing was this bloody farm and the crate, another thing was having to share Price. You didn’t like the idea one bit. If that happened, you were going to show him how a proper tantrum was thrown - the crate would probably be the least of your worries.

As if to prove his love, John bent you over the table, fucking you in between the clattering dishes and cutlery, tea and coffee almost spilling over. Despite how many times your owner fucked you, it made you lose control of your mind every single time. His cock reached so deep inside you that it bordered on pain, your mouth open as you panted and moaned at each thrust; your soft stomach being pressed against the edge of the table, one hand holding onto the back of your collar, the other on your tail. The table rattled, John groaned and moaned, your fingers desperately trying to hold onto anything.

“My princess,” he snarled darkly into your ear, “you’ll always be mine-“ a moan, a grunt, “- no matter what happens, yeah?”

“Yes ye-ah- yes, sir, I’m yours - ah ah - I’m yours!” you managed in between pants and wails of pleasure, fear of abandonment forgotten in the ocean of euphoric satisfaction.

You came harder than you had for a while; the reminder of your worth, of how you deserved his worship, making you cream around his throbbing length, legs in spasms afterwards. He pushed deeper, filling you up with a loud roar like sound, his hands moving to grab onto the fat of your ass and hips as he came. Pain and pleasure made your toes curl and a content sigh left you, your tail wagging against Price as he chuckled.

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The auction hall was filled to the brim with humans and hybrids alike. Every owned hybrid followed their respective owners, all wearing mandatory leashes so no pets would be confused with the ones that were being sold. You wore your own pink one with pride, gem stones sparkling. A matching leash connected to the D-ring on it, that also bore your tags. You were convinced yours were the most beautiful in this entire place.

“They’re bonded,” Laswell pointed out, pointing to the papers that hung nearby, showing off general information about them, “gotta get all three.”

You dared to look at the little board with the informations about the three hybrids they were looking at.

“Ah, we don't have space for three, mi amor.”

“eso es una pena,” Rodolfo answered, while you looked over at John - who kept looking at the three hybrids. You dared to peek over at them.

All three of them were enormous .

Two of them wore muzzles, meaning they were biters. At least at the auction. You shouldn’t judge then, not really, but you did... Even though you had worn a muzzle five years ago, when Price had chosen you. You hadn’t tried biting people out of malice; you had been scared and angry at the world. Angry for being abandoned once more, over the fact that you were most likely being passed on to another abusive master. You leaned a little closer to Price, taking in his scent.

Even from the start, despite all the problems and your attitude problems, he had been sweet. Strict at times — probably not enough — but kind.

The biggest one looked like a Great Pyrenees breed, most likely. The fur on his ears and tail looked shorter, badly cut. Probably due to matting or if he refused to get it cut. His hair, a dark blonde almost brown, was in a buzz cut. He had scars, all over - unable to hide because of the lack of clothes most hybrids were given, only underwear. There was a lot in his face, though you suspected a bunch were hidden by the muzzle. He stared into nothing, his ears curled back, though they moved now and again, listening to different sounds.

“Hard to get sold,” Laswell commented and you looked over at her in synchronicity with John, “they’re ex-military.”

Like he had been called to them, a man who wore one of the seller badges appeared.

“They’re obedient once they fall into place,” he happily explained, going full seller-mode, “they’re just not too fond of the auctions - too many people.”

“Makes sense,” Price mused, clearly interested - much to your annoyance. The fact that he asked follow up questions made you frown, fingers tightening in his shirt. He was here to look. To help Alejandro and Rodolfo, who both had continued their walk. You dared to look over at the hybrids again. All three were staring at you and John.

“How come they were discharged?”

“One of them got a hearing loss -“ he nodded towards them, “the one with the mohawk. And they’re a bonded pack.”

“So only retiring him was out of the question,” John concluded once more looking over at them.

You felt your tail go in between your legs. He couldn’t be seriously considering those three . you couldn’t help but let out a small whine. Price gave your leash a little tug.

“They’re working dogs,” the seller continued, his eyes flickering to you, making you huff, “so they’ll need something to do, not just be pets.”

“Oh I know. I have a farm. Need some work dogs - this one isn’t guarding much.”

They all laughed, your tail going even further between your legs with embarrassment.

“You can’t be serious,” you whined in a whisper to John, not caring that you sounded needy - spoiled would Laswell had said and you ignored her as she rolled her eyes.

“Hush, Princess.” John didn’t even look at you.

“You have animals there?” The seller asked, “one of them is a herding dog - the border collie.”

“I do - several. That’s why there's a need for guarding dogs as well, bloody wolves have been terrorizing us.”

You knew he was telling the truth; he had muttered about dead sheeps and goats several times - even a calf had lost its life to the wolves in the area, despite he and Laswell having shot two already. Even foxes had gotten into the coop, despite the fences.

“They’re good at that too, with their training,” the seller offered, clearly interested in selling them or at least getting John to bid on them. “The one with the mohawk, Soap , will have hearing aids with him, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

You looked over at this “Soap”, scrunching your nose. They were still staring, the biggest one bending down to listen to the third one, a beautiful black man, whisper in his ear. No doubt judging you.

“It says here they don’t do well with others,” you muttered, in a desperate attempt to sway John, pointing to the board with their papers. It did indeed say so, to which you wanted to argue that YOU should be his main focus in this whole thing - how would he even consider adding them to your household if these dogs could get a hold of you?

“It’s in the sense that they’re not really housetrained to be social family pets,” the seller swooped in, pushing your argument away, annoying you even more, “they’ve had missions all their lives. They need to have something to do.”

“I’m sure you’ll get along with them, sweetheart,” Price answered, giving you a small scratch beneath your chin as he finally looked over at you, a glint in his eyes, “some company will do you good.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. Hardly . Price’s smile told you that he thought this was a great idea however. You dared to look at the men again. Still staring, fucking bastards.

The black man seemed like a mix of some breeds, German shepherd and… you looked shortly at the board. Belgian malinois. Fancy. He wasn’t as tall as the big one, but broad and with scars as well. There was a more slender look to him, but his six pack proved he was strong. His curly hair wasn’t too long, probably cut not too long ago. He was looking at you curiously, making you raise your upper lip a little, as if to warn him.

The one with the hearing loss looked like some sort of border collie - covered in scars as well, some of his skin looking like it had been too close to fire. He was broad like the two others, his upper arms the size of your head. He even sent you a cheeky grin, even daring to wink at you. You just looked away, tipping your chin up a little.

“You can look closer if you want, sir?”

You were pulled back into the conversation at once and before you could argue, John had already passed on your leash to Laswell and walked towards the men with the seller. You whined, distressed that he was really, actually considering this.

“You’ll be fine,” Laswell commented calmly, with empathy in her voice for once, though she didn’t look at you, merely at John and the others.

“He is gonna lose interest in me,” you whined, perhaps a little dramatically, bottom lip wobbling a little as you could feel tears welling up in your eyes, “then he’ll leave me in the crate all day and only care about them an—“

“Calm down,” Laswell said, “you’ll work yourself into a fuss.”

“He can’t do this to me,” you argued in a sullen voice, already imagining John forgetting all about you, focusing on these three hybrids for the rest of his life, leaving you cold and lonely inside the dog crate - maybe even rehoming you, “he promised he wouldn’t get rid of me.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Laswell answered just as calmly as before, “John loves you too much, you’re just being spoiled. Hanging out with some working dogs will do you good.”

“They probably have fleas,” you said, your prejudices seeping into your words, knowing you’re being mean, judgmental against your own kind, “they’ll kill me and eat my dead body.”

Laswell laughed. “No they won’t. Worst thing they’ll do, is probably knock you up.”

A high pitched, scandalized sound left you, despite knowing you had an implant. Laswell laughed again, giving your leash a little yank and then scratching you behind your long ears.

“Settle, Princess. That won’t happen without John’s permission.”

You almost cried at the sight of John shaking the seller’s hand.

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They all met up again for the actual auction part and you sat at John’s feet, sniffling a little. Crying hadn’t helped, in fact John had just petted and kissed you, calling you sensitive. Alejandro had gotten a hybrid earlier that they didn’t need to bid on - she was for sale for a certain price. Something about being too intense without enough space to roam, having attacked others before.

Fucking great. Beasts all around you.

John won the bidding on the three working dog hybrids he had been interested in - because of course he did. He spent way too much money on them too, according to you.

One more - or well, three more fucking things to hate about this “farming life” that had been forced upon you.

Maybe John had gone mad.

next chapter ->

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g1rld1ary · 5 months ago

Text

our names in the paper - footballer!james potter x fem!sports journalist!reader

wc: 11,151

cw: swearing, fade to black but suggestive moments?, smoking, slut-shaming, kissing

info: r and james are about 24, set in 2007ish solely for the romcom vibes. james is the equivalent of like David Beckham in his prime, all pics are for vibes only, not reflective of r's appearance etc

me: i've been working on this for soooo long i am so happy it's finally done!! if u couldn't tell it's very inspired by early 2000s romcoms and i am honestly so proud of it so praying it doesn't flop LOL

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"James, James! Over here! What's the defence strategy this season?"

If you had to hear James' name one more time you might scream. Unfortunately, you were locked in a room with nothing but that. Worse, you were part of the problem.

"Mister Potter, what do you think about your striker's goal-to-game ratio falling rapidly this season?" You called, begrudgingly hoping for a moment of the soccer star's attention. Fortunately (or unfortunately), his glittering eyes settled on you, singling you out from the room of hungry journalists.

"I think that you miss one hundred per cent of the shots you don't take," He said, smirk turning to something challenging, "And as long as my team is training and working together, I'm not gonna cry over a bit of spilt milk or missed goals. And, as far as I'm concerned we're still winning games, aren't we?" You rolled your eyes, scribbling down his answer nonetheless.

You continued the catfight of trying to get answers for your newest article, keeping the balance of vying for James' attention and showing him you didn't care for him personally, unlike the other journalists you were pushing against. The conference room was full of men and women who wanted to be James or be with him. Aside from the professional questions, there were certainly several invitations to the pub thrown around, and you were sure you saw one woman try and give him her cellphone number. You rolled your eyes again at that, James was nothing to fawn over.

He might be a big shot now, but you'd known him almost all your life. The two of you had gone to school together and had bickered through every interaction since then. James had always wanted to be a football star, and you a journalist. You'd never believed in him and vice versa, both of you taking every opportunity to tease the other or cut each other down. Maybe it was just clashing personalities, two people too ambitious to be friends. The rivalry had lasted past school, and unfortunately, the two of you often crossed paths in your respective careers.

The press conference wrapped up soon after your question, and you ended up lingering in the room trying to finish your notes. James was still over at his podium next to his coach, drinking out of a plastic water bottle and arduously texting on his flip phone. Seeing you hovering by the door he called your last name, sauntering up behind you. You rolled your eyes and braced yourself for the encounter.

"Potter." You smiled curtly, moving to leave.

"You don't have to call me 'Mr Potter' during the conferences, you know. James is perfectly fine, everyone else calls me that."

"Just trying to stay professional," You said through gritted teeth, aware his coach and a few others were still around you. It could cost you your job to snap at him.

"Was it professional when I was your first kiss?" He stepped closer and you instinctively stepped back, feeling the plaster wall graze your back through your work blazer.

"It was spin the bottle and we were twelve, it's ancient history. And do you mind? I know you're some kind of god around here but I have a reputation to uphold," You whispered, glancing around anxiously. James laughed at your distress which only annoyed you further. Maybe he could get away with anything, but you had to fight for your place in your field as a female sports journalist, you couldn't afford to take it lightly.

You couldn't help the physical reaction to being trapped between James and the wall though, your breathing shallow and quick, face tilted up slightly to look at him. You felt a bit like prey, caught in the predator's territory and resigned to imminent death.

"Let her go, will you? She's just doing her job," Remus Lupin said, entering the conference room with his nose crinkled from the smell. You couldn't blame him, sweaty players and hungry journalists didn't make any kind of utopia together.

"I wasn't doing anything!" James cried, hands up in surrender, "Come on love, I was just giving you the scoop, right?"

"First of all, if you were giving me 'the scoop' right now I'd certainly be accused of sleeping to the top by all the blokes waiting out there," You gestured to the group of other reporters still lingering in the hall waiting for any scraps of information, "And secondly, I work for the bloody Sunday People, not the BBC. I honestly think they'd rather I just write about your 'dashing good looks' or a drug scandal than your games," You complained, falling back into the ease of conversation now that Remus was there. He'd been at school with the both of you, growing up to be a physiotherapist, but was always much more palatable than James.

Both men laughed at your plight.

"If you ever need a more detailed look at my dashing good looks just ask, sweetheart. I'd be glad to show you, you know, for your articles." You rolled your eyes at James' attempt to be charming, snapping your notebook shut.

"Alright, I think that's my cue to go," You said curtly, smoothing out your work trousers. "Remus, I'll return Dracula next time I see you; I'm almost finished." You remembered you'd had his novel for quite a while, sparing him a smile on the way out.

"You lend her books?" James asked incredulously, hazel eyes curiously following your figure down the hall. Remus just shrugged, patting James on the shoulder and attending to his actual job, checking up on the players after the match.

James was still hung up on the fact when he returned to the apartment he shared with Remus and Sirius, flabbergasted as he hung his coat on the rack.

"Since when are you two close enough to be sharing books?" He cried as he paced through the kitchen, "Have we not all been in agreement that she is stubborn and hard-headed and annoying and has been since school?"

"No," Remus shook his head, "You decided that, and I daresay she feels the same about you. I've always rather liked her."

James was unexpectedly dumbfounded at the realisation that you weren’t the common enemy he thought you were. Even Sirius didn’t seem to dislike you, always stopping for a chat when you were around the stadium and giving you extra comments with a flirty wink.

James didn’t need to think about you for another few weeks; his team hadn’t played one week and you’d been assigned other matches for the others — he read your very amusing pieces on lawn bowls and chess-boxing, partly because he knew you’d hate the assignment.

You were blissfully apart until one Saturday night. You were out with your friends and a few coworkers and James was out with his. He’d started in the local pub while you were at a fancy cocktail restaurant for Lily’s bachelorette party, however, your groups crossed paths in the depths of a nightclub.

Maybe you were getting too old for them, waking up with sore backs and knees after nights of dancing, but it didn’t mean you wouldn’t give it a red hot go. And with a few cocktails in your system, nobody could convince you it wasn’t a good idea.

You'd been shaking what your mother gave you for the better part of an hour before it was your turn to get another round, telling the girls you'd be back before stumbling through a sea of sweaty bodies.

Some gross man who was definitely too old for you obstructed your path, grabbing your arms to make you dance with him. Your face crinkled in disgust of its own accord, trying to wiggle yourself free. He continued to encroach on your space, forcing you around despite your persistence. Finally, a man's hands landed on his shoulders, yanking him away and subsequently freeing you from his grasp. The momentum sent you tumbling in your strappy heels, right into something warm and solid. You cringed, having been there before. You turned slowly to meet your unwitting saviour, huffing when you realised it was James.

"Oh, fuck off," You grumbled, mostly to yourself, producing a quick apology to not seem totally impolite.

"Alright?" Sirius asked, revealing himself as the one who'd gotten you away from the creep. You shrugged, fixing your hair.

"Been better," You told him, preparing to leave before seemingly their whole team had surrounded you, all greeting you loudly. You weakly waved at them, feeling dreadfully underdressed and professional. You were used to seeing them in the stadium and press conferences where you were much more modestly dressed. The strapless mini dress wasn't giving you the same layer of protection.

"Right," You said when there didn't seem to be any more productive conversation happening, "I'm off to the bar then."

"Let me buy you a drink, to make up for the freak," One of the players, Frank, said. You smiled but shook your head.

"I'm buying for several, it wouldn't be fair. It's Lily's bachelorette." You directed the last sentence to those who knew her, the football and journalism professions having considerable overlap due to events and the never-ending scandals and interviews. James covered his face in mock-devastation.

"Not Lily! Have I missed my chance forever?" He moaned, earning some shoves from the rest of the group. You and Lily had been friends since uni, and you'd introduced her to the boys at one of the terrible house parties you'd endured over your three years studying. James had developed a thing for her right away (no one knew how much of it was serious and how much was for comedic value) and had been loudly pining for her ever since, despite her long-term relationship with Dirk Cresswell, an economist who worked in the building down the block from your office.

"I think you missed your chance the first time," You retorted with a snort, a little drunk to have any ferocity in your tone. You both made a face at each other, ignoring the laughter of those around you. You dismissed the group and danced away, shaking your arse over to the bar.

A few rounds later and you were not in your best shape. The girls had been absolute menaces, feeding you shots and deceiving colourful cocktails that actually held like seven standards in them, and you were certainly feeling the effects. You excused yourself from the group to find a loo, bile rising in your throat as you pushed past dancers, not even sparing a comment for James as you saw him.

That confused both James and his friends, becoming used to your insistent teasing over the years. He exchanged a look with Sirius, following you through the crowd and to the bathrooms.

He figured something was wrong when you burst into the gender-neutral bathrooms, not bothering to lock the door behind you. James and Sirius silently fought about who was going to follow you in and check on you; James found you insufferable, Sirius had severe emetophobia and would probably throw up himself if he had to be close to you vomiting. James rolled his eyes, it was his responsibility. Sirius clapped him on the back gratefully, leaving him to return to the others. James sighed, reciting some affirmations before he cracked the door open, calling out to you.

When you responded with a disgusting wretch, James slipped inside, gagging a little as he saw you leant over the toilet bowl, bare knees on the grimy tile floor.

"Alright?" He asked for lack of anything better, unsurprised when you replied with another gag.

"I feel ill," You said pathetically, head hung low in the bowl which James knew you would resent tomorrow. He laughed quietly, getting closer to you.

"No shit, idiot," His tone was light as he began to rub your back softly, making sure your hair was away from your mouth. You vomited a few more times, your body reacting in violent hurls as James tried to be both soothing and as far away as possible.

When your stomach was finally empty you slumped against the toilet, cheek pressed against the cool porcelain.

"Woah," James pulled you up to a sitting position, "That cannot be good for your skin. Let's get you home, okay?" You nodded petulantly, letting yourself be led out through the club, James telling Lily he'd make sure you got home (and congratulated her on the upcoming wedding).

"Can we get some gum or something? My throat tastes like vom." James looked down at you from where you were lodged into his side, legs shaky as you wobbled down the street. He sighed and steered you in the direction of a convenience store, picking out strawberry gum for you since it tasted better than mint, your words. Good you thought when he paid for it, the football star can shell out 2 pounds, makes more than you anyhow.

You chewed happily, stumbling down the pavement as James held onto you, keeping you upright.

"You're so muscly," You said, somewhat in a drunken haze.

"Thank you?" James laughed, patting you softly on the forearm he was holding. To be fair, you weren't quite sure if it was a compliment either. Your words were admittedly oddly nice but your tone made it confusing, drunk thoughts not completely translating to sober dynamics.

You meandered for a few oddly peaceful minutes, neither of you starting an argument or picking a fight. It was a nice break from normal, the two of you even sharing some peaceful small talk -- discussing a movie you'd both seen recently.

Of course, nothing good lasts.

"James!" A voice yelled from the other side of the street, a short man with mousy mannerisms. James groaned beside you.

"Peter Pettigrew," He whispered to you, trying to pull you along faster, "We used to be mates but turns out he was just using me to get team secrets out into the papers." You whipped your head around to look at him. Oh! You knew Pettigrew, unsurprising given you both reported on essentially the same topics, but he had a bad name even in your circles. He was closer to a paparazzi than a journalist, going for the cheap stories and ad hominem approaches rather than searching for any meaningful insights. Simply put, in an already sleazy career, Peter Pettigrew was the bottom of the barrel.

"Later, mate. I'm in the middle of something right now." James put his arm around your shoulder, better shielding you as he tried to make a getaway. The telltale flash of a camera reflected off the grey pavement, making both you and James whip your heads around to face Peter, looking hardly ashamed of himself. After a moment of shock, you both covered your faces, stumbling down the street as fast as you could manage. The damage was already done.

Suddenly you didn't feel as drunk, navigating the cobblestone streets with unanticipated nimbleness. James might've had the athlete's advantage but you were on home turf, leading him through local shortcuts and to the front door of your apartment building.

On the journey over you'd attracted a few more photographers all fiending for a scandalous picture of James, a small mob forming as you tried to punch in the door code despite your shaking hands. James was right behind you, front pressed to your back, holding his Adidas windbreaker out in a position to shield your face from the prying eyes.

You slammed the door shut, the nosy questions and camera clicks immediately muffled. James let out a long sigh, running a hand through his already tousled hair. Neither of you spoke for a while, processing what had happened.

"Make yourself at home then." You cringed as you surveyed the state of your flat; clothes flung over chairs and dishes still in the sink. Your only option for living alone was cramming all your stuff into what was essentially a shoebox, so any amount of mess made the place look chaotic.

"Nice place," James said and you immediately rolled your eyes, snatching up a stray bra strewn across an armchair. "No, I mean it! It's cozy. Very you." He gestured up at the colourful, mismatched glassware in a kitchen cabinet and the beaded curtain separating your bedroom. You blushed slightly; you didn't often take men home, your flat staying a girly paradise just for you.

You put on the kettle, comforted by the familiar sounds of water beginning to boil. James sat awkwardly on an armchair near the window, anxiously peeking out from behind the curtain every few minutes. His reactions told you the paparazzi were still loitering outside.

James took his tea gratefully, surprisingly still agreeable despite all the terrible things that had happened in the course of a few hours.

"Do you have a back exit or something? Somewhere I can slip out and get home?" You shook your head with a grimace.

"Only the fire exit, but that still goes out near the front. Otherwise we're surrounded by other buildings."

"You must be exhausted after everything. Head off to bed, I'll wait until the gits outside fuck off then lock the door behind me. We don't have to ever mention this again if you don't want." The orange lamp light made James' eyes look unfairly soft, highlighting the golden flecks amongst the brown. You steeled your nerve and shook your head.

"I'm not that bad of a host," You tried to joke, "Besides, don't you have training tomorrow? You're already up later than I'm sure you intended to be. I couldn't live with myself if I ruined England's star player by making him stay up all night, you take my bed and go to sleep." You were both very carefully trying to keep things light, not wanting to spend any more of the night miserable and fighting.

"Well, I'm not taking your bed, that's just impolite. I'll take the couch, if you're being so generous as to let me stay." He had a cheeky smile on his lips as he said it, both of you dancing around the fact that in any other circumstance James wouldn't have been allowed within fifteen feet of your flat.

"That couch? No way." You pointed at the teensy vintage sofa sitting in front of the boxy television. It had space for maybe two and a half arses to sit on it, maybe horizontally extended legs if you were short-ish, but there was no way the goliath James Potter was getting any decent sleep on it. "You take the bed. I'll survive the couch tonight."

"Don't be stupid, I can't sleep in your bed. If not the couch I'll take the floor."

"Speaking from a purely medical standpoint, I haven't cleaned these floors recently enough for it to be safe to have your face in such close proximity. Take the bed, Potter."

You bickered for a few long minutes, both of you trying to outdo each other's respect as host and guest, respectively. You didn't miss the irony that even when you and James were getting along you were fighting.

"I'm not letting you go without, that's final." You turned away to go fetch a pillow for your night on the couch when James said something you never ever thought you'd hear from him.

"Then sleep with me."

"Excuse me?" You all but shrieked, immediately cringing as you thought about your poor neighbours.

"Look, it's basically morning, we're both shattered and I'm sure your bed is much comfier than whatever alternative you're planning. We can even go full pillow-wall if it'll make you feel better." You stared at him for several moments, lips actually agape. Never in your life did you think James Potter would be asking you to share a bed with him, and never in your life did you think you'd be considering it.

"Fine."

Twenty minutes later and you were both ready for bed. You'd found James an old pair of an ex-boyfriend's long abandoned pyjamas, stuffed in a bottom drawer. They were slightly too small to accommodate all his muscles, the t-shirt sitting a few inches above the pants' waistband, giving him a very '90s crop top and exposing his happy trail.

You were almost definitely more embarrassed than James. You were in a similarly aged pair of pyjamas, a cartoon of Spongebob over your chest. You couldn't tell if you'd prefer to be in the lame pair that you were wearing or a cute pair -- no, it would probably look like you were trying too hard. Which you weren't. You didn't care about looking cute in front of James Potter, why would you?

He was already in bed when you'd returned from your skincare routine, face fresh and moisturised, and though you knew he was going to be there, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of James Potter in your bed. Tucked up to the chin under your frilly floral grandma sheets, he looked the picture of cozy.

"Don't bloody touch me, I mean it. I want to feel alone in my own bed," You snapped, sliding under the covers, pulling the doona similarly high up to your chin. You turned over to the centre of the bed to find James already on his side looking at you. You let it be for a moment, surprisingly enjoying the sleepover vibes you'd created.

"Okay this is weird now, the pillow's going up." You slammed a long decorative cushion in between the both of you, secretly smiling at the sleepy giggle James let out.

The first time you awoke it was hazy, still early in the morning with golden sunbeams streaming through your curtains. Warmth enveloped you, keeping you cozy despite the winter morning outside. You shifted to burrow deeper into your blankets when a groan came from behind you, startling you more awake as you recognised the feeling of muscular arms wrapped around your middle. It suddenly all came back to you, James walking you home, the paparazzi, you making an absolute fool of yourself. However, James was a portable heat source and extremely comfortable so you let yourself ignore everything that had led up to it, allowing yourself another few hours of blissful sleep.

The second time you woke up James was gone. That wasn't surprising given he definitely had early morning training, but you would reluctantly admit that it was a little lonelier in your bed than it usually was.

You didn't leave the house for the rest of the day, finally cleaning your apartment after much too long. Turns out all you needed was to be embarrassed in front of a guest to get you motivated.

Monday morning you weren't hungover anymore, but you were mourning the weekend that had passed much too quickly. Still, things were running smoothly enough; you didn't miss the tube and had snagged a seat, and your makeup was looking absolutely grand. You were absolutely thriving.

That was, until you crossed the threshold of the Sunday People offices and the jerks from the politics columns started bothering you, as if a Monday morning wasn't punishment enough.

"Meet anyone nice over the weekend, sweetheart?" One crowed from his desk chair, looking positively dickhead-ish in his too-small button-up.

"Or still on the clock maybe? We know you're always hunting for a good story." The combination of both remarks confused you, but you strutted past them with a quick glare in their general direction, your clicking heels producing enough attitude that you didn't need to say anything.

As you approached your own desk area, you had the distinct and uncomfortable feeling that everyone was looking at you. You couldn't think of why, but subtly wiped the edge of your lips in case it was foolishly smudged lipstick.

You even swore you heard one of the royal writers -- an awful woman maybe twenty years older than you -- say something about your 'promiscuity' and 'unprofessionalism'. You didn't know where it was coming from. You weren't friends by any means but you usually just stayed out of each other's way, you didn't throw around insults at your workplace. You glanced down at your outfit but nothing seemed especially revealing, the same button-up and pencil skirt you always wore if you weren't doing field work.

You were really starting to wonder why everyone was looking at you when even Lily was sending you pitiful glances. You had just made up your mind to say something about it when your boss came striding towards you, anger emanating in a way which only middle-aged men can do.

"What is this?" He slammed a Daily Mail tabloid down on your desk. The office was dead silent. You looked down at it, wholly confused as to what it could be -- your last article was approved without any troubles.

THE 'INSIDE' SCOOP? POTTER GETS COZY WITH REPORTER ON NIGHT OUT

And there, right under the brazen headline, was the stupid picture that Peter Pettigrew took. The two of you out on the street, you tucked into James' side with his arm around you. Your face wasn't totally visible, but anyone who already knew you would recognise the figure and fashion.

You could feel your face drop as you read the article, a barrage of slut-shamey insults and reports of how intimate you and James were out on the streets of London -- all entirely false, of course. When you'd finished reading the piece the whole office was staring at you, waiting to see how you'd react.

"It's a lie," You said quietly, trying to stop your hands from shaking as they rested on your lap. There was a pregnant pause as your boss processed what you were saying, clearly confused. None of your coworkers dared to speak.

"Bullshit," He replied, face blooming red as he decided you weren't being truthful. "That's you and that's James, there's no denying that. The whole bloody country will be able to see you two getting cozy on the street. How do you reckon this reflects on me, having your name and workplace published alongside your completely unprofessional affair?"

"I understand that it looks bad, but it's not what you think at all. J- uh, Potter was just helping me get home after a chance encounter because I wasn't feeling well, then he hid at my place because of all the paparazzi. Nothing happened." It was a weak explanation, even you could tell, even though it was completely true.

The arseholes over in Politics were already sniggering to themselves and you wished you could have ripped them a new one. Instead, you were cowering underneath your brutish boss.

"It's your word against Pettigrew's, and only one of you's been printed. You've been publicly humiliated and we're getting bad press for it."

Your boss had left you with the threatening promise that the issue would be brought up with your superiors and the whispered opinions of every single person you worked with. You choked out an excuse to get out of the office, taking the lift up to the rooftop to cry.

You had peace for a few minutes, getting the most embarrassing of the sobs out alone.

"Did you actually sleep with him?" If it was anyone else you probably would have snapped, yelling at them for being so insensitive. Marlene said it with such earnest curiosity and sympathy that you turned to face her instead. You were met with her and Lily, your very best friends who you were feeling especially lucky to work with at that moment.

"No!" You told them the full story, about getting sick at the club, James just being polite and walking you home, and Peter Pettigrew's terrible betrayal. Both women listened attentively, taking it all in.

"I thought you hated Potter," Lily said finally, "How'd it get that far in the first place? Usually you'd have ditched him in the first five minutes of being in his presence."

"I don't hate him." You studied your hands intently, observing the peeling red nail polish you should have reapplied yesterday. "I think he's annoying and obnoxious and I've always hated that he's never believed I could be a serious writer, but I don't hate him. He has his moments. Besides, why would I waste energy on hating Potter when I could hate Pettigrew with all my heart?"

"What a snake," Marlene spat, lighting a cigarette as she got comfy next to you. You and Lily both nodded. Peter was not only now a backstabber, but he'd been becoming increasingly insufferable over the years you'd all been writing.

He started out quite nice and was in your periphery of friends in the same way Remus and even James were, but as he'd gotten the job at his shitty tabloid magazine he'd become downright intolerable, always twisting what you'd said both in official articles and when gossiping with other friends. You had all had enough a few years ago and stopped inviting him places. Clearly, he'd held onto the grudge.

At his own work, James was facing the same rumours, though not nearly to the same peril. As he rocked up to his home pitch for the morning training session he was received with catcalls and high fives which made him nervous. No one was ever that happy to be working out on a Monday morning.

"Thought you hated her, mate."

"Maybe all she needed was a good shag to get the stick out of her arse."

"Woah! Can we take it back a few steps and not talk about women that way?" James sent a look over to one of his teammates.

"Sorry bud," He held his hands up in surrender, "Thought you wouldn't mind since you're always moaning about her." James' eyebrows knit together as he tried to piece together what the men were talking about, finally giving up and asking for a plain explanation.

He was met with a copy of Peter's article, outlining the flirty touches and 'electric chemistry' the two of you shared. Scanning it quickly James felt his face screwing up in disgust. Never mind that it obviously wasn't true, what a disgusting violation of privacy. He'd only recently launched into the spotlight, working his way up into the Premier League and then team captain in the last few years. He still didn't know how to handle the fame, especially invasive press like this.

His first priority was setting the ruth straight for his team, explaining exactly what happened and outlining strict instructions not to bring it up the next time they saw you.

"This is going to be a lot worse for her than me," He said, ending the conversation there.

He was correct. Rumours only spiralled from Peter's article. You'd stupidly created Google Alerts for your name; as a journalist, it made sense to keep track of where your writing was being shared. One day of this nonsense and you had all alerts silenced, not wanting to ever visit the internet ever again.

Apparently, this alleged affair was the most interesting thing young British people had ever experienced. The football star and the sports journalist. As you packed up to leave at the end of the day you were feeling sick to your stomach, already overwhelmed by the attention you never wanted on you.

Your face blanched as you approached the dizzying glass windows, a mass of reporters swarming the door. You didn't have to think hard to know they were waiting for you. You retreated to the restroom where they couldn't see you to rearrange your exit appearance. Pulling your coat tight against you and scarf up to cover the bottom half of your face, you plugged your iPod nano in to appear busy (and touched up your eye makeup for the inevitable photos that would make it back into the news cycle).

Physically and emotionally prepared you braved the crowd again, moving through with a polite but firm shove, making yourself a path down to the tube. You only snapped at one particularly rude paparazzi, giving him an instruction of where to 'stick it' as you hopped down the stairs to your station.

You ate a haphazard dinner by your computer, obsessively clicking through the various articles (and now personal blog posts) that had mentioned you. Every link made you feel worse about yourself.

The articles themselves were bad, most of them degrading you and congratulating James. Some had even produced old school photos of the both of you, even a few from your uni days when James was just starting out professionally and you were attending similar parties.

The articles were one thing, at least they usually had to be somewhat impartial. The blog posts by James' fangirls were downright cruel, calling you a slag based on a singular photograph and dragging your name through the mud.

You were drawn from your doom-scrolling by your cellphone ringing, Britney ringtone at least drawing a smile from you.

"Hello?"

"Get off the internet," Sirius Black said from the other end of the line.

"How'd you know?" You exited the webpage dutifully, already feeling the weight of the world's ugly words lifting from your shoulders.

"I figured. First time being written about isn't easy."

"It's certainly making me grateful I've never been so bitchy in my articles," You produced a hollow laugh, "I don't know how people can say these things about someone they've never met."

"That's why we like you," He said, "Mostly, at least. You stick to the sport and not our personal lives."

"Don't inflate my ego, Black, it's just because I don't like you guys," You joked, your mood already blooming back to somewhat more chipper.

"That's what I've been telling him!" You heard Remus call from further away, probably the other side of their living room. Sirius made an offended noise.

"Is Potter there?" You changed the topic, swirling your mouse around the window aimlessly, too afraid to check your work or personal notifications.

"He's out right now, calling someone official -- a publicist or lawyer friend. He's tearing his hair out about this, he feels awful for you." Both men explained, bickering about who exactly he was talking to.

"Yeah, I'm noticing only one of us is getting called a slut." You rolled your eyes even though they couldn't see you, balancing your cell between your shoulder and ear as you made a cup of tea. Sirius' barking laughter crackled through the speaker.

"Don't worry about it, love, everyone knows The Daily Mail is full of shite. Besides, I got that all the time."

"Yeah, in school! Not when you have a grown-up job to save face at!" Sirius conceded, apologising lightly. You shrugged him off; he was not the target of your anger at all.

"James'll be back soon, do you want to stay on the phone?" Remus asked and you answered without hesitation.

"No. I don't want to talk to him right now. We'll just find something to fight about, it's not worth it."

"He wants to make things better," Sirius offered, "He feels terrible."

"Maybe when I'm not so angry at the world." You left them with the offered compromise, hanging up to pity yourself for a few more hours before bed.

You didn't end up being fired over the incident, your bosses couldn't find a good reason to cite, but everyone in the office knew you were on thin ice. Most weren't afraid to highlight that fact. You were really starting to hate the Politics guys.

You just tried to keep your head down, diving into your articles and trying to keep in the higher-ups good graces. Amidst the drama though you'd been taken off all football coverage for the time being, banished to the irrelevant 'sports' you never even knew existed.

The week had taken you out of London to cover bizarre rural events like cheese rolling and bog snorkelling; not uninteresting but a big change of pace to the Premier League drama you were used to.

It did take your mind off of James and the media shitstorm for a day or two though. Being in a small town was much preferable to London, at least for the moment. The paparazzi weren't going to make the drive to find you for a single day when there were plenty more interesting figures to find in the city.

Plus, you were meeting the most interesting people. Though it was no Premier League final, everyone around was so wholly invested and excited by the competition that you couldn't help feeling the same, despite your initial hesitation.

Throughout the day it was just you, your notepad, your camera and the few thousand people who came to participate and observe. You'd already met and interviewed the woman who made the cheese, the previous year's winner and you were waiting impatiently to see who'd prevail now.

The paper was paying for you to stay overnight so you could chronicle the post-event celebrations, and you'd never been so glad to be working late. The key players in the day, organisers and competitors had all convened in the town's old pub, basically heaving under the weight of you all.

You held up your beer with the others despite hating the taste, grateful to be included in their toast to the day. You laughed as you tried to down it quickly, wanting the taste out of your mouth as soon as possible without refusing such a kind gift. Holding the pint up in the air victoriously you accepted the cheers of those around you, including the lovely middle-aged lady who made the ceremonial cheese and the man only a year or two older than you who'd won earlier.

"Finally letting your hair down!" He laughed and you smiled back, trying to remember his name. A glance down at your notepad said Drew. "Can I get you another?" You hoped he didn't notice your eyes widen, not expecting attention like that, not when you were allegedly working no less. You opened your mouth to agree when someone else answered for you.

"She doesn't like beer, thinks it tastes like piss." You whipped your neck around at the familiar voice, mouth dropping open at the sight of James Potter.

"What the hell are you doing here?" You asked, jovial politeness abandoned.

"You didn't remember that my family comes to watch every year?"

"Respectfully, why the fuck would I remember something like that?" You snapped, moving to leave and follow the much nicer Drew to the bar. James grabbed your hand lightly, stopping you from leaving.

"Wait, can we talk please?" You just looked at him for a long time, considering how much patience you had after a full day of work, then shrugged half-heartedly.

He led you outside and away from the crowd, both of you letting out a huff as you noticed the change in temperature.

"I liked your story on the bog snorkelling -- interesting stuff," James broke the awkward silence and you rolled your eyes aggressively.

"As if you read my pieces."

"I do!" He insisted, silently refusing the cigarette you offered. "I've read all your pieces, honest."

"But... huh? You're the one who always said I'd be a shit writer, I've spent years trying to get the negative internal James out of my head! You absolute dickhead!" You shoved his chest, turning back towards the door to return inside.

"Are you thick? I only said that because I fancied you!"

James' words rang heavy in the air, the street otherwise silent. You stared straight ahead of you for a moment, his words settling on top of you as you focused on the orange street lamp.

This whole time, this whole time, you'd been fighting the image you believed James had of you, striving to be better, never being satisfied, for nothing. This whole time you and James had been bickering and trading insults for nothing? And all his flirting... James' annoying charm and ironic compliments and innuendo-filled teasing were all genuine, after all this time? Suddenly your whole world had turned on its axis.

"What do you mean you said it because you fancied me? That is not normal!" You whirled around, accusatory finger pointed his way.

"I don't know! I thought I was supposed to! It wasn't cool to be a sap!" James argued back, running a hand through his already tousled curls.

"Jesus Christ," You muttered, "So what, you thought all my arguing back was just flirting?" James' silence told you all you needed to know.

"Come on, don't act like you didn't like it a little bit! As I recall you were always up for the fight, weren't you? You never avoided me or ignored me. Let's face it, you enjoyed it as much as I did." He stepped closer to you, breath visible in the cool air.

"I didn't enjoy it, what the hell are you talking about? Why would I enjoy trading schoolyard insults with some arrogant, idiotic football player who discredited the one thing I wanted most in my life?" Suddenly you were inches apart, heat emanating from both of you as you fought.

"Like you never said I was stupid for wanting to be a footballer? Face it, love, you're just as bad as me."

And suddenly, despite all your better judgement and every bit of sense in your head, you were kissing him. You didn't know exactly how it had happened, and if anyone were to ever ask you you would absolutely pin the blame on James but there you were, out in the middle of the street without a care in the world.

Every one of your senses was on fire, the smell of his cologne, the taste of his lips, the feeling of his soft curls under your fingers. Everything about James felt like he was made for you, like all the years of you revolving around each other, playing off the other's insult was just a lead-up, preparation for the very moment you kissed for the first time.

James' arms around you were warm, strong from years of working out and protective like a weighted blanket. One hand wrapped around your midsection and the other firmly on your neck you felt wholly surrounded by him, isolated in your own bubble of James.

It was probably a bad idea, but you weren't overly concerned with addressing that fact in any rush. It didn't come as you tilted your head to bring him even closer, it didn't come as you said hurried goodbyes in the pub and collected your coat, it didn't even come as you closed the door to your hotel room, undoing the buttons to James' shirt like they had a personal vendetta against you.

The admittance only came as you lay entangled with him, faces millimetres apart.

"Was that a bad idea?" You asked, genuine self-consciousness mixing with pragmatic anxiety.

"I mean, I quite enjoyed myself, love. Did you not?" James' cheeky smile made you snort out a giggle but you sobered up quickly, hitting him lightly on his toned chest.

"Don't turn this into a joke!" You ordered, "Have we just fucked everything up?" James just looked at you for a minute, taking in the sincerity in your voice and the depth of your eyes.

"Of course we haven't," He assured you. "Do you like me?"

"But--"

"Ah! Do you like me?" He reiterated and you paused, nodding shyly. "See? You like me and I like you. We'll figure everything else out. Start slow; baby steps."

"Baby steps," You agreed, sharing his smile. It really only hit you how much you actually liked James once you'd said it, finally noticing how he might've been looking at you the whole time.

You sent James off early in the morning, both of you needing to make it back to London quickly. You had to get your article written up and James had training. Thankfully there was no awkwardness in your goodbye; James had to rush to meet his parents to drive back by car and you had a train to catch. The only moment of hesitance came as you said goodbye, waving at each other with a giggle as James hopped down the steps. He hesitated halfway, turning to look at you with the glint of mischief in his eye that you'd become very well acquainted with.

In a moment he was at the top of the steps again, swooping in to steal another kiss. You rolled your eyes to hide an embarrassing smile, pushing him back in the direction he came.

"Haven't you got somewhere to be?" You asked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. James mimed twisting a knife in his chest but continued down the stairs nonetheless, giving you one last smile before he turned a corner and disappeared from your sight. You sighed like a schoolgirl then laughed at yourself, packing the last of your things to get home.

As you sat on the train, green landscapes passed you through the window and you felt your cell phone buzz from the minuscule pocket of your work trousers.

thinking of u :P <3

You grinned, looking out at the scenery so the people around you wouldn't be able to figure out your embarrassing secret. You felt like a teenage girl again, blushing over a text from the guy you had a crush on.

Everything turned to shit in a matter of hours after returning to London.

First, James' publicist made his statement. It wasn't necessarily terrible, but it really had no regard for you. No statement declaring you both on good terms, no coming to your defence or asking for the press to respect you. James looked like the hero saving a stupid drunk girl, and you still looked desperate for the most popular footballer in the country. You were decently sure it wasn't James' fault, but it did significantly dampen your lovesick giddiness.

The office was half-empty when you arrived, kitten heels clicking against the ground. You said a quick hello to Lily, still dutifully typing away at her computer. You followed her lead, exporting your notes to your desktop computer, formatting the piece and going through edits to have it ready for the next paper.

The sun was setting, sending orange and pink streaks through the sky when the door to your boss' office slammed open, echoing above the cubicles.

"You kissed him?" He yelled and you paled, knowing exactly what he was talking about but not how he knew. That problem was solved when he slammed the magazine down in front of you, no doubt just delivered by the skittery young receptionist running back to the elevator.

FACT OR FICTION? POTTER AND REPORTER CAUGHT SNOGGING AMIDST PUBLIC DENIAL

Fuck. That could not be worse.

The whole piece was essentially dragging your name through the absolute mud now that they had the confirmation there was something going on between you and James. The whole world thought you were sleeping to the top, or for the best scoop, and everyone hated you for it.

You looked up at your boss, words dying on your tongue.

"Please tell me that's not you," He said, grasping at the thinning hair on his head. You couldn't deny it.

"I..." You trailed off, searching for anything you could say to make it better. "I didn't mean to. And I'm being completely honest when I say that the first article was all bullshit. Things have... happened since then." You were already on the verge of tears. Even on an optimistic day, you couldn't have denied that this was utterly shit.

"Jesus." Your boss muttered, beginning to pace. "Look, I like you, you know? You do good work and you're never outta line, but I reckon the higher-ups are gonna be done with you. They wanted you out over the first article but I convinced them it was all speculation. This is proof and makes us all look bad that you're sleeping with someone you interview every other bloody week. Look, I'll do what I can in damage control, but I'd be bringing your stuff home tonight. I'm sorry."

How could he have just left you with that absolute bombshell? Effectively firing you, just like that? The tears had made their way up to your waterline, sitting there mocking you as you refused to let them fall. You submitted your piece and shut off your laptop, angrily stuffing your sparse personal decorations into your shoulder bag to get the fuck out of the building as fast as possible.

The paparazzi were waiting again, of course, like that was what you really needed. You pushed past them, making sure to land an extra hard stomp on Peter's foot, lips twitching into the beginnings of a smile as you heard him curse.

You sat on the tube, staring intently at your feet and trying desperately to think of anything but your current situation. You'd already been approached by someone who'd coughed out "Skank," which really hadn't done anything for your sour mood. All you wanted was to crawl into your bed and never emerge.

You wandered down the street between the metro station and your flat, hands shoved deep in your coat pockets.

"Hey!" Someone called and you glanced over on instinct, senses drawn by the interruption of an otherwise quiet evening. "You're the girl who kissed James Potter, yeah?" It was a girl still in her school uniform, probably sixteen or seventeen. You thought through your options quickly and shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Wicked. How was it?" She asked, chewing on pink gum. There was an aura about her that you liked, not judgemental like everyone else you'd met. If you were still in school you thought you might've been friends with her.

"Pretty good, I'd do it again." A cheeky almost-joke between the two of you, ironic given the shit that it had caused for you.

"We were talking about it at school. Pretty shit how they've treated you. Like they all wouldn't jump at a chance to get close to 'im." You liked the way that she didn't get any closer. Just the two of you standing face to face, divided by the empty road.

"Exactly what I've been saying," You agreed, tucking your hair behind your ears.

"If it was the other way around, if you were the famous one, James would be getting congratulated for getting with you, not ridiculed by the mindless gossip columns. All my friends think it's utter bullshit, stopped buyin' 'em and everything." You could have kissed her if that wasn't tremendously creepy. In five minutes, this schoolgirl had vindicated everything you'd been saying for the past week in a way no one else had.

"Thank you," You said, with more sincerity than you probably should have had for a complete stranger. The girl just shrugged with a smile, nodding before continuing down the street, the sound of her leather school shoes growing quieter with every step.

You felt it in your whole body every time you thought of the interaction for the next few hours, warmth spreading through your chest as you were reminded there were still good people around.

Your other reminder of that fact came with the sound of your buzzer, the laughing of Lily and Marlene echoing off the stone of your building. As you let them in curiously they presented armfuls of takeout, the smell of Chinese food immediately floating through your flat.

Lily took the responsibility of setting out the food while Marlene took control of your little television, flipping between channels until she found a suitable romcom starting.

You didn't speak about what had happened, no one mentioned James Potter or the bloody Sunday People. Yet, there was an air of tenderness that let you know the girls knew exactly what was happening and how you were feeling about it.

Still, there was something bothering you. You couldn't give it a name immediately, only a tugging in your stomach while the girls were entertaining you, but persistent nonetheless.

It wasn't until you were all crammed into your bed, the other two peacefully asleep, that you could identify the sensation. It was an overwhelming desire, a need to write that you hadn't felt in ages. It was the same feeling that had pushed you to be a journalist in the first place, an inspiration you typically only felt watching a magical soccer final.

You crept out of your bedroom, switching on your computer at the kitchen table, squinting at the aggressive blue light. And when a blank Word document appeared before you, you started writing. Obsessively, feverishly, words poured out of you at a rate that hadn't happened since you'd started at Sunday People.

The words of the school girl fresh in your mind, you started an article vastly different from your usual kind. Instead of strategies and highlights you dissected your own experience of the past week, saying everything you hadn't let yourself unload to the paparazzi outside your office (though with fewer curse words than they would have received). It could have been minutes or hours that you were writing and you wouldn't have noticed, eyes glued on the screen in front of you.

You didn't realise you'd fallen asleep until Lily woke you gently with a hand on your shoulder, offering a steaming mug of tea. It was light outside, the world already up and awake. You were glad it was a weekend as the girls didn't need to rush off to work, cooking a simple breakfast for you all to share.

"What've you written?" Marlene asked, the second part of her sentence unnecessary: since you don't have a job to write for. You shrugged, taking a bite of some eggs.

"Just something I had to get off my chest. Might see if I can sell it to someone to tide me over 'til I figure out what I'm doing with my life."

"Can we read?" You made a 'go ahead' gesture, the computer already open to the screen.

A WOMAN'S UNWILLING WEEK IN THE PUBLIC EYE:

How a woman always loses.

You sat in mild discomfort as Lily and Marlene read your piece in silence, anxiously awaiting their reactions. They weren't what you were expecting.

When they turned back to face you, Lily had tears in her eyes, red tones brought out in her skin. Even Marlene looked uncharacteristically moved, not at all the reaction you were expecting. Firstly, it was completely unedited so you suspected it was somewhat of a mess from your midnight haze. Secondly, it was more of a vent than anything, getting your hatred for invasive paparazzi off your chest. You thought you'd all laugh about it then move on with your days.

"Lils, what's wrong?" You didn't mean to laugh, it was more out of surprise than anything else.

"It's just, it's so raw and real. It's so unfair," She sniffled, wiping her eyes with the sleeves of her sweater.

"Jesus, you don't have to cry," You said lightly, "I'm fine! I hated that bloody place anyway."

"That's not the point," Marlene pointed out, "And Lily's right, this is really confronting stuff. It's great."

"Thanks," You mumbled, studying a lamp for something to do.

"Can we talk about James?" Your head snapped back to look at her.

"What about him?"

"Clearly there's been some... developments in your relationship, which we don't have to talk about--"

"Yet," Marlene interrupted.

"The point is that it looks like there's feelings involved now. What are you doing about them? Because if you publish that, it's putting everything out there, and even I can't tell how you feel about James right now," Lily finished.

"I don't want to talk to him," You said quickly, "I know it's not his fault but I can't think about him without getting mad. It's like I wrote; he ends up fine while I lose my job over one kiss."

"Understandable," Marlene nodded, "But if I know James at all, he'll be going crazy every minute that you ignore him."

You had much to consider when the girls left. The state of your career, your feelings for James, everything felt too big and overwhelming to make any decisions about. So, you took a nap.

The rest of your weekend was spent sending your then-edited article to as many newspapers and blogs as you could and hiding out in your flat, dodging James' calls.

Unfortunately, you liked him. You'd figured out that much. More unfortunately, he hadn't done anything to help you out in all this mess, benefiting from the press in a way that only England's favourite footballer could.

On Monday morning your piece was published. Not the biggest or most reputable newspaper, if your name hadn't still been trending it probably would have gone largely noticed. Instead, it blew up.

It had mixed reviews, of course, a tell-all so blatantly feminist would always attract its haters, but you were floored by the support it was receiving. Women were validating your experiences in a way you hadn't expected even a few days ago. It made you not so scared to leave the house anymore.

On Tuesday morning, Remus called you. You had the thought that it might have been James calling to grovel on Remus' phone, but you thought it was a smart enough idea you'd indulge anyway. If it was Sirius you wouldn't have picked up.

Instead, it was actually Remus.

"Come to the media room this afternoon," He said, evidently not wasting time with pleasantries.

"What?" You asked, caught off-guard.

"Just do it. Two o'clock."

"Remus, you know I don't have a job anymore, right?"

"Come off it, you know anyone on the team would let you in. You've got quite a name for yourself," He chanced a joke and you rolled your eyes.

"What, whore?" You retorted, only a little worried it would be true.

"I'm hanging up," Was all he said before the line went dead. You huffed, snapping your phone closed with all the attitude of a spoiled private schoolgirl.

Yet, at two o'clock you were standing in front of the media room at James' team's stadium, questioning all of your life choices.

The room seemingly went silent when you entered, dozens of pairs of eyes staring you down as you nervously stuck to the wall. You felt the derogatory, leering stares from all the sleazy men who'd been accusing you of sleeping with players since you first started in the field. It made you want to drop dead.

James made his way to the lectern up the front of the room with a cough, quieting down the chaos.

"Afternoon, everyone. I'm sure you're all wondering why I've called you here, I've got some things I'd like to address.

"As you all well know, I've been a frequent face in the papers lately, and not for my brilliant playing as it usually is. I recently got followed down a street after a night out looking after an old friend who happened to be a colleague of yours. Now I know that my godly good looks lead you to believe that I don't feel the same as all of you, but I do. And I'd like you all to consider how you'd feel if a man with a camera followed you all the way home after you'd been out for a night with your friends and a few cheeky drinks. It's pretty invasive if you can't imagine.

"Now, all this press hasn't really affected me. However, my dear friend has been subject to misogynistic articles, slut-shaming and harassment all because we were seen out together and a few hateful words from someone I used to consider a mate." You had no idea where this was going, but you were absolutely fascinated. James was more well-spoken, more mature and solemn than you'd ever seen him, though he still had his audience in the palm of his hand with his casual jokes. It was a masterclass in public speaking.

"If you haven't read any of my friend's pieces I would highly recommend them; she's got a brilliant voice and I personally read everything she publishes. However, I'm not here to talk about her work; I'd actually like to talk about her if you all don't mind."

What the hell was happening?

"In the midst of all these articles over the last week, I know you've all seen various pictures of us, including from secondary school. A few come to my mind, our graduation picture is a highlight, but I'd really like to talk about this one." James brandished a printed-out photo you recognised instantly.

"This photo was taken when we were twelve or thirteen years old at someone's party. That night, as you tend to do when you're young and bored, we played spin the bottle and ended up being each other's first kiss. I'm sure you're all wondering why I'm telling this story now, and it's because ever since that night as I have recently realised, almost a decade later, I have been embarrassingly, stupidly in love with her."

Your life wasn't real, it absolutely could not be.

"And though I've done some incredibly dumb things over the years, somehow she's managed to like me back -- at least a little. So I'm setting the record straight right now, she is not 'sleeping to the top' or trying to get a secret scoop out of me because I'm the one who's been chasing after her for twelve years.

"I know I've been rambling on for far too long so I'll wrap it up here, but I just wanted to end this little conference with a warning that if I see any more disgusting, hateful articles about her, you won't be getting another comment from me again. So nice to see you all!"

The room started to trickle out but you were stuck to your spot against the wall, frozen in absolute shock. You hardly even noticed the dirty looks you got from some of the people you'd been working alongside for years.

You spotted James in another corner, drinking out of a plastic water bottle and messing with his hair. A nervous tell.

The room was almost completely empty when you approached him, heels muffled by the carpeted floor.

"Hey stranger," You said softly, feeling way out of your depth. He turned in an instant, smile lighting up his face then melting away as it was replaced with an insecure frown.

"Was that okay? I didn't want to embarrass you but I wanted to step up and do something and protect you and--"

"Have you really loved me since we were twelve?" You cut him off bluntly.

"Every day since, as I've figured out," He agreed with a slight nod, glasses slipping down his nose slightly.

"What about all the flirting with Lily? The other girls over the years?"

"So obviously fake. Distractions. It's never been anyone but you, love."

You could only stare at him for a moment, your whole world shifting beneath your feet. James' face became increasingly worried, brow furrowing more the longer you remained unresponsive.

"If you don't feel the same that's totally alright, I still stand by what I did and I don't want you being harassed for--"

You'd always thought that cutting someone off with a kiss was ridiculously cheesy, reserved for shitty Hallmark movies with grown-up child actors who never got their big break. Turns out though, when you realise that your girlish crush on the star footballer has actually been a complicated love of twelve years, you don't really want to waste any more time.

When you woke up on Wednesday morning with James next to you, body heat keeping you cozy, you were convinced you had to be dreaming. When you eventually got up to check your emails and start your day the hypothesis was only solidified by the impossible email waiting in your inbox.

The fucking BBC wanted to hire you as a football commentator and sports writer. Your dream job at your dream company. If you let out an embarrassing squeal then that was none of your business.

You were still convinced you were hallucinating the whole thing until James came in with his biggest smile and that look in his eyes that told you he probably had a hand in getting your name on the BBC desks.

Even a few weeks ago you would have been mad at him, assuming it was mocking or he had ulterior motives. But it wasn't a few weeks ago anymore, and James Potter's whole, endless heart belonged to you. You weren't letting that go anytime soon.

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augustjoy · 3 months ago

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I’m Sorry…What?

Based on the following ask: Established relationship but it’s secret from the team. The team think they don’t like each other but in truth they are deeply in love with each other but the team don’t let them always be alone together out of worry so there have been a few close calls where they almost get caught until reader and Aaron room together and finally talk about maybe telling the team only the way they tell them is threw wedding invites and that’s shocks the team and they all have questions to which reader and Aaron only smile thinking how funny it is that a team of profilers never found them out. Love this idea! In this, Derek kind of looks out for the reader – very “big brother” behavior from him in this.

Aaron Hotchner x Fiance BAU! Fem Reader

Fluff

Word count: 1617

Not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, some explicit language, meddling profilers, canon typical violence, mention of stabbing and hospitals, mention of wedding related activities, let me know if I missed anything!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

You stood from your desk, just about to head up to Hotch’s office with a file when Emily stopped you. Her hand resting on your forearm gently, her eyes meeting your own.

“I have to go drop this file off, let me take yours.”

“Oh, Emily it’s okay. I can take them.” You moved to grab her file.

“Girl, it’s okay…I know how hard he is on you.” Emily stood, patted your shoulder and took the files to Hotch’s office.

Things had been like this pretty much since the moment you’d joined the BAU. For whatever reason, everyone on the team had just assumed that you and Hotch hated each other…that you two couldn’t even be in the same room as one another without fighting. But that couldn’t be further from the truth.

See, what the team didn’t know was that Aaron and you were engaged. The two of you were dating even before you had joined the BAU. You had been working with a different team within the FBI, having a background in behavior analysis…moving to the BAU when a spot opened up, that just made sense.

Aaron and you had agreed to keep things strictly professional at work to avoid any discomfort within the workplace. Apparently that choice was now biting you in the ass.

Working with profilers, you’d think the secret of your relationship would have come out a long time ago, that being said, doesn’t mean there haven’t been some close calls.

This had started early on in you career with the BAU. Aaron had avoided pairing the two of you together, simply to avoid any suspicion of your relationship. The team, however, took this as him not warming up to your presence on the team.

Then it was him “benching” you. Aaron for a period of time had kept you in the local precincts on cases, you knew this was because he was worried about you getting hurt, but the team saw this as him questioning your abilities. They all reassured you that you were an asset to the team, more than capable in the field. Morgan had gone as far as confronting Aaron about the way he was mistreating you.

What really sealed this theory in your teammate’s heads was the way Aaron and you sparred. During debriefings the two of you would go back and forth through numerous theories, jabbing at one another for how “ridiculous” the other one was being. While to the team this looked argumentative…it really was how the two of you were, always pushing one another, wanting them to be the best they can be. Unafraid to challenge one another.

Everything was different after that. The team worked overtime to keep things light when the two of you were around one another. They would step into conversations, inserting themselves when it wasn’t necessary. They would jump in and offer to pair with one of you, so you’d never be stuck one-on-one.

At first you found it kind of funny, laughing internally at their crazy antics, but now that you were engaged, it was getting increasingly annoying. You’d just wanted some alone time with your fiancé and they were making it impossible.

You had gone to get a fresh cup of coffee to help you get through the remainder of your paperwork. Upon entering the kitchenette, you came face to face with your fiancé.

“Hey sweetheart.” He quietly greeted.

“Hi hon.” You smiled.

Aaron passed you a cup of coffee before moving to fill a second one for himself. He’d been this way since the beginning, always putting you first no matter what. You offered him thanks and stood with him for a moment, enjoying the proximity.

“I got a call earlier from the florist, she sent over the invoice. I also sent the deposit to the caterer this morning.” You informed.

“For the flowers, peonies right? Did you decide on pink or whi-”

“Everything okay in here?” Morgan bounded into the kitchenette. “You guys look tense…please tell me you weren’t fighting again.”

“Nope, everything is good! I was just heading back to my desk.” You said before making your exit.

The next slip up was while away on a case. You had been with Derek interviewing someone that happened to be the unsub, only you hadn’t been aware of that going in.

He had pulled a knife and moved quickly, leaving you with a nasty stab to the gut. You were lucky that it hadn’t hit anything major. You’d waved Derek off, telling him to go after the unsub.

After apprehending the guy, Derek made his way back to you to check in and make sure you were okay. He had called the team and for a medic, not leaving your side.

When Aaron showed up he was livid. The team took that as anger for your “mistake”, not realizing that his anger was directed toward himself – he was beating himself up for having sent you in there, putting you in this situation.

He rode with you in the ambulance to the hospital…giving the rest of the team time to talk about how he was probably reprimanding you. But once again, it couldn’t have been further from the truth. He had held you hand and reassured you the whole way to the hospital.

The team met him there and waited by his side as you were tended to. And when the doctor came out and called your name, asking for family, Aaron didn’t hesitate to rise to his feet, barely catching himself and mentally correcting fiancé to boss.

After that, the team did everything they could to keep the two of you separated or at least had someone with you to act as a buffer. It was becoming exhausting – you’d been trying to give Aaron an update about some stuff for the wedding and you just couldn’t get the chance.

The two of you would end up rapidly firing through topics once you arrived home for the evening, trying to catch one another up on wedding tasks, work tasks, and just everyday things.

“Aaron…have you thought about how much easier things would be if we just told the team about us?”

“Yes I have. Why do you ask?” He admitted.

“Just, well…they’ve been annoying lately.” You huffed. “I don’t mean to sound rude, you know I love them. But they just won’t quit, I can’t get even a second alone with you at work and it is getting ridiculous.”

“You’re right. When you were in the hospital last month, I almost let it slip in front of them. If it’s what you want, let’s tell them.” Aaron agreed.

And thus began your planning of how you’d tell the most oblivious group of profilers that the two of you didn’t hate each other but were actually engaged to be married.

It took about a week and a half before you could officially tell the team your little secret. You had been waiting for your invitations to come in so you could hand deliver a few to your team…it would be the perfect announcement.

“Round table in five.” Aaron called out into the bullpen.

“Shit…he seems pissed.” Emily hissed.

You couldn’t help but giggle, knowing full well he was anything but pissed. Emily and you went and collected everyone, bringing them to the round table. There were hushed whispers about what this could be about, and when Penelope mentioned there wasn’t a new case, you could feel the anxiety filling the room.

Aaron made his way in, his hands holding a neat stack of pale pink envelopes. You couldn’t help but notice the way he commanded a room, his mere presence demanding the attention of those around him. This is what had initially drawn you to him all those years ago.

“I have something for each of you. I’d like you to wait to open them until everyone has one.” Aaron announced.

He passed them out one by one, the room remaining silent the entire time. It didn’t take long for everyone to notice that you were the only one who didn’t receive an envelope.

“Hotch man, if this is some kind of sick power move then I swear I will-” Derek began.

“Please, open them.” You spoke before standing up and making your way to Aaron’s side.

Confusion painted its way across everyone’s faces. Hands working quickly to open the envelopes they’d been handed. You were shaking with anticipation, and you couldn’t help the little smirk that made its way to your lips when the confusion was quickly replaced with shock.

“I’m sorry…what?” Penelope asked.

“What the hell is this?” Derek questioned.

Everyone began talking at once, talking about whether or not this was a joke. Asking if one another knew, and how long this had been going on.

“Guys!” You called. “Aaron and I have been together for a few years, well before I started with the BAU. We got engaged about seven months ago…and well, we’d love it if you all would be there for us.” You smiled.

“I KNEW IT!” Rossi laughed. “I told you all from the beginning that they didn’t hate one another, they love each other, and you all swore that they hated each other.”

Four months later, the BAU team stood by your sides as you said your vows and committed yourselves to one another.

And while the team dynamic shifted slightly with them knowing the two of you are together, and with there being two Agent Hotchners now, the one thing that didn’t change was that this team was family and you all were there for one another no matter what.

Taglist: @bernelflo@pastelpinkflowerlife@just-moondust

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ka1rin · 3 months ago

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Blue Lock Romantic Tropes

isagi, kaiser, sae, rin, reo, nagi x reader (separate)

word count: 1.1k , genre: romance / fluff

note: this story is about what romantic trope would suit these Blue Lock characters. I hope you guys love this!

Isagi Yoichi — Childhood Friends

Yoichi Isagi had always been head over heels for her—though he didn’t realize it until it was almost too late. She’d been his best friend for as long as he could remember. She was the one who stayed after practice to kick a ball around when no one else would, the one who always seemed to know exactly what to say after a tough game.

But lately, everything felt different. He couldn’t stop noticing the way her hair caught the sunlight or the way her laughter softened the edges of a bad day. He wasn’t sure when it started, but he knew one thing for certain: she wasn’t just his best friend anymore.

They walked home together like always, her voice filling the air with stories about her day. Isagi barely heard a word. His mind was somewhere else, lost in thoughts he didn’t have the courage to say out loud.

When they reached her street, she stopped and turned to face him. “You’re quieter than usual. What’s up?”

He hesitated, his fingers tightening around the strap of his bag. “Do you ever think about the future?”

Her brow furrowed. “Sure. Why?”

“I mean… us,” he said softly, forcing himself to meet her gaze. “Do you ever think about where we’ll end up?”

Her eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. “What are you trying to say, Yoichi?”

“I think—no, I know—I want you in my future,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not just as my best friend, but as… something more.”

Michael Kaiser — Enemies to Lovers

Michael Kaiser had never believed in losing. In his mind, every match, every argument, every moment in life was a game to be won. That’s why she infuriated him so much. She wasn’t interested in playing by his rules.

From the moment they met, she challenged him—both on and off the field. She had a knack for seeing through his façade, stripping away the charm he used so effortlessly on everyone else. At first, he hated it. Then he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

One evening, after yet another clash on the pitch, he found her sitting alone in the stands. The moonlight caught the curve of her profile, making her look softer than he was used to seeing.

“You’re staring,” she said without looking up.

“Maybe I’m trying to figure you out,” he replied, sliding onto the bench beside her.

“You won’t,” she said, finally meeting his gaze. “You’re not as good at reading people as you think.”

Kaiser smirked, leaning back on his elbows. “And you’re not as immune to me as you pretend to be.”

Her lips twitched, but she said nothing.

For the first time, Kaiser felt like this wasn’t a game he could win—or one he wanted to.

Sae Itoshi — Second Chance

Sae Itoshi had always been good at letting go. Whether it was friends, family, or teammates, he had a way of detaching himself from people, of moving forward without looking back.

But she was different.

She’d been his calm in the storm, the person who grounded him when the pressure of his career threatened to swallow him whole. He hadn’t realized how much he relied on her until the day he walked away, convincing himself it was for the best.

Now, years later, she stood before him at the airport, looking as composed as ever. His pulse quickened at the sight of her, and for the first time in a long while, Sae felt unsure of himself.

“You’ve changed,” she said softly, studying him like she was trying to figure out a puzzle.

“Not enough,” he admitted, his voice steady but quiet.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she glanced away. “Then why are you here?”

“Because I couldn’t stay away,” he confessed. “Because letting you go was the biggest mistake I ever made.”

Rin Itoshi — Sun and Moon

Rin Itoshi didn’t believe in distractions. He’d built his life around focus and discipline, shutting out anything that might interfere with his pursuit of perfection.

Then she came along.

She was everything he wasn’t—bright, cheerful, and completely unafraid to push her way into his life. At first, Rin had found her presence irritating, but over time, he started to notice the small things: the way she always brought him water during practice, the way her laughter filled the empty spaces of his world.

One afternoon, as they sat in the park, she turned to him with a mischievous grin. “You should smile more, you know. It’s not illegal.”

He frowned, looking away. “Why does it matter?”

“Because it suits you,” she said simply, leaning back against the bench.

Rin’s chest tightened at her words. He didn’t know how to explain that smiling felt foreign to him—except when she was around.

Reo Mikage — Unrequited Love

Reo Mikage had always been drawn to her. She was different from everyone else in his life, uninterested in his money or his status. She treated him like an equal, never hesitating to call him out when he deserved it.

He’d fallen for her quietly, keeping his feelings to himself out of fear that she’d never see him the way he saw her. Still, he stayed by her side, always there when she needed him, hoping one day she might look at him differently.

One evening, as they sat together in a quiet café, she broke the silence. “Reo, why are you always here for me?”

He blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… you’ve never asked for anything in return,” she said, her voice softer than usual. “Why?”

Reo hesitated, his heart pounding. “Because you’re important to me. That’s all.”

Her gaze lingered on him, and for the first time, he thought he saw something shift in her eyes.

Nagi Seishiro — Forced Proximity

Seishiro Nagi didn’t like effort. He preferred simplicity, staying in his comfort zone, and avoiding anything that felt like too much work.

So when she moved into his apartment as his new roommate, he wasn’t thrilled. She was loud, messy, and always finding ways to drag him into her whirlwind of energy. At first, he counted the days until she’d leave. But as time passed, he started to notice the way her laughter brightened the dull moments, the way she always made sure he had dinner even if she didn’t cook for herself.

One night, as they sat on the floor eating instant ramen, she looked over at him and smiled. “You’re not so bad to live with, you know.”

Nagi shrugged, his usual indifference masking the warmth spreading through his chest. “You’re okay too, I guess.”

She laughed, nudging his shoulder. “Wow, such high praise.”

He glanced at her, his voice softer than usual. “I mean it. I don’t mind you being here.”

Her laughter faded, and she looked at him with an expression he couldn’t quite place. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time, Nagi felt like that was exactly what he wanted to hear.

612 notes · View notes

enjakey · 15 days ago

Text

Where Have You Been

Pairing: figure skater!Sunghoon x archaeologist!Fem!Reader

Hello! This fic (20k) was posted in my old account that I have since deleted a long time ago. This is a new account so I’m reporting this here. I thought I’d never bring any of my old shit back but I love this series too much. If you’re wondering why this sounds familiar, it’s probably because you’ve read it a long time ago. Not because it’s plagiarized. None of my work is plagiarized, please understand that. My writing style is carefully curated from the many Japanese and Russian writers I engage with. This plot came to me after a horrible loss in my life- three years ago.

Please enjoy reading it. There’s a Jake version, too.

Summary: to the outside world, Sunghoon had it all- looks, friends, a successful career and a New York life. But he was lonely, brinking on the hope of never finding true love again. He’d come to the age of even giving up, watching some of his closest friends getting married and starting families. That is, until he met a curiously cautious archaeologist.

THERE WASN’T A MOMENT where he felt the prospects and depths of loneliness until Sunghoon realised how everyone around him was settling down and he was still calling the ice rink the love of his life.

His childhood wasn’t particularly rocky, excluding the handful of break-ups he went through. He always had people around him everywhere he looked; standing over his head were his loving and supportive parents that invariably extended a hand when he needed to be picked up in any crisis; his sister looked over his shoulder like a hawk, keeping him from harm’s way and taking on the duty of an older sibling instead of staying the naive little girl like she was supposed to; he had a few friends in school who he used to pass free time or confide in once in a blue moon; then, there were the friends he made in summer camp who practically become his extended siblings through a year’s course of writing letters to each other and sending postcards through the mail.

They were a group of seven in total. Heeseung was an academic and music prodigy, excelling in any professional field he dipped his foot in to test the waters. Jay was a product of nepotism, aspiring to take over his father’s travel company after graduating with a business degree. Jake started as an engineering geek but eventually shifted his foundation toward the world of modelling, fashion and fame and eventually starred as one of the most wanted models for many designers and brands. Sunoo dreamt of starting a skincare brand of his own and studied chemistry and cosmetics in college- he was known amongst them for dying his hair in wild and bold colours. Jungwon, though he was in high school, was the most mature and responsible out of all of them, a taekwondo successor who had the most intricately detailed schedules to follow. Lastly came Riki, the youngest of all of them, who was the dance prodigy often compared to Micheal Jackson or Fred Astaire.

Sunghoon was an ice skater, his life and career revolving around gliding on frozen water and getting coached by previous skating Gods so that someday, he would reach their level. His mother always said he was fond of the sport because he was born in the winter season. On a cold night, while a hail storm plagued his small town, his parents drove to the hospital regardless of the risk of hypothermia and he was born. His cries overshadowed the whistles and whispers of the storm and the snow outside morphed to look like sakura petals slowly transcending off the trees to rot on the ground. He was used to the cold since the day he was born and would continue to master the skill of figure skating, treating the ice rink like a second home. Hence, he was dubbed The Ice Prince by those he called friends and family.

Moving to New York for the sake of starting fresh with his summer camp friends was a thought wilder than the dreams he had of living in a mansion and lounging in hot tubs as a hobby. But he wouldn’t be training in The Concrete Jungle if it weren’t for Heeseung and his elaborate plan of bringing all seven of them so he could focus on New York University and the rest of them could have a better shot at building futures and making careers. This meant leaving behind his parents and his sister but he told them that it would be for a few years and he would eventually come back due to homesickness. He told his friends in high school that he would keep in touch with them but it was an empty promise. Once he settled into his apartment with Jay and Jake, he was burrowing himself into a new home, a new lifestyle.

When he turned twenty-two, Sunghoon had no plans of moving back to Korea like he had told his family. Homesickness washed away with the worries of juggling between college and figure skating. Learning a new language and suppressing his urges of using Korean slang was also something that took up his consciousness while he went about his days. He was more prone to stumble on his sentences while speaking to a girl he liked or would mix up the definitions of words that sounded similar while speaking to his professors or skating coach. He paid for tutors to teach him the ins and outs of the language and eventually, he got the hang of it.

In high school, Sunghoon shuffled through four failed relationships, all ending with burnt bridges, fire setting ablaze the wood of what was left of love and desire. His first relationship was with the eccentric girl in class. She was always cracking jokes and making people laugh, only to come home to loneliness and an empty phone where no one bothered to reach out to her. He wouldn’t say he regretted dating her but it was a struggle trying to get her to confide in him. His second relationship was in sophomore year, wooing the new girl in class with charm, humour and wit but her feelings towards him came as soon as they had left and Sunghoon was left with unfulfilled promises and hopes from her. She taught him a lesson- to never rush into a relationship with someone he barely knew so his third relationship was with a close friend of his whom he had known for around three years. But their rendezvous soared downwards like a plane crash and left both of them with one less friend. His fourth relationship ended because of his abrupt plans of moving to New York. It was very brief, lasting around one or two months before they agreed on a mutual separation instead of opting for long-distance because those never worked. He didn't speak to any of them again and would be embarrassed even to contact them.

His love life was in the same state of shambles in New York. He went on a myriad of dates and blew racks of money for girls that inevitably left him because they weren’t good for each other or his affection just wasn’t enough. His relationship with girls he believed was his soul mate or future wife, too, left him high and dry with tears streaming down his face every time he was broken up with. He couldn’t understand what he was lacking and he didn’t understand why no matter the sacrifices he made or how many times he settled, he was always fucked over, lied to, or even cheated on. His trust issues surfaced after a redhead, his girlfriend of six months at the time, kissed a random tattooed biker in a club, right in front of him.

Growing up in a small town, Sunghoon was never taught the sophistication of emotions. There were only happy, sad, or angry and emotions surpassing that radar were almost taboo to discuss. His parents, though not the orthodoxy type and were well educated, didn’t seem to speak about emotions such as heartbreak or jealousy, nor did they talk about traumas that lead to trust issues, insecurities or social isolation. The public school he attended didn’t have the budget to hire a counsellor, hence most of his classmates were also unaware that they were contributing to the world of teenage angst and dilemma. They just went along with it, some victimising or being the victim themselves of bullying and other forms of distractions towards the world of young psychology and hormones. Sunghoon knew that guys would beat up another guy if they found them flirting with their girl, but he assumed the action stemmed from jealousy rather than the feeling of emasculation and embarrassment. He watched students bully the weak and short ones and assumed it was because they thought they were weird-looking and not because they were threatened by their aptitude and adroitness. He only started becoming aware of the association between actions and emotions when he began to accept the fact that he was feeling heartbreak, rather than simply labelling the ache in his chest as sadness.

Out of the seven of them, Jake was the first to get married, which came as a shock to everyone as he was barely twenty-three. He got down on one knee and slipped a ring on Chiara’s finger in the middle of the café where they had their first date. In Sunghoon’s eyes, Jake and Chiara’s relationship was what he would consider ideal. They would fight, but always came up with a solution; they disrespected each other but quickly changed the habit to make sure acts like such would never repeat; they spent months learning about each other and being patient with one another to the point where they could not only finish each other’s sentences but could decipher what one was feeling about or during a particular situation with simply a raised brow. By the time they were married, they were like a couple out of a Disney Princess movie, riding into the sunset on a pristine white horse. They were both models, and they didn’t stop each other from achieving other goals in their life. For example, Chiara was ecstatic when Jake took up photography and Jake was overjoyed when Chiara went to college to study psychology because seeing each other succeed was what made each other happy.

Sunghoon was the best man at their wedding. He planned the best bachelor party Jake could ask for and detailedly organised their wedding alongside the maid of honour, Sheila. They even went tux-shopping together while Jake helped him put on a blazer when he said, “You should bring a date to the wedding, it would look weird if my best man had no date.” Sunghoon looked at his best friend like he hadn’t cried about his cursed love life and failed luck in relationships with him all these years. It was then that he realised how hopelessly lonely he was. Jake was getting married to the love of his life, Heeseung had a girlfriend of two years and Jay was only starting to go on dates and he was already gushing about how he thought he found the one. Sunoo refused to indulge in relationships until he became successful enough to raise a family, which everyone respected. Jungwon and Riki were still single, but everyone was playing cupid for them, trying to set them up with mutuals so they could at least venture into the world of committed relationships.

It was then that he realised that perhaps, after all the relationships he had been in and out of and after all the girls that told him that he wasn’t what they were looking for, perhaps he was fated to die with no hand to hold on his deathbed and no wife to share his love of figure skating with.

Like most people in his generation, Sunghoon took to Google to find answers to his fears during many eras in his life. He fell into a rabbit hole of Reddit threads, telling him that the wait was always worth it and Quora sites on people sharing their experiences of finding their one true love much later into their lives. He read about an elderly woman who only met who she believed to be her soul mate in her sixties after her husband died of leukaemia and when all the hairs on her head turned a rich shade of grey. He even learnt about the compatibility between zodiac signs and called his mother to ask about his horoscope but it turns out his family didn’t believe in the astronomical and spiritual. He researched the meaning of moles which led him to cry to Jay while drunk about how the mole on his left pinky toe held him back from the chance of having a marriage, let alone having a girlfriend. He even went to the booth of a shady palm reader who told him to just wait until she comes- he wasted his money on a sham.

Not long after meeting the swindling palm reader, Sunghoon found himself crying in Chiara’s lap as she was the closest person he had to a sister that he could contact. His tears stained her expensive leggings and her carved nails raked his scalp while she cooed and hushed him out of loneliness. His sobs echoed between the windows and walls of their million-dollar apartment and the television played a random movie, abandoned by those who were previously watching it.

“Am I ruining your clothes?” Sunghoon sniffled and Chiara chuckled, letting her knuckles smoothly glide past the corner of his eye to wipe away his tears.

“Not at all, ‘Hoon,” she hummed. “But you gotta tell me if you’re drunk before you say anything else.”

“I had a beer before coming here.”

“That makes sense.”

Since Chiara had met him, Sunghoon’s most prominent quality was his habit of drinking. On a normal night of a weekend or weekday, he’d drink with or without his friends and go bar-hopping alone if he had to. Beer was his favourite drink but there were times he had gotten drunk on wine as well. It wasn’t to say that his alcohol tolerance was low, it was just the quantity he consumed that made those around him fear for his liver and his life. She remembered finding herself in unthinkable, yet memorable, predicaments due to his habit- she once had to talk him out of jumping off her roof because he thought someone dared him to do so. After learning about his history of failed relationships, she assumed that was where the habit stemmed from but she wouldn’t say he was the modern-day drunk Romeo, nor could he be clinically diagnosed as an alcoholic. He was just deprived of what he truly craved for too many years.

“Do you want to talk now, at least?” She cooed again, patting his hair.

Sunghoon nodded, willing himself to gravitate off her lap and against the plush cushions of the pristine couch. His hair bounced as he shook his head, using the back of his hand to wipe his blotched face. His cheeks were puffy and his eyes struggled to stay open with the warm tears protruding past his lashes.

“At this point, I really don’t think I’m gonna find love, Chiara,” he frowned, slumping into his seat and pondering at the chandelier above him. If he tuned out the noises from the television, he could hear birds chirping, crickets singing and wind carrying wrinkled leaves across the building.

Chiara let out an exasperated sigh, pursing her lips and tilting her head towards the ceiling. “Did I ever tell you how lonely I was before meeting Jake?”

“What?” Sunghoon furrowed his brows. “Well, you did. But what does that have to do with this?”

“I’m saying that, before I met Jake, I barely had any friends and thought a guy that treated me toxically was the love of my life,” she explained. “But then I met Jake and suddenly, I wasn’t lonely anymore and he brought me good things. He gave me an opportunity to build a family, he loved me like no other, he cared for me, he respected me… and the list goes on,” she waved her hand, fingers frolicking amongst the air to signify glee.

“Yeah, and then you lived happily ever after,” he rolled his eyes, a scowl reaching his lips. “You met when you were teenagers. How old were you, eighteen? I’m in my twenties now. If I don’t meet the love of my life by thirty, I know I’m dying alone.”

“We met when we were teenagers because we just got lucky!” She defended. “Our love story was supposed to go a certain way and yours is supposed to go a different way. You can’t compare, you know? It’s just gonna make you feel worse. I mean, look at Sunoo. He hasn’t been on a proper date in years.”

“That’s because he doesn’t want to!”

“That’s not my point! My point is, you’ll meet her when the time is right-”

“Please don’t start with your destiny crap-”

“And you won’t die alone!”

When Chiara shook Sunghoon’s shoulder, Jake walked into the living room, a grin on his face as he looked between his wife and best friend. The sight wasn’t new to him; Sunghoon was moody over his teetering love life and Chiara was playing the therapist to install some faith and hope into him again. She was usually successful but on the occasions that she wasn’t, she’d let him camp on their couch and wallow over his emotions over a few drinks and lousy K-dramas. Jake would accompany him on most days and she would go to work or vice versa. Other times, they would call the rest of their friends and have a game night.

“Didn’t you say that you thought you were gonna marry a lot of the girls that you dated?” Jake’s grin didn’t leave his face. He leaned against the wall closest to the couch and crossed his arms across his chest. “Maybe the next one you meet might be the real love of your life.”

“You’re not funny.”

Sunghoon turned twenty-seven faster than he anticipated. He was still figure skating; he was one of the most well-known figure skating coaches in New York, in fact. He had dyed his hair silver now, a choice of fashion he had made a couple of years prior and it simply stuck to his personality. His love life was barren at that point, entertained with a few one night stands or hookups once in a while. But he was rich and successful and was even famous amongst figure skating enthusiasts.

His friends were exceptionally successful as well, though they didn’t change as much as he did. Heeseung was a rewarded music producer, perfecting the tunes of many well-known and upcoming artists. He had a house down in the suburbs, living a rather tranquil and amicable life with his wife, Karina, and a pair of twins who were just starting kindergarten. Sunghoon would see him and everyone else on most weekends during the dinners hosted at Jake and Chiara’s exorbitant apartment.

Jake was considered one of the top models in the industry, his name often showing up alongside that of Lucky Blue Smith and Bella Hadid. A little while after his fame in modelling expanded, his photography career bloomed as some were published in Vogue and Cosmopolitan magazines. Chiara’s modelling career was similar to his, collaborating with the Hadid sisters, Emily Ratajkowski and even Kendall Jenner. With a degree in psychology, she even dabbled as a therapist while being propelled into an aristocracy. The couple’s mutual success would explain their bougie possessions. They had a son, Kai, around three years old, who was already babbling about becoming a movie director when he grew up.

Jay had taken over his father’s travel company when he graduated college. There was no denying his power and authority in running the business better than his father. He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and the spoon was getting bigger. His wife, Jade, was a childhood friend of his, the daughter of his father’s best friend and no one was surprised when their engagement was announced. Though, some speculated they were only getting married because he knocked her up. They now had a two-year-old daughter and everyone was hoping for her and Jake’s kid to grow up and get married.

It was funny, really.

Sunoo made regular trips between America and Korea, deeming them as business trips to check on how his cosmetics factories were doing. His brand was quite famous and a lot of Sunghoon’s past girlfriends- or flings- were regular customers of his. It was almost entertaining to watch when he told them that the owner of their favourite make-up brand was one of his best friends- some even tried leaving him for Sunoo but he was already engaged to none other than Chiara’s best friend, Sheila.

Jungwon, too, was engaged to a talented dancer to whom Riki had introduced him. Now, Jungwon, Riki and Ella own a dance studio, training kids who are passionate about the art. The three lived together as roommates in a cosy apartment that looked like it was out of a 90s sitcom; faint yellow paint, bathrooms with wallpaper and random wall decor that adorned every room. Riki was in a rather fresh relationship and refused to introduce his girlfriend to anyone until he was sure it was long-term- but Jay would always call him out saying, “Don’t even lie, you have terrible commitment issues. You’re gonna break up with her just like you did the last.”

Sunghoon loved his group of friends, he truly did. But the one thing that bothered him was that, at that moment, while he had the mall’s entire skating rink to himself and while he was gliding and the only sound was the sound of scraping ice, his friends were all involved with a girlfriend or life partner while he was still alone and his last rendezvous being a girl he met at a bar whose name he hadn’t even learnt because he kicked her out the next morning.

Usually, when he was skating alone, not busy tutoring boys who were overconfident about doing the pirouette or helping little girls who were scared to let go of the training handle and skate on their own, he would imagine himself in the stadium of a championship. His jeans and dusty shirt would transform into black pants and a red shirt adorned with rhinestones and loose sleeves tight at the cuffs. There would be a crowd cheering for him to perform his best figure skating tricks and throwing flowers at him and the ice would be cluttered with rose petals. His family would be sitting in the front row and his sister would have a poster larger than the size of her head with the words ‘WE LOVE YOU SUNGHOON’ written with cheap crayons-

That was his memory of when he was awarded the Novice Gold medal of the Asian Figure Skating Trophy.

Perhaps the sound of his blade shaving the ice as he figure-skated triggered such memories in him, furthering his homesickness. The frosty wind puffed up his hair and paled his skin more than he thought it could. All he heard was silence, along with what sounded like a whirring ice shaver.

The static in his ear lasted for about two more minutes as he let his thoughts wander into deeper corners of his brain, opening forgotten boxes of memories that either made him want to cry or laugh. But slicing through it all was the bleak sound of sneakers connecting with the marble tiles of the mall he was in. The Ice rink he was in was located on the ground floor of a rather small mall. Along with the ice rink, the ground floor housed shops of many fast food kiosks and beverage stalls. So, Sunghoon's feet tilted to stop his blades from moving any further and the sound of scraping ice was ignored when he faced the direction of the food stalls.

Jogging towards the boba tea café was a girl wearing old, musty sneakers and a stack of books between her arms. Her hair bounced as she finally stood in a long cue to give her order and her red-tinted lips pursed as she stood on the tips of her toes to see how long the cue was. She wore thin, silver glasses that complimented her eyes, and silver rings that matched the colour of her white nail polish. Her brown trench coat covered most of her outfit but she wore a white shirt and black trousers, a belt to top it all off. With furrowed brows, she checked the time on what looked like a vintage watch on her wrist, tapped her musty sneakers against the floor in haste and poked the inside of her cheek with her tongue.

Sunghoon didn't know how he noticed such details while standing at least a dozen metres away from this mystery woman. However, he could admit the clichés he was experiencing at that moment. The world around him stopped and everyone was moving in slow motion apart from him and the girl with silver glasses. He could hear his heart beating in his ears, his breath becoming more shallow with every passing second. A few feet away, a little boy's dollop of ice cream fell from his cone and his cries echoed across the floors of the mall. A few feet away from that was a woman who bumped her steaming coffee into another man and his curses could be heard from miles away. Just outside of the ice rink was a little girl holding onto the metal railings separating her from dry to ice and yelling to her parents about how she wanted to learn to skate. These were moments he usually noticed, but this time, it was all irrelevant because of the girl with silver glasses and red-tinted lips.

HE DIDN’T KNOW WHAT took over him but Sunghoon found himself footing towards her with subtle steps. Out of his friend group, he was known to be the one with the best pick-up lines, smooth-talking girls into his apartment as easily as batting an eye. His grin charmed hundreds and he didn’t even know when he attained such ability. Perhaps it was around the time he stopped looking for love and started looking for rendezvous or perhaps it was after the time the palm reader robbed him of his precious twelve bucks. But now, he was nervous and he hadn’t felt this way since the first time he met his last girlfriend and that was years ago.

I should be running away, he thought to himself when he deciphered what he was feeling. It was almost like meeting a new friend again, a profound familiarity in his heartbeat. He asked himself what he planned on saying to her; what it was that people usually said when wanting to acquaint themselves with someone new. It wouldn’t be as simple as introducing himself, it wasn’t a café that they were in. It was a mall- people were bustling around with their own problems, talking amongst themselves and creating a buzz of sound that soon became white noise to him and they were worried about moving further up the line to get a drink, as was the girl he was standing behind.

His intention wasn’t to be a stalker or a creep but he could easily look over her shoulder and read the spine of her books. All the books were bound hard-cover and looked like they were taken out of an abandoned bookshelf. With the number of times Sunghoon had explored the mall, he figured she had bought them from the antique store located somewhere on the top floor. The titles on the books were almost faded but he could figure them out as academic works- some were about wars he had never even heard of and some were about archaeology. He deemed himself lucky when he recognised a title. “The Battle of Yangxia”, it read in faded, golden cursive and he fought his conscience to remember where he remembered the name from.

A few months ago, Jay was hyper-fixated on Chinese history and spent an entire dinner ranting about the several wars they were never taught in high school history. Riki had pestered about how high school education was useless compared to what he learnt in college and that led to a whole conversation on its own. That night, Sunghoon remembered laying on Jake’s balcony hammock with a beer in one hand and phone in the other, sexting some girl he found on a dating app.

“I’ve heard about that before,” he meekly mumbled, leaning to reach the girl’s ear.

The breath of air he let out after finishing his sentence tickled her skin, travelling down her neck and running a shiver down her spine. She didn’t register his sentence but his voice and presence made her look past her shoulder, brows furrowing with confusion. She hugged her books tighter, intimidated by a stranger. It would be the first time any stranger took interest in her, the perplexed gape of her jaw was justified.

“The Battle of Yangxia?” Sunghoon cleared his throat when they made eye contact, offering her a toothy grin whilst clasping his hands behind his back. He rocked back and forth on his heels, tripping while failing to keep up with the line moving forward.

“Oh,” the girl looked at her books, re-reading the same title he was talking about. “Yeah,” she smiled back, expecting the interaction to end and looking away. She almost rolled her eyes when he spoke again.

“My friend had a phase where he geeked out about Chinese history,” he continued leaning towards her, hoping to elicit more of an interaction from her. “I’m Sunghoon, by the way.”

“Y/N,” she didn’t want to come off as rude or disrespectful so she introduced herself anyway. With another glance over her shoulder, she offered him a polite smile, ignoring the arm he had extended for a handshake.

Sunghoon cleared his throat and returned his hand to his back when he realised her rejection. He chewed on his lips, standing straight and continuing moving forward in the line while keeping his gaze on her hair, waves that flowed down her back that complimented her outfit. Then he stared at her sneakers which had worn-out laces and soles that looked like they had walked back and forth in the fires of hell. It almost made him chuckle but he figured she must have a reason for still keeping them.

“So, Y/N,” he mused. “Do you come around here often? First time I’ve seen you around.”

Y/N really rolled her eyes this time, clenching her jaw and poking her tongue into the flesh of her cheek. She wasn’t sure why she was getting annoyed. Normally, if someone tried making conversation with her or noticed her books, she would sheepishly respond with a plethora of nerves. But with this man, or Sunghoon, as he called himself, she wanted to move as far away as possible from him. But she thought she could humour him for some time, perhaps get rid of the pit- or butterflies- in her stomach. She couldn’t tell which it was but regardless, she took it negatively.

“You say that like you work here?” She looked over her shoulder with a scoff, lips almost pulling into a smile.

“I do, actually, work here,” Sunghoon chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m the ice-skating coach here.”

Y/N’s eyes almost widened, leaning to her side to glance at the huge ice-skating rink that was relatively familiar to her. For the time being, it was empty and if she squinted hard enough, she could see the fog of frost floating about the rink. “What’re you doing here instead of taking a class then?” she raised a brow.

“Even teachers need their breaks,” he defended with a pursed smile and shrugged. “And what do you do?” By the time he asked his question, Y/N had started ordering her drink. He interjected, asking for her to order the same for him but she looked at him with narrowed eyes, expression questioning his intentions. “I'll pay,” he offered enthusiastically.

“I’d rather pay for my own drink,” she tutted with a sarcastic smile and handed the cashier her money. “Thanks, though,” Sunghoon dug in his pockets to find change and he paid as well, rocking back and forth on his heels with crossed arms.

It was a moment of awkwardness as they waited for their drinks. Y/N stared at Sunghoon with eyes narrowed to slits, shifting her weight onto one leg and tapping her feet impatiently on the floor. Her shabby sneakers made thuds that were drowned out by the hustle and bustle of the mall, the rest of the world moving past them while Sunghoon looked everywhere but at her. For the first time in a long time, he felt dejected and incompetent in front of someone he intended to pursue. He wondered if she should take it as a sign to move on, simply walk away with his drink and never look back because he knew he would cringe and hit his head against his pillow. Yet another part of him wondered how it would feel to pry at this girl, Y/N, and find out whether attitude was the only thing she had to offer.

“I’m an archaeologist, by the way,” she told him while grabbing their drinks. She smiled at him before handing him his tiger milk boba, struggling to keep her books in her arms.

“That’s cool,” Sunghoon grinned, taking his drink from her. “You need help with those?”

“No,” she assured and stepped back, giving him a small wave before walking away.

He stared at her as she made her way to the exit and he could see the corners of her books peeking from her grin, jogging as she drank her traditional boba tea. “Can I get your number, by chance?” he called out and he was sure she heard him but chose to ignore him. Regardless, he walked away, too, with a smile on his face and a skip in his step as he caught hold of the straw in his mouth.

After that interaction, Sunghoon drove to Jake and Chiara’s house like there was no tomorrow; like his heart would stop if he didn’t tell his best friends about the girl he had just met. He wanted to tell them all about the girl who showed him attitude but attention at the same time and he wanted to tell them about how she was an archaeologist. He wanted to tell them about her battered shoes and he wanted to tell them about every single time she smiled at him because, God, did it feel like a breath of fresh air after talking to Y/N; like it was his first time tasting sugar; like his dreams had come to life.

When he burst through his friends’ door, he took no time rushing in and asking for everyone’s attention. The smile on his face lit up the room brighter than the chandelier ever could and Jake couldn’t remember the last time he saw his best friend that way. From the kitchen, he heard Jay asking what all the ruckus was about and Sunghoon skipped towards him, grabbing onto the chair beside him and slipping into the seat.

“I have to tell you guys something,” Sunghoon gushed but his brows raised when making eye contact with Jay. “What are you doing here anyways?”

“Having lunch?” He responded with his mouth stuffed with bok choy and egg, chopsticks held in the air as though he was asking how more obvious his predicament could be.

“What is it?” Chiara entered the kitchen with Kai in her arms, Jake following suit with widened eyes and an excited grin.

Sunghoon ushered everyone to sit and took Kai in his arms. He let there be a moment of curiosity while everyone begged him to tell them what he was excited about and why he was smiling like he had just seen a rainbow. The kettle whistled while Chiara guessed that he might have gotten selected for a figure skating show and the oven dinged when Jake guessed that he probably bought another dog. Sunghoon was known to adopt dogs- he had six in his home being cared for by a caretaker he had to hire.

“Well,” he started. “Guess what Kai? I met a girl,” he cooed with a toothy smile, kissing the kid’s dark hair who laughed in his lap and clapped. Kai looked at him with curious eyes, having no clue what it meant but was excited by the smile on his uncle's face.

Jay and Jake’s expressions dropped, sighing with the anti-climatic news. “Another girl,” the latter rolled his eyes but his wife slapped his bicep in disappointment.

“Don’t be that way,” Chiara tutted and turned to Sunghoon with glimmering eyes. She rested her chin on her palm, her elbow on the table. “Tell us about her.”

And so Sunghoon told them everything he could muster up while hugging Kai like he was his anchor to reality. His friends listened to him intently, wondering if this encounter would end like all the others. While he talked about her, Chiara and Jake were reminded of how they first met in a photoshoot that started awkwardly but ended in an unexpected friendship. When Sunghoon told them she was an archaeologist, Jay suggested they google her as Jake and Chiara left to sleep.

Jay and Sunghoon spent the rest of the night on Google with a couple of beers, going through any article with her name mentioned. They didn’t find any social media but they did stay up reading one of her papers that had been published on artefacts dug out in Cairo, devouring hours of their time carefully decoding the meaning of words they had never heard of or learning about people they’d never learnt of.

When they were done reading the paper, Sunghoon slouched deeper into the chair and threw his head back, taking a moment to stare at the ceiling and ask himself if he were crazy for Y/N or crazy for love. “Do you think I’ll ever see her again?” By that time, Jay was fast asleep, his face pressed onto the cold table. Sunghoon chuckled and shook his head, his hair falling over his forehead. He dragged his palms down his face, willing himself to stay awake. “Will I fuck this up?” he whispered.

That same night, Y/N had settled in the public library with her books and her students’ previous test papers. The glare of her laptop sored her eyes while she looked through mark scheme upon mark scheme. She must say, she would get quite disappointed with some of her students. Ones that had potential were the ones that flunked their exams and those that did well in school were the ones she saw no future for. In only her second year of teaching, she wondered if she would stay a professor and the esteemed New York University or if she would get another chance to go another dig like she did in Cairo a few years ago.

Her life was peaceful when she wasn’t travelling or going on year-long digs. It was filled with old artefacts, books that could fall apart if she held them the wrong way and cracking paintings that either hung on her walls or stacked behind her closet. The latest addition would be grading test papers and prolonged essays. Sometimes, she liked this life. It would get lonely but her golden retriever, Blue, would keep her company. Her apartment was void of emotion but she was rarely home anyway. Other times, she missed being around people she could converse with. She missed sitting under the sun with a straw hat on her head, brushing away at the sand to uncover an old statue with people that she could laugh with.

By the time she was finished grading papers, the library was empty and her head was swarming with thoughts about the man she met in the mall. Sunghoon, as she recalled his name, wasn’t hard to find online. There were videos of his younger self competing in figure skating tournaments, working in the mall with a pearly smile on his face and a glimmer in his eyes and though he didn’t post much on social media, he was all over model Jake Sim’s Instagram. He was best friends with him and even knew an upcoming producer, Heeseung Lee. She even found pictures of Sunghoon Park with his natural black hair.

On the way home, she watched all the videos she could find of him figure skating, the glow of her phone illuminating the back of her cab. When she found herself smiling, she put her phone away and gazed at the street lights, wondering if she would ever see him again. When she saw a few Chinese restaurants and convenience stores still open, she realised she should have gotten dinner before going home. There were no groceries in the fridge or her cupboards. Perhaps there was some milk left. Y/N’s ego was too big to even ask her parents for a loan.

She was reminded of how she had a roommate a few years ago- Anna. She used to be the one who restocked groceries and cooked dinner, sometimes even reminding her to take care of herself and sleep; the responsible one, essentially. It used to be fun back then when they would sometimes stay up late and binge dramedies or gossip about whatever their work lives had to offer. Now she was somewhere in London, working with Bellerby Globemakers as a cartographer and left Blue for her to take care of. They lived together because it was easier to pay rent and serve food on their plates. Now they were in better places in life, earning more money than they previously were yet Y/N still struggled to keep her schedules in check. Oh, how she missed having a roommate.

The coming weekend, she willed herself out of bed and into a grocery store. Y/N realised that some of her fondest childhood memories were amongst the isles of many stores similar to the ones she was in. She laughed the loudest when her father pushed her around in one of those bright and colourful trolleys kids could sit in and her eldest brother always let her buy whatever junk food she wanted, regardless of what their mother said. She remembered how she would shoplift stationery with her cousins until she turned nineteen and she still had some of the pictures she took with her high school friends in the breakfast cereal aisle.

She also noticed that it was during times like this, when she wasn’t preoccupied with work, that her thoughts would wander off to Sunghoon- the boy she dubbed a handsome stranger with pouty lips and starry eyes. Y/N couldn’t remember the last time she was approached by a stranger who wanted to strike up a conversation. These days, the only social interactions she had were with fellow professors from the university, her students, her family or the occasional text on social media that she never bothered responding to. Though she realised she was awfully mean to him, she had forgotten what it was like interacting with people.

Y/N forgot when she became so introverted. Or rather, she forgot why she became comfortable being an introvert. Back in high school, she remembered always wanting to go out with her friends on the weekend and she remembered unapologetically making acquaintances with any human that crossed her path. Now she was reserved, too shy to approach anyone and building up her walls every time someone had something to say to her. Maybe it was a phase she would never grow out of- her parents did always say that in your mid-twenties, your personality kind of just sticks.

Her cart was filled with frozen foods and bags of fruit by the time she stood in line to check out. Impatiently, she tapped her foot on the floor and checked her watch, wondering when she could go home and heat a pizza for lunch. From what she remembered, she still had her new books to finish reading for the updated syllabus in class and she committed to cleaning her apartment so that was what she was going to do for the rest of the day. Eat, read, clean and repeat.

While Y/N stood in line, Sunghoon and Riki were walking past the same grocery store. Sunghoon stopped in his tracks when he recognised her from the corner of his eyes, through the glare of the glass doors. She was wearing that trench coat again and her feet were clad with the same worn-out sneakers. Her fingers were adorned with vintage, silver rings, this time and he noticed how her shopping cart was basically a stack of frozen pizzas and a few green apples. He chuckled mindlessly to himself.

Riki continued walking for a good ten seconds before he realised his friend was peeping into some shop with the brightest smile he’d seen on him in days, eyes gleaming under the sunlight. He swore he saw his entire body glowing from some kind of happiness he didn’t understand.

“Hyung?” Riki called, raising his brows and slightly stretching his arms as though he was asking what made him stop walking. “What are you staring at?”

Sunghoon didn’t move his gaze or falter his expression but instead continued to wave Riki towards him, flailing his hand around in the air in a way that made him look stupid. “You remember that girl I told you about?” He asked when he approached him.

“The one from the mall?” Riki confirmed. “The one that acted like a bitch?”

“Hey, I never called her that,” Sunghoon stood straight again, furrowing his brows at the boy.

“Well, you described her that way,” Riki raised his hands in defence, pursing his lips and taking a step back. “What about her, though?”

“She’s in the store,” Sunghoon pointed a thumb towards where she stood and Riki traced his gaze in her direction. “The one in the trench coat?”

“Oh,” Riki cocked his head to the side. “She’s pretty. But I’m getting late for work and you promised you’d visit the studio today,” he argued, face falling into a frown.

It wasn’t that Riki was uninterested in his friend’s love life- he knew how much he craved a significant other; someone to love and to be loved by. Yet, this time, the boy was only pulling Sunghoon’s attention away because he was sceptical of how it was going to end. No, he didn’t have faith in the fact that Sunghoon and Y/N could end up happy, solely judging from past experience.

He’d seen how much he was hurt by all the girls in his past. He was there when Sunghoon would stumble into one of their houses drunk, whining over heartbreak for probably the hundredth time. Riki was there to take care of him on nights when he was supposed to be studying for his finals and he was there when Sunghoon would introduce yet another girl to the group- he would call out their flaws every single time and he was right about the girls every single time. Though he hoped his predictions would turn out wrong, he knew his judgement was usually right.

He still remembered meeting that one red-head ex-girlfriend of his from a couple of years ago. Sunghooon had brought her into Jake and Chiara’s kitchen and he just knew that she would cheat on him. He presumed it was something about the way she smiled or the way she shook his hand that gave him a negative first impression. She was the sultry type, and though he had no issue with that, it didn’t mean she could use it as an excuse to flirt with every other man in the room. Riki was right about her and it would only make sense if he assumed he would be right about Y/N- she wasn’t a good idea. But for Sunghoon’s sake, he decided to think positive thoughts- maybe they would work out and he would get married and finally allow Riki a chance to be the best man in someone's wedding.

“Riki, just wait for like, ten minutes,” he pleaded. “Yeah? I’ll just… say hi and come back.”

“My, God,” Riki rolled his eyes while Sunghoon slowly stepped towards the entry of the store with a lopsided grin. “Fine, go,” he shook his head in disappointment and stared at the rest of their interaction from the other side of the glass, gagging with a cringe.

Sunghoon walked into the store with a skip in his step, grabbing the nearest candy bar and beelining towards the check-out line. He didn’t know where he got his confidence from- when he saw her for the first time in that mall, he was a nervous bundle of a mess but now, he stood right behind Y/N and he smiled when he knew she didn’t realise. So, he leaned towards her ear and said, “We have got to stop meeting like this.”

Y/N recognised his voice immediately, swinging around with a gasp of surprise. She covered her gaping mouth with the back of her hand, her glasses reflecting the ray of sunlight when she made eye contact with him. When she comprehended his figure, she felt a wave of relief wash down her torso. “You scared me,” she moved her hand to her chest, gulping. “Didn’t think I’d see you again,” she breathed out a smile.

“That too, in the same predicament,” Sunghoon smiled back.

The pair moved to the front of the cue and he helped her stock her items onto the conveyer belt. “What are you doing here, anyway?” she asked. “Stalking me?”

“No,” he mused innocently. “But if that’s what makes you feel better…”

“Oh, please,” she brushed him off and glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Hey, we’re meeting in a checkout line for the second time. Don’t you think it’s fate?”

“You’re stupid if you believe in fate,” she laughed at his pouting expression. “Seriously, you believe in that crap?”

“Don’t make me feel bad about it, I have a good reason,” he defended.

“Well, what’s the reason?” She paid the bill with her phone, waiting for an answer from the handsome stranger.

He smirked at her, digging one hand into the pocket of his trousers and the other bringing the candy bar to his chin. He looked her up and down, raising an eyebrow to question if she knew what response would come. When she repeated her question, he asked, “I’ll tell you about it on a date sometime?”

SEEING SUNGHOON SKATING ON the ice rink in jeans and a shirt that barely insulated his torso was like watching birds flying freely with their wings spread in freedom. Y/N supposed that after years of dedicating his time to the rink, one would most likely get used to the cold. He had the brightest smile on his face, the type that made his cheeks bulge and his eyes disappear into his eyelids. His teeth glimmered pearly white behind his pouty lips and she wasn’t sure she had the heart to join him and ruin his solitude.

Over the past few months that Y/N spent getting to know Sunghoon, she realised how much he enjoyed his own company. It was ironic really, how he was known as the womaniser amongst his friends but would separate hours in his schedule just to be alone in his apartment with a beer and an old movie, in solitary with his thoughts and his six dogs. She also learnt that he kept a diary, entries meticulously planned in a manner that allowed him to write the smallest details of his day. It would explain the locked drawers in his room- a precaution he consciously took part in because he knew his friends would snoop if they ever found them. He agreed he told them pretty much everything but every man needs a secret of his own, he would say.

Even with their busy schedules, both being teachers of some sort, they managed to squeeze in a few dates after class, for lunch, during the weekends or late-night walks in the park where the moon was waxing but the stars weren’t as prominent due to New York’s pollution. She was even a frequent visitor at his apartment after the first month of knowing him, often sleeping over because she was too lazy to catch a cab and refused to let him drive her home. The latter was mostly because she was scared to bring him to her apartment, the messy space between four walls she lived in that hadn’t been rearranged or properly cleaned in over a year. At least there were no bugs hiding in nooks and crevices.

On the nights she spent in his apartment, one that was only slightly bigger than her own, they’d find themselves lying on his couch, his chin on her head, as they watched a random black and white movie they couldn’t help laughing at. His dogs would be with them, some gathered on the floor and others burrowing themselves in the spaces on his couch. Some nights, they would doze asleep and other times they’d end up in conversations where Sunghoon would talk about his days in high school with a roll in his eyes or about his family with the same smile he would have while skating on the ice rink. He would tell her about his tight-knit group of friends and he would talk about his struggles with perfecting the English language. Y/N would tell him about her siblings- four brothers and three sisters- with whom she talked to every day but had no idea of how she struggled financially sometimes. She would tell him about her international escapades when she went on archaeology trips and to make him feel better, she would tell him that her high school experience wasn’t something she wanted to look back on either.

She still remembered the first conversation they had when he took her out for the first time. He brought her to an upper-class restaurant for dinner, the pair dressed in formal attire to fit the aesthetic. Y/N had panicked at first, rambling about how she wasn’t sure if she could afford it but he assured her that he got the tab and that their table was already reserved so she had no other choice but to accompany him. With a grin, he led her to their table and pulled her chair out for her like a gentleman from a family with old money. The restaurant had golden chandeliers and a menu that went on for an unlimited amount of pages. For the first few minutes, they sat awkwardly, having no idea how to start a conversation but then she told him how it had been years since she came to a fancy restaurant as such and the pair couldn’t shut up around each other since then.

Their other dates included trips to museums where Y/N would effortlessly describe every artefact or painting on display and Sunghoon would listen to the historical anecdotes she had to offer. They once spent hours at The MET- she knew the history and he knew the celebrity galas that would take place annually. He took her to a bookstore once and he realised that if she could, she would have bought half the books in the store. She told him that she could finish an average novel in one and a half days and he refused to believe her unless he witnessed it first-hand. It was a bet the pair had forgotten about but he brought it up during a random phone call but she never found the time to prove herself.

“Come join me, Y/N,” Sunghoon waved for her from the middle of the ice rink and she nervously shook her hair.

Surprisingly, it was the first time he took her ice skating. One would assume it would be the first date he’d take her on because it was all he could talk about sometimes. Meanwhile, Y/N had never been ice skating before. She wasn’t much of a sports enthusiast either so convincing her to play any form of sport would be taking her miles away from her comfort zone. Her biggest form of adrenaline would be riding a high-risk amusement park ride or teaching a class on Malta’s catacombs without previous preparation.

“Come on,” Sunghoon encouraged again, slowly making his way towards her with his hands stretched in front of him and an excited smile beaming on his snowy features. “Don’t be nervous, I’ll hold your hands until you get the hang of it.”

His bare hands hold her glove-clad pair and her gaze stays on the way he holds her and wistfully walks her into the ice. She almost trips at first but after a few rounds of stomping and digging her skating blades into the ice, she could skate on her own without trembling or shaking. Sunghoon made rounds around her and took pictures of her, commenting on how she looked cute with a helmet on her head and a puffer jacket on her shoulders. She giggled and tried covering up the camera of his phone but failed and focused on balancing herself instead.

When Sunghoon giggled, she found herself staring at him for longer than she usually would. When she agreed to go on a date with him all those months ago, she wasn’t expecting herself to enjoy his company. She expected them to come out in the end as friends but then she found herself texting him every morning before waking up and every night before falling asleep. She thought about him every moment she had to herself and waited for the next time she could potentially meet him. She found herself noticing and making note of his small habits and characteristics and she wondered if he prioritised her the same way.

The last time she remembered feeling this attached to someone was in high school. Her brothers had warned her about the boy she had been getting close to and even threatened to harm him if she was harmed. They had dated for a short period, their relationship questionable to her siblings but deemed perfect by her friends. When they broke up, she remembered spending weeks crying over loneliness and it was then that she realised how toxic it all had been. With that memory in her head, she approached Sunghoon with more caution, especially while knowing his history with women.

“It’s getting late, no?” He pulled her to the exit of the rink by her hands, softly whispering in her ear. “We should probably head home.”

“Yeah,” she nodded, pulling off her gloves and jacket while he helped rid her of the horrid helmet that messed with her hair.

“I’ll drive you home?” He offered but was met with a brief moment of silence.

He waited for her to respond, her smile slowly fading from her face, replaced by exhaustion and fatigue. Y/N thought about how she hadn't enjoyed herself in so long and the only reason she was ending her days with tiredness from activities was because of Sunghoon. If she was being honest, he was probably the only person she had been outside her house with since Sarah.

“I don’t wanna go home,” she admitted, a shy purse on her lips.

Sunghoon chuckled and kneeled to help her off her skating shoes. “I just realised you��ve never taken me to your place,” he mumbled. “Why not tonight?”

“No,” she shook her head. “I like your apartment better.” “Are you ever gonna let me in your apartment?”

“Well, not today,” she passed off her comment as a joke but realised how put off he was by this. His gaze lowered and his lips pressed into a straight line. She wasn’t sure if she was even saying the right things anymore. “Can we just spend the night at your place for now? Come over next week, I’ll introduce you to my sisters.”

With that, Sunghoon complied with a smile and the pair spent the night cuddled in his bed, falling into a deep slumber.

Y/N spent the next week cleaning her apartment to perfection, not like before when she’d just scrub her tables and collapse from laziness. No, she put her heart and soul into making her apartment look presentable. Her countertops showed her reflection and her tables were organised after what felt like decades. Paintings and piles of books sat on her bay window which she excused for aesthetic purposes and her carpet wasn’t lined with Blue’s shedding anymore. She didn’t just do this for her sisters, she realised it was mostly to give Sunghoon a good first impression. Her sisters knew she was messy but getting to know someone new and allowing them into a messy apartment was like being handed the death sentence in her books.

The day her sisters would visit rolled around in less time than she expected. They brought her huge bouquets of flowers and home-cooked meals to have together for dinner. God knows how long it’s been since you must have cooked, they said while pinching her cheeks and for the first time in a long time, she was reminded of how much she used to dread being the youngest sibling of eight. Willow and Rose, being the eldest compared to Laurel and Y/N, tended to baby them to the point of frustration. They were adults now, living independently with their individual families but the oldest siblings still had their way of annoying the youngest.

All her brothers, Willow and Rose were married and Laurel was very recently engaged. Using that excuse, they crashed at Y/N’s apartment when they weren’t out celebratory shopping. From the second they entered her house, it felt like all hell had broken loose; like a tsunami of opinions had been unleashed. Willow was tutting at her messy fridge and Rose was opening and closing her cupboards in hopes of finding cleanliness but there was no hope. With a pitiful smile, Laurel sat on the couch with her arms crossed and Y/N joined her.

Over the next few hours, she had an earful of how she should move to an apartment with paint that didn’t chip off her walls and how she should rid herself of some of her useless positions. They demanded to go grocery shopping later and insisted on cooking dinner because she looked like she hadn’t eaten in over a century. At the end of the day, Y/N was the youngest of them all and would be pampered the most.

She formed an image in her head where she was surrounded by her three sisters with forks, spoons and chopsticks piled with food being shoved down her throat. Her tiny table was filled with dishes from all sorts of cuisines and juices of all kinds of fruit. As the cherry on top, there was a giant chocolate cake placed right at the centre. She was trying her best not to choke on the food, her cheeks swollen red, while her sisters wore hearty smiles, oblivious to her suffering from their smothering care.

“Make something nice for dinner, then,” Y/N stopped herself from flinching at the image in her head, one that would surely haunt her in her dreams. “I’ll introduce you to someone.”

Sunghoon didn’t realise how nervous he was to meet Y/N’s sisters until a few hours before he had to meet them. It was a mix of excitement and dread; his lack of confidence in himself to impress a potential partner’s family. He had texted her relentlessly, asking the most mindless doubts about what colour clothes to wear, if he should bring them any gifts or if he should dye his hair back to black because his platinum blond felt unprofessional all of a sudden. He wondered if they would disapprove of his profession and chalk it up to the fact that he had wealthy parents but he had to remind himself that Y/N’s profession wasn’t providing her with much earnings either.

Y/N responded to his texts calmly, which brought him the same effect. He found himself taking deeper breaths and told him that this wouldn’t be the first time he’s met a girl’s family. It was just her sisters which meant he wouldn’t have to face the wrath of her brothers yet. From what she had told him, they could start a boxing match with him in the middle of the road if they thought he wasn’t good enough for their sister. He wondered how some of the sisters managed to get married with such protective brothers.

Y/N gave him simple advice: compliment Willow's hair, she’ll like you instantly; bring chocolates as a present and Rose will be the first to commend you; ask Laurel how she met her fiancé, she loves telling the story; and don’t make it obvious that I gave you this advice.

He repeated these points to himself as he stood in front of her door, a box of gourmet chocolates in his hands and a red scarf tied around his neck. Dramatically, for his own satisfaction, he breathed heavily and told himself that dinner would go perfectly as planned if he just stuck to the advice.

Compliment Willow's hair.

Give Rose the chocolates.

Ask Laurel about her fiancé.

Be natural.

Then, the door opened before he could knock thrice and Y/N stood in front of him on the verge of sweating, a faux and toothy smile on her face. Her widened eyes told him to hurry inside the apartment and he made a point to slip his shoes before he followed her into the living room.

Her apartment wasn’t what he expected. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure what he expected. When he would imagine her in her apartment, he would simply picture a space similar to his home; white walls, minimalistic furniture and large balconies. But her apartment was something he would expect out of Pinterest, the type that girls swooned over as dark academia but in reality was just messily decorated and cleaned. Her walls were ivory with chipping paint, her couch a mustard yellow and her shelves overflowing with books that she had to pile in corners of her room. There were a myriad of paintings, some framed and some not, some hung neatly on the wall and others leaning onto any flat surface. He also spotted random artefacts, ones he was sure she would give a backstory of when the dinner is over.

“Sunghoon,” Y/N whispered rather agitatedly.

“Sorry,” he mumbled with a shy smile. “Just checking out your apartment.”

Rolling her eyes, she led him to the kitchen, her sisters swallowed in a conversation at the dinner table. The three sisters ceased their exchange in silence with smiles as welcoming and warm as the dishes on the tables. To his relief, he didn’t have to introduce himself. He simply stood there, palms sweating, legs on the verge of folding and a toothy smile that he would not want to be photographed in, while Y/N introduced him to her sisters and rid him of his scarf.

“You’re just on time,” Rose cheered with her hands together, ushering Sunghoon to the empty seat beside her. “And you brought chocolate!” She cheered as he made himself comfortable in the wooden chair, an awkward chuckle slipping past his lips. He weaved his fingers together on the table while she took the box of chocolates in her hands and examined the brand in awe.

Ding! Sunghoon thought to himself as a moment of victory.

“It’s considered rude to visit someone’s house for the first time without gifts, in my family,” Sunghoon blabbered and shared an award glance with Y/N.

Willow and Laurel looked at him with questioning looks and he offered them another awkward smile. “Y/N told us you’re from Korea?” Willow asked.

“Yeah,” Sunghoon nodded. Then followed a moment of silence no one knew how to fill. The group of five simply looked at each other and Blue entered the kitchen from one of the bedrooms like a saving grace. “Oh, is this your dog?” he looked at Y/N with excitement and slipped off his seat to kneel in front of the Golden Retriever.

“Yeah, his name is Blue,” Y/N cooed with a proud smile.

“I know, you told me,” he hummed, ruffling Blue’s fur and touching his nose to the dog’s.

“You’re fond of dogs?” Laurel asked.

“I adore them,” he mused. “I’ve got six dogs myself.”

With that statement, the conversation somehow burst between the group. Though Y/N didn’t contribute much, she enjoyed the sight in front of her. Willow filled Sunghoon’s plate with food despite his objections and Laurel was gushing about her fiancé’s dog- which is when Sunghoon slipped in the question of how they met. Ding! She rambled about how they met in the airport at the ripe age of twenty-one and had been in each other’s lives since then- for eight years.

The story almost brought Sunghoon to tears, being a sucker for love himself. He felt jealous of people that had perfect and long-lasting relationships, the type where they would meet at young ages and grow old together and survive life through thick and thin. It was the type of love he always craved for. But then his gaze met Y/N and he forgot about the pang of loneliness in his chest. He continued asking Willow which salon she went to because her hair looked pristine. Ding!

As dinner came to an end, they told him anecdotes of their childhood and embarrassed Y/N to their full capacity. A story that stuck with him was of when they took a family trip to the beach, eight kids in the back of the car with their miserable parents in the front, fighting for just a moment of silence or peace. Y/N was described as a loud child, the one that was most spoiled because she was the youngest, showered with love from her older siblings and all her wishes granted by her parents. That day, she had spent all her time with her eldest brother because he was brooding from going through a recent breakup and played around him building terrible sand castles and collecting broken seashells until he laughed and played with her.

They even showed him her baby pictures.

He could imagine Y/N at that age, holding sand in her chubby palms and laughing while running away from the waves. He could imagine her in a pink-coloured bucket hat covering her tiny head, knitted onesies as her outfit for the beach. He could imagine her milk teeth peeking from behind her lips when she laughed and he could imagine just how happy she must have been when her brother accepted her seashells as a token of happiness.

“What are you laughing at?” Y/N asked, brushing her fingers over his chin.

The pair had winded up on her couch once her sisters were off to sleep. Sunghoon’s old figure skating videos were playing on the television because according to Y/N, if you get to see my childhood pictures, I get to see yours. They were long forgotten by both and the television reflected black while they kissed and cuddled, anything to use their time alone for their benefit. Eventually, they ended up naked under a thin blanket, his slender hands drawing circles on her shoulder and her arms wrapped around his neck, pecking his jaw anytime she felt like it.

“Nothing,” he chuckled, shaking his head and kissing her forehead. “I’m just thinking about you being all hyper and active as a baby,” he confessed, unable to stop the rest of his giggles.

“Hey,” she furrowed her brows, attempting to kick her leg at him but her movements were constricted as he held her tighter. “You just called me boring now.”

“No, don’t take it that way,” he grinned. “It’s just hard to imagine you now the way you were as a child. You know, because you’re all calm and collected now. The only times I’ve seen you laugh, like properly laugh and cackle-”

“I don’t cackle-”

“Is when we watch funny movies or when I make jokes,” he mused. “I mean even at dinner, your sisters made pretty good jokes but you didn’t laugh.”

“I normally would have. I’m quite open around my family,” she mumbled. “Just kinda felt overwhelmed today.”

“Because of me?”

She nodded against his chest.

“Why is that?”

“Because before you came, I was stressed thinking of whether they’d like you or not. I was praying that they’d like you,” she admitted. “And once you came and they started getting along with you, I was so relieved. I mean, even Willow seemed to get along with you so well. At that point, I had used up all my energy so I just took the time to relax and… observed, I guess.”

Sunghoon hummed, letting his fingers run lines up and down her spine. “What’d you observe, then?”

“Nothing in particular,” she said. “Just listening to them talk and you talk and bonding. It was nice to watch.”

“I’m glad it went well, then,” he nodded, chin moving to rest on her head. “I really thought they would hate me, you know? I was nervous before meeting them, too. Rose is the one that made it less awkward, it’s honestly all thanks to her that I managed with conversation.”

“Yeah, she’s always been like that,” Y/N agreed. “She has a way of making people around her feel comfortable. It’s not gonna be that way with my brothers, though.”

“Oh, dear God, I don’t even wanna think about that,” Sunghoon whined, hugging her closer as if it could change the inevitable.

“It’s fine, ‘Hoon,” she chuckled. “I’ll be there. My sisters will be there. I’ve told my parents somewhat about you and they seem to be fond of you. They even ask about you sometimes-”

“You talk to your parents about me?” Sunghoon’s grin widened into a smirk, moving his head so that he could peek at the flustered look on her face.

“Yeah?” She trailed, her cheeks turning a shade of crimson he couldn’t notice in the dark.

“I’ll be honest with you,” he started. “I told my parents about you, too.”

“Really?” Y/N’s eyes couldn’t stop blinking for a moment, her mouth hanging agape

“Yeah, why is that so surprising?”

With a shit-eating grin on his mouth, he lifted her by her waist and made her straddle his hips so that he could see her expressions as they talked. She yelped as she made herself comfortable, reaching towards the armrest to grab his shirt so she could cover herself. Her palms spanned across his chest while his fingers trailed to unbutton his shirt on her torso, playing with the skin on her stomach.

“Well, you know,” she responded with a grin reflecting his, unable to control the butterflies in her stomach. “You told me about your past relationships… and I didn’t think you’d tell them so early-”

“It’s been a while since we started seeing each other, no?”

“Yeah,” she nodded.

“It only seemed fair that I told them,” he shrugged, hands pulling her closer. “My sister’s quite excited to meet you, by the way.”

“How long has it been since you last told them about a girl you were seeing?”

“A couple of years… a long time, actually,” he pursed his lips in thought. “I haven’t been in a relationship lasting this long in years… it almost feels new.”

“Really?” She smiled even wider.

“That makes you feel good, huh?”

“Well, obviously,” she shrugged proudly. “Your parents like me.”

“Your parents like me, too,” he giggled.

“Yeah!” She exclaimed, leaning down so she could rest her head on his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck once again.

“And you know my friends that I keep mentioning?”

She hummed.

“I want you to meet them, too.”

“Somehow, that’s more nerve-wracking than meeting your family.”

Sunghoon erupted into laughter, his arms wrapping around her torso. She could feel the rise and fall in his chest, his heart rate increasing by the second. “There’s no need for that,” he assured with a croon. “They’ll like you and you’ll like them.”

“But didn’t you say Riki didn’t really like me when you told him about me?”

“That was when I met you the first time,” he said. “To be fair, you were kind of bitchy-”

“Ok, fine, my bad,” she rolled her eyes. “But what if they don’t like me?”

“They’ll like you,” he repeated. “Especially Chiara.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. When I started telling her about you, she was swooning. I’m not joking. She was begging to meet you-”

“When was this?”

“Like a month ago,” he said. “She’s been asking about you for a while. She wants you to come for next week’s dinner.”

From the myriad of times Sunghoon had talked about Chiara and all his other friends, she learned that she was like the mother of the group. Her and Jake’s house was where everyone could stop by even without an invitation- everyone had a spare key to their apartment. Her pantry was always filled with snacks and drinks of all sorts and if anyone needed anything to be whipped up, she would oblige with no hesitation. She was the person that could accept anyone regardless of their needs or flaws, the one that knew how to make everyone around her safe. But regardless of knowing all that, Y/N was still insecure to meet her.

“But-”

“Y/N,” he pressed. “You’ll be fine. I’ll be sitting with you the whole time.”

She groaned, defeated and having no excuse to give him. “Fine,” she mumbled.

To be precise, Sunghoon took Y/N out on their first date precisely six months prior. In those five months, the pair spent a lot of energy learning how to communicate with one another. Y/N was the shy and quiet type, the kind of person that tended to use sarcasm as a defence mechanism instead of voicing her concerns and feelings. Sunghoon, though he was quite sarcastic himself, used the mechanism as his sole form of communication, completely ignoring the fact that he was capable of having feelings pertaining to benefiting himself.

It took more than a few attempts to learn how to be comfortable with one another. If it weren’t for her pestering him to tell him about his past failed relationships, he wouldn’t be freely speaking about his family now. If it wasn’t for him arguing with her about how he wanted her to be carefree around him with her guard down, she wouldn’t even be able to laugh around him. Forget laughter, she probably wouldn’t even know how to kiss him without feeling embarrassed of the effect he had on her. Learning how to openly communicate with one another turned into learning how to ask each other for advice and depend on each other emotionally instead of accepting their individual isolation.

When Sunghoon first started to open up about his past relationships, she wasn’t expecting to hear what she did. The more stories she heard, the more she understood where his cockiness and inferiority complex stemmed from. There was a point where she thought her new boyfriend had hooked up with the entire female population of New York City with the amount of relationships he’d mentioned. But the one thing she realised after every story of past relationships he told her was that all he wanted was to settle down the way his friends and most of the population did, to start a family and marry a girl he was proud to be loved by.

Y/N would be lying if she said she didn’t feel even the slightest amount of luck.

Over the span of their relationship, Sunghoon couldn’t spend her twenty-seventh birthday with her. Her parents had bought her a train ticket back home and she spent her birthday with her parents, siblings and their spouses sitting around their average sized dinner table singing the overrated birthday song while she blew out the candles on a very small chocolate cake that only she ate at the end of the night. Sunghoon had called her later in the night to wish her when she was finally not surrounded by her family and it was the very same night that she had told her parents about him. Her sister-in-laws, brother-in-laws, all her siblings and her parents were bombarding her with questions and all she could tell them was that she was smitten by him with a toothy smile.

She couldn’t spend his twenty-eighth birthday with him either. He spent his birthday weekend at Jake and Chiara’s house- the house where all the parties, dinners and get-togethers were held- with the rest of his friends and all the kids were to stay the night with a very unlucky babysitter. He got drunk on beer, his favourite activity to indulge in, and was the model of most embarrassing pictures and videos. Jay, being the most sober out of everyone, was taking care of Sunghoon like his life depended on it while the rest of the party-attendees thrashed the house which left Jake and Chiara in a gruelling position to clean up the next morning.

That night, Sunghoon had called Y/N in a bout of slurs, his face too close to the phone camera which restricted her view on his face and the circus that was falling apart behind him. She could barely hear him through the excited screams of his friends and the loud music but she was able to hear fragments of what he was saying.

“I miss you so much, y/n,” he said. “I wish you were here… I always thought you looked so pretty, you know you’re really pretty, right?”

Y/N laughed at him through the entire call and offered suitable responses. “I miss you, too,” she said. “I think you look very handsome, ‘Hoon.”

However, it was during those two incidents that Y/N realised how much Sunghoon valued his friends, so much to the point that he considered them more his family than his actual family, and Sunghoon realised how close Y/N was to her family. A conversation wouldn’t end without him bringing up his friends and her day wouldn’t start without a text from anyone member of her family. It was then that they realised they couldn’t expect each other to continue their relationship without putting in the effort to meet each other’s families, their respective powerhouses for love and personality.

“WHY THE BEACH, THOUGH?” She asked with an open smile whilst being held in the air by Sunghoon. He held her up by her thighs, her bikini cover-up barely holding onto her frame as he spun her around. She wasn’t sure how he was able to hold his balance in loose sand, waves occasionally grazing his feet, but she was squealing in amusement, throat bubbling with laughter every time he craned his neck to kiss her. Her hair blew with the wind, ruining the effort she put into styling it that morning and his newly dyed black hair covered his forehead and enhanced the brown in his eyes.

“I don’t know,” he grinned. “I just wanted to see if you’d act like how your sisters described in that one story they told.”

Sunghoon let his arms slip around her waist now, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as their lips met again for probably the hundredth time that day. He wouldn't stop kissing her while she got dressed in front of her mirror, his hands exploring her stomach and lips exploring her neck. He wouldn’t stop kissing her on the car ride there, leaning towards her every time the road seemed empty or when they stopped at the red light. And he couldn’t stop kissing her when they reached the beach, hands refusing to leave her touch and holding her frame as close as he could and bruising her lips with his as often as he was allowed.

“Why so suddenly?” She asked before being pulled into another kiss, his lips devouring hers like he hadn’t kissed her in an eternity, like he wasn’t doing the same thing for the past three hours. “And what’s up with you and making out today?” She asked again, pulling away from his lips with a smack.

“Just in the mood,” he responded, chasing for another kiss through hooded eyes. She wasn’t sure which question of hers he answered to but she could only smile giddily, submitting into his lips yet again.

“Well, are you stressed or something?” She mumbled against his lips.

“Y/N,” he sighed, pulling away from her and letting her stand on her own two feet again. She blinked profusely, head tilting in confusion, toes wiggling into the familiar damp sand. “Just shut up and let me kiss you, alright?” And without letting her reply, he cupped her jaw with his hands and connected their lips again.

He was kissing her like she was his source of oxygen. He relished in the feeling of her jaw moving against his palms while she followed the movement of his lips, head tilting accordingly when he slid his tongue through the little opening in her mouth. Only he was in control at that moment and he was pecking her mouth, sucking on her bottom lip when she was gasping for air. But the moment of intimacy passed before she could register the butterflies in her stomach and he was lifting her up, throwing her over his shoulder. She erupted in laughter, legs flailing in the air as he ran into the water with a smile she could hear from a mile away.

He smiled so wide that his eyes were squinting to slits, throwing himself and her into the salty waves and emerging back up in a gasp for air. Y/N pushed her soaked hair away from her face, eyes as wide as saucers and mouth opened in shock while Sunghoon waited for a reaction- and a reaction he got. The next few minutes were filled with water being splashed in each others’ faces, their laughter louder than the group of kids visiting the beach for the first time. While she was failing on wrestling his, their fingers intertwined, he realised that this was what bliss felt like, to his girlfriend, his lover, happy and smiling and laughing like she was living the best moment in her life.

Over the next hour, Sunghoon sat beside Y/N in the sand while she built sandcastles like she was a kindergartener. Her hands built a mountain out of sand and taller towers beside the melting mountain. She would pout and whine and curse at him in laughter whenever he’d mess up her artwork and he would kiss her again, slow pecks that would eventually burn into her memory. Then he collected seashells with her which were eventually returned back to the sand and waters. When they found a dried starfish, coloured a bright magenta, she started ranting about the significance of starfish to the Aztec culture and he listened with open ears, nodding along to her words as if he would write an exam on the topic. In that hour, he could see the little girl that her sisters described her as in her, except she was wearing a bikini instead of a bucket hat and jean-shorts.

“I like seeing you like this,” he said, holding her hand in a moment of serenity, walking across the beach with their shoes clutched in their empty hands.

“Like what?” She asked, unable to put aside her smile.

“Happy.”

“You say that like you’ve never seen me happy before, ‘Hoon,” she chuckled and shook her head. “You brought me here because of the story my sisters told you, right?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “You had this juvenile happiness about you. I love when you’re like this.”

Y/N squeezed his hand and made him turn towards her. He had a look of satisfaction in his eyes, bangs covering his brows. His lips twitched into a miniscule smile, one that she almost missed if she didn’t squint enough. The wind blew his shirt against his skin, an icky dampness he ignored suddenly made aware. “Thank you,” she said, pursing her lips to hide a thankful smile. “I loved today.”

Sunghoon kissed her forehead and led her to his car. He didn’t want to admit to her that the reason for his increased physical affection, constantly kissing her and touching her, was truly because he was stressed. He was stressed about introducing her to his friends during dinner in a few hours- he could only imagine the amount of anxiety she was dealing with and hoped that a day at the beach would perhaps help her into a positive mood. It wasn’t that he was questioning their relationship or personality all of a sudden, no that wasn’t it. It was the fact that he knew her well enough that her awkwardness around new people often led them to perceive her with a negative first impression. She wasn’t great at starting conversation and in all honesty, Sunghoon was no good at helping people involve themselves into conversation. That was Rose’s speciality, not his. Sunghoon was rather the type to laugh at jokes and comment on whatever stupid statement his friends made. The more he thought about it, the more he realised he couldn’t rely on himself to help Y/N ease herself into whatever conversation would take place during.

When he panicked to Chiara about his nerves, she assured him that she would be there to help her feel welcomed. She reminded him that his friends weren’t the type of people to isolate someone new, especially if it was someone Sunghoon said was special to him. “Even I wasn’t this nervous when I introduced Chiara to you guys,” Jake had said to him. “It’ll be fine. You know that.” So, he played out the scenarios in his head on how dinner would go; he imagined Jay bonding with Y/N over his random knowledge in history and he imagined Y/N sipping on wine with Chiara, Karina and Jade at the end of the night. He imagined Jake and Heeseung telling her about all his embarrassing stories and her laughing at them with no filter and he imagined her playing with all the kids- his nieces and nephews.

In his head, it was the perfect dinner, exactly the way he’d want his lover to fit into his found-family and as he looked at Y/N covering herself with a towel and drying her hair with her fingers raking her scalp, he knew that everything would go just the way he imagined.

“There’s a motel nearby, we can freshen up there,” he offered softly, stretching his arms to grab ahold of her hips and pull her closer towards him.

“What’ve you got planned for the day, hmm?” She teased. “I haven’t seen you this enthusiastic since you took me ice skating.”

He grinned, softly pecking her lips and digging his nails deeper into her hips. She chewed the inside of her cheek, smirking and nodding in understanding. Her fists rested on his chest, knees on the verge of buckling from his gaze alone. “After that, I thought maybe we could go to a bookstore or a movie. Anything you want, really.”

“That sounds really good,” she hummed. Her eyes hooded, scanning his face from his eyes, the mole on his nose and to his lips. “I think I prefer your natural hair better, by the way,” she smiled as she kissed him and he teased her with a hum, fingers drumming on her lower back.

The time leading up to dinner felt like floating through a dream. He remembered showering with her and helping her pick out a pretty dress to wear while she styled her hair in the shabby bathroom of the motel. He also remembered spending way too many hours in the nearest bookstore where he felt like a ghost following her around with shallow eyes. While she carried around a pile of non-fiction books and archives, softly explaining to him a snippet of history but nothing was registering in his head. He just remembered standing behind her with wide eyes and pursed lips, almost resembling a robot, imagining everything that could possibly go wrong at dinner; at dinner at his best friend’s house with the rest of the people he grew up around; at dinner with the people he called his family that saw him bring multiple other women to similar dinners.

He was just overthinking, right?

Yeah, he was. While driving, it was usually Sunghoon that had his free hand on her thigh but the roles were switched this time when Y/N saw his hands trembling. He looked like a lost puppy with those terrified eyes locked on the road in front of him.

“Sunghoon?” She called. “Park Sunghoon?”

He was so stressed, Sunghoon could feel the nerves in his jaw firing up before he opened his mouth to say, “yeah?”

“What’s on your mind?”

“What do you mean?” There was a laugh that escaped from his throat, hoarse and forced that almost made her flinch. “I’m fine,” his voice even went a few pitches higher.

“Honey, you’re not fine,” she insisted and moved to hold his hand that gripped the gear like his life depended on it. “It's dinner, isn’t it?”

The hesitation he showed before nodding his head was enough of an answer for her.

“Why’s it bothering you?”

He sucked in a breath and cautiously glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. “Well, you see,” he started. “They’re my friends.”

“I… know that,” she blinked profusely, confused.

“And they’ve seen me with tons of other girls,” he tried clarifying.

“How about you tell me something you don’t know,” she suggested, giving up on understanding his worries.

The first time Y/N saw him so stressed and nervous was when he was meeting her sisters. This would be the second time. He was trembling at the thought of his two worlds meeting, terrified that perhaps, like Riki had said, this relationship could end up like all others. But he was never scared to introduce his past girlfriends to them, never questioning whether it would end badly. What made Y/N different? Or has it just been a long time?

“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I don’t know why I’m stressed. I think I’m just paranoid.”

“You and me both,” she gave his hand a few pats and pursed her lips to the side. “I’m meeting the people you call family which is a pretty big deal and from what you’ve told me, they’re all some sort of rich and famous. I mean, models, photographers, producers, writers, businessmen, dancers… It's intimidating.”

“We’re kind of all impressive aren’t we?” For the first time in hours, he cracked a smile; a smirk that made her chuckle. She nudged his arm and he chuckled with her, most of their worries draining away in that moment of glee.

“You’re feeling better, aren’t you?”

He nodded enthusiastically.

When Sunghoon parked the car in the parking lot of Jake and Chiara’s apartment, Y/N stayed stuck to the seat for exactly ten seconds. She was convinced that time had frozen for her to collect her thoughts and catch her breath. The nerves that left Sunghoon had somehow manifested in her. Suddenly, the clothes she wore felt too either too fancy or too simple and she was convinced her hair was a mess. Then, she realised she had forgotten how to conversate with new people, let alone a group of eleven adults and four children who barely had the ability to speak.

Perhaps she was too awkward for this. It’s not too late to bail, she thought.

Sunghoon had to shake her shoulders to snap her back to reality- the reality in which she wasn’t in her apartment eating cereal with her dog on the couch- and guided her to the elevator with his hand on the small of her back. She was the one acting like a robot now, her body a machine programmed to walk step by step, her eyes unmoving from whatever object was in front of her as though it would relieve the anxiousness that made her heart beat like it was about to jump out of her chest. She could hear her blood thumping against her ears, almost deafening her from Sunghoon’s voice calling out for her.

They were now standing in front of Jake and Chiara’s front door with a dozen pairs of shoes beside them.

They were all there.

“You ready?” He asked, lips curling into a hopeful smile. Her eyes followed the bead of sweat that rolled down the side of his face.

She shook her head. “We’re both scared,” she stated. “I will literally let you do whatever you want the next time we have sex if we bail from dinner.”

Sunghoon laughed at her statement, his hand reaching for her shoulder as he threw his head back. She looked at him as though she took her statement seriously and he shook his head. “Y/N,” he chuckled. “You’ll be fine. Being nervous is natural in such situations. It’ll really be fine.”

“You sound like you’re convincing yourself.”

Chuckling again, he shook his head and moved to hold her waist. “You know what’ll make both of us feel better?” He said and nodded his chin. Smiling, he kissed her like he kissed her on the beach, the dull lights that lit the apartment flickering above them as he pulled her closer. Y/N visibly loosened in his arms, the tense in her shoulders disappearing as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She focused on the fact that he was wearing her favourite shirt, a dark brown button down with black trousers- it was the outfit he wore on their first date, except his hair was dark now.

Then, she felt a little more confident.

He rang the doorbell after a few more brief pecks to her lips and moments later, Chiara opened the door. Y/N didn’t need for Sunghoon to introduce her- though he did anyway- because he had spent an hour showing her pictures of everyone so she could learn their names or she already knew them because they were famous.

The next few moments passed like a phantasm. Chiara was hugging her and dragging her through her richly furnished and exquisitely designed apartment and into the kitchen, where the dining table where ten other adults and four kids sat. Sunghoon followed them with slow footsteps, hands in his pockets as he watched his friends holler at the sight of Y/N and her awkwardly wave back with a messily stretched smile. When he saw Chiara pushing her towards Jake and Jay who were waving her towards them, Heeseung and Karina offering her drinks and Sunoo complimenting her outfit, he questioned why he wasted so much energy in worrying because the sight in front of him was perfect, like watching the happy ending of a cliché family movie.

“Why’s everyone so excited?” Sunghoon grinned while sauntering towards them. “All because of my girl, ay?” He could see Y/N blushing and Chiara teasing her by wrapping her arms around her shoulders.

“Sunghoon!” Jake yelled, lifting his glass of wine towards him. “How about you stop getting cocky and sit your ass down, ay?” Everyone laughed, offering their greetings to him.

“Behave tonight, don’t be the little shit you always are,” Heeseung pulled at Riki’s ear and he complained of being treated like a kid.

Y/N eventually ended up sitting between Sunghoon and Chiara- who had Kai with her- because at that point, they were the only people she felt remotely comfortable around. Chiara, though it was her first time meeting her, was already indulging her in pleasant conversation, pointing at each person on the table and giving her a brief description of their personality, oblivious to the fact that it was all known information already.

“Sunoo and Sheila are engaged,” Chiara said.

“Oh, yeah, when’s the wed-”

“Don’t ask them about it… they haven’t decided yet,” she slowly shook her head the way scared characters from horror movies did. “Jungwon and Eva are engaged, too.”

“Oh, the wedding’s probably in a month or two, by the way,” Jungwon lifted his head at the mention of his wedding and Heeseung dabbed him up with pride.

It felt like she was pulled into a whirlwind with the amount of conversations happening around her. Sunghoon and Chiara were keeping her company while Jade would chime in from time to time. Jungwon’s girlfriend, Eva, would start a conversation with her by offering her food and Riki had somehow wiggled his way into the conversation and offered brief phrases of acknowledgement as contribution. Then, Jay had called for her from the end of the table and started asking about her profession, claiming that he himself had an inclination towards history. For a little while, she had told him the brief of what she knew about Chinese history and offered to lend him some of her books pertaining to his interests.

Heeseung pointed to his daughters that sat between him and his wife, introducing them to Y/N as Luna and Sol and she recognised their names originating from Roman mythology. Karina encouraged her to elaborate and she went on a tangent about the stories behind the twins’ beautiful names. Eventually, the pair went on to tell her how they met, describing a romantic story between a music producer and a singer.

“Chiara, tell her how you and Jake met,” Heeseung nodded.

“Are we all gonna go around the table telling her our love stories?”

“Sounds about right,” Sunghoon clapped.

The story of Chiara and Jake was something out of a Netflix rom-com. She had heard it briefly from Sunghoon before and saw quite a few clips of them speaking about it on the internet, but to have them sitting with her on the dinner table, narrating their past with intricate detail, was something she didn’t know she needed. Watching the love between them thriving after so many years was what brought Sunghoon hope for his own love, the way they smiled at each other still seemed to bring some sort of warmth in everyone’s hearts.

Their love story was what made way for Sunoo and Sheila, who was Chiara’s best friend. They had met on a dinner similar to such, back when they were all mostly single and were still struggling to graduate or make a successful career. They claimed it was love at first sight, that Sheila had fallen in love with Sunoo’s smile and that he had fallen in love with the twinkle in her eyes. They started dating not long after they met, their personalities matching to the tea.

Though Jay and Jade started dating around the same time as Heeseung and Karina, they married much later. They were childhood friends and in fact, he was in the hospital the day she was born. They watched each other grow up because their families were close but the pair only became friends around the time Jay started taking over his father’s travel company. What started as a no-strings-attached relationship blossomed into family. However, Riki made fun of them and said they only got married because he knocked her up, to which Jay closed Evelyn’s ears with his hands and cursed at his youngest friend to never say such things around his daughter.

“What did I say about not acting like a little shit?” Heeseung warned with a finger pointing at the youngest amongst them.

Finally came Jungwon and Eva’s love story with Riki being a major reason for their engagement. The two didn’t even get along at first, always bickering when they were around each other and shooting each other death glares until Riki finally put them in a room together and forced them to put their differences aside. Turns out, they not only put their differences aside but also their clothes and now the three lived together and Riki was helping them plan their wedding. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the best man, but Jay was, because a few years prior, everyone had drawn chits to decide who would be the best man at whose wedding and Riki drew Sunghoon’s name. It was very unfortunate.

“Why didn’t you bring your girl, Riki?” Sunghoon asked.

“Oh, no,” the boy shook his head, moving his stare to the condiments left on his plate. “I broke up with her a week ago.”

There was no silence that followed his statement but a groan from Heeseung who slumped in his seat. “You owe me fifty bucks!” Jay yelled from across him. “I told you this would happen.”

Riki rolled his eyes and turned to Y/N with an unamused stare. “Don’t be alarmed, they do this a lot.”

“He’s known as the heartbreaker amongst us,” Jake firmly clapped Riki’s shoulder twice and turned to make fun of Heeseung.

“How about Y/N tells us how she felt when she first met Sunghoon, huh?” Heeseung attempted to shift the conversation and everyone was turning towards her, including her boyfriend, with grins and smirks she couldn’t escape from.

The night continued with such conversations.

Sunoo and Sheila left early like they always did and it was around that time that all the kids went to sleep and the hard liquor started coming out of the closets to be consumed. Chiara, Jungwon and Jade joined the kids to sleep as they weren’t huge fans of alcohol and everyone else had cleared the dinner table and filled it with cans of beer, bottles of vodka and glasses of whiskey, along with peanuts and kimchi. The golden lights that set the homely aura around the apartment were dimmed to blue lights, much like the lights that Sunghoon used to bring up everytime he talked about the many exclusive parties of New York he had attended.

Jake and Chiara’s apartment was one to ogle over. Their furniture came from the expensive catalogues Y/N had stashed in her drawers and their balconies reminded her of the ones she saw on romantic European contemporary films. They had books unlike the ones she had at home, the kind that literature geeks would drool over- they were Chiara’s collection, she supposed. They had rarely decorated hardcover copies of all the classics and a few crime novels scattered here and there. Y/N observed the pictures that hung around their television while sipping on wine on the couch while everyone else opted to chug beer.

“Y/N, come join us!” Jake bellowed from the kitchen with a can of beer raised in the hair. Karina followed his lead and raised a bottle of vodka.

Before she could answer, Sunghoon had answered for her and told them that she wasn’t much of a drinker. The crowd whined in defeat but soon went back to whatever they were doing- she wasn’t sure where the awful lot of loud sound was coming from but they were definitely yelling and hollering at each other.

She could hear something about daring Sunghoon to stay sober the whole night but that would be like expecting pharaohs to never leave curses before passing away.

The sane and sober minds that Y/N was so intimidated by just a few hours ago were either talking and stumbling across the apartment in incoherent babbles or were taking care of the people who were incoherently babbling. Y/N was laughing at whatever mumble that was sent her way and even entertained Jade who sat beside her and started complaining about her colleagues whose lives were boring because of the word load her father pushed on them. Jay eventually dragged her away and apologised to Y/N, telling her to enjoy the rest of the night and no not mind everyone else.

“We’re making a terrible first impression but we aren’t usually like this.”

Her wine bottle eventually became empty and she simply sat there on the couch, watching her boyfriend hang off Heeseung’s arm who was equally as drunk. Riki had pulled himself away from the group, throwing his empty can of beer in the trash before making his way to Y/N. He almost looked shy, tense shoulders pulling together the closer he got to her and he ended up standing in front of her, his gaze spaced out and lips opening and closing to contemplate what exactly he wanted to say. Y/N was only a little woozy from the wine and she cleared her throat as it got awkward with the silence between them.

“Do you smoke?” The boy eventually asked, pulling out a box of cigarettes from the pocket of his jeans.

“I do, actually,” she smiled softly, attempting to ease the boy’s nerves.

The pair moved to the balcony, arms leaning against the railings as freshly lit cigarettes hung from their lips, index and middle finger holding it in place. It was a habit Riki was embarrassed about after developing late into high school. The group of friends he made in school after moving to New York City could be labelled as the wrong crowd and of all the narcotics and alcohol he tried, cigarettes were the only thing that stuck. It wasn’t an addiction but if he didn’t smoke for a prolonged amount of time, he would face miniscule symptoms of withdrawal. Chiara, being their resident psychologist, had warned him of the physical and mental repercussions he could face and for some time, his friends had even forced him to use nicotine patches. Over time, he learned how to control his smoking. He was just grateful he didn’t end up a crack-addict like his cousin back in Osaka.

Y/N however, didn’t have much of a care of the stigma that surrounded tobacco and cigarettes. I, too, had started in high school when her best friend at the time introduced her to the cylindrical contraption. The practice would follow her into her adulthood and here she was, on a balcony with one of her boyfriend’s best friends. She didn’t smoke that often, just in social settings, much like this one.

“Sunghoon knows you smoke, right?” He perked up, turning his gaze towards her.

“Yeah, of course,” she grinned, shrugging her shoulders. “Why?”

“He has this thing against smoking,” Riki shook his head. “Everyone’s against it, but he loses it when someone smokes around him.”

“Yeah, I know,” Y/N mused. “On our third date or something, I told him I wanted to go out for a smoke and he freaked. Never brought it up around him again.”

When Riki laughed, Y/N felt a wave of validation. This was Nishimura Riki she was smoking with, the boy that disapproved of her being with Sunghoon not a few months ago. Despite the fact that everyone past the glass screen separating the balcony from the living room had given her their thumbs of approval, already making her feel a part of their group by offering her drinks, Riki standing there and laughing at her jokes was the biggest form of approval she could ask for. For the first time all night, she felt all relief from the stress she had harboured in her chest.

“When he found out I started smoking, he didn’t talk to me for three days straight,” Riki added. “I was like seventeen at the time, it came as quite a shock to everyone,” he shrugged.

“I was seventeen, too,” she mused. “I’m, like, twenty-seven now and my parents still don’t know.”

“If my parents found out, they would kill me,” he rolled his eyes. “You know, Jay still threatens to tell my parents about it if I annoy them?”

“They still treat you like a child, huh?”

“The price I have to pay for being the youngest.” “Yeah, I’m the youngest one out of all my siblings and they still think I’m in middle school.”

“How many siblings do you have?”

“Seven.”

Riki gave her a look of surprise, his jaw dropping for his mouth and his fist reaching towards his mouth for him to bite. Y/N nodded knowingly, silently telling him that she knew the pain. The pair ashed their cigarettes off the balcony and revelled in the number of similarities they had.

Before either of them could start a new conversation or continue the previous, the glass doors to the balcony had slid open and Sunghoon stumbled open with probably his twelfth can of beer wrapped in his palm. His cheeks were a soft shade of pink and his eyes disappeared behind his eyelids due to the genial smile on his face. His arms stretched widely as he came closer to approaching them and eventually collapsed on their shoulders.

If there was anything Y/N knew about her boyfriend, it was that he loved being drunk. It was the first thing that would be listed if anyone was to ever write his biography. Sunghoon had a habit of denying this habit of his but there came a point of acceptance when literally everyone around him started pointing it out. During dinner, she was lucky to be serenaded with his most embarrassing drunk-anecdotes, as Chiara liked to call it. Her favourite was the one where he woke up beside Heeseung in a hotel all the way on the other side of town with a basket of brownies placed between them and a note that read thank you for being amazing people. To this day, nobody knew what happened- it was the biggest mystery amongst their friend group. They ended up eating all the brownies and spared none for the others.

“What are you two talking about?” Sunghoon giggled as he looked between Riki and Y/N. “You better not be nice to her, Riki. She’s technically your Noona.”

Riki snatched the can of beer away from Sunghoon and contorted his face into a look of disinterest. “Y/N and I are almost the same age,” he argued.

“You still call Jungwon Hyung, right?” Sunghoon let go of Y/N and moved to wrap his arms around Riki. Struggling, the boy brought the can of beer to his lips.

“Yeah, so?”

“Y/N is your Noona,” he jabbed a finger into his chest with a wide grin. “She may even be your Hyung-su soon.”

Riki let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head and pushing Sunghoon off of his back. The boy then smirked at Y/N, chugging down the rest of the beer left in the can. “Calm down, big boy,” Riki slapped his back and he moved to wrap his arms around Y/N. “I’m gonna go.”

While the boy slid the glass door of the balcony close, Y/N hung her hand on the arm that wrapped around her shoulders. “What does all that mean?” She smiled, oblivious. “Nothing,” Sunghoon giggled, kissing her forehead. “You’ve seen me drunk so many times,” he pointed out.

“It’s kind of your favourite hobby, ‘Hoon,” she pointed out.

“But I’ve never seen you drunk.”

SUNGHOON WOULD SEE Y/N drunk exactly one and a half months later at Jungwon and Eva’s wedding reception.

The events leading up to the reception were all smooth- there was the plane ride to the avenue, the part where the bride and groom were getting ready and then the meticulously planned wedding ceremony. It was all beautiful and heartwarming and Jay’s toast was tear-jerking. However, Sunghoon saw no need in replaying those events in his head when his girlfriend was drunk and hanging off his arm.

It was the most comical sight he’d ever witnessed.

You see, of all the morals and rules of self-control Sunghoon had waived upon himself over the years, not drinking during weddings was one of them and he held himself proud to the condition. Everyone, including Chiara, who was famed for her distaste towards liquor, was drinking that day and it would explain the mess that the banquet halls ended up in shambles. The flower bouquets were crumpled to pulp, the pristine white curtains around them torn to shreds and the delicious wedding cake looked like it was devoured by a wolf.

In the midst of it all, Y/N had downed four too many glasses and champagne and she was bubblier than a school girl. At first, Sunghoon simply thought that she was giddy from catching the bouquet Eva had thrown over her head but boy did he have a hard time bringing her back to their hotel room. In many ways, she and him were the same type of drunk. Granted, Sunghoon had a habit of crying if he ever was sad before drinking, but apart from that, they were pretty much the same. Both of them stumbled on their feet while trying to walk in a straight line, both giggled like they were being tickled and both spewed absolute nonsense while drunk. It was like looking at himself in a mirror- except she was a girl, his girlfriend to be precise.

“You’re really pretty,” Y/N giggled at him, her index finger gliding down the side of cheek as though she was flirting with him.

Flattered, Sunghoon offered her a toothy grin and wrapped his arm tighter around her waist. Her arm hung around his shoulders, her heels clutched by her free hand. “Thank you, Jagi,” he said. “But we really need to get you back to the room. You need a change of clothes and some sleep.”

“But I don’t want to sleep,” she pouted, her brows pulling together and bottom lip jutting out. The sight made him want to laugh- if she were sober, she would shoot herself before making such a face voluntarily.

“But you have to,” Sunghoon’s grin widened as he eventually got to the door of their room.

He was carrying her at that point, one arm under her head and the other under her knees. Her arms secured around his neck, her heels poking his ear. While she brightly smiled at him, he laid her on the bed.

“Don’t move, I’ll get changed and be right there with you.”

“No, don’t change! You look so hot in a suit,” she whined and caught his tie in her hand. She tugged him towards her and chased him for a kiss.

Though he enjoyed the action, he found himself pushing her back onto the pillow. He brushed away the hair that framed her face and cupped her cheek “Jagi,” he crooned. “You’re really drunk and you need some rest.”

“No, I need you,” she continued to whine, pointing her finger at him. “Just stay with me.”

“I am with you,” he smiled at her.

He finally understood what it felt like to be Jay when he was taking care of him.

“Good,” she said and pulled him in for another kiss.

He surrendered, letting her drag him on top of her until the span of his chest lay against hers. His legs lounged on the bed, his leather shoes kicked into one of the corners of the room. His hand cupped the side of her face and she gripped his collor until she couldn’t physically hold him closer anymore- but the moment was as fleeting as most were and her lips parted from his with an epiphany.

“Where’s the bouquet I caught?” She asked in a frenzy, looking around the room.

“Jagi, it’ll be somewhere downstairs, don’t worry,” he reached for her hand and propped himself on his elbows. His eyes followed her every move but he was quick to keep her beside him, refusing to let her leave the bed. “You need sleep, Y/N.”

“Can we go get it?”

Sunghoon chuckled. “You didn’t even want to catch the bouquet, it literally hit you in the head,” he argued. “If you want, I’ll buy a hundred more bouquets later.”

Y/N blinked at him, her eyes glazing over from her lack of sleep. “But I caught it,” she mumbled.

“I know, Jagi, and I’m very glad you did.”

“Doesn’t it mean we might get married or something?” If she could hear herself while sober, Y/N would probably slap herself. With that thought in mind, Sunghoon shut her up from speaking anymore words with another kiss on her lips. “Can you please sleep for me, Jagi?” He hummed. “Please?”

“Why do you keep calling me Jagi?” She asked while he cupped her head, leading her to lay on the pillow again. The span of her hand stayed on his chest, keeping him in place.

“It just means I love you very much, Jagi,” he smiled and she smiled back, fluttering her eyes shut.

“Ok,” she nodded her cheek against the pillow. “I like it.”

“I know,” he said. “Why didn’t you come into my life sooner, Jagi? Where have you been?”

“What?” She asked, voice barely above a whisper as she drifted into slumber.

“Just sleep.”

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