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eddiernunson · 9 months ago

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I Can Do It With A Broken Heart | Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader | 18+

Summary: You and Eddie have both had crap luck on dates lately, nothing that can't be fixed with a strawberry milkshake. However, he gets asked out on a date and it goes well...until it turns your life on its head and he forgets how to pick up the phone. You don't even care that he's dating someone else you just want your best friend back.

Warnings: idiots in love, best friends to lovers, ANGST, brief EddiexChrissy, ooc Chrissy, attempted SA, bestfriend!Steve, and needy, desperate smut that makes it all worth it.

Thanks to @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you for editing bestie

I’m astounded at the response to the preview I posted last week. Thank you so much for the love, I hope you enjoy all 40k (20k wtf did my brain go)

As you pull up to the little house at the end of the street, you look over to the sweet boy with blonde hair and green eyes nervously, curtaining a strand of hair behind one ear. He shoots you a smirk, white pearly teeth peeking from behind pretty pink lips. The date has gone phenomenally well, the conversation over dinner was easy and your date even easier on the eyes. You smooth your hands over the dress you’re wearing, picking at imaginary lint as you’re entirely unsure of what to say next.

Daniel, your date, leans onto the center console, the scent of his minty breath roping you in. “So, dinner was like, forty dollars.”

Your brows pinch together, the topic of conversation coming from left field.

“And the flowers were about twenty.” He says, his voice hinting at a subtext lost on you.

You think back to the flowers, a cascade of spring colours that drenched you in their floral scent. They sit on your dresser in a vase, waiting eagerly for you to come home.

“Okay…?” You ask, unsure of what he’s getting at.

Daniel sighs, suddenly the frustration you didn’t see before is clear on his face. “Well, I think I deserve some compensation for the princess treatment, don’t you think?”

He’s raising his brow suggestively, and the atmosphere in the car turns thick as you realize what he’s referring to. You feel so stupid. Suddenly the smirk on his face isn’t sweet, it’s sleazy. The cologne he’s wearing isn’t earthy, it’s gross. He’s not a good guy, and you feel foolish for thinking otherwise.

You think fast, lowering your eyelashes in a feigned blush. “Actually, I think it deserves just a little more than that. Be right back, I’m going to grab a condom.” You wink as you get out, the cherry on top.

Daniel lights right up, apparently not expecting his ridiculous method to work. The sound of him undoing his belt makes you nearly gag as you run in the front door.

Your dad, the sweetheart of a single father he is, welcomes you with a kind smile until he sees your crestfallen face. “You okay?”

“No,” you choke back, tears threatening to fall down your cheeks. “He’s demanding I repay him for dinner.”

“Repay?” You tilt your head, inferring what it means. “Oh. Fucking twerp. You need me to–”

“Can I have 60 bucks?” You interrupt him, avoiding his angry eyes.

He melts. “Sure.”

You walk back out the door, head held high right to the little corvette that sits at the end with the cheeky asshole sitting contently, waiting for his treat. The window is still open from earlier in the night, which works right in your favor.

“Here,” you toss the bills at him, allowing a small smile to grace your face at his confusion. “Since you’re so worried about being paid.”

As soon as he understands what you’re telling him, his face curves into a scowl, embarrassed, but too proud to say so. “Like I wanted to do it with Eddie Munson’s slut anyway!”

Halfway back up to the house, you turn back to the car as the engine growls into the night. How does that make sense? you wonder. Why am I being called a slut when I refused to put out?

The front door to your house slams shut again, and your dad receives the message that you would not like to talk about it. “Ed called just now, by the way,” he mentions as you reach the top of the stairs. Your pause in gait tells him you heard him, but you don’t respond because you can hear the smirk he wears, as much as you repeatedly tell him that Eddie is just a friend.

The flowers you thought so fondly of now have a looming presence in your room, like a dark shadow menacingly waiting in the corner. You ignore them as you lift the pastel phone to your ear, dialing the number you know by heart.

He picks up on the first ring. “Hi, sweetheart.” Relief washes over you, instant and comforting.

“Hey, Eds. How was your date?” You and he had the same plans tonight, you just hope it turned out better for him.

“It sucked,” he sighs, sounding like he’s rummaging through his messy chest of drawers. “She didn’t want a date, I guess.”

“Well what did she want?” You ask, going through your own drawers for something comfier to wear.

“Uh, to be shown a good time,” he answers dryly, the sound of rummaging coming to a sudden stop. “Heard the rumors of Munson’s magic fingers and apparently only wanted that.”

Yikes, you think. Eddie’s had many hook ups in the back of his van, but as of late he’s finding himself defeated when they don’t want him, just what he can do for them. Your heart hurt for him last week when he admitted they rarely, if ever, reciprocated.

You didn’t think it’d be an appropriate moment to tell him you would happily reciprocate for him.

“That’s extremely shitty. Guess it’s not all that different from my date though, who expected payback from spending a lousy sixty bucks.”

“Payback?”

“Asked me to suck his dick and pointed to it,” you say, a million times more bluntly than you could to your dad.

“I knew that Daniel guy was an asshole,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “I think our shitty dates deserve each other.”

You laugh, holding the PJs you plan on wearing as you sit cross legged on your bed. “To be honest, I don’t think Daniel would’ve been all that great in bed anyway.”

“I could’ve told you that. He looks like he would call thirty seconds a long time,” Eddie laughs. “Sit tight, princess, I think we’ve earned pancake night at Benny’s.”

“C’mon, I was just about to get comfy!” You whine.

“Nah, wear the pretty dress. It deserves to see a strawberry milkshake, don’t you agree?”

Honestly, a milkshake night with your best friend is exactly what you need. “Sure. See you in twenty?”

“Eh, ten.”

You throw out the flowers, tossing the vase full of water into the kitchen sink, shrugging when your dad gives you an apologetic look. You certainly are already over it, just another asshole in Hawkins, who would’ve thought? When the loud music from Eddie’s stereo pulls up, your dad nods in understanding, telling you to have fun as you leave through the front door.

The date night dress you wear is a summer dress that sits just above your knees, held together by spaghetti straps decorated with pretty blue florals. It's a dress you go to for formal events, and even saw a dance or two back in high school. Of course, you had to dust it off for the cute boy in your Psych class who ended up being a complete dickwad.

The fabric of Eddie’s beat up van is familiar. So familiar that you could argue his passenger seat has a permanent indent from your ass. Eddie has, in fact, pointed it out from one night stoned in the back with him, giggling as you vehemently denied it. At your sudden quiet shut down stature, he patted your ass gently, claiming that he didn’t want any other person’s ass planted on his seat except yours.

That conversation, as hazy as it was, stayed in your mind for days after the fact.

Eddie’s dressed in his own version of a date night outfit, tight jeans exposing his knees with jagged rips under a leather jacket and plain black t-shirt. He’s gorgeous, tauntingly so. It’s not much different from an ordinary outfit, but the faint smell of fresh laundry detergent and his best cologne is the best evidence he’s all dressed up.

The loud music speaks for him, loudly, pulling off before your seatbelt is even clicked into place.

The path from your house to Benny’s is well trekked by you and Eddie on late nights when you should’ve been doing homework but ended up goofing off instead. Martha, a waitress that’s been working there well over twenty years, smiles with smeared red lipstick and too much blue eyeshadow.

You walk in stride with each other, straight to the corner booth as the husk of 20 years of chain smoking barks over the gentle music, “Hey, you two! Eddie, are you finally taking this girl of yours on a date?”

Shut up, you silently beg her, avoiding either of their eyes as you stare at your lap, seemingly fixated on a loose thread at the hem of your dress.

“Oh, I’m not that lucky,” Eddie winks, throwing his arm behind you on the back of the booth. “We’re just recovering after shitty dates.”

“One day, you two,” she muses, tapping her pen rhythmically on her little notepad. It’s never been the same notepad twice, always decorated with a little cartoon sticker on the front. You’re tempted to run to the dollar store and grab her a larger one, but a part of you thinks she thrives on her many little notepads. “Alright, a large strawberry milkshake with two straws, pancakes with extra strawberry sauce and fresh strawberries on top, and waffles loaded with whipped cream and sprinkles. Correct?”

You nod in unison, both aware that she insists you will collectively rot the teeth out from your gums if you insist on overdosing with sugar every damn time you waltz in late at night. She’s given up offering other menu items, having ordered extra strawberries just to make up for your love of the fruit.

Less than five minutes later, following the blissful sound of a blender, the milkshake is wordlessly dropped off at the table, closer to you as even Martha knows you will be drinking 75% of it. The sweet, pinky taste flows easily down your throat, humming softly as you dip into the whipped cream with a finger. “Best milkshake in town,” You assert.

“I wouldn’t know,” Eddie answers, smirking, “you never let us get a milkshake from anywhere else!”

You giggle, licking some of the whipped cream that found a home in the corner of your mouth. “I could never! It would be like cheating! This milkshake would just know,” you drop your voice to a whisper, “it would smell the other milkshakes on me!”

“We couldn’t have that,” Eddie grins, grabbing the large glass to take a sip. “Sorry your date was such a jerk.”

You shrug, already having gotten over it. You’ll just need to sit on the other side of the lecture hall from now on. “He seemed so nice.”

“No offense, sweetheart, but I could’ve told you that Daniel Moore was a shitty person,” Eddie finishes another sip of the milkshake, making a large dip in the glass as the pink slush is pulled up the straw. “He likes to instigate.”

You rest your chin on your elbow, sad the milkshake is already nearly gone. “I had just hoped he would’ve matured by now…”

“In seven months?” Eddie asks you incredulously, raising his brows past his curly bangs. His expression quickly turns curious, tilting his head at you.

“What?”

“So, you’re willing to bet that Daniel Moore has improved just based on personal speculation alone but you’re not willing to believe me when I say Steve Harrington is no longer a douche?”

You roll your eyes. God, you should’ve seen this one coming. “That’s different! I only heard about Daniel. Steve Harrington actually sat back and laughed when Tommy asked–”

“You out as a joke, yeah, I know, I’ve heard it before,” Eddie mumbles, grinning at your shocked expression. “Well, that was like what, three years ago?”

“I still can’t believe you’re friends with Steve Harrington now, of all people! Listen, I know he’s also Dustin’s friend, but I find it hard to believe that you guys even have something in common,” You shrug.

“I still can’t believe you refuse to give him another chance!” Eddie playfully retorts, licking some of the whipped cream that still sits on the rim of the glass. “He’s in your Sociology class, isn’t he?”

Yeah, and he seems to insist on forcing his friendship on you, too, no matter how much you resist it. If you found friendship in Eddie, it seems reasonable to find friendship with Steve, too. Yet, there’s a little part that remembers the cruel laughter, his carelessness with others’ lives, and it ripples down your spine in a violent shudder.

You haven’t gotten rid of the notion of being his friend completely, but it’s just not the right time for you, yet.

You shrug. The topic has too much nuance for a nice dinner with your best friend. Just in time, Martha wordlessly drops off the two plates, the smile that spreads across your face is effortless. Zachary, the night chef must’ve heard about the shitty night and added extra for you, because the mountain of strawberries on the table is huge, even for your standards.

Eddie smirks, reading your mind. “You gonna finish all those?”

“Absolutely!”

Eddie sits on one side of the open courtyard, flicking off ashes from his cigarette as he waits for you to get out of class. He mentally reflects on his crazy afternoon, taking another long, much needed drag. The car with the million symptoms was one thing, but the proposition he got right before, he couldn’t wrap his head around it.

It’s been 13 days since Daniel, four awkward classes of avoiding his glare, and you’ve decided to give up on boys completely. The one you want doesn’t want you, and the dates you’re going on don’t seem to do well no matter who you say yes to. The two offers you’ve gotten in the last week were therefore denied, realizing that even if they are cute, you don’t want to lead anyone on when your heart belongs to someone else.

Before the aforementioned date, you were practically begging for someone to ask you out, but for some inexplicable reason, now you’re getting offers left and right. Somehow people just know when you’re playing hard to get.

At least Eddie’s dates seem to be going terribly for him, as well. That’s one thing you can thankfully count on.

The puff of smoke that leaves his lips as you approach him should not be as gorgeous as it is. It’s practically unfair. “Hey, Eds.”

He flicks the filter, killing it on the cement table he sits at as he blows out one more puff. “Hey, sweetheart.”

Just from that particular look in his eye, you can tell something is on his mind. “You okay, there, Munson?”

He smirks, effortlessly standing up. “I suppose. I’m not sure how to react. Or how you’ll react.”

Your brows meet your hairline, watching his mind move at a million miles per hour. “Ok, Eddie, this better be about a new class of creatures in DnD, or something, because you’re scaring me.”

He smiles, nodding his head over to the halls that lead toward the front door of the campus. “Someone asked me out on a date, earlier, today.”

Your brows furrow, biting back the jealousy that eats at your chest. Every little part of you holds back the monster that threatens to claw its way out, to snarl and hiss at every girl that even so much as looks at him wrong. It’s hard to bite it back, to choke on it purposely, but if you must, you will.

It tastes like venom as you swallow it back down. “Oh, who?”

A faint pink spreads across Eddie’s cheeks, much to your dismay. Not once, in your fuck, what, seven, eight years, of friendship have you ever managed to see Eddie blush. (Just once but it was when you nearly walked in on him jerking himself off a few short years ago.) “Who?”

“Um Chrissy. Chrissy Cunningham?”

Your jaw drops, but your gut falls through the floor. You swear you hear it smash through the tiled floors and fall into the depths of hell.

“She asked you out?”

“Hey! Don’t act so surprised! A cheerleader could like me!”

That was the last thing on your mind. Of course a cheerleader could like Eddie, they’d be stupid not to. No. Every other girl that Eddie has either slept with, or gone on a date with brought no worry to your head, competition, per se. But a girl like Chrissy, one with pretty blonde curls, adorable smile and a sweet disposition, it’s like your worst nightmare come true.

Thanks to living in such a small town, you can recall 99% of the names that Eddie had told you, whether they be hookups or a date. Most of them didn’t intimidate you, only because, selfishly, you could nitpick at things you think wouldn’t work out with Eddie. Whether they were too vapid, too shallow, had none of the same interests as him, only shallowly liked him for his looks, or was a bully…you had something to give great comfort to you to prevent that little jealousy monster from clawing its way out.

This time, your brain wracked itself for some sort of answer. Some sort of flaw in the Queen of Hawkins High that could settle this uneasiness that has taken over your mind. Nothing. Nothing.

“I’m not surprised a cheerleader could like you, I’m surprised that Chrissy Cunningham asked you out,” you answer candidly, walking in step with him to where you supposed was his van. “I’m guessing you said yes?”

“I’d be crazy not to!” Eddie answered sheepishly, tugging at the sleeves of his leather jacket. “I’m taking her out on Friday night.”

“Ah, you’ll tell Steve to take Creeper off hold for us, then?” You try to keep your tone nonchalant, but bitter jealousy coats your tongue.

Eddie stops mid stride, faltering, his brows pinched as he gives you those big brown eyes. “Shit. It totally slipped my mind.”

This is also new. Even as his dates would happen, any previously made plans with him were always a priority. You just hope this doesn’t become a new habit of his.

“We’ll do it on Saturday, yeah?”

You nod, giving him the comfort you suddenly find yourself craving. From the pep in his step, the rosiness of his cheeks, the warm glint in his eyes, you can tell that he’s truly excited. As a best friend, you try to be happy for him, however hard it is to make the smile on your face even remotely convincing.

Eddie curls his arm around your shoulder, tugging you along with him for what will probably be another afternoon in his room, clouded by a haze of weed.

You smoke more than usual, if anything to allow his excitement and plans for his big date in two days to buzz into the background, the bong hit rippling through your lungs as a punishment for yourself.

A weight on your bed suddenly dips down and you sit up quickly to face Eddie sitting on the corner of your mattress with a small smile on his face. Your headphones, still playing the obnoxiously loud music that drowned out his knocks, fall off your head as you sit up. You press the STOP button, clicking loudly in the silence as you stare at your best friend.

The anxiety of his date has eaten you all night long, the only thing strong enough to distract it being music loud enough to hurt your eardrums. You always feel some sort of anxiety, but tonight was even worse, eating at your brain in fear of how painful it might be to be third wheeling with him after being his #1 for so long.

For once, you can’t tell how it went. A slimy, selfish part of you is hoping he shares bad news. His smile breaks. Into a bigger, much brighter beam. Damn.

“How did it go?” You ask, already knowing the answer.

Eddie slams himself onto the bed next to you, hiding his eyes with his hands with his dimples deep, his pearly whites exposed. “Fuck, it was the best date I’ve ever had.”

Your heart shatters. “That good?”

“God, she’s– much better than I thought she could’ve been,” Eddie answers, peeking out from behind his hands. “It’s fucking crazy.”

Of course Chrissy Cunningham, a known sweetheart, is everything he’s ever dreamed of. Of course she lived up to his expectations. Just your luck. “I’m just jealous of your remarkable turn in luck, I guess.”

Eddie chuckles, turning onto his stomach to face you as he kicks his feet. “You’ll have your turn, baby.”

The pet name stings in the worst way. Instead, you raise your brow at him. “Look at you lookin’ like a schoolgirl with a crush. Pretty boy doesn’t even need makeup with all that blush.”

He rolls his eyes, pinching you on the shin. “You’re such a shithead.”

“Yeah, well you still choose to hang out with me anyway, so, that’s on you.” It takes everything in you to ask the following question, “So, tell me about your date, will ya?”

He does. He rattles on and on about how pretty she is, how easy the conversation was, how much she surprised him, how the night ended with a kiss that had Eddie giggling. He lays next to you, leather jacket put aside on the corner chair and boots next to your bunny slippers at the end of your bed. Your small twin mattress has you close in proximity, your side in direct contact with him as he rests his head on his hands.

“She’s such a cool girl, you know?”

You’re half asleep by now, allowing the exhaustion to overwhelm the slight ache in your chest. It zaps through your heart, overwhelms your senses and makes you dizzy. Your eyes flutter shut, but Eddie keeps talking softly next to you.

“Why were you blasting your 8-track, anyway?”

The question harshly yanks you out of the haze, failing to think of something that doesn’t seem completely false. You wish you were a better liar. “Just stressed out about your date.”

He gives you a strange look, eyebrows tilted. “Hmm?”

“We both haven’t had a very good track record, lately, and if things won’t turn around for me, then at least they should do one of us a favor.” Not, not the truth, but definitely an over exaggerated version of it.

“You’re so good to me, you know?” Eddie asks, intertwining his hand with yours. “Wasting your anxiety on me.”

The rings are harsh against your skin, squeezing your fingers tightly. The physical hurt is almost comforting in direct contrast to your emotional hurt.

His scent is comforting, as it lures you like the pied piper into the land of sleep. It’s about another twenty minutes until he realizes there are soft snores coming from you. He doesn’t care to drive all the way home, despite it only being a five minute drive away.

He falls asleep to your comforting breaths, allowing your hand to remain engulfed in his.

The loud ringing of your phone jerks you awake, quickly crawling to the side of your bed as you grab it from the dock housed on the floor.

“Hello?” Sleep sits deep in your voice, spelling out clearly to your caller that you just woke up.

It just occurs to you that you could’ve just allowed your dad to answer it.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Eddie’s voice is chipper, alarmingly so since you’re not even awake yet.

“You sound way too awake for someone that didn’t believe in waking up before 1pm,” you quip, rubbing your eyes sleepily.

“Ha,” he deadpans, yet it's clear he’s smiling. “Chris wants to meet you. I mean, I know you’ve already met her, but you know, as my girlfriend?”

Ugh. It’s been a harrowing three weeks. “Yeah, sure. What did you want to do with her?”

“I thought we could introduce her to pancake night,” Eddie sheepishly answers, like he knows you would be hesitant to invite someone into your holy ritual.

Yeah. You don’t want to invite her. But…you asked for patience last month and it seemed that the universe has answered with a lovesick Eddie Munson.

“I don’t see why not,” you lie, finding it rolls off the tongue much easier than it used to.

“You’re the best! I’ll see after you study in the library, yeah?” He knows your schedule. On Thursdays after the morning Sociology class, you opt to crawl up into a small corner and hermit yourself with snacks and a pile of books to get the work that needs to be done finished.

In high school, you could get away with doing minimum work and passing, but with your dad paying and barely able to afford it even with his second job, it sent the need to do your work to the best of your ability for once. You owed him at least that much from all the calls of missed classes for four years straight.

“Sure.”

As you stretch while hanging up the phone, you glance over to the alarm clock to see the time and it lurches you forward in bed to scramble for clothes, textbooks, and scattered papers as your lecture starts in less than twenty minutes. You’re usually already sitting in the seat by then.

On your way out the door, your dad is surprised you’re still home, offering to drive you. You don’t want to burden him even more than you already have, so you insist you can ride your bike and still get there on time. Well, at least you hope you can.

The bike rack is nearly full when you get to the college, six or seven locks messily put around the poles, most bikes already fallen over. You jam your bike in between two of them, hurriedly wrangling the annoying coil of sturdy cable between what you’re sure is entangled in someone else’s lock, too. Whatever, they should’ve been more organized.

The clock on the wall tells you class started three minutes ago and your heart falls to your stomach, knowing the professor is a stickler for punctuality. His words falter as soon as you enter the hall, the heavy door echoing its creak against the walls. He graciously allows you to sit and get situated before he continues. He makes examples of every late student, and you figured you would never be in his laser eyed focus. Well, before your alarm decided not to go off.

The last chair available is the corner chair in the front row, the one spot in class you love to avoid. It’s too close for comfort, a place he often chooses for students to answer his questions even if they don’t raise their hand.

That, and it’s right beside Steve Harrington.

His fingers raise from the desk as a greeting, sharing a sweet smile as you start to collect your textbook and notes. You awkwardly smile back at him, your attention snapped back to the professor as he pointedly talks right at your desk in his lecture. Fuck, this’ll be annoying.

By the time the three hour lecture ends, your hand hurts from the amount of notes you wrote down, one side covered in graphite from smudging the paper. Your stomach grumbles, asking loudly for lunch after neglecting to eat breakfast as usual.

Unbeknownst to you, Steve follows a step behind. “That lecture was brutal,” You hear from behind you. You toss your head over your shoulder to glance back at him before turning back around.

“I guess.” You say awkwardly. Here we go again.

“Out of curiosity, how are Eddie and his new girlfriend doing? Chrissy Cunningham, huh? I cannot say I saw that coming.”

Neither did you. “They’re doing great, from what I hear. Haven’t really met her, yet,” you answer, heading straight to the small cafe that has a home in the heart of the campus. “Listen, Steve, I really don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“Why not? You don’t think he’s happy with her, or something?”

You stop midstep, turning to face him. “It’s not that. I just don’t have the capacity for it, ok?”

“You like him,” Steve accuses, his brows meeting his hairline.

Your jaw drops, stuttering through an empty sentence. “I do not like him!”

“Really?” Steve laughs, crossing his arms as he watches you build a brick wall around yourself. “So you not wanting to talk about his new girlfriend has nothing to do with the way your face fell when I asked about it?”

How the hell did Steve Harrington pick up on it so fast, of all people?

“Even if I did, why the hell would I want to talk about it with someone I don’t even know?” You sigh, looking wistfully over to the cafe. “Besides, I’m not even caffeinated yet.”

Steve rolls his eyes, nodding towards the said cafe. “Here, if I treat you to some coffee will you talk to me about it?”

“If you add a wrap to the deal, then I’ll think about it,” You say dryly, pulling a laugh from him.

The barista, a student who you’ve gotten to know is somehow managing to do pre-law and work part time smiles nicely.

“I’ll get a vanilla latte with nonfat milk and an extra pump of vanilla, please.”

Steve raises his brow at you before making his own order, “I’ll get a medium black coffee with room for creamer, please, and whatever this lady wants from the menu.”

You scan until you reach the egg omelet wrap with mushroom, bell peppers, and tomatoes. “The loaded omelet wrap.”

After Steve pays he meets you on the handout counter. “Why nonfat milk and the extra pump of vanilla?”

“If I get nonfat then I can replace the sugar with the extra vanilla.”

“Pretty sure that’s not how that works.”

You pick up the cup as it lands on the counter, wincing at the temperature on your tongue. “It works.”

Steve grabs his, shaking his head as he makes his way over to pour some creamer in.

The wrap is soon presented as well, steaming in its cardboard sleeve as the scent alone pools on your tongue with saliva. The only thing that got you through that lecture was just the thought of lunch.

Steve meets you at a two-top by the window, setting his own bag down as he sits right across from you.

The omelet, much too hot to eat, sits waiting for you on the chestnut brown table as you sip on the latte. The latte is much too hot as well, but you’ve never had enough patience to wait for that caffeine kick. If you weren’t so afraid of your professor’s wrath you would’ve shown up another ten minutes late with a coffee cup in hand.

Steve allows you and himself a few minutes of quiet before he speaks. “So, why don’t you tell him?”

You cough mid sip, mentally apologizing to your lungs for allowing non-oxygen to make its way in. “I’m sorry?”

“Stop pretending. Eddie was dead on when he said you were a bad liar,” Steve says, grinning with stupid smirk on his face.

“Why have you and Eddie talked about me?” You ask, narrowing your glance towards him.

“Are you kidding? You’re all he talks about,” Steve shrugs, so nonchalant that you have no choice but to believe him. “Kind of annoying, actually.”

“Why?”

“I have to hear about how great of a friend this girl is but also how she can’t stand me.”

You huff in laughter at how distraught he genuinely seems by it, his face contorted into someone who definitely isn’t used to rejection. You cock an eyebrow at him. “Can you exactly blame me?”

“Yes! I can! Everybody loves me!” Steve rolls his eyes playfully, and damn it if you can’t help but find it mildly amusing.

“Hate to break it to you, there, sweetheart, but the people who were picked on by you don’t exactly crave to be around your oh-so-wonderful presence.”

He squints, crossing his arms as he leans forward. “Picked on? I mean that’s a little harsh, considering–”

“Fine, yes, you didn’t exactly jeer, or outright bully even, but you watched and laughed along and sometimes that feels even worse,” you admit, feeling suddenly small under his gaze. “Tommy and Carol said shit, that’s just what they did… But sitting back and watching sometimes is just as bad. You were nice, sometimes, I guess. But the fact that you had that capacity for kindness and chose against it just spoke volumes.”

“I met them in seventh grade. They weren’t as bad back then, mostly just somewhat belligerent. They got worse over time, but we all had terrible home lives, it was like we were the only ones that got what that was like…and somewhere along the way, I forgot that just because we had an excuse didn’t mean they had the right.”

“I guess that makes sense,” you answer, glancing at the omelet, debating taking your first steaming bite. “I mean, I’m not condoning it, but sometimes loyalty can be blinding.”

“I’m not that douche, anymore. I got that knocked out of me when I was seventeen. Literally. Now I spend most of my free time with a high school junior,” he laughs, taking another large sip of his coffee.

“Aah, Dustin,” you hum, thinking of the many instances where he had tried to convince you of what Steve had just told you. What made you so insistent on denying believing in either of your friends seems to dissipate, however, just in the friendliness that Steve radiates alone. Damn his charisma. “Would you believe me if I said he vouched for you many times?”

“The kid loves me, what can I say?” He shrugs, not hiding his laughter. “Now. Back to you. Why not tell him?”

No use in hiding it. If Steve can bare his soul in the middle of the day at a damn cafe just to get you to trust him, you suppose you owed him the same. “‘Cause he doesn’t feel the same,” you answer, starting to peel open the snack from the hunger pang. “Why make it weird when there’s nothing that could come from it?” You shrug, looking down sheepishly as the weight of your words sink into your heart like a stone.

“Doesn’t like you. Are you sure about that?” Steve asks, licking his lips.

You hesitate. “Is this a trick question?”

“Nope. I just wonder if you truly believe it, or if you’re too scared to let yourself have something you’ve wanted for so long.”

“Where do you get off on acting like you’re some sort of expert on this?” You ask, folding your arms across your chest. The question rings out from the mere fact that he is dead on the nose. He couldn’t be any more right. The very idea that Eddie had even an inkling of what you had for him scares you to death. You would rather keep him as a friend and lie in wait than lose him from a great love and not have him at all.

“I’m more observant than most people give me credit for,” he admits, twirling his almost empty coffee cup. “I’ve heard countless hours of Eddie talking about you, yet I haven’t heard him speak once about Chrissy. That says a lot, don’t you think?”

“Well, me neither, and I’m his best friend. Don’t get down on your luck.”

“You are both idiots. Just tell him. Seriously. I’m sick of you both acting like a pair of love sick fools.”

“You seem to be very convinced of something that is not real,” you tell him, garbled from the bite of omelet you’re in the middle of swallowing. “If you keep this energy up when you’re studying, you would probably do pretty well for yourself.”

“Fine. Remain in denial. I don’t care. You can destroy yourself from the inside. Who cares? Just, let me in. I need someone to help me with these assignments. They are mind numbingly dull.” He throws his hands up like he’s admitting defeat.

“You need a study buddy?” You laugh, hiding the food that sits in between bites. “I suppose that could be arranged.”

“Sweet. Now are you gonna treat me to a coffee every now and then, or?”

“I have a single father, not an unlimited credit card from Daddy’s big business, Steve Harrington.” You say matter-of-factly, jabbing your finger towards him accusingly.

“Oh, so I have to provide the newly released movies and buy the coffee, I see how it is.”

“Privilege breeds responsibility, Stevie. I don’t make the rules.” You give him a half smirk. As you look at him, you’re finally seeing the person you thought could see all those years ago behind the mask of his terrible friends. Steve’s ambush would be the best thing to come out of the next few weeks.

Because it turned into hell.

As your hair runs wild behind you, there’s a grand attempt to allow yourself to let the wind distract you from the sinking feeling in your gut. It grows bigger and bigger, until it becomes unbearable as you reach the gravel lining the trailer park. You allow your bike to fall heavily on the trailer, taking a moment to collect your courage before knocking on Eddie’s front door.

It feels weird knocking. You can’t even recall the last time you did. But, you refuse to overstep any boundaries that might not be communicated yet. Being on Chrissy’s good side will make your life a lot easier.

Eddie answers the door, out of breath and sweating with wild eyes and even crazier hair. “Hey!”

“Hey,” you greet, stepping in right behind him. You blink, taking in the pristine surroundings. It’s like stepping into an alternate dimension, one where Eddie and Wayne regularly cleaned their trailer and preferred the smell of lavender over stale beer and greasy pizza boxes. The kitchen is spotless, the living room has a lit candle sitting on the coffee table, and the shelves containing the million mugs were dusted. “Who are you and what the hell did you do with my best friend?” You laugh.

He chuckles sheepishly, crossing his arms in front of his chest as protection. “Uh, is it too much?”

“Better warn her now so she doesn’t get used to cleanliness,” you answer, watching as the surfaces around you sparkle and shine.

“Ha, ha. I have to get dressed. I have some snacks on the kitchen counter. You mind starting the popcorn?” Eddie doesn’t bother waiting for you to answer, already walking to his room.

You get a glimpse of his bedroom as he shuts the door behind him, smirking at the clothes still scattered on his floor. At least one part of this little haven of yours remains normal.

The popcorn shakes in your hold as you continually stir it on the stove to prevent it from sticking to the bottom of the thin aluminum bottom and burning. Just as the first batch of kernels reach their limit, a knock from the front door hits, each one feeling like a crack in any normalcy you’ve ever had.

Things will never feel the same ever again. Not after tonight. On your way to open the door you try to tell yourself that it can be a good thing.

Right?

The door opens to the once head cheerleader of Hawkins High, wearing a pink dress that fits her tiny frame nicely with blonde curls and bangs that beautifully frame her face. Her hands are folded behind her back, standing meekly in white sneakers and long lashes and blue eyeshadow. It’s hard not to be envious of how pretty she is.

It’s clear she’s not expecting you to open the door. “Hey! Sorry, Eddie’s just in his room. He should be out any minute.”

“Oh. Ok,” she enters as you back up, wringing her hands together, probably out of anxiety. “What movie did he rent?”

“You know, I was so busy making fun of him for cleaning up for once I didn’t bother to ask,” you admit, hoping to make the atmosphere just a little bit lighter.

She looks around the place, seemingly taking it in. “Hmm,” she hums, walking over to the couch. “It’s cute when they try so hard.”

“Sure,” you answer, walking back to the kitchen, hoping the popcorn isn’t irredeemably burnt. “Do you want butter on the popcorn?”

“Yes please!”

You’re in the middle of mentally begging Eddie to come out already while the butter melts in the microwave, the hum of the microwave loud in the silence.

“Okay! I’m ready!” Eddie announces, opening the bedroom door with a flourish. “Sorry for the wait!”

As he gets to the couch behind Chrissy, he wraps her in a big hug and plants kisses all over her neck. “How you doin’, sweetheart?”

You hold back the nausea as you pour the hot butter all over the popcorn in the large plastic bowl. You find it ironic that this is the same bowl you’ve held back Eddie’s hair over as he hurled into it. You just hope Wayne thoroughly cleaned it.

“Popcorn is ready, can y’all help me bring the chips and candy?” You ask, shaking the bowl to coat the butter over each kernel.

“We can do that,” Eddie answers, grabbing Chrissy’s hand as they walk to the kitchen.

“How can I help?” Chrissy asks, arms open as she looks around a kitchen she has no familiarity with.

“Um there’s some soda in the fridge, grab me and Ed a Coke, and you can grab yourself whatever you want,” you answer, pointing to the twenty year old fridge in the corner.

“Hand me some,” you command, holding a single hand for one of the many bags of snacks Eddie juggles.

The popcorn and a couple dozen little bags land on the coffee table in front of a blank tv screen. Chrissy sits with a soft grunt in between the two of you, cradling the cans of coke and sprite in her tiny arms.

She distributes the cans, handing them over to you and him. Eddie squats in front of the TV, pressing play on the tape which he apparently already prepared to watch. His plaid boxers peek out of his jeans, sitting above the studded belt as he adjusts volume and picture.

You share a smile with the blonde, opening your can and wincing at the loud hiss. You keep thinking about the days you and Chrissy will look back on how awkward this was. How the first days of this trio were so weird, and off putting, and how she thought you were a bitch when she met you.

Where she’s a friend.

You have to try.

“What are we watching?”

Eddie turns around slowly, that over exaggerated smile on his face that tells you he’s up to nothing but trouble. “Oh just a little somethin’”

“Oh god,” you wince, knowing that look on his face. You lean into her, whispering, “Hope you like horror.”

Chrissy turns to you with wide eyes and a queasy smile. “Not really.”

“Oh, this one is a classic,” Eddie promises, animatedly using his hands as he crouch-walks back next to her. “If any movie can turn someone into a horror fan, it’s this one.”

As soon as the music starts playing you recognize it. It’s a tune you’ve heard many times in his living room, subjected to it too many times if you had anything to say about it. Of course, you’ll watch it with him every time, regardless.

“Halloween? Seriously? The serial killer stalking the babysitter? You couldn’t think of anything else?” You roll your eyes. He could probably do a whole reenactment of the movie word for word if he tried.

“It’s a classic for a reason, sweetheart,” Eddie tells you, grabbing the bowl straight away. Of course, he will rip through the popcorn, he always does.

You feel Chrissy tense up, not that you can blame her. You suppose a talk about proper pet names will be necessary.

Each bag of snacks is eventually opened because you can’t stick to one bag long enough to finish it even if you tried. You get bored of the same taste too often. You have your favorite few, fuzzy peaches, M&Ms, Reese's Pieces, Swedish fish, and last and most controversially, at least where Eddie’s concerned, salt and vinegar chips.

He always has his own snacks at his disposal from nights of having the munchies, always on a dollar store run for said snacks. At each movie night he restocks, both yours and his alike, and suddenly you realize you will need to remember Chrissy’s too, if you’re going to be cordial.

With each bloody death that splatters the walls on screen, Chrissy grows closer and closer to Eddie. There’s a part of you that has considered using scary movies to cuddle up to him, but you’re just not genuinely scared of them enough to consider it. The ruse would’ve faded eventually. You try not to let the jealousy eat you up from the inside, no matter how much it burns your skin.

His arm wraps around her, petting her shoulder gently as she whimpers at the slash of his knife. “It’s corn syrup. Totally fake. You can tell by the color, it’s way too bright.”

Towards the end, the loud, chirpy, nauseating sound of kissing fills your ears. Your eyes can’t help it, they move towards the noise and immediately regret it. Oh god, they’re kissing. If you can even call that kissing. He’s practically engulfed her mouth.

Surely, with the company they have, they’ll stop, right? Their heads will remember and sheepishly get the fuck off each other? Right?

Two scenes and what feels like forever, later, you realize how wrong you are. “I’m glad you two are crazy for each other, really I am, but can we please wait until I’m gone?” You give an awkward laugh to try to stifle the discomfort coursing through your veins.

Eddie makes a surprised sound, almost like he completely forgot you were there. “Shit–sorry.”

Chrissy doesn’t make any apologies, in fact, you miss the way she rolls her eyes against his chest. She wanted to keep going, hoping you would take her hint to get lost.

Before long, the end of the movie finally arrives, the end credits rolling with that famous piano tune. Chrissy has practically stitched herself to Eddie’s side, her arms wrapped around his waist. The popcorn bowl is nearly full. All that work on it for nothing.

You sigh, about to claim that it’s your cue to leave when–

“I’m thinking we should show Chrissy one of our pancake nights, don’t ya think?”

No. You don’t want that. From the way Chrissy completely tenses up, neither does she. But for his sake, you both reluctantly agree.

Hawkins looks a lot different from Eddie’s backseat.

As the ring of the bell against the glass door announces your arrival, Martha’s head snapping up from the magazine she’s buried her nose in. “Hey you two, I was wondering when I would see you again!”

You and Eddie walk directly to the corner booth, as per usual, Chrissy trailing a half step behind him with her left hand intertwined with his right. Before Martha walks up to the booth, she starts the blender, the sound oddly comforting for how uneasy you feel.

“Well, looks like we got ourselves a little straggler! What’s your name darlin’?” She asks, the notebook she now holds a dark purple instead of the red she had last time.

Chrissy stares blankly at her, curling back into him. You don’t remember her being this shy in High School.

“This is Chrissy,” Eddie introduces her, giving her a fond look. “She’s my girlfriend.”

Martha’s penciled brows raise straight to her ruby red hair, the chewing gum loud in her silence. Her surprise only lasts two seconds, shifting into hospitality for the new member. “Welcome to these two’s many, many nights spent here at Benny’s. In fact, could you make them come a little less often. We’re starting to get annoyed at them.” She jokes, throwing a wink at you.

You laugh with Eddie, taking note of the fact that Chrissy is still silent.

“Alright, well I already know what these two want, did you need a second to look over the menu?”

She nods.

“Alright, well, I’ll be right back with your milkshake.”

“Can you make it one medium, one large with two straws?” You ask Martha, sure it would get more awkward if she brought one for you and Eddie to share.

“Oh, sure,” she answers, her voice unusually soft.

Less than five minutes later she returns with two milkshakes and a menu.

“Oh,” Chrissy comments, looking curiously at the pink ice cream drink in front of her. “I don’t really like strawberry. Can I get vanilla instead?”

Your forehead meets the table, punishing yourself. “Shit. I’m so sorry! I didn’t even think to ask.” Eddie apologizes.

“It’s fine.” Chrissy smiles sweetly at him.

“Oh, you gotta eat breakfast, it’s tradition,” Eddie mutters, switching her page to the all day breakfast menu.

“Hmm,” she responds, pointing to one of the menu options. “I think I’ll get the poached egg with the avocado toast.”

“Alright. Should be out quickly,” Martha answers, grabbing the milkshake from them.

“How often do you guys come here?” Chrissy asks, turning her face to Eddie.

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Probably more often than we should. Like when shit goes sideways, or we need a hit of sugar, or when we just feel like bugging Miss Martha, over there.”

“When did you start coming?”

“My junior year,” you answer, smiling at the memory, “his second attempt at senior year, we both didn’t want to go to the stupid school dance, so we decided to get dressed up and come here, instead.”

“Why didn’t you want to go?”

Eddie shrugs, petting her shoulder with his thumb. “We thought it was dumb. Then, we ened up coming back when both of us failed this one really important bio test. Then, by the third time she remembered our orders and had the blender going by the time we sat down.”

Eddie asks how your day was, so you inform him you managed to have a civilized conversation with Steve Harrington. You have an audience for the conversation, one member animatedly interested, the other politely listening.

Polite is definitely the way to describe it, no spark in her eye. At least, not the one she wears when she listens to her boyfriend speak. In fact, you can practically see them glaze over.

Just as you nearly avoid explaining the main topic of the awkward conversation, Martha comes back over with two plates, one for you, one for Chrissy. It’s only half a moment until she’s back with the new milkshake and third plate.

The mountain of strawberries is bigger than average this time, this larger size becoming something you might get used to if the staff continues to spoil you like this. You take another flick of whipped cream from the top of the milkshake, suddenly realizing you’ve barely taken a sip the entire time. Damn, it’s usually half gone by the time you get your food.

“Do you guys order the same thing everytime?” Chrissy asks, looking at both of your plates.

“Yup!” You exclaim, spreading the strawberry sauce around your plate.

Her blonde brows furrow. “Maybe it’s not good to eat this much sugar every time you guys come here,” she comments, cutting at her squishy green toast. It doesn’t look appetizing to you in the least.

“It’s not like we come here every night,” Eddie laughs, spreading his sprinkled whip around the fluffy waffle. “It’s fine to indulge every now and then, you know?”

“Maybe you guys should try something a little healthier?” Chrissy asks, her voice having what you think is a little bit of a bite in it.

“People don’t exactly come here to eat healthy, Chrissy,” you laugh, thinking of the menu item called Heart Attack Jack, which is a burger doused in American Cheese with layers of bacon and a bucket of grease. It’s not going to be a soccer mom’s number one choice for health.

“You don’t have to bite my head off, it was just a suggestion,” Chrissy mutters, curling into herself.

“I-I didn’t,” you reply, very surprised at her knee jerk reaction. “I’m just saying, if we wanted to go somewhere to eat healthy, we probably wouldn’t pick a greasy diner in a small town in the middle of nowhere. Honestly, I’m not sure anywhere in Hawkins really has the healthiest choice.”

“Chris, what she’s trying to say is that eating a crap load of sugar is just tradition at this point,” Eddie says, intertwining her hand with his. “It’s a part of our ritual. You don’t have to eat like us if you don’t want to, we just thought you’d want to be included.”

“It’s just a lot of sugar, is all.” She’s barely taken a chunk out of her food, resembling a bunny in the very small, very tiny bites she continues to take. “Maybe I won’t join you guys next time. I don’t really understand the point.” She says sheepishly.

In the depths of your soul, you feel at that moment you would probably never get along with her, have given up hope on her completely. It wouldn’t be for a handful of weeks until you acknowledge that you had sound reasoning.

The bill is paid, money hitting the table on your and Eddie’s parts, the vanilla milkshake just barely touched. If you knew she wasn’t gonna drink it you would’ve doubled down on the strawberry, Eddie hates vanilla.

As you walk out to the van, trailing behind them as he wraps his arm around her shoulders, you find yourself at an impasse. “Eddie, can you give me a ride home?” Chrissy asks. She moves on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “Maybe I can ride you before you drop me off?”

The pancakes you wolfed down churn back up your throat, threatening to make their second appearance for the night.

Eddie’s cheeks flush, his eyes wide as he tugs her in. Guess that answers that question. “Um, do you need a ride?” He asks you, almost avoiding your eyes.

Chrissy’s death stare is plain as day, silently warning you not to take it. Fine, you didn’t want to sit in the van with these two, anyway.

“No, it’s fine. I can grab my bike from the back.”

Chrissy beams, her curls bouncing as she jogs to the passenger seat. You hope your ass imprint is uncomfortable for her.

Eddie returns with the bike, putting it gently down in front of you. “Hey, Ed?”

“Hmm?”

“Might want to teach your girlfriend how to whisper,” you tell him, grabbing the handles from him. “It’s not considered a whisper when everyone in a ten foot radius can hear!” It comes out harsher than you intend it, but with how horribly tonight has gone, you can’t bring yourself to want to apologize.

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie swears, the pink in his cheeks now from embarrassment. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t mention it,” you insist, dismissing it. You had a feeling she said it loud enough for you to hear on purpose, anyway. “Just use protection, ok? We don’t need any more Munsons in this world running around, creating chaos.”

If you got Chrissy pregnant I would actually be sick, is what you mean.

“Shut up,” Eddie laughs, wrapping you in a hug over the bike. “See you next time, slugger.”

That was when you changed from sweetheart to slugger.

There’s no whiplash like discovering your best friend is a completely different person when he’s in a relationship. On one hand, phone calls with him are as ordinary as always, teasing and jeering and flush with the familiarity of a best friend.

On the other hand, when you meet with him and his girlfriend, he seems to dampen his wild personality and slice it into ribbons for her sake. It kills you.

Reruns play on the small tv, old cartoons Wayne recorded for a rambunctious little kid in his mix. You’ve watched them enough to know some of them by heart, especially your favorite gags.

Eddie sits in the corner of the couch, curled up with Chrissy on his lap as they talk quietly. They’re low enough you can barely make out what they’re saying, but from the giggles alone, you have no interest in the nausea it would give you.

She was already in his lap when you got there, a sarcastic comment choked back having something to do with maybe getting off, opting to sit on the other end.

“Oh, Ed, the movie is next Friday,” you remind him, taking another sip of the ice cold coke in front of you.

“Remind me what that was?” Eddie asks you, peering his chin over Chrissy’s head.

You narrow your eyes, scoffing in incredulousness. “Uh, hello? I did not wait in line for hours for the Princess Bride just for you to forget!”

“OH, fuck I didn’t realize that was coming up so quickly!” Eddie exclaims, a wild look in his eyes. “Well, shit I’ll make sure to free my oh-so-busy schedule!”

“Sweet.”

“Oh, I totally wanted to see that movie!” Chrissy chirps, sitting up in Eddie’s lap. “Are there any more tickets for the night you guys are going for?”

“It’s been sold out for weeks,” you shrug, chomping on a potato chip. “I stood in line for like six hours that morning.”

“Oh,” she mutters, curling into him.

You wish you could say it doesn’t give you great pleasure to know she won’t be able to crash your movie night.

“You think, uh,” she starts, turning around to face you. “You think I could have your ticket and Eddie could take me?”

You scoff, bewildered that this even crossed her mind. “I beg your pardon?”

“I mean, I really wanted to see it and it doesn’t really make sense for you two to go out for a date, now that he’s dating me…”

“I think you forgot the part where I stood in line for six hours to get these tickets,” you reply, trying to catch Eddie’s eyes. He’s avoiding you.

“And I’m sure we’ll all go next time!” She offers as an almost smug smile plays at her lips.

She can’t be serious. After watching her face, you realize she is fully expecting you to give up your ticket so she can go with him. Guess that Iron Maiden concert coming up this summer is off the table, too, you think, rubbing your eyes tiredly.

You look at him, waiting for him to say something to indicate how ridiculous his girlfriend is being, to stand up for you.

Oh. He’s not going to.

“I really don’t see the big deal.” Chrissy scoffs.

Of course you don’t. “I’m sorry, but I’m not giving you my damn ticket!” you snap. “If you really don’t want Eddie to come with me that badly then I can get Steve to take me.”

Which is ridiculous, Eddie was the one who wanted to see this movie in the first place. It looked like it was about adventure, something Eddie loves in movies. You decided then sure, since his birthday is right after the movie comes out, you’ll stand in line for the tickets then treat him to a fun movie night.

If Chrissy is uncomfortable with that, then that’s her prerogative, but she can choose something else to do with her boyfriend since she wants to so badly. You won’t let her walk all over you.

Chrissy doesn’t answer, but she’s clearly upset by yours. “It’s alright, babe,” Eddie hums, tugging her up against his chest so she curls into him. “I can wait until it comes out. We’ll just rent it, yeah?”

You’re not sure which makes you more nauseous, the fact that he just made a plan with her that won’t come to fruition for six months, or that he had nothing to say in the conversation.

You’ve never felt so unwelcome on his couch. “I’m gonna head home. I’ll see you later.”

Whatever comes out of Eddie’s mouth then falls on deaf ears as you fight the tears that irrationally threaten to spill over your water line. They’re stupid, your emotions are stupid, the movie is stupid.

Steve sits on the other side of the light brown table in the library, hunched over some notes as you explain the concept to him once more.

“Ugh, this is ridiculous, I’m going to forget this as soon as we learn it,” Steve whines, rubbing his eyes.

“Well you’re only taking Sociology because you haven’t claimed a major yet and sociology is required in most degrees.”

“That’s true,” he smirks, stretching his arms. “This still is all starting to look like gibberish. I get it, we live in a society in which the rules are not in our favor, why does that have to be studied to this intent?”

You shrug. “It’s fascinating.”

“To who?”

You roll your eyes, wondering how he grew on you like a weed. “Alright, we’ll take a break, then.”

“Any plans upcoming for next Wednesday?”

“Uh, no, at least not that I’m aware of,” you answer, putting your highlighter down. “We were supposed to see the movie for it, but, well you know how that turned out.”

“I’m sure there’s something he’s planning,” Steve assures, tapping his pencil rhythmically. “It’s not like him to not make a spectacle of his birthday.”

That, you agree with.

“Dustin said he hasn’t heard anything about it, either. He almost planned a surprise party for him. You think he’s just taking it easy this year?”

You doubt it, he’s turning 21, after all. Not like hasn’t been going to bars since he was fifteen, but now at least he’d be able to go into a major city with his real ID without getting flagged. Last year he prattled on about plans for this one, how he was gonna have a big rager at Steve’s and drop a whole paycheck on kegs.

You’re sure if he was going to do anything in those next two days, then he would’ve told you by now.

That Wednesday morning, you rise early to the sound of your alarm.

The kitchen counter is already filled with the ingredients you need, preparing for a labor of love. You hook your Walkman to your jeans, listening to the music blaring in your ears as you add one ingredient at a time, watching the batter slowly come to shape.

It’s familiar, your mom’s famous homemade recipe for cake batter. After missing her many cakes and the familiarity of her food, you finally searched for the cards containing her neat print, clearly and concisely telling the reader what her recipes needed.

It became your favorite thing to do when you missed her.

As you pour the batter into each divet in the tray, you recall the first time you thought to make a birthday cupcake for Eddie.

Neither of you cared much for first period, so it was easy to catch him before he woke up. That day you presented a vanilla cupcake with a swirl of black and blue frosting. You learned that morning he hates vanilla.

Every other instance of making him a cupcake has been a litany of flavors, but never vanilla.

As they bake, you whip up the frosting with a hand mixer, hoping the low hum doesn’t wake your father. He works so hard already. Red food coloring turns it from white, the process all too satisfying.

A plastic sandwich bag with the corner cut off is always just enough for you to pipe frosting on, the skilled hand you’ve trained after trial and error working fast.

Your dad always knows on February 19th he will wake up to 11 cupcakes on a big plate.

The pastry sits in a comically large container as you borrow your dads truck, the sun just barely peeking over the horizon as you climb the stairs to the Munson’s front door.

You balance the cupcake in your hand as you head straight down the hall towards Eddie’s room. The sounds filling the trailer take a moment to register, for some reason not realizing how quiet it should be on an early weekday morning. The only sounds should be that of an early bird or newspaper hitting the front door.

Dread finds home in your stomach, as if on a very instinctual level you realize what you’re hearing. Though for some crazy, masochistic reason, those instincts wanted to be sure.

His door, wide open, reveals him hunched over Chrissy with the blanket barely covering his broad shoulders as he’s rocking. He’s rocking…and oh, you can hear her, too.

She’s moaning, whining, clawing her nails up his back like a leech, or worse, a tick, digging itself in and refusing to give up the tight hold they have on their victim.

Your mind goes empty, numb, until you hear her faintly wish him a happy birthday. You blink yourself out of the trance, blindly stumbling back into the fresh air of the living room. The cupcake lands on the kitchen counter on your way out the door, not caring as it slams behind you, definitely alerting Eddie and Chrissy of the third unknown presence in the trailer.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to even care about it, the queasiness deep rooted in your stomach threatening to make itself known on the outside plants.

You have a class in less than an hour, something you need to continue into the second year of your Communications degree, but not something that requires brain power.

The simple question of how you managed to ride your bike all the way to the campus, take notes in your class and blindly walk over to the library will always escape you. You somehow watch yourself go through the motions until you meet Steve at the cafe.

The moment he sees you, he knows something is wrong just by the deadened stare that’s taken over your face.

When you break down into tears, he brings you to his house, letting you finally admit to him what you’ve been afraid to admit to yourself.

You’re in love with your best friend. And while you’re doing your best to be happy for him, your poor heart can’t handle it.

The cupcake isn’t mentioned until you call him two days later, still heartbroken, but missing his voice. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, despite the great ache that makes each and every day fuzzy.

Usually, more than half the cupcakes get eaten by him, which is why a dozen are made each year. There’s still more than half left, the very sight of the cupcakes depleting your appetite as his continued absence carves a bigger and bigger hole in you.

He answers on the fifth ring, sounding as if he’s in the middle of rummaging through items in some way, slightly out of breath. “Hey, Chris, sorry I can’t find–”

You swallow the pain. Maybe the lump of pain swallowed in your stomach will finally evict itself like the contents of stomachs should. Yet, the more you throw it up, the more it seems to gather. How does that work? “It’s me.” You say dryly, tiredly.

“Shit,” he breathes, the background noise coming to a sudden halt. “Hey, you.”

“Hey. How was the cupcake?”

“The mysterious appearing pastry was delicious as always, slugger.” Slugger. “What-what time did you drop it off?”

You know that he knows that you heard something. He doesn’t know how much you heard, but he knows the slam of his front door was you.

“I didn’t hear much. Just enough to know you had already received your birthday present for the year,” the attempt at humor doesn’t hit you very well. You’re not sure how it’s received, but Eddie laughs regardless.

“Sorry about that, she slept over the night before unplanned. I should’ve remembered your yearly morning cupcake.”

“Should’ve remembered you have a girlfriend,” you answer, wishing you had that better judgment. “Did you do anything for your birthday?”

“Chris took me out for dinner with her parents.” Honestly, that sounds like it was for her more than it was for him.

“Sounds fun,” you deadpan, earning earnest chuckles from him.

“They’re an acquired taste,” Eddie offers, allowing your slight criticism of his birthday party.

“You sure you still don’t want to go to Indianapolis and bar hop?” You can’t help but ask. It’s like you can hear his reluctance to accept the celebration he got.

“Nah. Besides, we can’t risk your fake ID, after all.” He pauses, an understated sigh passing through his breath. “How has school been?”

Small talk is not often something that passes through a conversation between you two. You’re aware of it, he’s aware of it, and it turns the conversation into something almost jilted.

“I miss you,” you admit, lying back on your bed.

“I miss you,” he parrots, soft and sweet.

“Can we do something? Just you and me?”

He chuckles, low and under his breath. “Sure. Pancake night. Just you, me, and Martha’s perfume.”

…that never happened.

The less you see Eddie, the more you end up hanging out with Steve. He seems to want to introduce you to his own best friend, but your admission of not wanting to be a third wheel again gets him to drop it. You can’t help but notice the only times you speak to Eddie are when you call him. He hasn’t called you since asking for Chrissy to join pancake night.

That alone wouldn’t entirely convince you to not call him anymore. The jilted conversations always ending with promises of time with one another never coming to fruition. It’s the equivalent of being skinned alive, one strip at a time.

Steve has watched the circles under your eyes darken, the enthusiasm in class deplete, and the lust for life dissolve before his very eyes. To say he’s pissed at his friend is to understate it, he’s ready to tell you to give up on him and forget he exists.

Yet, Steve knows how unlike Eddie it all is. Dustin has complained he hasn’t been called back for a long time, Gareth reached out to you asking if you’d heard from Eddie lately as they haven’t rehearsed for a while. He garners more concern than anger at times.

Steve’s living room has become a new choice of hang out space, but the unnatural cleanliness of the house, the lack of cologne that both Eddie and Wayne use, the familiarity of eight years of friendship, it gives this unrelenting feeling of emptiness. It’s worth trying to fill it with edibles and weed.

It doesn’t seem to work, but you’ve become more open, more free willing with him as a direct result. He doesn’t favor horror movies like you and Eddie, but you find common ground in action and slapstick comedy, instead. Anything but romcoms, you implore. Anything even close to resembling romance is rejected.

Steve spills the latest he heard from Hawkins’ elite country club group, a bunch of ladies with nothing better to do with their afternoons than spread rumors about the population as a whole and judge them for it. Steve knows for a fact which members of the country club have side women, bringing them in hours after walking in with their own wives.

It’s so nice to be concerned with the lives of others and to not care about yours falling apart at the seams. Well, really it's being ripped apart by Chrissy Cunningham’s greedy little claws.

Ironically enough, you get paired up with Steve for a major assignment in Soc class, one required to analyze social constructs that have been deep dived in class. Another little gift of irony is you were given Social Stratification, which is the hierarchical arrangement of individuals or groups within a society based on various factors such as wealth, power, and prestige.

Being from two very different classes, you and Steve find yourself uniquely qualified to discuss the topic.

It provides opportunities to hang out together, distracted by the collective want to not work at all, but driven by an looming due date. Your mind wanders to Eddie non stop, wondering how he is, if he’s ok, if work is still giving him a hard time, did he finally get the belt he was needing, if Wayne was taking it easier.

Your fingers itch for the phone to call and ask, always haunted by the memory of each phone call, the polite conversation and empty promises. You crave to remember what it was like before.

Steve seems to act as your voice of reason, disencouraging you every time you mention wanting to call him. He sympathizes, of course, but he recalls the last time you called him and the aftermath following it.

When the assignment is finally in the last stages, making final edits to clear up any loss in conciseness, the final second guesses if the point has been made clear, you sit on the floor of Steve’s room cross legged, going cross eyed as you reread it, again.

“I can’t wait for this thing to be handed in,” you groan, throwing your pen at him.

“I think we earned a celebration,” he sighs, throwing the pen back to you. “On Friday, after we finally hand over this paper to this asshole, I am throwing a big ass party in your honor.”

“A party will not make me feel better,” you reprimand, glancing at him under your brows.

“No, but a good excuse to drink the pain away, might,” he grins, leaning forward on his stomach and kicking his legs animatedly. He looks so innocent, as if he doesn’t have his own agenda. You’ve come to know him well enough that he really doesn’t. “C’mon. Let loose with me just for one night!”

You reluctantly agree to it after he pulls out his dumb puppy eyes.

News of Steve’s party spreads fast across campus, and you find yourself curiously excited for it when you usually dread dancing with complete strangers. The strangers at this point make it better, not needing to concern yourself with anything other than how the alcohol burns.

Your dad drives you to the party, the rain heavy on the pavement making it hard to bike in such weather. He’s noticed the way you’ve shut down a little bit as of lately, more than happy to bring you to a party if it means putting some life back into the eyes of his one and only daughter.

When you enter the door with slightly damp hair just from the walk from the truck, the party is already in full swing, music overtly loud, bodies bumping and dancing, empty cups already scattered on dusty surfaces.

As soon as you see Steve, he waves you over, talking to Robin, who he’s introduced you to. She became your friend the same way he became your did; ambush. Turns out, Robin is really cool. She hands you a beer, winking as you tilt your eyebrow out of skepticism.

“Beer, really?” You ask over the music, turning the bottle around in your hand.

“You’re drinking to forget, right?” She asks, an air of wisdom in her scratchy voice. “Then what does it matter what it tastes like?”

Well, you guess she’s right. You grab another from the fridge while you’re at it before they lead you to a couch. It’s surrounded by a crowd of people you mostly have never met before, more than happy to laugh with them at the particularly stupid topics of conversation.

You’re already pretty buzzed less than an hour spent at the party, having asked Steve to get you a third bottle. “Might wanna slow down, sweets.”

“I’m drinking to forget, remember?” You ask him, winking cheekily.

Time starts to meld together as the bottle gets emptier and emptier. Robin grabs you by the hand to dance with her and Steve in a circle, top 40 pop acting as a soundtrack while you forget any goddamn trouble that might have plagued you.

You’re chatting about some mindless gossip when something tells you to turn your head towards the door. The door opens to Eddie and Chrissy, holding hands as they look around the party that got even rowdier since your arrival.

Eddie’s eyes meet yours, frozen in place as the emptiness his absence has left consumes you.

“Oh shit,” Robin mutters right next to you, but you don’t answer it as you stumble your way into the kitchen.

The internal debate on whether you need to drink water or more alcohol is roaring, so you drown it with more alcohol. Maybe you can shut it up. It’s too fucking loud. The ajar door opens and closes, a presence in the kitchen you don’t bother acknowledging. You don’t smell Eddie’s cologne, the momentary disappointment flooding your senses that he saw you and didn’t even bother talking to you.

Another sip. Another gulp. Make it go away.

“I was wondering when I would run into you,” it’s not Eddie, or Steve. Confusion takes over you as you wonder which male voice in your life you’re forgetting, turning to face the culprit.

Daniel.

“Here I am, I guess,” you mutter, taking another swig. “What exactly do you want?”

“Retribution.”

“Huh?”

He laughs, cruel and blunt. “I’m here for what I’m owed, sweetheart. I don’t get told no. Girls don’t say no to me. So, I think I’m owed some payback for the humiliation you put me through.”

What the fuck?

The laughter that leaves your throat is loud and abrupt, clearly not what he’s expecting. “Oh my fucking god, you’re just delusional. Girls don’t owe you shit for buying them dinner! You ask us out for a date, that’s on you, bud!”

“I don’t fucking think so,” he growls, slinking in closer. You can smell his breath, he’s clearly been drinking. “I will get what I want, I always do.”

Panic floods your brain, suddenly realizing he’s being dead serious. “Wait–” you protest as he leans in, the wall and your back colliding harshly. “Wait, no–”

“All you had to do was blow me, baby,” he chides, as if he’s reprimanding a small child. His hand harshly wraps around your waist, preventing you from weaving from between him and the wall. “Now look what you made me do.”

You try to push him off, panic continuing to push up your throat as he proves himself much stronger than you. Oh god, am I about to get raped in Steve’s kitchen?

His hand feels slimy as it pushes past your shirt, sending a jolt of shivers down your body. You’re shaking from fear, one cheek against the wall as you continue to resist him. “Stop– Daniel, please stop–” Your voice is frantic, eyes wide in terror as you try to push his hands away.

The harsh laughter directed at your pleas are cut off, an incredibly familiar voice slicing the air with malice. “She said stop.”

The heat you were surrounded by is thrown off, leaving the cold air behind Daniel to overwhelm you as he’s thrown onto the floor.

Blows of fists on flesh fill the room, watching in horror as Eddie has him pinned, delivering blow after blow to his face. You only see a portion of Eddie, his dark jeans and leather jacket as he hunches over his victim and blindingly delivers one punch after the other. Daniel has stopped fighting back, just a limp set of limbs as it jumps from each hit.

When Eddie has shown no signs of letting up you’re forced to jump into action, stumbling as you run into his line of eyesight. “Eddie, stop! You’re going to kill him!” You plead.

The sounds of brutal fists on soft flesh die immediately, Eddie huffing as he rises to his feet. “You okay?”

You blink as his hands frame your cheeks, petting them softly with his hands. A tear falls, splashing his hand. His concern is comforting, but the direct juxtaposition of his concern from the silence he’s fed you the last few weeks washes over you, confusing every emotion that has been hurting.

Despite the sweet shine in his eyes as they watch you, you back from his hold in a jerk reaction. “Didn’t know you still cared about me.”

He wears the hurt from this statement on his sleeve. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You wander back over to the fridge, grabbing a beer from the second six pack you’re working through. You pop it open from the mounted bottle opener, taking a handful of sips. “You’re kidding me, right? You haven’t called me in weeks. Weeks.”

He stands there, blankly watching.

“I might be more forgiving if it weren’t for Dustin and Gareth and hell, Steve also saying the same thing. None of them have heard from you. You went from calling at least once a week to radio silence! I wanted to get along with Chrissy. I really did. I started all the conversations, offering snacks, asking questions about her, letting her set her boundaries, but she had something to say about everything we did together!”

Eddie stutters, blinking as he watches you talk. He doesn’t try to talk, doesn’t try to defend himself. You don’t give him the chance.

“She clearly doesn’t respect you, otherwise you would still be my best friend and I would remember the last time we had a normal fucking conversation. I get wanting boundaries, but at this point, I don’t think she even wants you to have friends! Is that what you want? A girl who makes you make yourself smaller for her sake and isolate completely? Really? Because that’s what you have. No horror movies? No more junk food? No heavy metal music? She’s making you shrink yourself so she deems you desirable! Fucking– I can’t watch it anymore.”

“Wait, what do you mean–” he’s interrupted by the door closing, a yelp filling the room as Chrissy runs to him.

“What happened to your fists?” You glance down to them, seeing bruises lining his knuckles.

“Nothing, it’s fine. I’m fine,” he assures her, putting his hands on her shoulders.

“Alright. Well. I meant exactly what I said. I can’t do this one sided friendship thing with you anymore,” you take another swig, wondering how the bottle was already so light. “I can’t. Call me when you find my best friend, because I haven’t seen him in three months.”

You leave the room, ignoring the calls from his mouth that suffocate you. As you stumble into the living room, you catch Steve’s eye right away, chin trembling. The hot tears that trail down your face have already drenched your cheeks by the time you realize it’s even happening, choking on the emotion that drowns you.

Steve guides you into the guest bathroom, closing the door as he watches you attempt to stop the sobs long enough to tell him what happened.

“I think–” you hiccup, sniffling loudly, “I think I just lost my best friend–” tears rattle through you once again, just saying it out loud feels like lightning in its startling ability to shatter you once more.

By the time the sobs diminish again, you’re sat on the floor by the tub, head sitting in his lap as he pets your hair. You sit up suddenly, mid hiccup as you give Steve an odd look.

He almost asks if you’re okay when you spill over his lap, whimpering between gasps as you know what you’re doing, the toilet only a foot away, but it continues to explode from your stomach.

“I’m so sorry,” you explain, tears falling again, as he sits in shock.

He grins sadly, undoing his belt. “It’s fine, sweetheart.”

He finds someone, Robin, to grab him a second pair of pants, ditching the ruined pair in the bathtub.

The dry heaving seems to stop the tears, now staring blankly with a wet face and lashes that stick together. Steve brings you upstairs, wrapping his arm around your waist as he brings you to his bedroom.

As your head hits his pillow your eyes fall closed, mumbling something about fucking up, about three months ago.

Steve locks his door from any stragglers, walking down each step to find a particular metal head to give him a piece of his mind.

From how your sobs shook your body, he might give him the whole thing.

The light cascading through the blinds hurts, like a dagger through your brain as you take in your surroundings. You don’t know how you got into Steve’s room under his blanket.

As soon as you sit up, the pain stabs you, pushing you back down. Ow. You don’t even attempt to get up again until the urge to pee hits you, when it’s too much to ignore. You rub your eye, tip toeing to try to get back under the dark blue comforter decorating Steve’s bed.

On the corner of the bed Steve sits, one foot resting on the other knee as he holds a jade green drink. “How badly does your head hurt?”

You wince at the volume of his voice, placing your hands over your eyes. “Not great.”

He winces sympathetically, offering the smoothie. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Blurry images flash through your mind, the kitchen, Daniel, half of the second case gone. You attempt to remember past that point but it comes up blank. “I remember running into Daniel.”

As you sip on the surprisingly delicious hangover smoothie, Steve watches you, wearing a clear expression of concern.

“Anything after that?”

You can tell he’s egging you on, digging for something with an unprecedented seriousness in his tone. But there’s no memory after that. You gingerly shake your head, which sends more needles of pain through your skull.

“Why?” You ask weakly. Steve pauses, ruffling a hand through his hair as he releases a long sigh.

“You really don’t, huh?” Steve asks, one last attempt. “Maybe it’s good you drank as much as you did, then.”

“Steve, you’re scaring me.” Images of worst case scenarios course through your mind. What did you do?

Steve pats the spot on the bed next to you, double checking you don’t feel the urge to throw up. You don’t.

“Daniel tried to force himself on you.” He’s gentle, compassionate in his admission as he watches your reaction.

Huh. “How far did he–” you stutter, breath hitching as you bite back the sobs that suddenly threaten to rake through your body.

“He was interrupted before he even got that far,” he comforts you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as he caresses it. “Eddie sort of bashed his face in.”

Now that you think about it, the memory of Eddie hunched over Daniel as he delivered blow after blow to his nose, his cheekbone, his eyebrow. You didn’t see the final result of Eddie’s defense, but the bruised knuckles you vaguely recall spell out how brutal the retaliation was.

Eddie.

“What–” you pause, stuttering through your breaths, “what happened after that?”

“You yelled at Eddie. Berated him. I think you even told him you didn’t want to be his friend anymore. At least, that’s what I gathered from what you told me,” he admits.

Your blood grows cold. From the weeks of silence, the jilted conversations, the slow resentment that bloomed through your stomach for him. The ache already hurt just from the absence of your best friend, but it was good for you. Fuck, this hurt.

“Is that all?”

He laughs, pulling your head into his neck. “Just that you can’t hold back your liquor.”

That’s why your breath tastes like vomit.

From the extra strength tylenol he gives you, the rest of the morning is spent helping Steve tidy up the trash around his house. Only after spending twenty minutes in the kitchen on his hands and knees scrubbing up the red stains does he allow you to help him. You only catch a glimpse of the paper towel soaked in dried blood and bleach when throwing out red solo cups, a small hint of the mess Eddie made of Daniel.

The thought of his name is a self betrayal, and you work faster once it crosses your mind.

Once the place is clean, you allow Steve to drive you home at his insistence, repeatedly asking when he pulls up to your house that you’re sure you’re okay.

Your dad is at work, not there to ask any questions you wanted to avoid from the previous night, namely why your eyes are swollen from tears. The blinds in your room fall with a trill resembling a xylophone, blocking the sun from your intense migraine.

For the first time in weeks, you’re stirred awake from sleep from the ringing of the phone on the floor that has been pushed under the bed. You let it ring.

Just as sleep pulls you back in, you’re abruptly startled as the phone alerts you again. You roll over, ignoring it as you wrap your head in your hands, curling into the pillow. No one has to get a hold of you that badly.

This person does, it seems, as they call you again. You groan, crawling over the edge as you grab the phone from your receiver. “Hello?”

You refuse the want to chew them out, to take your emotions and friendship breakup out on the person who has interrupted your sleep.

“It’s me.”

You lurch forward in your bed, still tethered to the receiver by the tightly coiled wire as it forces the receiver to scuff against the hardwood floor. Eddie.

Eddie’s sat on his couch, limply resting his head on the couch arm as the shrill voice of the main character complains over a problem that could be solved if she had just told someone. His hand rests on his eyes, shielding himself from the light to prevent the headache he can feel coming on. He’s given up on suggesting other movies by now, but she somehow seems to only play the movies that get on every last nerve.

He would probably be more willing to watch the romcoms in question if they weren’t the bottom of the pack. Last time Eddie even suggested a romcom he actually doesn’t completely hate he had to hear about it for an agonizing twenty minutes. Fine. She could watch her movie, he can practice on his guitar, right?

You would think.

So he dissociates and focuses on the gentle petting of his calf as he rests his leg on her lap. His mind floats to his best friend, how much he misses the smell of your shampoo, or when you make fun of the cheesier horror movies he loves to watch. If Chrissy wouldn’t make a near temper tantrum every time your name is mentioned in conversation, he would’ve called you weeks ago. He missed your voice.

Chrissy continues to insist that you like him, that you’re trying to steal him from her. It turned into many fights where Eddie felt like he was losing his mind, insisting he just wanted to see his best friend. There is a stubborn, immovable force still holding hope that something will just click one day and realize just how wrong she is. There’s a little nagging part of him, eating at his brain, warning that it probably won’t ever come true.

The possibility is almost too much for him to mentally handle, because when it blows up in his face and you decide not to forgive his radio silence, he doesn’t think he will be able to handle the absence in his life. So he procrastinates the detonation.

“I’m surprised you’re not going to Steve’s party,” Chrissy chirps, interrupting Eddie’s disarray.

Eddie blinks, trying to recall any mention of a party that might’ve slipped his mind. That might’ve been the reason for his ignorance if he could remember the last time he even spoke to Steve. He’s sure Chrissy knows that.

“I didn’t even know he was having one.”

She grabs at the extra material of his jeans, pulling his attention. “Did you want to go?”

He mentally rattles through the mechanics of going to Steve’s stupidly large house, knowing damn well his distance has managed to drive you straight into the arms of someone new, even if it’s only platonic. You’ll be there, the chance much more likely than not.

He wants to see your face, even if it’s in passing. He wonders if Chrissy sees you there if she’ll decide to leave early or just avoid you altogether. But it’s just the chance that drives him to agree.

By the time he gets there, vehicles have already littered the streets surrounding his house, some even audaciously blocking his neighbor’s driveways. Chrissy’s hand is in his as he walks in, anxiously looking around the party for you.

He peers into the living room, to the couch containing members of some of Steve’s closer acquaintances and it wasn’t long until he saw you, sitting right next to Robin holding the bottleneck of a beer bottle.

Your eyes are already on his, wide and still as you stare at him. You’re even prettier than he remembered, any polaroid he’s ever had of you does absolutely no justice to your radiant smile or vibrant eyes.

Fine, you’re staring at him like you would rather be anywhere else for the moment, panic flooding your features, but it’s a breath of fresh air for him compared to his last few suffocating weeks. As you stumble to your feet, Eddie tricks himself into believing that you’ve gotten up to talk to him until you pass the front entrance straight into the kitchen.

He supposes he deserves that, fading as Chrissy tugs him to the dance floor. His hands find her hips, allowing himself to get lost in the relentlessly catchy pop tune. He can’t help but allow his eyes to float back over to the couch every now and then, something in him carnally needing making sure that you’re safe.

Alarm bells go off, goosebumps trailing over his skin as something in him screams that you’re in danger. You could very much just be avoiding him, which he wouldn’t blame you for, not for one moment, but he wouldn’t forgive himself if he found out his worry had any footing.

“Babe, I’m gonna grab a drink,” he mutters, blankly kissing her sweet scented blonde hair before his long legs take him to the kitchen.

His stomach drops as your voice fills the kitchen, asking the asshole with wandering hands to stop as he forces himself on you.

The next thing he knows, Daniel is under him, his back slammed on the floor with a face scrunched up in pain as Eddie’s fists are flying. His fists, his jeans, the floor, the whining little shit’s face, it all gets painted with blood.

Eddie doesn’t realize when the pair of arms stop trying to push him off, or when the green eyes no longer stare at him in horror, shut from the trauma of one blunt hit after the other. He just continually bashes his face in for even daring to attempt to force himself on the woman he loves.

Fuck this guy. Fuck him.

Eddie’s blind with rage, but he’s also blind with his own regret.

Your voice cuts through the anger, a warning that seeps in his brain like a sponge. If he keeps hitting him like this he will end up taking his life.

He stands up, facing your trembling form as you seem to be in shock. You melt in his hold, tears spilling over his hands as he caresses you, doing his very best to take care of you. He knows the answer when he asks, but he has to hear it from you.

Finally, the words seem to sober you from wanting his comfort to the hurt that you’ve felt from his silence. You lurch yourself from him, staggering blindly to the fridge as you grab another beer. The scent was harsh on your breath, the sight of you glugging back as much as you can sends jolts through his system.

Then you tell him everything. And he deserves it. He wants so badly to tell you how badly he wanted to call you, but the excuses sound lame even in his own mind.

When you tell him you’re done is when he finally snaps out of his own trance. He knows what you mean, but surely, you don’t really mean it? Before he can ask, Chrissy comes into the picture, doting over his bruised knuckles, ignoring you completely as she asks what happened. He’s fine. He’s not, but he’ll say anything to get back to what you were just saying.

Choked back sobs escape as you tell him with absolute finality that you are done, tripping over your own feet when you leave through the kitchen door.

No, this has gone too far. Eddie hasn’t had a single drop of alcohol but feels as if he’s wasted from stumbling after you, blocked by his girlfriend.

That conversation goes as well as can be expected.

In the hours following, he doesn’t seem to find you anywhere. But without Chrissy trailing after him, he finds himself free to converse with friends he’d missed, meeting their snide remarks of coming back to the land of the living with grace. Eddie stays for hours, half heartedly partaking in any conversation he finds himself witness to just in case you make another appearance.

Steve walks down the stairs after what feels like forever, wearing a grim look on his face. Eddie approaches him. “Hey have you seen–”

“She’s upstairs,” Steve answers, sighing. “Passed out. She’ll wake up tomorrow morning.”

“Is she okay?”

“Didn’t choke on her own vomit, at least,” Steve quips, his voice harsh. “Physically, she’s okay.”

Steve moves to walk around Eddie, seemingly done with the conversation.

“Physically?”

Steve sighs, angry, frustrated. “She just sobbed on the bathroom floor for an hour and a half, Ed. I literally watched her heart break! Safe to say, I don’t think she’s doing so well emotionally.”

“Fuck,” Eddie mutters, feeling hopeless, like he should’ve been there to take care of you instead of being the cause of your suffering. “Steve, I–”

“Listen, Eddie. I just heard a bunch of shit from her that I’m not even sure she knows that she said. Other than her I guess telling you to fuck off, what else happened?”

Eddie gulps, not exactly wrapping his own mind around it, yet. “I found Daniel Moore trying to force himself on her.”

“Jesus,” Steve mutters, passing Eddie straight into the kitchen.

“Steve–” Eddie tries to stop him, or warn him at least, wondering how no one else has seen him, yet. There is almost no reason for most to make their way into the kitchen as the drinks station is in the living room, but usually a straggler or two, especially couples would make their own way in. He’s definitely not up and partying from the blood that seeped through the shirt he was wearing…

Should Eddie have called the ambulance?

“What the fuck–” Steve barks, taking in the crumpled form before him. “Jesus, Eddie, what happened?”

“You listen to your best friend beg someone to stop assaulting them and not beat the shit out of him?” Eddie retaliates, watching as Steve double checks to make sure he’s still breathing.

“Well, now I gotta get him out of here before someone has you fucking arrested,” Steve mutters, wracking his brain through old morally questionable friends of his that would help with no questions asked. Fuck. He has a few favors to call in. “Where’s Chrissy gone?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Eddie spits.

“Considering she has control over who you’re allowed to spend time with, probably somewhere nearby with binoculars,” Steve mutters, a fragment of seriousness in the joke.

“Well, not anymore,” Eddie shrugs, feeling surprisingly pragmatic about it.

“Oh.” Took you long enough, Steve thinks. “I’m gonna get him out of here, but I suggest you do the same.”

“Can I stay? I wanna be here when she wakes up.” His eyes pleading to Steve.

Steve’s brows raise. “Respectfully Eddie, I don’t think she really wants to see you.”

“I haven’t been able to tell her anything for weeks, I’m staying!” he insists, crossing his arms like a petulant child.

Steve shakes his head, leaning on the counter. God, he wished he hadn’t invited a few dozen people to come to his house for the night. “God, you’re an idiot.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re an idiot. You’re both idiots, but, man I think you’re the bigger one.” Steve walks around the kitchen island, getting unreasonably close to him. “I don’t know if you’re blind, or just selectively ignorant. She loves you, dude! She was willing to support you getting a girlfriend, but then you just shut her out. It’s gonna take more than an apology to be back in her good graces. When she wakes up with a killer hangover, I think the last person she’ll want to see is you. God, if one of you just made the jump years ago this never would’ve happened!”

Eddie’s heart drops at Steve’s angry words, refusing to believe any of his feelings for his best friend are reciprocated. “Sure, because three months of friendship tell you everything you need to know about a person.”

Steve chuckles, walking over the snoring asshole as he steps out to the living room. “I would have to be blind not to see it. She talked about you one time about this stupid fucking movie she watched with you and I could tell. Rather than telling your girlfriend that you have a best friend and she has to get over it, you shut her out. For weeks. And left someone else to pick up the pieces.”

“Steve, I know. I know I was being an ass–”

“Then why didn’t you stop? Why didn’t you give her a call? You had to know she wasn’t going to forgive you so easily–”

“Of course I fucking knew that, Steve! Why do you think I put off letting it explode in my face?”

“Because you’re an idiot! She loved you. She loves you! If you can’t see that then I really don’t know what to tell you. Listen, if you call her tomorrow, I’m not all that sure what would happen. It’s gonna be a while before she’s ready to forgive, bud. For now. Maybe you should go.”

“Oh,” you sigh, hugging your knees into your chest, feeling small. A war rages in your mind. You were hurt enough by him to break your friendship off with him, but you don’t even remember it. The other side of you just wants to be close to him again, willing to sink into the apologies that he owes you and happily accept them.

But you shouldn’t. And you know you shouldn’t.

“Do you wanna come over for a movie?”

You want to come over and watch a movie so badly, it wraps around you and constricts your airflow. “Will she be there?”

“No. Just me and you. I promise,” Eddie swears, voice low enough that it resembles a whisper. “She won’t be, uh, crashing our movie nights anymore.”

You diminish the pulse of hope that threatens to bloom. “What do you mean?”

Eddie sighs. “I was hoping to tell you in person, but we broke up last night…come over, I’ll tell you more. I just need my best friend…and a horror movie…and junk food, god, I miss junk food.”

You miss him so much it hurts. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

The bike ride sends pulses through your head, worsening the ache of the hangover. If the pain isn’t gone by tomorrow, you might just ask someone to shoot an arrow through your head to put you out of your misery.

It’s been more than long enough since the last time you were on his front door step, nervous as you hesitate to knock. Eddie’s footsteps are rapid and loud as soon as your knuckles hit the door, the opening to him, wide eyes, graphic t-shirt and pair of sweatpants. He appears unlike himself, almost tired. You wonder if you noticed it last night.

Before either one of you says a word, he tugs you in, wrapping his arms around you in an embrace in his scent. Overwhelming emotion takes over, his shirt absorbing the tears that fall. He feels like home, every part of him. His scent, the muscles flexing under your grasp, his steady breaths.

“I missed you,” he mutters, his voice low, choked, even.

Then why didn’t you call me? “Me too–” you whimper, squeezing onto him even tighter. You sniffle, curling your head into his neck.

The hug lasts forever, or at least long enough for your arms to become numb.

Your butt lands on the couch, the spot that was once permanently marked by you now weirdly lumpy from the lack of use. Did Chrissy know she was allowed to sit in her own seat on the odd occasion? On the coffee table, Eddie has already prepared the popcorn and your favorite snacks, only your favorite snacks. Three movies are laid out, all awaiting their turn in the VCR.

“What’s this?” You ask, rubbing your nose from the snot.

“Uh, three movies. Pick one.”

You read the titles, Back to the Future, Friday the 13th, and Labyrinth. “What happened to wanting to watch horror movies?”

“I have a lot of sucking up to do before I get to be picky with our movie night,” Eddie answers, his voice gentle and careful. “Pick one.”

If he says so, then you’ll have to pick your favorite, rather than his favorite. “Alright, then, Labyrinth it is. David Bowie in leather pants, here I come!”

As the movie plays, a teenage girl desperate to find her brother, you sink into the comfort of the ratty old couch. Through Eddie, you found out that the rattiest couches are actually the most comfy. The more tears and rips, the better. Eddie stands up, running to the kitchen to grab fresh cans of soda from the fridge.

He sits back down, handing you a Diet Coke while popping open his own. Two things you notice when he sits. One, he’s remarkably close, his ass nearly planted in between the cushions. Two–

“Since when did you start drinking diet coke?” You ask him, wincing at the aftertaste.

“Since Chrissy was such a stickler for sugar,” he answers casually, grabbing a bite of the popcorn.

His simple tone, emotionless and understated, squeezes your heart. “What happened with her, anyway?”

Chrissy blocked him, staring at him with wide eyes as she held his shoulders. “What–what is going on?”

“I need a minute,” he stuttered, attempting to walk around her.

“Did you do that?” Chrissy asked, pointing to the lifeless piece of shit on the floor.

“Chris, it’s really not a good time, right now. I will tell you later, I promise. I’ll be right back.” Eddie promised.

She blocked him again, hands pushing on his broad shoulders. “You’re not seriously thinking of going after her, are you?”

“Chrissy, she’s my best friend! That creep just tried– I have to go check up on her, make sure she’s okay!”

“You mean the girl who is pathetically in love with you?” Chrissy asked, belligerent and full of sass. “Sure, go and give her more false hope! She was practically all over you at the diner, mooning over you, desperate to take you out on a date, I mean, don’t give her fucking hope!”

Eddie sighed, rubbing his face angrily. “I don’t know how many times I need to fucking tell you, Chris. She is just my friend. She was being nice, trying to include you. I’m so fucking tired of this conversation!”

“So am I!” Chrissy crossed her arms, popping her hip out. It was times like these Eddie was absolutely sure of why Chrissy and Jason dated for so long. “You know what? Fine. Me or her.”

“What?” Eddie was unsure if she was being serious.

“Pick! Me or her? Because when you pick me maybe then she’ll get the fucking hint!”

It was the easiest decision he’s ever made in his life. “Her.”

Eddie finishes explaining it, mostly nixxing the parts where she berated you or talked shit. You just needed to know the part where she practically had a temper tantrum.

“Wow,” you mutter, remembering how you called Chrissy sweet when they first started dating. “And…you, you picked me?”

“Of course I did.” Eddie pops a kernel into his mouth, leaning back into the couch. His body heat is warm, his scent intoxicating. “You’re my best friend.”

“You haven’t called in weeks, Eddie.” It comes out quietly, the hurt overflowing in your body and pouring out your mouth. “I thought you had a new best girl.”

Eddie sighs, grabbing your hand. “If I could take back the last three months, I would. I-I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“I missed you so fucking badly,” you admit, focusing on how your hand feels intertwined with his.

“I missed you. I know– I fucked up, but believe me when I say, I missed you so fucking much.”

On one hand, it’s hard to believe him. It seemed like it was so easy for him to cut you off. On the other, the glint in his eyes, his thumb caressing the back of your hand, gentle and unequivocally vulnerable.

Eddie leans forward, connecting his forehead to yours. “I will make it up to you, I promise.”

“You have a lot of making up to do, mister,” you inform him, pulling away from him to lightly nudge his hair.

“And a million strawberry mountains covered in strawberry sauce,” he answers, kissing your forehead softly.

“You really had me worried,” you admit, taking a good look at his face. “I believe you when you say that you missed me, but Eds, you hurt me. I want to trust you, but–”

His movement is swift as he grabs your face with his hands, pulling you in close. “I know, baby, I know.” The pet name takes your breath away, music to your unsuspecting ears. The name wraps itself around your like a warm hug, melting all those months of worry and panic away. “I’m so fucking sorry, if I could just–”

Maybe it wasn’t the right timing, months of silence, unanswered questions, hurt, but all that just conveniently disappears the moment his lips touch yours. You startle, jerking backwards as you look at him curiously, looking for something that’ll tell you he’s not kissing you out of pity, or obligation.

You’re met with the exact way that he always looks at you, but this time, it’s radiant. How did you miss it this whole time? You smile, wrapping your hand behind his neck as you tug him in, entangling his lips with yours and chasing that emotion that ran through you the first time.

Eddie meets your kiss with enthusiasm, grinning madly as he pulls you in closer, your body flush against his as he pulls you down with him.

It’s maddeningly enchanting, the way you can taste his minty breath and his hums against your lips, buzzing and tickling. His tongue sweeps along your bottom lip, pulling a gasp as you happily meet his with yours. Your skin feels electric as his hand sneaks under your shirt, as if he’s just getting the feel of you.

You sigh, curling your arm around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. His kisses trail along your jawline, down your neck, pressing sweet kisses down your jugular. “You taste like strawberries,” he mutters, audibly smiling. “I should’ve known, all those damn strawberries you eat.”

“Before we go any further,” you gasp, clutching at his t-shirt, “and believe me, I want to, you owe me a proper date.”

“Taking you out for a date, baby?” He places more rapid kisses on your neck, letting himself absorb your laughter. “God, I’m lucky.”

You’ve learned one thing for absolute certainty, Eddie Munson knows how to grovel. Between the many kisses you’ve shared that night you tell Eddie with surety that just because he knows how to kiss doesn’t mean he’s suddenly forgiven. Eddie relishes in that, grinning just because you’re kissing him.

The previous night he was losing his mind at his ex-girlfriend’s terrible movie choices, and you, his best friend, the person who has always known him best, you’re finally here kissing him. You could ask him to write a 1000-page apology letter entirely in rhymes or haikus and he would do it heartbeat, but all he’s required to do is prove it?

He’s more than willing.

When the date is proposed, he swears he would love to take you anywhere. He provides a list, with all of the restaurants you know he can’t afford. When you ask him and inquire about such, he shrugs casually. There’s a silent question there, wondering if Chrissy had even considered his wallet size before their date nights.

Instead, you answer with, “Our first date should be the diner, no?”

You’ve never been so nervous before, looking through your small arsenal of date night dresses. He’s seen all of them, whether from a school dance or the aftermath of a date gone sour. One dress catches your attention, at the very back of your closet covered in plastic, just waiting for the right time.

White, with blue flowers hand embroidered on the bodice, a sweetheart neckline and bubble gum pink ribbons tied together as the straps. Periwinkle blue that bleeds into mint green leaves along the hemline, fanned out into a hoopskirt. You’ve stared at this dress when it sat in your mom’s closet, asking when it might be your turn to finally wear it.

The dress fits you like a glove, looking remarkably close to the photo on the easel downstairs, a first date 25 years ago that ended up being one of your favorite bedtime stories.

As you finally make your way down the stairs, hair half up in curls in a ribbon matching the ones on the dress, your dad looks at you with pride and glossy eyes. Whispered words of the resemblance as he hugs you, eyes too tired for a man in his forties from loss and stress, a whiff of gratitude hits you.

It’s a warm spring evening, no need for a coat as the van pulls up with the usual melodies of heavy metal and drumming. You make your way down the sidewalk to his passenger side, butterflies erupting as you open the door.

The volume is turned down to a background noise, the heavy metal feeling oddly out of place at such a low volume. “Hi, sunshine.”

You grab his hand, petting at his calloused skin. “Hi.”

You feel his eyes on you, taking in the dress that is on its first night out in decades. “I don’t know how you show up looking this good and expect me to act normal.”

You grin, pressing a kiss to his shoulder and sniffing at the leather. He can’t say shit like that and expect you to go on like normal. “C’mon. I haven’t had a strawberry milkshake in ages.”

You open the window just a crack, appreciating the scent of fresh grass in the spring. New beginnings, fresh starts, rebirth. It seems oddly poetic.

He pulls up to the diner, bright neon lights against an evening sunset. It looks as if it’s painted, yellow into orange into blue. A lonely diner isolated sitting against a watercolor sky, but one of your favorite places in the world.

The bell ringing feels like an old song you haven’t heard in years, bringing some bittersweet nostalgia.

Martha perks up, the diner even deader than normal with only a lone man sitting on a bar chair holding a milkshake like a beer. The comparison sends a gag reflex through your body, never wanting to even smell another beer in your lifetime. As you sit next to Eddie, in such close proximity that the other side of the booth is useless, Martha appears with a cheeky smile on her face.

“If you two aren’t on a date, I’ll eat my notebook,” she sighs, hands on her hips as if she’s chastising two kids.

You and Eddie glance to one another, debating on fucking with her. It’s all the approval she needs.

“Finally! If you came in my diner again with those puppy dog eyes of yours I would’ve about had it with you two. Now, are you getting your regulars again?”

Eddie’s arm curls around your shoulders, his thumb petting the bare skin of your shoulder. “I’m disappointed you haven’t already brought the milkshake, Martha.”

“Smartasses. The both of you!” She walks off, a brand new pep in her step.

His thumb turns under your chin, pulling your face towards his. “C’mere. I need to make up for the times I just wanted to kiss those pretty lips in this booth of ours.”

“Why didn’t you?” You ask him, breathless as you stare at his eyes.

“I didn’t think the prettiest girl I know would want to kiss a goofball like me,” he chuckles, self deprecating and vulnerable.

You shake your head sadly, sighing happily. “You are so wrong.”

His chuckles are interrupted by your kiss, clutching onto the cotton t-shirt clinging onto his chest. It’s like you to forget how to breathe, taking the moment to take a deep breath before kissing him deeper, harder.

Your tongues meet, wrapping together with his and leaning forward to be as close to him as possible. His hand lands on your thigh, petting it roughly as he teases you. You hated yourself, hated how you told him you wanted to wait, because it’s becoming too much. The need for him sits deep in your stomach and begs you for any resolve from his teasing hands.

His kisses keep you only so satiated, whimpering by the time your make out sessions are done and ready to beg him to touch you already.

The glass of pinky sweetness hits the table, interrupting his electric lips on yours. “If you two do it, at least have the decency to take it to the bathroom like every other patron.”

You yelp, avoiding Martha’s eyes as Eddie tugs you in against his chest, kissing your temple. “Yes ma’am,” Eddie obeys, saluting with two fingers. Two, very distracting fingers.

You take a sip, humming. After weeks, you will proudly proclaim that this is still the best milkshake in town.

Eddie kisses your cheek, pulling you even closer. “If you lick that whipped cream off your finger, so help me god.”

It’s a habit of yours, one you’ve done at least once a visit just to get a taste of it before it sinks into the milkshake. The numerous times you’ve done it sinks in, unknowingly teasing him. “Something wrong with tasting whipped cream, Eds?”

“When you do it with that tongue of yours, yes,” he mutters, nipping on your jawline.

“Why don’t you have a taste,” you hum, taking a scoop with your pinky, licking it up.

Eddie pulls you in, humming as his tongue reaches out for yours to grab a taste of the cream melting fast in your mouth. He pulls back all too soon, eyes fluttering shut as he tuts his tongue. “Mmm. Yum. Thanks, baby.”

The milkshake is nearly gone by the time Martha rolls around again, pancakes and waffles in hand, interrupting soft conversation and sweet nothings.

He finally tries a taste of your pancakes, eating from the fork you offer him. His face winces, screwing up as he chews on it. “That strawberry sauce is sweet, ain’t it?”

“A little sour, I guess, but it’s my favorite. The fresh strawberries are a nice little addition.” You tell him, cutting up the pancakes.

“I’ll stick to my sprinkles,” Eddie mutters, dipping a piece of the big fluffy waffle in the whip. “They are the best.”

“I have a question,” you mutter, relishing in the taste of the sweet strawberry sauce. “How-how long have you liked me? Was it more recent, or have you liked me for years?”

Eddie smirks, placing a stand of hair over your shoulder. “Years.” He chokes back the correction of the word like, cause it’s so much more. “The first time I saw you, you were giving one of the football dicks hell for picking on one of the scrawny little freshmen. And I mean, berating him. You’re shy, baby, but not when it comes to others.” He pauses, chewing thoughtfully. “I knew from that moment.”

Oh. It was a handful of months before you found yourself sitting by the hellfire table, shaking your head at their antics. Plus, Gareth was just plain wrong in his opinion, you shook your head disapprovingly as you dug your nose in the book. Eddie caught on to it, demanding you join their group and inform him of how wrong he was. You did. You didn’t realize how charming Eddie was, how welcoming and genuinely kind.

It took your breath away, especially how gorgeous he was. The crush was kindled from then on, only being nurtured as you continued to debate him and his friends on their nerd culture.

Eddie followed up with the same question, asking how long ago for you, too. You tell him that very story, of how he enamored you just from being around him.

“You know, by then I was already head over heels for you,” he admits casually, sipping the last of the milkshake. “Something about sticking it to the man just does that to a guy.”

“Those dimples of yours are a weapon.” You admit in kind, and he laughs. You drop your jaw incredulously. “They’re a weapon! You think your hands are the only things those girls call magic?”

Eddie leans in, hot breath on your ear sending ripples down your neck. “And have you thought about these magic hands of mine, sweetheart?”

You gulp, licking your lips as your heart races in your chest. “Maybe...” You say softly.

He hums, tentatively kissing your skin. He really shouldn’t be doing this in a public space, you think, attempting not to wiggle at the uncomfortable feeling of arousal pooling in your panties. “I can’t wait to show you just how magic they are.”

You hold back a whimper, choking on it as your eyes flutter shut at his tentative kisses.

“Let’s get out of here, shall we?” You nod, watching as he places the right amount of bills with a decent tip for Martha.

On your way out the door, Martha shouts her goodbyes, happily yelling out her congratulations as the glass door slams behind you. Eddie’s lips find a home on the back of your hand, holding it as he kisses loudly, tickling the skin.

The trailer sits alone in the park, all lights off as he pulls up. With the turn of a key, his arm wraps around your waist as you walk in sync. It’s familiar as you help him turn on the lights, domestic, even. His jacket is off, tossed on the couch as he tugs you by the hand towards his room.

You’ve thought about it so many times, whisking away into his room with him to devour him completely. Usually it occurs when you’re mad stoned, happy and horny, but too blizted to make a move.

Your hands curtain the back of his neck, thumbs petting the nape of his neck and tangling themselves in his curls, rubbing in small circles. His lips connect to yours, stumbling over dirty laundry as he guides you to his bed. “Hmm, strawberries.”

He yelps as lands on his back, laughing as you collide with an oof. The playful moment is quickly replaced with intensity, staring down into his brown eyes, darkened by desire. Across the years of being his friend, he’s darkened his eyes in many moments, right before he decides to pin you down and tickle you senseless or when you talk down on yourself.

There were moments when his intense gaze took you aback, mostly when you innocently used too much enthusiasm in eating ice cream or put your hair up in a ponytail.

Or when you wore a sundress that sat a bit too high on your thigh.

All these moments suddenly make sense, filling you with a gust of emotion as you grab at him, tugging him harshly for a kiss much more powerful than you knew you had in you. He gasps into it, deep and desperate against your lips as you pull him closer. One of his hands travels downward, hiking under your skirt and grabbing at your thigh, your knee pulled up against his stomach.

Eddie turns you over on your back, hands grabbing at the skin harshly, his rings pressing at your skin hard enough to create an indent. Your leg wrapped around his waist tugs him down, his chest landing on yours.

“Question, my love,” Eddie mutters, words intertwined with his kisses. “Why the hell haven’t I seen this dress until now, it’s…oh my god.”

You grin against his lips, pushing your hands past his cotton shirt. “Waiting for a special occasion.”

“You telling me I could’ve seen this ages ago, baby?” He gasps, wrapping your tongue against his, delicate but enough to make you mewl into his mouth.

“Probably.”

He nips your lip, a punishment for your cheekiness. “It’ll look better on the floor.”

Your hips grind up, meeting the bulge in his pants just right. “You can’t say stuff like that–” you gasp, arms wrapping around his neck to hold on to him pathetically.

“You have no idea the things I’ve wanted to say to you.” His hand travels further up, passing the waistline of your panties and spreading on the skin of your tummy. “All the things I’ve held back…”

The admission is thrilling and terrifying, giving you almost everything you’ve ever wanted.

Now if you could get that bike you wanted for Christmas when you were twelve…

“Can you tell me now?” you ask, smiling up at his pretty, bewildered face.

“Hmm, patience,” he tuts, using his hand to explore. “Right now I just really want to touch your pussy, please, baby, please.”

It’s your turn for bewilderment. He’s acting like touching you is this great honor, instead of a means to an end like anyone else you’ve slept with. “Uh, yeah, I want that. I really, really want that.”

Eddie sighs, using his traveling hand and dipping it under the waistband of your panties. As his best friend, you’ve gotten so comfortable around him, arguably too much. Late nights in his room with a t-shirt and panties as his room fills with smoke. Eddie is only human, appreciating them too much as as you sat cross legged with the strip just a tad too thin for what it was supposed to cover.

This particular pair is decorated in lace up the front, a sheer lace for the bum, a light blue to match the flowers. His fingers latch to your pussy, delicately moving them up and down the folds.

“Oh my god,” he sighs, playing with the slick and spreading it. “You’re so wet, all this…all this for me?”

He adds more pressure, rubbing small circles and watching you throw your head back and melt in the heat that spreads across your thighs and takes form in a tremble, in a shake. “F-feels good.”

“Yeah?” he asks, placing his thumb on your clit and rotating it in tiny circles. “You like the way I play with your pussy, baby?”

You frantically nod, grinding up against him. “Need..need more. Please? More?”

“What does more mean?” He leans in, decorating your neck with sucks and bites and licks. “You want me to lick it, baby? You need my fingers, you already beggin’ for my cock? C’mon my girl, use your words.”

You might just beg for his cock, but you don’t want it to be over so quickly. “Want–want your fingers, Eds.”

He giggles, planting a nice wet kiss on your lips. “That’s my girl.” He doesn’t wait a second, curling one finger past your entrance and pumping it slowly, building a slow momentum that pulls at your stomach. He sighs, husky and deep, “Fuck, it’s so tight.”

He removes his finger without warning, not commenting on the moan in disappointment that escapes your mouth. He sits up, grabbing at the waistline as he tugs them down your legs, slowly, carefully, savoring in the moment. He lifts up the skirt, exposing the landing strip that sits waiting for his eyes.

“Did you decorate your pussy just for me? It looks so pretty… Thank you, baby girl,” Eddie is borderline emotional in his gratitude, showering you with praises.

Your legs attempt to close back together in embarrassment from his intense stare. He notices it, pushing your legs back down. “Do me a favor, won’t you? Keep these legs open while I eat your pussy.”

You drench your thighs, turned on even from the mere idea of being with him. “Mmkay.”

“You–” he gasps, delicately licking at the mound. “You taste so good. Wanted to bury my face in this little cunt for so long.”

His hands lift your thighs up and over his shoulder. His mouth tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing, listening to the cues you give him through your quivers and whines. The dress is completely covering his face, hiding the man that is eating you out, slowly and carefully, as if wanting to taste every drop of arousal you feed him.

Before long, your legs start shaking in his hold from the pleasure that has your hands tangled in your hair, eyes squeezed tight as he pulls whine after whine from you. One finger slides right back in, facing no resistance, sucking on your clit simultaneously. That arches your back and curls your toes, gasping from his build up, his words, god just from the years of mental torture.

You cum against his lips without warning, for him or yourself, twitching around his fingers and crying out his name.

He coaxes you through it, kissing your pretty pussy lips gently until your legs stop convulsing. Sweat beads on your forehead, spreading on your back and neck and making the thick fabric of the dress too hot. You untie each ribbon, desperately grabbing at the neckline to pull it up and off.

He kisses up your torso, laughing as you get stuck with the dress half off. One heel digs in his back in retaliation, whining as you gesture to him to help you. “I’m sorry, you’re just so cute.” Eddie giggles.

You whine, kicking your legs for him to hurry up. Your hair is stuck in your dress. It lifts over your head, a light bra covering your tits acting as a tease for him. The dress lands on the floor, nice and splayed out as it’s done its purpose.

You roll your eyes, tugging him in for a desperate kiss by the neck, wandering hands moving south to tug at his t-shirt. “Wanna see you, too,” you confess, helping him rid of his shirt. “Show me those tattoos.”

“You like the tatties?” You nod enthusiastically although you know he’s just teasing you. “Oh, I bet ya do. Probably ogled them while I wasn’t lookin’ huh?”

With a chest like his, you don’t imagine he could blame you. You let your eyes speak for you, raking over his covered chest and openly staring. “Wanna suck your cock.” You look up at him with big doe eyes, silently begging.

Eddie’s eyes widen at your admission, groaning as you start to undo his jeans. “Fuck, I don’t know if I’ll last that long…I need to be buried in you, wanna feel that pussy around my cock.”

You gulp, wrapping your legs around his torso so his jeans meet your pussy, probably drenching a wet spot on the front. “Me too…but I remember you said you didn’t really get reciprocated very much.” You inhale, gathering courage. “I remember thinking how I’d love to spend hours with your cock down my throat.”

Eddie keels over you, curling his face in your neck as he whimpers. “You were holding that back from me?” He punches the mattress right next to your head, a mild temper tantrum. “What other depraved thoughts have you been hiding from me?”

“You want me to tell you, or show you?” You’re not sure where this surge of confidence is coming from, but you’re running with it, especially if it means you can hear him make that sound again.

“Sh-show me- want you to show–” he nods, whimpering into your neck and shuddering.

“Mmkay,” you muse, smirking at just how easily the shoe falls on the other foot. “Get on your back.”

He complies promptly, wrapping his arm around the small of your back and turning the two of you over. You straddle him, grabbing at his chest carefully as you plant kisses all the way down his lean torso. You bring teeth into the mix, sucking and biting and marking your territory.

You’ve been itching to do so since he showed up one morning with bruises decorating his neck, claiming his hookup got a little too eager.

I'll show you eager, you begrudgingly think, wishing that all the boys were teasing him from bruises you gave him, instead. God, there was one planted on his collarbone that was excessively large, annoyingly so.

You mark your way down his chest, his stomach, lapping greedily at his treasure trail as he whimpers at your enthusiasm. This is power, you think to yourself, wondering what other noises you could conjure from him. As your mouth moves, so do your hands, undoing his belt slowly, taking your time as you unzip his fly.

The evidence of his arousal is strikingly clear, his boxers bulging out of the open fly and begging for your attention. While your subtle glances downward gave you an inkling of his size, his hardened cock presenting itself to you, even disguised in its plaid wrapping, had you letting out a gasp in unbridled lust.

You wrap your hand around it, gleaming as he hisses, a hushed swear passing through his lips. You watch his face, observing him as you place your lips on the covered shaft, just letting him feel the heat of your breath on it. “Oh, fuck–” Eddie chokes, letting out harsh shudders.

The sight of his face is borderline angelic, all of his walls down as he focuses on you. You can’t help but smile at that, at how you desperately wished for nights like these, only paying attention to one another. You poke your tongue out, drenching the cotton fabric with your spit, working your way down the length.

At his little whines, you finally curl his fingers under his waistband, drooling at the taut cock that pops out, giving you a friendly hello, swaying from the spring. You smile ear to ear, delicately wrapping your hand around the base.

You kiss the tip, lapping at the pearl of precum that gives the clear indication of his arousal, as if his hard on wasn’t enough. “Mmm,” you hum at the salty taste, leaning in to suck every last drop from his flushed tip.

You let the saliva that has pooled on the surface of your tongue drool onto his cock, spreading it down the shaft, absorbing the moan he rewards you with. “Shit, that feels–oh my god.”

You smile with pride, finally taking him into your mouth, enthusiastically bobbing up and down on his length. Your eyes remain on his, watching him as his face melts, committing it to memory.

“Oh, Jesus,” he swears, hips rutting up, clawing further into your mouth. You take him in further, gagging on it as you wrap your tongue around it experimentally, choking loudly and purposely. “Ch-choke on it, yeah, ch-ohmy god, just like that–”

Your hand moves in rhythm with your mouth, slobbery sounds of spit on flesh, his and yours, deliciously wet. He tenses up beneath you, whines growing more desperate, moans huskier, deeper. It’s a marvelous melody, one no composer could make even if they tried their hardest.

“St-st-stop,” he stutters, curling over himself, writhing under you. “Stop–I-I’m gonna cum.”

Reluctantly you listen, lifting your head off him with a pop and cheekily smiling at his heaving chest. You crawl upward, yelping as he wraps his arm around the small of your back and tugs you in for a kiss, more powerful, wrapped in an unnamed emotion you couldn’t possibly let yourself be delusional enough to define as. The one hand crawled up your back undoes the clasp of your bra, tugging it off your arms and flinging it across the room.

“Gimme those tits,” Eddie sighs, kneading them in his hands and toying with the flesh and nips. “Oh, they’re so pretty, baby. I love them, I‘ve wanted to play with them for so long.”

Eddie’s legs move under you, kicking off his jeans while holding you close to his chest. You sit up, tugging him up with you as you hover just over him.

His skin directly on yours, close and toe curling as you straddle his lap, arms wrapped around his neck as you stare into his eyes. There’s a glow in them, eyebrows relaxed as he holds your hips, staring up at you with such enamour. “Want your cock,” it’s only a whisper, but loud in the intimacy between you two. “I want you.”

His brows furrow, only a moment. The thought passes through him quick as a flash, but you see it.

“What was that?”

He smiles, relieved and tender. “I’ve wanted you for so long.” He leans in, pressing kisses on your clavicle, your neck, your shoulder, the swell of your breast. “Not-not just like this. I mean, fuck, I wanted it, so, so bad. But…I’ve wanted you, wanted your late nights and early mornings, to help you when you need to study, wash the dishes…sorry, I’m rambling.”

You pet his cheek, shaking your head. “No. Keep going.”

“I mean, we’ve always sort of had that, you know? It was just torture, not kissing you stupid whenever I wanted…because I wanted to. I wanted to, so much, baby. I love you. So much. You’re my best friend, my person, and I just love you so fucking much.”

A breath of a laugh passes through your lips, attempting to absorb what he had just told you. “Really?”

You smile, holding him tightly as you kiss him, sighing happily as he confirms, nodding frantically. The head brushes against your entrance, pulling a whine from you. “Eds, I-I love you, too.” The kisses get more fierce, Eddie clinging onto you harder and nearly attacking your lips. “But…if you don’t fuck me soon I might actually lose my mind,” You giggle.

He laughs, combing his fingers through your hair, away from your face, from the sweat. He slaps his cock against your clit, teasing you with his head. “Of course, baby, you wanna ride me, hmm? Hop up and down on my big fat cock?”

You nod, biting your bottom lip, hissing when he pushes his head in, watching as your jaw drops. “Oh, look at you, I knew you could take it like a good girl.”

You choke back a whine, swallowing hard as his words have such a strong effect on you. ‘Fuck, f-feels so good.” You stop, mewling as the burn of his girth becomes too much.

“Don’t rush yourself, baby, it’s okay.” He puts his hands on your hips, digging into the soft flesh. “So nice and tight, fuck.” His eyes practically roll to the back of his head.

You sink further, taking him deeper as the burn bleeds into bliss and back to burning again. “Jesus, s’good.”

“Mm, almost there, baby.”

“Move, please. Eds. Need-need you to move.”

Eddie chuckles, large hands holding your back. He lifts his hips, slowly filling you to the hilt and bringing it back out, one hand landing by his side to use it for leverage. You chirp out his name, mewling as he slowly rocks his hips. “Love the way you say my name,” he gasps.

You start rocking, slowly lifting your hips as you assist him. “You gonna make me scream it?”

“If that’s a challenge, then I will happily accept,” Eddie growls, gripping onto your hips harder and pulling you down so the union of where your bodies meet hurts in the best way. “Wonder when those legs will give up, hm?”

“I’ve thought about riding you on the couch too many times to give up easily,” you admit, giggling at his wicked grin.

“Oh, have you now? Been wearing those little panties just so I’d snap and ravish you, hmm?” He asks, hair wild as he watches you bounce on him.

“Maybe,” you admit, though that was mostly just out of comfort and trust of your best friend. “You have stronger will power than I thought you would.”

“Hmm, you think too much of me, baby,” Eddie mutters, framing your face with his hand and pulling you in for a kiss.

Admittedly, your legs are growing tired, but you soldier on, connecting your forehead with his desperately and watching his eyes glaze over. Your head already feels hazy, heat building in your stomach as you rapidly climb towards your climax. “You getting close? About to cum on my cock?”

You nod, startling in your movement as he starts to move you quicker with just the tightening of his grip on your hips. “Eds,” You whimper as he rubs his thumb on your clit, rapid movements as he hurdles you towards your orgasm, your cunt tightening around him as your eyes roll back.

“Lemme feel you squeeze my cock, baby, wanna feel you cum all over it.” Almost as he demands it into existence, you finish with a start, twisting your toes together and hunching over his shoulder while he rolls his hips, gasping and whining and mewling. “Oh, that’s my girl. Here, bet those legs’re gettin’ tired, hmm?”

You nod, giddily giggling as he maneuvers you on your back. “God, I love you. I really really do. I don’t–I don’t know what the fuck I’ve been thinking–”

You slap your hand on his mouth, giggling at his wide eyes. “Sorry, but…shut up. Rail me. Destroy me. We have time for all that later, now quit getting all emotional on me.” You take your hand off his mouth and pat his cheek. “Be a good boy and make me scream your name, won’t you?”

He chuckles deeply, his jaw dropping as he nips on the palm of your hand. “‘Be a good boy,’ hmm? Yes, ma’am.”

Okay, this turns you on too much not to eventually dissect it, but Eddie’s hips start moving, harsh and raw and brutal, just as you asked for. With each collision of his hips comes a whimper from the force, each one louder than the last.

His head curls down into your neck, sinking his teeth into your skin as he sucks and bites and laps his tongue over the pain. “Look at your neck, all marked up. All mine,” He rasps.

“All yours,” you whisper, choking on the emotion that fills your throat.

“My good girl who loves to get fucked hard, hmm?” He chuckles, curling his arms tightly around you. “Oh, listen to those pretty little noises you’re making, so pathetic for me, oh fuck.”

“Ed-keep-oh-oh–” you gasp, whining higher and higher.

“Yeah, just like that. Pathetic little princess.”

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in close, skin to skin, all sticky and sweaty as the smell of sex fills the air.

“You’re moaning like a desperate little slut but you’re not screaming my name, yet. Can’t wait for it. Hmm? Why you makin’ me wait?”

“Maybe you’re not hitting hard enough,” you gasp, a smile spreading across your face.

Eddie’s eyes widen, lifting his body off yours quickly. “Oh yeah? Hands n’ knees. Turn around.” He sends a jolt of fear through you, eyes widening as move into a crawl position. “That’s a girl.”

His hands tighten on your hips, lining himself up and pushing in all within the span of 3 seconds. He’s relentless with it, lurching forward as he grabs a fistful of your hair. “C’mon, I can’t hear you.” He taunts you, pulling deliciously at your scalp.

He starts moving faster and harder, clumsily planting his lips on your back, messily trying to take any claim he can on you. One hand slaps your ass, Eddie hums, appreciating the print of his hand on your skin. Moans pass through your lips, the loud ones that Eddie was asking of you. HIs name is added into the mix, cross eyed and desperate as he somehow increases his force.

“There we are. Where do ya want me to cum, baby, I’m so fuckin’ close.”

“Cum–cum in me, Eds. Fill me up.”

“Fuck-you, y’sure?”

“Fill. Me up.” You say again, getting your point across.

“Oh fuck–” he stutters, jaggedly rutting into you as he bends over you, filling you up with sticky white ropes. “You feel that, baby? Fuck. You feel all full?”

Eddie releases the hold on your hair as you fall forward, breathing heavily as you collect yourself. He pulls himself out, collapsing right next to you. His arms easily wrap around your back, pulling you in against his chest. You curl into him, sighing happily as you listen to his racing heart.

You lay like that for a while, listening to his breathing even out as he pets your hair gently. He plants a kiss on your forehead, humming. “Why did that take us so long to do?” You ask, still trying to regain control over your breathing.

“Hmm?” He pulls away, processing your question. “Oh, I don’t know. We’re idiots.”

You tug him back in, feeling sleepy as you smile against his chest. “Yeah. Big, big idiots. I love you, idiot.”

He hums, pulling you in tighter. “Love you too, ya idiot.”

It’s strange. You thought it would change everything if he were to finally be yours. It doesn’t change anything, banter traded as always, only with a caressing hand that tugs you in for a kiss when he teases you. Hormones go wild, finding resolve in one another as movies are no longer watched, just a nice background noise.

Thank you so much for reading, remember replies and reblogs are the best way to support fic writers on tumblr

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#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader smut

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danidrabbles · 2 months ago

Text

Cardinal

Pairing: Logan Howlett ("Worst" Wolverine) x f!reader

Rating: Explicit (for themes and smut).

Word count: 16.6k

Summary: At the edge of the world, someone from another keeps you from stepping off.

Tags/Warnings (Please, read the warnings!!): Post-Deadpool & Wolverine, female reader (female anatomy etc + 2 mentions of hair long enough to fall into your eyes), strangers-to-lovers, depression, suicidal ideations, suicide attempt and mentions thereof, addiction, drinking alcohol, drugs (mentioned not used), panic attacks, sobriety meetings, anxiety, recovery, co-dependency vibes, sprinkles of soulmateism, explicit smut (oral and unprotected PIV), happy ending (yay!!). If I forgot anything, please let me know!

Notes: Deadpool and Wolverine re-triggered my X-Men obsession and what started as a means to write some smut actually became this idea about two broken people who shouldn't even have met in the first place finding each other. There's a lot of me in this story, more than there's ever been I think. I'm sorry for this glimpse into my head, and I'm sorry if this isn't as Reader-insert as it should be, but... I'm not that sorry, you know. Huge thanks to @javier-pena , for not only reading this over and fixing so many embarrassing mistakes, but also for saying she'd read this even if it was 20k words and always believing in my abilities as a writer, even when I sometimes didn't.

If you want to read the smut as a standalone, you can! Just CTRL + F (or search in page) for 'Logan reaches for' and read away.

THE LOOKOUT

With closed eyes, you inhale the cool, December air, before looking down at your feet. Here, at the edge of the lookout, the grass has been trampled. You imagine friends taking bets on who dares get closest to the edge, lovers making memories, families taking pictures. It’s strangely soothing that maybe you’re not the first to stand here to do this.

Far below your feet, the water laps at the rocks. The force of it depends on the weather and tonight it’s violent, with big splashes and crashing sounds. The wind tugs at your coat, pulling you towards the water as if to help you along, making you look up again as you hold your balance. In front of you, the line of the horizon is dark but visible – it would have been impossible to make out if the moon hadn’t been as bright as it is.

It’s like you’re looking at the edge of the world.

During the weeks that fall had made way for winter, you scoped the place out a couple times. The first time you stood at this cliff’s edge, the place it took you to mentally scared you so much that you got back into your car and broke down in tears. The next couple times, things became more and more serious, as your life crumbled around you, and your feelings numbed, and nothing seemed to matter anymore.

Something had crept in while you weren’t looking, settling somewhere behind your eyes and spreading out to make a home behind your ribs, slowly but surely changing you. And once you realized it, it was already too late. It had grown large, became jilted and jealous, like it wanted all of you. It pushed away everyone and everything you held dear, until it was just you and that… something.

Especially during the quiet of the night, the lookout became soothing, a strange sense of familiarity enveloping you each time you were here. It was addictive and pretty soon, it became a daily routine to visit. But lately it’s been losing its shine, your feelings here dulling and darkening too. You’re exhausted, fed up, tired of giving it more of you.

Today you want it to be your last time here.

You’ve had countless hours to contemplate what it would be like, imagined – all but romanticised – how the cold water would paralyse your limbs if the impact wouldn't do the trick. You read somewhere that it’s apparently like falling asleep when the water finally fills your lungs. You’ll be gone, but the thing will be too.

The thought makes your eyes fill with tears, but not from fear. All you feel is relief, like it’s right, how it’s supposed to be. It makes you smile despite everything, and–

“Hey, stop!”

A voice behind you thunders through the silence and makes you shriek into the night, dirt toppling over the edge of the lookout below the shuffle of your foot. A string of curses follows, heavy footfalls behind you indicating that the intruder is approaching you.

“Fuck off!” you throw over your shoulder, your voice a roar with how it’s amplified by the wind.

After, your throat closes up, fighting the angry tears over the fact that you can’t even fucking kill yourself in peace. Never have you seen anyone here at night, never. What you hate even more is how it breaks your momentum. The haze that was surrounding you is pierced, and your body’s baser instincts kick in. Adrenaline suddenly pumps through your veins, making your legs tremble, your heart hammer, your body scream for you to step back from where you’re standing. Your anger, however, has you nailed to the floor.

You almost miss the much softer, “Hey,” as a man steps into your peripheral vision. You pretend like you don’t hear him, or see him – you simply pretend he isn’t there, focussing on getting back into your previous mindset.

But then he takes his hands out of his pockets.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you warn, hating how your voice comes out trembling – weak.

“Easy.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

You stand there together for what feels like hours. You will yourself to not let it affect you, setting your jaw to keep your teeth from clattering on account of the cold, allow the wind to blow your hair into your eyes without brushing it away. Even when it begins to rain, you don’t move, don’t blink even once more than you need to. From the corner of your eye you watch the man shove his hands back in the pockets of the brown leather jacket he’s wearing, and you quietly celebrate that your surroundings are fazing him more than they are you.

“You know–” he begins.

“I’m not really looking for a conversation.”

“Me neither,” he immediately counters, suddenly impatient, “so I’ll get right to it: You planning on jumping? Because if you think the water’s gonna be nice to you, you’ve got that wrong. You’ll end up in there feeling everything, that fall isn’t gonna do shit.”

Having expected a gentle approach, his bluntness and his tone knock the wind out of you. You cock your jaw, the shame creeping up your body the first bit of warmth you’ve felt in a while. Your cold fingers ball to fists as you will yourself not to care. Yes, his words and the way he's shatteríng your expectations with them sting, but you don’t even know this guy–

“And there’s nothing fuckin’ peaceful about it, it’s just panic. Right before you go too far…” He raises a fist and holds it against the center of his chest, “...there’s this burning right here that’s hell.”

“And what makes you such an expert?” you finally spit out.

“Died like that a couple times,” he says without waiting a beat.

The casual statement of something so bizarre beats your resolve before you know it, your head turning in his direction. “‘A couple times’?”

“I, uh…” You watch him hesitate, the moonlight illuminating the tick of his jaw, the bob of his throat as he swallows, the way his chest falls as he sighs, “Let’s just say I can’t die.”

Before you can stop yourself, you snort at that. “That must fucking suck.”

He barks out a laugh, “Got that right.” It startles you when his head suddenly turns to you, when he looks you in the eye for the first time. “But trust me, being down there isn’t much better.”

There’s something in the way he looks at you that makes you waver. You can’t really place it, or decipher why it makes you want to open up to him. Maybe it’s because you’re freezing and it’s your body betraying you, tricking you into moving so you can generate some warmth, moving your lips to keep them from going blue. Or maybe it’s simply because he’s a stranger and it’s so much easier to be honest when there are no consequences.

“Things just feel so…,” you begin, voice shaky. Every possible way to end the sentence crosses your mind, seemingly all wrong, before you settle on what’s closest to how you feel, “endless.”

To your relief, he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t tell you to give it time that it will get better, or any of the other bullshit you’ve heard from all the other people that had been in your life and left a long time ago. You do find something else in the shift in his eyes, something you haven’t encountered before.

Understanding.

It might be worse. If anything, it’s overwhelming, making your eyes dart away from his as you sniff.

The wind still tugs at you, the waves still hit the rocks, but your moment seems to have passed. It’s a sobering conclusion, a twisted version of wrong place, wrong time. Or maybe it was him who was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Either way, the outcome is the same.

You take a step back, and another, but it takes considerable effort; you hadn’t taken your numb legs into consideration. You stumble, falling back on the dewy, cold grass, not quick enough to catch yourself on your hands. With a groan, you move to sit upright.

“Shit. Hey, you still with me?” The stranger kneels next to you, fingers lifting your chin to look into your eyes. “Jesus, you’re fucking freezing.”

“No s-sh-hit,” you retort.

He sighs, offering you a hand so he can pull you up. “C’mon, let's get you warmed up.”

– – – – –

Logan.

That’s his name.

It’s how he introduced himself, anyway, after he suggested you follow him. To his credit, he did offer to drive you, but you didn’t want to leave your car in the parking lot of the lookout. Logan waited 15 minutes for you while you put the blowers on the highest, warmest setting and waited for the feeling to return to your limbs. After, his brown truck led the way here – here being some hole in the wall, 24 hour diner. You could have not followed, but the drive was kind of mesmerizing; the night seemed darker than usual, and Logan’s tail lights served as a lighthouse.

Outside, the diner is all Christmas lights and flashing signs, but the interior is like something straight out of Twin Peaks; booths to the left, red barstools to the right, a girl that looks too pretty and too young to be here standing behind the counter. There were two other patrons you spotted along the way as Logan led you to one of the back booths. Once seated, Logan studied the pamphlets–or pretended to, more like, because as soon as the waitress came up he ordered two whiskeys and nothing else.

Between then and now, as you nursed your drink sip by careful sip, you hadn’t learned much more about him other than that he could knock back a glass of whiskey like he got paid to do so. And in truth, you like it this way; preferring silent company, the droning of the machinery behind the counter and the quiet hum of a song on the jukebox next to the entrance. The white noise helps to distract from the white noise in your head. Settling back into the leather cushions of the booth, you let some warmth seep back into your body. Opposite you, Logan does the same.

Some moments after you finish your drink, one of the waitresses walks up to your booth to ask you about a refill, like she’s asked Logan twice now. You’re handing her the glass when Logan says, “She’s had enough.”

Your head whips from her to him. “Excuse me?”

He doesn’t say anything, and from the corner of your eye, you see the girl leave. With your glass. Logan’s is on his lips, his eyes observing you over the rim, looking at you like he– Dammit. You sigh deeply, a sense of anger filling you. You don’t need this, least of all from him. When you stand from the booth, those eyes follow you, making you voice your observations,

“Quit pitying me, Logan.”

“I’m not,” he says before taking another sip. “You still have to drive.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him. “And you don’t?”

Logan shrugs. “It’s different for me.”

Anger is still prevalent in your voice when you ask, “Well, let me guess, it’s another case of ‘I died like that a couple times’?”

He hums.

“And how does that work?”

“Regenerative ability,” he sighs. Another sip before he elaborates, “X-Gene.”

The admission makes you plop back down in your seat. Well, that explains things – he’s a mutant. You’re not familiar with that world, but you know enough to know it meant that. It isn’t like you couldn’t have deduced it before, but truthfully, you kind of thought he was bullshiting you as part of some tactic. Now, his actions and words make more sense: He really knows what it’s like to... That’s why he had that look on his face. Suddenly, you see him in a different light–

“Now who’s pitying who, hmm?” Logan asks, giving you a thin-lipped smile that doesn't reach his eyes as he sets his glass down on the table.

“I’m not, I’m just… processing. So this...” you lift his glass, swirl the contents around, “...doesn’t even affect you?”

“It does. For a few seconds.” He plucks the glass back from your hand, and throws the whiskey back with one gulp. His pupils dilate, pushing the hazel of his irises out until his eyes are almost black for a second, two… before going back to normal. “But if I chugged the bottle, I’d pass out.”

“Well, so would I,” you say with a chuckle. “So maybe we’re not that different after all.”

Just as the corner of his mouth lifts, your smile falls, because… it isn’t true; you’re very different. You’re pretty sure you don’t have what it takes to do what he did tonight. To care enough to do it. To sit with a stranger and hear them bitch and moan about being denied a drink. A feeling creeps up on you, sticky and uncomfortable, like you’ve overstayed your welcome—burdened him.

“I should head home,” you say, standing again.

Lightning fast, Logan’s hand shoots out to close around your wrist. “That really where you’re going?”

“Yes,” you reply. When you pull your hand back, he doesn’t let up. You fish your car key out of your pocket with your free hand, voice tighter when you say, “Let me go.”

“Just promise me something,” he says, eyes as dark as they’d been earlier, yet his drink has gone untouched since. “Don’t go back there again.”

“Not making promises I can’t keep,” you say, giving him a wry smile. “To strangers, but least of all to myself.”

He sighs, and lets you pull yourself from his hold.

THE CRAVING

New Years comes and goes, and you quickly discover that it was foolish superstition to think that it might change how you feel.

You find yourself in some club, a drink in each hand. You hate to admit it, but Logan’s words scared you out of your original idea and the only time you can bear to think of how to move on from it is when alcohol soothes the embarrassing grief of your shattered, macabre fantasy. It’s not a good way to deal with things, but it works.

There’s a part of you that welcomes feeling anything at all, but that… something inside you is busy trying to squash it.

It’s getting somewhere, because you have no idea how much you’ve already had to drink, but you’re buzzing pleasantly. Adding to it, you knock both drinks back, slamming the glasses on the bar before spinning around and facing the crowd of dancing bodies. The music sucks, the dance floor is cramped, you’re tired… The truth is that you’re too old for this, but it’s easy to escape here, surrounded by strangers. You clumsily drag the back of your hand over your wet mouth, push your sweaty hair from your eyes, and join them.

The past couple weeks, you found yourself craving something. Contact. And here is where you can get your fill; a hand on your waist, lips on your ear, the music too loud and yourself too drunk to even comprehend what’s being said, but never more. You want them to get close, but never too close.

After some time – could be an hour, could be 10 minutes – you make your way to the bathroom. It’s quieter here, the dulled thump of the music making the time you spend there feel slow and syrupy.

When you exit the stall, you bump into someone.

It’s a man. The dark hood over his head obscures his eyes, but you can’t help but think he’s looking right at you when a bright, almost unnatural grin appears on his face. It draws you in like a magnet, more so when he says, “Need something to take the edge off?”

Curiously, you watch as he opens his palm, long fingers unfurling slowly until they reveal a small plastic bag in his hand.

“First time’s on the house.”

You have no idea what it is exactly, but your eyes widen. This is new territory for you, and all the possibilities it opens up are suddenly invading your mind. As if on auto-pilot, you reach for the place where you keep your money, the sound of the door opening completely lost on you.

A hand closes around your bicep, pulling you aside with a quick yank of an arm.

“She isn’t interested, pal.”

It’s another man, who effortlessly tucks you half behind him. Before you can protest beyond an indignant huff, there’s a sound, like a sword being unsheathed, and you catch a flash of red, and of knives. Frowning, you try to get a better look, but your view is obscured by the man’s shoulder. The hooded man seems undeterred, regarding the weapons with the same sickening grin, before leaving the bathroom, muttering something that you don’t understand on the way out. The sword sound returns, the man twists around, and–

“Logan?” you slur in disbelief.

Logan doesn’t reply, instead takes hold of your arm again, making you follow him out of the bathroom. There he stops the two of you to murmur something to a woman wearing the same clothes as him, before tugging you along again. You’re stumbling after him on account of his pace and the iron grip he has on you as he leads you to the back door. He pushes it open with enough force to make the hinges creak, a gust of wind blowing in your face. It’s a contrast to go from the crowded, sweaty club to the silent, cold back-alley where tall brick walls and employee cars cage you in. You shake your arm and Logan’s grip loosens – another and he lets you go.

“How did you even find–” You cut yourself off, eyes widening, “Oh, my god, are you following me?”

Logan scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “Oh, please, do you think I have time to follow you around all day?”

“You’re here, aren’t you? You and your fucking…,” you gesture wildly into the air at him, “savior complex.”

“I work here,” he growls. When you give him a look, he adds, “It’s temporary. ‘Sides, me and my savior complex are the reason that creep isn’t selling god knows what to you in that bathroom right now!” His voice is a roar, echoing off the walls around you.

“Maybe I wanted that creep to sell god knows what to me in that bathroom,” you say, doing a poor impression of his voice, before turning and walking away from him.

Logan sighs. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving.”

“And then what, huh?”

“I don’t fucking know, Logan,” you say, twisting around to face him again, arms spread out by your side. “Figure out a new way out of this.”

“Yeah? Third time’s the charm?”

“Why do you even care, huh? You don’t even know me,” you say. Almost immediately, you let out a bitter laugh as your own words hit your ears, a sad realization dawning on you. “But I guess that makes two of us.”

It’s not like you expected him to, but he doesn’t answer.

“You know I used to like myself? I used to smile, I used to have friends, I used to be more sober than drunk. But this feeling, it takes… everything.” You raise a fist, hold it to the center of your chest. “It takes everything I love, pushes away everyone I love, including myself. It eats me up, and wants more and more, until I’m something I’m not and until I’m so far away from that version of myself, my old self, that it feels easier to just fucking–” you pause with a wet gasp for air.

“Destroy yourself,” Logan finishes for you.

Your chest heaves, an unshed tear clings to your lash line. “Exactly.”

He takes a step closer to you. “Let me take you home,” he says, voice gentle.

You should hate the implications of that gentleness, but you don’t. In your drunk state of mind, it’s easier to admit it’s nice that someone understands, that someone’s there to stop you from going too far…

Tomorrow, when some of your pragmatism returns, you’ll deny this embarrassing thought ever occurred; if relying on other people worked, it would have worked a long time ago, and you wouldn’t be standing here with him. If you’re lucky, you might even forget this entirely, and wake up with a hangover that you’ll enjoy a little too much because it feels like a punishment–

“What about your job?” you ask with a sniff.

Logan’s palm finds the space between your shoulder blades with a gentle push, the warmth of it seeping in through your clothes, and he leads you to his truck. “They’ll manage without me.”

– – – – –

When you wake, your world is tilted sideways, a blanket is pulled up to your chin and there's a pillow under your head. They’re not your own; the blanket is itchy and the pillow’s too small. When you try to move your legs, they stick uncomfortably to the material below them, and you realize you’re on a leather couch. You squint at the light that comes in from a window across from you–

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

The voice startles you, eyes shifting to focus on the source: A man lying on his front on the floor, chin in his hands as he kicks his feet back and forth in the air.

“Wish I could say it’s a pleasure, but it hasn’t been very pleasurable. You’ve been barfing up the place since the moment you stepped inside. Kept poor Al up all night. Her ears are sensitive,” he adds with a whisper. “But don’t worry, she left about an hour ago.”

“Who are you?” you slur, blinking against the light.

“Logan.” He sighs when you frown. “I know, not how you remember. This is what I look like during the day; blessed with incredible good looks at night and, well,” he gestures at his face that’s covered in scars, "this, during the day. Bit of a reverse Princess Fiona situation–”

“Cut it out, Wade,” comes the sharp protest from next to you. With considerable effort, you turn your head and see the actual Logan, slumped back in a recliner next to the couch, rubbing some sleep out of his eyes while motioning for the other man to go.

“I’ll let you two talk.” Wade winks.

Logan stands when Wade does, walking from your field of view. Your head is scrambling to catch up, trying to piece together what happened last night, but only coming up with bits and pieces.

“How are you feeling?” Logan asks as he makes his way back to you, handing you a glass of water.

You flinch when the front door closes behind Wade with a bang, before taking the glass from Logan and taking a few thankful sips. “Like shit.”

“Yeah,” is all he says as he sits back down.

“What–”

“You fell asleep in the car. Didn’t know where to take you, figured the couch was the safest place.”

“Oh…,” you say, voice small.

You try not to think about being so wasted that you had to be carried out of Logan’s car, or about what Wade said earlier about the things that happened as soon as you stepped inside the apartment. During your silence, Logan’s fingers fiddle with the armrest, before his hand balls into a fist, and it unlocks something in your hazy memory.

“I have the weirdest memory of you having… a sword?”

You watch as Logan’s lips purse in amusement. His tongue rolls around in his mouth, seemingly contemplating something, before saying, “You probably saw these.” He holds up his fist, flexing his forearm before three blades shoot from between his knuckles like claws, accompanied by a shing!

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you startle, spilling some water on your blanket. Your head spins with your hangover and the bizarity of the situation. If it didn’t sound so much like how it did in your memory, you might think you were still drunk.

There’s so many things you want to ask, your intrigue almost winning out over your hangover until the sharp start of a headache gives you pause. Instead, you take another sip of water before rubbing your temple.

“It’s a story for another time,” Logan says, like he can read your mind, and you want to ask him that, too. His claws retreat, the cuts they leave between his knuckles immediately smoothing over until they’re gone. “I gotta go check if I still have a job.”

The words make you feel warm all over, the memory of your back-alley conversation coming back in full force. The thought of the things you admitted to him and that you put him in the position that he had to risk his job for you make you feel even warmer, your gaze no doubt laced with embarrassment and worry when you look at him.

“‘S not your fault,” Logan assures, standing and fishing his car key from the pocket of his jeans. “You don’t have to rush but um, make sure you close the door behind you on the way out. Gets jammed sometimes.”

“Yeah, okay,” you say, watching as he makes his way to the front door.

He takes a final glance at you over his shoulder, then leaves, accompanied by a bang.

THE PUZZLE

It takes you a little over a week to muster up the courage to go back. Admittedly, your courage is aided by another, foreign feeling. You don’t have a name for it yet, or maybe you’re afraid to call it what it is, but somewhere along the week, you became consumed with the thought that feeling like you did wasn’t all there was. That there is something beyond this.

Perhaps foreign wasn’t the right way to describe it, because it is something you’ve felt before – it’s just been long dormant. The last time, it lasted about a month before it all came crashing down, and you swore you wouldn’t fall for it again, but you can’t help it. The feeling’s too sweet, and the idea that there’s still some baser instinct willing you to keep fighting for yourself makes you feel like the sun is shining on you.

So yeah, maybe you’re just having one of your good weeks, where the thing sleeps – quiet while its presence still simmers. But you figured now’s your chance to take advantage of its unguarded moment.

Sneaking into the building is surprisingly easy. It helps that it isn’t anything fancy. You wanted to forego the humiliation of ringing the bell and him not letting you in, but standing in front of the door now, panting after climbing three flights of stairs, you don’t know if this is much better.

Just when you’re about to knock, the door swings open. In the opening, Logan has one arm in his jacket, head twisted to watch the other that’s caught halfway in the sleeve. It takes him almost bumping into you to realize your presence. “Shit, sorry.” He steadies himself with a hand on your arm, the touch leaving you as fast as it appeared.

“Hi,” you breathe, taking a step back to give him a little more space.

He nods in greeting. “Brings you here?”

It takes you a moment, caught off guard by him skipping over pleasantries and cutting right to the chase, despite your best intentions; it’s not that he’s ever been any different in his interactions with you.

“I came by because I, um, owe you an apology, for my behavior at your workplace and for, you know…,” you trail off, gesturing at the door.

“Barfing up the place!” comes a shout from inside the apartment.

Logan’s eyes close with a sigh, before he steps into the hallway with you and closes the door with a bang.

“That,” you finish sheepishly. “I’m really sorry.”

He nods in acknowledgement.

“I also wanted to ask, um, if you want to come with me to get a coffee. To make it up to you.”

Logan just looks at you, the leather of his jacket creaking as he crosses his thick arms in front of his chest. He raises an eyebrow at you expectantly. You hate how he somehow can see right through you, how he makes you elaborate, and honest.

“I want to quit drinking,” you say, fiddling with the sleeve of your coat. “It doesn’t make me better, and when I don’t do it I finally feel a little… normal. Maybe coffee’s technically just as bad, but it’s the only thing that’s currently acting like… like a reverse gateway drink? And I feel like you’re the only person I know that might get that feeling of–”

“I do,” Logan cuts in, voice softer than before – assuring. His arms drop from where they’re crossed and he starts making his way to the stairs. “Let’s go.”

– – – – –

You don’t know this coffee place, and from the way he looks around and shifts around in a chair that might be a bit too small for him, neither does Logan. Main reason you picked it is because the booths remind you a little too much of a bar – and you like the tall windows. The coffee’s pretty decent.

“Did they fire you?” you ask, picking at a loose corner of one of the laminated menus before setting it back in its holder.

“Boss commended me for helping a customer, but not so much for leaving before my shift ended,” Logan replies. “Got off with a warning.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Said that already, and I accepted,” he says. When he takes a sip of the coffee, he winces. “No need to worry about it anymore, okay? I would do it again.”

You nod, folding your hands around the warm cup in front of you.

“But, um, Wade hasn’t shut up about… the incident.” There’s a different tone to his voice, like he’s trying to lighten the mood. “His words.”

“You know, I kind of get the feeling that Wade doesn’t shut up about a lot of things.” It comes out a little meaner than you intend, but it makes Logan laugh and finally slump back in his chair a little.

“You’re a quick study.”

Offering him a short smile in return, you continue with the other real reason you came to see him, before you chicken out. “I also stopped by because I wanted to, uh… because I realized I never really… I never… I never thanked you, for um… And–”

With a shake of his head, Logan sits upright. “Y’don’t–”

To your horror, your eyes brim with tears, “Logan, I’m supposed to be dead–”

“So am I,” he counters. He lets the words hang between the two of you for a moment, until you look at him, before he continues, “I’ve been where you are. Past it, even.”

You don’t know what to say to that, if the lump in your throat will even permit you to speak, but it’s impossible to look away from him. Logan’s gaze is piercing, frown ever present, but it’s not from anger. Instead, it’s like he’s searching for something, the right thing, to say. The silence doesn’t bother you; if anything, it makes his words seem more genuine when he does speak,

“I had someone who was annoying enough to not give up on me when I could really use it. If getting a coffee with you that’s, frankly…,” he makes a face as he pauses, “a horrible excuse for a coffee, helps… I can do that. I want to do that.”

The corner of your mouth lifts as you blink away your tears. “Was it Wade?”

Logan lets out a chuckle, and it’s honest – fond. “Yeah.”

“Figured,” you say. “How did you meet him?”

Across from you, Logan stills. You swallow thickly, adjusting yourself in your chair. It’s an innocent question, but maybe it isn’t something he’d like to revisit right now. Logan’s mug squeaks when he grips it tighter, and he looks at you with something like defeat–

It makes you deflate. This must be what you looked like the night you met…

There’s no way to have prepared for what he tells you next: That he came from another timeline about three months ago, that he and Wade saved this one from being destroyed and almost got killed in the process, that he has nothing to go back to after the death of his team, so he stayed here.

There’s hesitation in it, like he isn’t telling you the whole story, though you don’t comment on it. He doesn’t owe you anything and you’re too busy putting all the pieces in the Logan-shaped puzzle in your mind together; his words and actions towards you are starting to make more and more sense.

“It’s a very brave thing the two of you did,” you say when he’s finished.

“Hmm, it was all Wade,” Logan muses. “He did it all for the people he cares about.”

“I’m sure you would have done the same if you were in his place.”

At that, he lets out a dry laugh with absolutely no joy behind it. “Do me a favor, don’t put me on a pedestal.”

You frown, but before you can comment, he stands. A knot forms in your stomach, worried you’ve offended him, but he clears up the uncertainty immediately.

“I gotta go but um, Wade’s friends–,” he stops himself, correcting, “our friends are coming over to watch a movie, next week, 7:30. I have no idea what crap they’re going to be watching but… it’s nice. It’ll be nice to be around good people.” Logan doesn’t wait for your answer, simply takes his wallet from his pocket and leaves enough money to cover the bill.

“Wait, no, I invited you,” you protest. “I should–”

“You can pay next time.”

When you nod, he says his goodbyes with a jerk of his head and makes his way to the door.

– – – – –

You see Logan two more times for coffee that week. He never lets you pay.

THE PANTRY

“–but it’s the best one!” Wade protests, DVD in hand.

“They fly a car into space, Wade,” Laura sighs.

“Launched off a jet,” he corrects. Like it helps.

You cover your mouth with the back of your hand, hiding the smile that appears at everyone’s babbling. Unbeknownst to you, you had found yourself invited to a double feature night, with Wade as the self proclaimed DVDJ. The credits had barely started rolling on A Good Day To Die Hard, or Wade had another DVD at the ready. It was met with the same amount of enthusiasm as when he presented the first.

It hadn’t been easy to make yourself go to this tonight. On your way, you’d thought of turning around at almost every step. Of course, that was all before you knew it would be this fun, and that you’d be relieved you hadn’t canceled last minute. Even meeting everyone hadn’t been as bad as you feared.

There’s Peter, Wade’s friend. Ellie, another one of Wade’s friends. Yukio, Ellie’s girlfriend. Laura, Logan’s daughter. Mary Puppins, Wade’s small, disgusting but adorable dog, who had greeted you with equal amounts saliva and enthusiasm, before falling asleep next to the TV, completely unbothered by the commotion. Unlike Althea, Logan and Wade’s blind roommate, who had taken one listen to the gaggle of voices and left. The elusive Vanessa, Wade’s ex-but-we-might-get-back-together you heard about a couple times, wasn’t there.

Logan had been right, it was nice to be surrounded by good people. Especially good people who were… unconventional. It made joining them less complicated, less performative, and as the evening progressed it made you a participant instead of a silent observer. Wade even called you, “good for the group dynamic,” and it made you beam with pride.

“Don’t they have like, rockets attached to the car?” Ellie questions, to which Yukio’s eyebrows knit together.

“Exactly!” Wade exclaims, mistaking her confusion for enthusiasm. “Citizen Kane wishes.”

There’s more grumbling from everyone when Wade pops the DVD into the player, and he grumbles something back about how Logan would back him up if he wasn’t in the bathroom because he, quote unquote, goes way back with some of these dudes.

You’re pretty sure he’s the only one who knows what he’s even talking about.

An empty bowl of popcorn rests in your lap, and as you put it on the table, you notice how sticky and greasy your fingers and palms are. When the opening credits begin to roll, you get up to wash your hands, assuring Wade he doesn’t need to pause the movie before you go.

The apartment’s small, so it isn’t far to the kitchen, but it’s nice to stretch your legs. You can still hear the sounds from movie night; tell-tale action movie music, comments of disbelief and Wade shutting them down. They’re more faint, though, more so when you turn the tap on and wash your hands.

Right as you’re finished, you hear a dull thud. You turn the water off, head tilted and at attention while you dry your hands. There’s another sound, like a muffled groan. It’s coming from the pantry, you realize, noting that the door is slightly ajar. There’s a shing! sound followed by a distressed grunt, and before you know it you’re walking over, wrapping your fingers around the door to pull it open–

You’re not sure what it was you were expecting, but it wasn’t this. Logan’s sitting on the floor, uncharacteristically small, curled up against one of the walls. His chest is heaving, shoulders all but going up to his ears with how he’s trying to draw in breaths. Next to him, his fist is balled against the hardwood, claws buried in the floor.

Fuck.

Dropping to your knees, you wedge yourself between his. “It’s okay, you’re having a panic attack,” you explain, your hands landing on his shoulders with a light shake. “You need to breathe. I’ll help you, just look at me.”

Logan’s head stays tipped down, a deep, rattling breath sailing from his mouth as he curls further in on himself.

“Hey!” you say sharply, cupping his jaw with two hands and tilting his face up, “Look at me.”

Logan’s eyes are wet when they meet yours, moving frantically as they search your face, tears spilling over when he blinks. Something changes in his gaze, like he finally sees it’s you, and his bottom lip begins to tremble. His hand lifts from where it’s buried in the floor, clutching onto your wrist like a lifeline.

“Breathe,” you instruct, trying not to flinch at the sharp claws in front of you. He doesn’t catch on immediately, so you overdo the purse of your lips when you blow out a breath before exaggerating an inhale through your nose, showing him what to do. It starts off shaky, a fresh set of tears falling from Logan’s eyes as he does as you instruct, but after a couple of times you find a rhythm together. The silver between his knuckles slowly disappears. “There you go, good job. Keep going.”

You sit like that, until the wild shift of his eyes stops, his pulse steadies beneath your fingertips, and eventually his eyes close with a deep exhale. His grip on you loosens and you take it as your cue to let go of him, slumping back against the wall opposite him with a sigh of relief. The both of you catch your breath, sitting together in silence until Logan breaks it.

“Came outta nowhere… suddenly I was back there… letting them down.”

“It caught you off guard, it happens–”

“I let them get killed,” he says, voice raw. “They were like– They were my family, they trusted me to be there for them and I… I was too caught up in my own bullshit. I should have been with them, I should be dead with them.”

Logan’s tears still come, but the words almost sound reverent; as if saying them out loud just to punish himself with his own shortcomings is a balm. He’s talking about his team from there, you realize, and something clicks. All this time, you thought this was about him being unable to die due to his mutation, but it’s more than that. It’s shame, remorse, grief, survivor’s guilt, all wrapped into one.

It’s the final piece of your mind puzzle that makes his picture appear.

“How– How can I ever atone for that?” he asks. “How can I ever–”

“Logan, you can't change your past,” you interrupt carefully. “You made your choices and they made theirs, and you honored them by– by…stepping up to the task, by doing what you did with Wade.”

“What if it wasn’t enough?”

“What if it was?” you counter. Your hand finds his knee with a squeeze, before adding, “You did what they would have done. And now you… you need to allow yourself to honor their memory without feeling like you have to destroy yourself to do it. You deserve that.”

Logan blinks at you, eyes still glossy. He looks devastated yet calmer than before, like the emotion is still there, but displaced. For a good while, you sit with him like that while his sniffles lessen and his breathing returns to normal… until there’s a loud explosion coming from the living room. It’s followed by cheers and hollers, and you’re both suddenly reminded of where you are.

“C’mon,” you say, patting Logan’s knee before using it as leverage to haul yourself up with a groan. You give him room by holding the door open for him. “Better get back before we miss the good stuff.”

Still on the floor, Logan exhales heavily. “Think this was the good stuff.”

– – – – –

Three weeks later, on your way to your third movie night, you catch Wade and Vanessa making out in the building hallway.

It stops you dead in your tracks and makes for an awkward meeting with Wade’s mystery woman, who is beautiful but very direct when she asks you what the fuck you’re staring at. Wade certainly has a type when it comes to the company he keeps… He quickly shushes the situation, introducing the two of you, and it immediately makes Vanessa’s expression twist into recognition.

“Nice to meet you,” she says, followed by an apologetic smile.

You respond in kind.

When Wade tugs at her jacket impatiently, they brush past you and make their way to the exit. “See you around!” she throws over her shoulder.

A grin forms on your lips, realizing what you just witnessed, and you race up the stairs. With Wade gone, you’re not sure if there will be a movie, but at least you have gossip to share with your friends.

THE MEETING

April flies by, rolls into May, and thing’s are… okay.

With some help, you find a therapist. It’s good, she’s good, but it’s difficult to be confronted with things that are painful, week after week, and to keep reminding yourself it’s all part of the process you’re going through.

Last week, after a particularly difficult session, you’d left her office being auto-piloted by dark feelings, like they knew exactly when to strike. You had turned corners and crossed streets, wandering as you stewed on everything you’d discussed – like your mind was playing a constant loop of your most painful moments. It was a small miracle you had heard your phone, and that you had the presence of mind to thumb the green button.

You’d answered without saying a word.

“Got any plans?” Logan had asked on the other side of the line.

“No,” you’d replied, coming back to yourself a little bit at the sound of his voice.

“Al’s making her meatballs – she and Wade can’t agree on if they’re famous or infamous. Thought you might like to come. If it tastes like shit, we’ll order in.”

You’d hummed, managing to ask, “What time?”

It had stayed quiet on the other end, and that’s how you’d known he was onto you, could picture the pinch of his brows, his lips forming a thin line. For the first time, you welcomed it—wanted so badly to reach through the phone, shake his shoulders, ask for his help and accept it, like he had done with you weeks ago.

“Sounds to me like now might be good.”

“Yeah,” you had agreed, the constricting tightness in your chest easing up. “Yeah, I’ll be there soon.” You’d released a shuddering breath, ear still pressed to the phone as you took in your surroundings before you auto-piloted yourself to a different destination.

“Logan?”

“Still here.”

“Thank you for calling.”

“‘course. Get here soon, I’ll stay on the phone.”

The afternoon had ended with Logan and yourself allowing Althea to boss you around in the small apartment’s kitchen, rolling meatballs, sharing stories — Althea’s recollection of something that happened to her in her 20s that involved her stealing a police horse while wearing nothing but a thong, made you cry from laughing.

The meatballs were the best you ever had, though you couldn’t be sure if they actually were, or if it was just the taste of the moment that was better than anything had been that day.

Sometime after dinner, Logan had nudged your shoulder to show you a little plastic chip. He flashed it at you long enough that you could read the words one month, before he pocketed it again. Then he suggested you come with him next week.

“I thought it was bullshit too, but it helps,” he’d explained. “Figured I couldn’t continue to drink whatever that stuff is you call coffee to… avoid my problems.”

You contemplated his suggestion. Things were going well for you in that regard, but your therapist had also recommended you go to one of these things, even if it was just for the community aspect of it. It just made it so… official. Your problems, but most of all, your recovery. You weren’t good at keeping promises to yourself, and this felt like a big commitment. Not to mention the speeches and other people’s problems...

But as Logan told you more about it, the location, how it had been for him, you sensed something else between the lines: He wasn’t just asking for you, he was also asking for himself. Maybe… this was his way of telling you he needed some support.

That’s how you find yourself inside a high school gymnasium a week later. It’s as gloomy as you expected. Slick floors, gray fold-out chairs set in neat rows, buzzing lights in a high ceiling, and a slightly raised podium with a whiteboard that reads a welcome message in capital letters.

Unsure of what to do, you follow Logan as he weaves through the crowd to find a seat. As you do, it strikes you that there’s a pretty even distribution of people, with many genders, ages and lifestyles represented. Eventually you take a seat; not quite in the back, but definitely not in the front.

The whole thing goes by in a blur, but where you expected to be overwhelmed, you feel… connected. Here you are, surrounded by people with different backgrounds, different lives, but all their stories have something you can relate to. Where you thought addiction was the common denominator, it’s actually the desire to turn your lives around that unites you the most.

“Before we end the night I want to circle back to last week, when we spoke about goals, or things we want to work towards,” says the woman leading the meeting – you’re ashamed to admit you already forgot her name. “Does anyone want to share something about that?”

It takes a lot to hide your surprise when Logan raises his hand.

“Logan! Come on up!” She sounds as surprised as you feel, beckoning him to her.

The plastic chair he sits on creaks when he stands and his boots squeak against the shiny floor as he does as she asks. He looks so out of place on a podium; both larger than life behind the lectern and lost to the space of the stage. He clears his throat as he retrieves a paper from his pocket and unfolds it while his eyes scan the room until they land on yours. You give him a little nod of encouragement, and it kicks him into gear.

“Not good at this stuff, so I’m going to keep it brief,” he starts.

It earns him a chuckle or two from the other attendees, and you can tell he doesn’t expect it when he looks up from his paper. Your hands clasp together with nerves as you watch him divide his weight from one leg to another, before focussing his gaze back down.

“My life has changed a lot over the past few months. For the first time in a long time, it’s not all bad. Coming here has been good. I’m starting to feel more like I did before–”

He stops his monotonous droning with a frustrated sigh, stuffing the piece of paper in his pocket and sounding considerably more lively after.

“I have people I care about again, and um, it scares me. ‘Cause I don’t want to let them down, and every day I feel like I will because of all of my… past shit.” He pauses and swallows hard before he continues, “They show me so much kindness and understanding, that… that even though it’s fucking hard, I want to be able to see myself the way they see me. And allow them to care about me without feeling like I… have to earn it all the time, without destroying myself to do it.”

You exhale for what feels like the first time in an eternity.

“So, that’s what I’m currently working on.” Logan sighs. “That’s it. Thank you.”

A small applause follows, and you quickly unclasp your hands to join in.

Your palms hurt after.

– – – – –

“It was really nice, what you said in there,” you say, fingers caressing a little plastic chip of your own that you keep safe in your coat pocket. You haven’t felt proud of yourself in a while, but tonight you do.

The evening is nice, the setting sun bathing the city in hues of orange and pink. Your pace is slow and comfortable, your arm occasionally brushing Logan’s when you make room for all the other pedestrians. You didn’t plan on him walking you home, but he insisted and you enjoy the company – it makes you a little sad when you turn onto your street.

Logan scoffs in reply.

“I’m being serious,” you say, knocking your elbow against his arm on purpose now. “It was nice for people to hear a guy like you say those things. I’m proud of you.”

You swear he blushes. “A guy like me, huh?” he asks, almost amused.

It’s your turn to scoff. “You know what I mean.”

“A mutant?” He looks at you from the corner of his eye.

“No,” you say, because it’s not what you meant, but the hint of seriousness in his voice and the fact he’s not entirely wrong make you track back. “Well, maybe that, too, but I meant someone who looks like you, allowing themselves to be vulnerable. Sets a nice example.”

Logan doesn’t shoot your comments down like you expect. Instead, he seems to consider your words, maybe he even silently accepts the compliment. “Think you have some things to say that could set a nice example, too.”

“Maybe next time.”

During the comfortable silence that follows, you’re reminded of something you’ve been considering for weeks now. You hadn’t paid much attention to it since that night, but as you worked through the feelings that got you to that point, the question kept coming back.

“I’ve been wondering something,” you begin. “The night we met... What were you doing at the lookout?”

Logan glances at you, contemplating the question. “When I had just, um, gotten here, it wasn’t always easy to adjust, you know? So I went to all these places that I knew from back there, to ground myself, to see that things may be different, but that they’re not that different.”

“You went there on your side?”

He hums.

“By yourself?”

He hums again.

“Did you…” You hesitate to finish your sentence, both because you’re not sure if you have any right to ask and because you’ve reached your building. You stop walking, and Logan follows your lead.

“No, no, no, I… I can’t explain it, it’s just one of those places I was always drawn to,” Logan says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans with a shrug. His brows furrow suddenly, his mind seemingly lost in something before his eyes flick back to yours. “Think it took me coming over here to find reason in it.”

It’s a thought that’s equal parts sad and lovely.

The silence that follows hangs between you, thick with something you can’t place, but Logan doesn’t look away from you, eyes scanning your face before they land back on yours. You can’t help thinking that maybe this is how he does it, and the question comes out before you can help it,

“Is mind reading part of the X-Gene thing?”

His eyes widen – amusement or surprise, you can’t say. “It can be.”

“Can you do it?”

“No,” he says. “And it’s for the best, fucking hurts when you can’t control it.” Then the start of a smile begins to form on his lips. “‘sides, I don’t know if I would have a lot of… consideration for people’s boundaries.”

It makes you chuckle. “Right. Not to mention some minds are probably a lot – imagine reading Wade’s mind.”

“Hurts to even imagine,” Logan says, gesturing for you to be quiet as he winces, but a smile breaks through anyway. When your shared laughter dies down, he jerks his chin at the building behind you, “This your place?”

“Wha–?” Going home long forgotten in the moment, you glance over your shoulder. “Oh! Yes.”

“All right,” he nods. “See you next week?”

“Definitely,” you reply.

“Oh,” Logan says right before you turn around. “Bring coffee? You owe me.”

You make a face at him. “You don’t have to– I’ll get you something else, I know you don’t like it.”

“I like it when I drink it with you.”

It’s incredibly hard to hide your grin. “Okay, I’ll bring coffee. See you next week, Logan.”

“See you.”

He lingers, watching you climb the steps, waiting until the door opens after you turn your key in the lock. It’s not until you close the door, when you can only make out his silhouette through the patterned glass window in it, that he walks off.

THE SUMMER

Walking back from a very successful job interview, you find yourself on your way to your friends with a big, plastic bottle of coke under your arm. It’s a warm feeling to know that you’ll soon have a job that suits you and that you have people to celebrate with; you look forward to seeing them and sharing this with them.

You’re invited inside with open arms, tight hugs, exclaimed praise and congratulations, and it makes you giddy, a feeling so foreign that you wish you could bottle it up right this instant. With a grin, you shake the Coca Cola bottle, before twisting the cap off. You let out an excited shout as you watch the foam shoot out from the top, bubbles and dark liquid pulsing down the neck of the bottle as cheers surround you.

It’s not champagne, but Althea grumbles about the soda ruining her floors, Wade gets mismatched glasses from the cupboard, and Logan clinks his glass to yours and tells you he’s proud of you.

It’s way better than champagne.

– – – – –

You’re in serious, desperate need of a new place…

The August heat is relentless, and the entire building’s AC isn’t working. It’s with considerable effort that you manage to make your way to your friends’ place, the promise of a constant, cold stream of wind the only thing that keeps you going. But when the front door opens, it isn’t with the welcoming, cool waft of air you were hoping for. Instead, there’s no temperature change, only Wade in his underwear.

“No.” It’s a little embarrassing how you literally pout, but these are desperate times. “Here, too?”

“If it wasn’t this fucking hot I’d be offended by that greeting.” He sighs. “Come in.”

Slightly defeated, you shuffle past the threshold, while Wade lingers. Mary Puppins trots by, an ice-pack wrapped in a towel secured on her back, and you catch a glimpse of Logan exiting the bedroom. He’s in black shorts and a ribbed, sleeveless shirt, and with a desperate groan, he lets himself fall back into the recliner in the living room.

“Tried everything, there’s no fixing that fucking thing.”

Wade makes a face, “Listen, I know what you’re thinking: Wade’s in his underwear, Logan’s emerging from the bedroom… But we didn’t fuck, it’s not that kind of st–”

“Who are you talking to?” you ask from behind him, glancing over his shoulder into the empty hallway.

“No one–You!” The door closes with a bang.

Confused, you walk further into the apartment. “Well, telling me you didn’t is just going to make me think that you did.” Wade darts past you and takes a seat on the couch, but you hang back and lean against the kitchen table to avoid sitting on leather.

Wade suddenly turns to face you. “Did I ever tell you about our time in The Void?”

“Wade,” Logan warns.

Wade’s eyes are sparkling with mischief and you can’t deny how fun it is to indulge the way he pushes Logan’s buttons. It’s a good distraction from how you’re drenched in sweat. And you’re actually curious.

You play your part, letting out a faux-scandalised gasp. “Did you..?”

“Oh, yeah, baby. Wolverine goes both ways. All the ways, really.” He grins. “We’re so alike.”

“Shut up. Both of you.” Logan groans, lacking any real threat as he adjusts in his seat and wipes some sweat off his brow. “It’s too fucking hot to be annoyed.”

It isn’t lost on you he doesn’t deny a thing.

– – – – –

Apartments look weird with nothing in them.

It’s what crossed your mind after you finished packing up your place three days ago, and it crosses your mind now as you look into the open space of your new one from the doorway. It’s a pleasant, late summer day; perfect weather to move, which was on your schedule for today.

“Incoming!” comes from behind you, followed by quick, heavy steps.

You jump aside as Ellie sails through the door, carefully setting a big box marked “Kitchen” down in its designated area, followed by Logan who is balancing three boxes at once. After a beat, Yukio follows, holding a single table lamp in her hand. It takes some effort not to laugh, not just because of how funny it looks, but also because you relate; after all the exhausting late nights you pulled packing up, that’s also the kind of energy you’re bringing to this.

It’s nice of them to help, and instead of shoving that feeling away in fear, you allow yourself to bask in it. You don’t get long, however, because more help has just arrived.

Wade. With Vanessa. Hands interlocked.

It draws everyone’s eyes to the doorway. Wade looks almost bashful, and it baffles you how someone who can say the most insane things unprompted, all without batting an eye, could blush while holding hands with a girl he likes. To his credit, he shakes it off quickly.

“All right, all right,” he says. “Stop ogling me and my girlfriend and get back to work everyone!”

– – – – –

“So it was like an experiment?” you ask, stirring the pot on your stove before taking a careful bite of food off your wooden spoon.

Tonight’s your first night hosting at your new place – Family Dinner, Wade had dubbed it. With fall setting in, you had an idea of what to make, but it still made you nervous to have everyone in your space. Logan saw right through you, offering to come over early to help you prepare.

Once he had arrived, it hadn’t taken long for him to admit he wasn’t much of a cook, so he mainly chopped vegetables as you chatted; you about your new place, Logan about his new job as a boxing instructor, Laura going off to college. You don’t remember exactly how the subject of his adamantium came up, but he was telling you freely about it.

“They needed someone who could regenerate fast enough to bond with it,” he explains. “I was in a dark place. Figured I didn’t have anything to lose if it didn’t work.”

You nod in understanding. “Do you… remember much about it?” You put your spoon down, then put the lid back on the pan.

Logan’s knife stops hitting the cutting board. “Yeah, I… I remember every second of it.”

You look at him then. His eyes are still cast down at his task. Unsure of what to say, you think about what you’d want to hear, and you find it might be best to say nothing at all. Instead, your hand finds his shoulder. Logan’s head turns to you, and you feel like the look you share is more important than anything you could’ve told him. His hand covers yours with an appreciative squeeze.

“But I’m trying to leave that there so I can focus on remembering what happens to me here.” As soon as he’s said it, his hand quickly slips off yours, adding, in a rush, “Here in this timeline, I mean.”

You smile at him, but a strange feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. “That sounds like a great idea.”

– – – – –

“I need your help with something,” you say, balancing your phone between your ear and your shoulder while you turn a birthday card over in your hand. Deciding you don’t like it, you throw it back on the pile of cards and continue your grocery shopping.

“Just say the word,” comes Logan’s reply from the other end.

“I need you to steal something out of the apartment for me.” There’s a silence, and you purposely let the feeling of trepidation linger.

“Am gonna need you to say a little more than just that.”

You laugh, “Wade’s been talking about getting a little frame for his polaroid. You know, the polaroid that you held on to for him in The Void, after the two of you fu–”

“Yes, I know the one,” he interjects with a huff. He pauses, sighs, then says, “Consider it done.”

THE PARTY

“There you are!” Wade shouts after he opens the door. He pulls you into a hug that you return with a wide smile. Over his shoulder, you see that the apartment’s crowded, bustling with people who are there for his birthday party.

“I got you something,” you say, offering the small package to him after you step inside and hang up your coat.

“Wouldn’t have let you in if you hadn’t,” he admits as he closes the door behind you with a bang. Wade takes the package from your hand, shaking it next to his ear but hearing it make no sound in response. “Is it a cock ring?”

You can’t help but laugh at that. “Unfortunately, they were all sold out.”

“They always are,” he says, making a disappointed face. Bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you watch as he tears at the wrapping paper to reveal his gift. He makes another face when he sees it. “Well, now I feel like an asshole. This is really nice.”

“Logan helped me kidnap it,” you explain, pointing at the picture. “And the little red hearts on the frame, well, they’re your color, but they also reminded me of how much you care about people.”

When he looks at you after, it’s with genuine emotion… but Wade is Wade. “Never thought I’d say this, but I’m kind of happy you walked in here barfing up the place.”

A strange mix of embarrassment and gratitude claws its way up your neck. “Thank you.”

“We should take a new one,” he decides suddenly, pointing at the picture. “You both should be in it.” His head turns, watching as Logan approaches the two of you. “But let’s be realistic, his shoulders are so broad he wouldn’t even fit in the frame, much less his bul–”

“Stop talking about my dick, Wade,” Logan snaps.

“I was saying only good things! Jeez, so sensitive…” Wade turns, putting the picture on the kitchen table behind him where it joins all the other gifts.

“Did he like it?” Logan asks, voice low.

“Yeah,” you smile.

“Good,” he replies. “Was a nice idea.”

You eye all the other gifts, some clearer who they are from than others. “What did you get him?”

The corner of Logan’s mouth lifts as he points at a roll of silver duct tape with a small red bow on top, making you fix them both with a confused look.

“It’s an inside joke,” Logan shrugs.

Wade’s eyes sparkle, but in a rare turn of events, he doesn’t elaborate, only adds, “It’s classified. I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.”

“And I have top level clearance, lieutenant,” you reply. You exhale through your nose in an amused laugh when Wade makes a surprised face that indicates you’ve gotten the reference. “What, you thought a Tom Cruise impression could save you?”

“No,” he grins, and as if on cue, the doorbell rings, “but that can. Birthday Boy duty calls, but I want it on record that I could do Top Gun, easily, while Tom would never be able to pull off Deadpool.”

– – – – –

The party settles into something comfortable, soft music in the background of lively chatter. Yukio has just finished telling you about a Professor Layton cosplay she’s doing when you excuse yourself, both your glass and your social battery empty enough to look for a momentary out. Finding your way through the crowd, you make it to the kitchen, filling your glass with water and taking a few sips.

While you do, the music suddenly gets louder, taking over for the steady chatter. You turn around, leaning back against the kitchen counter, and watch as Wade drags Vanessa to the middle of the apartment. People make room for them, exchanging looks while Wade wraps his arm around her waist, takes her hand in his and begins dancing with her. With a laugh, she slaps him on the chest, before settling into his embrace anyway. Some follow their lead, but your eyes stay glued to them. Wade spins Vanessa under his arm, the smile on her face bright enough to light up the entire room. In return, he looks at her with so much adoration he’s almost glowing himself. It fills you with warmth to see the both of them so happy.

It hits you how you haven’t thought about this in a while. You’d decided long ago that the future wasn’t something you had to worry about, but suddenly you’ve arrived, like you’re in some alternate reality where your future is now, and that it would be nice to share it with someone. The sting behind your eyes catches you a little off guard; mixed feelings of time that has been taken from you, but also of time you’re getting back with the life you now have.

For a while now, you’ve suspected the thing inside you is gone, that there isn’t much to feed off of anymore. If it is, it would make sense that there’s room for something else.

Wade and Vanessa make it look easy, even though you know it’s been far from easy for them. You suppose that’s what it’s like, especially as you get older. It’s less about big gestures, more about small ones; someone to make you laugh, to spin you under their arm, who knows how to apologize, seeks you out during your quiet moments–

“Do you dance?”

You startle, head turning towards the voice next to you–

“Logan,” you breathe.

It’s like you’re seeing him for the very first time. He’s standing so close, almost touching you but not quite, heat radiating off of him nonetheless. The plaid shirt he’s wearing isn’t even buttoned and still the fabric is pulled taunt over his shoulders and the thick of his biceps. He’s grinning, his nose pulled up in an adorable scrunch, the corner of his eyes crinkling - you never noticed before, but there’s a hint of green between the hazel.

It hits you so suddenly that you have to grab the counter to keep your balance. Everything that’s been happening, that you’ve been feeling, all the times something happened between the two of you that you couldn’t put your finger on… it falls into place with a well-timed, completely unrelated question and a glance at him.

You like him.

All you can do is blink at him, dazed, unable to speak, even more so when he leans in a little closer, mistaking your silence for misunderstanding. “I mean, not that I– You and Wade were doing a bit earlier, it’s a reference to–” Logan straightens suddenly, his expression slipping into concern as he watches you, “Are you okay?”

You feel warm, so aware of all his attention on you that you’re afraid he might be able to see your pulse blink rapidly below the angle of your jaw. “Yeah,” you reply, voice hoarse, looking away from him to blink the leftover wetness from earlier out of your eyes.

Anxiety claws its way into your chest, your mind coming to terms with what it’s puzzled together at such a sickening pace that there’s an immediate knot in your stomach. The party has instantly lost its shine, and you look down at the glass in your hand, gulping down its contents. You need to be alone with your thoughts, you need to think about this before–

“I gotta go,” you say in such a rush that it almost sounds like one word while you set your glass on the kitchen counter.

Logan’s eyes follow you as you push past him, grab your coat and reach for the doorknob. “Wait–”

“Bye, Logan.”

THE TABLE

Once at home, you change into something more comfortable, your mind racing while you peel your party clothes off, toss your bra aside, change into an oversized shirt and plop down on the couch after.

Despite having already established that your mind was occupied with other things for a very long time, it’s laughable in hindsight that you never noticed your feelings before. It’s not like you don’t know what Logan’s like; he’s kind, funny, supportive…

…broad, handsome.

Shit.

Why did you have to come to your senses? Things were better before that moment. Logan’s your friend, whom you met in the most unconventional way possible. It’s ridiculous to want more than what you have when what you have is good. Or to think that he would want more.

But he might.

Because you may have been occupied with depression, anxiety, recovery, and everything in between, but you were there; you remember the time you spent with him, the way he looks at you, drinks the coffee you like, laughs at your jokes, seems to know exactly when to call you, seeks you out in a crowd.

But it would change everyth–

Actually, not a whole lot would change, if you really think about it. You already see him all the time, you’ve seen the very worst of each other, overcome a great deal of hardship together, you make each other better, his friends are your…

friends.

You didn’t say goodbye to Wade.

The thought comes suddenly. It was his birthday party and you didn’t even say goodbye to him before you left. You’re a terrible friend. Dread sinks into your limbs, and you reach for your phone to type out a quick, apologetic message. Just as you hit send, there’s a series of loud knocks on the door, and it makes you freeze up where you’re seated.

“Are you in there?” a muffled voice calls out.

It’s Logan, you realize, and a plethora of fake excuses as to why you left the party early present themselves to your mind as you quickly make your way over to the door.

The first thing you notice when you open it is that he’s dripping wet from the rain, clothes soaked through and his hair flat. There’s a deep furrow in his brow, and it’s different from how he usually looks; he looks actually mad.

“Logan, is everything–” you begin, concerned, but he cuts you off by pushing past you and letting himself inside, boots stomping against the wooden floor.

“Jesus, here you are. Why’d you leave like that, huh? Saying goodbye, your eyes all wet. I went after you and you were fucking gone, it scared the shit out of me. Didn’t see the car at the lookout, but I went to look for you anyway, and you weren’t in the water, thank fuck–”

“Wait, you went–” you pause, the mental image of Logan running out into the rain to the cliffside making your eyes widen. “Did you think..?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, shoulders slumping.

“Shit.” Your heart is racing when you step closer to him. “No, I wasn’t… I don’t want that anymore.”

“Then what the fuck was that all about?”

The desperation and misunderstanding in his eyes is unmistakable, and you hate that you made him feel like that. “I was just… I needed a moment, after seeing Wade and Vanessa like that,” you say, trying to provide yourself with more time to think, unsure if you already want to broach the subject of why you really left.

“You… like Wade?” Logan asks, his frown deepening.

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you at the unexpected question. “No. I mean, I adore Wade, but not like that. He’s with Vanessa.”

The answer does nothing to change his expression. “And you want it to be different?”

His line of questioning confuses you. “I– No. Logan, this isn’t about Wade or Vanessa, but it’s about… what they have. Something that’s real, but imperfect, and that’s what actually makes it perfect, and I just… I was in a really bad place for such a long time, I didn’t give myself time to even think about… I haven’t felt myself wanting for so long,” your gaze flicks up to his. “Seeing them just made me realize there’s so much left that I still want.”

Internally, you curse the way he always makes you say too much, because you can see the understanding wash over his features. His expression softens, the balled fists by his side loosen, and his eyes search you, as if to see if that thing you want is him. There’s no doubt he finds his answer; you’re ever the open book when it comes to him, and your pulse quickens while he silently observes you.

Logan reaches for you so quickly that you can barely prepare for it, a hand on your waist to pull you in, another on your cheek to tip your face up and guide your mouth to his. A shaky breath sails out through your nose when your lips meet, your eyes fluttering shut and your palms sliding up his damp but warm chest to curl in the soaked fabric of his shirt. It’s eager, and the angle is off, but it’s quickly adjusted with a brief parting and a near in-sync tilt of your heads in the other direction.

Logan pulls away, but stays close, and you almost feel his words before hearing them, “Been… thinking about doing that.”

“Really?” you say, breathless and amused. “When did you, um, start wanting to do that?”

“Few weeks ago–Fuck, no, more than that. Almost did, that day after your first meeting, after you told me you were proud of me,” he admits. “But I wanted to give you time, space. Wasn’t sure if you felt–”

“I do. Didn’t realize it before, but I fucking do,” you assure him, another tug on his collar trying to pull him back to you. His admissions, knowing he wants you too, only make you want him more, like you have to make up for all the time you wasted not doing this sooner.

Logan’s hand on your waist holds you off. “I just don’t know how to… how to be this,” he confesses softly.

“That’s okay,” you say, your nose brushing against his. “I don’t either.”

He inches forward like he intends to kiss you again, but seems to reconsider, swallowing hard before saying, “Wouldn’t be the first time we figure it out together, huh?”

The words make you surge forward to close the gap between you, your brows creasing, attempting to convey everything you feel with one press of your lips to his. Logan’s hand slides from your cheek to the back of your head, pulling you to him in a way that seems to mirror your efforts. Something lights up inside you, something you lost long ago, and it makes you bold, opening your mouth under his to get a taste of him.

His grip on you tightens with a groan, spurring him into action and walking you backwards into the dark kitchen, the only illumination the slivers of moonlight that come through the kitchen window. You jolt when the back of your thighs hit the table, before you’re scrambling to get on top of it, two hands at your waist helping to hoist you up. Your thighs widen to make room for Logan’s while you push the green flannel shirt off his shoulders, struggling to peel it off his arms to the point you have to break away with a laugh to really get it right. It lands on the floor with a wet sound, before he reaches for the back of his shirt, curling his fingers around the collar and pulling it over his head.

Logan’s sturdy, warm to the touch and surprisingly pliant when you can’t help but let your fingers flit along the corded muscles and protruding veins while he toes off his shoes. His hand flies to the back of your head to fist the hair at the nape of your neck when your lips explore, find his jaw, and travel down his neck. A soft sound sails from his mouth, a barely audible moan that carries over into something deeper when your lips brush a spot just above his clavicle. Using the grip he has on you, he drags you back up to his mouth, doing some more of his own exploring when his warm tongue strokes against your own.

“You’re so good to me,” he murmurs with a buck of his hips against yours. The thrill of having him pushed up against you, half-hard, warm, full of promise, makes you moan, teeth clacking against his when you do. “Always so fucking good to me.”

It makes you want to protest, from the very moment you met, he’s the one always being that to you, but it dies on your tongue when Logan’s flicks over the tips of his fingers. His impatient hand finds its way between you, disappearing under the waistband of your underwear and stretching the material to make room. His name comes out as a whimper when his spit-slick fingers easily glide through the soft skin between your legs. He curses, another buck of his hips pressing his hand closer against you, and your kiss turns messy and uncoordinated when he dips one finger to touch your clit.

“This okay?” Logan asks when you gasp, drawing languid circles between your legs.

“Yeah, it’s just– Oh, god.” Two thick fingers find your entrance, swirling the wetness there around. “Been a while,” you manage to finish your sentence.

“I’ll make it good for you,” he promises. “You want that?”

All you can do is nod, and Logan presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth before he pulls his hand back. It’s paired with a wet sound that makes your cheeks heat, more so when you watch him get on his knees and yank you to the edge of the table, the quick turn of events and the casual display of his strength making you a little dizzy. Logan’s nose presses into the fabric between your legs with a sharp inhale, before quick, practiced moves work your underwear down your legs. One eager hand places a thigh on his shoulder as another holds you at the bend of your knee. You lie back, arching as you hurriedly pull your t-shirt over your head, leaning up on your elbows just in time to watch him bend down.

The feeling of Logan’s hot breath sailing out over your sensitive skin alone is enough to make you gasp. He drags his lips and nose across your folds, easing you into it as much as his lack of patience will allow before tasting you with a swipe of his tongue. It isn’t tentative or testing, but firm and sure, and clearly for his enjoyment as much as yours when he repeats his action and groans into you. The vibrations of it and the gentle scratch of his facial hair only add to the liquid feeling in the pit of your stomach. Letting go of your knee, he curls a strong arm around your thigh, spreading you open then pulling you flush against him while he sucks your clit into his mouth.

“Oh, that feels really good,” you spur him on, your heel digging in between his shoulder blades. You watch him with hooded eyes, shifting your weight to one elbow so you can cup your breast with a whine.

Logan’s eyes slip shut in focus, working his tongue up and down your clit and making you arch into his mouth. Reaching for you blindly, he slides a hand over yours on your chest, fingers fitting between your own and squeezing while his tongue slides lower to lick over where you’re dripping for him. He lets out an appreciative hum as he repeats the move until your thighs clench and shake around his ears. His tongue dips inside you, curling up against the slick walls of your cunt, and his name tumbles from your mouth, soft, pleading, making his eyes shoot open to meet yours.

The sight of him looking up at you like that from between your thighs, with dark eyes, the tip of his nose glistening with your wetness, will probably haunt you for the rest of your life.

Logan shushes your begging, pulling away and watching as your pussy clenches at the sudden lack of attention. “Let me give you something to come on,” he murmurs, before fitting a finger at your entrance. It meets absolutely no resistance, a second finger sliding inside with just as much ease, and he sets a steady, deep rhythm before his mouth returns to your clit.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck–” Your head rolls back between your shoulder blades, mouth open on a silent gasp, but he draws your attention back to him with a curl of his fingers, finding a spot that makes you go rigid for a second. It all builds so fast, so suddenly. The hand on your chest shakes Logan’s off, finding the crown of his head and sliding your fingers into his hair. He’s too strong to really make purchase, but you try anyway, using your grip to roll your hips against him. The sound of his groans, every flick of his tongue and every squelching, delicious curl of his fingers all send you closer and closer, until his hand presses down on your belly, and…

“Logan,” you manage, voice sharp with a warning that comes too late when he makes you tumble over the edge.

It’s so much after so long, the force of it making you fall back against the table, something between a gasp and a shout tearing from your throat. He holds you tighter, to keep you in place and guide the desperate roll of your hips against his face. Your orgasm quickly slips into something bordering on oversensitivity, and you let out a dry sob that makes you slap a hand over your mouth when Logan’s tongue travels a path from where his stilled fingers disappear inside you, up to your clit. He stays there, gentle, uncharacteristically patient as you slowly come to a twitching halt.

He’s a blur when he comes back into your field of view after standing up, towering over you to watch as you come back down to earth. Becoming sharper with every heavy blink of your eyes, you notice the smile on his face is smug, that the hair surrounding it is a shade darker than the rest. You sigh softly when his fingers slip from you, the feeling of them sliding wetly over your clit making you tremble, but his touch doesn’t leave you completely when he moves to stroke the outside of your thigh.

“How’s that?” Logan dares to ask.

“Hmm, no speaking yet,” you protest.

Reaching for him, you slide both of your arms up over his broad shoulders, wrists crossed in the nape of his neck to pull him in for another kiss. It’s slow, and deep, the taste of yourself shared between the two of you as your tongue slides over his. The table protests with a creak when his hands land beside your head, more when his chest pushes down on yours and you wrap a leg around his waist to get him even closer. The hair scattered across his broad chest teases your nipples and the hard ridge of his cock strains against his jeans and presses up against your slick cunt. It makes your jaw go slack, stoking your desire and making you burn with the need to make him feel as good as he just made you feel.

With a push against his shoulders, you take him along as you sit upright again, accompanied by another creak of the table. Mouth still on his, you slide a hand down to cup him over his jeans, the weight of him against your wide open palm making you pulse. Logan grunts when your hand squeezes, and your mouth slides off his, kissing his jaw, sliding back down his neck. He cups your head, keeping you in place while watching your hand.

“Feels nice,” he husks, voice so deep it makes you want to push him aside and get on your knees for him, but then he asks, “Are you gonna let me fuck you?”

“God, yeah,” you say with a nod, watching as the mark you just sucked into his neck disappears far too soon while you continue rubbing him over the denim. “Want you inside of me.”

“Jesus–Then get it out,” he instructs, guiding your hand to his belt.

If you weren’t so turned on you might wince at how eager you are, at how quickly you tug the buckle open and pull the leather free. Logan groans when it relieves some of the pressure, letting his forehead rest against yours. Together, you watch your hands make quick work of his zipper, your fist closing around his cock while your other hand works his pants down until he can kick it off and under the table.

He fits nicely in your palm, heavy and ready, sticky at the tip. With a purse of your lips, you let your spit trickle down in a straight line, and he hisses when it hits him. Your free hand flattens against his stomach, sliding down along the hard planes of his body and following the vein just below his belly button down, until it meets your other hand that loosely strokes up to the root of his cock. Logan arches into you when you stroke back up with a tighter grip, all but getting on his toes to chase your touch. Using both of your hands to get all of him, you twist your fists in opposite directions once, twice, before circling his tip with one thumb. Your other hand curls around the underside of him, dragging some of your spit down to his balls with the tips of your fingers.

“F–fuck,” Logan stutters when you play with him there, cupping him in your hand as well as you can and squeezing his shaft when it twitches in response. His eyes slip shut as his palms land on the outside of your thighs with a smack, fingertips digging into your soft skin.

It makes you jolt, then grin, giddy from the sharp sting and the power you have over his pleasure. “How’s that?” you echo with a teasing lilt.

He does have the words to answer, albeit a little slurred, “‘S good, sweetheart.”

The nickname tacked on at the end takes root in your chest, blooms bright and makes you ache. You translate your appreciation into tightening your strokes and spreading more of the precome that steadily leaks from his tip around.

“C’mere,” Logan says softly, taking over for you with one hand, giving himself a few strokes before pushing your thighs further apart and shuffling closer to line himself up with you.

You’re so wet that the head of his cock is practically already slipping inside of you, but your hand clasps around his bicep when he really starts to breach you. After giving you a shallow little thrust, his hips draw back, before pushing a little further, gauging your reaction.

“Just like that,” you sigh, watching the careful slide of him in and out of you. “Keep going just like that.”

He gets you opened up like that, giving you a little more with each wind of his hips. Logan’s hand finds the back of your neck, his palm splaying out and keeping you close enough that you’re practically sharing air with each sigh and moan. Eventually, your knees have to draw up to his flanks in order for him to keep going and you wind a leg around his hip to close the final distance with a press of your heel into one of the firm cheeks of his ass. A long breath sails out from between your lips when you pulse around him, slowly adjusting to having all of him filling you up. You can tell he has to put considerable effort into letting you, wood groaning below you when he clutches onto the table.

“Fuck, it’s a lot,” you say, and when he grins against your mouth you can’t help but kiss him again – just a peck. The hand at the back of your neck squeezes in reassurance as he continues to let you lead, and it’s a small gesture, but it makes you feel warm all over. You melt into it his touch, your body relaxing as the pleasure of the stretch of him takes over.

“Can stay like this a little longer if you want,” he says, but the strain in his voice says something different.

“Hmm, no, you can move.” You’ve barely said it, or his hips are drawing back, and it would have made you laugh if it didn’t feel so fucking incredible. He almost slips from you completely, before sliding all the way back inside with a grunt. The table scrapes along the floor, and vaguely you register one of your chairs falling over in the process. When he repeats the action, the furniture squeaks again below you. “Just don’t break my table.”

The sound he makes in response is non-commital, and when he fucks back into you and nudges against something wonderful, you can’t say you disagree. Grabbing hold of his shoulder and using the leg you have wrapped around him, you roll your hips against his, and he begins to meet you halfway until you work up a rhythm together. The table protest further, a shrill sound filling the room after each slap of skin–

With a frustrated groan and accompanied by a startled squeal from yourself, Logan lifts you. The surprised laugh that threatens to bubble up your throat quickly morphs into something heavier that comes out with a rasp when he makes it all look unusually effortless. Attempting to brace yourself, you sling one arm over his shoulders, the other winding around his neck so you can rake your fingers through the hair at the back of his head. It’s a struggle to keep your balance, a helpless heel digging into the back of his thigh to keep yourself upright. Quick to aid, Logan slides an arm under you, fingers splayed across your ass as your knee hangs off the inside of his elbow. He turns a quarter, presses you up against the wall, and doesn’t miss a beat as he continues fucking you.

“Jesus, Logan,” you say, voice almost a growl and barely recognizable as your own.

With your new position, you can see him better, the both of you lit from the side with the window to your left. The moonlight paints him in a tapestry of light and shadows when the wind blows through the tree branches, momentarily amplifying the glint in his eyes and the flex of his chest and arms like a strobe light.

The different angle he finds with his cock is a little too good, the feeling of the thick base of him stretching you open with each thrust making you dazed and talkative, “It’s so deep like this, can–oh, my god–can feel you everywhere.”

Logan curses at your words, squeezing your waist and pushing you harder against the wall. There’s a deep-voiced appreciation of how good you feel in there too that doesn’t quite make it from your ears to your brain because somehow he’s still speeding up. His head ducks down to your chest, mouthing at the soft skin of your breast before closing his lips around a nipple.

You whine, using the grip you have on him to roll your hips against the piston of his while you pant into his crown. Though the sound he makes against you when you do it makes you beam with pride, it’s not something you can keep up for very long, your hold on him slacking after a few thrust until you slip back against the wall.

Logan pulls back when you do, tightening his hold on you while his eyes glide from the bounce of your tits that glisten with his spit to down between your bodies.

“Touch yourself,” he instructs, grunting when you immediately do as he says by bringing a hand down between where you’re joined. Your fingers spread in a V-shape around where he fucks into you, collecting some of your mixed arousal before using it to rub your clit. “That’s it, sweetheart, fuck, make yourself come.”

You nod, rapidly feeling everything zeroing in on the fingers that draw tight circles over your clit and that spot deep inside you that Logan’s finding with every thrust. “Yeah, fuck, I’m–Don’t stop, don’t stop, please–”

He’s coming before you are, tucking his head below your chin to let out a deep, drawn out moan against your neck that ends with his teeth grazing your skin. It’s so much, the pressure of him grinding himself into you with twitching, barely there thrusts, the heat of his release as it fills you where you’re gripping him like a vice, and as your fingers still twirl between your legs you come, and come, and come.

The leg you have wrapped around his hip slips off, but before your toes can even scrape the floor, he catches your thigh, cupping your ass with both hands now to keep you up, and close. With a soft, satisfied sound, you let your forehead fall against Logan’s shoulder, tasting the salt of his sweat with every light press of your lips there.

It takes you a moment to notice your back has come off the wall, that Logan is walking the both of you into your living room and to the couch. He bends his knees, dropping you between your pillows, where you land with as much grace as you can muster considering you feel like you’re made of lead. The soft couch is pleasant against your body, your sore limbs sinking into the cushions.

Logan fits himself between your legs again, widening them around his broad shoulders before his lips find your overstretched thighs, leaving marks and kisses up up up, until his tongue slips back into your pussy. Your back arches off the couch, hands shooting down to fist his hair with a whine while Logan’s hand fists his cock. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can tell he’s already getting hard again, and his tongue is making something swirl low in your belly that’s making you pant, and...

It’ll be a long night.

THE PEARL

It had taken a lot of convincing and downright groveling, but Wade had allowed you to bring a movie for movie night. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust your taste in movies, his main gripe with your choice was that it wasn’t a Christmas movie – mandatory for December. Wade’s right, but after you explained that it’s the movie you always watch at the end of the year (and after Logan and yourself conceded that yes, his birthday was technically also your anniversary) he’d agreed.

Now that you’re actually watching it, you suspect he’s genuinely invested, because after a handful of comments about The Hulk, he’s been quiet for longer than you’ve ever heard him be quiet.

In the scene on the screen, Mark Ruffalo’s character Dan and Keira Knightley’s character Gretta are taking an evening walk around New York City, dancing, singing and sharing music with each other as they do. Eventually, they stop and sit next to each other on some steps, watching as the city continues to move without them.

“...the most banal scenes are suddenly invested with so much meaning, ya know? All these banalities, they're suddenly turned into these… these beautiful, effervescent pearls,” Dan says, wistfully looking on as New York bustles around him. “I gotta say, as I've gotten older these pearls are just… becoming increasingly more and more rare to me.”

The arm Logan has slung around your shoulder tightens, and the couch creaks softly as you lean further into his side, your cheek squishing against his warm chest.

“More string than pearls?” Gretta inquires with a frown.

“Yeah. You got to travel over a lot more string to get to the pearls.” There’s a pause as he turns to look at her, “This moment is a pearl, Gretta.”

She gives him a hint of a smile. “It sort of is, isn't it?”

“All this has been a pearl,” he admits, sharing a look with her.

A finger curls under your chin, tipping your head up until your eyes meet Logan’s. He gives you the same look you just saw on the screen, his eyes soft as they take you in, the hint of green between the hazel illuminated by the light of the television. A thumb swipes over your bottom lip fondly, before he leans down to kiss you.

It takes a lot of string indeed.

Sometimes even interdimensional string.

– – – – –

(THE END)

If you made it all the way here, thanks for reading. Seriously. Please come say hi and/or share your thoughts via ask/messages/reblogs/whatever you feel comfortable with. I hope to share more writing soon - emphasis on hope, I'm not making promises, just an educated wish.

And lastly, if you're struggling with mental health problems, please don't wait for a handsome stranger to sweep you off your feet. I know from experience that it can be incredibly difficult to reach that hand out, but I also know from experience that things can get better. There are ways to get help and you deserve to get help 🫂

#dani writing #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x you #james logan howlett x reader #worst wolverine x reader #logan x reader #x men x reader #worst wolverine #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine smut

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requiemforthepoets · 11 days ago

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ain’t nothing like an asian wedding! ⟢ LN4

part two of the crazy rich asians au ⟢ part one part three

PAIRINGS: lando norris x female!asian!reader

SUMMARY: you and lando just wanted to make the most of your singapore trip before heading off to the UK, but it seems like everything descended into series of unfortunate events. though maybe, this is also a way to get lando be acquainted with everyone that may or may not drive your whole family crazy and singapore’s social elites on a daily basis.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: non-use of y/n, reader is asian, foul language, traditional family, asian culture & tradition, food, google translated chinese, mentions of gutted fish, crazy rich asians inspired + plot, heiress reader, named characters (except reader, names are mostly taken from CRA), social status, high society, minor public indecency (not main characters), mentions of marriage & grandchild, mean/bully characters, and minor typographical errors.

WORD COUNT: 18k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!! i hope you are all having a very wonderful holidays! so i have decided to post the part 2 of ‘stickwitu’, ask and you shall receive! lolz but i love crazy rich asians so much and i just can’t let go of this kind of crossover (?). i had decided to chop off this one to three parts, with 20k max of word count since i wanna get it all out there. this one is open for taglist as well since there will be a part 3 of this, so just comment if you wanna be tagged hehe. your comments/reblogs are highly appreciated 🥺 hope you’ll enjoy this second part! <3

The early return was unplanned but felt necessary after everything that happened at Araminta’s bachelorette party. The atmosphere among the girls was tense, full of subtle jabs and veiled competition that you and Rachel simply were not in the mood to tolerate any longer.

On the second day, when you got the chance, over breakfast, you leaned over to Rachel and whispered your plan. She hesitated at first, unsure if Araminta would even believe it, but eventually nodded in agreement, trusting you to handle the situation.

You approached Araminta just before the midday activities, adopting a concerned tone as you told her that Rachel was not really feeling well. You explained how she had been feeling faint and a bit queasy since the night before but had been trying to push through. Araminta’s face immediately fell into worry, and she reached out to Rachel, who played her part perfectly, adding a weak smile and saying she just needed rest.

“I’m so sorry,” Rachel murmured, holding Araminta’s hand. “I really wanted to stay, but I think it’s better if I head back to the city.”

Araminta turned to you, her concern for Rachel deepened. “Do you need me to come with you? I don't want you both traveling alone if she’s not well.”

You shook your head, placing a reassuring hand on her arm. “Absolutely not. Minty, this is your bachelorette party, and you shouldn’t leave everyone behind. I’ll take care of everything. We’ll be fine, I promise.”

It took some convincing, but eventually, Araminta relented. She hugged you both tightly, telling Rachel to rest and recover, that she’ll be seeing you both on the wedding day. As you left the island, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt at the lie, but the overwhelming relief of leaving outweighed it.

The flight back to the city was quiet at first, the two of you decompressing from the tension of the past day. Rachel let out a laugh, shaking her head. “I can’t believe we pulled that off. I feel terrible lying to her, though.”

You sighed, leaning back into the plush seat. “I know. But honestly, that crowd was unbearable. You shouldn’t have had to endure that.”

“Thank you for getting me out of there. I owe you one.” Rachel smiled gratefully at you.

Once you landed, the two of you decided to make the most of the unexpected free day. You took her to some of your favorite spots in Singapore, then introduced her to local dishes and hidden gems around the city. From the bustling hawker centers to the serene gardens, you wanted her to see more than just the usual tourist spots.

“You weren’t kidding when you said Singapore is magical,” she said as she admired the view from Marina Bay Sands.

“It’s home,” you replied with a small smile. “And now you’ve seen a little piece of it.”

By the time you dropped her off at the hotel, it was late, the city lights twinkling against the dark sky. As you hugged her goodbye, Rachel whispered, “thanks again for today. I really needed this.”

“You’re very welcome, and hey, if anyone asks, you’re still recovering from that ‘terrible stomach bug.’”

Your family driver was already waiting as you stepped out of the hotel. You gave Rachel one last wave before sliding into the car, sinking into the leather seat as the city blurred past the window. The relief of being home and away from the chaos of the island was evident, and for the first time in days, you felt at ease.

The house was quiet as you stepped inside, but your mind was already racing with the thought of seeing Lando. The faint hum of the air conditioner and the soft creak of the floor beneath your feet were the only sounds accompanying you as you called out his name. No response.

You wandered from room to room, checking the living room, kitchen, even the study, but there was no sign of him. Then, as you approached the sliding glass doors leading to the patio, you saw him sitting there, phone in hand, smiling and laughing as he talked to someone on facetime.

Lando’s gaze shifted towards the door as you slid it open, and his face lit up when he saw you. He motioned for you to come over, his smile growing even more brighter. You made your way to him, the cool evening breeze brushing against your skin.

As you reached him, you wrapped an arm around his neck, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips. His free arm snaked around your waist, pulling you closer, and he returned the kiss, deeper and more deliberate. When you pulled away slightly, he looked up at you, his eyes filled with warmth and a hint of surprise.

“You’re back early,” he murmured softly, his thumb grazing your hip.

“I’ll tell you everything later,” you said, glancing toward the phone in his hand. It was that you noticed the familiar face on the screen, Max. “Hi, Max,” you greeted warmly.

“Hey, you,” Max replied with a grin, leaning closer to the camera. “Back already? Thought you were off on some wild bachelorette adventure?”

You laughed softly. “Something like that. I’ll tell you all about it when I see you guys. How have you been? And Pietra? I can’t wait to catch up when we're in the UK for Christmas.”

Max chuckled. “We’re good. Pietra’s already planning the whole holiday—dinner menus, decorations, everything. You’ll have to let her drag you into the chaos.”

Lando shifted slightly, pulling you down onto his lap, his hand resting on your waist as he held his phone with the other. You settled against him, his fingers idly tracing shapes on your side while you continued chatting with Max.

“She doesn’t have to drag me. I’m ready for it,” you replied, smiling. “Tell her to save me a spot in the kitchen, I’m good at taste-testing.”

“I’ll pass that on,” Max and Lando shared a laugh, but then Max’s expression softened. “Honestly though, it’s good seeing you hoth happy. Pietra and I were just talking about how happy you’ve made this muppet. But you know, we were skeptical at first.”

“Oh, I remember,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Something about expecting me to be snobby?”

Max laughed, holding both his hands up in defense. “Hey, it’s not everyday that someone from your background walks into our lives. But you proved us wrong pretty quickly. You’re as down-to-earth as they come, and more importantly, you make little Lando happy. That’s all we care about.”

Your gaze shifted to Lando, whose thumb was tracing idle patterns on your side, a content smile resting on his face. “Well, he makes me happy too,” you said softly.

Max smiled. “Good. That’s all that matters. Anyway, I’ll let you two catch up. Don’t keep him up too late.”

You laughed, nodding. “I’ll make sure he gets some sleep. See you soon, Max.”

“See you soon,” he replied, before ending the call.

As the screen went dark, Lando set his phone down and wrapped both arms around you, holding you close.

“I missed you,” he murmured, voice low and earnest.

“I missed you too,” you whispered, leaning into him, the weight of the past few days melting away in his embrace.

The evening air was cool and crisp as you sat comfortably on Lando’s lap, the soft hum of distant city noise blending with the quiet rustle of leaves. His arm rested securely around your waist while his other hand lazily drummed against the armrest of the chair. He tilted his head slightly to look at you, his expression soft but curious.

“So,” he began, voice low and easy, “why are you back early? I thought you had a few more days of bachelorette shenanigans left.”

You let out a small sigh, glancing at the darkened sky before turning your gaze back to him. “It’s a long story,” you said, trying to suppress the frustration that the memory brought up.

Lando’s brows lifted slightly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “We’ve got plenty of time and I’m not going anywhere,” he teased, tone light as he tightened his arm around you.

You laughed softly before settling deeper into his embrace. “Okay, so Rachel traveled with Minty and the other girls ahead of me to Samsara, right? I had to leave later because of a meeting, so I got there after everyone else.”

Lando nodded, his thumb tracing small circles on your side, silently encouraging you to continue.

“When I arrived at the villa,” you said, voice dropping slightly, “I saw Rachel speed-walking back from the spa. She was just wearing her robe, and she looked…off. Like she was about to cry, so I went to her and asked what happened, but she didn’t answer me right away. She just kept walking, looking like she wanted to disappear.”

His expression shifted to one of concern, his brows furrowing as he listened intently.

“I followed her back to the villa she was staying,” you continued, tone growing more serious. “And that’s when we saw a huge gutted fish on her bed, with pink lipstick scrawled across the glass window that said, catch this, you gold-digging bitch.”

Lando’s grip on your waist tightened slightly, his jaw tensing. “What the hell?” he muttered, his voice edged with disbelief.

“I know,” you said, exhaling sharply at the memory. “I wanted to call security right then and there, but Rachel stopped me—she didn’t want to make a scene. She was so humiliated, Lan. You could see it all over her face.”

He shook his head, voice low. “That’s fucking awful. Who even does something like that?”

“Oh, I know exactly who’s capable of pulling this kind of stunt,” you said scoffing, tone sharp with certainty. “Francesca Shaw. That little bitch.”

“Who’s Francesca Shaw?” Lando asked in curiosity.

You tilted your head, letting out a dry laugh. “She’s Nadine Shaw’s daughter, one of Auntie Eleanor’s closest friends. Francesca used to be an heiress to the Shaw Foods fortune, but her grandfather cut her off completely from the will after waking up from coma. Guess grandpa Shaw didn’t like how little miss two-faced was spending the family money.”

His brows shot up in surprise. “So, she’s broke now?”

“Eh, pretty much,” you said. “And before you ask, yes, she’s also Nicky’s ex. They dated briefly years ago, but it didn’t go anywhere because Nicky didn’t like how her attitude began to change for the worse. Francesca clearly thought she still had shot, but when Rachel came into the picture, that dream was practically over. She’s been a bitter bitch ever since.”

Lando leaned back slightly, grip still firm on your waist. “So, she’s trying to ruin things for them all because of jealousy?”

“Not just jealousy,” you corrected. “Envy. She’s spent her whole life in circles like ours, and now that she’s lost her position, she’s desperate to claw her way back in. She probably sees Rachel as a threat, someone she thinks doesn’t belong.”

He shook his head, clearly frustrated. “That’s pathetic. I can’t believe someone would go that far.”

“I know,” you said softly. “But Rachel didn’t want to make waves, especially not at Minty’s party. It wasn’t the time or place, and honestly, I just wanted to get her out of there. I wasn’t going to let Rachel stay there a second longer, so I told her to act like she was sick, and we left. The toxicity is just too much.”

Lando’s eyes scanned your face, then pressed a soft kiss to your temple, voice filled with reassurance. “You did the right thing. I’m glad that you were there for her.”

You gave him a small smile, “I just couldn’t stand by and let Francesca get to her. Rachel doesn’t deserve any of the shit they’re throwing to her at all.”

“Neither of you do,” Lando said firmly. “But I’m glad you’re back.”

You nodded, feeling the tension in your body ease slightly as you settled back into his embrace, the weight of the day beginning to dissipate.

The next day, you and Lando found yourselves back at your Ah Ma’s estate, where everyone was gathered in the big, spacious dining room that was only reserved for the family. The air was warm with the aroma of fresh dough and seasoned fillings, as half a dozen maids moved seamlessly, rolling small balls of dough into flat circles and forming minced meat into dozens of uniform, expertly shaped balls.

You were seated beside Nick, with Lando on your other side. While this was not Lando’s first time making dumplings, you often found yourself teaching him the technique whenever you were in Monaco. It had become a little tradition between the two of you as well, and you always made sure to leave him with a stack of freshly prepared dumplings to store in his freezer before you fly back to New York.

Lando had a knack for making dumplings by now, though you couldn’t always trust him with all the cooking in general, especially after the time you learned through Max’s stream that he had been running on no sleep for twenty-six hours, eaten out-of-date food, and spent his break before the Las Vegas GP playing call of duty. Dumplings, at least, were something he could handle—trusting not to burn his own kitchen down.

A maid carried a tray of the minced meat balls to the center of the room, where your mother and other family members—Nick, Rachel, Oliver, and your Aunties Alix and Eleanor, were all gathered around a large table. They worked busily, folding dumplings with swift, practiced hands and placing them neatly into stacked bamboo steamers.

This was a cherished family tradition, and your Aunties led the effort with the ease of many years of experience, their hands moving expertly while they kept up a lively flow of conversation. The hum of chatter filled the dining room, blending perfectly with the rhythmic movements of the dumpling-making process.

Your Auntie Eleanor carefully inspected the tray of folded dumplings and gave a satisfactory nod of approval, her sharp eye ensuring every piece was up to standard. Meanwhile, your mother glanced at the dozen trays already filled, her expression betraying a mix of alarm and disbelief.

“This is all too much,” your Auntie Alix remarked, shaking her head as she folded another dumpling with her precise fingers. “We’re only hosting a rehearsal dinner, not feeding an entire army.”

Your Auntie Eleanor countered almost immediately, her tone firm yet practical. “It is better that it’s too much than too little. Imagine people saying we’re stingy, that’s much worse.”

On the other side of the table, Nick was patiently teaching Rachel how to fold her first dumpling. He held the thin dumpling dough in his hand, placed a small ball of minced meat in the center, and carefully folded the edges, sealing it closed with practiced ease.

“It’s like tucking in a baby,” Nick explained, glancing at Rachel with a smile.

Rachel’s face lit up at the analogy. “That’s so cute,” she said, then added with mock horror, “and then you eat the baby.”

Her comment sent everyone into fits of laughter. Then Oliver, always quick to join in on the fun, leaned forward and added his own take on how to fold a dumpling.

“Grand Auntie Mabel taught me that folding dumplings is like getting botox,” he said, picking up dumpling dough. “The filling is the botox, and the wrapper is the face. You pinch it here and here, and voilà! You now have a flawless face.”

The whole table erupted with laughter again, and Rachel, shaking her head at the humor, asked, “did you all learn how to make dumplings when you were kids?”

You turned to her and nodded, folding another dumpling as you replied, “we didn’t exactly have a choice, it was mandatory.”

Then your mother chimed in from across the table, her voice carrying a mix of pride and amusement. “We taught all of you so that you’ll all understand the blood, sweat, and tears it took to raise and feed you monkeys.” she said, folding her dumpling expertly and placing it on the tray.

Your Auntie Alix nodded in agreement with your mother. “Not like the ang-mohs, microwaving everything for their children. No wonder, when their parents grow old, they send them to the old folks’ home.”

Lando turned to you, asking silently that only the two of you could hear, “babe, what’s ang-mohs?”

“Oh, it’s a colloquial expression used to refer to Caucasians or Westerners.” you replied as Lando nodded.

“Exactly. That’s what Ah Ma always says, if we don’t pass down traditions like this, they slowly disappear.” your Auntie Eleanor chimed in, tone firm.

You snickered, rolling your eyes playfully as you murmured loud enough with the intent for everyone to hear, “well, God forbid that we lose the ancient Chinese tradition of guilting your children.”

“Honestly, learning how to make these dumplings is totally worth it. I remember back when I was little, Mom used to wait for me after school with a basket of fresh dumplings.” Nick added, voice softened at the memory, and your Auntie Eleanor smiled, corners of her mouth tugging upward in quiet nostalgia.

“幸運嘅男孩!” (lucky boy!) your Auntie Alix said.

You turned to your mother and teased, “how come I never got after-school dumplings?”

Before your mother could muster out a reply, Oliver had beat her to it, smirking as he quipped, “well, probably because Auntie Elizabeth was busy having an after-school microdermabrasion.”

Your mother gasped, mock-scolding him in rapid Cantonese. “你真系个叻嘅屁股！如果你嘅祖父仲在生，佢會直接將你踢到下周.” (you’re such a smart-ass! if your grandfather were still alive, he’d kick you straight into next week) with a quick flick of her wrist, your mother threw a piece of dumpling dough at Oliver, which hit his shirt with a soft plop.

“Auntie!” Oliver looked down at the dough stuck to his chest, brushing it off with an exaggerated pout. “This is Dolce, you know.”

Laugher rippled through the room again, the air filled with warmth, teasing, and the familiar comfort of family banter.

Your Auntie Alix turned to Rachel, her expression curious yet kind. “Rachel, do you speak Cantonese?”

Rachel shook her head, smiling politely. “No, I don’t,” she admitted, then quickly added, “but it’s so great seeing your family bond like this.”

You exchanged a quick glance with Oliver, all of you caught slightly off guard by her statement, except Nick. It was not something you really thought about, it was just how things were.

Rachel seemed to sense everyone’s confusion and explained further, “growing up, it was just me and my Mom. We didn’t have a big family like yours, this is really special.”

“We’re glad that you appreciate it,” Oliver said softly. “You’re right, we’re lucky to have this.”

Your mother and Auntie Alix both smiled, their postures relaxing just a little. Your Auntie Alix even murmured, “it’s nice to hear someone appreciate it.”

Rachel, emboldened by the shift in mood, turned her attention to your Auntie Eleanor, who had been largely quiet, methodically folding dumplings with precision. Her gaze fell on the large emerald ring your Auntie Eleanor was wearing, glinting under the soft light as she carefully placed a dumpling into a bamboo steamer.

“That ring is very stunning, Auntie Eleanor,” Rachel said, voice genuinely admiring. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

You paused mid-fold, glancing at Lando, who was already looking at you, his eyes widening slightly. The conversation from the other night before leaving for Samsara immediately surfaced in your mind.

Your mother and Auntie Alix both turned to look at your Auntie Eleanor, their expressions carefully neutral as they waited to see how she would respond. Your Auntie Eleanor looked genuinely surprised, her delicate hands momentarily pausing their rhythmic folding of dumplings.

“This ring,” she began, glancing at the emerald on her finger, “was made by my husband, Nick’s father, when he proposed to me.”

Rachel’s eyes lit up with interest. “That’s really amazing. Did he design it himself?”

She gave a small node, movements deliberate as she reshmed folding another dumpling. “He did. He wanted it to be one of a kind.”

“That’s incredible! Where did you two meet?” Rachel's eyes lit up with curiosity, leaning slightly forward.

Nick jumped in, tone light and proud. “They met at Cambridge, both are studying law.”

Rachel’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I didn't know you were a lawyer.” she said, admiration apparent.

Your Auntie Eleanor resumed folding, her expression calm but firm. “I didn’t finish,” she clarified. “When we got married, I chose to withdraw from university.”

Rachel blinked, clearly taken aback. “Oh,” she said softly. “I didn’t know, I’m sorry…”

Noticing the slight tension that was slowly forming, your Auntie Eleanor elaborated, voice steady as she carefully sealed another dumpling.

“I made that decision to help my husband run his business and to raise a family. To me, that was a privilege,” she glanced at Rachel, her gaze sharp yet polite. “But to some others, it might seem old-fashioned.”

Rachel hesitated, not really sure of how to respond, but before she could say anything, your Auntie Eleanor continued.

“It’s nice of you that you appreciate this,” she said, gesturing to the room that was filled with chattering and dumpling-making. “Everyone together, contributing, creating something. But I want you to fully understand that all of this doesn’t happen by accident or with the snap of a finger. It’s because we’ve always prioritized family above all else.”

Her voice took on a slightly sharper edge, though still calm. “Sometimes, that means letting go of personal ambitions for the greater good. It’s a lesson I learned early on and one I hope will never be forgotten.”

A very heavy awkward silence settled over the table. You felt Lando’s hand subtly intertwining your fingers under the table, as you glanced at Rachel. Her smile faltered slightly, and her posture stiffened as though she was not entirely sure how to respond.

Your mother and Auntie Alix remained silent, both just looking at their dumplings, minding their own business, their expressions natural but tense. You knew they were traditional in their own ways, yet far more accepting than your Auntie Eleanor. They were not going to intervene, but their discomfort was apparent.

Rachel finally nodded, voice quiet but steady. “I see. Thank you for sharing that, Auntie Eleanor,” she said, offering a faint smile that did not quite reach her eyes.

Then, the dining room doors opened with a soft creak, and your Ah Ma entered with her Thai maids following closely behind, their presence as graceful and composed as always. She was wearing a beautiful silk blouse in shades of soft jade, with her posture upright and regal despite her old age. Your Ah Ma’s presence immediately shifted the atmosphere in the room, dissolving the lingering tension.

Everyone rose to their feet, a chorus of respectful greetings filling the space. You and Lando followed closely behind Nick and Rachel as you walked toward her, hand firmly clasping Lando’s.

Your Ah Ma’s face lit up when her gaze fell on Lando. “Ah, Lan Lan!” she exclaimed, voice warm and filled with genuine affection. “I’m happy to see you again. Tell me, has your dumpling folding improved since the last time?”

Lando smiled, bowing his head slightly in respect. “I think so, Ah Ma,” he replied, voice steady but tinged with amusement. “But you’ll have to judge for yourself.”

Nick stepped forward, taking your Ah Ma’s arm gently, and you mirrored his action on her other side. Her smile widened as she turned to Nick, patting his hand affectionately. “我很高興你帶瑞秋來了.” (i’m so glad you brought rachel) she said, voice kind but observant.

Your Ah Ma’s sharp eyes landed on Rachel, who stood politely beside Nick. She scrutinized her face for a moment, her expression contemplative before breaking into a small smile. “在白天，我可以清楚地看到她。非常漂亮的臉蛋.” (ah, in the daylight, i can see her clearly. very nice-looking face)

Rachel’s lips parted slightly, unsure how to react, but she eventually nodded and smiled, choosing to take it as a compliment. “謝謝阿媽.” (thank you, ah ma) she said, in a respectful tone.

With Nick and you guiding her, your Ah Ma walked toward her seat at the head of the table. When you reached the chair, Lando quickly stepped forward, pulling it out for her with fluid motion. Your Ah Ma gave Lando an approving nod before settling into the seat, her movements deliberate but elegant.

Once your Ah Ma was seated, she gestured with a delicate wave of her hand. “坐下，你們所有人.” (sit down, all of you) she instructed, tone commanding but not harsh.

Oliver leaned back slightly and chimed in, tone light and teasing. “We’re almost finished, Ah Ma. Just a few more baskets left.”

“Good, good,” she said, a trace of satisfaction in her voice.

While your Ah Ma was observing everyone, her gaze swept over the trays of folded dumplings, her discerning eyes pausing on a particular set of dumplings that stood out. Without any hesitation, she gestured toward the batch and turned to your Auntie Eleanor.

“埃莉諾，你做了這個批次嗎?” (eleanor, did you make this batch?) her tone was sharp, but not unkind.

You Auntie Eleanor straightened slightly, nodding with a subtle air of pride. “是的，阿媽,” (yes, ah ma) she replied, voice composed but tinged with a hint of accomplishment.

Your Ah Ma’s eyes narrowed slightly as she leaned in for a closer look, inspecting the dumplings with the same scrutiny she might give to a priceless piece of jade. Her expression shifted almost imperceptibly, and she tilted her head, her words carrying a weight of blunt honesty.

”他們看起來不太好,” (they don’t look very good) she remarked, tone in a matter-of-fact but leaving little room for dispute. “你失去了你的觸摸,埃莉諾.” (you’ve lost your touch, eleanor)

The room seemed to pause momentarily, the faintest ripple of tension spreading across the table. You glanced at Rachel, who sat stiffly, her expression carefully neutral, clearly unsure how to react to the sudden critique.

You turned to Lando, who had been watching the exchange with curiosity, leaning slightly toward you as he whispered, “what did Ah Ma say?”

Lowering your voice, you translated quickly but gently, “Ah Ma said the dumplings don’t look good, and that Auntie Eleanor has lost her touch.”

Lando made a face, and though he made no comment, the slight twitch of his lips suggested he was trying not to laugh. You gave him a soft nudge under the table, silently reminding him to keep a straight face.

Even with your Ah Ma’s comment, your Auntie Eleanor maintained her composure, her lips tightening as she focused on folding another dumpling, pretending as though the comment did not bother her at all. But still, you knew that everyone at the table heard everything, and no one was really surprised by your Ah Ma’s brutal honesty.

As the final dumplings were folded and placed neatly into the bamboo steamers, Rachel excused herself, standing from her seat with a polite smile. “I’m just going to the restroom,” she said softly, tone light.

Nick immediately offered, “I'll come with you.”

Rachel just shook her head gently, declining with a reassuring smile. “It’s fine, I can find my way.”

With that, she turned and walked off, navigating through the hallways of the estate, leaving the rest of you to finish arranging the trays.

Meanwhile, your Ah Ma’s sharp eyes scanned the remaining dumplings, her attention landing on the ones Lando had folded. Despite her age, her vision remained sharp as ever, and she leaned forward slightly, inspecting his work. A small but genuine smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

“這些很漂亮,” (these are beautiful) she said, nodding approvingly.

Lando lit up at the compliment—well, he didn’t really understand what your Ah Ma had said, but based on her reaction, it’s a positive one. His cheeks colored faintly as he looked at you for a moment, seeking your silent confirmation that he had done well.

Your Ah Ma then turned to you, tone warm but firm as she continued, “你教他很好,我的孫女。我可以看到他爲此付出的努力。你跟他幹得真不錯.” (you’ve taught him well, my granddaughter. I can see the effort he’s put into these. you really did a good job with him)

You smiled, bowing your head slightly in acknowledgment of her praise, but before you could respond, her attention shifted back to Lando. Your Ah Ma’s expression softened, yet her words carried a note of earnestness.

“Lan Lan,” she began, “好好照顧自己，好好吃飯,” (take care of yourself, eat properly) she spoke slowly enough that he could understand the weight of her words even if he did not catch every meaning of it.

Your Ah Ma paused, gaze flicking back to you for a moment, before continuing. “I remember when my granddaughter came back here to Singapore after being in Monaco. She was so worried about you.”

Then she turned again to Lando, tone shifting slightly to a mock-scolding one, though her affection for him was evident. “She told me how you hadn’t slept for twenty-six hours and were eating expired food. How can you not take care of yourself?”

Lando ducked his head slightly, his smile sheepish as he scratched the back of his neck, a faint flush creeping into his cheeks.

Switching to Mandarin, she fired rapidly at Lando, though there was no malice in her tone. “你認爲僅僅因爲你年輕，你的身體會原諒一切嗎？不會的你很幸運，我的孫女飛到摩納哥爲你做飯.” (you think just because you’re young, your body will forgive everything? it won’t. you’re lucky my granddaughter flew to to monaco to cook for you)

You were trying not to laugh as you translated everything your Ah Ma said to him, and Lando nodded earnestly, voice quiet but sincere. “I know, Ah Ma. I’ve learned my lesson.”

Your Ah Ma turned to you with a knowing smile. “我什麼時候能指望你結婚?” (when can i expect you to get married?)

You froze on your seat, eyes widening in disbelief as he words hung in the air. You felt Lando’s hand tense slightly in yours under the table, though you were sure he hadn’t understood any of it.

“我想在我死之前見到我的曾孫們。我已經沒有多少年時間了.” (i want to see my great-grandchildren before i die. i don’t have that many years left) your Ah Ma continued.

The room erupted into laughter at your Ah Ma’s bluntness, a mix of amused chuckles and good-natured teasing. Even your mother, who rarely join on such jokes, could not help but wink at you across the table.

“Ah Ma,” you began, swallowing hard, trying to find the right words to appease her. “蘭多和我還年輕。他有一個非常忙碌的職業生涯，我們現在都專注於我們的目標.” (lando and i are still young. he has a very busy career, and we’re both focused on our goals right now)

“太年輕了？胡說八道！你們兩個都老了，有什麼目標？家庭是人生最重要的目標,” (too young? nonsense! you’re both old enough, and what goals? a family is the most important goal in life) she retorted, waving her hand in the air as if brushing aside your excuses.

She leaned slightly forward, her gaze fixed on Lando now, as if silently willing him to understand what she was saying. “我走之前要抱着我的曾孫,” (i need to hold my great-grandchild before i go) she reiterated, as though her insistence alone could make it happen.

Lando, who had been smiling politely, began to glance around the table, sensing that the laughter was at his expense but unable to piece together what was being said.

“What’s going on? What did Ah Ma say?” he said, leaning towards you.

Before you could think of a way to downplay it, Nick—ever the troublemaker, grinned wickedly and leaned over. “Oh, I’ll tell you,” he said, just loud enough for the whole table to hear. “Ah Ma’s asking when you’re getting married. She wants great-grandchildren before she dies.”

His jaw dropped slightly at what Nick said, cheeks already tinged pink. “What?” Lando stammered, glancing at you for confrontation.

The laughter just grew louder as Nick continued, “she’s serious too. She’s already planning your family timeline.”

You groaned inwardly, shooting Nick a sharp look that only made him smirk wider. Meanwhile, Lando’s blush deepend, spreading across his ear and down to his neck. Rubbing the back of his neck nervously, and lips twitching into an embarrassed smile.

“I…uh…” he stuttered, clearly flustered, and you couldn’t help but smile despite the situation.

You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze under the table, leaning closer to whisper, “don’t worry, she just likes to tease. You’re doing great.”

Your Ah Ma smiled warmly at Lando, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes deepening with the kind of affection reserved for those who had truly earned it. She placed her hands gently on the edge of the table, her gaze shifting between you and him as she began to speak again in Mandarin.

“我愛你這個年輕人,” (i love this young man for you) she said, tone resolute yet tender. “我等不及你們倆結婚的那一天了。當然，這必須在我死之前發生，但沒有壓力.” (i cannot wait for the day you both get married. of course, this must happen before i die, but no pressure)

The table chuckled softly at her words, though you could feel the weight of her underlying sincerity.

“我希望你們的關係最終會導致婚姻。它必須，我很高興是他。我認識你以前約會過的所有男孩，但沒有你介紹他們給我,” (i expect your relationship will lead to marriage in the end. it must, and I’m glad it’s him. i knew all the boys you dated before without you introducing them to me) she continued, tone sharpening lightly as she referred to your past. “他們都不值得。蘭多是。他是個好人，是個紳士。我看得出他讓你多麼高興.” (none of them were worthy. but lando is. he is a good man and a gentleman. i can see how happy he makes you)

Her gaze lingered on Lando, eyes bright with approval. “你選的不錯,” (you chose well) she said firmly, her words almost carrying the weight of a blessing.

You glanced at your mother, who was watching the exchange quietly with a soft smile. When your eyes met, she gave you a small nod, as if to echo your Ah Ma’s sentiments. Your heart swelled, knowing that this was not just about Lando being accepted by your family, it was about him being fully embraced in a way that rarely happened in a family as traditional as yours.

“我們的家庭一直重視傳統的重要性，在我們自己的背景，我們自己的文化中結婚。這就是讓我們堅強的原因。但有時，當心髒看到什麼是正確的時，必須做出例外.” (our family has always valued the importance of tradition, of marrying within our own background, our own culture. it is what keeps us strong. but sometimes, exceptions must be made when the heart sees what is right) your Ah Ma’s eyes softened further as she looked at you. “你已經看到了什麼是正確的。我相信你的選擇。他會給你帶來快樂，你也會給他帶來同樣的快樂.” (and you have seen what’s right. i trust your choice. he will bring you happiness, and you will bring him the same)

Lando, though unable to follow the Mandarin, seemed to understand the atmosphere and the sentiment. He offered a polite smile, his hand tightening slightly around yours under the table.

“你知道，你是第一個正式向我介紹這樣一個人的人。這不是一件小事。它表明了對我們家庭的尊重，它表明你是認真的.” (you know, you are the first to formally introduce someone to me like this. it is no small thing. it shows respect for our family, and it shows me that you are serious) she paused, tilting her head thoughtfully. “這就是爲什麼我相信這將工作。你有我的祝福.” (that is why I trust this will work. you have my blessing)

You felt a lump in your throat as you glanced again at your mother, who was still smiling softly. There was no need for words, her expression said it all. The weight of family approval—especially your Ah Ma’s, was very significant. It was not just about you and Lando anymore, it was about the life you were building together, one that your family wholeheartedly supported.

You turned to Lando and gave him a small smile, and squeezed his hand, a private gesture of reassurance for him. Though he could not understand the exact words, you knew he felt the love and acceptance in the room, just as deeply as you did.

While everyone was now immersed in a new topic of conversation, you can’t help but notice that Rachel was taking longer than usual. Rachel hasn’t gone back yet, the same as your Auntie Eleanor. Just before your Ah Ma would say his monologue about family tradition, your Auntie Eleanor had excused herself.

You glanced at the door Rachel and your Auntie Eleanor had exited through earlier, your eyes narrowed slightly in concern. This was a sprawling estate, one where getting turned around was almost inevitable for someone unfamiliar with its labyrinth of hallways and grand rooms. You couldn’t shake the sense that something was amiss.

Minutes passed. Neither Rachel nor your Auntie Eleanor had returned. Your unease deepened. So you leaned slightly toward Lando, your voice low enough not to disrupt the ongoing chatter around the table.

“I think I’ll go check on Rachel,” you murmured. “She’s taking a little too long, and Auntie Eleanor too.”

Lando nodded, his eyes flickering with slight concern. “You think everything’s okay?”

“Well, I’m not sure,” you replied. “But I’ll find out.”

You leaned in, pressing a light kiss to his cheek, the faintest smile touching your lips despite the worry now bubbling beneath the surface. Straightening up, you excused yourself from the table, smoothing down your dress with a quick, practiced motion.

As you step away, the chatter behind you fades, replaced by the muted hum of distant sounds in the house, the faint clatter of dishes being cleared in the kitchen, soft shuffle of footsteps from maids moving about their duties.

You moved quietly, your steps deliberate as you followed the path Rachel had taken earlier. You knew this house like the back of your hand, each twist and turn etched into your memory, but even for you, it was easy to imagine how someone so unfamiliar might lose their way.

Your eyes scanned the hallways as you moved, the ornate decorations and rich furnishings familiar yet suddenly feeling imposing in the quiet. You still could not shake the thought that perhaps your Auntie Eleanor had cornered Rachel somewhere in the house, and the idea made your pace quicken.

The moment you approached the grand staircase, you approached quietly, you heard voices and stopped just short of the landing, hiding yourself out of sight behind the very heavy drapery of a nearby window. You knew it was wrong to eavesdrop on other people, but your concern for Rachel overpowered the voice of reason.

Peeking through the fabric, you saw them. Your Auntie Eleanor stood on the top step of the staircase, her posture sharp and commanding, while Rachel stood two steps below her, visibly uneasy. The height difference only seemed to amplify the imbalance in their dynamic—your Auntie Eleanor looking every bit like a hawk, and Rachel was the unwitting prey.

“I’m glad I found you,” your Auntie Eleanor began, voice low and calm, but laced with a kind of weight that felt impossible to ignore. “I felt…perhaps I was unfair to you earlier.”

Rachel immediately shook her head, her voice soft but apologetic. “No, no, it’s alright. I didn’t mean to offend you, and I’m really sorry if I did.”

“You didn’t offend me, Rachel,” she said quietly, almost too quietly, as though she were weighing each word before releasing it. “But since we’re already here, I feel it’s only fair to share something with you. Something that I don’t often talk about.”

“Alright,” Rachel said, voice barely above whisper.

“The emerald ring,” she began, lifting her hand slightly to glance at the emerald on her finger, “had been customized by my husband, Philip, because Ah Ma didn’t want to give him the family ring.”

“She…refused?” Rachel was clearly surprised.

Your Auntie Eleanor gave a small, humorless smile, the corner of her lips barely turning upward. “She didn’t think I was worthy of it. Didn’t think I was worthy of Philip.”

At that, you felt your breath catch. This was new information, something you had never heard before. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the two of them, even as guilt tugged at you for listening in.

“Why would she think that?” Rachel’s voice was cautious, tentative.

Your Auntie Eleanor’s expression hardened, though her voice remained calm. “Because I didn’t come from the right family. I didn’t have the proper connections, and I was not what Ah Ma envisioned for his eldest son. To her, I was inadequate. Not a suitable wife for the future head of the family.”

Rachel looked stunned, her hands fidgeting slightly at her sides. “I…I didn’t know.”

“No, of course, you wouldn’t,” she said softly. “It’s not the kind of thing people would discuss so openly, and why would they? It’s already humiliating to admit that you weren’t the first choice.”

Rachel’s lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but no words came out of her mouth.

“I wasn’t even the second choice. You’re Ah Ma wanted someone else entirely, someone from a family with status and wealth that matched ours. But Philip, he chose me.”

From your hiding spot, you could see the faint sheer in your Auntie Eleanor’s eyes, though her expression remained resolute. You felt your stomach tighten. This was far more personal than the surface-level gossip you and your mother often indulge in about your Auntie Eleanor.

Rachel seemed to struggle to find the right response. “I think that’s very brave of you, to have gone through that.”

“Brave?” she echoed, almost as though testing the word on her tongue. “Perhaps, or perhaps I simply had no choice but to endure it. That’s what women like me are expected to do. Endure. Sometimes, there were days when I wondered if I would ever measure up.”

Another pause filled the air, heavy and suffocating. You glanced back toward the hallway that leads to the dining room, where laughter and conversation continued, oblivious to the tension unfolding right outside.

Your Auntie Eleanor looked down at Rachel, her tone softening just slightly. “I don’t say this to make you uncomfortable, Rachel. I say it because you remind me of someone I once was, a young woman trying to find her place in a family with traditions that can feel suffocating at times. But here’s the thing.”

“To belong here,” your Auntie Eleanor said quietly, “you must learn when to bend and when to stand firm, and above all, you must understand that family will always come first before passion, before dreams. It’s not easy, but it’s the way it is.”

Her words lingered in the air, cutting deeper than anything you had expected. You tightened your grip on the drapery, heart thudding in your chest.

“But Rachel,” she said softly, almost gently, as she took a slow step closer to her. “Having been through it all myself, I can tell you this much…you will never be enough.”

The words hung in the air, deceptively gently, yet sharp enough to pierce. Rachel was eviscerated, as your Auntie Eleanor draws back, placid and calm, as if they were talking about the weather. Her hand lightly touched Rachel’s arm, almost a contradictory gesture to the blow she had just delivered.

“We should head back, I wouldn’t want Nick to worry.” your Auntie Eleanor’s tone did not falter, nor did her gaze waver. She slowly began descending the stairs.

You’re still hidden—more like frozen in place. You watched as Rachel’s expression crumbled ever so slightly, her face a mixture of hurt and confusion, though she tried valiantly to hold her composure. You felt a pang in your chest for her, but before you could decide whether to step out, you felt a presence approaching from behind.

You turned your head quickly, startled to see Lando walking towards you. His lips were already parting, likely to ask what you were doing or what was taking you so long, but you reacted instinctively. You brought a finger to your lips in a sharp shushing motion, then darted towards him as quietly as possible, pressing a hand gently over his mouth before he could make a sound.

Lando’s brows furrowed in confusion, but he obeyed your silent command, his wide eyes flickering between you and the staircase. You both froze as the unmistakable sound of your Auntie Eleanor’s heels began clicking rhythmically against the marble floor, growing louder with each step.

Peeking back around the corner just enough, your Auntie Eleanor was already headed your way, her expression calm and composed, never even looking back at Rachel, who remained standing frozen in place.

Without any second thought, you grabbed Lando’s hand firmly and began pulling him back down the hall, away from the grand staircase. His confusion deepened, but he did not resist, allowing you to guide him. You stopped just short of the door, turning to face him, you placed a hand on his chest and pressed a little to keep him from moving any further. Lando tilted his head slightly, silently asking for an explanation, but you shook your head.

“I’ll tell you everything later,” you whispered firmly, voice barely audible. “When we’re home.”

Lando frowned slightly but nodded in understanding, his gaze softening as he squeezed your hand gently. You exhaled, releasing the tension in your shoulders, and took a moment to steady yourself. Lacing your fingers together, you took one more deep breath, and walked back into the dining room with Lando by your side.

You plastered on a casual smile, even as your thoughts raced, determined to keep up the act for now.

Later that evening, you were now back to the safety and comfort of your home. You and Lando were now settled into the bed, the room quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioning. Lando was lying on his back, one arm tucked under his head, while his other arm rested lightly on your arm. The dim glow from the bedside lamp cast gentle shadows across his face as you propped yourself up on your elbow, taking a deep breath before speaking.

“Okay, here’s the tea,” you began softly, keeping your voice low in the stillness of the room.

Lando turned his head to look at you, his brows knitting slightly. “What’s the tea?”

You hesitated for a moment, gathering your thoughts, before recounting everything you had overheard between Rachel and your Auntie Eleanor by the grand staircase. You spoke carefully, detailing the conversation, voice growing more serious as you described your Auntie Eleanor’s sharp words, her admission about the family ring, and the way she had undermined Rachel. Lando listened intently, his gaze never leaving yours, expression shifting from concern to quiet disbelief as you continued.

“And then,” you said, voice dropping even lower, “she told Rachel she would never be enough. I just couldn’t believe it, honestly. It was so cruel.”

“That’s awful,” he said firmly. “I can’t imagine how Rachel must’ve felt when she heard that. She must’ve been gutted—no pun intended.”

You chuckled, then suddenly feeling the weight of the moment settle between you. “I wanted to step in, but I didn’t know how without actually making it worse. Then I saw you coming,” you paused, sighing. “I just don’t know how to fix it.”

Lando reached out, taking your hands in his, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “It’s not your fault,” he said reassuringly. “Your Auntie Eleanor has her own set of issues. But Rachel seems strong, I’m sure she’ll handle it.”

You nodded, though the worry lingered in your chest. “I just hope my whole family can be as welcoming to Rachel as they’ve been to you. She deserves that. Nick deserves that.”

“Your family has been incredible to me,” he said. “Your Ah Ma, your Mom, even your Auntie Alix, they’ve all made me feel like I belong, even though I’m not from the same background—traditionally, as you. That means everything to me. It’s rare to find that kind of acceptance.”

You felt your chest warm at his words. “I’m so happy they’ve accepted you,” you murmured. “It makes me love them even more, knowing they see how amazing you are.”

He chuckled lightly, ears turning red at your compliment. “Well,” Lando said, tone turning playful, “Ah Ma did say she expects a grandchild, so I guess I’m officially part of the family now.”

You laughed softly, then tension from the earlier conversation easing slightly. But as you rested your head against his chest, you whispered, “I just hope Rachel gets that chance too. To feel what we have with my family.”

Lando pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his voice gentle as he said, “she will, it might take time, but your family loves deeply. They’ll come around, and if not, well, Nick and Rachel would always have us. That’s a pretty good start, don’t you think?”

You nodded. “But hey,”

“Hmm?” he hummed, looking at the ceiling aimlessly.

“I was thinking,” you started, “tomorrow’s our last free day before Colin and Araminta’s wedding. I was wondering if it’s okay with you if I spend it with Rachel. I feel like she could use some company, and I’d love to catch up with her one-on-one.”

Lando’s lips curved into a small smile as he nodded. “Of course, love. You don’t need to ask, and I think that’s a great idea.”

“Are you sure?” you pressed. “I don’t want to leave you feeling bored or anything.”

He shook his head. “Yeah, take your time. I can keep myself busy.”

At that, you looked at him with curiosity. “Oh? What’s your plan for the day?”

Lando grinned, “actually, I was thinking of hitting up your Dad for a few rounds of golf. He told me during Ah Ma’s dinner party to let him know anytime I wanted to play, so I figured I’d take him up on that offer.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at the thought of Lando and your father on the golf course together. “That sounds perfect. I think he’d love that.”

“It’ll be nice to spend some time with him, and,” he added with a playful grin, “it’ll give me a chance to show him I’ve been practicing my swing.”

You chuckled, “well, don’t let him win too easily, or else he’ll never let you live it down.”

Lando laughed along with you, then leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Go spend the day with Rachel,” he said warmly. “I’ll be fine, and later, you can tell me all about it over dinner.”

“Deal,” you said with a grin.

The warm scent of roasted coffee filled the air as you and Rachel sat across from each other at the small patio table. The sunlight filtered gently through the canopy above, casting dappled shadows on the table between your cups of coffee. Rachel stirred her latte absentmindedly, her eyes occasionally drifting to the street beyond before meeting yours.

“I’m really glad you agreed to meet with me,” you began, voice steady but soft.

Rachel offered a small smile, though it did not quite reach her eyes. “Of course. I wasn’t sure if you’d want to talk after everything.”

You took a deep breath, setting your coffee cup down carefully. “I wanted to talk because I owe you an apology. For everything.”

She tilted her head slightly, her brow furrowing. But she let you continue speaking.

“I’m sorry for how you were treated at the dinner party by my family,” you continued, gazing at her earnestly. “Especially by my Auntie Eleanor. I know she was cruel, and I won’t make any excuses for her just because she’s family. You didn’t deserve that.”

Rachel let out a shaky breath, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she leaned back in her chair. “Thank you for saying that, it truly means a lot.”

There was a brief pause before you added, “and I need to come clean about something.”

“I overheard everything Auntie Eleanor said to you by the staircase,” you admitted, glancing down at your hands for a moment before looking back at her. “It wasn’t my intention to eavesdrop, I swear. I was going to get something from the car, and I happened to pass by.”

She studied you for a moment, then let out a soft sigh. “Honestly, I’m not even surprised you overheard. She wasn’t exactly trying to whisper.”

You gave a small, rueful smile. “Still, I should have stepped in sooner. I hate that she made you feel the way you did.”

Rachel’s grip on her coffee cup tightened briefly before she let out a small, humorless laugh. “It was pretty intense, I’ve got to say,” she admitted. “I mean, I felt like I was going to cry and puke all at once.”

The two of you exchange a glance before breaking into laughter. The sound was a relief, breaking the lingering tension like the first warm breeze after a storm.

“Well,” you said. “I bet if you tell her that you’d leave Nick for a million of dollars, she’d write that check on the spot.”

Her eyes widened for a moment before she burst into laughter again, this time louder and freer. “You think so?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you replied, grinning. “It’s a pretty normal thing to do here. A million-dollar breakup is just another Tuesday.”

Rachel shook her head, still laughing, and took a sip of her latte. “That’s terrible.”

“Maybe it is,” you smiled and shrugged. “But I know my Auntie Eleanor.”

She then set her coffee cup down, fingers fiddling with the edge of her napkin as her expression shifted something akin to serious.

“You know, I just…I don’t even know what to do anymore. Whether I will tell Nick everything or not,” she admitted, voice quieter now. “I can see how much Nick practically worships his Mom. I mean, it’s like she can do no wrong in his eyes.”

You nodded slowly, absorbing her words. “I fully understand that,” you said carefully, tone gently. “It’s common, especially with Chinese sons. They hold their mothers on a very high pedestal, and it’s not just cultural, it’s ingrained, passed down through generations. Mothers are revered, respected almost to a fault.”

Rachel let out a small, defeated sigh, leaning back in her chair. “So what am I supposed to do? Compete with that?”

You shook your head, giving her a smile. “No, you don’t need to compete with anyone. Look, on the bright side of all things, Ah Ma loves you. Did you notice how she complimented you yesterday? That’s pretty big.”

Her brow furrowed slightly as she thought back, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “She did, didn’t she? I was not really sure what to make of it at first, but I guess that was her way of showing approval.”

“Exactly,” you said. “Let Auntie Eleanor stew in her own bitterness if she wants to. She can hate you all day long or even her whole life if that’s what she’s determined to do.”

“That’s…comforting?” she raised an eyebrow, her smile wavering.

“Just let Auntie Eleanor be, she has nothing against two thousand years of Chinese filial piety.” you chuckled.

“What do you mean?” Rachel asked, intrigued but unsure.

You gestured gently with your hand, voice steady but light. “At the end of the day, it’s not really about Auntie Eleanor. It’s about what Ah Ma thinks, and in this family, her opinion carries the most weight, and she’s already decided that she likes you. Auntie Eleanor might throw tantrums and make her snide comments, but she can’t overturn the foundation of how this family works. What Ah Ma says, goes.”

Rachel sat back, her lips curving into a small, thoughtful smile. “So, you’re saying that I don’t need to fight back? Just let her do her thing?”

You nodded. “Exactly. She’s not the one you’re trying to win over, and frankly, she doesn’t hold the power she thinks she does. As long as Ah Ma’s around and on your side, you’re practically untouchable.”

“You make it sound so simple.” she let out a soft laugh, her tension finally easing.

“It’s not simple,” you admitted with a small shrug, “but it’s the truth. You’re a part of this family now, Rachel—whether they like it or not, and you’ve already got the most important ally you could ask for.”

Rachel’s smile grew warmer, and for the first time, she looked truly at ease. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I needed to hear that.”

The midday sun cast long shadows over the manicured fairways of Sentosa Golf Club. Lando steadied his swing, aiming for the flag ahead. Your father stood a few paces behind, watching his stance with an appraising eye. The gentle rustling of the trees and occasional chirping of birds provided the only background noise. Lando took the shot—clean, low drive that rolled smoothly onto the green.

“Good shot,” your father remarked, nodding in approval as they walked toward the cart together.

“Thank you,” Lando replied, brushing his hands against his shorts.

As they drove to the next hole, your father leaned back slightly, gaze fixed ahead. “So, Lando,” your father began, his tone casual. “What are your plans?”

Lando glanced at him, slightly startled by the abruptness of the question. “Plans, sir? You mean with golf? Or…generally?”

Your father chuckled softly, shaking his head. “No, no. Not with golf, I meant your plans for the future. It’s a broad question, I know, but I’m curious.”

He straightened. “Oh, well…I’m focused on my career right now, of course. Racing tends to keep me pretty busy, but I try to balance things as best as I can.”

Your father nodded as they both stepped out of the cart. He let a few moments pass before continuing, voice taking on a more serious tone. “When my wife came back from her mother’s estate last night, she mentioned something to me over dinner.”

Lando tilted his head, curious. “What is it?”

“She said that Ah Ma gave you and my daughter her approval,” your father said, eyes steady on Lando. “Ah Ma hopes your relationship will end in marriage someday.”

Lando blinked, caught off guard by the directness of the statement, or just how straightforward your father is. He shifted his weight slightly, unsure of how to respond to your father.

Your father, noticing his hesitation, offered a small smile. “Don’t worry, Lando. I’m not here to pressure or scare you away. But I thought it might be important for you to understand something about how everything goes on around here.”

“In our culture,” your father explained as he placed the golf ball on the tee, “relationships are viewed differently than in the West. They’re not just about love or companionship, they’re built on sacrifice, duty, and responsibility. When you commit to someone, you’re committing to the entirety of it all—even to the family. It’s a partnership that demands effort and selflessness.”

“Now,” your father took his shot—a smooth, powerful drive that sent the ball soaring down the fairway. He straightened and turned back to Lando, resting the driver on his shoulder. “I’m not saying this to intimidate you. It’s far from it. I know how much my daughter cares for you, and from what I’ve seen, you care for her just as much. But I want to make sure you understand what this means to us—our family and her. It’s not just about dating or having fun. It’s about building a life together.”

Lando swallowed, feeling the weight of your father’s words. “I…I get that, sir. I really do, and I want you to know that I take our relationship seriously. She’s,” he paused, searching for the right words. “She’s the most important person in my life. I may not have everything figured out yet, but I’m fully committed to her. I want to make her happy and support her in every way I can.”

Your father studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “That’s good to hear, Lando. You’re a good man, and that’s all I needed to know.”

Lando exhaled softly, relieved but still thoughtful. Your father clapped him on the shoulder. “Now, let’s see if you can make this shot. I’m one up on you, and I don’t plan on losing today.”

”We’ll see about that, sir.” Lando grinned.

The two of them had just finished their round and were sitting in the shaded patio area of the clubhouse, sipping on cold drinks. Your father leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed.

“You know, back in her teens, she was quite the handful.” your father began, voice carrying an edge of humor.

Lando turned to him, intrigued but slightly nervous. “Oh?”

Your father nodded, a sly smile on his face. “She used to escape the house and date boys behind our backs. Thought she was clever about it too.”

Lando’s lips twitched into a smile, imagining you as a teenager, trying to outsmart your parents. “Really? I can’t imagine her sneaking around like that.”

“Oh, she was good,” your father said, in a playful tone. “She never introduced us to those boys, but we always knew who they were. We made it our business to know. Still, we never made a fuss, we figured she’d grow out of it—and she did.”

He just smiles as your father tells these little snippets of anecdotes of your life that you had never told Lando before. Lando just kept silent, and continued listening to your father.

“So when she introduced you to us, we were shocked to be honest.” your father laughed, a deeper, more genuine sound. “It was the first time she brought someone home. That was our first indication that this was serious, different from anything she’d had before.”

“To tell you the truth,” your father continued, tone shifting to something more reflective. “We always thought she’d end up seriously dating one of the sons from our family’s business partners, since that’s how these things tend to go. But looking at it now, we’re thankful that it’s you.”

Lando blinked, caught off guard. “Thankful? Why’s that?”

Your father leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table. “Because those boys, they have big, fragile egos. Pampered from birth, they’ve never had to work for anything, and never had to learn humility. Trust me, there’s nothing worse than a man who can’t admit his faults.” he looked at Lando meaningfully. “You’re nothing like that, you’ve worked hard for everything you’ve achieved. You respect her, and that means a lot to us.”

“Thank you, sir.” Lando replied as he felt a warmth spread through his chest. “That really means a lot to me.”

Your father nodded, a small but approving smile on his face. “Just don’t let her outplay you on the course of life, Lando. She might be silent and reserved most of the time, but she’s competitive.”

Lando laughed. “Oh, I know. She’s already winning in a lot of ways.”

“Good. That’s what I like to hear.” your father regarded him for a moment, then smiled. “Now, shall we see if they have any dessert worth trying here? Golf always leaves me craving something sweet.”

“Sounds good to me, sir.” Lando chuckled.

The house was still dark when you arrived, a quiet stillness greeting you as you set your things down and flicked on the lights. After slipping into more comfortable clothes—a loose white shirt and soft shorts, you made your way to the kitchen.

You had informed Lando earlier that you had decided it would be steak night, so you tied your back and opened the fridge, pulling out the steak to defrost, then setting them on the counter before gathering ingredients for the side dishes. You peeled and chopped the potatoes, boiling them in a pot of salted water, and then turned your attention to the vegetables.

Then you sliced the carrots, zucchini, and bell peppers—the rhythm of chopping and preparing was soothing, you then drizzled them with olive oil, sprinkled them with salt and pepper, then slid the tray into the oven to roast.

By the time the vegetables were roasting and the potatoes were soft, the steaks were now finally defrosted. You began to season them generously with salt, pepper, and a hint of garlic powder, then heated a cast-iron skillet until it was searing hot. The steaks sizzled as they hit the pan, filling the kitchen with the rich aroma of cooking meat.

While the steaks rested, you drained the potatoes and mashed them with butter, cream, and a touch of garlic. The creamy texture was perfect, and you set the pot aside before arranging everything on the plate.

Tonight, you wanted to dine outside by the pool deck, where the view of the city lights was nothing short of magical. Grabbing a couple stacks of plates and utensils, you stepped out to the deck and set the table. The air was cool, and the glow from the pool lights danced against the walls, creating a cozy ambiance.

Just as you returned to the kitchen to plate the food, you felt an arm wrapped around your waist and a soft kiss pressed to your cheek. Startled, you spun around to see Lando smiling down at you, hair slightly mussed from the day.

“You scared me!” you said with a laugh, leaning up to kiss him on the lips.

“Sorry,” he murmured, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “It smells amazing in here.”

“So, how was your day with Dad?” you asked smiling, brushing a hand over his arm.

“It was good,” he replied. “Tiring, but good. I think I held my own.”

You smiled at that and patted his chest gently. “Go change into something comfortable and grab a bottle of wine from the rack, we’re eating outside by the pool deck.”

“On it,” Lando said with a quick kiss to your temple before heading off to the bedroom.

You carried the plated food out to the pool deck, setting it down on the table. The city lights twinkled in the distance as you adjusted the chairs and smoothed the tablecloth. Lando soon joined you, a bottle of red wine in hand, dressed in a simple shirt and joggers.

“That looks incredible, love.” he said as he set the wine down and pulled out a chair for you.

“Why thank you,” you smiled, settling in on the chair. “Let’s eat.”

As the two of you began eating, the sound of clinking utensils and the occasional splash of water from the pool filled the serene evening air. You cut into your steak and took a bite before glancing at Lando, who was pouring wine into both of your glasses.

“So, as promised,” you began, setting your form down for a moment. “I wanted to tell you about the conversation that I had with Rachel earlier when I met up with her.”

Lando looked up from his glass, giving you his full attention. “Yeah? How did it go by the way, how’s she holding up?”

”She’s trying, but she’s still shaken from what happened with Auntie Eleanor.” you replied. “She told me that she finds it hard to tell Nick everything because Nicky practically worships her Mom, because well, that’s how Chinese sons are—they think their Moms fart Chanel No.5.”

He froze for a moment, processing what you said, and then burst into laughter. Lando set down his wine glass as he leaned back in his chair, shaking his head.

“That’s such an oddly specific comparison, babe. But honestly,” Lando said through his laughter, “it’s kind of perfect. I admit that at times, I notice that’s how Nick acts around Auntie Eleanor, isn’t it?”

“Yup,” you confirmed as you took another bite of your steam. “Rachel feels like Nick would never fully stand up to his mother and I get why she’s worried. But I explained to her how Auntie Eleanor is basically defenseless against two thousand years of Chinese filial piety.”

“Filial piety?” Lando repeated, brows furrowing slightly.

You took a sip of wine, then set the glass down carefully before explaining. “It’s this concept in Chinese culture that emphasizes respect, obedience, and care for your parents and elders.” you continued, “it’s not just about being polite, it’s deeply rooted in our traditions and values. Sons, in particular, are expected to honor their mothers in every way possible. That’s why it sometimes feels like their Moms can do no wrong.”

Lando nodded slowly, taking in your words. “So it’s more than just a family dynamic—it’s cultural, like a duty?”

“Exactly,” you said with a small smile. “It’s why Rachel feels the way she does, but I told her that she shouldn’t worry too much. Ah Ma has taken a liking on her, and that’s already a gold sign. Auntie Eleanor might act high and mighty, but at the end of the day, she doesn’t really have a say in Ah Ma’s decisions.”

“Basically, you’re saying that Auntie Eleanor has no powers here?” he tilted his head, eyes narrowing playfully.

“Not over Ah Ma, no. Hell no,” you said, chuckling. “And honestly, I think it’s about time someone stood up to Auntie Eleanor. Rachel is strong, even if she doesn’t always realize it, Nick and her will be fine. It’s just a matter of time she finds her own footing and Nick learning to balance his loyalty to Auntie Eleanor with his commitment to Rachel.”

Lando chuckled softly, raising his wine glass. “Well, here’s to Rachel and Nick figuring it out, and to Ah Ma—who clearly runs the show.”

You clink your wine glass against Lando’s with a grin. “Family is really fucking complicated, but hey, cheers to that.”

When Lando finished the last bite of his steak, he set his fork down with a satisfied sigh. “Speaking of Ah ma,” he began, swirling his wine glass, “you Dad told me something very interesting stuff today.”

You raised an eyebrow, curious. “Oh? What did he say?”

Lando smiled, leaning back in his chair. “He mentioned how he knew that Ah Ma already gave us her blessing and that she’s expecting this relationship to end up in marriage.”

You froze mid-bite, fork hovering above your plate. “Wait,” you said slowly, “did Dad give you the talk?”

His grin widened, and before he could even answer, you groaned and buried your face in your hands. “Oh my fucking god, that’s so embarrassing.” you mumbled, voice muffled.

“It wasn’t bad,” Lando said laughing. “He was just laying it all out on me. Talking about how serious relationships are in your culture and how family values commitment. Honestly, I kind of expected it.”

You peaked through your fingers, cheeks burning. “Still,” you muttered, “he didn’t have to do that.”

Lando leaned forward, eyes sparkling mischievously. “Oh, but that’s not all he told me.”

Your hands dropped from your face, your eyes narrowing in suspicion. “What else did he say?”

He smirked. “Apparently, back then you had a rebellious streak. Sneaking out to go on dates with different boys, huh?”

You groaned, slumping back in your chair. “Nooo. He did not tell you that.”

“Oh, he did,” Lando teased, clearly enjoying himself. “And he said that they knew exactly who those boys were because they were keeping track.”

Your head dropped to the table with a dramatic thud. “Why does Dad always have the need to air my embarrassing phase like that,” you said, voice muffled against the table.

Lando laughed. “Hey, it’s not that bad,” he reassured you.

Lifting your head, you frowned at him, still mortified. “Okay, but in my defense, I always had a feeling that they knew. Especially dad. I wasn’t exactly completely sure, you know? But now…” you sighed, gesturing at him. “Now I know that they know. Great.”

He reached across the table, fingers brushing against yours. “Is that why none of those boys ever made it past your family’s front door?”

“Yup,” you said, nodding. “Not a single one got far enough to meet my parents, I couldn’t really stand the thought of introducing someone who didn’t actually care about me at all.”

You continued, leaning back in your chair. “Along the way, I realized that they only wanted to be with me because of my family. They saw me as some kind of tool…I guess. Like being with me would give them status, connections, or some kind of benefit.”

Lando’s smile faded slightly, his expression turning serious. “I can imagine how tough it must’ve been.”

“I know,” you admitted. “I just wanted genuine connections, but they just saw me as an opportunity. So, before things got messy, I was always the one who ended it first. That’s why none of them ever got through the door of my parent’s house, or let alone set foot on our estate. They weren’t worth it at all.”

Lando reached across the table, hand covering yours. “Well, for the record, I’m glad your Dad approves of me, and I hope I’ve made it clear that I’m here because of you, not anything else.” he then added, “I do hope that I’ve done a better job at proving I’m not one of those boys.”

You smiled, finger tightening around his. “You’re not even close. You’re nothing like them, Lan. You’ve made it more clear, that’s why you’re here now.”

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains as you stood in front of the mirror, smoothing out the delicate fabric of your gown. The gown was breathtaking, every inch was meticulously crafted by Giambattista Valli himself. The subtle shimmer in the fabric caught the light as you moved, and you smiled, tracing your fingers over the discreet initials that had been embroidered near the hem—a personal touch that made the gown uniquely yours. Lando’s suit complemented you perfectly, a sharp, tailored masterpiece with matching initials of his name on the inner lapel.

Lando adjusted the cuffs on his crisp white dress shirt but fumbled slightly with the cuff links. Noticing his struggle, you stepped in closer, gently taking the cuff links from his hands.

“Here, babe, let me,” you said softly, deftly fastening the sleek gold links.

His eyes met yours, a small smile forming on his lips. “Thanks, love. You always know how to save me, huh.”

“You’d manage eventually,” you replied with a teasing smile, your fingers lingering for a moment on his wrist. “But we can’t afford to be late.”

Just as you finished, a soft chime from your phone notified you of the arrival of the car. “The car's here,” you said, stepping back to grab your clutch.

Lando picked up his jacket, slipping it on before crossing the room to you. “Ready?” he asked, offering his arm.

“Ready,” you confirmed, taking his arm as he led you to the door.

The car was waiting at the entrance, its sleek black exterior gleaming in the sunlight. The chauffeur quickly stepped out, opening the door for you, and Lando helped you down the small steps, his hand steady at your back as you navigated the delicate heels you were wearing. He opened the car door, his free hand gently resting on yours as you lowered yourself into the plush interior.

“Careful,” he murmured, making sure you were settled before following after you.

Once he was seated beside you, the car pulled smoothly away, the soft hum of the engine filled the air. You glanced at the matching embroidery on your outfits, a quiet sense of anticipation washing over you as you looked ahead to the day’s events.

The car slowed to a stop in front of the First Methodist Church, the scene outside was a whirlwind of flashing cameras and steady buzz of voices. There was a long line of luxury vehicles stretched down the street, each one spilling out more high-profile guests—foreign dignitaries, government leaders, business tycoons, and a studded lineup of Asia’s brightest stars.

Crowds outside were a sea of media personnel, their cameras aimed and ready to capture every moment of what deemed Singapore’s wedding of the century, akin to Royal Asian Wedding. The chauffeur stepped out and swiftly opened Lando’s door. He exited gracefully, buttoning his tailored suit jacket before turning to offer you a hand. You placed your hand in his, and helped you out of the car.

The moment you fully got out of the car, the flash of the cameras intensified, different photographers yelling questions and calling your names. You paused beside Lando, your arm loosely looped through his, both of you offering calm, poised expressions for the cameras.

“This is a lot,” Lando murmured under his breath, leaning closer so only you could hear.

“Welcome to Singapore’s media circus,” you replied quietly, managing a polite smile as you stood in place for a few more seconds.

The attention was relentless. A few reporters called out to Lando directly, asking for interviews or comments, their voices cutting through the crowd. He shook his head subtly, lifting a hand to politely decline as the two of you turned to make your way towards the church entrance.

You glided across the red carpet, your hand still resting lightly on Lando’s arm. As you approached the grand doors, the tall, ornate arches of the church loomed above, intricate carvings catching the light. The media frenzy continues behind you, but you maintain your composure.

Then, as you entered the threshold, a familiar face came into view, one that is so familiar with you—Francesca Shaw. She stood just off the side, her sharp eyes scanning the crowd as if assessing everyone in attendance. Her pristine gold dress was undoubtedly designer, her hair styled to perfection.

Your expression shifted instantly, a smile vanishing into a deadpan look. Francesca caught your gaze for a moment, her lips twitching as if she might say something, but your firm expression was enough to make her quickly redirect her attention to something, or rather someone else.

Lando noticed the brief exchange as you both walked past her. “Who’s that?” he asked, voice low but curious.

You glanced at him. “Francesca Shaw,” you replied simply, keeping your tone neutral.

He furrowed his brows. “Should I know who she is? Friend of yours?”

“Fuck no,” you answered quickly. “She was the one that’s responsible for the gutted fish in Rachel’s bed during Minty’s bachelorette party.”

Lando blinked, steps faltering for just a moment. “Wait, that’s her?!”

“Mm-hmm,” you confirmed, leading him further into the church. “Best to steer clear. Nothing good comes from her.”

He nodded, expression tightening slightly as he glanced back toward Francesca. “Noted.”

As you and Lando stepped into the main part of the church, the sheer opulence of the space struck you in awe. The vaulted ceilings were adorned with intricate gold details, and the air was filled with soft strains of a live string quartet stationed discreetly in one corner. Every surface seemed to glisten, whether from the polished marble floors, crystal chandeliers, or the hundreds of white orchids cascading over every available surface. It was evident that no expense had been spared—the grandeur practically screamed wealth and power.

Lando’s eyes scanned the space as he whistled low, “this is extravagant.”

You smiled, leaning slightly closer to him as you whispered back, “wait until you see the reception. This is just the warm-up.”

You and Lando moved further into the church, where you caught sight of your family by one of the pews. Your mother stood alongside your Auntie Alix, Auntie Eleanor, and Auntie Jacqueline, their presence commanding attention as they chatted with a group of equally polished society wives. It was a familiar tableau—your aunts all clustered together, forming an impenetrable circle of sharp eyes and even more sharper tongues.

Predictably, your Auntie Eleanor seemed to be critiquing the whole setup. She gestured subtly towards the floral arrangements, her expression a mix of disapproval and thinly veiled judgement. While your Auntie Jacqueline, ever the pragmatist, seemed to be nodding in agreement, and your mother maintained her usual composed smile, occasionally offering diplomatic comments.

You and Lando approached them briefly, exchanging polite greetings. Your mother’s smile softened when she saw you, and she leaned in to kiss your cheek.

“You look very lovely, my darling,” she said, before glancing at Lando and adding, “and the two of you together—perfection, as always!”

After a few moments of pleasantries, you had excused yourselves, knowing the four of them would stick together for the ceremony and be seated in the same pew.

You made your way to the second row, you noted that the first row had been reserved for the Khoos and Lees, with Colin and Araminta’s immediate families already seated. You scanned the room quickly but no sign of Rachel yet, though Nick was near the altar with Colin and the other groomsmen, laughing and chatting. You assumed Rachel must be somewhere nearby.

Upon reaching your seats, you and Lando slid into the second row, settling into the plush velvet cushions. Three rows behind you, your mother and aunts had taken their places, their polished presence unmistakable even without turning around.

You leaned towards Lando, lowering your voice into a conspiratorial whisper. “So, I heard from Auntie Alix,” you began, glancing around to make sure no one was eavesdropping, “that Colin and Minty’s family spent sixty-five million dollars on this wedding.”

Lando’s eyes widened slightly, though he managed to keep his expression neutral. “Sixty-five?” he repeated under his breath.

You nodded, biting back a laugh as you added, “and it made me laugh because I heard Auntie Jacqueline said, ‘we’re Methodists, forty million is our maximum budget for a wedding like this.’”

That was enough to make Lando chuckle softly and shake his head in disbelief. “Forty million is the maximum?” he echoed, tone incredulous but amused.

You grinned, leaning back slightly but keeping your voice low. “Apparently, anything above that is considered excessive—even by our standards.”

Then, you turned around discreetly in your seat to scan the church again, searching for Rachel. It didn’t take long to spot her, she had just arrived and was being greeted warmly by Oliver by the entrance. She moved with a quiet confidence, her luminous presence immediately drawing attention. Heads all turning as she walked past, captivated by the stunning dress she wore—a rich light blue that complimented her complexion perfectly and subtly shimmered in the light.

Your aunts, seated a few rows behind you, were visibly taken aback. Auntie Eleanor, who rarely displays much reaction, looked momentarily stunned, her usual sharp expression softening into one of unguarded surprise. Your Auntie Alix leaned closer to whisper something to her, and Auntie Jacqueline adjusted her posture, almost as if reevaluating Rachel in that moment.

Your mother, however, was all warmth. You could see her beaming brightly at Rachel, her smile filled with genuine approval. You knew immediately what she was thinking, she completely adored the dress and the elegance Rachel exuded.

But something else caught your attention. Rachel glanced towards the pew where your mother and aunts were seated, but she didn’t move towards them. It was obvious she had not been invited to sit with them. Likely, they had made some excuses about how their pew was full, even though you could see there was space.

Rachel hesitated for a brief moment, her eyes scanning the room for an empty seat. Without thinking twice, you raised your hand and waved her over, her eyes lighting up when she saw you, and she made her way towards you. When she reached you, you immediately stood up and pulled her into a warm hug.

“You look absolutely incredible,” you whispered, meaning every word. You stepped back slightly to admire the dress. “That color on you, it’s just so perfect.”

Rachel smiled, her cheeks flushing just slightly. “Thank you,” she replied softly, clearly touched by the compliment.

You gestured to the space beside you. “Come, come. Sit with us,” you said, nodding toward the pew. “There’s plenty of room here.”

She hesitated for only a second before accepting. “Thank you,” she said, voice genuine.

Rachel slid into the pew beside you, and you could feel a subtle sense of relief in her presence as she settled into the seat. Lando leaned over slightly to greet Rachel with a polite nod and warm smile, and exchanged a quick look with him, silently acknowledging how significant this small act of kindness was, especially considering the dynamics at play.

Then, the murmur of the crowd faded into silence as Colin, Nick, and the four other groomsmen made their entrance alongside the pastor. Together, they formed an impeccable picture of elegance and charm, with their perfectly tailored suits catching the soft glow of the church lights. They walked with synchronized strides, confident yet there’s a reverent air about them, like a dashing pack.

Your attention drifted to Rachel, seated beside you, and the way her expression softened when her eyes found Nick. You caught the subtle shift in her demeanor as their gazes locked, a quiet exchange of affection that needed no words. There was something magnetic about the way they looked at each other, as though the entire room fell away for just a brief moment.

A hush of anticipation swept over the congregation as Kina Grannis took the stage by the live string quartet. Her voice rose delicately, the familiar strains of I Can’t Help Falling in Love filled the whole church with a dreamy, romantic air. The melody was sweet and tender, it struck a chord deep within, making the atmosphere impossibly more magical.

Two tiny figures appeared at the entrance—adorable flower girls, their tiny hands clasping wicker baskets as they scattered delicate petals along the aisle. They moved in a choreographed sweetness, bright smiles stealing the hearts of everyone in the room.

Behind them, toddled an equally charming ring bearer, clutching the pillow with seriousness that belied his young age. Each careful step he took earned a quiet chuckle from the crowd, his determination clear as he reached the altar. Nick crouched slightly, taking the ring pillow from the boy, and the playful high-five exchanged between them drew a ripple of soft laughter and smiles.

There was a collective gasp echoing through the church. Water began to flow, a gentle cascade spilling onto the aisle, shimmering as it caught the light. It trickled in perfect harmony, creating a luminous, rippling path that stretched from the entrance to the altar. The sound of water intertwined with the stillness of the music, holding everyone in awe.

The lights dimmed suddenly, and the soft flicker of long delicate stems with glowing tips spread through the crowd like fireflies. One by one, everyone in the congregation reached for the stems and held it aloft, their glittery illumination casting a celestial over the church, all eyes turning towards the entrance.

A group of bridesmaids stood poised, holding beautifully decorated large fronds that veiled what could only be Araminta. Their positioning was precise, deliberate, and graceful. With a choreographed motion, the bridesmaids slowly lifted the fronds, revealing Araminta, standing right next to her father. The moment was breathtaking—she radiated an ethereal elegance that made her appear almost otherworldly.

Araminta held her father’s hand as she gracefully stepped out of her towering heels. The hushed audience barely had a chance to react before she stepped forward, placing her bare feet onto the watery aisle. The music resumed, delicate yet triumphant, as she began her slow, graceful walk.

The bridesmaids followed closely behind her, their steps echoing her elegance, as the congregation swayed their glittery lights in unison. It was a scene out of a dream, a river of light and water that guided Araminta towards her future. From your seat, you could see Colin at the altar, his composed demeanor wavered, expression softening as he took in the sight of Araminta, eyes glistening with unshed tears, emotion written plainly on his face.

You didn’t exactly know what came over you, but as you sat there in the church, watching Colin and Araminta exchange glances filled with love and anticipation, a thought took root inside your mind. The entire wedding, its grandeur, intimacy, and the sense of two people stepping into forever had stirred something within you. It was not a matter of envy or longing for the spectacle itself, but it was the way Colin looked at Araminta—the way she smiled back at him, and the unspoken promise that passed between them.

Perhaps, selfishly, you found yourself imagining that kind of future for yourself. Not just marriage for the sake of it, but a marriage with Lando. The idea settled gently, not as a plan or something to be rushed, but as a hope—a quiet wish for someday. Though it was still too early now, you both were at the top of your careers, still growing individually and as a couple. A year of dating was only the beginning, and there was no need to rush, but the seed of the thought was already there, talking with surprising ease.

It made you genuinely happy to see Colin and Araminta standing at the altar. You had been an observer of their relationship from the beginning, a silent witness to the small and significant moments that had brought them to this day.

Growing up, Colin had been a near-constant presence in your family’s life, a fixture at every gathering and celebration. He was practically an honorary member of your family, and it felt like he belonged there just as much as anyone else. You had seen how Colin pined for Araminta, how he had talked Nick’s ear off about her, recounting every detail of their interactions with the kind of fervor only someone deeply in love could manage. Nick had confided that much to you during your conversations over the years, shaking his head fondly at how his best friend could turn any discussion into one about Araminta.

Your relationship with Nick has always been different from that with your other cousins. Despite the age gap, there was a closeness there that came naturally. Unlike many of your other cousins, who were either too competitive or too caught up in their own bubbles, Nick had always been kind, grounded, and someone you can rely on. Growing up, you often found yourself gravitating towards him, trusting him in ways you could not with the others.

So, seeing Colin—Nick’s best friend, your family’s honorary member, now finally standing with Araminta, the woman he had loved for so long, felt like a full circle of something extraordinary. It made you believe in the kind of love that could weather time and challenges, the kind of love that could one day be yours with Lando.

The reception took place at Gardens by the Bay, where the Botanical Gardens had been transformed into a scene straight out of fairytales. It was utterly breathtaking—every detail meticulously designed to create an almost otherworldly atmosphere. The iconic supertrees stretched overhead, illuminated with soft lights that shimmered in sync with the music. A Chinese big band played softly, filling the air with a nostalgic charm, while fireworks erupted in bursts of vibrant color against the dark night sky, casting an ethereal glow over the festivities.

Colin and Araminta were having their first dance at the center of it all, moving effortlessly in harmony. The wedding party stood loosely circled around them, watching the moment in admiration. You stood close to Lando, his arms loosely draped around your waist, holding you gently but securely. Chest pressed against your back as he swayed with you to the rhythm of the music, a silent echo of the couple’s dance.

Lando leaned in closer, voice low and intimate as he said, “you know, I didn’t really get the chance to tell you earlier, but you look absolutely stunning today, baby.”

His words caught you slightly off guard, but the sincerity in his tone made your chest tighten with warmth. Before you could respond, he placed a soft kiss on your cheek, lingering just long enough for his breath to tickle your skin.

“And this dress,” he added, lips brushing against your exposed shoulder now, “it’s beautiful. But it doesn’t even come close to how insanely beautiful you are.”

Your heart raced as Lando shifted, tilting your face gently towards his. His lips captured yours in a kiss, slow and tender, yet filled with a quiet intensity that made the world around you momentarily dissolve. When Lando pulled back, his eyes met yours, a glint of affection and something deeper reflecting in the warm light of the supertrees.

When Colin and Araminta’s first dance came to an end, the band seamlessly transitioned to a lively and upbeat tune. The atmosphere shifted immediately, with laughter bubbling through the crowd, and Araminta, radiant and full of energy, already had an outfit change, began beckoning guests onto the dance floor.

“Come on, come on!” she called out, her voice carrying over the music. “The party isn’t going to dance itself!”

You and Lando exchanged a quick glance, a shared look of amusement and anticipation. Without any single hesitation, he took your hand gently, lacing his fingers through yours.

“Let’s go,” he said, tone light and teasing.

“Lan, babe, I don’t really—” you began, hesitating slightly, but he was already pulling you toward the dance floor.

“You’re with me,” he assured, grinning reassuringly. “I won’t let you look awkward, I promise.”

The music pulsed through the whole garden, and the dance floor was quickly filling with guests, each one letting loose in the joyful chaos of the celebration, singing along with the band. You had never considered yourself much of a dancer, the thought of dancing always made you self-conscious. Your movements felt stiff and unnatural, and the fear of looking out of place usually kept you from even trying. But with Lando, it was different.

Lando kept a firm but gentle grip on your hand, spinning you lightly to the rhythm of Wo Yao Ni De Ai. His energy was very contagious, movements all natural and easy, and he guided you effortlessly, making sure you felt comfortable.

“Just follow my lead,” he said, voice steady over the music. “And don’t think about it too much.”

You did as he said, allowing yourself to let go of the self-consciousness. You focused on him, and only him—Lando’s playful smile, the way his hands steadied you, the warmth of his presence. Soon, the tension that you’re feeling in your body eased, and you found yourself laughing as you moved to the beat.

“I told you you'd be fine,” Lando said, voice filled with a playful confidence.

“I still think I look very ridiculous,” you replied, laughter spilling out.

“You look amazing,” he countered without missing a beat.

The two of you moved seamlessly among the crowd, completely immersed in the music and the moment. Lando twirled you under his arm, making you laugh again as you stumbled slightly, but his steady hands caught you before you could lose balance.

As the music reached its end, he pulled you in closer. Lando’s movements slowed, the lively rhythm fading into the background as his gaze locked with yours. There was an intensity in his eyes, a soft, unspoken emotion that made you breath catch. Without a word, he leaned in, lips capturing yours in a kiss—gentle, tender, and filled with quiet passion that seemed to echo everything unsaid between you.

When he pulled back, a small smile played on his lips. “See? You’re a natural,” he teased, tone soft and warm.

You just rolled your eyes at him, but couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. The music had picked up again, and without hesitation, you two returned to the rhythm of the night, dancing together with an ease and happiness that made the rest of the world fade away, leaving you and Lando in a little bubble that you made yourself.

As the party went on, you and Lando continued swaying to the rhythm of the music, letting the night carry you in its revelry. The energy of the party was contagious, and you both were determined to make the most of it. The crowd around you was lively, a series of laughter and chatter blending into the music.

Suddenly, someone bumped into you, jostling you slightly. Turning to see who it was, you found yourself face-to-face with Rachel, who was looking very upset, her expression disoriented and distressed as she weaved through the throng of dancing guests.

“Rachel?” you called out, instinctively reaching out to her, your brows furrowing with concern.

Lando gently let go of your hand, his expression mirroring yours. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” he asked, his voice laced with worry.

Rachel, however, did not respond. She seemed lost in her thoughts, her gaze darting around as if trying to find something, or someone. Her pace was erratic and quickened as she moved further into the crowd.

You were about to follow her when a piercing scream cut through the music, causing heads to turn. There was laughter and the unmistakable hum of a crowd gathering, phones were raised in unison, their screens glowing as guests pointed toward something, or someone hidden behind the bushes near the edge of the garden.

Your stomach dropped as you and Lando turned to see what the commotion was about. Emerging from the bushes was half-naked Bernard Tai, his shirt already gone and his pants barely clinging to his hips. His movements were chaotic, clearly drunk, and he pawed at Kitty Pong, who struggled to pull herself away.

Kitty, the girlfriend of your cousin Alistair, looked utterly mortified. Her dress was disheveled, and her face was flushed with shame as she desperately tried to cover herself. Bernard, oblivious to the humiliation that they are now facing and radiating off of Kitty, stumbles toward her again, but she shoves him back.

The crowd wasn’t really helping. Instead of intervening, they just stood there, laughing, and some guests outright pointing and jeering, others filming the entire scene as Kitty managed to pull her dress up and flee from the scene, heels clicking sharply against the pavement as she disappeared into the night.

You felt a mix of shock and disgust twist in your stomach, gaze flicking between the fleeing Kitty and the drunken Bernard, who was now slumped against a nearby table, seemingly unaware, or uncaring, of the chaos he had caused. At Colin and Araminta’s wedding, nonetheless.

Lando shook his head in disbelief. “Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath.

Though your attention snapped back to Rachel. She had managed to stop briefly during the commotion, her body all stiff and face unreadable as she watched the scene unfold.

“Rachel!” you called again, but by the time you stepped forward, she was already gone, melting into the crowd and disappearing from view.

A few moments later, Nick came running toward you and Lando, face flushed and breathing uneven. “Have you guys seen Rachel?” he asked urgently, eyes scanning the crowd as though hoping she might reappear.

You glanced back toward the direction Rachel had gone, your worry mounting. “She was just here, but—”

“She already left, mate.” Lando finished, voice somber.

Nick looked around frantically, but it was clear he was too late. Rachel was already nowhere to be found, and whatever had just unfolded seemed to mark the abrupt descent of what had been.

As the night wound down, you and Lando decided it was time to call it a day. The events of the wedding had been unforgettable, but the exhaustion was starting to creep in. Knowing that you only had one day left in Singapore before flying to the UK for Christmas, you both set out to find Colin and Araminta to thank them properly.

After weaving through the remaining guests hand in hand, you finally spotted the newlyweds near the dance floor, glowing with happiness as they spoke to family and friends. When you approached, Colin was the first to notice, greeting you and Lando with a wide smile.

“Hey, you two! Having a good time?” Colin asked, tone warm and genuine.

“A very amazing time,” you replied with a smile. “Thank you so much for inviting us. This was truly the most beautiful wedding I’ve ever been to.”

“Absolutely,” Lando added, nodding. “It was really incredible. Congratulations again to both of you.”

Araminta beamed, her hands resting lightly on Colin’s arm. “Thank you so much for coming. It means the world to us to have you here.”

“Though we wish we could’ve stayed longer,” you said, “but we’re flying back to the UK the day after tomorrow to spend Christmas with Lan’s family.”

Araminta’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that’s very wonderful! But before you go, we absolutely need a picture together.”

She glanced around and quickly called over a photographer, waving him toward your small group. “We need a picture of the four of us,” she told the photographer with a laugh.

The photographer positioned all of you, and Colin gently placed a hand on Lando’s shoulder while Araminta stood beside you, her arm lightly around your waist. The flash went off, capturing the moment perfectly.

“Wait, wait,” Araminta said after the photographer stepped away. “We need one on your phone too!”

You quickly pulled out your phone, handing it to her so she could take the picture. She directed Colin to pull in a little closer so you could all fit on the frame. This time, the pose was more casual, with everyone leaning in and smiling brightly.

After the pictures were taken, Colin suddenly chimed in. “Oh, by the way, Harrison mentioned the other day that you’re moving to Monaco soon?”

You nodded. “That’s the plan. Everything’s set to go in a few weeks.”

“Then we’ll probably see you in Monaco soon!” Araminta said with a smile. “We’ve got a few trips planned early next year.”

“Definitely! Let us know when you’re coming,” Lando said. “We’ll take you around and catch up.”

“For sure, man! Absolutely.” Colin replied, grinning wide.

You and Lando hugged Colin and Araminta goodbye, exchanging heartfelt well wishes for their honeymoon and married life ahead. As you turned to leave, Araminta gave your hand a quick squeeze.

“Have a safe trip, and Merry Christmas!” she said happily.

“Merry Christmas!” you and Lando said in unison before heading off to find your mother.

Your mother was seated at a table, chatting animatedly with your Auntie Eleanor. When she saw you approach, she stood up and pulled you into a warm embrace.

“You two leaving already?” she asked, tone affectionate.

“We are,” you said softly. “But it was such a beautiful wedding. Everything was perfect.”

“I’m so glad you could be home,” she replied, smoothing a hand over your arm. “Have a safe flight to the UK, and please give my regards to Lando’s family.”

“We will,” you promised, hugging her tightly once more before stepping back. “Lando and I will be back for the New Year’s.”

Your mother stretched out her arms to Lando, giving him a hug. “Thank you for everything.”

“Take good care of her, okay?” your mother reminded, as she smiled at Lando kindly.

“Always,” Lando replied with quiet sincerity.

When you and Lando finally walked through the door of your home, a deep sense of relief washed over you both. The quiet was a stark contrast to the chaos of the day, and you couldn’t help but sigh as you finally slipped off your heels by the entryway. Lando stretched his arms over his head, letting a low groan before giving you a small smile.

“Fucking finally,” he said, voice filled with exhaustion but tinged with amusement. “Home sweet home. That was…something, huh.”

You nodded, placing your clutch by the glass table. “Eventful doesn’t even begin to describe it.”

After settling down on the couch, you pulled out your phone and sent Rachel a quick text:

Hey, Rachel. I hope you’re okay. If you need anything or just want to talk, I’m always here for you.

You stared at the screen for a few moments before putting the phone down. There was a lot on your mind, but Rachel’s well-being was at the top of the list right now. Lando was already seated, leaning back against the cushions with his tie undone and his jacket draped over the armrest. He turned to you with a tired grin.

“That’s got to be the most entertaining wedding reception I’ve ever been to. Not wild, exactly, but definitely eventful. I mean—” he gestured vaguely with his hands. “What even was that? Who are those people?”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “You mean Bernard and Kitty?”

“Yeah.” Lando nodded.

You sighed deeply, not really knowing where to begin or how to start the conversation about Bernard and Kitty. “Bernard Tai is…well, where do I even fucking start with that guy? Let’s see…he’s the only son of Dato’ Tai Toh Lui and Carol Tai, an insanely wealthy family. The Tai Fortune is massive, and Bernad’s basically the heir to all of it. He’s a former classmate of Nick and Colin back in the day.”

“And?” Lando prompted, tilting his head.

“And he’s spoiled as fuck,” you said bluntly. “Like, obnoxiously spoiled. He’s been handed everything his entire life and spends his day burning through money on the most ridiculous shit. He lives for excess and has zero accountability for anything he does. Basically, to sum up all of it—he’s a walking disaster who somehow gets away with everything because of daddy’s money and his family’s influence.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by all of it. “Sounds like he’s a real charmer.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s one way to put it.” you hesitated for a moment before continuing. “And then there’s Ms. Kitty Pong.”

“She’s Alistair’s girlfriend, right?” Lando asked, recalling her name from earlier.

“That’s ex-girlfriend now,” you corrected. “Kitty’s…a real piece of work. She used to be a soap opera star who decided to pivot into climbing the social ladder. She’s been trying, well, desperately, to get into the higher social circles here, but that’s not really going well for her.”

You continued, “most people look down on her because they see her as a gold-digger, and honestly, they’re not really wrong. She's always relying on people like Oliver or Corinna Ko-Tung—Fiona’s cousin, to help her navigate these circles.”

Lando frowned slightly. “And Bernard?”

“Not much better, honestly,” you shrugged. “Yes, he’s a part of our circle, but no one takes him seriously because he’s…well, Bernard. After tonight? Him and Kitty just cemented themselves as gossip fodder for weeks, maybe months. What they pulled tonight at Colin and Minty’s wedding reception is only going to add fuel to the fire. Kitty’s already seen as an outsider, and now, people have an excuse to talk, ridicule, and ostracize her even more.”

He let out a low whistle, leaning his head back against the couch. “That’s rough. But honestly, I don’t get why they thought this, of all nights, was the right time to make a scene.”

You exhaled sharply, the frustration you had been holding back starting to bubble up. “Exactly. Colin and Minty’s wedding was supposed to be their moment. They’ve worked so hard to make it perfect, and then Bernard and Kitty come along and turn it into…that.”

Lando reaches over, taking your hand in his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Hey, don’t let them ruin it for you. The wedding was still beautiful, and Colin and Minty looked so happy. That’s what matters, right?”

You nodded slowly, trying to let go of your irritation. “Yeah, you’re right. It's just…makes me mad, you know? They deserved better than that.”

They did,” Lando agreed, voice soft. “But it’s already over now, and you can’t control what other people do. All you can do now is focus on the good parts of the day, and trust me, there were a lot of those.”

You smiled faintly, leaning into him. “Thanks for the reminder. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Lando pressed a light kiss to the top of your head. “Always.”

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mylovejimimi · 1 year ago

Text

The Kims, your breeding problem | SJ & NJ TWO SHOT PT. 1

— PAIRING: mafiaboss!seokjin x mafiaboss!namjoon x mafiaprincess!reader — GENRE: smut +18. minors dni — WARNINGS: dirty smut (hell yeah), vaginal sex, oral sex (f receiving), dirty talk ofc, fingering, ass action, anal penetration, double penetration, lots of degradation, some slaps, a bit of pain kink, breeding kink as per request <3, some plot that will be explained in part 2 (stay tuned), seokjin is MEAN — SUMMARY: Desperate to save your empire and your name, you walk into the lion's den with a plan. Turns out those two lions had a plan of their own, and now you're the piece of meat they had been so starved for. — WORDS: almost 9k SORRY DEAL W/ IT Ok babygirls i apologize for this eternal wait, it took me a month to finish bc i like to carefully plan my craft to not fall into boring stuff or repetitiveness. I hope it is worth the wait and you all like it <3 ALSO! part 2 will be up maybe tomorrow bc i wrote everything and it was way too long and u know, i wasn't gonna post a 20k words shot lmao Anyways pslease remember you can send me a tip by buying me a ko-fi if you like my works, it will meant the world to me ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ And as always, i look forward your thoughts on this. Enjoy !

Being the princess of an empire wasn’t as easy as you once thought – but you had triple the fun you expected.

The businesses of this lawless side of the world weren’t just for anybody, that’s why only a couple families survived and thrived despite of time and mass murders. In those select families, in which the highest honor was to have no fear of law or men, one must just grow up strong and shameless to fit in them; if not, it was better to step down (which, more often than not, meant dying). And you must, at all coast, beat anybody else with your intelligence and cleverness, or else you were relegated as a mere pawn. Even worse if you were a woman.

One of the top families in the businesses was yours, which couldn’t make you prouder – because you were the one behind their success.

For the world, you weren’t particularly different from the average woman, but you had many hidden qualities that set you apart: you had money and influence, charm and wit, though most important than anything, you had dauntless drive. Enough drive to make you break rules, promote corruption, break as many families as you had to, terrorize all other elite families into submission. You had the world in your hand and you were ready to eat it.

And because you knew you were danger, you recognized which other menaces out there were as deadly as you.

“I don’t give a shit whatever you plan” your older brother spat in your face, throwing at you the documents that you compiled so carefully, all of them full of valuable information about your biggest enemy in the business. You gritted your teeth; you went to the deepest of holes to get all that data, you bought many men for it – with money and anything you could give.

“I didn’t ask for your fucking opinion, I was just informing you before you get your stupid ass in my business and fuck it up.” The relationship with your brother has never been the greatest. Being raised to be ruthless, it only worsened when your parents got old and sick, because it meant that you were now competitors for the throne. You despised him mostly because he was a useless piece of shit that only leeched off of your hard work.

“I’ll fuck it up? You would get all of us fucked in the ass and then decapitated in a public park. Those fuckers are at the top of the food chain for a reason, shithead.” You reacted violently at the cowardice of your brother, hitting his desk with your fist.

“And they are burying our business! They’re already fucking us and massacring us! They stole all our dealers and our spots on the west and south; they killed all our links in the government; they even opened their disgusting brothels next to all of our strip clubs. And you will do nothing about it?!” Your brother rolled his eyes at your outburst.

“It’s not big deal. You will think of something else to avenge us.” And he turned around on his spinning chair, ending the conversation. You were fuming, to say the least.

“FUCK YOU!” you yelled before taking the lamp on his desk and throwing it towards the nearest wall. Then, stomping out, you decided to proceed as you wanted.

…

Your shiny dress moved with the wind and blinded the security guards as you stepped out of the car that drove you. Currently, you were in the Kim mansion, the territory of your enemies, infiltrating in the intimate party they were throwing for one of their birthdays. You thanked in your head the trusted friend that popped up out of nowhere when you needed them the most, offering you a way to take down the Kims. It was all you needed, the way in, you would take care of the rest.

After the long walk from the exuberant entrance to the more exuberant halls, you finally were in the big ballroom that hosted the most people. You noticed there weren’t that many; a couple you recognized from negotiations and such, and nodded your head in acknowledgment to them, but there were many new faces for you. And that worried you, because you didn’t know which ones were the Kims. Maybe it was a little careless to go there with just a description of their appearances instead of researching more for pictures (which was really difficult since the most powerful people in the business, including yourself, didn’t show their faces ever).

Taking a random glass from the service station and bar, you scanned the room and downed the strong drink in one go, thinking what to do next. But then, your luck struck again:

“Mister Kim, congratulations for your birthday.” You spun your head almost instantly to look behind you, to the supposed mister Kim. He was right behind you in the bar but giving you his large back dressed in black. And, damn, what a back. Peering down, you also checked his ass and legs, draped in black too. And daaaamn. How could all his behind look so hot? Was it the height? Were his proportions just mathematically perfect? You hoped he was as nice in the front because it would be really disappointing otherwise.

Right at that moment, Mr. Kim turned around to look at someone that called him in the distance, and you saw him clearly, but most importantly, he saw you. His dragon eyes fixated on yours intensely, pinning you in your place, for what you felt was an eternity. You recognized his fiery stare. He was deadly.

“I don’t think I know you, dear” he started in his deep voice, flashing you a smirk. You looked at him from behind your lashes, batting them coquettishly.

“Would you be interested in knowing me, sir?” Despite your strategic flirting, you were eclipsed by him. He was tall, graceful and so, so handsome. He looked like he could be on the cover of any magazine; be the face of every luxurious brand. And as far as you knew, he was single. Manly and powerful – your kind of man. If he wasn’t your literal nemesis, you would have tried to seduce him for real.

“A sweet thing like you? Very much.” Knowing as much as you knew, it ringed an alarm that he was that easy to approach, to fool. It was weird. You decided to be careful. “Tell me, beautiful,” he said, stepping closer to you and smiling darkly. “do you know who I am?”

“I do. And I find you a fascinating man, sir.”

“Do you now?” You nodded shortly, feigning shyness and sipping on your drink to avoid his sharp eyes. You realized quickly that he was a very calculating, very analytic man; he was observing you meticulously, and you felt like a rare specimen being studied when he dragged his attention all over your body and every inch of your face.

Though, you weren’t dumb. You knew how to pose, how to talk and how to dress to captivate a man; you did it a million times already, and you had big plans for this man and his brother in particular. His lingering on your almost naked legs; how he tilted his body more and more close to you; his constant smirk – everything told you that he was interested in whatever you had to offer. Still, the deal was yet to be seal.

“You are very well-known for doing what you want and getting what you want. You’re like a god, I heard.” You batted your lashes, also inching close to his standing body. “I like powerful men – and they usually like me back.” And you looked away, like ashamed of sharing that.

“So you like danger” he stated, while moving a strand of your hair behind your ear. His hand went down your neck slowly, caressing with the tip of his cold fingers your skin.

I am danger, you thought while smiling cutely for him.

“I find it kinda romantic to give yourself completely to a forbidden man.” You bit your lip lightly, mirroring his action when you grazed your fingers on the hand he rested on the counter.

He stared at you for a long moment, in absolute silence. It was difficult to read him with his impassive face and controlled attitude. Just in case, you passed a hand through your hair, the decided signal for your guards to be alert. By the corner of your eye, you saw one of them signing back discreetly. If needed, they would fire all guns to take you out of there.

“Would you like to watch the big man at work, sweetheart?” Mr. Kim suddenly said. You looked at him with big, naïve eyes, nodding.

“Really? I would love to, sir.” He offered his big hand, which you took eagerly. Once more, you carded your hand through your hair.

His slender fingers enclosed your hand firmly, guiding you from the bar across the groups of finely-dressed people in the open ballroom to long, dimmed hallways. You knew you were venturing into the lion’s den but what else could you do? You needed both of the Kims alone, and getting one of them at the time was easier. You would seduce one and get him, and later you would find and do the same with his brother – if they didn’t cooperate with you, of course.

“You know, sweet thing, we get lots of women at our feet daily. Some are useful, some are just a hindrance” Mr. Kim casually told you. You were getting to the end of a particularly secluded hallway; the end of your walk, it seemed. You decided it was safer to keep up with the façade until the very end. “Which one would you be?” Stopping at a large, wooden door, he looked at you expectantly. You found his eyes, and even in the dimmed light you saw something shine in his pupils.

Just now you realized the energy that swam between you.

His strong hand squeezed yours and he couldn’t take his eyes off you. You bit your lip. Kim Namjoon (you guessed it was the younger Kim based on the descriptions you were given) was the hottest man you ever saw: his secure posture, his devilish expressions, even his work ethics were attracting. You would never admit it out loud, but you were really impressed by how the Kims ran their business. In no time, they build up an empire equal to yours, which had years and years of existence, and took over almost all of the city. It was really hot to you how they were fierce, and ruthless, and did whatever they wanted without a care for consequences.

“I’ll be whatever you want me to be, sir” you replied in a low tone. His obscure smile showed up again.

“Mhm, I think we would get along really well, dear.” The door in front of you opened, and a spacious and well-illuminated office appeared. It was modern and austere, with scarce black furniture a desk that had not a single trace of clutter as you would see, for example, in your own. “Hyung, I just received the biggest gift for my birthday.”

The chair at the desk spun around to reveal the most stunning man you have ever seen. Kim Seokjin had his hair perfectly brushed back to show the most well-proportionated face you’ve seen so far: plum, kissable lips; round, conceited eyes; an instant derogatory grimace when he saw you. His haughtiness was nothing; what worried you the most was that now you would have to deal with the two Kims together.

“Really? That’s the big gift? A cheap whore?” You had to bite your tongue. You may be a whore from time to time, no shame in it; but cheap? CHEAP? When you had your own queendom and where the owner of half the city? When powerful men had died just for touching your hand without permission? He definitely didn’t know who he was talking about.

“No, hyung, no.” Namjoon chuckled. Getting bolder, he circled your waist with an arm and took your jaw to emphasize his next words “I got us a toy to spend the night, and if it is good, maybe we could consider giving it more use.” Seokjin just arched an eyebrow to you.

“I admire both of you, sir, that’s why I want to serve you” you expressed, lowering your eyes to the floor in a submissive manner.

“Serve us? Are you a fucking slave or something, stupid bitch?” The older Kim didn’t need to yell to be aggressive and threatening like a rabid dog – his words, neutral tone, and overall mean energy was enough to aggravate you. It took everything in you to stop yourself from setting your jaw.

“Do you want me to be one?” It came out harsher than you intended, and yet, you felt a slight shift in the air.

“You couldn’t handle being my slave, dear” Seokjin said as a matter of fact. “I’ll make you and your slut holes unusable after a day.”

“How are you so sure of that?” you counterattacked calmly.

“It would only hurt you, sweetheart, really” Namjoon joined in with a teasing tilt in his sensual low register and a mild push of his hips into your ass. Well, at least you could be sure one of them was interested in you, judging by the hard member that poked your behind.

“Do you really think I’m a virgin in any way?” Something burned in Seokjin’s eyes. Bingo. “Would I be offering myself to you if I were?”

“Your performance as a poor, submissive girl was shit, but I was hoping you dropped the act sooner than later.” The man at the desk smirked. You thought that maybe he wasn’t the brightest of the two.

By his hold on your waist, Namjoon walked you around the desk until you were in front of his brother, who turned in his chair and was watching you expectant, with his legs spread apart and hands clasped together. “Why don’t you show who you really are then, angel?” As he said that, he pushed you to the floor until you were kneeling between Seokjin’s long legs, inches aways from his crotch. Honestly, what was about to happen kinda excited you.

You had understood right away that they were the typical hyper-masculine control freaks. As most men you had met in the business, you assumed they would feel challenged as soon as you showed a little bit of character. What dominant, powerful man didn’t enjoy taming a brat from time to time? And thus, you would put up a little fight, just for funsies.

“Would you be able to handle me, sir?”

“I’ll fuck you up so bad, don’t mess with me this early.” You scoffed at the warning.

“But I said nothing yet, sir. Mr. Kim,” you called the other Kim, turning your head to look at him. “can I ask you, then? Like, does your brother have any idea of anything? It feels to me he is capable of words and nothing else.” Namjoon snorted.

“You’ll fucking see what I’m capable of” The elder grunted and proceeded to stick your face on his groin. “But your nasty mouth won’t be on my cock.”

Unceremoniously, you opened your mouth and closed it on the shape his member made in his pants. The cloth was very thin and he had no underwear beneath it; you could feel almost every detail of him, including his faint throbbing and the very massive girth. You let yourself indulge in it a bit – Kim Seokjin was too damn hot after all. You sucked enthusiastically on his shape, lapping obscenely with tongue and all for the greedy eyes of your spectators. After a couple minutes, you realized that Seokjin´s cock pulsed more when you looked up at him, so you fixated on him while suctioning on the place his tip was.

“Hyung, look, she’s rubbing her legs together like a desperate slut. Is your hungry cunt too empty, sweetheart?” Namjoon said from above you but you had no time to even form a thought before you felt a cold object between your legs, pressing on the apex of your legs. “Get off on my shoe, baby, let’s see if you aren’t just talk.” And he pressed even harder on your pussy. You let go of Seokjin’s hard member with a high-pitched moan when the shoe’s tip hit directly on your clit, and Namjoon, as evil as his brother, touched that spot over and over again. But the oldest Kim couldn’t let you slack off on your duty; no, he had to push you onto his cock once more, shaking your head until you got back to gobbling him sloppily.

“Fucking filthy whore, look at the fucking mess you made” Seokjin grumbled, and you confirmed he was right with a quick peek. The dark and expensive fabric was even darker all over the lap, and the man’s penis would stand all the way up proud and hard if not for the restrictions of the pants. You patted yourself in the back for your great work, before getting down to devour him some more – though, you didn’t because he continued: “Aw, look at you so eager to spread your legs for the enemy to save the family business. Daddy must be really proud of you.” You froze. Stopping all motion midair, you stared at him. Kim Seokjin smiled joyfully while he caressed your hair.

“Did you really think we didn’t know you were coming? How, if we were the ones that invited you over.” Them? Your blood boiled once more at realizing you were betrayed by one of your closest, most beloved friends.

From behind, Namjoon took a hold of you by the hair roughly, yanking you back painfully until you were looking directly at him. You yelped and grunted loudly at that. And then, the door busted open and one of your guards entered pointing his gun at Namjoon; but the criminal wasted not a second in pulling out his own gun and firing it at the intruder.

“Shit!” you exclaimed as you saw the body fall down with a thud and Namjoon took hold of your arms, gripping them behind your back to immobilize you. If only one of your men got there, it must mean the others were already dead. “You fuckers, let me go!” you yelled at the men holding you. Struggling to get free from their tight grasp, you could only lift your knee with force, colliding into Seokjin’s crotch.

“Fucking bitch!” Despite his brother folding into himself and holding his crotch, Namjoon cackled. You felt a little proud for causing him pain.

“I see you’re not as average as I thought” the younger mused near your ear. You turned as much as you could to look at him and spit at his face. He was shocked but still grinned.

“There’s no bitch like me, you better learn it now.” Namjoon’s hold on you tightened as his tongue peeked out to wet his lips, catching a single drop of your spit that rolled to his mouth.

“No bitch like me my balls” you heard Seokjin grunt, but when you turned to look at him, he took you by the hair like his brother did previously. You catched just a glimpse of him putting a liquid onto a rag but you knew right away what it was, and so you started to insult them louder, fighting them violently. “Oh, shut up already, stupid whore.” And when the rag was over your mouth and nose, it only took seconds for everything to turn black.

…

Consciousness came back to your body in what felt to you like an instant. You groaned, opening your eyes slowly. Why did your body feel so heavy? You could barely move to get on your side, feeling your wrists tied together but lying on a comfortable bed. And why were you in your underwear? Though, that was the least of your problems.

Looking around, you found yourself in a luxurious bedroom. You grimaced at its ‘single man’ decoration though, disgusted with the lack of good taste. Was it the room of one of the Kims? It looked like an isolation room in a psychiatric ward. Well, you thought, they’re fucking insane so it checks out.

“I have to get out” you murmured to yourself, but you couldn’t even try to sit up without feeling too lightheaded. Groaning, you left yourself lie on the soft surface momentarily. You would see how to escape on the go.

“Look who just woke up.” You grumbled when the voice of Kim Seokjin entered the room. You moved slightly to look at the door, watching your two enemies getting in and nearing the bed. Seokjin smiled to you. “It’s our favorite girl.” When he brought his hand down to stroke your cheek, you tried to bit him, missing him for an inch. “Wah, you’re a feral one, aren’t you?”

“I’m your worst nightmare, asshole.” Both men chuckled mockingly. Namjoon stepped forward and took a sit on the bed beside your body.

“Maybe you were, before intruding in our home and getting tied up by us. But you seriously thought you could just walk in and shoot us up?” You held his stare without an ounce of shame because they hadn’t realized yet that wasn’t your real plan. You played along. Men in power were that easy to trick, you only needed to show a little bit of skin and act a little clueless and their ego would get in their way to make them think you’re so stupid and they’re so in control. Truth be told, you were pretty desperate to end them, but you not only had beauty – most of all, you had brains.

“Whatever, just kill me now so the fuckface of my brother drowns in his own shit.” You resigned to your possible fate with a roll of your eyes. Namjoon smiled at you for the nth time.

“No, baby, that would just be the easy way out for you. You’d been in this line of work since birth; you know we can’t just let you go without a lesson.” Your breath hitched a little when the man posed a cold hand on your hip, fondling the zone. Got you.

At this point in your hectic life, you were not afraid of whatever these guys might do to you. If it was something sexual, it would be just a short-cut for the ending you expected. Also, you had sex with all kinds of men and women, who had all kind of kinks and weird shit, so sleeping with the Kims wasn’t big deal – it could even be fun, in your honest opinion. Fun like a smart cat playing two buff, dumb dogs that thought they were in charge. They didn’t know what kind of cat they just caught.

“And so? You want me to cry and beg for forgiveness? Please, sirs, spare me my life! Don’t defile my pristine, virgin pussy!” you exclaimed in a mocking tone, snorting for the absurdity of your own joke. Not even a shadow of a smile graced the Kims’ faces before they pull the serious, mafia-men façade up. They were not happy with your mocking attitude. “Yah, is not that serious, really.” Seokjin got close to the bed to grip your neck menacingly. Like he could scare you.

“It is serious if you come with the intention of murder.” You snorted. So fucking dramatic, and for what?

“It is so obvious that you both are newbies here. We, the real crime-syndicates, just have fun with it.” Seokjin tightened his grip. “Woah, you feel threatened by the tied up, drugged girl, I see.”

“Nah, baby, we just want you to be silent.”

“I swear I’ll stop!” you replied with a short laugh. You could see on their faces that they didn’t find you funny. “Just let me say –”

“Just shut up before we really make you to” Namjoon warned with a pointed look. The frustration became evident on them; they clearly wanted you to submit, scared of them taking advantage of you. They were too used to frightening people into submission. What pair of fools.

“Oh? Why don’t you try?” you dared, batting your eyelashes at both men. Seokjin scoffed before taking you by the hair (again) to lift you until you were sat on the bed, and he got nose to nose with you. You complained for the harshness of his action, but loved it nonetheless.

“Remember you asked for it, sweetheart” Seokjin said lowly, almost in a grunt, before crashing his mouth on yours so hard that both your teeth clashed and clicked. He kissed you with vigor and violence, making it really difficult to keep up with his rhythm. Your lips ached already from the way he suctioned them. The only thing you could do was to whimper.

It was even hard to breath properly in that heated make out, so you felt more and more lightheaded than when you were drugged. His tongue wasted no time entering and reclaiming the whole inside of your mouth, and you could feel his warm spit getting into your cavity but also dripping from your lips the sloppier he became. It was safe to say that you were elated with the ferocity of the older Kim and proof of it was the wetness that you felt leaking from your see-through underwear to your inner thighs. Suddenly, the man separated from you with a wet sound, and you instinctively took a big breath quick enough before Seokjin moved you by the hair to collide with Namjoon’s mouth this time.

If Seokjin was dizzying, Namjoon was electrifying. He wasn’t as pressing but his hands seized your hips roughly and his tongue wasn’t letting go of yours; he even bit your lower lip here and there. At some point, his lips took a hold of your tongue and he sucked it viciously, while his brother pushed your head against the assaulting mouth insistently.

“Open up, honey” Seokjin grunted in your ear, and you didn’t know what he was talking about until you felt a big, cold hand on your inner thigh, a hair away from your pussy. He dabbed the skin there, no doubt entertained with all the wetness that seeped from your panties, but the demon that he was could not give you the satisfaction of touching your cunt properly.

With a man devouring your mouth and the other holding you still and rubbing nimbly your folds and flesh, you did start feeling overwhelmed – the kind of overwhelmed where you need more direct stimulation, though. So you whined loud. Namjoon released you.

“Want more, baby?” No words were left in your mind, so you nodded. The younger Kim, with wild fire lightning up his hooded eyes, smiled big in a shark-like smile – deadly, deadly, deadly. “Hyung” His brother looked up at him, and both shared a knowing look, like they already had planned the next step. Maybe they did.

But you had no time to think about anything. Each of them took one of your knees and shoved you back until you were lying on top of your tied hands; then, they parted and lifted your naked legs as much as your damned good elasticity allowed, ending up folded in half. And, somehow, they made themselves fit in that space side by side, as large as both were.

Next thing you knew, someone’s teeth were pulling your flimsy underwear down, grazing lightly your folds. You cursed, throwing your head back and thinking how the hell did you ended up in the best-case scenario possible. Taking you underwear out of your body in a flash, the Kim brothers seemed very eager to please you – or to torture you in their own way. Whatever they planned, you had no other choice but to take it.

Soon enough, a rough tongue parted your folds rudely and licked your juices away with the urgency of someone that doesn’t want a single drop wasted. Then, another tongue appeared, but this one went straight to your clit to punish you in the most delicious way possible: whoever it was, started by sucking it fervently, petting it with his tongue at the same time until he touched a nerve that made you scream, and jabbed at it repeatedly. They didn’t spare a single gaze in your direction, and, with the way you were losing your mind piece by piece, it was difficult to focus and distinguish who was who when both their heads were down – but whoever was lapping at your labia, now circled your wet hole with his whole tongue just the way you liked, both to tease and lubricate you.

Though their attention was getting overwhelming, it was also nice, because you had been shared by several men in various occasions in the past but none of them ever used you like this. No, they only cared to get their dicks in whatever part of your body they could and get off in there – and, really, you never minded since you weren’t expecting (nor didn’t want) a romantic lovemaking night where you ended up satisfied and chirping. Business was business. The Kims, however…

“You were so smart a minute ago, now can’t even form a single word?” It was Seokjin taunting you, lifting his head from your mount and you realized he was the one assaulting your poor clit. Of course it was him.

“You fucking idiot,” you started in a breathy voice, trying with all your might to fixate on him and not get distracted by Namjoon penetrating you with his tongue. “you don’t need my instructions, you’re eating my cunt like you’re my good bitch on your own.” At that, he pressed his thumb on your sensitive button roughly, and moved it in circles keeping the same pressure. “Fuck!” you exclaimed out of surprise.

“Goddamn, do I have to force something down your throat, stupid slut?” And then, he did force his index and middle finger into your mouth, pressing on your tongue to slide down your throat. The older Kim was extremely short-tempered, you concluded – it explained why people kept talking about the violent Kim brother whenever a massacre was done out of seemingly nowhere.

You have heard millions of stories of them, one worse than the other, but you were too prideful to believe even an ounce of whatever dumb shit they supposedly did. Burning down a whole building? Yeah, right. Bombing an enemy’s car? Suuure. Kidnapping a whole family because the father dared to go and try to take advantage of them? Well, maybe that had some truth, given your actual position. No doubt, all of those things – if true – were Seokjin’s idea.

Speaking of the devil, he almost hits the back of your throat with the tip of his longer digit, forcing the ugly and loud sounds of gargling out of you. The choking itself wasn’t so bad, but his insistence of keep pushing and pushing was making your jaw hurt a little. Drool was all over your lower face and his fingers, sliding down from between them and dripping into his palm. Through your teary vision, you catch a glimpse of Seokjin’s sadistic smile, so pleased with your degradation. You made sounds of complaint between gargles.

“See why you have to watch your tone with me, dumb cumdump? And quit pushing your luck because we will fuck your whore cunt into submission.” Right at that moment, you felt a hand parting your asscheeks and something wet circling your wrinkled hole. A surprised whimper escaped you. With a short chuckle, Seokjin took hold of your face with his free hand. “Right, and we will fuck your ass too, sweetpie.” His fingers left your mouth suddenly, and you took a big gasp of air, not knowing what else to expect from the brothers.

You didn’t have too much time to wonder because a finger surprised you bottoming out in your back entrance. No easing into it, no finesse, just plain, old Seokjin penetrating your ass with his long finger as a punishment of some sort. But was it really punishment if you were enjoying it? It was not, but Seokjin didn’t need to know that.

You could feel every knuckle, every ridge of his digit grazing your tender insides; stretching you, sliding in and out with the help of your saliva on his index. You whined out loud shamelessly at the sensations, which only spurred the men to go faster. You saw it in his eyes: he was merciless.

“You like it, sweetheart? You like when we’re rough to you?” This time, Namjoon got up on his knees to speak to you, in his low, raspy register. You moaned and clenched on Seokjin really hard when his eyes fixated intently on yours. Like bewitched by his dominant aura, you nodded to him dumbly. “Oh yeah? Should we take it up a notch?” His brother got out of his way so he could descend on you and capture your mouth in another ardent kiss. His whole frame pinned you down, coercing you to accept whatever nibs and licks he was giving into your cavity – not that you weren’t willing to accept them in the first place, though.

Distracted enough by his searing kiss, he seized his chance to push down your bra and take hold of your left breast; most precisely, to take hold of your nipple between his index finger and thumb, and squeeze it. He swallowed every noise or gasp you made while squeezing and rolling your nipple until it hardened. Meanwhile, his older brother had made way for a second finger in your ass and was scissoring them to open you up more and more. All of this was way more than you expected, but in a good way.

“Please,” you gasped when Namjoon went to suck your lower lip. “untie me, please” you begged in a whine. If there was just one thing you would beg for tonight, it was for them to let your arms go, because having your own weight on them plus Namjoon’s was cutting your circulation fast. Both men stared at you pointedly. “I swear I’ll not try anything funny, I just can’t feel them anymore.”

None of them believe you; however, Namjoon gets off of you and turn your whole body over with a single move of his hand, getting off the bed too. Seokjin is quick to get you on your knees and get his fingers back into you, now adding a third. You face to the side to the night table just in time to see the younger man opening the drawer and getting out a small knife. Your heart accelerated at the prospect of real harm but you didn’t show it. It would only put you in disadvantage in front of the men.

Luckily for you, Namjoon only used the knife to cut the ropes that bound your wrists. You let them fall to your sides with a satisfied moan at being liberated, despite not being capable of moving them yet.

“Does the princess have any other request?” The younger Kim, who was the one that tied you in the first place, inquired sarcastically with a tilt of his head, toying with the tip of the weapon. Closing your eyes and exhaling heavily at one deeper thrust of Seokjin’s fingers, you nodded.

“Can you fuck me already? The fingering is getting boring” you taunted in a thread of voice, weakened at the feeling of Seokjin’s dry digits grazing harshly your insides. The aching in your fingered asshole only added to your over-stimulated body – and to add to it, you felt a sting on your right ass-cheek that spread all over your skin. It barely even hurt on your long-stimulated body; instead, it felt like electricity hitting right on your sensitive clit. Seokjin’s hand was big and heavy, and he slapped you one more time on the same place. You moaned when it echoed between your legs.

“Boring? I was being nice.” And he slapped now on your other cheek. You yelped. “I was being a gentleman and stretching you.” He hit you a couple more time on the tender and red flesh; you kept your eyes close since the first impact and whimpered but still took it like a good girl. While all of that was going on behind you, something sticky and wet rubbed on your upper lip. When you opened your eyes, you were met with the sight of Namjoon’s monstruous cock pocking the corner of your mouth. You opened it to let him in, but he was content with painting your face with his precum. “But ungrateful whores like you don’t deserve niceness” Seokjin spat – figuratively and literally. You felt his spittle drip down the crack of your ass, and then, a hard rod impaling you.

You screamed out of surprise and the pain of being overstretched; the man’s fingers, as many as they were, did not compare in the slightest to his penis. The thick and curved meat hammered into you as soon as it entered, leaving you breathless with the vigor of the movement. Seokjin’s drove his hips into you with guttural groans and wild abandon, not giving you a moment to catch your breath. Honestly, you felt a little in love with the way he was rearranging your guts – and more so when you felt the tips of his fingers wandering on your clit.

“Ah, so now you finally have nothing to say?"

You were just about to give Seokjin an out of breath but clever retort, when Namjoon took advantage of your wide-open mouth and eased his own dick into it. Gentler than his older brother, he just glided his member in and out, more so to wet it with your saliva than to pleasure himself. Despite being a heartless hit man with no morals, he saw the overwhelming pounding Seokjin subjected you to and felt a little compassion for your clearly tired self.

Taking his cock out of your mouth, he started to fuck his own hand. You stared at him in confusion – didn’t he want to use you like his brother? – but you understood what he really wanted when he got his crotch closer to your face, still jacking himself off. Keeping your mouth open, you received one of Namjoon’s balls inside, slurping it right away. You licked and sucked on it hard, until you could hear him groan louder than the slapping of Seokjin’s hips into your ass. Letting saliva pool in your cavity, you soaked his nut thoroughly before passing to the other, and lave on it. Looking up pass the standing penis invading your vision, your eyes found Namjoon’s heated ones; you just now looked at him but his piercing dragon eyes hadn’t left your face not even for a second.

You intuited there was something behind his intense staring, but Seokjin’s hand snaked, once more, to your scalp and grasped, hair tightly in a fist and pulled back.

“You’re slacking. Weren’t you supposed to lure us to ruin with a good fuck?”

Namjoon seated with his back on the headrest and his legs on each side of where you and his brother were on your knees. Seokjin, with the zero consideration he had with you, threw you sideways onto his brother and you realized he wanted you to face him now. You smirked and gulped enough air to push his buttons again.

“You’re the one doing all the work. Can’t you not even satisfy yourself? Maybe the problem isn’t me but that teeny weeny peanut dick.” You saw a frown appear on Seokjin’s handsome face and, next thing you knew, his hand was coming down to slap you on the cheek. Just like the slaps in your ass, this one stung but send waves of electricity all over your skin. You groaned and put your still weak hand on your cheek to sooth the dull pain. “You’re too easy to work up, dude. Insecure much?” you sneered.

The man’s response was to take hold of your legs and open them to fit himself. He moved close enough to your body that you felt every inch of his manhood when he grinded it roughly in between your folds, which, at this point, were drenched and dripping, and that only made the glide very slippery. You moaned when his tip aimed to your nub, hitting the bundle of nerves repeatedly. He just grunted.

Behind you, Namjoon got his hands on your breasts, massaging them almost tenderly, while his hips thrusted up a little until his member lodged between your asscheeks. You didn’t expect his lips roaming on your neck, and much less for him to leave open-mouthed kisses and a trail of saliva there where his tongue licked; you were too distracted squealing as Seokjin gripped your waist and rammed his cock into your pussy in one go. By now, after everything you went through, nothing too soft or vanilla would satisfy you enough; the spark of excitement was always missing when men fucked you slowly and carefully. You were a woman of action, of adrenaline – so you liked how he was rough and wild.

“Are you liking how Seokjin fucks your pussy, baby?” Namjoon murmured right in your ear before taking your earlobe between his lips and sucking it. He was the real menace. “You want him to fill you up? Because, I’ll tell you a secret,” If it wasn’t for his closeness – his mouth glued to your ear – you wouldn’t be capable of hearing him due to the smacking of skin with skin and the blood that was rushing in your ears. “That’s all he thought about since he found you.” Through half lidded eyes, you looked up at the older man while Namjoon kept talking. “Fill you until you were gushing with his cum. Mark you as his bitch, he said.” He cupped your breasts and played with both your nipples, but you couldn’t even close your eyes at the feeling because you couldn’t miss even a second of the sight Seokjin was.

You didn’t really like him like that, but it was undeniable that he was one of the most beautiful men you have seen – now more than ever. His face was flushed and glowing, with a drop of sweat down his side; his full and bitten-red lips a little open in a panting; his cold stare down to you, judging you, hating you, and yet, fucking you franticly… And you haven’t even started on his god-like body. If you had to be attracted to someone, it would be someone like him: heartless, vain, profane. Someone not afraid of wanting, not afraid of taking.

“And, you know? Good bitches have to be bred.” Out of a sudden, Namjoon had his fingers shamelessly torturing your clitoris. You squeeze Seokjin’s member and moaned in a high-pitch, feeling your insides tightening fast. “That’s why we brought you, to stuff you with cum until our bitch is well bred– fucked until you beg to be filled over and over again.” Your breath shook as a result of his words, and your core was clenching until the point of no return. Just then, the older Kim reangled himself and penetrated you deeper, nudging all your hot insides with the tip of his long cock. “Would you like that, sweetheart? For us to put a baby into you? To fuck you until you´re round and can do nothing but take our cocks in all your holes all day?” The speed of his digits on you increased, rubbing past the hood that covered you most sensitive part. You cried when he started touching directly on the nervous nub. “Come on, baby, I know you want it. Beg for it.”

“Ye-yes” you exhaled, overwhelmed with sensations. You were so close that anything you heard sounded hot and cum-inducing. Being reduced to a bearing slave and a hole to warm their cocks? Hell yeah. “I wa-want you to – want you to b-breed me. Please!” With a sharp movement of his index finger, Namjoon made your tense core snap. You cried louder when your climax hit you all at once; your cunt tensed and gripped Seokjin like a vice, while all blood flushed down south of your body and electricity ran all on your clit, folds and thighs. For a second, everything was white and muted, and Seokjin’s clash with your body prolonged your climax, sending wave after wave of more electricity. “Please, breed me. I’m your bitch, cum in me, please” you murmured in the middle of ecstasy. You couldn’t keep your mouth shut normally, much less in that mind-altering moment.

Seokjin stopped for a moment, releasing your legs, though you didn’t realize it until you felt his tongue forcing his way into your mouth. You had no energy to kiss him back, but it was not needed; he took your jaw and forced your lips to apart with his. Once again, he licked all inside your cavity, brushing your tongue with his and sucking each of your lips until they were red. You let him do as he pleased, and it even felt quite nice to make out so passionately after cumming so hard.

However, none of the men had cummed yet. Still hazed, you felt strong arms hooking under your knees and lifting you, causing you to circle your arms around a neck to avoid falling. You hugged yourself to Seokjin while he got up from the bed and stood on the floor beside it – cock never leaving your pussy. Focusing again on reality, you felt the heat of Namjoon’s body behind you when his skin sticked to yours. With an extraordinary strength you didn’t know he had, Seokjin moved your body up on his standing dick and down until he bottomed out. From this upright position, gravity naturally made your body go lower and the thick penis go deeper. You whined from overstimulation.

“Shush, whore. Didn’t you wanna be bred? This is how filthy whores have their cunt filled” the older brother grunted. You whined louder like the brattiest of brats just to annoy him. At this point he could only roll his eyes to you. Though your fun didn’t last long – next time Seokjin pulled you down, you found yourself filled to the brim suddenly.

It took a little patience and team work from all parties to make both of them fit into your pussy at the same time. You whimpered for real the whole time, closing your eyes tightly, because you were stretched to the limit, and despite having done this before, it was never with two cocks that large. Between shaky exhales, you felt Namjoon tonguing at the spot under your ear and nibbling his way to the base of your throat.

“Holy shit, it’s better than I thought” Seokjin groaned, half lidded eyes posed on your strained face. “Do you like your cunt stuffed like this, baby?” He saw the intention to clapback when you barely opened your eyes, so he thrusted the tiniest bit up to tear a yelp off of you. He admitted to himself that he kind of admired your tenacity; you came this far and never once had you showed the littlest trace of fear or regret – no, you kept pushing and challenging them even in that moment. It really was admirable how far you would go for your fortune.

Finally, you felt yourself reaching the base of their penises, with much, much effort. You couldn’t think, much less utter a single word from how overwhelmed you felt. All you could do was gasp and gape like a fish, digging your fingers on Seokjin’s shoulder – who was enjoying every second of your helplessness. Having you at his mercy was all he had thought about for years, and all he had needed was patience and time. And there you were.

“You turned out just a meek kitten, baby” Namjoon commented on your left ear, swiveling his hips slowly into you. “I don’t like proving Seokjin right and I told him he was fucking crazy with this stupid plan, but here we are.” Both of them secured their hold on your legs, and just like that started moving taking turns; each time one was out, the other penetrated you with a hard thrust.

“Told you this dumb whore would fall for it” Seokjin grunted, looking down at the place where all three of you connected. “She thinks running a business is fucking people and that’s it. ‘Cause that’s how you made your way to the top, right? There’s no other way for you to get anywhere, as useless as you are.” Seokjin was really, really into degrading you. He spat his words to your face with the utmost disgust, pounding into you harder whenever he said something demeaning. “You’d been a disgusting slut since daddy gave you the wheel, hadn’t you? Letting anybody use your cunt, dripping everywhere you go with any bastard’s cum.”

Now they were really getting into it – and so were you. Heat stirred up in your core again and you found yourself panting and whimpering, needing more. You opened your glazed eyes and focused on Seokjin, expecting he catches up the silent begging. He did, but he would make you suffer before anything.

“It was going to be a surprise, baby, but your beautiful, tortured face is weakening me a little so I’ll tell you.” Still shaking you everywhere with their pounding, the older of the brothers got his mouth on the juncture of your neck and shoulder, and he bitted hard enough to hurt. When he heard you scream, he sucked the tender spot and laved his tongue on the dents he left, before getting right by your right ear to talk. “You’ll stay here with us. We will shoot your brother, steal your kingdom and make everything, including you, Kim property.”

Namjoon fucks into you at the last sentence, not waiting for his brother to be fully out. You shout as he fills you suddenly; the pressure of his entire cock inside of you, alongside the half Seokjin didn’t get out, got your whole body quivering. A collective gasp echoed in the room, and after that, the smacking of skin with skin resumed.

“You know what your future here holds, baby? It was true, we will knock you up,” Namjoon’s satin voice paired with his ramming into you every time he said will made goosebumps run up your spine and your insides to tighten. “We will make you bear our children, and we will make you tend to them only for the rest of your life. What about that, baby? The great mafia princess lessened into a breeding machine, good for nothing but popping out our babies.”

After hearing his brother, Seokjin begins fucking into you rougher, more urgent, moving one hand to your throat so you won’t look anywhere but at him as he fucks you. Sweat was making it difficult for you to keep your hold on his strained biceps so, in a particularly hard thrust, you sank your fingers, nails and all, deep onto his skin with a moan. Both brothers bang into you together, cocks heedlessly slamming and dragging over your walls, their pace picking up as they jackhammered into your pussy at the same time, into the same spot. They were rubbing your insides raw; sensitive skin swollen and unbearably tender, way past the point of pain and pushing into pleasure.

“This is your life now, sweetheart” Seokjin panted on your face, now holding you by the jaw. “Get used to being my bitch because I’ve been waiting for too long to fuck” he thrusted up with force. “my seed” His brother caught on his rhythm and now you had to cocks punctuating every word with rough movements. “into you.” With one last pound of the two members, filling ridiculously stretched and overly sensitive inside and out – and with a single stroke of Namjoon’s magic fingers on your clit – you tip over the edge. You scream, your muscles tense everywhere like a rubber band before releasing all at once, and both men keep fucking you despite you blacking out for a moment.

Fucking themselves into you, both brothers knew they wouldn’t last much longer given how you clenched around them, your walls throbbing alongside their cocks. Unable to hold out anymore, Namjoon groans low, hips getting sloppier as he started pumping his come deep into you. It just took Seokjin one more spasm from your cunt to moan loud and long and come beside his brother, white ropes filling you up as both of them continued to fuck every last drop inside. White, liquid cum seeped from your pussy and between their joined members to their thighs. All of your chests heaved in and out to catch your breaths, and just then they realized you let yourself fall onto Seokjin, body liquified and mind still out there.

#bts one shot #bts x reader #bts smut #namjoon smut #seokjin smut #namjoon #seokjin #bts #mafia #mafia au #female reader #the title is silly but anyways #requested #i tried to be smart and make a word play in the title just humor me im so funny

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sanjisboyfie · 1 year ago

Text

one piece smau: married to doflamingo edition

- it's all just male reader humbling doffy sorry guys (the man needs to b humbled anyway so i dont rlly see a problem)

liked by micorazon, trembletrebol, and 10k others

puppeteerdoffy: he doesn't like when i manspread for some reason i thought people thought it was hot 😕

tagged: notapuppet.[name]

notapuppet.[name]: there's nothing hot about being an inconvenience grow up

-> puppeteerdoffy: but i thought you loved everything i did :3

-> notapuppet.[name]: pls don't ever use that emoticon again. that doesn't suit you at all

[liked by baby555, tremboltrebl, and 90 others]

micorazon: it's a shame no one taught u manners in knowing that this is just flat out gross

-> notapuppet.[name]: i obviously chose to marry the wrong donquixote, i have many regrets in my life

-> micorazon: it's alright, affairs are always possible

-> puppeteerdoffy: rosinate, i'm gonna skewer you alive.

liked by notapuppet.[name], dancingviolet, pikapica, and 11k others

baby555: calling all sigma males !!! the key to being a business tycoon, according to donquixote doflamingo himself, is being a gay man completely in love with your husband

tagged: notapuppet.[name] and puppeteerdoffy

puppeteerdoffy: he could walk me like a dog and i'd thank him

-> baby555: he already does.

pikapica: this post could singlehandedly stop the sigma male epidemic from spreading further

-> vergolikessteak: that...or make it worse

-> diadiamonte: it's definietly gonna make it worse

notapuppet[name]: the so called business tycoon's actual secret to being successful is that i'm the one managing all the business guys pls don't b fooled

-> baby555: this is also true. thank u for keeping our business afloat and away from the hands of the creep doffy <3

[liked by notapuppet.[name], pikapica, and 100 others]

-> puppeteerdoffy: now there's no need to lie and take all of the credit that isn't even yours

liked by notapuppet.[name], vergolikesteak, and 13k others

puppeteerdoffy: appreciation post for him - even though he's a fucking liar <3

tagged: notapuppet.[name]

baby555: lover's quarrel for all the public to see

notapuppet.[name]: idk what that caption even means, but edit it before i die your hair black in your sleep babe

-> puppeteerdoffy: no.

-> vergolikessteak: i know his ass was shaking in fear when he typed that reply

[liked by notapuppet.[name], pikapica, and 100 others]

-> notapuppet.[name]: hold on no fucking way ur talking abt my comment on that post from yesterday??? ur done mf.

liked by micorazon, puppeteerdoffy, diadiadiamonte, and 15k others

notapuppet.[name]: the back of your head is at the front of my mind, maybe i'll crack it open just to see what's inside

tagged: puppeteerdoffy

diadiadiamonte: doffy is so fucked LMFAOOAO

trembletrebol: this sounds exactly like doffy is abt to say goodbye to his blonde hair tn

-> notapuppet.[name]: he most definitely is <3 appreciating his blonde hair one last time for u all to see

-> pikapica: it's okay he needed a change of appearane anyway

senorpinkloveshiswife: such romance!! praying for u tn doffy <3

puppeteerdoffy: thanks for the worry guys, but nothing is gonna happen to me tn.

-> notapuppet.[name]: the world will be watching my next post tmrw morning

-> puppeteerdoffy: i love you, too, my entire world. so lucky to have such a loving husband as you to keep me in check and hold me accountable

-> baby555: LMFAOOAOAO

liked by pupeteer doffy, dr.law, and 20k others

notapuppet.[name]: guys what do u thinkkkkk he loves itttt

tagged: puppeteerdoffy

pikapica: he looks quite pissed

dr.law: LMFAOAOAOOA BOZO GOT OWNED IN HIS FUCKING SLEEP, WHAT A FUCKING LOSERRRRRRRR!!!! thank u [name], from the bottom of my heart for humiliating this fool

-> notapuppet.[name]: no problem law <3

baby555: at least he looks less like a creep w black hair

-> notapuppet.[name]: that's what i told him, but he refused to listen to reason

puppeteerdoffy: i will repent for my sins for the rest of my life, my love

-> trembletrebol: this is definitely a dynamic you two have.

notapuppet.[name]: he looks sexier with black hair anyway idk

-> puppeteerdoffy: suddenly, i love my black hair, i should have been born with black hair, i wish i could have black hair forever.

[liked by notapuppet.[name], micorazon, and 90 others]

liked by puppeteerdoffy, baby555, and 19k others

notapuppet.[name]: i love doffy so much guys pls don't get it twisted he just needs a humbling every now and then

tagged: puppeteerdoffy

puppeteerdoffy: you're gonna make it up to me later.

pikapica: thank u for being the one to humble him, but either way, i hope u two have fun on ur resort trip!

baby555: lord knows how badly [name] needed this trip after how much doflamingo torments him. every. single. day.

-> notapuppet[name]: you always understand my struggles, i appreciate this

micorazon: have fun don't have too much sex

-> puppeteerdoffy: who do you think you're talking to ???

diadiadiamonte: enjoy your getaway trip bosses!

[liked by notapuppet[name], puppeteerdoffy, and 70 others]

liked by notapuppet.[name], micorazon, and 14k others

puppeteerdoffy: can't wait to make him a dad

tagged: notapuppet[name]

notapuppet.[name]: aww this is so cute ( i don't trust your ability to take care of children yet, but we can start with getting a dog or something babe)

-> puppeteerdoffy: u say this as if me babysitting law for a majority of my life didn't make him turn out fine

-> dr.law: i literally hate u and wish we never met???

[liked by notapuppet.[name], micorazon, and 100 others]

micorazon: awww these are such cute photos

-> puppeteerdoffy: fuck off my instagram u freak

baby555: a shame that a man as attractive as [name] is stuck with u for life

-> dancingviolet: a man that's good with kids>>>

-> puppeteerdoffy: do i have to block everyone off of my page what is up with you guys

notapuppet.[name]'s story:

smacked his ass after taking this photo

puppeteerdoffy replied to your story: i have a reputation to uphold yk?? ur so lucky i love u more than anything.

#≡;- ꒰ ° smau series ꒱#one piece smau #one piece modern au #one piece x male reader #x reader #x male reader #one piece imagines #doflamingo x reader #doflamingo x male reader #donquixote doflamingo x reader #donquixote doflamingo x male reader #doflamingo imagines

430 notes · View notes

jasntodds · 11 months ago

Text

Petrichor [16]

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Powered!Reader (little bit of fwb)

Words: 13,749

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, angst, fluff, blood, gunshot wound, a little bit of gore, mentions of death, panic attacks, hurt/comfort

Summary: ❝Pylades: I’ll take care of you. Orestes: It’s rotten work. Pylades: Not to me. Not if it’s you.❞

Gotham is home, not just for Jason but for you, too. And now that you’re both finally back home, together, you’re ready to see where this next chapter brings the two of you. He’s your best friend and you’re his. And you both might want a little something more with being back home, the place you both feel most comfortable. Surely, nothing could possibly go wrong now.

A/N: Hey!! lmao so sorry for the super late update. I was sick and then some personal stuff happened and then I thought I got covid so yeah hi lol I'm so sorry lol This chapter was like 20k+ words so I split it into two because that was a lot lol You can add yourself to the tag list below, ask me to be tagged, or you can follow my library blog @jasntoddslibrary and turn on notifications if you prefer that!! I love feedback, I swear it keeps me posting on a weekly basis 😭

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Jason is stuck pacing back and forth in the room he’s calling a bedroom now. Worry has taken every part of him as his hand grips his phone like a vice. It’s been hours. He hasn’t heard from you or Dick or Gar. He hasn’t heard from anyone and he’s tried calling you seven times. But, your phone is off and your phone is never off. That is the one thing about you, your phone will never be off unless there is a reason for it and being hurt isn’t a good reason. Not to you. The only time your phone even dies is…never. Jason thinks about it and he doesn’t think you’ve let your phone even reach 20% in the entire time you’ve known each other. He thinks it’s probably so someone can always find you and you can always call for help because you’re almost paranoid about it dying. Your phone doesn’t die.

That leaves Jason thinking the worst of the worst. If your phone is off, that means it has to be dead or you shut it off for some reason but that’s uncharacteristic of you. So, he thinks maybe it did die and if it died, that’s because you didn’t charge it. If you didn’t charge your phone, it’s because you were physically incapable of charging it. What if something really bad happened? What if you were shot somewhere else? Jason knows Crane wanted you taken care of, maybe he shot you twice but you’re really good at hiding your pain when you need to. Adrenaline probably kicked in and shock, you were scared for Tim. Maybe you didn’t realize how bad it was. What if there was a complication of some sort and something bad happened?

Jason’s mouth starts to water as his eyes burn. His brows pinch together hard as his teeth grind so hard his jaw starts to ache. He was brought back. But, a part of him really hates that he was. Would you want to be brought back? If you died, would you want to be brought back like him? Jason comes to a stop, trying to steady his own breathing as his leg aches and burns. The scars on his chest feel like he’s being cut open again. What if you don’t want to be brought back but Jason did anyway? What if you did, and he does nothing?

What if you did die?

If you did die…Gar would call him, right?

Gar would definitely call, Jason assures himself. Gar would call immediately if something were happening. He has the number now and Jason’s ringer is on with the vibration set to strong. He has no missed calls but he’s certain Gar would call. If not, he would have called Molly and Molly would have found a way to call Jason. If you were dead, one of them would call him.

And then Jason swallows his own heartbeat as his phone starts ringing.

Gar.

“Hey.” Jason clears his throat, trying to keep himself together as he tries to prepare himself for the worst news he’ll ever get.

“Is she there?” Gar asks and Jason can hear the worry etched in his voice.

“Uh…no?” Jason questions and he’s not sure if he should be relieved or panicked with Gar not knowing where you are. At least he’s not calling to tell Jason you’re dead but that does not rule out you bleeding out in a ditch somewhere. “I told her to go with you.”

Gar sighs on the end, running a hand through his hair. “She took off. I thought maybe she went to find you but she was hurt and she’s not answering her phone. Molly hasn’t heard from her either.”

Jason already figured you wouldn’t go to Molly. If you went to Molly, she would worry, give you a look you don’t like, and you’d run away again anyway. The last thing you’d want to do is drag Molly into it further. But, Jason really hoped you’d have listened for once and just went with Gar. Or at least sent a text to one of them to let them know you’re okay or not.

“She hasn’t been around.” Jason keeps his voice quiet and he looks around his room as if the answer is going to be written on the walls.

“Uh…hey, I know this…might not be what it’s for, but can you track her? She was shot and we’re all really worried.” Gar’s voice is hesitant as he scrunches his nose, hating the idea of having Jason do it. It feels like an invasion of privacy, especially Gar being the one to ask but it’s a last-ditch effort.

Of course, Jason’s been thinking about it. But, something in him can’t get himself to do it. On the small chance you did shut your phone off, that means you don’t want to be found. Jason can’t overstep, he can’t intrude on you. Even if he is desperately wanting to because you could be dead. He thought maybe he’d give you twenty more minutes and then he’d just do it anyway.

“Have you looked for her?” Jason asks, eying his tablet you left out.

“No, I called you first.” Gar admits. Honestly, Gar doesn’t even know where to look but he knew Jason would.

With no one out looking for you, maybe they don’t have to track you and possibly invade your privacy. If you’re just blowing off steam or punishing yourself, Jason knows exactly where you’ll be. He figures, if him, Gar, and Molly can’t find you within an hour, checking all of your spots, he’ll use the tracker.

“Okay, you and Molly go look for her at her usual spots. Molly’ll know ‘em and I’ll check a few others. If we don’t find her in an hour, I’ll track her.” Jason nods his head on the other end.

“Do you think we’ll actually find her? I mean you know how she is.” Gar isn’t trying to be pessimistic but it’s been hours and he thought for sure, you would be with Jason.

Jason can feel the panic attack starting to course through his blood. His heart is racing and his hands are growing clammy and he’s getting unreasonably angry. It is not Gar’s fault because even on a good day, getting you to listen is like pulling fucking teeth, especially when it has to do with taking care of yourself. Jason knows this better than anyone but he’s mad anyway and he knows it’s the panic attack. You were fucking shot and he took off so he’s mad at himself for listening. And he’s mad that you were shot and Gar didn’t stop you. He can turn into a fucking tiger for fuck’s sake, couldn’t he have turned into a tiger to stop you? Tackled you to the ground and pinned you there, dragged you to the manor kicking and screaming if that’s what he had to do. You were shot and maybe you’re dead now and he didn’t help. And Jason didn’t fucking help.

“Fuck! Gar, then you should have fucking followed her!” Jason snaps and immediately feels bad about it but any part of him that should apologize is washed over with guilt and regret and more anger. “Just go fucking look for her with Molly and I’ll look other places.” Jason grabs his coat from the bed and heads for the door.

“Where should we start?” Gar is quiet on the other end.

“The zoo.” Jason spits right back without even thinking. “Start there, then the harbor and I’ll–” Jason cuts himself off as he swings the door open, seeing you right in front of him with bloodshot eyes and blood-stained clothes and hands.

Gotham never sleeps. It never stalls. Everything is always moving, always loud. There is always something going on, people always going from one spot to the next in their lives. In some ways, it’s a little comforting. A reminder that you are here. You are here and alive like all of the people you passed on your walk here living their own lives. On the other hand, you wish it were quiet sometimes. You wish it were quiet sometimes because everything seems too much sometimes and your skin crawls while your heart feels like it’s going to beat out your chest. Your head spins and everything feels too much. But, it was quiet in the basement. It was quiet in the tower before you were attacked. It was quiet in the tunnels. It was quiet when you found Jason. It was quiet when Tim was shot. Maybe quiet is the surrounding air grieving for the mess fate’s created.

So, you stand in Jason’s doorway because quiet with him, alive and breathing, has always been the safest place to be. You stand weakly, haunted by everything that’s happened as the very idea of existing physically pains the deepest parts of your heart.

It’s hard to go through the same shit all the time. You’re just supposed to be fine with it. It’s happened before and you got over it, so you can get over it again, right? At some point, someone reaches the end of their rope and you think you might be there. It is the same pain over and over again and it never gets any easier. Time passes and it all just hurts anyway. People say time heals everything but you don’t think that’s true because you think about your mom dying and it’s like the wind’s been kicked from your chest all over again. You remember Jason’s body and it’s like you're being waterboarded. Time doesn’t heal anything. It’s not even like you’re used to it. You were just traumatized and avoid thinking about everything so it doesn’t fucking hurt so much. But, even that’s just exhausting. Existing is hard and tiring and painful.

Maybe you’re just tired of being in pain.

Your bottom lip starts to quiver and you always felt safest with him. Even from your own thoughts. You never felt too much pain around him. He always knows exactly what to do and it’s all too much right now. Being alone doesn’t work anymore. So, you stare up at him as Jason’s brows pull together with a cross between worry and relief.

“Jason?” Gar calls. “You there?” Gar asks.

“I got her.” Jason says. “She’s here. I’ll call you later.” Jason says quickly before hanging up. “Hey.” Jason’s voice is soft and careful, noticing you’re not making eye contact with him.

You walk the couple of feet up to him as Jason keeps his stance, almost ready to do whatever you’ll need. And all you do is lean forward and rest your forehead against his chest. Jason lets out a breath and you’re able to pull one in for the first time. Jason rests his hand on your back, rubbing up and down slowly as he hears you sniffle against him.

“Gar was calling in a search party. Where the fuck were you?” Jason asks and he should have some sort of bite in his voice but he’s too worried and too relieved.

You look back up to him and shake your head. “Walking. I couldn’t-I couldn’t…do it.” Your jaw squares as you try to hold back your own tears. “S-sorry..I-I didn’t mean to…to, uh, worry you guys. I-I just…just couldn’t.”

Jason nods with understanding, looking you over and it doesn’t look like you took care of the gunshot wound. Your clothes are soaked and your hair is an utter mess. There’s blood on your face and he swears your cheeks are stained with tears and you actually look cold.

Jason rests his hand on your cheek and you finally meet his eyes. “You alright?” Jason asks softly.

“Hurts.” You mutter and his hand almost feels like it’s burning your cheek. He’s so warm.

“The gunshot?” Jason questions, almost afraid of the answer.

“Everything.” You answer weakly with defeat.

You've never seen his look on him before. His jaw is squared but it’s soft rather than harsh like he’d been trying to shatter his own teeth. His brows are pinched but not completely pulled together and they’re aimed downward, etched in worry. His eyes are scanning you over every few seconds as if he’s stuck between thinking you aren’t really here and terrified something really bad is about to happen. Jason Todd worries and you've seen him worried plenty of times but this is different. You've seen him scared, too, plenty of times. More times than you can really count. But, this is different. It’s a different look and it’s because it’s you. And that look alone, chops and hacks at the barrier holding you together until it finally crumbles at your feet.

“It’s all my fault, Jay.” You sputter as you feel your eyes starting to water again. “It’s all my fault and I really fucked up and Tim could die or he did die. I don’t even know cause I left and I’m a fucking coward for leaving and it’s all my fucking fault.” Your mouth waters and you can’t look at his eyes because it’s all too much. “And there was so much…blood again. And the last time…it was you and it was horrible and I lost you and I couldn’t do it again and it just hurts all the time.” You suck in a shaky breath. “And-and Gar would say it’s not my fault and he’d give me the look but it is my fault. And Dick would be mad at me and I deserve it but I can’t hear it right now because I don’t know if I can handle it. And….it’s just-it’s just my fault. And I don’t know if could save him but I tried and I tried to save you, too.” You sputter before a sob finally rips through your throat. It bounces against the walls in a strangled and broken wail as if the very life you've lived has finally taken its toll on you for the last time. Jason isn’t sure he can listen to it because it physically pains him to see and hear you like this.

“Y/n.” Jason tries to get out but you shake your head.

“I tried really fucking hard to save you and it didn’t work. And I had to call Bruce and beg him to help me and he couldn’t and it was so fucking horrible and painful and scary.” You try to suck in a breath as tears scatter down your face. Everything is just wet and ugly, and burning. “It was so bad and I was so alone.” You suck in a ragged breath, your voice cracking and breaking between sobs. “Because Molly didn’t know and fuck Bruce and Gar wasn’t here. I was so alone and it was so scary because there was so much blood and brain matter.” Jason almost winces hearing it. “I don’t know if I would have been able to recognize you if you didn’t have the fucking Robin suit. It was so fucking bad and it hurts to think about and believe it happened but you’re here. And then Tim gets shot and there’s so much blood and I had to ask Dick to help and it’s like I’m there with your body again and it’s scary and it’s painful and I hate it. I hate how much it hurts. I hate doing this. I hate that it keeps happening.” Your chest heaves as you look at Jason with tears soaking your cheeks and your eyes finally meet his. And all Jason can see is defeat. “What if it just keeps happening?”

Jason shakes his head and every single time he is reminded you were the one that found him, he sends himself into a guilt-ridden spiral. Of course, you found him. That isn’t the issue. The issue is what it looked like from your perspective and the devastation it caused. He knows. He knows what it is like to find someone you love dead. He knows and it’s horrible and painful and devastating. It makes someone feel completely hopeless and helpless and useless. There has never been a time where he felt more helpless. And then he put you in that same position, not on purpose. But, he did and it was worse because it was gorey and traumatizing and he left you. He didn’t realize how badly it had traumatized you. It traumatized him, too but it affects you.

Dying doesn’t just happen to the person that’s dead. It happens to everyone around them.

“I’m so sorry.” Jason says softly, sliding his hand off your cheek. He shakes his head, biting his own tongue because he almost wants to cry with you. “I’m fucking sorry.” Jason wraps his arm around your shoulders as he pulls you into him. He’s careful not to hug you too tight, minding the gunshot wound he knows he’ll be taking care of for you later. “You’re not coward.” Jason manages to get out as he tries to come up with an answer for you even though he doesn’t think he’ll ever have one. The reality is that it will keep happening.

“Yeah, I am.” You argue back before you look up at him. “What fucking person just leaves as their friend is bleeding on the ground?”

“Someone who’s fucking traumatized.” Jason bites back. “Someone who was also fucking shot and in shock. You tried to help him and me knowing the shit you’d get for it. You fucking knew I went after the Joker and you show up alone, ready to take him on by your fucking self if you had to. You think that makes you a coward? What’s that make me then, huh?” Jason questions back, knowing you’ll never think of him as a coward, even if he sees that in himself sometimes.

“Not a coward but that’s different.” You argue.

“Fucking how?” Jason spits back. “You left Tim with Dick and the rest of the Titans who would know what to do. You were also fucking shot.” Jason shakes his head.

Jason wonders if this is what it's like dealing with him sometimes. Going round and round, circling the drain into a self-destructive spiral that only seems to have one result. It's not that he minds, it's that you think this. You're anything but a coward and Jason can't even figure out how you could think otherwise. You always do what you think is best for yourself and for the people you care about. Always. And you fight tooth and nail, as hard and as fast as you possibly can for what you believe. That's not cowardly.

“I-I know but…” You sniffle as you shake your head. “H-how can I keep doing this? I mean…losing people and the blood and….how can I do this for other people when I can’t even save the people I love?” You ask bluntly. “That’s shit, you know? We’re supposed to be out helping people and…and I can’t even…I fail with the people that matter. So, what’s the point?”

Jason would be lying if he doesn't question what the point is half the time, especially over the last few days. What's the point of living if this is even how it plays out? Pain and chaos, destruction and lonelienss. It's all pretty miserable, actually. But, he holds on anyway because it wasn't always like this.

Shit gets bad and then it gets better and yeah, it is exhausting sometimes. But, it's always gotten better. Jason doesn't know how much better it'll get from here now but he won't tell you that. He just knows he wakes up and he tries because you were nearly beaten an inch from your life and you find so much joy and love in small things that that alone seems to give Jason some sort of hope. And because Gar's family was killed and Gar was experimented on and he is the most optimistic person he has ever met. And because Molly lived on the streets with the death of her parents and Molly is the nicest person Jason has ever met. If all of these people can just be better after everything, than he can't very well just give up. And you can't either. Maybe there isn't a point but you'll never know if you give up.

“You know what you told me? You are the one that said sometimes we fail, that’s part of the job. But, we try.” Jason licks his lips as he sucks in a breath. “You talked me off the roof. Maybe Deathstroke would have tried to kill me or done worse shit if it weren’t for you. Fucking Pete Hawkins bullshit. The kid at Jerry’s. You were the one that fought tooth and fucking nail to save Gar. And you did, by the way. You saved Tim at Excellent Gotham. You failed two fucking times but by my count, you win more often.”

“Three times.” You correct him, earning you a glare. “Gar got kidnapped, we failed then…too.”

“You were both tranquilized and they used kryptonite on Krypto. I don’t think that counts.” Jason nods his head.

“I guess.” You let out a breath, looking to your shoes. “I just, uh,” You sniffle as you shake your head, looking back to him. “I just want the pain to stop.” Your voice cracks again.

Jason doesn’t say it, but he does, too. So, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into him.

You press your cheek to his chest, wrapping your arms around him as your breathing is still rapid and ragged. But, you can hear his heartbeat in between breaths. It’s fast but steady. A lot quicker than it usually is but it is there. A few more tears leak out as you count his heartbeat and are fully engulfed by his warmth. You hadn’t realized just how numb you had gotten from the cold until now. Your fingers and toes are starting to feel like painful pins and needles. Your arms are burning and your cheek sting from the salty tears. It’s as if you're thawing from his warmth. Between that and his steady heartbeat, you calm yourself down.

“I can try to help.” Jason whispers softly. “If you’ll have me.” Jason pulls away just enough to look down at you and your eyes meet his.

You told him before that you’d come for everything that ever hurt him if it came to it. Anyone that ever wanted to hurt him, would have to go through you. Because he was just Jason Todd to you. It didn’t matter that he could -- should have been able to -- take care of himself. And Jason knew that’s how it was for him, too. Anyone who wants to hurt you, has to go through him. But, the problem is that someone did hurt you…because of him. And he hurt you. Right now you're in pain and it’s because of him. It’s not right and it’s not fair to you but Jason wants to protect you. He’d cut out pieces of his heart and glue them to yours if it would make you feel better. He would do anything in this world if it would make your pain less. Any form of pain that wants to come for you, is going to have to go through him first. From now on.

You nod your head. “Always.” You croak out.

“Come on.” Jason releases his arms and cold rushes itself right back over your body. “Sit on the bed, I’ll grab you some clothes and supplies to clean that shit. We’ll start there.”

“Thanks, Jay.” You mutter softly, walking to the bed and Jason watches you carefully.

He wonders if this is how it always felt for you. He’d come home bloody and bruised, weak and pitiful. Scared and in pain. He never said anything but Jason knows you always knew. Somehow, you always knew when he was hurt and scared. But, it was always him walking through the door hurt, not you. And it was you that would stitch him up. Sure, he’s helped you with your hands, but you did it at least twice a week for months. And you never complained. But, Jason wonders if this is what it feels like.

It feels like he’s carrying the weight of the world for the both of you and he’s trapped in a worrying spin. And he is so fucking sad for you. It’s not pity, but just sadness. It’s wanting the best for you and you to have everything good in this world because you deserve it. And wanting to witness it because he loves you. It’s just wanting to see you smile and happy, making some stupid joke and telling him to fuck off. It’s just wanting you to not be in pain anymore. He wonders if this is how it felt being you and if so, he wants to know so badly how the fuck you dealt with it because he feels like he’s suffocating while he grabs you clothes.

Jason walks back over to you, handing you a pair of sweatpants and a red hoodie. “I got first aid shit in the bathroom so change and I’ll be back.” Jason nods his head at you.

“Okay.” You answer weakly and Jason hesitates for a few seconds before he practically runs off to the bathroom.

You're weak and unsteady as you change into the sweats. You're realizing you haven’t eaten in a while and you haven’t had much to drink either. That’s definitely not helping your mental state and you know it. But, if you were being really honest, none of those activities sound like things you're currently capable of doing. Changing is even almost too much effort at this point. And it fucking hurts as you try to take your shirt off to swap it for the hoodie.

“Need help?” Jason appears right back not two minutes later.

You always hated feeling helpless but not around him. “Yeah, it hurts.” You sniffle softly, sitting pitifully on the bed.

Jason walks over, resting the kit beside you before he lightly grabs the hem of your hoodie. Jason helps you tug it off of your bad shoulder and then over your head, you groaning the entire time. With the hoodie off, you're left in a blue t-shirt and Jason sees where the bullet hole is, covered in red and brown. With the chaos of last night, he didn’t check and wasn’t able to check if the wound was a through and through. Jason's stomach twists at the thought that it's not. But, he hides his worry, looking back to you with a soft sigh.

“How did you wanna do this?” Jason asks bluntly.

Your brows furrow in confusion. “I-I don’t know?” You shake your head.

“I can’t clean it with your shirt on.” Jason sucks in a breath and normally he’d have some comment about seeing you half naked again but he can’t quite muster it this time.

“Oh…” You whisper and you swear it’s fine. It’s not like you haven’t seen each other naked before and it’s not like you didn’t see Jason fully exposed just the other night. There is something that just feels…new and vulnerable again. “That’s fine.” You nod and Jason leans forward again, tugging the hem of your shirt up and over your head, freeing your arm. You grab Jason's hoodie with your good arm and Jason helps tug it onto your good arm, you thankful it's a zip-up and not a pullover. “Guess that’ll do.” You suck in a breath and you're kind of tired of feeling like this. “I expect you to actually help and not just stare at my tits the whole time.”

Jason manages a cheeky smirk. “You know I’m ass guy anyway.” Jason glances down and then back to you.

“Shithead.” You mutter and Jason’s head swims. It’s been so long since you've called him that and it almost feels nostalgic.

“Babe.” Jason quips back.

Jason takes out his phone, examining the gunshot now that there isn’t anything in the way. There’s still blood everywhere and he can’t even tell if it’s because you did such a shit job at cleaning it or if the wound is actually that bad. Something in his stomach twists and turns into a gnawing pain at the thought this is worse than he originally thought. But, he keeps a straight face, not to let his worry cross even a single line of his face. When he worries, you worry.

Jason grabs a wet rag from the bowl he brought in with him, gently cleaning around the area to try to get a better look. You let out a shaking breath, the water cool against your skin.

“Sorry, no hot water.” Jason barely glances to you as he scrubs some of the dry blood away.

“Should probably fix that.”

“Pilot lights are expensive.”

“I have Bruce’s credit card.” You mutter quietly, earning a look from Jason.

He stops, looking up at you fully. “You would.”

“Eat the rich.” You shrug. “Or take their money when it’s offered to you and he didn’t ask for it back.” Jason lets out a snicker before he goes back to cleaning. “You should use yours. It might send up a red flag for Bruce and maybe he’ll call someone back or come back.”

You hate the words as they leave your lips because wanting Bruce back means admitting defeat. But, Gotham has gone to absolute shit since Bruce decided to fuck off somewhere. At least Gotham had some degree of fear and respect for the Bat. They don't seem to like the Titans very much. And Jason's been off his rocker and you've been stuck trying to help him. Gotham does need someone they respect. Bruce should definitely come back. And if for no other reason, to see his son is alive again.

Jason scoffs. “Yeah, fucking right.” He shakes his head in annoyance. “Fuck Bruce. I don’t need him.”

Before he died, he was getting better about talking about his problems and the things that kept him up at night. He was doing better with it but then he comes back and the very idea of talking about it makes him want to crash through a window headfirst onto solid pavement. In all fairness, he already hated talking about Bruce. It was one thing to complain about him but it was an entirely other thing to unravel and dig into actually talking about him. Now, though, it’s worse because every time Jason thinks about Bruce, it’s as if his heart starts to break all over again.

Maybe him getting bludgeoned death was his fault. He knew better. But, where was Bruce? Bruce gave up on him. And then…was going to let the Joker just…live. Jason was supposed to be Bruce’s son and he couldn’t even kill the Joker for him or do anything about him. And maybe, just maybe, Jason could get over that eventually but Jason’s alive again and Bruce is nowhere to be found. With everything going on in Gotham, Jason is certain Dick would have called Bruce and let him know. If for no other reason than to rat Jason out to “dad”. So, maybe Jason feels like he was always a little expendable to Bruce, not just Crane or the Titans. And that part hurts the most.

“Didn’t say you did?” You let out a breath. “Just saying is all.” You pull in a deep breath. “Fuck Bruce, yeah. Just saying.” You, for one, still hate Bruce but Jason hating Bruce seems weird. You chalked it up to the drug at first and Crane but…Jason’s clean. It’s weird, even for Jason. “What’s your sudden issue with Bruce anyway?”

“You got a problem with me having a problem with Bruce all of a sudden?” Jason spits back and he shouldn’t, given your current state but his heartache over being abandoned by him is fresh.

“Oh, no. I am actually fine with that cause fuck Bruce but it’s weird. After all of that shit, you come back and suddenly don’t like him. That’s weird, Jay. Even for you.”

“Never fucking mattered to him. I was always just the replacement for Dick anyway. Doesn’t fucking matter.” Jason dips the rag into the water, rinsing some of the blood off before going back to the wound.

You furrow your brows, trying to figure out where that’s even coming from. “Uh…not true? Bruce is a fucking weirdo and shit but I actually think he gives a shit about you, Jay. Outside of Robin and Dick. You always said that, too. Like deep down you knew that, so what is it now?”

Jason grows more and more angered but he knows you aren’t going to drop it. “You were fucking right, alright?” Jason snaps back. “Should have killed the fucking Joker because he killed me. So fuck him.” Jason keeps his explanation short.

“Right yeah, had he just killed him, you wouldn’t have died and it doesn’t make up for it because too little, too late shit, but like…he did—“

“Can you fucking drop it, please?” Jason’s words come out more as a demand rather than a request. “I’m done fucking talking about it.” Jason looks at your shoulder from your back, seeing there’s no hole in the fabric.

“Sorry.” You say softly. It just doesn’t sit right with you. You’d still be pissed at Bruce, too because had he killed the Joker in the first place that wouldn’t have happened but that’s…not really Jason. He doesn’t hold many grudges and Bruce did kill the Joker. It was a little late for that but he did, to avenge Jason. Bruce didn’t throw his morals away for Dick, he threw them away for Jason and that would normally mean something to him. It’s weird but you know when to push and when not to. You're not in the mood to fight it anyway. “Just thought it was weird, is all.”

“It’s fine. Sorry.” Jason squints at the wound, seeing something shine back at him and his heart plummets. He grabs his phone, shining a light into the wound again. “The bullet is still inside.”

“Figured.” You let out a breath.

“I have to take it out.”

Your eyes land on his and you know this is about to suck. “Okay.” You nod your head.

“Lay back and hold the phone so I can see.” Jason hands you his phone as you do as told.

Jason grabs a pair of tweezers from the kit and he looks at the wound, grabbing your wrist to make sure the light is in the right position. Jason’s stomach twists into a hard knot, knowing how bad this is going to hurt. His leg starts to throb with the very thought of putting you through it. But, it has to be done. You're not going to go to an actual doctor for help and if he leaves the bullet in, it can lead to infection. So, Jason sucks in a deep breath and bends down hovering over the wound, careful not to block the light.

“It’s gonna hurt.” Jason glances up at you.

“Just do it.” You sigh, looking to the ceiling as your grip on his phone tightens.

Jason nods his head before gently sticking the tweezers into the wound. You slam your eyes shut as your jaw clenches. Your right hand grips onto the blanket beneath you as Jason moves the tweezers around. It’s burning and stinging like getting stung by a thousand hornets at once. It’s as if you're being shot in the spot over and over again as tears well behind your eyes. Jason is trying to be careful and quick, but the bullet is slippery thanks to the blood.

Your hand starts to shake as your breath grows rapid and uneven. You try your best to concentrate on anything besides the pain but that’s becoming increasingly more difficult. It was different when you were in the fight for your life. It was do or die and people can do absolutely insane things they should not have been able to accomplish in life or death situations. Your life isn’t in danger right now and even when you try to focus on something else, the tweezers move just enough and you're brought back to agonizing pain.

Given the events that happened, it’s hard for you to focus on anything other than the pain you're been in. You try to think of the good times but then those are tarnished like rusted silverware. Those good memories now come with pain, too. You try to focus on what you’re going to do about Crane because maybe that would kick in your fighting instincts but you're the one lying in a bed right now after being shot by him. Everything around you feels like it’s rusting and chipping away into a toxic pile of reds and browns. Tainted, tarnished, and broken.

Jason glances up to you and he can see the agony written in every wrinkle and pinch of your skin. And he can’t see with the phone basically vibrating in your hand. All he can even feel is anger and not at you. It’s entirely on him and Crane because at the end of the day, it’s his fault and Crane’s how you ended up here. You never should have been shot. You were only there to look out for him. You and Tim were collateral damage. So many people around Jason end up just being collateral damage. And they don’t deserve it. But, at the end of the day, he isn’t the one that pulled the trigger at you and all he wants to do is go right after Crane. Make him feel the same pain he’s put you through. And then worse.

“Y/n.” Jason says, sternly. “You have to stop moving. I can’t see.”

You swallow thickly, trying to stabilize your hand. “Sorry.” You manage to mutter through your gritted teeth.

Jason goes back to the wound but the second he sticks the tweezers into the flesh, you wince and flinch as hard you try to stay still. Jason is no stranger to this and he knows it is agonizing to pick something out of an open wound. Nerves and flesh are exposed that should not be. It’s horrendous and seconds feel like hours. And it’s triggering phantom pain in his leg as his heart feels like it’s being suffocated with barbed wire. He knows it’s bad when you're the one who can’t sit still.

Jason pulls back, putting the tweezers back in the kit before he cups your cheeks. He bends down so his face is just an inch from yours and you open your eyes slowly, your jaw still clenched and tears threatening to finally fall.

“You gotta stay still or I’m never gonna be able to get it out.” Jason’s voice is stern.

“It fucking hurts.” Your voice cracks weakly as you sniffle.

“You were almost beaten to death. This isn’t gonna fucking kill you. You’ll be fine.” Jason nods his head once at you before he presses his forehead to yours for just a second.

You nod weakly at him. “Yeah…”

“Just…stay still and I’ll be quick, alright?” Jason asks, seeing the doubt across your face. “I got you.” Jason offers a weak smile.

“Okay.” You nod your head in agreement.

Jason nods once more before he goes back to your wound. He focuses on the bullet while the tweezers hover above you and you can’t help but notice the lack of shaking in his hands. Come to think of it, you aren’t sure the last time you saw his hand so steady. Jason has always been so steady around you. An unmovable force.

Jason looks back to you, raising his brows as if silently asking if you if you're ready and all you do is nod quickly before looking back to the ceiling. Your grip tightens on the phone while you lock in place with all of your might just to try to stay steady.

The tweezers stick back into the bloody wound, carefully and steadily as they go right to the bullet. Jason keeps his eyes laser-focused on just getting the bullet out and you grit your teeth together as tears come to your eyes. But, you suck in a deep breath as you feel the metal scraping around the wound, clinging onto every part your self-control in order to stay steady. That’s when Jason finally is able to grab the bullet, pulling it out in a steady motion, careful not to drop it.

Jason holds the bullet with the tweezers as a triumphant grin comes to his lips. You peek your eyes open at him, the whites turning a bright shade of pale pink.

“Told you I got you.” Jason shrugs casually but the grin quirks into a cheeky smirk.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah thanks.” You roll your eyes as you sniffle.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, that shit was just, uh painful. I really don’t recommend getting shot.” You lay the phone down beside you before rubbing your right eye.

“Yeah, don’t plan on it.” Jason quips back. “Probably stop hurting soon without the bullet.”

“Be nice.” You let out a sigh. “And Dick really just went to bed like this. What a fucking psycho.”

"Yeah, but you went MIA." Jason narrows his eyes at you because maybe he is a little mad at you for it. They were all worried. He was worried. "You bitch about him but--"

“If you fucking say it, Jason Todd, I’ll kill you again.” You deadpan. “You two are the ones that are oddly similar, okay?”

Jason lets out a scoff. “Bullshit. I’m nothing like him.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, you are. You’re different but you’re similar. You just don’t wanna see it. What? You never looked up to him before all of this shit?” You ask.

Jason sits back on his heels, dropping the bullet in the first aid kit with the tweezers to toss and clean later. “What’s to look up to?” Jason scoffs. “Being a fucking kiss ass and a goody two-shoes.”

“Because he was the first Robin.” You state casually. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, about you replacing him and shit whatever. But, didn’t you ever look up to him for even a little bit?”

Jason hangs his head and while he’s always felt less than and a bit like a failure when it came to filling his shoes, he definitely did look up to him. Dick created something so special and surreal when it came to Robin. He wasn’t Batman, he was just a kid in a suit helping Batman and that was cool. Then Bruce had all of these stories about Dick and it always made Jason want to be like him because Dick was good. That’s how Bruce always talked anyway. Jason doesn’t know that Bruce always talked about Jason in the same way when he wasn’t around. And Dick doesn’t know how Bruce would talk about him to everyone else. But Jason heard the stories and how great Dick was. He never wanted to be exactly like him but he definitely wanted to be somewhat like him. Dick’s parents were killed and he got to be Robin. By all that Jason heard, it seemed he made it out of it okay. He had Robin and he got to carry that with him. He got to have a career in helping people (kind of). Jason did want to be like him but the way he sees it, there’s a reason people say not to meet your heroes.

“Still mad about the Joker shit but…uh,” You sniffle again. “Don’t know, be a lie if I said I didn’t look up to him…and you.”

“Me?”

“I always liked your Robin.” You say quietly. “You were different. Felt like we needed your version. But I told you that.”

“Surprised you still think it.”

“I think we need someone like Red Hood.” You state, catching Jason entirely off guard.

“What? Another fucking murderer?” Jason scoffs, looking to the window above the bed before he looks back to you.

He feels so ashamed of it all at times, like right now. It's because you're the one lying here after being shot by someone Jason thought he could trust. He knows deep down, crime in Gotham needs a change. The Bat doesn't fix everything, clearly. There needs to be someone out there that is willing to do more but Jason isn't sure that's him. He already burned his bridges. He doused them in gasoline and lit a match with a smile. He feels like he's on the wrong side and there's nothing he can do to rebuild that bridge to be on the right side anymore. If there's even a right side.

“No. Someone who’s willing to do the heavy and bad shit in order to prevent worse shit from happening. Like I said, I’m not just killing people for you, it’s for all of us and everyone that will come after us. I think we need people like that and people are afraid of you and rightfully so. I dunno. Just my take, I guess.”

“Been thinking about the people I killed.” Jason lets out a breath. “Heavy shit.”

“Yeah, but a lot of that is greater good shit and the other stuff is Crane’s manipulation so you shouldn’t feel too guilty for those.” You shrug your good shoulder.

Jason shakes his head and he doesn't how you deal with any of it. You don't normally deal with much, if Jason is being honest. But, you seem to be dealing with this pretty okay. Somewhere in him, he always felt like if someone were going to go on a killing spree, you would probably be that person. Your morals have never aligned with Dick's or Bruce's. You've always felt like more could be done, permanently. But, Jason's surprised you seem so okay with it and with him killing people.

“How the fuck are you dealing with it?”

You let out a broken laugh. “I’m not.” You answer honestly. “So much shit is happening that I just…can’t.” You shake your head. “Can’t think about it.”

Jaso nods with understanding. “Yeah.” Jason sucks in a breath, deciding to drop the conversation. It feels too much again. Too loud. Too heavy. “Stay still.” Jason leans forward, grabbing the rag before he starts cleaning her wound again.

You watch him carefully. He’s not handling anything well which you can’t say you really blame him for. You wonder what you would be doing if you were in his position. How would you ever forgive yourself for not only everything that’s happened but also being manipulated? Being manipulated isn’t Jason’s fault but you know he’s probably blaming himself for it because you would be blaming yourself for it if it were you. You wonder how he feels about coming back. You haven’t really talked about it and part of that is you're just afraid to ask because talking about him dying nearly sends you into a spiraling panic attack. But, you wonder how he’s dealing with that and if he’s happy he’s back.

Jason’s hands are steady as he grabs the gauze, his brows pinched together with concentration as he goes back to the wound and you find yourself wondering if you were meant to be anyway. Everything seemed so much easier in San Francisco. You weren’t together then and it was all just fun and games. Sure, you both were kidnapped and that was bad. But, that was one thing. Meanwhile, being together in Gotham has been a shitshow since the start almost. Maybe it’s just the butterfly effect but you wonder if it was just you both trying to find solace in each other or if it was as real as it’s always felt. Maybe you were just feeding off of each other’s own self-destruction and avoidance. Maybe being together helped the other one crumble.

Your eyes scan over his face and you realize, you don’t remember the last time you saw his face bruised. But, while you were together, he was always littered in them and almost always had one somewhere on his face like a Jackson Pollock. That solidifies the thought of you. Maybe you weren’t meant to be after all. Maybe you were actually bad for each other. Maybe you being together really was just you both self-destructing, knowing damn well one of you would die and it would destroy you. Maybe being together was always a way to hurt yourselves in the worst way.

And that hurts worse than the gunshot.

You've always been so sure about him. Even when you weren't sure, a part of you was. It was always supposed to be him. Him and you. But, you were shot and you're thinking a lot about how people's lives might be better if you weren't in them anymore. You're thinking about how things might be better for Jason if you weren't together. You skew your own reality, convincing yourself you got together in order to hurt yourselves. That's all it could possibly be. You ignore every thought about you confessing how loving him is the easiest thing you'd ever done. You push every thought of every soft moment you have ever had into the darkest part of your mind where they can be tainted and painted over. You push away everything Jason has ever told you and goes against everything Jason has ever believed about himself and what he deserves. It all feels like lies to yourself. It was just self-destruction because that has to be it, right?

You go back and forth with yourself. One part of you thinking this must be fact and the other part of you thinking it's just because it's a bad day. Everything feels worse on bad days and it is so easy to push everything good into a dark corner and paint right over it as if it were something different entirely. And today is a bad day. So, a part of you screams and begs for you to just ask Jason because Jason wouldn't lie. If it was all just self-destruction, Jason would tell you. He wouldn't lie about it.

“Do you think we were just a consequence of our own self-destruction?” You ask quietly, moving your eyes to the ceiling. "Or...was it like....real?"

Jason hears the question and pauses. He almost questions if he heard you correctly but he glances back to you and you're avoiding his stare which means he definitely did. His heart sinks and he thinks he forgot how to breathe for a second. Do you actually think that? Jason isn’t sure what would hurt more at this point. You thinking that’s all you were to him or that being all you were to you.

“What?” Jason asks, more for clarity.

“I mean like…exactly, uh, what I said. Do, uh, d-do you think we were just a consequence of our own self-destruction?” You chew the inside of your cheek and you regret asking. “Or…was it all real?”

The question hangs in the air like the blade of a guillotine, just waiting for one of you to pull the rope and end it all. The air starts to feel stale and cold and heavy as Jason doesn’t move, processing the question.

He’s not entirely sure where that question is even coming from. This whole time, you've wanted nothing more than him and you've said that. You have told him that he is all you have ever wanted. Why would you just be a consequence? Was he just a consequence?

Jason sits all the way up, coming into view. “Do you think that?” Jason asks bluntly as his breath hangs in the stagnant air. It’s as if he is clawing at the last remaining parts of his voice to remain steady and not shatter and break.

You look back to him, following the hollowed lines of worry of his face. You aren’t sure he’s breathing and you regret asking the question. You don’t even know why you asked in the first place. It’s not like you actually want to know because sometimes not knowing is just better, less painful. And the look on his face isn’t making you feel any better because he looks torn between devasted and angry.

“I asked you first.” You say quietly.

“No.” Jason states bluntly, almost harshly.

Being with you was never him self-destructing. In Jason’s eyes, as much as it all got fucked up in the end, being with you healed more parts of him than he ever thought possible. Being with you actually healed parts of him he swore would never be put together no matter how hard he tried. You made him better. He got to be who he wanted to be with you and shamelessly, you fully accepted him. And he really thought, he could be that version of himself forever because you always convinced him he could. You made him want to put in a hard effort into coming home and thinking twice before doing something a little too reckless, outside of the whole Crane and Joker thing. You showed him what it was like to be loved without conditions. And Jason loves you still. No conditions. No consequence. No self-destruction. He loves you yesterday, today, and he is positive he’ll love you tomorrow and every day after that because he wants to.

“Do you?” Jason asks, choosing not to elaborate.

You swallow a lump in your throat. Despite your own negative thoughts, you know you don't. Not really. Maybe you thinking it is a self-destruction thing, maybe it's your way of trying in order to punish yourself for Tim and everything else. But, no. Of course, not.

“No.” Your voice is quiet and fragile, making Jason’s heart sink because he knows there’s a but coming. “But, uh..we just…we ended up here.” You let out a scoff. “And, uh, I don’t know.” You shake your head. “We said some pretty fucked up shit to each other and I know…uh, I know you were high but, uh…yeah.”

Devasted. That’s all Jason can feel because he’s one of the reasons you even asked. He knows he said some horrible shit to you and he can’t take any of it back. Words are long-lasting. They enter the air and stick to it, absorbing itself into your lungs as you pull in a breath and let it fester there. That’s where the words start and travel to your brain where they store away, pecking at you just at the right moments. No one can take words back and Jason knows that. But, he has to try anyway even if he doesn't think it’ll salvage you. You have to know you meant and mean the entire world to him still.

“I didn’t mean any of that shit, okay? I swear, I didn’t fucking mean it.” Jason states quickly. “I was fucking high and I just wanted to fucking hurt you which is fucked up and I’m fucking sorry.” Jason spits out quickly but with a fire. There is no relief coming to your face and even if you are nothing to each other after this is over, he needs you to believe him. Jason cups your face. “I fucking swear. We weren’t a fucking mistake and you were the best thing that happened to me and I fucked that up. That’s on me. You made me better. I’m fucking so sorry, alright?”

You nod against his hand. And you know. You were also high and none of the shit you said is true. You didn't mean any of it. You didn't even mean the shit you said while you were sober. Maybe it's just a part of you that needs it to be verified today.

“I know and I’m sorry, too. I don’t know. I just get thinking about it, I guess. We both ended up here and it’s just…” You suck in a breath. “I know.” You place your hands over his. “Because I said some horrible shit, too, and then I hit you. And uh…I know. It’s just…that on top of everything else that happened. Like…” You shrug softly. “You died, Jason.”

Jason drops his hands, shaking his head, putting the pieces together. There is no way in hell you really think him going off on his own is your fault. Every piece of that shit plan, was on Jason. It was on him to just wait and get help. It was on him to reach out and get help. It was on him not to trust Crane. Everything was on him. That's not for you to carry.

“You don’t really think that shit is on you, right?”

“I should have seen it.” You sputter. “I should have fucking known, Jay. And the more I think about it, the more I think maybe I did know and maybe I just…let it happen to teach you a lesson about being dumb out there and—“

“Stop.” Jason cuts you off sharply. “You would never let me go after the fucking Joker by myself. You never would have even if you wanted to teach me some lesson. And I don’t think that’s it either. You do the same shit I do.” Jason scoffs. “I went after him. By myself. I do what I always did. I went after him. Alone, And I died alone. Because I never fucking ask for help. That’s not on you. And it’s got nothing to fucking do with us.”

“Yeah, but if you were me?” You question. “You’d be thinking the same thing. There were so many signs and I just…somehow missed every single one of them. I have to think I ignored them and maybe not to teach you a lesson but because I was scared.”

Jason sucks in a breath and he knows you're right because if it were him, he’d never forgive himself. If the roles were reversed, he’d also be questioning how he missed it and maybe he let you do it. Maybe he ignored the signs on purpose. Jason, being on the side he is, knows for a fact you didn’t willfully ignore any sign. You have shown him time and time again that if you have any say in it, you’d never let something happen to him. But, Jason understands why you think that so he sucks in a breath and decides to take some of that Gar advice for once.

“I remember what I was thinking about while the Joker was playing whack-a-mole with my head.” Jason mutters, earning him a grimace and a glare from you.

“Really?” You give him a displeased look.

Jason shrugs. “Well…” Jason sucks in a breath with the quick raise of his brows.

“You do though?” You ask cautiously.

Jason nods. “Yeah, I…I remember everything.” Jason swallows the growing lump in his throat. “Told you that, but…yeah.” Jason nods quickly. “Remember thinking I should have just listened to you. I should have told you because you would have talked me out of it, you would have told Bruce and Dick. I’d be pissed…but you would have helped and I wouldn’t be getting killed. So…just fucking saying,” Jason sucks in a breath and goes back to your wound. “Me dying had nothing to fucking do with you and there was nothing you could have done differently. We weren’t a consequence our own self-destruction. I’m really fucking sorry for all of the shit I’ve put you through.”

Your brows furrow and your heart starts to break again. It must be a horrible task to wake up every single day with memories, even down to final thoughts, about literally dying. You know it’s your own personal hell at this point but the idea of Jason reliving it every single day…it’s worse. And the fact he brought it up without you asking, you know.

“I forgive you, Jay.” You say quietly. “And I really, really, mean that, okay? Your, uh…your last thoughts…were regret?” You ask cautiously.

Jason shakes his head. “No.” Jason answers plainly. “Not all of them.” Jason lets out a breath. The last thing Jason wants is to talk about how the last thing he remembers is knowing he was going to die. You don't need to know that, that's for damn sure.“I-I don’t want to talk about it though. I really just needed you to know that.”

“Thank you, Jay." You watch him carefully, seeing something distant and broken cloud over his eyes. His brows pull together as if he's in pain and his hand starts to shake. You hope he'll talk about it one day. Maybe being brought back isn't all it's cracked up to be. "When you do want to talk, please talk t me.”

“I will.” Jason nods his head at you once before finishing up the wound.

“Maybe we were both just ticking time bombs to get here.” You suck in a breath. “I don’t think we were a consequence and it was real for me. I just…had to ask I guess.”

“Maybe we kept each other from getting here.” Jason nearly mutters the words under his breath before he goes back to fixing up your wound.

You let the silence fill the room as you think about it because maybe he’s right. It wasn’t until he died the two of you fell off the deep end. Sure, things weren’t great for you both mentally but maybe you together helped stabilize some part of you both. Maybe being together was the glue you both needed like a kintsugi sculpture. Putting broken pieces back together to be better than they were before. You both ended up here but maybe that’s better.

In the last two weeks, the two of you have learned more about each other and life and the consequences of everything. Maybe that’s how it was supposed to be. So, you both could be better people today. Maybe you both rely too much on each other to help you mend your broken pieces but that doesn’t mean you were bad together or you were the cause of this. That doesn’t mean who you both are today is worse. Maybe who you both are today is better because it’s honest.

You both are scared but you both are honest and you aren’t letting your fears control every aspect of everything you do. You’re both standing up for yourselves in ways you didn’t think you would. Jason is figuring out his shit now and standing where he should. Where he wants. He’s standing up against people who made him feel worthless, something he otherwise never did too much. Maybe this is who you both are meant to be in the end and maybe that’s not so bad.

“Done.” Jason backs away as you look down, seeing your shoulder bandaged. “Don’t get shot again.” Jason manages the tint of a smirk.

“Gee, I wonder why I didn’t think of that.” You mock him before you sit up and slide the hoodie on entirely.

“Yeah, you really fucking should have. I mean, get it together, babe.” Jason offers a little bit of snark, the smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Okay, fuck you.” You laugh softly. “Thank you.”

Jason nods his head. “Anytime.” Jason smiles softly at you.

You pull out your phone from your other hoodie and hand it to Jason. "It died and in the chaos, I dropped my charging block." You offer a guilty smile as Jason takes your phone and plugs it into his charger. “So, uh, what’re you gonna do about Crane? Like….fuck.” You roll your eyes.

“Kill him.” Jason spits.

“No.” You shake your head. “I was serious. I wanna kill him.”

“Seriously?” Jason quips.

“Yes. I’m sick of people making you think you’re some fucking monster when you’re not. And he fucking sucks anyway. He did everything to you, he almost got Dick killed, he’s gotten innocent people killed, he almost killed me, and he killed or almost killed Tim. Yeah, I’d like to kill him.” You let out a sigh. “I mean, if you really want to kill him for what he did to you, go for it just let me get a shot in. If it’s for me? Let me do it.”

“It’s kind of fucked we’re even having this conversation right now.” Jason chuckles. “Fine. But, I get a few fucking shots in. I meant what I said, no one gets to fuck with you again.”

“And I meant what I said. No one gets to fuck with you, Jason Todd.” You offer him a sweet smile, something that should feel off given you're talking about killing someone but instead, it brings Jason some sort of comfort.

A smirk grows onto his lips before it turns soft. “Can handle myself.”

“Okay, no the fuck you cannot.” You quip back as you let out a soft laugh. “Just because you can though, doesn’t mean you have to do it alone. I got you.” You smile softly at him. "You and me."

Jason remembers a night a few months ago and he was sitting in the library reading because things were just a little too heavy and loud that day. You walked in and started scrapbooking on the floor just so Jason wouldn't be alone. And he remembers thinking how peaceful it was, just the two of you. He remembers thinking he felt lucky.

In a world where he experiences so much pain and unfairness, he felt lucky in that moment and in every moment he got to spend with you. As much as he loves to beat himself up, especially these days, he'd like to think maybe he can be lucky again. Maybe he can be at peace again one day. If you keep on thinking this and keep a hold on him. If you're willing to not let him do this alone, just as you said all those months ago in San Francisco, maybe you can get back to where you were and maybe you both can be lucky and at peace. Maybe the universe will offer some sort of kindness for the suffering it's caused you both.

“What about the Titans?” Jason asks, clearing his throat and swallowing his own thoughts.

“Right, yeah, I uh, I need to talk to Dick still. I told them it was Crane last night, not sure really if they believed me or not. Hope so. I’m sure Gar did so that’s at least good.” You nod your head a few times, hating the idea of having to explain this whole thing to Dick. You're kind of tired of being the mediator.

“We could just go take out Crane ourselves.” Jason suggests casually as he gets up and walks to the other side of the room where he has a mini fridge seated against the wall.

"While that does sound like fun," You laugh softly because you wish you could actually just do that. It would probably put an end to all of this but Dick would lose his shit. “I have an idea.”

“I hate when you say that.” Jason groans as he grabs two bottles of Gatorade and a box of granola bars from the top of the fridge before he walks back over to you. Jason tosses the box and one of the Gatorades at you before he plops down and scoots himself so his back rests against the wall, his legs extending in front of him. "Assumed you haven't eaten or had anything to drink." Jason explains, cracking open his Gatorade while you do the same.

"Yeah, I haven't thank you." You give him a soft smile before you start explaining yourself, grabbing a granola bar before you start your ramble. “Taking Crane out would be a fun time and he deserves it and most of our problems would likely be solved. However, what if Dick is right? What if he does have something bigger planned that we don’t know about? And then we kill him and like…maybe he poisons everyone somehow or blows up the city? I don’t know. We kind of need to know. And knowing his whereabouts would also be kind of helpful. So, what if you just….side with him still? Be the inside guy, right? And then Dick will really believe us that it wasn’t you who shot us and you won’t have to worry about Dick trying to turn you in, I wouldn’t let him but still.”

Jason pauses, holding the open bottle of Gatorade to his mouth. He's pretty sure you're suffering blood loss because that's insane. It's about as insane as you saying he should take the drug to not go through withdrawal. You're losing your sanity. "He already poisoned the water." Jason states.

"He did what now?" You blink at him.

"Your phone died, yeah. The water is poisoned with something he did so don't drink it. GCPD put out an alert this morning." Jason explains.

"Oh, that's fun. Well, still. It's Crane. You know he has something completely insane planned. Probably." You scoot closer to Jason, sitting on your knees right beside him.

“You want me to work with fucking Crane after he just tried to kill you? That’s fucking insane. Do you know that?” Jason questions with a groan. He wants nothing to do with Crane, even if he could get information from him.

“Yes.” You nod once.

“Fuck no.” Jason shakes his head in the same casual manner before snagging a granola bar.

“Jay, look, okay he thinks he can still manipulate you so let him think that and find out what he’s up to.”

“He won’t tell me shit.” Jason shakes his head in annoyance as he unwraps the granola bar.

“Maybe he will now. If he just tried to kill me and you go back to him anyway, right? Say I turned on you or whatever. That I think it was a setup against me so you wouldn��t have to be the one to pull that trigger. If he knows you’ll turn on me, maybe he’ll finally trust you enough to tell you what’s going on. You’re a pretty good liar sometimes.” You urge him and you know this is an insane idea but it's what you have. The Titans will never figure out Crane's plan without some inside help. They need it.

“You said I was shit liar.” Jason argues, pointing the granola bar at you.

“Well, to me.” You chuckle softly. “I always know when you’re lying but I think you can lie pretty well when you actually need to. I mean, no one figured out you were Robin. And I think that was obvious. I met you and all I thought was that it made sense.”

“This is fucking stupid.” Jason nods his head casually.

“Yeah, well, this whole thing has been fucking stupid. You go back to Crane, work with him and I’ll stay with the Titans. You call the burner when you find shit out and I loop Dick in. You don’t have to physically be home to work with us. You find out, the Titans bring in Crane and shut down whatever shit he’s got going on, then we kill him and you go home.” You explain simply and Jason hates just how convincing you can be.

You make a good point. Jason knows he can lie his ass off, he just wanted to argue. He's worried though because Crane has a way of knowing Jason is lying. It's how he found out about you from the beginning of it all. Jason couldn't just lie because Crane would know. It wasn't exactly a life-or-death situation then though. Maybe Jason wasn't trying all that hard to get away with lying then anyway. Crane admitting his plan would be helpful and Crane thinking you turned on Jason would give Jason enough motive to give up on the Titans entirely. It's not a horrible plan but Jason isn't happy about it.

“Alright fucking fine but this is shit and you know that.” Jason lets out a groan.

“I know.” You smile. “But, it’ll be worth it when his prodigie betrays him in the end.” You scrunch your nose, smiling with pride and Jason can see the light come back to your eyes. He thinks you're gonna be okay.

“You know, kinda hot when you got a plan all ready to go.” Jason offers you a cheeky smirk, his eyes raking over you before coming back to your face.

“I do have my moments.” You grin wickedly at him. “Kind of hot when you actually do what I say.”

“Alright, fuck you. Don't get used to it, babe.” Jason chuckles, shaking his head as the white streak flops onto his forehead. “When we doing this?”

“You could head out now, meet up with Crane and I’ll head back to the manor.” You suggest before taking a bite of your granola bar.

“Alright, just, uh, be careful, please. Let me know if shit happens with the Titans. I don’t want them attacking you for this shit.”

“I got it. I’ve been dealing with them the whole time. Don’t worry, Jay.” You smile softly a him as Jason gets to his feet and stands in front of you.

There's something dark in his eyes this time. He's standing over you as if he doesn't really want to leave. His brows are pinching together in the way they always do when he's worried and his jaw is squaring. He's putting all of the pressure onto his good leg, something you still notice immediately. But, he stands as if he's an unmovable force anyway and the smirk drops from his face.

“I’m serious, alright? Be careful.” Jason sucks in a breath and you've never seen him this kind of protective over you before.

“I will, promise.” You offer him a soft nod before Jason reluctantly heads out.

Jason is still hesitant, keeping his stance in front of you and it feels wrong. It always feels wrong to just leave. But, it's not his place to offer something else in place of him leaving anymore. And he also knows the second he walks back to Crane, that'll probably the last time you see each other until it's resolved. You're going to have to go to the Titans and Dick will likely be watching you closely, to make sure you don't get yourself killed or flip sides again. A lot can happen in a day or a few days and you were just almost killed. It scares the ever-living shit out of him, the very thought of losing you the way you lost him. He hates that he's leaving again. It's what he has to do and he knows that but knowing what he has to do to end this, doesn't make the decision any easier.

Jason leans down, placing his hand on your cheek before he rests his forehead against yours. Your eyes fall closed, a soft and subtle smile coming to your lips.

"Don't do anything fucking stupid and for once, listen to Dick and Gar, alright?" Jason asks, pulling just enough to see your face.

Your brows pull together. "You want me to listen to Dick?"

Jason is still mad at him and maybe Dick wants him dead still. That's always a possibility but something Jason knows, now that he's thinking with a clear head is that Dick does try to protect the Titans. They're his family and he's the leader. And Gar is one of your best friends. The two of them won't let anything happen to you if they can stop it. He knows you taking off had nothing to do with Gar and after last night, Jason thinks Gar would try to actually stop you if it happens again.

Jason's jaw squares, reluctant to say it again. "I'm serious. You got fucking shot." Jason quips.

"Okay." You agree softly, knowing if Jason is asking you to listen to anyone, you should probably take the advice. It always means Jason is very worried and serious. Two things that are a bit unsettling. "I will, promise." You smile softly before pressing your forehead to his for a second. "Now, go, okay? I'll be fine."

Jason nods his head, pulling away and dropping his hand. "I'll call when I find something out." Jason offers one last nod before he turns and darts out of the room.

Jason heads out to an old mechanic shop to meet up with Crane and for the life of him, he has no idea why he's even agreed to this. The only thing he wants to do right about now is kill Crane. He wants to fight him and shoot him and cause him horrendous pain for what he's put you through. He could have killed you and Jason swore no one would ever get away with it. But, now he has to walk in here and pretend he's not pissed about it. He's a good liar, but he doesn't know if he'll actually be able to withhold his blooming hatred.

When Jason meets with Crane, Crane seems to be acting perfectly normal, seemingly believing Jason will always be on his side no matter what. It's something Jason finds to be interesting because he already knew Crane was arrogant. But, he didn't think he was arrogant enough to think Jason would just be perfectly fine with him after being drugged, tricked, lied to, and used. He just shot Tim, possibly ruining his chances of actually going home. He could have killed you. Jason already threatened Crane but Crane seems perfectly fine with everything and Jason's wondering if that's because he agreed to meet.

"You could have fucking killed her." Jason starts with gritted teeth as they walk into the car garage.

"Yeah...sorry about that." Crane says casually. "She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sometimes, there are necessary casualties."

Crane is confident in his ability to manipulate Jason. Crane didn't have a single thing on the kid and Jason still spilled everything about Batman and the Titans. It was easy. It might become more difficult right now, but Crane is confident they'll overcome the current hurdle. After all, for the time being, Crane does still need Jason for his own disposal.

Jason wants to explode right here and take Crane out with him. A necessary causality? That's how you and Tim are being referred to? There is no such thing as a necessary causality when it comes to innocent people. Innocent people don't have to die. They don't have to be hurt. It was a choice Crane made in order to get you out of the way. To show Jason Crane is the one still running the show. And Jason has to stand here and pretend like this is all fine and lie. He's ready for this whole thing to be done and over with.

"You were right anyway." Jason sucks up his pride and do as you tell him. For that alone, Jason should get to kill him after this. "She was going to turn me in. It was all a setup, that's why she was even there."

Crane seems to perk up with Jason's words and he's hoping Crane believes him. "I did tell you she couldn't be trusted. That must be so hard to handle right now. But, see, now you know who has your back." Crane offers an eery smile. "Do I need to finish the job now?" Crane asks bluntly and he is definitely asking to gauge Jason's reaction. He doesn't miss the way Jason's hands turn into fists at his sides with his knuckles turning white.

"No." Jason states. "I'll do it." He states simply, releasing his hands.

"Good. Then you'll have nothing to worry about." Crane pats Jason's shoulder and Jason is ready to change the subject. He hopes that'll be enough bait for now.

"What the fuck is this?" Jason asks, switching the conversation as he looks around.

"This is where the victors go to rest their weary heads." Crane says.

"We didn't win." Jason argues. "They were gonna take me back but you fucked it all up." Sure, Crane did manage to poison the water but from where Jason is standing, it doesn't seem like too many people have been affected and with the alert going out, less people will likely drink the water. They didn't win anything.

"So you had a moment." Crane states simply, completely unbothered. "I've had plenty of them myself. Let bygones by bygones. I forgive you." Crane says before he pulls the cover off a yellow sports car. He lets out a sigh, as if to be pleased by the vehicle. "Sprezzatara."

Jason just rolls his eyes before he leans against the car, resting his back against the A frame. He's annoyed and he wants to get out of here. The hell if Crane forgiving him for? As far as Jason is concerned, he thinks getting him drugged was payback enough for him dealing the drug out behind his back. And Crane seems to be growing a little annoyed with him, too as he lets out a sigh before closing the garage door using the button hanging from a cable.

"Show some respect." Crane says sternly. "Sit." Crane depends, lightly gesturing towards a chair in front of a desk with a computer.

Jason does as told, sitting down and slouching in his seat.

"You know who Edward Bernays is?" Crane asks.

"The sauce guy?" Jason questions.

"Eggs and bacon." Crane says, taking a seat beside Jason. "Classic American breakfast. Do you know why?"

"What's this have to do with--"

"Pork farmers paid Edward Bernays to make it so. See, but Edward Bernays, he had this...this uncle, right? Dear old Uncle Sigmund. As in Sigmund Freud. See, and Freud taught Edward Bernays how the human mind worked. And Edward, he worked the human mind. He didn't sell the proletariat bacon. He sold them the idea that a hearty breakfast was what every doctor thought was best for them. After that, the bacon, it sold itself. Edward Bernays understood that an idea is the most powerful weapon we have." Crane explains before he swivels in his chair to face the computer, Jason eying him carefully and he's getting a really bad feeling about all of this. "It's not the product, it's how you sell it." Crane says as he brings up footage of Nightwing fighting some bad guys and Crane is in some type of editing software. "And Gotham is in need of a new product. We now interrupt your regularly scheduled program to bring you a message for the good people of Gotham.

Jason leans forward as the video starts to play, Crane already having sent it out as alert to every person in Gotham City.

Oh no.

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kingofbodyrolls · 1 year ago

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Coming Home (m) | PJM | Part one

When your best friend, Park Jimin, who you’ve had a crush on since forever, suggests you stay at his house to heal and find yourself again after a series of traumatizing events had haunted you for years, you don’t hesitate to accept. Within those walls, a safe haven is woven, where wounds can heal and memories find release. As he nurtures your shattered spirit, an unexpected intimacy unfurls, leaving the fragile barrier between friendship and deeper emotions in question - can you keep your feelings hidden?

→ Pairing: Jimin x reader (female, “Y/N”) → Other characters: Yoongi, Hoseok, Seokjin, OC (female, she is the therapist) and another OC (male, he is the perp). Also readers parents and mention of Jimin's. → AUs: Best friends to lovers!au, detective!jimin → Genres/themes: thriller/dark, yandere vibes, slice of life, healing after trauma, angst, smut and fluff. → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 → Word count: 20k → Warnings: Mention of past abuse and sexual assault (r*pe), trauma, stalking, trust issues, insecurities, thriller vibes, angst, fluff, slice of life, healing after trauma (including therapy sessions), blood (only in the beginning), BIG feelings, protective Jimin, previous character death (a parent), Jimin being soft and loving, self defense. → Disclaimer about warnings: I know nothing about sexual or physical abuse (I only know psychological because I experienced that, not in a sexual context though). This story is fiction, I do not mean to say that this is how one would go through their emotions or handle this situation. This is a delicate and fragile subject, so proceed with caution. I also know nothing about police work or the work in emergency/hospitals. Also, I don’t own BTS or know how they would act in a similar situation. This story is purely fiction, a fragment of my imagination. They just inspire me so much 💜

Cross posted to AO3!

→ Taglist: @thelilbutifulthings

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Rain pelts down relentlessly, each drop a sharp reminder of the danger chasing you.

The downpour blurs the line between raindrops and tears as they cascade down your face.

Clothes cling to your skin, suffocating, strangling.

Keep moving, keep running, the mantra plays on a loop in your mind.

With each pounding heartbeat, the echo of footsteps grows louder. The adrenaline coursing through your veins drowns out the sound of the rain, but the fear in your heart is deafening.

Each breath is a desperate gasp, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and the promise of danger lurking in the shadows.

Every second counts, and the darkness seems to conspire against your escape, threatening to swallow you whole. Amidst the chaos, doubt gnaws at your resolve.

Why did things have to turn out this way?

Could you have done something differently?

But you push those thoughts away; now is not the time for self-doubt.

The world around you blurs, but your heart beats like a war drum, urging you to escape the nightmare chasing your every step. Clenching your fits, you find a sliver of strength and determination within yourself, vowing to fight until the very end.

Your tears mix with the rain, blurring your vision again, but you can’t afford to stop. The pain in your chest isn’t just from exhaustion; it’s the weight of a thousand regrets and shattered dreams.

Memories flash before your eyes like lightning strikes, and you wonder if you’ll ever get a normal life again. But amidst the turmoil, one thought anchors you: survival.

The empty streets seem to stretch endlessly, dim streetlights casting flickering shadows that dance around you. An eerie feeling tightens in your chest - what if he had followed you?

Exhaustion gnaws at your limbs as you continue to run, legs turning to jelly beneath you. In the distance, a familiar fence and yard comes into view, you feel a twinge of hope surrounding your heart.

You quicken your pace, stumbling forward, almost there.

The front door is within reach, and relief wash over you.

You slam your body against the door, desperate for refuge. Pain sears through your shoulder, but you hardly notice.

Knocking feverishly, you hope someone, anyone, will answer in this dark hour. But the silence that follows only heightens the fear bubbling within you.

The wind whispers, carrying with it haunting whispers that seem to echo your own terror.

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.

His eyes snap open, frustration already creeping into his mind. What in the world is going on outside this time?

Those blasted drunk teenagers just never seem to learn, do they? Groaning, he begrudgingly leaves the comfort of his bed, fatigue tugging at every step he takes down the hall to the front door.

Should he open it and scold them?

Or maybe he should just yell from inside?

“Go home and sleep it off!” he yells, clenching his jaw with irritation.

Just as he turns to retreat to his bed, the knocking grows louder and more insistent. He can’t ignore it any longer, and what’s worse, he hears someone crying amidst the chaos. Mortified by the possibility that someone might be hurt, he gives in and opens the door.

What greets him, he had not expected at all.

You.

As the door swings open, your heart leaps with relief, and tears of joy blur your vision.

There he is, Jimin, your best friend of countless years, his dark brown eyes locking into yours.

Without a second thought, you rush inside, seeking refuge in the familiar space of his home.

Your back collides with the nearest wall, and you bury your face in your hands, overcome with emotions you’ve been holding back for too long. Jimin is taken aback by your sudden appearance, his mind racing to process what just happened, as he runs a hand through his dark locks.

It takes a moment for him to register that it’s in fact you, his dearest friend, standing before him after a long period of time. He can’t help but look you up and down, trying to find words that seem to escape him in this moment of surprise and bewilderment.

His eyes widen, mouth agape, as he struggles to comprehend the sight before him.

“Close and lock the door, dammit!” your voice trembles, the fear palpable in every syllable. Shivering uncontrollably, you stand on the threshold of his home, vulnerable and on edge.

Jimin snaps out of his stupor and hurriedly complies, shutting the door in a swift motion. He watches you, torn between terror and warmth reflected in his eyes. Seeing you in such distress, his heart aches, but he knows not how to ease your pain.

You stand here, trembling and panting, a state he’s never witnessed before. Without hesitation, he pulls you into a comforting embrace, but your body remains unresponsive, numb to the touch.

“What in the world happened to you?!” Jimin’s eyes widen in shock as he tightly grips your arms, searching for answers in your tear-filled eyes. You can’t meet his gaze and instead fidget with your fingers, the burden of your secret weighing heavy on your heart.

With a sudden realization, Jimin’s eyes dart downward, and he gasps as he sees your bare and bloodied feet.

“OMG! You are bleeding! Did you run here barefoot? What happened?” he urgently asks, his mind racing with concern.

He rushes into the kitchen, his voice a mix of worry and instructions to stay put. You can’t find the words to explain, so you merely nod as he returns with bandages and a glass of water.

The sound of your sobbing fills the room as Jimin carefully tends to your injured feet, his hands gentle and comforting. He’s always been there for you, a pillar of support, and in this moment, you’re reminded of why he’s your best friend.

The glass of water he hands you feels like salvation, a small act of kindness that speaks volumes about the bond you share.

As the silence envelopes the room, you take a deep breath, unsure of how to articulate the series of events that led you here.

Jimin sits besides you, his presence a source of solace, and you feel a flicker of courage to share your pain. You know that you can trust him, that he’ll listen without judgment, and that thought alone is enough to make you feel a little less alone.

“We need to get you to a doctor,” Jimin begins to say, but you immediately shake your head, chanting ‘no’ repeatedly, your heart pounding in your chest. An uneasiness settles in Jimin’s expression, his concern growing with every passing second.

“You have been missing for five fucking years!” Jimin’s voice raises, a mix of frustration and desperation evident in his tone. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself, and implores you to slow down and relax.

The gravity of his words sinks in, and your whole world comes to a halt.

Five years? It couldn’t have been more than a few months, you think in disbelief.

You lock eyes with him, and the floodgates of your emotions burst open. What started as sobs turns into pained screams and gut-wrenching cries. Your whole body vibrates with anguish, and in that moment, you find comfort in Jimin’s embrace.

Being in his arms feels like coming home, and you instantly feel safe, your body beginning to relax under his touch.

“I have to call the police, Y/N, and you know that,” Jimin says with a heavy heart. Deep down, you know he’s right, but the thought of facing what happened to you is terrifying.

You nod, trying to hold back the tears that fall from your red, swollen eyes, the realization of your missing years cruising you from all sides.

Jimin leads you into the kitchen, gesturing for you to take a seat on a worn stool beside the counter.

As you sit down, your eyes wander around the room, landing on familiar photos adorning the walls. Some feature Jimin, his family, and others of you both together, capturing moments of laughter and joy. A bittersweet smile tugs at your lips as you remember the warmth of those times.

Jimin’s presence beside you is both comforting and heartbreaking. The burden of the past five years hangs heavily in the air, unspoken but palpable.

Despite the reunion, a sense of distance lingers between you, as if the chasm of time has carved an unbridgeable gap.

“Y/N, I have to make the call now,” he says softly, his voice laced with concern.

“I promise I’ll find you some new clothes and finish taking care of your feet afterward” his words are reassuring, but you can’t help the unease gnawing at your heart.

The prospect of facing the consequences of your disappearance looms before you, and you can’t help but wonder how much has changed in your absence. You glance at the photos once more, your smile now tinged with melancholy. The memories they hold are precious, reminders of the bond you share with Jimin, but they also serve as a reminder of the time you can never get back.

As Jimin steps away to make the call, you find solace in the familiarity of the kitchen, a place that once felt like a second home. The creaking of the floorboards and the faint scent of a home cooked meal bring a sense of nostalgia, but the gravity of the present is too heavy to ignore.

Uncertainty lingers like a shadow, and you wonder how your life will unfold from this point on.

Still sobbing, you watch as Jimin rushes around the house, his voice firm and commanding as he makes the urgent phone call.

“It’s Y/N! You have to come now. Yes! Y/N! Get your asses down here. Get all of them!”

The gravity of the situation settles heavily in the room, leaving you both anxious. Jimin returns with a first aid kit, his eyebrows furrowed with concern. He kneels before you, gently inspecting your injured feet again. The pain is excruciating, and you instinctively pull away, hissing at the contact.

“It hurts” you cry out, tears streaming down your cheeks.

His worried gaze meets yours, his heart breaking at the sight of your pain.

“I bet it does… Where have you been?… I have so many questions,” he says, gesturing with his hands. As you place your feet back in his hands, he notices the depth of the cuts, and his concern deepens.

He realizes that you must have endured a long and harrowing journey to get such severe injuries. You find it hard to answer his questions; there’s so much to say, yet the words fail to form, you feel a mix of guilt, fear, and relief at being found, but the overwhelming weight of the past five years makes it difficult to find the right words.

So you remain silent, unable to provide the answers he seeks. Jimin accepts your silence for now, recognizing that the wounds go far beyond the physical cuts.

He gently tends to your injuries with gauze and the bandages from earlier, his touch a mixture of tenderness and sorrow.

The unspoken questions hang in the air, leaving both of you grappling with the uncertainty of the future. You both forget the prospect of a new change of the clothes he promised as time tickles by.

About ten minutes later, a sharp knocking at the door sends a shiver down your spine, and you freeze in place. Jimin offers reassurance, but the anxiety hangs heavy in the air as he walks to open the door.

In come a group of uniformed police officers, and trailing behind them, you spot medics from the ambulance.

The realization that your disappearance is something serious only adds to the anxiety gnawing at your heart.

One of the officers stands out from the rest, with mint hair that catches your attention. He exchanges greetings with Jimin, referring to him as ‘Detective Park’, and you deduce that they must work together.

It dawns on you that Jimin has achieved his childhood dream of becoming a detective. It pulls at your heart strings, proudness filling your heart.

The man with mint hair approaches you, introducing himself as Detective Min Yoongi. His calm and composed demeanor sets you at ease momentarily. “Hey Y/N, is it alright if I ask you some questions?” he says, his voice smooth and unwavering.

As the atmosphere fills with tension and unspoken questions, you brace yourself for what lies ahead.

The presence of the police and the sudden arrival of the whole police squad hint at the gravity of the situation, leaving everybody in the room on edge.

The minutes tick by, and the gravity of your disappearance and the uncertainty of the future loom large.

“Dammit Min! Let us take care of her first before you make her re-play what happened to her!” An unfamiliar voice shouts, the paramedic’s frustration evident in the sharp tone.

You glance over and see a tall man with broad shoulders approaching, carrying a bag of medical supplies. Behind him, a younger guy with a smile as bright as the sun follows closely.

The tension in the room heightens as Detective Yoongi steps aside to let the two medics pass.

The tall man’s protective stance and the younger guy’s warm demeanor catch your attention. Their presence offers a glimmer of relief amidst the uncertainty that surrounds you.

The paramedic’s concern is palpable, and you feel a wave of gratitude for someone looking out for you in this disorienting moment.

Detective Yoongi, on the other hand, seems resolute in his approach, keen on getting to the bottom of what happened.

The conflict between his determination and the medics’ insistence on prioritizing your well-being leaves you torn and uncertain of what to expect next.

As the medics attend to you, their professionalism and care give you a sense of security. The man with the broad shoulders, voice’s boldness in defending you feels like a comforting aid, assuring you that you’re not alone in facing whatever ordeal lies ahead.

With a mix of emotions swirling inside you, the room becomes a whirlwind of activity.

“Hi. I’m Seokjin, and this is my buddy, Hoseok. We’re going to take a look at your cuts on your feet and determine if you have to ride with us to the hospital, okay?”

Seokjin’s voice is gentle and comforting as he introduces himself and Hoseok. They both exchange a side-eye with detective Min, unimpressed by his approach.

You feel a glimmer of relief at the soothing tone of the medics, finding comfort in their presence. You allow the paramedics to tend to your feet, the pain and discomfort still fresh from your barefoot run. Hoseok unwraps the bandages Jimin had put on you, inspects your feet and notices the bruises. Instantly, you withdraw your legs, hiding them under your gown, as if trying to shield yourself from further scrutiny.

The sudden attention draws everyone’s gaze, making you feel exposed and vulnerable.

“I, I…” you stammer, looking down, afraid to share the source of your bruises.

Your voice trails off, and fear grips your heart. However, the medics’ caring demeanor slowly breaks through your defenses, reminding you that they are here to help, not harm.

“You don’t have to be afraid anymore,” Seokjin says, reaching out to place a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

You flinch, instinctively trying to pull away from the touch, unable to fully accept comfort in this moment.

Hoseok and Seokjin exchange a knowing glance, understanding the depth of your unease.

Instead of pushing further, they give you space and time to process. Their empathy creates a safe space, allowing you to slowly open up and trust in their care.

With their gentle presence and understanding, you start to feel a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, you can get through this.

As the paramedics continue to tend to your injuries, you notice that all the police officers have circled around Jimin, engaging in small talk.

The room feels charged with tension, and you can tell that Jimin is both grateful for their support and eager to ensure that you receive the care you need. Jimin’s gaze shifts back to you, concern evident in his eyes as he observes the way you deflect any attempts at physical touch.

His mind races, trying to understand the reasons behind your reaction. He’s torn between joining the police officers and focusing on your well-being. Hoseok’s interruption brings him back to the present.

“We should take her to the hospital to get checked,” he suggests, pulling Jimin’s attention away from the crowd. “It’s hard to determine the extent of her injuries here.”

Jimin’s heart sinks at the realization that your injuries might be more severe than he initially thought. He feels a sense of urgency to ensure that you receive proper medical attention, yet he knows that he can’t push you to do something you’re not comfortable with.

“I’ll go with her,” Jimin says, the determination in his voice clear.

He glances back at the police officers, who nod in understanding. They trust his judgment and know that your well-being is his top priority.

As Hoseok and Seokjin prepare to take you to the hospital, Jimin steps beside you, offering a gentle smile.

“You don’t have to worry. We’ll all take care of you” he reassures, his voice soft and comforting. He understands that you may be hesitant, but he’s determined to support you every step of the way.

With Jimin’s unwavering support, you find a flicker of reassurance amidst the uncertainty.

“Jin is just going to get the stretcher from the ambulance, and then we can go to the hospital,” Hoseok says reassuringly. You nod, the load of exhaustion settling heavily on your shoulders.

Your body feels like it weighs a ton, and even the simplest tasks seem daunting. Seokjin arrives with the stretcher, and you manage to sit down with the help of Hoseok.

“Please lie down, and we will secure you.” he says with an encouraging smile. The softness of his voice offers a glimmer of comfort amidst the chaos.

At your side, Detective Min Yoongi appears, determined to take your statement.

The idea of reliving the events feels overwhelming, and you shake your head, too tired to delve into the details.

“I think it will be alright for her to get checked out at the hospital first, no?” Seokjin suggests, his voice firm yet understanding.

The conflict between the detective and the paramedics become apparent, each prioritizing their own objectives. Detective Yoongi grumbles his acceptance, a begrudging nod signaling his reluctant agreement.

As the paramedics wheel you out of Jimin’s house and towards the waiting ambulance, you feel a mix of emotions - exhaustion, uncertainty, and relief.

The events of the night have taken a toll, and the path ahead remains uncertain. But for now, you take solace in the reassurance of the paramedics and the support of Jimin and his colleagues.

On the way out, Jimin informs you that he’ll follow in his car since he couldn’t be with you in the ambulance.

You’re secretly relieved that the paramedics insisted on you riding alone.

In the ambulance, Hoseok gently tends to your feet again, his touch soft and comforting as he removes the gauze. You wince as he cleans the wounds properly, the pain a sharp reminder of the night’s events.

“How come you have all these cuts on your feet?” Hoseok’s voice carries a mix of curiosity and concern, and you can sense his genuine desire to understand and help. He wraps your feet in fresh bandages, his soothing gaze never leaving you.

“I ran barefoot,” you offer a simple answer, not yet ready to delve into the details.

“But why were you not wearing any shoes?” Hoseok persists, his gentle tone an attempt to coax the truth from you.

“I didn’t have time to grab them” you reply, turning your head away, already weary of the questions.

Hoseok’s caring eyes sweep over you, and he notices the black and yellow discolorations on your legs and arms. His concern deepens as he observes the evidence of further injuries.

“I know you’re tired and don’t like me asking questions, but I need to ask some to help you, you know?” he explains, trying to establish a connection with you.

You flinch when he places his hand on your skin, feeling exposed and vulnerable.

Memories of the past five years flood your mind, and you can’t help but pull away, mortified by the unwanted touch. The burden of your experiences is heavy, and sharing them feels like an insurmountable task.

Yet, amidst your discomfort, you find a glimmer of hope in Hoseok’s genuine concern, knowing that he may be the one to help you find the strength to voice the events.

You take a deep breath, feeling your heart pounding in your chest. You know you must tell Hoseok, and later, Detective Yoongi too. Gathering all your courage and mental strength, you feel your body tense as you prepare to share the painful truth.

“I was abducted and abused,” you say in a faint, low voice, your eyes darting away, unsure about the reaction you'll receive.

The weight of the words hangs heavily in the air, and you feel Hoseok’s presence, supportive and patient, as you struggle to find the right words.

You take another breath, steadying yourself before continuing, “And sexually assaulted” you whisper, almost as if speaking any louder would cause the memories to become too overpowering.

The silence that follows feels suffocating, but you know you can’t take back what you’ve shared.

Your vulnerability lies bare before Hoseok, and you wonder how he’ll respond. In this moment of revelation, you realize that speaking about your past is just the beginning of a journey towards healing.

You brace yourself for what comes next, hoping that the weight of your experiences will now be shared, lessening the burden you’ve carried for so long.

Hoseok looks at you, his eyes glistening with tears he’s trying to hold back, not wanting to cry in front of you.

“Y/N, fuck, I’m so, so sorry that happened to you” he murmurs, his voice is filled with raw emotion. He attempts to give you a reassuring smile. But the pain in his eyes betrays the facade.

The weight of your trauma hangs heavy in the air, making the atmosphere in the ambulance feel dense and suffocating. For the rest of the ride, Hoseok falls silent, the words caught in his throat.

The ambulance finally stops, and the doors open, revealing the outside world again.

As they wheel you out of the vehicle, Seokjin notices the tension between you and Hoseok. Concerned, he asks what happened, his gaze shifting between the two of you.

Hoseok hesitates, his eyes flickering with uncertainty. He’s torn between sharing the information with Jin and wanting to protect you from further pain.

In the end, he decides to keep his head down, the weight of the unspoken words hanging in the air. Feeling drowsy, you manage to recount the horrifying events to Seokjin, who listens with sadness in his eyes.

His reassurance that you’re safe now provides some comfort amidst the overwhelming emotions. “You should agree to get the sexual assault kit done. Maybe they can find the guy in the system, you never know.” he suggests, his concern evident in his voice.

As they wheel you inside the hospital, you find yourself surrounded by a team of doctors and nurses ready to help. Hoseok’s presence beside you provides a sense of security, and you notice how he smiles at a particular nurse with a boxy smile, displaying a reassuring camaraderie.

Suddenly, a thought crosses your mind “Jimin?” you ask, looking at Hoseok for reassurance.

“He will be right behind you in a moment. He’s probably parking his car” Hoseok assures you, waving as he and his partner step back outside.

As the nurses wheel you further into the hospital, you feel a mix of emotions - fear, exhaustion, and relief.

The trauma you’ve experienced still weighs heavily on your mind, but the support and care from those around you offer a glimmer of hope.

You take a deep breath, knowing that you’re in good hands, and that with the help of the hospital team, the police and your best friend, you’re one step closer to finding justice and healing.

Jimin keeps a short distance to the ambulance, his heart pounding in his chest as he refuses to lose track of it.

With each passing second, the urgency in his movements grows.

When the ambulance finally arrives at the hospital, he finds himself racing to find a parking space, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of you.

The ambulance is fortunate to park in front of the emergency department doors, allowing medical personnel to respond swiftly.

Jimin spots a free parking spot not too far away and practically dumps his car, almost forgetting to lock it in his haste. He dashes to the front doors, his feet carrying him as fast as they can.

As he approaches the emergency department, he spots the ambulance parked to the side, with Hoseok and Seokjin standing outside, restocking items.

His heart sinks at the sight of the ambulance, knowing that you’re probably inside, dealing with the aftermath of what must be a traumatic event.

Jimin’s emotions are a whirlwind - concern, worry, and determination. He knows he needs to be there for you, to offer support and comfort during this difficult time.

With a deep breath, he pushes forward, determined to be by your side.

Jimin arrives, panting and out of breath, his heart pounding as he seeks answers. As he reunites with Hoseok and Seokjin, his gaze instinctively searches for you, hoping to see you safe and cared for.

Your journey to healing has just begun, and Jimin is resolute in his commitment to stand by you every step of the way.

He greets Hoseok with a worried smile, but something is off. Hoseok’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, a telltale sign that something serious has happened.

“What happened?” he asks, the concern evident in his voice, upset that something has clearly affected his dear friend.

“It’s better that Y/N tells you…” Hoseok replies, turning away from Jimin, reluctant to share the details.

Jimin isn’t satisfied with that response.

Their years of friendship have given him the ability to sense when something is wrong with Hoseok. He reaches out, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, silently urging him to open up.

Seokjin intervenes, understanding the need to share the truth. He places his hands on the two friends, offering his support. With a sigh, he encourages Hoseok to speak.

“She was assaulted…”

Hoseok finally reveals, his voice carrying the weight of your trauma. Jimin freezes, his heart sinking at the revelation. He struggles to process the information, grappling with a mix of shock, anger, and a fierce desire to protect you.

“How?”

Jimin asks in a stern voice, determined to understand the details despite his internal turmoil. He knows he needs to be strong for you, but the truth is overwhelming. He braces himself for the answers, ready to face whatever comes next.

“... Sexually”

Hoseok’s usual sunshine and brightness vanished, leaving the outdoors heavy with the weight of the revelation. Jimin felt the anger take root in his body, making his blood boil. He was furious that such a thing could happen to you, and he regretted not being there to prevent it.

The surge of emotions overwhelmed him; he couldn’t bear the thought of you going through such pain.

“Thanks” he muttered, his voice tinged with urgency, and turned towards the doors in a hurry. He had to see you, make sure you were alright given the circumstances, and let you know he would be there for you no matter what.

But before he could leave, Hoseok’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

Turning back, he faced his friend, his heart pounding in his chest.

“There’s one more thing you should know…” Hoseok began, his expression filled with genuine sadness. Jimin braced himself for more devastating details, but nothing could have prepared him for what came next.

“She was also abused. Liked multiple times… probably over a long period of time.” Hoseok said with a frown, the burden of the truth evident in his words.

“What!?”

Jimin almost shouted, his emotions spiraling out of control. The reality of what you endured felt too much to bear. He needed to see you, to hold you close and reassure you that you were safe now.

Determination and love swelled within him, driving him forward. He had to be there for you, to let you know that he loved you and that he would protect you with everything he had.

As you settle into your hospital room, you feel grateful for the solitude, thankful to be the only patient in it at the moment.

The nurse with the boxy smile, Taehyung, you learned, tends to you with professionalism and attentiveness, his reassuring smiles putting you at ease. His presence feels like a calming force amidst the turmoil of recent events.

As he ensures your comfort, he gently inquires about what happened to you, just like the paramedics did earlier. Taking a deep breath, you recount the harrowing experience, trusting Taehyung to listen without judgment. His genuine concern is evident as he nods in understanding, offering you unwavering support.

Remembering Seokjin’s suggestion about the assault kit, you express your willingness to go through with it. Taehyung agrees that it’s a good idea and asks if you’d feel more comfortable with a female coworker conducting the examination.

You contemplate the option for a moment, acknowledging your vulnerability in this situation. Finally, you decide to have a female nurse perform the exam but request Taehyung to be present by your side for comfort.

“I’d appreciate having you there,” you say, appreciating the calm and caring energy he exudes. Taehyung nods warmly, assuring you that he’ll be right there to support you through the process.

The hospital room takes on a sense of tranquility as you put your trust in Taehyung, knowing that you’re in capable hands.

As Taehyung explains the process of the examination, you feel anxiety wash over you. The police involvement is a daunting prospect, but you're grateful that Jimin is part of it.

When the door opens, and Jimin steps in, a sense of comfort washes over you, his familiar presence easing your tension.

“—You Taehyung?” Jimin asks, panting, concern evident in his expression as he approaches your bed. Taehyung stands in front of Jimin, almost like a shield, protective of you.

“Yes” Taehyung responds firmly.

“Who are you?” he asks, sizing Jimin up with a discerning look.

“I’m a friend of Y/N. Detective Park Jimin” he replies, his eyes searching your face and body for any signs of discomfort.

“Oh.” Taehyung mutters, stepping aise to give Jimin space by your side. You try to sound tough, assuring Jimin that you’re fine, but he sees through the facade.

“You’re in no shape or form fine, and it’s okay to acknowledge that,” Jimin says, grabbing a chair and sitting down beside you, his supporting gesture speaking volumes.

When you ask if Jimin can be present during the examination, Taehyung hesitates for a moment before agreeing, on the condition that he sees Jimin’s identification. You feel relieved when Jimin shows his badge, securing his place by your side.

“I don’t have to be here if you’re uncomfortable with it, Y/N” Jimin says gently, squeezing your hand reassuringly and you feel your cheeks blush.

“I would prefer you. I don’t want somebody from the police that I don’t know” you reply, squeezing his hand back, the trust and affection between you two evident.

“Okay then. I’ll just get a female nurse to come and do the vaginal exam now” Taehyung says, leaving the room with a mix of sadness and determination in his eyes.

The weight of the situation settles in, but with Jimin by your side, you feel stronger and more ready to face what comes next.

The vaginal examination has been anything but pleasant, but you’re grateful that Jimin stayed by your side the whole time, providing a sense of security amidst the discomfort.

After the female nurse and Taehyung leave the room, you find yourself alone with Jimin again.

His presence is both comforting and unsettling, and you can sense the burden of unspoken questions between you. Jimin’s eyebrows keep furrowing as he paces the room, a clear sign of the many inquiries swirling in his mind.

You can tell he wants to ask you so many things, but he’s also aware of the sensitivity of the situation.

He starts to speak a few times but falls silent just as quickly, understanding that this may not be the right moment. Time seems to stretch on, with each passing moment carrying the weight of unspoken words.

The room is filled with an atmosphere of both comfort and tension, the air charged with emotions that neither of you knows quite how to express.

You feel the urge to break the silence, to tell Jimin everything that has happened, but the words catch in your throat.

It’s hard to put into words the trauma you’ve experienced, the pain you’ve endured. It was easier to tell the paramedics and Taehyung, because they aren’t as close to you.

There’s a fear that sharing the details might make it all too real, and might make Jimin think less of you.

Yet, in the midst of the silence, you find a sense of solace in Jimin’s presence. There’s an unspoken understanding between you, a deep connection that doesn’t require words. You know he’s there for you, ready to listen and support you whenever you’re ready to share.

As Jimin continues to pace, you catch his eye and manage a small, appreciative smile. It’s a signal that you’re not quite ready to talk yet, but you’re thankful for his presence. The gesture seems to ease some of the tension in the room, and Jimin’s features soften.

For now, you both find comfort in the silence, knowing that when the time is right, you’ll have each other to lean on. In this moment of vulnerability and uncertainty, the unspoken words between you carry more weight than any spoken ones ever could.

The silence in the room is broken by the entrance of Taehyung, a warm smile on his face. Despite the gentle expression the news he brings sends a shiver down your spine.

“Hey Y/N,” he begins, “I just wanted to let you know that we have called your parents, and they are on their way”.

You freeze at the mention of your parents.

Jimin looks at you, sensing your sudden unease.

Taehyung, on the other hand, seems momentarily puzzled by the tension in the room before it dawns on him.

“Shit. You didn't want them to know…” he trails off, his eyes dropping to the floor with a sense of defeat.

In a small and timid voice, you ask, “What did you tell them?”.

Taehyungs’s reply is gentle but regretful, “Only that you are in the hospital, nothing else”. He offers an apology, acknowledging that calling the emergency contact is standard procedure. You can see the sincerity in his eyes as he feels remorse for causing you further distress.

The conflicting emotions inside you are overwhelming.

Part of you wants your parents’ support and comfort during this difficult time, but another part dreads their reaction, fearing their judgment and disappointment.

You glance at Jimin, hoping to find relief in his presence. Jimin, sensing your distress, reaches out to hold your hand, offering silent support. Taehyung seems to understand the complexity of the situation and takes a step back, giving you both some space.

“Thank you, Taehyung,” you finally manage to say, appreciating his concern and understanding, “I just… I’m not sure how they will react.”

Taehyung nods, his expression sympathetic, “I understand. I’m sorry for any added stress this may have caused you. If you want, I can talk to them on your behalf, explain the situation.”

You consider his offer, grateful for his willingness to help. “Let me think about it” you reply, feeling torn but also relieved that Taehyung is willing to be a buffer between you and your parents.

As Taehyung leaves the room, you turn to Jimin, squeezing his hand tightly.

“I’m scared, Jimin. I don’t know how they’ll react, and I don’t want to burden them with all of this.”

Jimin’s eyes soften with understanding.

“We’ll face it together, Y/N,” he assures you.

“Whatever happens, I’m here for you, and we’ll navigate through this together”. In that moment, you realize the true depth of Jimin’s care and support.

The room falls into silence, and you find solace under the duvet, hiding your body away from the world. Jimin takes a seat beside your bed, the concern evident in his eyes.

“I know you don’t want to tell your parents everything that happened,” he begins gently, searching for a way to support you without pushing too much.

“But maybe you could just… not tell them all of it” he offers, his voice soft with compassion.

You’re taken aback by his suggestion.

How could he know what you’re going through?

You hadn’t even had the guts to confide in him yet. “Did the paramedics tell you what happened to me?” you ask timidly, avoiding his gaze as you fidget with the duvet and your fingers.

Jimin’s heart breaks at the vulnerability in your voice.

He nods, his eyes filled with sorrow.

“I’ve been friends with Hoseok for some time, so I asked him to tell me,” he admits, squeezing your hand gently.

“He didn’t want to. I’m sorry, I know I should have asked you instead.”

You finally meet his gaze, seeing the pain and empathy in his eyes.

“It’s okay,” you reply softly. “I understand why you wanted to know, and I appreciate your concern.”

Talking about what happened is difficult for you, and you appreciate Jimin’s effort to understand without pushing you to share more than you’re comfortable with for now.

“I don’t know if I can tell my parents everything,” you admit, the burden of the trauma pressing down on your shoulders. Jimin doesn’t push; he simply listens and holds your hand, a silent source of comfort.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” he assures you.

“Take your time. Whatever you choose to share, I’ll support you, and so will your parents” you nod, feeling a sense of relief wash over you knowing that Jimin will be there for you, no matter what.

“Thank you” you whisper, feeling grateful for his unwavering support and understanding.

The room fills with a quiet understanding, the unspoken bond between you and Jimin providing comfort and reassurance. As you face the difficult road ahead, you find strength in knowing you’re not alone, and that you have someone who cares deeply for you by your side.

“So you’re suggesting that I only tell them that I was abducted and nothing more?” you ponder out loud, turning to Jimin for guidance.

He nods his head in understanding, his expression gentle and reassuring. The burden of the decision feels heavy on your shoulders, torn between protecting your parents and seeking solace in their support.

A sudden knock at the door statles you, causing your head to whip around in panic.

The dreadful feeling in your body intensities, fearing that it might be your parents. Thankfully, it's Detective Yoongi who enters, peeking his head in. You remember him from earlier, and his presence makes your heart race.

“Hello, Y/N, how are you doing?” he greets you, a mix of professionalism and concern in his voice. Jimin acknowledges him with a nod as the detective approaches the other side of your bed.

“Ehm, okay, all things considered, I think” you reply, trying to steady your breath because you know exactly why he is here and where this conversation is heading.

Detective Yoongi’s gaze softens, and you can sense his desire to help and understand.

“I’ve spoken with Hoseok, and I know it’s been a difficult time for you. We’re here to support you, Y/N. Can you tell us anything about the person who abducted you? Any details you remember?”

Yoongi looks at you and then glances at Jimin, seeking his approval. Jimin meets your eyes, searching for any sign of discomfort, when finding none, he nods and gives your hand a soft squeeze, providing reassurance.

Jimin’s grip on your hand tightens, his protective instincts kicking in.

“She’s been through a lot, Hyung.”

Detective Yoongi nods in understanding, recognizing the delicate situation. “Of course. Take all the time you need, Y/N” he says, conveying his support and patience.

You take a deep breath and begin recounting the night five years ago, the events that led to your abduction, and the aftermath.

As you mention Jimin’s presence there that night, you see his reaction, the anguish and pain etched across his face. You feel a pang of sadness witnessing his emotional turmoil in response to your words.

The Detective listens attentively, his professional demeanor mixed with compassion, creating a safe space for you to share your story.

With every word you speak, the burden of the past bears down on you, and the memories threaten to consume you. Jimin’s unwavering presence beside you offers some comfort, a salvation in the storm of emotions.

It had gone late, and everybody was going home, some of your friends talked about taking a taxi, but you had declined, saying it was only a short walk home for you.

The streets were eerily quiet, lit only by the dim glow of streetlights. The chilling wind sent shivers down your spine, and a sense of unease settled in the pit of your stomach as you walked down the familiar path to the forest.

If only you had chosen to take the taxi, like Jimin had suggested, none of this would have happened, you think now, replaying the nightmarish events in your mind.

As you walked home, you heard the unmistakable sound of a car approaching from the side. At first, you brushed it off, but then a window rolled down, and a man’s voice called out to you, offering a ride.

You declined, trying to keep calm.

But he persisted, his words becoming more sinister with each attempt to lure you in.

Your heart pounded in your chest as the car suddenly accelerated, blocking your path.

Panic surged through your veins, and you froze in your tracks, fear paralyzing your body.

Before you could react the driver lunged at you, grabbing you from behind.

You fought with every ounce of strength, but his grip was unyielding. Your desperate attempts to break free only fueled his aggression. A harsh chemical smell filled your nostrils as he forced a cloth over your mouth.

The world around you blurred, and darkness enveloped your senses. Your mind became hazy, and you lost track of time, lost track of yourself.

As you recount the horrifying memory, tears stream down your cheeks like a heavy downpour, mingling with the raw emotions that have been suppressed for so long.

The weight of the experience bears down on you, and you can’t help but feel the burden of self-blame for not making a different choice that night.

“It’s okay, Y/N,” Jimin’s voice breaks the suffocating silence, his touch a comforting anchor.

“You are safe now. I’m here, and I won’t let anyone hurt you again” he intertwined his fingers with one of your hands, as he hugged you tightly with the other.

The action sends a weird tingle down your spine.

The memories are a torment, and you struggle to find the words as you recount the horrors you endured. Your voice quivers, and you take a shaky breath, trying to compose yourself. It feels like the past is clawing its way back into your present, engulfing you in darkness.

“I woke up in this unfamiliar room,” you begin, your body trembling with the weight of the memories. “There was a bed and a change of clothes, but nothing felt right. I knew something was terribly wrong” your eyes meet Jimin’s, seeking solace and strength.

As you continue, your voice becomes softer, as if you’re afraid to give voice to the nightmares that haunt you.

“He forced himself on me, even as I screamed, cried, and begged him to stop. ‘No’ meant nothing to him” you utter, the pain evident in your voice.

Tears glisten in Jimin’s eyes as he sobs softly, his heart aching for the pain you endured.

He feels terrible and the only way he knows how to alleviate some of the pain, is to hug you tightly.

“I’m so sorry” he whispers, his voice breaking with emotion, “I wish I could have done more, found you sooner.”

“You did your best, Jimin,” you assure him, leaning against his shoulder. “You were the light in that darkness, the reason I held on. It’s not your fault” you stroke his back gently.

“Did you ever try to escape?” Yoongi’s question hangs heavy in the air, and you feel your heart tighten with dread. Memories of the countless attempts to break free flood your mind, each ending in devastating consequences.

“Yes,” you reply, the weight of your past pushing you closer to breaking point. “But every attempt only led to more pain. He beat me until I couldn’t move, leaving me bruised and broken.”

You take comfort in Jimin’s embrace, seeking support as you bare your soul, “I thought I could escape, find a way out of that nightmare. But hope faded, and I felt trapped. There was no way out.”

The ever calm Detective leaned forward, his eyes focused intently on you, “Tell me everything you can remember about the surroundings. Even the tiniest details could be crucial in finding this man” he implored, trying to elicit any information that might lead them to the perpetrator.

You close your eyes, trying to recall the blurred images from your escape.

“I remember it was a rundown neighborhood. Lots of abandoned buildings, overgrown with weeds,” you begin, your voice wavering as the memories resurface.

“The streets were dimly lit, and there was this eerie silence that made me feel terrified.”

Jimin’s hand tightens around your arm, offering silent support as you continue. “I ran through narrow alleyways, twisting and turning, trying to put as much distance between me and that place. But everything felt the same, like a never-ending maze.” You sigh deeply, frustration lacing your features.

The Detective’s brows furrow with concern as he takes notes, piecing together the fragmented information. “Did you notice any landmarks or signs?” he asks, hoping for a breakthrough.

You shake your head, feeling helpless and frustrated with your inability to provide more details. “I… I don’t know,” you stammer, your voice laced with disappointment.

“I was so focused on escaping, I didn’t really pay attention to anything else” you pout defeatedly.

Yoongi’s expression softens, understanding the immense trauma you endured.

“It’s okay,” he reassures gently.

“You did what you had to do to survive. We’ll do everything in our power to find this man and bring him to justice” he states assuredly with conviction.

You appreciate his comforting words, but the fear lingers in the back of your mind.

What if they can’t find him? What if he comes after you again?

Jimin interjects, his voice firm with determination, “We won’t rest until we catch him, Y/N. You’re safe now, and we’ll make sure it stays that way.”

Yoongi nods, sharing the same determination. “We’ll keep investigating and following every lead,” he says, his gaze unwavering.

“Have you ever seen his face?” as the Detective inquires further, memories flood back, and you nod slowly, acknowledging that you had seen his face.

The room grows tense as both detectives exchange meaningful glances, sensing the gravity of the situation.

“Would you be able to describe him to a sketch artist?” Yoongi asks, his voice steady but his eyes filled with concern.

You take a deep breath, mustering the courage to relive those horrifying moments.

“I can try,” you reply, feeling the weight of the task ahead.

Despite the fear that grips you, you know that providing any information could be crucial to catching the man who tormented you. Detective Yoongi then asks about the perpetrator’s name, and you recount how he demanded to be called ‘Hyun’.

The room falls silent for a moment, filled with a heavy tension as you recall the haunting memories.

Exhaustion settles in, and you yearn for a moment of respite to process the traumatic events you’ve just relieved.

However, your desire for peace is interrupted when there’s a knock at the door. As it slowly opens, your parents enter the room, their faces a mix of worry and relief.

Tears well up in your eyes as you see your parents, and you reach for them, seeking comfort in their embrace.

You feel a mixture of emotions; relief to see their familiar faces, but also anxiety about possibly explaining what had happened. As your parents approach you, their eyes filled with love and concern, your heart swells with mixed emotions.

It has been so long since you last saw them, and their presence brings comfort and a sense of home. However, the burden of the truth you carry prevents you from fully embracing their warmth.

You don’t want to burden them with the horrific details of your ordeal, afraid that it will shatter their perception of you.

Your parents greet Jimin with warmth and confusion directed towards the other man in the room. Detective Yoongi introduces himself and explains that he’s here to help with the investigation.

“He’s the detective in charge of my abduction case,” you explain, watching their expression shift from curiosity to shock and then concern.

They eye him cautiously at first, but the firm handshake seems to ease their worries a bit. Jimin stands up, feeling a pang of guilt for not being able to protect you, even though he knows it was not his fault.

Your parents look at Jimin, grateful for his presence. Jimin gestures for your dad to take the chair, and your heart swells with gratitude for your best friend’s support. With a soft smile, your father sits down beside you, and you appreciate the familiar comfort of his presence.

Jimin steps back, giving you and your parents some space, but you can see the concern still etched on his face.

Detective Yoongi, now realizing the delicate dynamics, reassures your parents that they are doing everything they can to find the perpetrator and bring him to justice. He explains that your statement is crucial in the investigation and that they’ll do their best to support you throughout the process. He hums in approval and leaves the room.

Amidst the lingering tension, your parents turn their focus back to you, showering you with affection and love. They express how much they have missed you and how glad they are to have you back home.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” your father asks, his voice filled with love and worry. You nod, attempting to mask the pain and trauma that still lingers within you.

You don’t want them to see the broken parts of you, fearing it will break their hearts too. Tears well up in your eyes as you feel the weight of their love, and you wish you could tell them everything, but you can’t bring yourself to share the horrors you’ve endured.

You squeeze their hands gently, offering a grateful smile.

“I missed you both so much too” you say, your voice quivering with emotions.

As your parents speak, telling you that you can have your old room back at home, a mix of emotions floor your heart. Relief, fear, and uncertainty clash within you.

You had imagined returning to your apartment, your sanctuary, after being rescued, but reality dawns on you like a heavy cloud. Your apartment is gone, leased to someone else while you were missing, and the truth hits you hard.

Your wide eyes betray your uneasiness, and your mother picks up on it immediately.

Her comforting presence beside you offers a glimmer of reassurance, but your mind is still racing. She begins to explain the situation, how your absence resulted in losing the apartment.

You can’t help but feel a pang of sadness and nostalgia for the place you once called home.

“I understand, mom” you say, trying to put on a brave face, but the disappointment lingers. Deep down, you had hoped to return to your apartment, to reclaim a piece of your past. Yet, it seems that life has moved on without you, and the reality of it stings.

Your dad’s explanation about them not paying the rent during your absence makes logical sense, but it adds to the weight on your shoulders. You don’t want to burden them further, and you know they have their own lives and financial responsibilities to take care of.

The conflicting emotions within you intensity. On one hand, you appreciate your parents’ offer and their unconditional love, but on the other, you crave a sense of comfort, independence and the familiarity of your own space.

You long to heal and rebuild your life on your terms, without feeling smothered.

Taking a deep breath, you gather the courage to express your feelings.

“I appreciate it, mom, Dad. I really do,” you start, your voice wavering slightly.

“But I think I need some time to find my own footing again. It’s not that I don’t want to be with you, but… I need some space to heal and find myself again”.

Your parents exchange a glance, a mixture of understanding and concern evident in their eyes. They love you deeply, and they want what’s best for you. After a moment of silence, your mother speaks softly, “We understand, sweetheart. We’ll support whatever decision you make. Just know that we’re here for you, no matter what”.

Tears threaten to spill from your eyes as you feel the weight of their love and understanding.

In that moment, you realize that while you may not have your old apartment, you have something more precious - a family that will stand by you through thick and thin.

As your parents express their concern and worry about your safety by staying by yourself, you try to reason with them, emphasizing your independence and adulthood, you’re almost twentynine years old!

However, your mom’s heartfelt response tugs at your heartstrings, making you realize just how much they care about you. “I know you want me close and safe, and I appreciate that more than you can imagine,” you say, trying to convey your love and gratitude.

“But I also need to find my own way and regain some semblance of normalcy.”

You explain as Jimin interjects, “She can stay at my place.”

You whip your head to look at Jimin, feeling tears fill your eyes at his caring offer.

The tension in the room escalates as your parents ponder Jimin’s offer. They are cautious about trusting someone else with your safety, especially considering the circumstances of your disappearance.

However, Jimin steps in, ready to prove his dedication and reliability.

“I understand your concerns, and I promise, I will do everything in my power to protect her,” Jimin says firmly, looking straight into your parents’ eyes.

“I blame myself for what happened, for not making sure she got home safely that night, and I will not let it happen again. She will be safe with me” he assures them with a stern yet comforting look.

His sincerity and determination leave a lasting impression on your parents. You can see their hesitancy gradually giving way to trust. Jimin’s gesture of holding their hands and expressing remorse further strengthens their belief in him.

“I will never be able to forgive myself if something happens to her again,” Jimin adds, his voice laced with regret. “I promise you, I will be her guardian and protector.”

Your parents eventually agree to the arrangement, recognizing that Jimin’s dedication to your safety outweighs their concerns.

They also think that Jimin will be able to keep you safer, with him being a cop now. They thank him for his commitment, and you can see a sense of relief wash over them.

Your mom still wants to make sure that you are completely comfortable with the situation, and asks if you are fine staying at Jimin’s place.

“I promise you, I’m okay staying at Jimin’s,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “He’s been there for me since I got back, and I trust him completely”.

Your mother’s worried expression softens as she looks into your eyes, searching for any sign of discomfort. “Are you sure, sweetheart? We just want what’s best for you”.

You nod, giving her a small smile, “I know, mom. I know both of you worry about me, and I appreciate that. But being at Jimin’s feels… comforting. It’s like I have a sense of security there,” you give a small smile.

Deep down you know you won’t feel safe or comfortable with your own place like you initially thought, but this was a good compromise.

Your father places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, “If you ever feel uncomfortable or unsafe, don’t hesitate to call us, okay?” we’ll be there in a heartbeat.”

“I will, dad” you promise, feeling grateful for their understanding.

“But please know that I need some time to myself too. I want to try and rebuild my life, and I think being at Jimin’s will help me with that, until I feel comfortable eventually getting my own place,” both your parents nod, accepting your decision while still trying to protect you.

They express their love once again, and you can see the worry lingering in their eyes as they bid you goodbye.

As they leave, you let out a sigh, feeling a mix of emotions settling in. Jimin returns to your side, looking concerned as he takes the seat beside you.

“Are you okay?” he asks gently, brushing a strand of hair away from your face and you blush at the touch.

“I will be,” you reply honestly, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“It’s just… it must be hard for them, you know? To see me like this.”

Jimin wraps his arm around you, pulling you closer. “They love you, Y/N. And they’ll do whatever they can to protect you. It’s natural for them to worry.”

You nod, feeling comforted by his presence. “I know. But I also need to figure things out on my own. I need to feel like myself again.”

“You don’t have to do it alone,” Jimin says firmly. “I’m here for you, every step of the way. We’ll face this together.”

You look up at him, finding solace in his unwavering support. “Thank you, Jiminie. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He smiles softly at his nickname, his eyes filled with warmth and love, “You’ll never have to find out. I’ll always be here for you.”

With Jimin by your side, you know you have someone who truly understands and cares for you.

As you prepare to leave the hospital, haven met with the sketch artist too, the weight of what lies ahead settles on your shoulders. You’ve endured so much, and now the road to recovery stretches out before you like an uncertain path.

Jimin stands beside you, his presence a constant source of strength, but you can’t help but feel the apprehension growing inside you.

Taehyung approaches you with a sympathetic smile.

“Y/N, I’ve arranged a few appointments with a psychologist for you,” he says gently, handing you a small card. “She specializes in sexual trauma and can help you work through everything you’ve been through.”

You take the card, trying to hold back the emotions that threaten to spill over.

“Thank you, Taehyung,” you say softly. Feeling your heart warm at his kindness, “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

Taehyung nods, his eyes filled with empathy, “Just take it one step at a time,” he advises. “Healing isn’t easy, but you’re not alone in this journey” he assures you and bids you goodbye with a soft smile and wave of his hand.

You know he’s right, but the fear of facing your trauma head-on still lingers. The thought of reliving those harrowing moments again fills you with dread. Jimin senses your unease and pulls you into a comforting embrace.

“You don’t have to do this alone” he whispers, his voice soothing.

You find comfort in his words, knowing that he’ll be there every step of the way. As you leave the hospital, you feel a mix of emotions swirling inside you; relief to be out of that place, anxiety about the therapy sessions, and gratitude for the support you have gotten so far.

As you step into Jimin’s home, a mixture of relief and vulnerability washes over you. The walls seem warmer, the air more comforting, and the thought of having Jimin nearby offers a sense of security you haven’t felt in a long time.

You can’t help but feel grateful for his unwavering support.

Jimin leads you to the guest bedroom, its inviting decor and cozy atmosphere offering a stark contrast to the horrors you’ve endured. The room feels like a sanctuary, a place where you can begin to heal. You thank him softly, words barely escaping your lips as you try to convey the depth of your gratitude.

“I want you to feel at home here,” Jimin says with a tender smile.

“Take all the time you need, and remember, I’m right across the hall if you need anything, okay?”

His reassurance soothes the residual anxiety that clings to you like a shadow. You nod, a sense of trust growing between you and Jimin, knowing that he’ll always be here to catch you when you stumble.

“I’ve taken a few days off work to help you settle in. I hope that’s okay” he explains as you follow him into the hallway.

“That’s very sweet of you Jimin” you feel a blush creep up on your face, as your heart feels full of love with his kind actions.

As Jimin gives you the rest of the tour of his home, you can’t help but marvel at the simple yet elegant design that surrounds you.

Each room holds its unique charm, and you find yourself drawn to the minimalistic aesthetic that exudes a sense of tranquility.

The bathrooms feel like a serene oasis, adorned with white and blue tiles that create a soothing ambiance. You imagine yourself soaking in the bathtub, letting the worries of the day dissolve in the warm water.

The guest rooms, tough simple, offer a cozy retreat.

His home office is a testament to his dedication and hard work, with a touch of understated elegance in the dark gray hues that enhance the room. It’s a place where he has likely spent countless hours diligently pursuing his career as a police officer and now detective.

Moving into the heart of the house, the open floor plan of the kitchen, living, and dining room leaves you in awe.

The kitchen, with its white and wooden accents, feels like the heart of the home, a place where love and warmth fill the air. The wooden tabletop and thick black metal legs of the dining table strike a perfect balance between rustic and modern, inviting you to gather around for shared meals and laughter.

The living room, with its magnificent dark green couch, beckons you to sink into its comforting embrace. As you envision spending cozy nights here, watching movies or simply enjoying each other’s company, you feel a sense of belonging settling in your heart.

Throughout the tour, Jimin’s excitement and pride in his home are palpable.

It’s evident that he has put love and care into every corner, turning his house into a home - a place of comfort and refuge, not just for himself, but for those he cares about.

As you continue to explore the rooms, you can’t help but appreciate the changes he’s made since the last time you visited. It’s a reflection of how he’s grown, just as you have, over the years.

“This place is beautiful, Jimin,” you finally say, your voice filled with genuine admiration. “I can see how much effort and love you’ve put into making it your own.”

A soft smile graces his lips and he looks around the familiar space with newfound pride. “Thank you, Y/N” he replies. “I’m glad you like it. And I hope you’ll feel at home here too.”

You nod, feeling the burden of your past gradually lifting as you step into this new chapter of your life. This house, with its comforting embrace and the man standing beside you, promises a future filled with hope, love, and healing.

“Did you renovate it? I don’t remember it looking like this when we were kids” you inquire, genuinely curious about the transformation.

“Yeah, I did it myself,” Jimin replies with a proud smile, his hands finding refuge in his pockets.

“It’s really stunning! I also liked how your parents kept it before. But this looks so modern,” you point out, acknowledging the aesthetic choices he’s made.

As you stand in the kitchen, you can’t help but notice the emotions flickering in his eyes when you mention his parents. Sensing there’s a deeper story behind the changes, you ask, “How come your parents don’t live here anymore?”.

His eyes hold a mixture of nostalgia and pain as he reveals, “My dad died of cancer three years ago. My mom couldn’t keep up with the big house, so I bought it from her, and she lives in a small apartment in the city insead.”

You feel a pang of sorrow for him and his family, realizing the significance of this home in their lives and the changes they’ve had to endure.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” you say, offering genuine condolences.

“How were you supposed to know?” Jimin chuckles softly, his laughter carrying a hint of vulnerability. “It’s okay, really. You couldn’t have known.”

His ability to lighten the mood in such a sensitive moment surprises you, but it also speaks volumes about his resilience. Jimin seems to create an atmosphere of ease around topics that could be emotionally overwhelming, and you can’t help but appreciate his ability to find comfort even in the face of loss.

The rest of the day rushes by in a blur of conversation and laughter, leaving you with little time to process the burden of your emotions or even the movies you watched together on Jimin’s TV. The comfort of his company and the safe haven of his home envelop you like a warm embrace.

As the hours pass, you find yourself relaxing in Jimin’s presence, your guard slowly lowering.

When a low rumbling sound fills the living room, you feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Are you hungry, Y/N?” Jimin asks, amused by the hungry protests of your stomach.

He tries to suppress his grin with his hands, but the laughter bubbling from him is unmistakable. Cursing your traitorous stomach internally, you can’t help but nod in defeat. It seems your body is making its desires known without your consent.

Jimin assures you that he has some leftover lasagna, and your mouth waters at the thought. As he brings the steaming dish to the table, the savory aroma fills the room, making your stomach growl even louder in anticipation.

Taking your first bite, you’re pleasantly surprised at how delicious it tastes, and a satisfied ‘mmmmh’ escapes your lips.

Jimin cuckles in response, his eyes twinkling with joy at your enjoyment. You can see the genuine happiness in his face as he watches you savor the meal.

“I take it you like it. I’m glad,” he says with a hint of pride, his own plate half-empty as he eats alongside you.

You nod enthusiastically, your mouth full, and give him a thumbs-up to emphasize your approval. As you continue eating, the conversation flows effortlessly, and the laughter comes easily.

Jimin’s ability to make you feel at ease and comforted shines through, and you find yourself opening up more than you ever thought possible. As the evening wears on, you realize that time has flown by, and you can’t help but wonder how you could feel so comfortable and at home with someone you’ve been apart from for so long.

But in Jimin’s presence, it feels like you’re rediscovering a piece of yourself that you thought was lost forever.

As the night deepens, it becomes apparent that sleep is elusive, no matter how much you try to coax it.

An odd sense of anxiety grips you tightly, and you find yourself restless and uneasy.

You can’t quite understand the reason behind these sudden jitters, especially since you’ve slept over at Jimin’s place countless times in your younger days, but together is different; the weight of your past trauma seems to be pressing heavily on your mind.

Jimin, ever the perceptive friend, picks up on your unease.

He offers a comforting reassurance, assuring you that you can always knock on his door if you need anything. His touch on your hand feels like a lifeline in the sea of uncertainty, offering a sense of calm amidst the turmoil of emotions.

With a grateful smile, you bid him goodnight and retreat to your designated room.

But once you’re alone, your mind becomes a battleground of thoughts and emotions. The reality of what has happened to you, the journey of healing that lies ahead, and the uncertainty of the future all bombard your consciousness like a relentless freight train.

You sit on the edge of the bed, you mind spinning with questions and fears.

How will you find the strength to heal? Will you ever be able to overcome the haunting memories? Can you ever trust again after such a traumatic experience?

The silence of the night only amplifies the cacophony in your head. The ceiling above you becomes a canvas for your restless mind, and you find yourself staring blankly, unable to shut off the overwhelming thoughts.

Every creak and rustle in the house feels magnified, and your heart races with each little noise. Despite Jimin’s presence just across the hall, the fear of facing the darkness alone feels suffocating.

You try to remind yourself that he’s there for you, but your mind is stubborn, refusing to relinquish its grip on the fear that has taken root in your heart.

Hours pass, but sleep remains elusive.

The minutes stretch into eternity, and you’re left feeling like a prisoner of your own mind.

The night feels like a never-ending struggle between the desire for rest and the fear of letting your guard down.

The morning sun filters through the window, casting a warm glow over everything in the room.

The pleasant aroma of pancakes fills the air, offering a momentary distraction from the weariness that clings to your body. But no matter how hard you try to revive yourself, the undereye bags and puffy eyes persist, bearing witness to the restless night that robbed you of much-needed sleep.

You walk into the kitchen where Jimin’s cheerful voice breaks through the haze of exhaustion, greeting you with a bright smile as he expertly flips pancakes on the stove.

“Good morning, Y/N, did you sleep well?” he asks, his voice a melody of kindness and warmth. Despite his cheerfulness, his eyes widen in concern as they meet your tired gaze.

He instinctively knows something is amiss.

You can’t help but sigh in response, slumping onto one of the wooden bar stools. Your body feels heavy, burdened by the weight of a night spent wrestling with haunting memories.

“Not really,” you admit, your voice tinged with fatigue and vulnerability.

Jimin’s eyes soften with sympathy, and he gently scolds you for not reaching out for company when sleep eluded you.

“My brain just wouldn’t shut off,” you confess, a hint of frustration seeping into your voice.

“I kept thinking about the past and all the stuff that I missed… about my future too,” you bury your face in your hands, seeking solace from the exhaustion that permeates your body.

In this vulnerable moment, you find comfort in Jimin’s presence. It’s as if his caring demeanor and genuine concern create a sanctuary for your weary soul. He doesn’t push you to talk about the details of your thoughts; instead, he simply stands beside you, a steady pillar of support.

As the pancakes sizzle on the griddle, the aroma fills the air, intertwining with the tender atmosphere between you and Jimin. The morning light casts a gentle glow, and for a moment, you feel a fleeting sense of calm amidst the storm inside you.

Jimin places a plate of warm pancakes in front of you, garnished with chocolate and jam. He offers this simple gesture as a balm for your tired spirit.

“Here, have some breakfast. It’ll give you some energy” he says, his voice tender.

In that moment, you realize that this is more than just a shared meal. It’s an act of love and care, a way for Jimin to nourish not only your body but your soul too. And as you take a bite of the pancakes, you can’t help the blush that creeps on your face and feel grateful for having someone like him in your life - the kind of friend who stays by your side, offering comfort and understanding.

“It smells really good and looks so yummy, Jimin,” you remark with a genuine smile, appreciating not only the food but also the effort he’s put into making you feel at ease.

Jimin’s own smile widens, pleased to see you enjoying the meal he prepared. He joins in, savoring the taste of the pancakes alongside you. The moment is filled with a sense of calm, a temporary respite from the tumultuous thoughts that have been plaguing you.

But even in this tranquil moment, Jimin’s concern for your well-being doesn’t waver.

He clears his throat gently, drawing your attention.

“Maybe you should make an appointment with the psychologist, like that nurse Taehyung suggested,” he suggests softly, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability.

The sincerity in his words touches your heart. You can see the earnestness in his eyes, the depth of his care for you. His genuine concern is both comforting and overwhelming, reminding you that you don’t have to face your pain alone.

With a small chuckle, Jimin adds, “Of course, you can talk to me too. I wouldn’t mind lending you my ear.”

It's an offer that comes from the heart, a promise to be there for you in any way you need. You feel a sense of gratitude wash over you, grateful to have Jimin in your life.

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” you reply, recognizing the wisdom in his suggestion.

“And thank you so much, Jimin. It means a lot to me, all that you’re doing to help me,” a lot more than you would ever know, you almost want to add.

Later that day, as the sun was beginning to set, casting a warm golden hue through the windows of Jimin’s living room, as you stood there with Jimin, you found yourself facing an entirely different challenge: self-defense.

Jimin stressed the value in being able to defend yourself, should you ever need it (especially with your perpetrator still at large).

It is a practical and necessary step, given the circumstances. Jimin’s concern for your safety is evident. And you appreciate his determination to empower you. The seriousness of the situation loomed over you, but Jimin’s presence was a reassuring anchor.

“Alright, pay close attention,” Jimin says, his voice steady and encouraging. His arms gently wrap around your waist, pulling you closer against his solid frame. Feeling his heartbeat against your back brings a sense of flutters and comfort as you listen intently to his instructions and you already feel your breath quicken.

“First, if someone tries to choke you from behind, you need to act quickly,” he explains.

“Use your elbows to strike their ribs or stomach. It forces them to loosen their grip.”

As he demonstrates the movement, his arm guides your own, helping you to mimic the motion. His warm touch feels electrifying, and you feel heat rise in your cheeks. Your elbow hits his arms, and you can feel the strength in his muscles as he adjusts the pressure.

“Good job” he praises you, a smile evident in his voice. Jimin’s encouraging words spurs you on, and you feel your confidence growing with each practiced movement.

“Remember,” he says, his tone becoming more serious, “Don’t hesitate to use your elbow, knees, and even your fists if necessary. Your safety comes first.”

He demonstrates the proper stance, weight distribution, and how to strike effectively without injuring yourself. As he continues to teach you, you find yourself amazed at his patience and skill.

He moves with fluidity, demonstrating each technique with precision. It must be his dancing major, that gives him so much grace. You are entranced by his elegance and register your heartbeat quicken and your breath shorten.

While the situation was serious, his lighthearted spirit shone through as he let you practice some kicks on him.

“Nice kick!” he grinned, clearly impressed by your progress.

“But keep your balance steady. You don’t want to lose it and give your attacker an advantage.”

With Jimin’s guidance, you practice each move diligently. It was physically demanding, and hard to keep your mind off his strong muscles, but his presence and encouragement made the experience far more manageable.

He patiently corrects your posture and movements, helping you understand the importance of control and awareness.

As the session is nearing its end, Jimin demonstrates one final move.

“And if you ever find yourself cornered,” he said, “A quick powerful kick to the groin can create the opening you need to escape.”

With a nod you chuckle nervously, and take a step back and mimic the movement from earlier, visualizing the scenario in your mind.

“Trust me,” he says, meeting your eyes with a serious expression, “It’s a highly effective move.”

Jimin’s eyes twinkle with pride as you execute the move with determination.

“You’re doing great, Y/N,” he says, his voice gentle yet resolute. “Learning self-defense is about feeling empowered and in control. It’s not about being invincible, but knowing you have options.”

As you walk into the living room, a sense of excitement fills you.

“I’ve made an appointment with the psychologist, and she actually had a spot for me tomorrow morning because someone canceled theirs,” you share with a bright and hopeful tone, eager to let Jimin know about the progress you’ve made.

Jimin’s attention shifts from the movie he’s watching, and he turns to face you, his eyes lighting up with genuine happiness for you.

“That’s nice, Y/N,” he responds with a warm smile. But it doesn’t end there; he takes it a step further, showing his unwavering support and care for you.

“I can drive you tomorrow and wait for you so you don’t have to go alone,” he offers, reaching out to envelop you in a comforting hug. His embrace feels like a safe haven, grounding you amidst uncertainties that lie ahead. He is warm and soft, making your heart flutter.

It’s a gesture that speaks volumes about his dedication as a friend, and you feel grateful for having him by your side during this journey of healing.

“Thank you, Jimin,” you murmur, your voice tinged with sincerity.

“Having you there with me means the world,” you hug him back, relishing in his embrace longer than friends probably should, but you can't help yourself.

He pulls back slightly, his hands still resting on your shoulders as he gazes into your eyes, his own filled with compassion.

“You don’t have to thank me, Y/N,” he replies softly.

“I’ll always be here for you, no matter what”. In that moment, you know that his words are not just empty promises; they hold true weight and meaning. He’s proven time and again that he’ll go above and beyond to support and protect you, and his presence has become an anchor in your life.

As Jimin’s arms envelop you in another warm and comforting hug, your heart races with a mixture of emotions. The familiar touch of his hands against your back sends tingles down your spine, and you can’t help but yearn for more.

But as much as you cherish his affection, you know the depths of your feelings go beyond mere friendship. Throughout the years, you’ve hidden your unrequited love for Jimin, fearing that revealing it would jeopardize the precious bond you share.

You’ve watched from the sidelines as he laughed, smiled, and even dated others, all the while silently nursing your love for him. Now, being back in his embrace, your feelings resurface with a vengeance, and it’s becoming harder to suppress them.

Jimin’s genuine kindness and the way he selflessly cares for you only deepen the chasm in your heart. You find yourself yearning for more than just his friendship, craving a connection that goes beyond what you’ve ever shared.

But the fear of rejection and the potential loss of his friendship weigh heavily on you.

As his scent fills your senses, you can’t help but wonder if he could ever feel the same way about you.

The thought of confessing your feelings terrifies you, and you push it to the back of your mind, trying to focus on the present moment instead.

Yet, the trauma you’ve endured has left a mark on your soul, casting a shadow over your emotions. The assault and abuse have stirred up a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, making it harder to decipher what is real and what is merely a product of your pain.

As you bury your face in his hair, you cling to the familiar comfort he provides, but you can’t help but feel the surge of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

The tears you’ve been holding back threaten to spill over, and you take deep breaths to regain control.

As the movie’s scenes play out on the screen, you find it nearly impossible to concentrate on anything but the warmth of Jimin’s body pressed against your own.

Your heart beats wildly in your chest, and each breath feels shallow as his proximity sends a surge of electricity through you. It takes all your willpower to remain composed and not let your feelings betray you.

Jimin’s closeness is both a blessing and a curse.

On one hand, you relish the feeling of his body so close to yours, a sensation you’ve secretly yearned for.

On the other hand, it intensifies the turmoil of emotions within you, making it difficult to keep your composure.

As the movie’s plot unfolds, you find yourself stealing glances at Jimin’s profile, mesmerized by his features and the way the flickering light of the TV dances across his face.

You wish you could be brave enough to tell him how you feel, but the fear of rejection and the potential loss of his friendship paralyze you. Every fiber of your being longs to lean into him, to feel his arms wrap around you in a warm embrace.

Yet, you fight the urge, knowing that doing so would only deepen your emotional entanglement and make it even harder to keep your feelings hidden.

Despite the inner chaos, you manage to keep a facade of calm, smiling when appropriate and nodding along to the movie’s plot.

But inside, you’re a jumbled mess of emotions, and you can’t help but wonder if Jimin can sense your turmoil. As the movie comes to an end, you take a deep breath, attempting to steady your racing heart.

You’re grateful for the movie's conclusion, hoping that it will give you a moment to regain your composure. But even as the credits roll, Jimin doesn’t move away, and you find yourself torn between the desire to stay in his embrace and the need to escape the storm of emotions brewing inside you.

In the end, you opt to remain where you are, cherishing the closeness you share with Jimin and savoring the fleeting moments of intimacy. Though unspoke, the unrequited love you hold for him lingers in the air, creating an invisible bond between you two that goes beyond mere friendship.

The hours pass by in a blur, filled with laughter, heartfelt conversations, and a marathon of movies that bring moments of joy and escapism. You find solace in Jimin’s presence, his genuine care, and the comfort of being so close to someone you’ve admired secretly for years.

Yet, as the day draws to a close, a looming sense of emotional exhaustion settles over you like a heavy fog.

The impending therapy session hangs over your head like a dark cloud, filling you with both anxiety and hope. You know it’s necessary, that facing your trauma is a crucial step toward healing, but the thought of reliving those painful memories is daunting.

As the night deepens, you find yourself sitting on Jimin’s bed, lost in thoughts. The room is bathed in a soft glow, emanating from a small lamp on the nightstand. Jimin, ever observant, sits next to you, his warm presence a source of comfort.

“You don’t have to go through this alone, remember?” he says gently, his voice tender and caring.

You look into his eyes, seeing the genuine concern in them, and you feel your heart clench.

How much you long to pour your heart out to him, to share the burden of your emotions, and to finally reveal the depth of your feelings.

But fear holds you back, and you keep your emotions tightly guarded.

“I appreciate that, Jimin,” you reply, a hint of vulnerability seeping into your voice. “It’s just… I’m afraid of what might come up during the therapy session.”

Jimin reaches out, placing a comforting hand on yours, “I understand. Facing the past can be overwhelming, but remember, you are not alone in this. I’ll be here for you every step of the way.”

The tenderness in his touch and the reassurance in his words almost break the dam you’ve built around your emotions.

You want to lean into him, to finally confess your hidden affection and to seek true comfort in his embrace. Yet, the fear of jeopardizing your friendship keeps your heart in check.

As you lie in your own bed that night, sleep eludes you again.

Your mind is a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, and the weight of unspoken words feels almost unbearable.

You wonder if Jimin can sense the depth of your feelings, if he has any inkling of the unrequited love that resides within you.

The therapy session looms ahead, and you can’t help but feel both apprehensive and hopeful about the healing it may bring. You know it won’t be an easy journey, but having Jimin by your side, even as a friend, gives you the strength to face the painful memories that haunt you.

As you drift into a restless slumber, the turmoil within you persists, leaving you torn between the desire to hold onto your feelings and the fear of what might happen if you reveal them.

The morning air is crisp, and the first rays of sunlight gently kiss the edges of the sky as you step out of the shower, feeling refreshed and ready to face the day. Jimin’s consideration never fails to amaze you, and as you get dressed, you can’t help but think of all the little ways he has shown his kindness and care.

With the appointment with the psychologist looming ahead, you’re both nervous and eager to finally start the healing process. As you make your way to the kitchen, the aroma of freshly cooked breakfast fills the air, and your stomach growls in anticipation. His culinary skills are impressive, and you can’t help but appreciate his efforts to make your morning special.

He hands you a green smoothie, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles warmly.

“I know you need all the energy you can get today,” he says, his voice gently and encouraging. You take a sip, savoring the fresh and invigorating taste of veggies and fruits, while feeling a rush of gratitude for having someone like Jimin in your life.

Together, you sit at the dining table, and with every bite, you feel the warmth of his presence seep into your soul.

The connection between you and Jimin grows stronger with each shared meal and conversation, yet there’s still an unspoken understanding that hangs in the air.

As you finish breakfast, you exchange glances, and it’s as if the unspoken words are dancing on the edges of your lips. You want to tell him how much he means to you, how his kindness and friendship have been a lifeline in the darkest of times, but the fear of jeopardizing what you have holds you back.

You find yourself lost in his gaze, unable to look away, and it’s in that moment that you feel a flicker of hope.

Maybe, just maybe, the unspoken love between you is not one-sided.

Maybe Jimin’s tender gestures and caring ways are more than just friendly acts?

But before you can delve deeper into your thoughts, Jimin’s voice breaks the silence.

“Are you ready for today?” he asks softly, his eyes full of concern and support.

With a small nod, you find your voice, “I am, and I’m grateful you'll be there with me.”

His smile widens, and he reaches across the table to take your hand in his, the contact sending a warm shiver down your spine.

“I’ll always be there for you, no matter what,” he says, his words carrying a deeper meaning that you can’t ignore.

As you sit in the car, the silence between you and Jimin speaks volumes. It’s not the awkward silence you had anticipated; rather, it’s a comforting one. You find solace in the familiarity of Jimin’s presence, and his unspoken support eases some of the anxiety building up inside you.

As Jimin pulls up to the tall building, its glass facade reflecting the city’s hustle and bustle, you feel a mix of nerves and determination. Jimin follows you outside and you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself before stepping inside.

As you grip the handle to the tall building, your heart races in your chest like a wild stallion.

The weight of unfamiliarity and the daunting prospect of sharing your innermost thoughts with a stranger collide, setting off an explosion of anxiety and nervousness within you.

You take a deep breath, knowing that this is a pivotal moment in your journey to heal and move forward.

This is uncharted territory for you, but you’re determined to brave this new experience.

The reception area is modern and welcoming, but your heart still races as you approach the front desk. The green plants add a touch of serenity, momentarily easing the tension coiled in your body.

The receptionist smiles warmly, and you check in using your new social security card, a symbol of your newfound strength and resilience.

Taking a seat, you try to steady your breath and silence the thunderous pounding in your ears.

Your palms feel sweaty, and you quickly wipe them on your things, hoping to dispel any signs of unease.

You remind yourself that it’s normal to feel nervous, but you won’t let it deter you from seeking the help you need.

Just as you’re about to give in to the overwhelming anxiety, you feel a gentle hand on your thigh. You turn to Jimin sitting beside you, his presence like a comforting anchor in the storm. He gives you a reassuring smile as he lightly squeezes your thigh, his eyes filled with support and understanding.

“I’ll be right here waiting for you,” he says softly, and you feel a wave of gratitude wash over you.

The fact that he’s willing to stay by your side, even in the face of your inner struggles, makes your heart swell with affection. As you sit together in the waiting area, you find solace in Jimin’s presence.

The unspoken bond between you grows stronger with each passing moment, and you feel a sense of reassurance that you’re not alone in this journey of healing.

Your heart skips a beat as you’re abruptly brought back to reality by a woman’s voice calling your name.

You quickly stand up, a mix of nervousness and excitement coursing through your veins. In your haste, you extend your hand to greet her, feeling a little self-conscious about the volume of your response, as you say ‘yes’.

Her warm and reassuring smile puts you at ease, and you can’t help but notice the genuine kindness in her eyes.

“I’m Chin-Sun, your psychologist,” she introduces herself, her soothing tone like a gentle wave lapping at the shore.

You exchange a fleeting glance with Jimin, silently acknowledging the strength he’s given you. With a deep breath, you follow the therapist into her office, leaving Jimin behind in the waiting area.

You feel a flutter of apprehension in your chest, but knowing that Jimin is just outside waiting for you, gives you a sense of security.

As you enter the therapist’s office, you feel a mix of emotions swirling inside you. But with Jimin’s reassurance still lingering, you know you can take that first step towards healing and finally find the courage to confront your past.

Outside, Jimin waits patiently, knowing that you’ll come out stronger, and that he’ll be there every step of the way.

As you enter her office, you’re immediately drawn to the inviting atmosphere that surrounds you. Chin-Sun gestures gracefully towards the plush couch adorned with an array of soft pillows.

It beckons you to sink into its comforting embrace, and you oblige, feeling a sense of calm wash over you already.

The small table in front of the couch catches your eye, adorned with candles, tissues, glasses and a jug of water, a thoughtful touch to create a soothing ambiance.

Seated on a chair in front of the table, Chin-Sun's serene presence envelops the room. Her warm smile and kind eyes put you at ease, and you find yourself feeling more relaxed in her company.

The office is a perfect balance of tranquility and professionalism. One wall, painted a soothing navy blue, adds a touch of depth and serenity to the space, while the rest of the room remains in calming white tones.

As you take a moment to glance around, you notice her neatly organized desk, equipped with a computer and other therapeutic resources.

Chin-Sun picks up her pen and paper, explaining her preference for taking notes. It gives you a sense of comfort to know that your thoughts and feelings will be heard and respected.

“It’s natural to feel nervous,” she assures, her gentle voice like a lifeline amidst the storm of your thoughts. “This is a place of healing, and there’s no judgment here. You have the power to set the pace, and if it ever becomes overwhelming, don’t hesitate to let me know.”

As you grapple with the knot of nerves in your stomach, you can’t help but apologize for your nervousness. She leans in, her empathy palpable, and reminds you that there’s no need to apologize. This is your journey, and the feelings you’re experiencing are entirely valid.

“I understand how unfamiliar this may be,” she acknowledges, validating your emotions.

“But remember, you’re here because you want to explore these emotions and experiences. It's okay to take your time and ease into it.” Her encouragement emboldens you, and you find the strength to meet her gaze.

You realize that this therapeutic space is not about judgment or quick fixes; it’s about embracing vulnerability and allowing yourself to heal at your own pace.

As you sit in the cozy confines of Chin-Sun’s office, her gentle encouragement puts you at ease. You feel a mixture of relief and vulnerability knowing that she has your medical report from the hospital and will be guiding you through this process with sensitivity and understanding.

She leans forward with a calming presence, offering you both empathy and professional expertise.

“When you are ready,” she begins, her words a gentle invitation, “can you start from the beginning?”

With each breath, you find the strength to speak your truth.

As you begin recounting the events that led to your trauma, you focus on the broad strokes as Chin-Sun suggested. The weight of the memories may be heavy, but you remind yourself that sharing them here is an essential step towards healing.

Chin-Sun listens with unwavering attention, her pen moving gently across the paper, capturing your words with care. She refrains from interrupting, giving you the space to voice your experiences without judgment.

Her approach allows you to navigate the emotional terrain at your own pace, and you feel seen and heard.

As you speak, you find solace in her empathetic eyes, and the vulnerability in sharing your story with a stranger gradually dissipates.

You appreciate that she doesn't pry or push for more details, respecting your boundaries and giving you the freedom to share as much or as little as you feel comfortable with.

The moments of silence that punctuate your narrative become opportunities for reflection. You appreciate that Chin-Sun doesn't rush to fill the void but rather allows you to gather your thoughts.

As the session draws to a close, you can sense Chin-Sun's genuine sadness for what you've endured.

Her compassion has created a safe space for you to share your experiences, and you appreciate her understanding demeanor. With just ten minutes left, Chin-Sun offers you the opportunity to ask any questions or discuss topics you'd like to explore in future sessions.

You feel a flicker of curiosity and decide to seize the moment.

“Actually… I do have some stuff that’s been on my mind. Can I ask you those questions?” you say, sitting up straight, determined to confront the thoughts that have been swirling in your mind.

Chin-Sun's gentle nod and sip of water give you the encouragement you need to voice your concerns. You share your lingering worry about your captor and whether he might still be out there searching for you.

The fear in your voice is evident as you whisper your words, as if speaking any louder might draw danger closer.

Understanding the weight of your concern, Chin-Sun responds with empathy, “I understand that. Do you have anybody that can help you feel safe while the police are looking for the perpetrator?”

You take comfort in her soothing smile as you fidget with the hem of your shirt.

Gathering your thoughts, you find the courage to speak about the one person who has provided you with a sanctuary – Jimin, your best friend and the detective who has taken you into his home.

Chin-Sun listens intently, acknowledging the significance of having someone like Jimin by your side during this trying time.

She allows you to express yourself fully, creating a space where your emotions and thoughts are validated.

As the floodgates of your emotions open, you find yourself pouring your deepest fears and vulnerabilities to Chin-Sun.

The weight of your trauma is overwhelming, and tears fill your eyes, threatening to spill. Though she tries to offer calming words of reassurance, you feel unable to listen.

The pain and trauma inflicted on you have shattered your trust in men, and you express the feeling that sex is now ruined for you. Images of your horrifying ordeal flash before your eyes, making it hard to escape the haunting memories.

In a desperate attempt to shut out the distressing visuals, you press your hands against your eyes, your body trembling as you curl your feet up onto the couch, seeking some form of comfort and safety.

Recognizing your anguish, Chin-Sun gently hands you tissues and moves to your side, offering a comforting hug.

“It might be incredibly hard in the beginning. But it is possible to trust again. It’s also possible to have sex again, if that is something you want. Just take your time and progress slowly. Do what you are comfortable with and stop and voice your feelings if you ever feel like it or if it goes too far,” she says, her comforting presence providing you a glimmer of hope in the darkness.

As you struggle to regain your composure, you take deep breaths, trying to calm your racing heart and shaking body.

Gradually, the storm of emotions begins to subside, and you feel your body easing into a state of relaxation. The tears eventually stop flowing, leaving you emotionally drained but also somewhat relieved.

Before you leave her office, Chin-Sun offers valuable advice, emphasizing the importance of taking things slowly and not rushing yourself into anything.

She encourages you to communicate your feelings and boundaries with utmost honesty and to seek out the support of people you trust.

As you step out of the session, the burden of your trauma is not fully lifted, but you feel a glimmer of hope for the future.

Trusting again may be a daunting journey, but with Chin-Sun's guidance and support, you are determined to embark on the path to healing and rebuilding yourself.

Your resolve to take each step at your own pace, honoring your feelings and emotions as you move forward.

The thought of having sex again is something that both frightens and intrigues you, but you know that with time and support, you might find the strength to explore intimacy once more.

As you contemplate the future, you recognize that healing is not a linear process. There will be ups and downs, and that's okay. With Chin-Sun's encouragement, you feel more hopeful that, one day, you will reclaim your sense of security and find solace in the arms of someone who truly cares for you.

Maybe you have already found that one person, currently waiting for you in the waiting area.

As you enter the waiting area, Jimin's concern is evident on his face.

He takes in your swollen and red eyes, the dried tear streaks marking your cheeks, and he knows that the therapy session must have been emotionally taxing.

You sink into the seat, feeling a mix of relief and exhaustion.

“Are you alright? How did it go?” Jimin’s voice is filled with genuine concern as he looks for your eyes seeking reassurance. You take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts before speaking.

“I’m okay, Jimin. The session was good, but I’m just so emotionally drained” you say, your voice heavy with weariness. You reach for his hand, squeezing it gently, seeking comfort and connection.

“I’m here for you, always,” he responds softly, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. His unwavering support brings a flicker of warmth to your heart, and you find solace in the knowledge that you have someone by your side who truly cares for you.

“I’d like to go home and rest now,” you add, feeling the need to retreat and process the emotions that have been stirred up during the session. Jimin seems to understand, nodding in agreement.

“Of course, let’s head home,” he says as you walk out of the building, turning on the engine and shifting into gear. The car ride is quiet, but it’s a comforting silence, one that allows you to collect your thoughts and emotions.

As you arrive home, Jimin accompanies you inside, his presence a soothing balm to your weary soul. He lets you rest and recuperate, offering his unwavering support from the sidelines.

In the comfort of his home, you find a safe space to process your feelings and begin the healing journey.

It’s already Jimin’s last day off and he decides it’s a good idea to go grocery shopping so you don’t starve to death while he is working.

You are not really the best cook, so it was a good idea.

As you and Jimin stroll through the supermarket, filling the cart with groceries, the atmosphere is light-hearted and fun. Jimin seems to have a talent for turning even the most mundane tasks into enjoyable adventures, and you find yourself laughing and joking along the way.

“Hey, Jimin, remember that time we tried to cook together in college? It was a disaster!” you chuckle, recalling the disastrous attempt at making a simple pasta dish that ended up in a kitchen full of smoke.

Jimin grins, his eyes crinkling with amusement, “Oh, how could I forget? We set off the fire alarm!” he laughs at the disastrous memory.

You both burst into laughter, drawing a few curious glances from other shoppers, but you don't care. It feels good to let go of the burden of the past and embrace the present moment with your best friend.

As you reach the fresh produce section, Jimin playfully challenges you to a ‘vegetable picking’ contest. You both pretend to be food critics, carefully inspecting each vegetable, making exaggerated remarks about their texture and flavor profile.

It’s all just silly fun, but it brings an undeniable joy to your heart.

With the cart now filled with a colorful array of vegetables, starch, meat, canned goods, and some treats, you make your way to the cashier to pay.

With the grocery shopping done, you head back to Jimin's car, where he skillfully begins to load the bags into the trunk.

“I promise not to let you starve,” Jimin says with a grin, pulling more bags in the trunk and giving you a playful wink.

“We’ll make some delicious meals together. Who knows, maybe we’ll discover a hidden chef in you,” he sticks out his tongue playfully. You laugh, knowing very well that your cooking skills are far from impressive.

“Well, with your help, I might just become a master chef,” you tease back, enjoying the playful banter like old times.

As you stand next to Jimin, watching him load the groceries into the trunk, a sinister presence seems to linger in the shadows, shrouding you with unease.

You can't shake off the feeling that someone was there, watching, but when you glance back, the dark hooded figure has vanished without a trace.

Your heart races, and you try to shake off the feeling, not wanting to worry Jimin.

“Hey, are you alright?”

Jimin’s concerned voice interrupts your thoughts.

He looks at you with a hint of worry in his eyes, sensing that something might be bothering you. You quickly put on a facade, mustering a bright smile and nodding, “Yeah, I’m good to go home.”

As you get into the car, your mind is preoccupied with the mysterious figure you saw by the carts.

Who was it? What were they doing there?

And most importantly, why did they vanish so suddenly?

The questions swirl in your mind, but you keep your thoughts to yourself, not wanting to burden Jimin with your sudden discomfort.

The car ride back is filled with an awkward silence that wasn't there before. You steal glances at Jimin, trying to gauge if he senses anything amiss.

He's focused on the road, but his brows are slightly furrowed, indicating that he's concerned about you.

You decide to break the silence, attempting to distract yourself and Jimin from the unsettling encounter. “Hey, what do you think we should cook for dinner tonight?” you ask, trying to sound casual. You hope that talking about something mundane will help ease the tension.

He glances at you, a small smile forming on his lips, grateful for the change of topic.

“Hmm, how about that pasta dish we tried to make in college? I think we can ace it this time,” he suggests, trying to bring back the lightheartedness you both had earlier.

You chuckle, glad he’s playing along, even though your mind is still preoccupied with the mysterious figure.

“Yeah, that sounds like a plan. We’ll make sure to avoid having the firemen drop by for a visit” you reply, trying to match his playful tone.

Jimin can't shake the feeling that something is amiss with you ever since the grocery store. He tries to play it cool, giving you space to open up if you wish, but his concern gnaws at him like an itch he can't scratch.

He wishes you would confide in him, knowing that you could share anything with him if you wanted to. But as much as he wants to stay by your side indefinitely, reality beckons, and he knows he has to return to work tomorrow.

The thought of leaving you alone with your worries gnaws at him, but he trusts that you'll reach out to him when you're ready.

As Jimin prepares to leave for work, a mixture of concern and guilt gnaws at him. He hates the idea of leaving you alone, especially when he senses that something is still bothering you. But he knows that pushing you to talk won't help; you need the space to process your thoughts and emotions.

He stands by the door, hesitating for a moment before finally stepping outside.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” he assures you, trying to put on a brave face despite his inner turmoil. “Take care of yourself, okay?” he gives you a small hug.

You nod, offering him a small smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“I’ll be fine” you say, your voice soft and uncertain. He wishes he could read your mind, to understand the depth of what you’re going through, but he respects your boundaries.

As the door closes behind him, you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

The silence that fills the house feels overwhelming, and you find yourself wandering aimlessly from room to room, trying to distract yourself from the thoughts that linger in your mind.

You spend the day with Jimin's laptop on your thighs scouring YouTube for funny animal videos which gives you a few good laughs.

It helps keep your mind off the haunting feeling you feel inside. Your laughter is suddenly interrupted when you hear a knock at the door.

Startled, you place the laptop off to the side on the couch. It couldn’t be Jimin, because it was too early for him to be home yet.

You feel panic run through your body, but you force your feet to carry you to the door, unlocking it and opening it.

In front of you stands a man in a brown uniform sporting a yellow logo that reads ‘UPS’ on his left upper chest. You let out a relieved gasp as you place your right hand over your heart giving out a low chuckle at your reaction.

The UPS delivery man gives you a friendly smile. “Good morning Miss! I have a package for Mr. Park, is he home?” he asks politely.

“Oh, uh, no, he’s not home yet. But I can sign for it if you want?” you reply feeling a bit flustered by your initial panic.

“Sure thing! Just need your signature here” he says, handing you a small electronic device. You sign your name with a shaky hand, still trying to shake off the lingering nerves.

“Thank you. Have a great day!” he says cheerfully as he hands you the package. You see that your name is on it too.

“Thanks, you too,” you reply, managing a smile as you close and lock the door.

You lock the door and walk back to the couch, dropping down with a heavy thud.

You turn and twist the package to get some kind of information about its contents. You decide that you might as well open it, as it is also addressed to you.

You go to Jimin’s home office and find a pocket knife that you use to delicately cut along the tape to reveal its subject. It’s a phone. A brand new one at that! You take it out of the brown package and inspect the case that reads ‘Google Pixel 7A’.

You unbox the snow coloured phone and find a SIM card and the charger. In a matter of seconds, you have placed the SIM card in the phone and put it in the charger to power it up.

You let the phone charge in peace as you go to the fridge to grab some of the leftover food Jimin had been sweet enough to make for you yesterday.

Then you go back to leisurely browsing through YouTube on Jimin’s laptop while getting comfortable on the couch. You have already spent hours on the laptop, watching random videos of this and that.

But it had definitely helped keep your mind off things, so you hadn’t even noticed the time. It is already around dinnertime and you expect Jimin to be home soon.

You hear a key being inserted in the lock, twisting, and then Jimin enters with a tired smile dorning his face while he drags his body inside.

You jump to your feet, a burst of energy rushing through you, banishing the remnants of sleep from your body. With giddy feet and a spring in your step, you dance your way to Jimin, your heart warming at the sight of him.

“Did you have a good day?” you chirp, eager to bring a smile to his tired face.

Jimin lets out a tired sigh, his shoulders dropping slightly, but a faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips. He runs his hands through his tousled hair, ruffling it in a way that makes your heart flutter.

“Yes, but tiring” he admits, the weariness evident in his eyes.

You pout at him playfully, determined to lift his spirits.

“Well, you’re home now, and that’s all that matters” you say with a soft smile, hoping to convey your genuine happiness to have him back.

His exhaustion seems to melt away as he gazes at you, and he nods, “And being home with you makes it even better.”

You reach out and embrace him in a big warm hug, feeling the comforting strength of his arms around you. He leans into the hug, his tiredness fading as he draws comfort from your presence. His scent, a delightful blend of musky vanilla and woody notes, envelopes you, making you feel safe and at home.

You rest your cheek against his shoulder, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest with each breath.

His warmth and closeness ease the tension in your body, too, as if you're sharing the burden of the day together. For a moment, you both stand there, just holding each other, finding solace in the simple act of being there for one another.

“I missed you” he whispers into your ear, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine.

You can feel your cheeks flushing red, grateful that he can't see your reaction with your face buried in his chest. You nuzzle your head against his sturdy pectorals, seeking comfort in his embrace, and he chuckles softly at the movement.

“I missed you too,” you murmur, looking up into his eyes. His tired gaze meets yours, and for a moment, time seems to stand still. You think you catch a hint of longing in his eyes, but you're not entirely sure. There's a depth to his gaze, a hidden emotion that leaves you yearning to unravel the mystery of his thoughts.

Still holding you close, he presses you gently against his body, and you can feel the steady rhythm of his heart. His embrace is both protective and tender, making you feel safe and cherished.

The world outside fades away, and it's just the two of you, lost in the comfort of each other's arms.

You feel your body relax in his embrace, the tension of the day melting away. And then, in a playful gesture, you give him a gentle pinch on his side, right above his hips.

He jumps slightly, letting out a surprised, yet endearing, small shriek.

“I got your package” you giggle, pointing towards the new phone charging on the couch table. It's your way of breaking the momentary intensity, adding a touch of light-heartedness to the air.

He adjusts his head, following your gaze to the living room, where the package lies.

“Ah, right,” he says, his lips curving into a soft smile. “I hope you like it, princess” he adds, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

But as he utters the last word, your body tenses, and a wave of discomfort washes over you. His hand on your back feels heavy, and you take a step back, trying to create some distance.

He notices the sudden change in your demeanor and takes a concerned step forward, studying your face for any sign of distress. His playful expression fades as he sees pain and agony etched on your features.

You struggle to find your voice, your body still frozen in place, as if trapped in a moment of overwhelming vulnerability.

The room feels suffocating, and you try to take a deep breath, but your lungs refuse to cooperate.

Your heart pounds in your chest, each beat resonating with fear and unease.

Your mind races, unable to escape the grip of rising panic.

In that moment, you feel like a deer caught in headlights, unable to flee from the intensity of his gaze.

His concern only amplifies your discomfort, making it harder to find the words to explain what's wrong.

You realize you've been holding your breath, and you force yourself to exhale, hoping to dispel the growing tension within you.

But the freckles of a panic attack linger, threatening to engulf you in their overwhelming embrace.

Jimin takes another step closer, his hands reaching out gently, as if trying to touch the pain you're hiding inside. But you step back again, creating more distance between you.

It's not that you don't appreciate his concern; it's just that you're not ready to confront the tumultuous emotions swirling within you.

As the tears flow freely down your cheeks, your voice trembles with each syllable, making it difficult to articulate your feelings.

Jimin's grip on your shoulders loosens, his concern evident in the furrowed lines on his forehead. “I–, I'm sorry,” you manage to stammer out, your breath still uneven.

“It's just... a horrible memory came over me.”

Jimin's eyes soften with understanding, and he pulls you gently into a comforting hug, allowing you to bury your face in his shoulder. His embrace feels warm and secure, offering solace and safety in the midst of your turmoil.

As you regain control of your breath, you find yourself locking eyes with Jimin, his gaze filled with concern and regret.

The atmosphere is charged with emotions, and you can feel the electricity between you two. Your boldness surprises even yourself, but it's as if a newfound courage has taken hold of you in this vulnerable moment.

“That's what he called me,” you repeat, your voice steadier now. “It's a trigger, I guess...” you gulp the realization down your throat as you try to regain composure.

Jimin's eyes soften, and he nods understandingly, his hands gently holding yours, reassuring you that he's there for you.

“I didn't know,” Jimin repeats, his voice soft and remorseful. “I would never intentionally hurt you, Y/N.”

“I know you wouldn't, Jiminie” you say, your voice wavering slightly. “It's just that... that word brought back memories I've been trying to forget.”

“I'm so sorry you had to go through that,” he says, his voice filled with empathy.

“You don't have to face this alone” with his presence, the haunting feeling starts to subside, and you find comfort in his unwavering support. You're grateful for the breathing technique you learned in therapy, but it's Jimin's presence that truly grounds you.

Jimin's hand finds its way to your cheek, gently caressing it as he looks at you with unwavering support.

“I'm here for you, Y/N. You can tell me anything, and I'll do my best to understand and help.”

His words resonate deep within your soul, making you realize how lucky you are to have him in your life. Despite the pain, there's a warmth in knowing that Jimin genuinely cares about you and wants to be there for you.

As you lock eyes with him, you feel a surge of affection and gratitude.

“Thank you” you whisper, feeling the weight of your vulnerability lessen with each passing moment. Jimin's embrace tightens, pulling you into him as if he never wants to let you go.

“You don't have to thank me,” he murmurs, his voice filled with tenderness.

“I'll always be here for you, no matter what.”

→ Author’s note: I don’t know what happened! I planned to write like 5K words to get back into writing and then boom 40K+ 😆I don’t really know how I feel about this story, but I wanted to post it because I finished something 🎉If it’s shit, I’m really sorry. Also, I just couldn’t decide which hair color to give Jimin, because I love all colors on him, so I settled with black 😊

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