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brownsugarcoffy · 2 days ago

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The Vine Between Us (5)

Summary

Annie left the Mississippi Delta with a broken heart and a full-ride scholarship, determined never to look back. Now a celebrated professor in Chicago, she’s called home to care for her mother—and the last thing she expects is to run straight into him.

Elijah "Smoke". Her first love. Her first everything.

He disappeared the summer after graduation, leaving only unanswered calls and a goodbye she never got. Now he's back in town, running a moody, magnetic blues lounge with his twin brother, playing late into the humid Southern nights like he’s pouring his soul out just for her.

Annie wants to hate him. She wants to forget the way he made her feel. But one look from those stormy eyes, and she’s seventeen again. Burning, aching, and lost in the man he’s become.

He left without a word. But now? He wants to finish the story they never got to end.

Characters: Annie x Elijah " Smoke" Moore (Modern AU)

Themes: Angst, Fluff, Mention of Abuse, Vulgar Language, Sexual content & more...

Chapters: PART (1), PART (2) , PART (3), PART (4)

NOT EDITED

The sun cracked over Mississippi like a slow yawn. Golden light sliding across the treetops, catching the dew that still clung to grass like glitter. Somewhere a rooster crowed, and the world kept turning, but inside the modest brick house on Walnut Grove Road, Smoke was standing in his kitchen barefoot, staring into nothing.

His house. Paid for with his own hands.

Two bedrooms, one bath, and a wide front porch with peeling white railings and a crooked swing that creaked when the wind blew right. It wasn’t fancy, but it was his. A symbol of every hard-earned dollar, every late night he hustled behind that lounge, and every early morning, he kept grinding instead of folding.

Inside, it smelled like strong coffee, lemon oil, and the faintest hint of Egyptian musk from his cologne still hanging in the air from when he’d showered and dressed. The soft voice of Sade record Kiss of life play spun low in the background, the scratch of vinyl threading through the silence.

Smoke leaned against the counter, fully dressed but still unsure.

His hand rested on his keys, but his mind was somewhere else.

Annie.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her. That look she gave him last night. It was measured, cautious, but open. The way her voice dropped when she said “Just one date.” It had stirred something in him that he hadn’t felt in years.

Hope.

It terrified him.

It thrilled him.

He hadn’t been nervous like this since he was a teenager. Sneaking with her to the greenhouse just to hold her hand and listen to her talk about dreams too big for their little town. However, wasn’t that boy anymore. He was a man now. One with his own house, his own business, and a love still lodged deep in his chest like it never left.

He was going to show her that.

He just had to get past his nerves and his damn brother.

BAM BAM BAM!

The sound of hard knocks rattled through the old screen door like somebody was tryin’ to break in or deliver a package with attitude.

Smoke, still nursing the last few swigs of his black coffee, squinted at the front door through the living room archway. The sunlight was barely warming the porch steps, and already somebody was testing his patience.

He opened the door slowly, eyebrow already cocked.

“Stack, what the hell you doin’ on my porch this early?”

His twin brother stood there grinning wide like he had fresh gossip and nowhere else to be.

“Don’t start nigga” Stack said, brushing past him like he paid rent. “I told you last night. I’m helpin’ you get ready. It’s date day, and this is a full-service brother situation.”

Smoke looked down at his watch.

“It’s not until six.”

“And it’s 9:45,” Stack countered, sliding off his sunglasses. “You act like we ain’t got a whole man overhaul to do.”

Smoke blinked. “You sayin’ I need an overhaul?”

“I’m sayin’ Annie deserves a man that dresses like he ain’t just rolled out a jazz club in '1945.”

Before Smoke could clap back, Stack was already halfway up the stairs like a man on a mission. “Let’s see what tragic collection you’ve been hiding in your closet, Mr. Comfortable.”

Smoke muttered under his breath, shutting the door. “This nigga gon’ make me smoke two packs before noon.”

He took his time climbing the stairs, his cigarette already perched between his fingers as he entered his bedroom. The morning light poured in soft through the window blinds, hitting the room in golden slices.

Stack was knee-deep in his closet, already tossing shirts on the bed with surgical disgust.

“No. No. Hell no. Smoke—what is this?” Stack held up a faded brown shirt like it had personally offended him.

“That’s vintage.”

“That’s dusty.”

Smoke leaned against the doorframe, watching the chaos. He took a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling through his nose.

“You know,” he said coolly, “most brothers bring coffee when they show up early. Maybe some eggs. You brought judgment and shade.”

“Nigga I brought style,” Stack shot back, pulling a pair of slacks off a hanger and holding them up like a tailor in disbelief. “These pleats? This what you wear when you give up.”

Smoke chuckled, finally stepping into the room and sitting down in the old leather desk chair near the dresser. “You actin’ like I’m goin’ to prom. It’s just a date.”

“With Annie, bruh. Ain’t no just about it.”

Stack tossed a shirt onto the growing “no” pile and kept digging. “You only get one shot at a second chance. You need to show up lookin’ like the man she’s been tryin’ not to think about.”

Smoke smirked and shook his head, watching his twin tear through his clothes like he was building an altar. “You flashy as hell. Always been.”

“Nigga. Damn right!” Stack said proudly. “I’m the sparkle. You the smolder. Together, we unstoppable.”

Smoke laughed and leaned back, eyes on the ceiling. “I swear, you missed your calling. Should’ve been a stylist for them R&B videos.”

“Still got time,” Stack said, holding up a sleek black shirt and nodding in approval. “Now this… this could work. Clean. Fitted. Smooth.”

Smoke leaned forward, tapping ash into the tray. “I told you, man—I ain’t worried about no fits. I just wanna show her who I am now. That I ain’t that scared, foolish boy who left.”

Stack turned, a rare seriousness on his face. “And you will. But listen...don’t underestimate the power of a first look. Let her see what she been missin’. Inside and out.”

There was a beat of silence, soft Motown still playing faintly from the stereo downstairs. Smoke nodded slowly.

“Aight then,” he said. “Show me how to look like the man she’s been missin’.”

Stack grinned. “Thought you’d never ask. Now take that shirt off nigga. We startin’ fresh.”

Smoke laughed again and flicked his cigarette into the tray. “If I end up lookin’ like a backup dancer for Ginuwine, I’m blamin’ you.”

Stack winked. “You wish you had my glow.”

Stack turned from the closet, holding up a pair of pants he’d finally approved of, and narrowed his eyes.

“Alright,” he said, tone already suspicious, “so where you takin’ her?”

Smoke, now pulling off the black shirt he had on, paused for half a second, just long enough to raise suspicion. “Horseback ridin’.”

Silence.

Thick, judgmental silence.

Then Stack dropped the pants onto the bed like they’d betrayed him. “Nigga! Hell no! What the hell is wrong with you?”

Smoke turned slowly, one brow lifted. “What’s wrong with that?”

Stack looked at him like he’d grown a third ear. “Horseback ridin’? On a first date? Elijah, this ain’t no cowboy movie. And Annie? She ain’t wearin’ no boots with spurs and a ten-gallon hat. Lord…”

Unbothered, Smoke grabbed two bottles of cologne off the dresser and began sniffing between them, cool as ever.

“I ain’t tellin’ you the whole plan,” he said, a smug little smirk curling the corner of his mouth. “Horseback’s just one part.”

Stack clutched his chest like he needed a fan. “Oh, so now nigga got a whole itinerary? What’s next, huh? Y’all throwin’ clay together like them people in that ‘Ghost’ movie?"

Smoke chuckled low, spraying a light mist of cologne onto his neck. “ Nigga.You done?”

“I ain’t even started,” Stack snapped, flopping onto the bed like a judgmental auntie at a family reunion. “What if she allergic to horses? What if she fall and bust her ass? What if her wig fly off in the wind?”

“She don’t wear a wig, Stack.”

“I’m just sayin’!”

Smoke shook his head, amusement glittering in his eyes. “Look. Jericho, that cat from the lounge last night? He owns that big ol’ farm off Old Highway 12. Acres of land, real peaceful. He opens it up to the public sometimes, but I called in a favor. Got it all to ourselves today.”

Stack blinked. The jokes paused. He sat up a little straighter. “Wait. You got a private farm reserved? For y’all to ride horses on?”

Smoke nodded once, solid. “Just me and her. No crowds, no chaos. Just peace, nature, and a whole lot of time to show her I ain’t the same man who let her go.”

Stack stared a beat longer, then gave a low whistle. “Damn. You really pulled out the grown man playbook.”

“Told you. I ain’t playin’ this time,” Smoke said, smoothing his beard with a fresh stroke of the comb. “She mean too much.”

A grin broke across Stack’s face, more proud than playful now. “Okay. Okay. I take it back. You got this. I mean..barely, but you got this.”

Smoke smirked in the mirror. “Keep doubtin’ me nigga, and I’ll make you ride the horse in my place.”

“Oh, hell no! Ain’t enough cowboy hats in Mississippi to make that okay.”

They both laughed, the room warming with a rare and unfiltered brotherhood. Years of pain, silence, and struggle hadn’t stolen this from them. Not completely. And right now, the lightness felt good. Easy.

But beneath it, Smoke’s heart thumped wild.

Not from nerves.

Not from fear.

From hope.

Tonight, he planned to give Annie a piece of his heart wrapped in something real. Something soft but certain. And he was going to show her exactly why she should believe in them again.

The Mississippi sun was melting into the trees, streaking the sky with gold and fire as the Moore twins walked the gravel path leading to the town park. The kind of humid, heavy evening where everything felt slower.

Elijah, fourteen and nervous, tugged at the stiff white collar of his button-up. It was his only nice shirt he own. The one they usually saved for church or funerals. His hands were clammy, his stomach doing flips like he was about to step in front of a judge instead of a girl.

Beside him, Stack walked like he didn’t have a care in the world. Same age, same face, but everything about him was louder, bolder, slicker.

“You gon’ strangle yourself with that collar,” Stack said, slapping Smoke’s hand away. “Quit fidgetin’. You actin’ like you meetin’ her daddy, not Annie.”

Smoke sighed. “You sure this don’t look stupid?”

“It looks fine. You clean, you don’t stink, and your breath smells like peppermint. That’s all you need at.” Stack glanced over with a grin. “Well… that and game. Which is why you got me.”

“Oh Lord,” Smoke muttered, already regretting bringing him along.

“Rule number one,” Stack said, raising a finger dramatically, “you gotta hit her with a compliment right out the gate. Don’t wait. Don’t hesitate. Soon as she step out the car, hit her with it.”

Smoke looked skeptical. “What I’m supposed to say? ‘You look nice’?”

“Hell no,” Stack said, appalled. “You tell her, ‘Annie, the sun mad tonight… ‘cause Naomi Campbell just walked up in the park.’ Boom. Done.”

Smoke frowned. “That don’t even make sense.”

“Don’t matter,” Stack said, tossing a Jolly Rancher into his mouth. “It ain’t about logic. It’s about confidence. You say it like you mean it, and she’ll be blushin’ all over them pretty cheeks.”

Smoke gave a nervous laugh, shaking his head. “You sound like you rehearsed that in the mirror.”

“Maybe I did,” Stack said with a smirk. “Point is, you got this. Annie like you. Anybody with eyes can see that. And you might walk around all quiet like Daddy when he sober, but when you talk to her? You light up.”

Smoke’s smile faded just a little at the mention of their father, but he didn’t say anything.

They crossed the corner where the street met the edge of the park. The sound of summer surrounded them. The kids laughing, grills sizzling, the buzz of the projector being tested at the drive-in screen set up across the grass. It was movie night, and half the town had come out with lawn chairs and coolers.

“I’m meetin’ Keisha over by the bleachers,” Stack said, adjusting his collar like he was about to walk into a photoshoot. “She said she saved me a spot on the blanket. Brought Twizzlers and everything.”

“You look like you brought too much ego,” Smoke said, eyes scanning for Annie.

“I’m just tryin’ to make a memory,” Stack said with a wink. “You should too. The first date’s important. It sticks with you.”

Smoke was about to respond when he heard the familiar growl of an old pickup rolling up. His pulse skipped.

The beat-up green truck pulled into the dirt lot by the basketball courts. He knew that truck. Everyone did.

Annie’s daddy.

Stack elbowed him. “Game time, Romeo.”

The passenger door opened, and there she was. Annie Baptiste, in a soft blue sundress with little white flowers and white sandals that showed off her painted toes. Her curls framed her face perfectly, catching the last of the sun. She stepped out with that calm grace she always had, like nothing ever rushed her.

Smoke’s breath caught.

Stack leaned in again. “Say it.”

“What?”

“The line, man. Naomi Campbell!”

But Smoke ignored him, taking a step forward as Annie turned toward them.

Her eyes found his almost immediately, and she smiled soft, bright, and just for him.

That smile made Smoke feel like maybe he didn’t need to say anything at all.

And just like that, everything else faded in the background. The sound of the crowd, the buzz of the projector, even Stack’s teasing.

At that moment, there was only her.

And the beginning of something he knew would stay with him for a long, long time.

The soft clink of a belt buckle brought Smoke back to the present. He blinked, realizing he’d been staring into the mirror, his fingers frozen mid-loop. His mind had drifted back to that summer evening, that yellow sundress, and the way Annie smiled like he was the only boy in the world.

It had been years, but the memory sat fresh on his chest like it happened just last night.

He finished buckling his belt, his movements slower now, a little more thoughtful.

Funny, how one smile could follow a man for most of his life.

Stack, now stretched out on the bed with his phone in one hand and a bottle of cologne in the other, didn’t notice the shift in his brother’s mood.

Smoke pulled on his tan boots, clean and rugged while let out a soft breath.

“She was somethin’ else back then,” he said quietly.

Stack glanced up. “Annie?”

Smoke nodded, still tying his laces. “First date, I was nervous as hell. You remember that night?”

Stack smirked. “Do I? I gave you all the lines. You still ain’t use ‘em.”

“Didn’t need ‘em,” Smoke muttered with a crooked grin. “She smiled at me and I forgot the whole damn speech.”

Stack chuckled. “Yeah, she always had that power over you. You was walkin’ ‘round like a baby deer for a week after.”

Smoke didn’t deny it. He stood and grabbed his favorite watch from the dresser. The worn leather band hugged the edge of his snake tattoo, inked and curling down his forearm like it had always belonged there.

“That’s more like it,” Stack said, standing up and brushing imaginary lint off Smoke’s shoulder. “Now don’t forget this—”

He reached over to the nightstand and clipped the thin diamond chain around Smoke’s neck. It caught the light just right, subtle but sharp. “That necklace still hits, especially with that clean white trim shirt I picked.”

Smoke glanced at himself in the mirror. Stack had styled him casual, but polished. Crisp white short-sleeved button-up trimmed at the collar, dark Levi denim that fit just right, and those tan boots that made him look like he walked straight out of a GQ spread… if GQ featured Mississippi men who could build a deck and break a heart in the same day.

Stack grinned proudly. “You look good, bruh. Like a man who’s about to get his woman back.”

“You sure I don’t look like I’m trying to hard?”

“Nah,” Stack laughed. “You look like Elijah Moore. The grown version. Rugged and fine. Annie gon’ be speechless.”

Smoke straightened the collar slightly. “Long as she don’t laugh, I’ll take it.”

They both chuckled, and the air warmed with that rare, easy joy that only came from years of surviving hard times together.

But under it all, Smoke’s heart was pounding and not with fear this time, but something heavier. Hope.

He glanced at the clock.

“This time,” he murmured, more to himself than his brother, “I’m doing it right.” Tonight, he planned to show Annie just how serious he was.

Stack gave Smoke one final approving nod. “Alright, Mr. GQ. You ready.”

Smoke adjusted the collar on his white shirt once more, then reached for his wallet and keys on the dresser. “Almost. Gotta run a few errands, with final touches and whatnot.”

Stack raised a brow. “Final touches? Man, this date soundin’ like a proposal the way you plannin’ it.”

Smoke shot him a dry look. “It ain’t a proposal, but I ain’t leavin’ nothin’ to chance. I got somethin’ to prove.”

Stack folded his arms, his tone teasing but sincere. “She gon’ see it, bruh. She already do.”

Smoke looked over, paused a beat, then gave a nod of appreciation. “Thanks.”

Then he clapped his brother on the back. “That said… as much as I love you, Elias, you gotta get the hell up outta my house.”

Stack burst into laughter. “Damn nigga, I can’t even ride with you? Be your date’s stylist in case her earrings clash?”

“Hell no nigga!” Smoke said, already moving toward the stairs. “This is solo mission territory. You done your part. Now go home, change your own damn clothes, and stop tryna live vicariously through me.”

“Whatever,” Stack grinned, grabbing his phone and sliding it in his back pocket. “I’ll expect a full report by midnight.”

“Don't wait up,” Smoke called behind him. “I’m tryna make her forget what time it is.”

Stack shook his head, laughing to himself as he followed his brother out. “Lord have mercy. This man tryna bring romance back.”

Smoke stopped by the door, keys in hand, a crooked grin spreading on his lips. “Nah. I’m tryna bring me back.”

He stepped outside into the sun, heart beating fast, ready to spend the rest of the day making damn sure Annie Baptiste remembered exactly who Elijah Moore was and what he was worth.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

The house creaked soft beneath the weight of the Delta heat. Outside, cicadas whined like power lines and the air was thick with the scent of honeysuckle and clay. Inside, a ceiling fan ticked lazy overhead while sunlight poured through the kitchen window in golden streaks.

Annie dragged herself in, bonnet crooked, eyes still puffy with sleep. She was barefoot in an old Jackson State T-shirt, moving like someone who got in just a little too late.

At the kitchen table, her mother sipped sweet tea from a cloudy Mason jar, a thin brow arched without saying a word. Her reading glasses sat low on her nose, and a worn copy of Essence Magazine lay folded beside her plate of toast and peach preserves.

"Bout time you came out that room," her mother said without looking up. "Sun been out so long I thought it gave up on you."

Annie yawned, grabbed a bottle of cold water from the fridge. "Good afternoon, Mama."

"Mmhm," her mama hummed. "So... how was it?"

Annie turned, cautious. "How was what?"

Her mama lowered her glasses and gave her a pointed look. "Don't act brand new, Annie. You went out to the Cypress Lounge last night, didn’t you?"

Annie blinked, lips twitching into a guilty smile. "I did."

Her mother smirked slightly. "Mmhm. With Pearline, right? You told me. Said you were just going to catch up."

"And that’s what we did," Annie replied quickly. "Hung out at the bar, saw Cornbread still bouncing folks at the door, danced with a couple fellas, watched Lil Sammie tear that stage up. That boy can sing."

"What about Stack? How is he doing?"

Annie chuckled. "Caught up with him too. He’s doing good. Looks like he got it all together now."

"Uh huh. And Elijah?" her mother asked, too casual.

Annie hesitated. Took a long sip of water. "What about him?"

"Don’t play with me. You know damn well what I mean."

"We talked," Annie admitted.

"Just talked?"

"And he asked me out," Annie added with a sigh, bracing herself.

Her mother straightened in her seat. "Oh? And when is this date happening?"

"Today at six."

Her mother leaned back, eyes studying her like an x-ray. "Lord. And you said yes?"

"I said one date," Annie clarified, holding up a finger. "One."

Now her mama leaned back in the chair, crossing her arms, lips curling into something amused and knowing. “And you know where he takin’ you?”

“Nope,” Annie said, popping the ‘p’ with a sigh. “Didn’t get that far in the conversation. Just told him to pick me up by six.”

Annie took a slow breath, shoulders lifting slightly. “I don’t know what I still feel, Mama. But I figured… if I said no without even tryin’, I’d regret it.”

Her mother stared at her for a moment, then smiled soft. “Fair enough. Just be careful with that heart of yours. It’s strong, but it’s still yours to protect.”

“I will.”

“And put some lotion on them knees before you go anywhere. Looking like you been wrestling in flour.”

“Mama!”

Now freshly shower and all lotion up, Annie stood in front of her open suitcase, arms folded under her chest, eyes narrowed like she was staring down a personal enemy.

Clothes were everywhere draped over the chair, hanging halfway out the drawer, even tossed across the little fan box she brought from Chicago.

“Okay,” she mumbled, pulling out a lilac sundress and holding it up to her body, “this says church picnic… not first date with the man who broke your teenage heart.”

She tossed it onto the bed and sighed, reaching back into the chaos.

“Do I go casual-cute? Or prim and proper? Or... grown and sexy?”

She stopped mid-rummage, narrowing her eyes.“No. Not sexy. He ain’t gettin’ the wrong idea. This ain’t that kind of party.”

She yanked out a short white romper with gold buttons and studied it in the mirror. “Mmm... This says I’m a walking daydream, but also says please touch me, and he don't need that kind of encouragement.”

Toss.

She bent over and found a baby blue halter top. Simple. Clean. Then she saw the light denim shorts tucked underneath it like they'd been waiting on her to remember who she was.

She held them both up.

“Now see... this says, you missed this. It says, I been doing just fine without you, but also you might wanna try again just to be sure.”

She smirked and stepped into the shorts, adjusting the waistband so they hit just right. She slipped into the halter top and turned to the mirror.

Her short curls, freshly set in rollers all morning, bounced free around her face like polished springs. She leaned closer and fluffed the sides.

“Annie,” she told her reflection, “you better not fall for a damn word he say. But you will look good while you ignore him.”

She clipped on her silver hoops, smoothed the hem of her halter, and opened her jewelry pouch. Her fingers lingered on the soft velvet box containing her diamond tennis bracelet.

“Daddy ain’t spend no thousands for it to collect dust.”

She fastened it to her wrist, then slipped on her white strappy sandals. Not too high. Not too flat. Just enough to show off the fresh white polish on her toes.

With one last look in the mirror, she gave a quick twirl, then stopped herself.

“Okay, girl. That’s enough. We ain’t tryna give him a reason to breathe heavy.”

A glance at her phone showed 5:42 p.m.

Her stomach did a little nervous flip.

“Alright, Lord. Be a breeze and a boundary.”

Annie had just finished adjusting her silver hoops when her phone buzzed on the nightstand, screen flashing: Pearline

She smirked, picking it up and sliding her finger across.

“You don’t miss a beat, do you?”

Pearline’s voice came through loud and nosey.

“Girl! I been waitin’ all day to call. You ready for your little secret date?”

Annie walked over to the mirror, fluffing her curls one last time.

“First of all, it ain’t secret. Second of all… it ain’t that deep.”

Pearline laughed.

“Oh, so we lyin’ today? Okay. Cool. Let me lie too. I'm not eatin’ peach cobbler right now straight from the dish.”

Annie laughed despite herself. “You a mess.”

“Mmhm, and you lookin’ cute, ain’t you?” Pearline said, all knowing. “I know you ain’t letting that man pick you up lookin’ regular.”

Annie looked at her reflection and shrugged, though her smile gave her away.

“Just threw something on.”

“Lies. I bet you in them little shorts with your legs out, skin glistenin’, bracelet sparklin’—lemme find out you out here tryna ruin that man.”

Annie grinned wide, looking down at the bracelet on her wrist.

“I just wanted to remind him who he lost, that’s all.”

Pearline sucked her teeth. “Oop! She got her foot on his neck already.”

“I ain’t doin’ nothin’,” Annie said with faux innocence. “I’m just goin’ on a date.”

“With the same man you said you wasn’t even checkin’ for last night. Now look at you—heart racin’, tryin’ to act cool, talkin’ ‘bout it ‘ain’t that deep.’ Girl, please.”

Annie flopped onto the bed, the sound of her laugh soft and breathy.

“You right. I’m a little nervous,” she admitted quietly.

Pearline’s tone gentled. “Aww. You got butterflies?”

“Not butterflies,” Annie muttered, fiddling with the hem of her halter top. “Maybe just… a breeze.”

Pearline laughed again. “Whatever it is, I hope it go how you want it to. And if he act up, just call me and I’ll pull up with a belt.”

Annie giggled. “Please don’t. I already got enough pressure just tryna look like I didn’t spend all day gettin’ ready.”

“Well, mission accomplished. You ready.”

Before Annie could respond, she heard tires crunching in the gravel outside.

She stood up slow and walked to the window, peeking through the blinds. Her heart did that annoying flutter again.

“He here?” Pearline asked.

Annie took a breath.

“He here.”

Pearline’s voice brightened.

“Alright then. Go be cute. Call me after. I wanna know everything from the appetizer to the kiss goodnight.”

“Girl, goodbye!” Annie laughed and hung up, her stomach now officially dancing.

She slipped her phone into her purse, glanced at herself one last time, and whispered: “You got this.”

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

The Mississippi sun was just beginning to dip when Smoke’s truck rumbled into Annie’s gravel driveway. The heat of the day had softened, casting the sky in a warm haze of gold and blush. Smoke rested his arm against the open window, tapping the steering wheel slowly, eyes trained on the front porch.

Everything was set. He had double-checked the details of the date before leaving the house. Jericho had everything in place, the horses were saddled, and the spread for dinner was chilling on ice. All that was left was her.

He climbed out the truck and started up the porch steps. Just as he raised his hand to knock, the door swung open.

There she stood.

Annie.

She wore a light blue denim short set that hugged her hips just right, with a blue halter top tied behind her neck. Her short curls framed her face, bouncing softly as she moved. Silver hoops glinted beneath the porch light, and her diamond tennis bracelet shimmered on her wrist. The white sandals wrapped around her feet like silk.

Smoke felt the air leave his lungs.

"Evenin'," she said casually, arms folded under her chest.

He took a slow glance, eyes lingering on the curve of her thighs, the slope of her waist. Goddamn. She was always fine, but tonight? She looked like a memory wrapped in something dangerous.

"Evenin'," he returned, his voice lower than he meant it to be.

Annie arched a brow. "You just gon’ stare or you wanna tell me where we headed?"

Smoke smirked, leaning against the porch rail. "Nah. You’ll see when we get there."

She rolled her eyes but followed him down the steps toward the truck.

He opened the passenger door for her, stepping back as she climbed in. As she passed him, his gaze couldn’t help but drop to the curve of her behind, the way her skin glowed in the falling light. He caught himself and looked away, but not before the image settled deep in his chest.

Annie noticed. Of course she did.

Once he was in the driver’s seat, they sat in silence for a minute. The tension was thick, not hostile, but heavy. The kind that sizzled.

"So," Annie said, adjusting her bracelet, "this whole thing… you been planning it a while?"

Smoke kept his eyes on the road. "Not long. Just wanted to do it right."

She nodded, eyes forward, then turned to glance at him. “You really think a date gon’ fix all that old mess between us?”

Smoke didn’t answer right away. He shifted in his seat, flexing his hand on the wheel.

“Nope.” he said finally. “I don’t think one date will fix anything. But I do think one night can remind you of what’s worth fixing.”

That shut her up for a second.

He glanced over at her. She was biting the corner of her lip.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said.

“Like what?”

“Like you know me.”

Smoke grinned. “I do know you. Better than you think. And I remember the look you give when you tryin’ not to fall.”

Annie scoffed, looking out the window. “Boy, please.”

But her voice lacked the bite she probably intended.

And Smoke felt something stir in his chest.

Tonight wasn’t about perfection. It wasn’t even about forgiveness. It was about possibility. About standing in front of the only woman who ever truly saw him and trying, just once more, to be enough.

And maybe, just maybe… to breathe again.

The soft hum of the truck’s engine filled the space between them, and windows rolled halfway down to let in the thick Mississippi breeze. Cicadas buzzed lazily outside, and in the background, a low crackle played through the truck’s stereo as the opening piano chords of “Breathe Again” by Toni Braxton drifting in the air.

Annie sat with one leg crossed over the other, her short curls bouncing just slightly with the motion of the road. Her scent—something sweet and warm, like vanilla and coconut—was driving Smoke half mad. He kept his eyes on the road, but he could feel her watching him from the corner of her eye.

“You not gon’ tell me where we goin’?” she asked, her voice light, but with that familiar edge.

Smoke grinned. “Nope.”

Annie raised a brow. “You know, I don’t usually get in cars with men who won’t tell me where they takin’ me.”

“Well, good thing I ain’t just any man.”

That earned him a soft chuckle. “Still got that mouth, I see.”

Smoke glanced her way, just long enough to drink her in—those bare shoulders catching sunlight, her skin glowing, her legs looking like temptation incarnate under those light blue denim shorts. He gripped the wheel a little tighter.

“You know you wrong for wearin’ that,” he muttered.

Annie smirked. “Wearing what?”

“That whole outfit. Lookin’ like a sin and a half before sundown.”

She laughed, turning her face to the window to hide the faint blush rising in her cheeks. “I just threw somethin’ on.”

“Uh huh. You threw it on just right.”

A moment of quiet passed between them. The pine trees blurred by outside, the road stretching on, humming beneath the tires. Smoke drummed his fingers lightly on the steering wheel.

“You look good, though. Real good,” he said after a beat.

Annie turned back to him, her expression unreadable. “You always were good at compliments, Elijah.”

“I ain’t complimentin’. I’m speakin’ facts.”

She didn’t answer right away. Then:

“This don’t change anything, you know,” she said. “One date don’t mean I’m forgettin’ everything that happened before.”

“I don’t want you to forget,” Smoke said calmly. “I want you to remember. Then I want to show you who I am now.”

Annie went quiet again, the weight of his words settling in the air like dust.

After a moment, she looked over at him. “So what happens if I don’t feel nothin’ after this?”

Smoke gave her a slow, side glance and smiled. “Then I’ll let you go. But you’ll feel somethin’. I promise you that.”

Annie rolled her eyes, but there was a slight curve to her lips now. “Cocky.”

“Confident,” he corrected, easing the truck around a bend. “Big difference.”

The wooden sign for Jericho’s farm came into view up ahead, partially hidden by the trees. Smoke slowed down, his heart picking up speed.

Annie squinted through the windshield. “This ain’t no restaurant…”

“Nope,” he said.

“You takin’ me to a damn farm, Elijah?”

“Maybe,” he said with a smirk, turning down the gravel path.

Annie shook her head, but he could hear the smile in her voice. “This better not be no foolishness.”

He chuckled. “It’s not. You trust me?”

Annie looked over at him again. The pause that followed was long and loaded.

“…I’m tryin’.”

Smoke nodded, the gravel crunching under the tires as they pulled closer to the open pasture. The sun had dipped just enough to cast a golden glow over the field, and two saddled horses stood waiting by the fence, along with a small table under a tree draped in white linen and a vintage record player sitting beside it.

Annie blinked. “Elijah…”

He put the truck in park and turned to her fully now. “Just wanted to give you somethin’ you’d remember. Even if this is the last time I get to.”

For a second, Annie didn’t say a word. She just stared out the window at the quiet setup completely caught off guard.

She turned to him slowly, arms crossed. “You planned all this?”

“I told you I wasn’t playin’.”

Annie opened her door slowly, sandals crunching against the gravel. Smoke came around to her side. He tried not to look, but he did. His eyes tracing the curve of her behind as she walked ahead of him. It made his mouth go dry.

She turned around with a raised brow, clearly catching him.

“Mmhm,” she said. “Better stop starin’ before your retinas burn out.”

Smoke smiled. “Too late. You blinded me years ago.”

“You cheesy.”

“You like it.”

She didn’t answer that, just stood there, watching as he stepped ahead and nodded toward the horses. “Come on. Let’s ride.”

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

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#sinners fanfiction #elias stack moore #sinners #elijah smoke moore #michael b jordan #wunmi mosaku #annie x smoke #smoke x annie #smoke x stack #elias ‘stack’ moore #elijah “smoke” moore

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jungkoode · 3 days ago

Text

死 KKANGPAE | #20 死

† ghosts that haunt †

"Sometimes the most dangerous wounds are the ones that never bleed on the outside—they fester in silence until one wrong touch makes everything spill out."

next | index

— chapter details

word count: 9.4k

content: post-mission decompression featuring motorcycle rides through neon seoul, convenience store philosophy over cheap beer, jeon's emotional walls slamming back up harder than ever, j-hope's seven-year sobriety streak broken to protect y/n from v's predatory games, ad and j-hope's complex friendship revealing itself through crisis, gang members arguing about getting high like college kids, and the discovery that everyone in kkangpae carries demons they're trying to outrun

☠ author's note ☠

This chapter gutted me to write. Not because of the action (though, yes, Fervio's eye contact is a jumpscare), but because it begins cracking open the emotional center of the story. What begins as a seemingly quiet moment—a late-night beer, a 7/11 pit stop, a chance to breathe—becomes a confrontation with identity, projection, and the illusion of normalcy.

The psychology of this chapter is all about what we don't say. What we deflect. What we bury so deep, even tenderness feels like violence.

Jeon isn't pushing the reader away because he hates her. He's pushing because she sees him. And when your entire survival has depended on being unreadable, invisible, dangerous on purpose? Being seen is fucking terrifying. It strips you. It asks, what's left of me once I put the gun down?

Reader's mistake—understandable, human—is thinking that wanting to understand someone is inherently safe. That intention equals permission. And it doesn't. Not always. The line between empathy and intrusion is razor-thin when trauma's involved. And Jeon is not healed. He's fragmented, coiled like wire, and for him, vulnerability is not romantic—it's lethal.

This chapter is also the turning point where the reader starts to understand that being in Kkangpae isn't about who you kill. It's about who you let live in your head. Hobi, Jeon, AD—every single one of them is haunted. You don't get to this point in the underworld without dragging ghosts behind you, and this is the chapter where those ghosts stop being metaphorical.

Some of you will hate that Jeon lashes out. That he refuses softness. That he uses cruelty as armor. But that's the point. This story isn't about quick healing arcs or morally sanitized character growth. It's about what happens when you try to love someone who doesn't think they're lovable. And what happens when you realize you might not be either.

I'll say this again, because it matters: you are not owed someone's vulnerability just because you want it. And love—real love, the kind that survives places like this—isn't about unraveling someone until they break. It's about waiting at the door and letting them open it.

And sometimes, they don't.

Anyway. Hope you like the chapter ♡

— read on

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tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

The thing about riding through Seoul at night with a man who's trying really hard to pretend you don't exist? It fucking sucks.

The wind whips past as you race through Seoul's neon jungle and it feels good—like it's scrubbing away all that weird tension from Jeon's ice-queen act earlier. At this point, the city's just a blur of lights and shadows, the bike's engine drowning out everything except your thoughts.

There's something weirdly freeing about being just another couple of idiots on a motorcycle at night.

Nobody knows you're gang members. Nobody knows about the psychos you just left behind. Nobody knows about whatever the fuck that 'Sylvia' thing was about.

Right now, you're just... existing.

You keep your arms wrapped around Jeon because you n̶e̶e̶d̶ have to. That cold dismissal of his still stings, but the speed and the night air make it easier to pretend it doesn't.

Almost easier.

The 7/11 sign catches your eye—this bright, artificial beacon of normalcy in the middle of all this chaos.

Something about it calls to you. Maybe it's because it's so fucking normal. Maybe you just need a minute to breathe air that doesn't taste like pine and secrets.

"Pull over," you say, tapping his shoulder and pointing at the store.

You're not even sure why you want to stop. Maybe you just need to stand on solid ground for a minute. Maybe you need to remind yourself that the regular world still exists outside of Kkangpae's bubble.

Jeon doesn't argue, just guides the bike to the curb with that nonchalance of his that makes everything look easy. The engine rumbles for a second before he kills it, and suddenly the night feels too quiet.

Your legs are shaky when you climb off, but it's not from the ride. It's something else—this weird mix of leftover adrenaline and... whatever the fuck that conversation did to your nerves.

You need something normal. Something that doesn't involve creepy yellow contacts or coded warnings or names that make Jeon shut down completely.

You watch the man himself pull off his helmet, his hair falling into his eyes in that annoyingly perfect way that one would think probably takes hours to practice.

He doesn't even steal a glance your way—just keeps this unreadable expression that doesn't give anything away.

Back to his usual self, huh.

He nods toward the store's entrance, and you think maybe he needs this break from reality too.

The 7/11's wacky lights hit different after spending so much time in that fancy-ass castle hidden in the woods.

The doors whoosh shut behind you, and suddenly you're wrapped in this bubble of artificial cool air and the smell of cheap coffee.

It's weirdly comforting, like stepping into a pocket dimension where you're just a normal person buying normal things.

If only.

You wander down the aisles, running your fingers over bags of chips and candy bars. It feels surreal—like playing pretend at being regular.

Four months ago, this was just another convenience store. Now it feels like visiting a museum of your old life, everything familiar but somehow distant.

Jeon's still outside, probably looking like the world's hottest security guard as he leans against his bike. You can feel him watching you through the windows, probably wondering what the fuck you're doing.

But he doesn't come in, doesn't rush you.

Maybe he gets it—this need to pretend everything's normal for five fucking minutes.

You grab some chips because your stomach's been doing that angry growling thing for the past hour. Add a drink because your throat's still dry from all that talking with Fervio and his creepy yellow contacts. Then your eyes land on the beer fridge, and yeah—after the night you've had? You definitely deserve alcohol.

The cashier looks about as dead inside as you feel, barely glancing at your random assortment of convenience store therapy. You kind of want to tell him "hey, at least you don't have to flirt with psychopaths for a living," but that might blow your cover.

Back outside, you hold up the beer like a peace offering.

"Thought you might need this," you say, trying to sound casual even though there's still this weird tension hanging between you from the whole thing.

His eyes flick from the beer to his bike, and suddenly there's this little smirk playing around his lips.

"You trying to get me fined?" The words come out all low and rough, and fuck—your body really needs to stop reacting every time he uses that voice. "Not sure how driving under the influence is gonna look on my resume."

You lean back against the bike, trying to look cool and unbothered even though your skin's still buzzing from earlier.

"Please," you scoff, "I've seen how you handle this thing. Pretty sure you could drive it in your sleep."

He smiles, but takes the beer, fingers brushing against yours, and god—even that tiny contact sends electricity shooting up your arm.

"Just one drink," Jeon says, popping the can open with this casual flick of his thumb that somehow manages to look cool. "Don't want you thinking you can lead me astray."

He takes a sip, and the inside lights from the 7/11 catch on the silver of his lip ring, on the curve of his throat as he swallows.

You find yourself staring for a second too long, because fuck—sometimes you forget how pretty he is when he's not being an emotionally constipated asshole.

You laugh, tension somehow bleeding out a bit. "Lead you astray? Please. You're already halfway to hell, and I'm pretty sure you bought a first-class ticket."

The sound that comes out of him is actually a real laugh—not that quiet chuckle he usually does, but something genuine that makes his nose scrunch up.

It's kind of adorable, not that you'd ever tell him that.

The night air shifts into something softer, like a warm summer rain.

"Can't argue with that," he says, and there's this little smirk playing around his lips. "At least I'm upfront about being a piece of shit."

The silence between you isn't awkward anymore. It's nice, actually.

The air smells like rain and city smoke, and somewhere in the distance, a siren wails.

Seoul at night—your new normal.

Jeon's looking at the skyline, all those fancy buildings cutting through the darkness.

He takes another drink, and you can't help but notice how relaxed he looks right now. His shoulders aren't carrying all that tension they usually do, like for once he's not expecting an attack from every shadow.

You get it, though. Sometimes you need these moments—these tiny pockets of almost-normal where you can pretend you're just two people sharing a drink instead of what you actually are.

Where the weight of everything you've seen, everything you've done, feels a little lighter.

Maybe that's why you fit together so well, in this weird, fucked-up way.

You both know what it's like to walk in the shadows, to wear masks and play parts.

To find comfort in the darker corners of the world.

God, you think, watching him take another sip. When did this get so complicated?

"Past has a way of being a real bitch, huh?" You murmur.

Jeon's still staring at the skyline when he responds. "Yeah. Can't let it fuck with the present though."

"Look at you, being all wise and shit."

You bump his shoulder with yours, trying to lighten the mood.

Because this? This feels dangerous. Like you're walking on thin ice, and one wrong step could send you both plunging into whatever darkness Jeon's carrying around.

Shadows morph his features when he turns slightly. You catch that little scar on his cheek again, looking deeper in this light, like a secret.

"What's got you thinking so hard?" His voice is quiet, curious. "Usually you're the one telling me to shut up and stop brooding."

Your eyes meet his, and fuck—there's something in that look that makes your chest feel tight.

"Just thinking about how we've all got our own demons to deal with." You take another sip of your drink, buying time. "Some people run from them. Some people let them ride shotgun."

The smirk that crosses his face is different this time—softer around the edges, less guard dog and more human.

"Didn't know you could get philosophical. Should I be worried?"

You laugh, and it feels real for once. Not the fake shit you've been throwing around all night with Fervio and his creepy yellow contacts.

"Fuck off. I contain multitudes."

It's quiet for a few seconds, comfortable until it isn't.

Because there's this annoying thing tinging your interactions with him ever since you asked about Sylvia.

"Hey," you say, keeping your voice gentle. "Whatever ghost you're carrying around? It doesn't define you."

For a second, you think he's going to shut down again, throw up those walls and go back to being Chief Jeon, the untouchable assassin.

You're already turning toward the bike, ready to pretend this conversation never happened.

But then he lets out this breath that sounds like he's been holding it for years, and that makes you look back at him.

His eyes now are less storm and more rain, like maybe he's too tired to keep the hurricane spinning.

"That simple, huh?" His voice is rough around the edges. "Just... let it go?"

You stay perfectly still, like he's some wild animal that might bolt if you move too fast.

Because this feels like the first time ever you've seen him less guarded emotionally.

"Nah," you say carefully. "Not simple at all. But maybe it doesn't have to be this heavy all the time."

The look he gives you then—it's like he's seeing you for the first time. Really seeing you, not just looking through you like he usually does.

Dangerous, you think again.

But maybe that's exactly what you both need.

"Maybe," he says, so quiet you almost miss it. "But when your past is full of fuck-ups and dead bodies, it tends to stick around."

The words hit different—not because of what he's saying, but how he's saying it. As if he's cracking open his chest and showing you something he usually keeps locked down tight.

You move closer before you can stop yourself, drawn in by this rare moment of honesty.

Close enough to see the way his jaw works as he tries to keep his shit together.

Close enough that you can smell pine and mint and leather and cigarette stubs.

"Jungkook." His real name feels heavy on your tongue, important. "The past doesn't have to define you. It's just... part of the story."

You take another step closer, watch how his whole body goes tense, and those dark eyes keep flickering between yours, asking questions he won't voice out loud.

He swallows hard—you watch his throat work—then suddenly jerks his head away like he can't stand to look at you anymore.

"Don't," he says, barely above a whisper, like hurts coming out.

You frown, caught off guard by the sudden shift.

"Don't what?"

He doesn't respond at first, just lets silence fill the void.

When he finally looks back, his eyes are different—harder, distant. Like he's building walls as fast as he can.

"Don't look at me like that," he says, and there's something almost angry in his voice.

"Like what?"

His mouth opens, closes, opens again. The muscle in his jaw jumps.

When he finally speaks, the words come out rough, almost accusatory:

"Like... like I'm something you want to figure out"

Oh, you think. Oh, fuck.

Because maybe you do want to figure him out. Maybe you want to understand him way more than you should.

You're not sure what to say—if there even is anything to say that won't make this worse.

Because Jeon's always been this complicated puzzle of sharp edges and hidden depths, but you're starting to realize it was never about solving him.

Maybe it was just about... seeing him. Really seeing him.

It's almost as if he's scared—not of you, exactly, but of being seen.

Of someone looking past Chief Jeon, the cold-blooded assassin, and finding whatever's left of the person underneath.

You stay perfectly still, barely breathing. It feels like one wrong move could shatter whatever's happening here.

Then something in him just... breaks.

He backs away so fast you almost stumble, his whole body going rigid like he's preparing for a fight.

His tongue presses against the inside of his cheek—that nervous tell you've started to recognize—and when he speaks, his voice is freezing.

"I'm not your fucking project," he snarls. "Not some broken toy you can fix when you're bored."

You flinch, caught off guard by the venom in his voice.

"What? Jungkook, that's not what I—"

"Jeon." He cuts you off, stepping right into your space until you have to tilt your head back to look at him. "Not Jungkook. Not to you."

The correction hits like a slap, like an invisible wall slamming down so fast it leaves you dizzy.

"Jeon," you try again, but he's not done.

"You think I haven't noticed?" His voice drops lower, dangerous. "All your little questions, your fucking looks. Like if you just dig deep enough, you'll find something worth saving."

"I was just trying to—"

He laughs, and it's an ugly sound.

"To what? Understand me? Help me? Save your fucking pity. I see right through you, watching me like I'm some damaged little puppy you can nurse back to health."

The accusation makes something hot and angry flare in your chest.

"That's bullshit and you know it. I've never thought of you as weak."

"No?" His jaw clenches so hard you can see the muscle jump. "Then why are you always trying to get in my head? Acting like you know me, like you have any fucking clue what I've been through?"

He spins away from you, dragging his fingers through his hair like he's trying to tear it out, violent.

When he turns back, his eyes are burning with something that looks too much like fear dressed up as anger.

"What, you think because we fuck sometimes that gives you the right to play therapist?" His voice drops low, dangerous. "A few heart-to-hearts and suddenly you think you've got me all figured out? You don't know shit about me or the things I've done."

"You're right, I don't," you snap back, refusing to back down even though your chest feels tight. "And not because I haven't tried."

His face twists into something ugly. "Yeah, because the last time I let someone in, it ended in fucking bloodshed. One I'm still paying for!"

That makes you swallow, the knot in your chest twisting more tightly.

But Jeon's not done—he's like a shark that's smelled blood in the water.

"I don't need your fucking pity. I'm not some broken little boy for you to fix up and save. I've been handling my shit just fine without your amateur psychology bullshit."

The words sting, but there's something desperate in the way he's throwing them at you—pushing you away before you can get any closer.

"I never said you needed fixing, you absolute—"

"Then what?" He cuts you off, voice sharp as glass. "What exactly did you want? Access to my tragic backstory? Keep your savior complex to yourself. I'm not interested."

"You don't have to be such a dick about it," you say, and fuck—your voice comes out shakier than you meant it to.

"No? Then how about this: there's nothing here for you to see. So drop the fucking act."

"Act?" You actually laugh, but it's not a happy sound. "That's rich coming from you, Mr. Big Bad Wolf. Should I howl at the fucking moon? Maybe then we'd speak the same language."

"That's the problem right there! You trying to speak the same language. There's nothing to try. Nothing to fix. Nothing to understand. So back the fuck off."

"Right. My bad. Sorry for giving a shit, I guess."

"Keep working on it. Maybe one day you'll achieve perfect emotional constipation like the rest of us."

The sarcasm in his voice makes you want to scream. Or cry. Or maybe both.

When you don't immediately snap back, he makes this sound in the back of his throat—this ugly, disgusted sound.

"Fuck this. We're done here."

He turns to leave, but something makes you reach out, fingers wrapping around his arm before you can think better of it.

The muscle under your hand goes rock hard, and when he looks down at where you're touching him, his eyes are cold enough to freeze hell.

You let go like he's burning you, but you plant your feet. You're not backing down, not this time.

"Look," you say, keeping your voice soft but firm. "I get it, okay? Opening up is scary as shit. But it doesn't make you weak, Jeon. Might even help, whenever you're ready."

He stares at you, and for a second—just a second—something cracks in his expression. Like maybe he's tired of carrying whatever weight is crushing him. But then the walls slam back up so fast it gives you whiplash.

"Then you can sit there and wait until you fucking rot," he says, voice colder than a morgue drawer.

He jerks away from you, spinning toward the bike with the kind of finality that screams conversation over.

You stand there, anger and frustration mixing in your chest until you feel like you might explode.

"Bold of you to assume I've got that kind of patience," you throw at his back.

He freezes mid-step, and you see his shoulders tense.

When he speaks, his voice is completely flat, like all the life's been drained out of it.

"Even better."

Then he's swinging his leg over the bike, waiting for you to climb on so he can pretend this whole thing never happened.

Like he can outrun his demons if he just drives fast enough.

Stubborn asshole, you think, walking toward the bike.

But you're starting to realize that maybe his walls aren't just for show.

Maybe they're holding back something that terrifies him more than any enemy ever could.

You swing off the bike on slightly shaky legs, yanking the helmet off and trying to get your hair under control.

Jeon's doing that thing where he runs his fingers through his hair, making it look effortlessly messy and hot at the same time, which is annoying when you're trying to stay p̶i̶s̶s̶e̶d̶ professional.

His face is blank, but you can read the tension in his shoulders. You get it—going against direct orders to play nice with MDF's resident psychopath probably wasn't your brightest moment. Not to mention that whole clusterfuck of a conversation outside the 7/11.

"Time to get our asses handed to us," he mutters, and his jaw is clenched so tight you're worried he might crack a tooth.

You follow him inside, each step echoing off stone walls like a countdown to execution.

The walk to the council room feels longer than usual, probably because your stomach's doing gymnastics while Jeon walks ahead like he's heading to his own funeral.

The council room hits you with a brightness that makes you squint. All nine chiefs are already there, seated around that stupidly long table like some corporate board meeting from hell. They turn to look at you both, and you brace yourself for the shitstorm.

But then—what the fuck?

The room explodes with cheers and applause.

You actually take a step back, wondering if you've somehow walked into an alternate dimension. Beside you, Jeon goes completely still, like someone hit his pause button.

The Council is losing their collective mind. J-Hope's whistling like he's at a concert, V's cackling like a hyena, and even RM's got this smile on his face that makes him look ten years younger.

What timeline is this?

"Brilliant work!" RM's voice cuts through the chaos, and you're pretty sure your jaw's on the floor. "You've exceeded all expectations."

You look at Jeon, completely lost. "What the—?"

And then it hits you—the earpieces weren't just for show—the Council heard everything.

Every word with Fervio, they watched you dance with the devil and somehow come out on top.

"A partnership with MDF as independent traders?" Moon sounds like someone just handed him a winning lottery ticket. "That changes things."

You're still trying to process how you went from expecting a punishment to... this.

But one look at Jeon tells you he's just as thrown as you are. His eyes are slightly wider than usual, which for him is basically the equivalent of screaming in confusion.

Well, this is definitely not how you expected this night to end.

The rest of the Council starts talking over each other, throwing around words like "brilliant" and "game-changing."

You feel your face heat up—partly from pride, partly because this is not the ass-kicking you were expecting. Next to you, Jeon's got that look on his face, the one that says he's about three seconds from calling bullshit on this whole situation.

"What the fuck?" he growls.

There it is.

"We literally did exactly what you told us not to do."

The room quiets down as RM raises his hand, and even through the chaos, everyone snaps to attention. That's the kind of respect he commands.

"Yeah, you went against orders," he says, and his voice has that careful neutral tone that could go either way. "But you also just handed us the biggest opportunity we've had in years. Sometimes disobedience pays off."

The Council members nod like those bobblehead dolls people put in their cars.

Jeon's eyebrow does that tiny twitch thing it does when he's really f̶u̶c̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ pissed.

"This could be huge for us." J-Hope's voice is serious, none of his usual snark. "But one wrong move and we're all fucked six ways to Sunday."

Flower leans forward, her dark eyes sharp. "Especially with that psycho Fervio involved. He's probably just waiting for us to slip up."

RM's got that look on his face, the one that means his big brain is working overtime. "It's a risk, sure. But it's one we need to take. And we'll need our best people on this."

The silence that follows feels like it weighs a ton.

Everyone's thinking the same thing—this could either be Kkangpae's biggest win or its worst nightmare.

"The cover story worked perfectly," RM continues, and you can practically feel Jeon's shoulders tensing up beside you. "Fervio bought the whole illegal arms dealers slash married couple act. We can use that."

Jeon exhales loudly; eyes darkening a shade. His face stays blank, but you know him well enough by now to see the storm brewing behind those dark eyes.

"I want you both to keep playing these roles," RM says, leaning forward in his chair. "The power-hungry married couple looking to make it big in the underworld. It's perfect."

Your brain short-circuits for a second because what? This means more pretending to be married to Jeon. More acting like a couple. More of...

"With Fervio thinking you're on his side, we'll finally get inside MDF." RM continues. "This is the break we've been waiting for."

He looks between you and Jeon, and his expression turns serious.

"Can you handle it?"

"Yeah, of course," is your reply.

RM catches Jeon's tension—of course he does, he doesn't miss anything. His voice softens just a fraction.

"I know what I'm asking, Jeon. Especially from you." He trails off for a second, like he's choosing his next words carefully. "We can't change what happened before. But this? This is bigger than personal history."

There's something heavy in those words, something that makes your ears prick up.

Is this about Sylvia? That name you caught over the comms, the one that made Jeon shut down faster than a computer during a power surge?

You want to ask—god, you want to ask so badly it hurts. But after that disaster outside the 7/11? Yeah, not happening.

Some secrets in Kkangpae are meant to stay buried. You're learning that the hard way.

Jeon just nods, short and sharp. "Understood."

"Good." RM's voice has that final tone that means orders are being given. "You'll be our inside track to Fervio's operation. Get close, find weaknesses, but don't take stupid risks."

The Council members nod along, looking all serious and determined. Everyone knows this is huge—dangerous as fuck, but huge.

The meeting breaks up, and reality starts sinking in. You're really doing this. Playing happy married couple with Jeon while trying not to get murdered by a psychopath who gets off on torture.

Cool. Cool cool cool.

You glance at Jeon, trying to read his expression. But those dark eyes might as well be black holes for all they give away.

You can't decipher what he's thinking. At all. But he's not happy about it, whatever it is.

Then he just... nods at RM and walks out. No goodbye, no look back, nothing. Just turns on his heel and disappears through the door like he can't get away fast enough.

You watch Jeon storm out like he's got hellhounds on his heels. Something about it makes your chest feel tight. J-Hope must notice you staring because he leans in, voice pitched low so only you can hear.

"Don't take it personal, kid. Jeon's got... history with this kind of thing."

You turn to him, frowning. "What, following orders? Or not following them?"

"More like..." J-Hope pauses, and you can practically see him picking his words like he's defusing a bomb. "Let's just say he's not a fan of the Council being flexible with rules."

Your frown deepens. There's something here you're missing, some context that would make this all make sense.

"Because he's a stickler for protocol?"

"Because the Council doesn't do flexible." J-Hope says the word like it tastes bad. "Never has."

He glances at the door Jeon disappeared through, something dark crossing his face.

"Rules exist for a reason. And when they get bent or broken... well. Let's just say Jeon knows firsthand what that costs."

You let that sink in for a moment, turning it over in your head.

"This is about Sylvia, isn't it?"

The name drops between you like a stone in still water.

J-Hope goes completely still, and for a second, you see something flash across his face—pain? Anger? But then it's gone.

"Sylvia," he says, like he's testing how the name feels in his mouth. Then he shakes his head. "That's not my story to tell. If Jeon wants you to know about that particular clusterfuck, he'll tell you himself."

Gentleness finds his eyes then, looking as if he feels bad for you, stumbling around in the dark while everyone else seems to know where all the landmines are buried.

"Just... give him time, Jeon's got his reasons for being the way he is. And pushing him to talk about it?" He lets out a low whistle. "That's a real good way to make sure he never does."

You chew on your bottom lip, processing.

It's obvious there's more going on here—some whole tragic backstory (funny how he mentioned those two exact words) you're not cleared to know about.

"Yeah, okay," you say finally. "Everyone's got their demons, right? He can keep his locked up if he wants."

J-Hope's smile is small but genuine. He squeezes your shoulder, and his touch is surprisingly gentle for someone who patches up gunshot wounds for a living.

"Smart girl. And hey—Jeon might act like he's made of ice, but..." He trails off, thoughtful. "Let's just say I've seen him care about things before. Even when he probably wishes he didn't."

Great, you think. More cryptic bullshit.

But maybe that's just how things work around here. Maybe some secrets need to stay buried until they're ready to come out on their own.

You just hope you're still around when they do.

You give J-Hope a grateful smile, making a mental note to back off with the Sylvia questions.

Some wounds need time to heal, and pushing Jeon before he's ready would just make him shut down harder.

For now, maybe it's better to focus on what you do have—even if that's just really good sex.

Your philosophical moment gets interrupted by V's voice, bright and chaotic as ever.

"Well, I think this calls for drugs and alcohol!" He sounds way too excited about potentially getting everyone high.

J-Hope's head whips around so fast you're worried he might need to treat himself for whiplash.

"Absolutely fucking not!" His voice goes full doctor-mode stern. "Or did you all collectively forget the shitshow that happened last time?"

V just grins that manic grin of his, the one that usually means trouble's coming. "Aw, come on, Doc! We're all grown-ups here. What's the worst that could happen?"

(You make a mental note to never ask that question in a gang full of assassins.)

"Fuck them drugs," AD perks up from his corner, actually looking interested in something that isn't computers for once. "I'm rolling a joint and zoning out in my corner."

"Dibs on the good stuff!" Jessi's practically bouncing in her seat. "It's been forever since I got properly fucked up. Let's make it a party!"

Flower leans forward. "Anyone got acid? Because I've been wanting to try that."

JM's watching all this go down with that calm lake energy of his, looking way too amused.

"Face it, Doc. You're fighting a losing battle here."

"You too, Jimin?" J-Hope looks personally offended. "I'm the medical professional here. You know, the one who has to deal with your dumb asses when things go wrong?"

Moon just sits there with his usual zen master vibe, like he's watching children argue about candy.

"Perhaps we can find a middle ground that doesn't end in medical emergencies?"

"Moon's got a point," RM says, and you can practically see him calculating the odds of this turning into a disaster. "There's probably a way to do this that doesn't involve J-Hope having an aneurysm."

You lean back, watching chaos unfold in real time.

Because apparently this is your life now—sitting in a high-tech castle while a bunch of deadly assassins argue about getting high like college students planning spring break.

What even is your life?

J-Hope throws his hands up like he's trying to physically catch his last shred of sanity.

"There's no middle ground with you hooligans!" His voice hits that pitch that means someone's about to get a medical lecture. "Last fucking time Hyunjoo nearly turned our whole operation into a bonfire because she thought her instant ramen needed to be cooked with actual fire!"

Jessi's trying (and failing) to hold back her laughter, which only makes J-Hope more agitated.

"And you—" He whirls on AD, who's slouching in his chair looking done with life. "Two days! You disappeared for two whole days!"

"I was finding peace with nature," he mutters, checking his nails. "Weed is enlightening."

"The only thing enlightening was how many bug bites you got on your ass, you absolute disaster."

J-Hope's not done though—oh no, he's just getting started.

"And let's not forget Tae's brilliant fucking idea to invite the cops over for a party." J-Hope's voice drips sarcasm. "All because he wanted to, and I quote, 'party with the law'."

V sprawls in his chair, looking delighted by the memory. "Come on, Doc. Live a little! What's the point of being criminals if we can't have some fun with it?"

You watch J-Hope's soul leave his body in real time. His shoulders slump, and he lets out this long-suffering sigh that probably took years off his life.

"Fine. Fine. You win, you bunch of walking medical emergencies." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "But when you're all hugging toilets tomorrow and crying about how you can see through time, don't come running to me!"

The look on his face says he knows exactly where he'll be tomorrow—patching up whatever chaos this lot manages to create while high off their asses.

But that's tomorrow's problem. Tonight? Tonight's about to get real interesting.

Well, at least being in a gang is never boring.

"Ramen's on the stove!" Jessi's voice bounces off the castle walls like a rubber ball on crack. "No naked forest adventures this time, Doc, I promise!"

The castle's kitchen usually looks like something out of a luxury real estate listing. But right now? It's more like a college party gone wild, if college parties were thrown by professional killers.

You're posted up against one of those fancy counters, watching chaos unfold with a mix of amusement and holy shit, are we really doing this?

The prospect of trying acid for the first time is making your stomach do this weird flippy thing—half excitement, half terror. Mostly terror. But hey, when in Rome (or in this case, when in a high-tech castle full of assassins planning to get absolutely blasted)...

J-Hope sidles up next to you, and his sandalwood scent cuts through the MSG-heavy air. His face says 'I'm so done with this shit' but his eyes are doing that thing where he's trying not to look amused.

"Look at these fucking morons," he mutters, watching Jessi wave a wooden spoon around like she's conducting an orchestra. "It's like babysitting toddlers. Toddlers with access to weapons and illegal substances."

You bump his shoulder with yours. "Aw, come on. Don't act like you don't love playing mom friend to this disaster crew."

He gives you this look that's half exasperation, half fondness. "The entertainment value? Sure. The aftermath? Not so much."

His eyes track Jessi as she does some kind of interpretive dance with the ramen pot.

"Last time, I spent a week dealing with the fallout. Do you know how hard it is to treat someone who's convinced their fingers turned into snakes? Because I do. I really, really do."

You can't help but laugh because yeah, that tracks.

"But look at everyone," you say, gesturing at the room full of deadly assassins acting like actual human beings for once. "When's the last time you saw the divisions mixing like this? Usually everyone's too busy being dramatic and mysterious."

J-Hope lets out this long-suffering sigh that probably took years off his life. "Yeah, yeah. Just... try not to lose your mind completely on the acid, okay? I really don't want to explain to RM why one of our newest recruits is trying to have a philosophical debate with the security cameras."

"Please," you scoff, even though your heart does a little jump at the thought. "I'll be fine. Just curious to see what all the fuss is about."

"That's what Tae said," J-Hope deadpans. "Right before he decided the trees needed a strip show."

You lean against the counter, watching the chaos unfold around you.

It's kind of wild how a bunch of professional killers can act like college kids at a frat party. But that's Kkangpae for you—one minute you're infiltrating rival gang territory, the next you're watching Jessi try to juggle instant ramen packets.

J-Hope's steady presence beside you feels grounding through the general mayhem. Even when he's complaining about having to babysit a bunch of 'walking medical emergencies,' you can hear the fondness in his voice.

He's such a mom friend, not that you'd ever tell him that to his face.

Having J-Hope here, with his medical knowledge and surprisingly good dad jokes, makes the idea of trying acid feel less intimidating.

At least someone will know what to do if you start seeing dragons or whatever.

Then V materializes like he's been summoned by the promise of bad decisions, carrying a tray of shots that probably contain enough alcohol to strip paint. His grin is all teeth and trouble as he slides up to you both.

"Special delivery," he practically purrs, pushing a shot glass your way. The liquid inside looks radioactive. "A little something to kick-start your journey to enlightenment."

J-Hope's hand shoots out faster than you can blink, blocking the shot like he's defending a goal.

"Absolutely fucking not. Mixing alcohol with psychedelics? That's a one-way ticket to the worst night of your life."

"Aw, come on, Doc." V's eyes glitter with that dangerous playfulness he gets sometimes. "Let the girl live a little. It's just one tiny shot."

You watch J-Hope's face do this thing where he's trying really hard not to lose his patience. His jaw tightens, but his voice stays professional.

"This isn't about living. It's about not ending up in medical because someone thought mixing drugs was a good idea."

V leans in, and suddenly the air feels thick with tension. "When did you get so boring, Hoseok? Used to be you knew how to have fun."

The use of J-Hope's real name makes his whole body go rigid, and something dark flashes across his face.

Welp, this is about to get real uncomfortable.

"This isn't about being scared," J-Hope says, and his voice has that edge he gets when someone's pushing his buttons. "It's about not wanting to spend my night pumping stomachs because you idiots can't make good choices."

V's smile turns sharp, thorny vines of his aura creeping into the air between them. "Or maybe you're just projecting your own issues onto everyone else, our pride and hope."

Oh shit.

The temperature in the room drops about ten degrees.

You watch J-Hope's hands curl into fists, sandalwood notes in the air turning bitter.

"That's enough." J-Hope's voice could freeze hell. "This isn't about me. It's about keeping people alive."

"Alive? From what?" V's laugh has too many teeth. "The big bad vodka monster?"

"It's not about the fucking vodka, Taehyung—"

"I mean, I get it—"

"—for fuck's sake, she's not—"

"—vodka's Russian and all but—"

"—it's not about the goddamn—"

"—Putin ain't gonna jump out the bottle—"

The overlapping voices make your head spin, but then—holy shit.

J-Hope snatches the shot right out of V's hand and downs it like it's water. The room goes so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

V actually shuts up for once, thorns retreating like he's been slapped. Everyone's staring, probably thinking the same thing you are: What the actual fuck just happened?

The empty glass hits the counter with a clink that sounds like a gunshot in the silence.

"There," J-Hope says, voice empty. "Problem solved."

Then he just... walks away. Like he didn't just do something that has everyone's jaws on the floor.

V blinks like his brain's still buffering, but because he's V, he bounces back in seconds. That million-watt smile slides back into place like it never left.

"Well, fuck me sideways," he says, turning back to you with a laugh. "Looks like the good doctor's still got some surprises up his sleeve."

Thorns wrap around the room again, playful and dangerous.

"Now, about that acid trip you're planning. Just remember—if you need a spirit guide through the gates of perception, I'm your man."

He throws you a wink and floats off to terrorize someone else with his tray of shots, leaving you to wonder what the hell kind of drama you just witnessed.

Note to self, you think, watching J-Hope's figure make it out the doors. Never mention vodka around those two.

AD materializes then like some tech gremlin summoned from his cave, clutching a bag of weed and another one of acid.

He does that thing where he pretends not to care about anything or anyone, scanning the room with his typical 'everyone here is an idiot' expression.

"Well, if it isn't our favorite antisocial hacker," you say, watching him do his best impression of someone who definitely isn't looking for a specific person.

His face scrunches up like he's tasted something sour.

"Where's the walking medical textbook?" he asks, and you can hear the eye roll in his voice even though his face stays neutral.

Classic AD—pretending he's not worried about J-Hope's whereabouts.

"You mean J-Hope?"

"No, I mean the other mother hen who follows me around telling me to eat vegetables. Yes, J-Hope."

He starts unpacking his little bag of happiness onto the counter, then grabs a rolling paper with two fingers—gentle, like he's holding a butterfly wing—and brings it up to his lips.

"Lucy for the newbie," he mutters, holding up the other tiny plastic bag between his fingers like it's a USB drive containing nuclear codes.

"He left," you say, taking the bag and examining it because apparently that's what you do with illegal drugs now.

Your life is weird.

AD's eyebrow shoots up in that way that says 'elaborate before I hack your phone and set all your alarms to 3 AM.'

"V was being V, trying to get me to drink before dropping acid. J-Hope wasn't having it."

"What, did he storm off to avoid watching his precious patient make bad decisions?" AD snickers, but there's something almost fond in his voice. "He gets pretty pissy about alco—"

"Actually," you cut him off, matching his grin "he grabbed the shot, downed it like a champ, and bounced. Total power move."

The change in AD's face is like watching someone hit ctrl+alt+delete on his entire personality.

The smirk drops so fast it probably left skid marks.

"He did what?"

"Yeah, just... knocked it back and walked out. Pretty badass, if you ask—"

"What was in the glass?" His voice goes sharp, all traces of amusement gone.

"What?"

"The fucking shot, what was in it?" There's something urgent in his tone that makes your stomach drop.

"I don't know, V said something about vodka—"

"Fuck." AD drags his fingers through his hair like he's trying to pull it out. "Fuck fuck fuck."

"What's wrong with—"

"Where's V?" he snarls, and holy shit, you've never heard him sound like that before.

You can't help but inwardly panic as AD's face cycles through about fifteen different shades of murder.

AD's eyes lock onto V like a heat-seeking missile, and suddenly he's moving with the kind of purpose that usually ends in bloodshed. You watch him shove V hard enough to make the chestnut-haired man stumble back into Moon's drink setup, glasses rattling dangerously.

"What the actual fuck?" V catches himself, bristling with barely contained rage.

"You gave him vodka?" AD's voice is deadly quiet. The kind of quiet that comes before violence. "You fucking knew—"

"He took it himself!" V straightens up, getting right in AD's face, smile cruel. "Not my problem if your precious doctor can't handle his shit."

"I'm going to rearrange your fucking face—" AD's hands curl into fists.

"Try it, you basement-dwelling freak. Maybe if you spent less time obsessing over Hobi's sobriety and more time getting over your pathetic crush—"

You move before your brain can catch up with what a monumentally stupid idea this is.

Getting between two Chiefs when they're about to throw down? Definitely not in the Kkangpae employee handbook.

But guilt's churning in your stomach because you were there.

You watched J-Hope take that shot and did nothing.

"AD," you say, keeping your voice soft but firm. Everyone's staring at you like you've lost your mind, and maybe you have. "This isn't helping. We need to find J-Hope."

AD's practically vibrating with rage, and V's thorny aura is sharp enough to draw blood. But finally, finally, AD takes a step back.

"Fucking narcissistic asshole," he spits at V as he turns away. "Too busy jerking off your own ego to give a shit about anyone else."

V's laugh follows you down the hallway, high and unhinged. "Aw, don't be like that, Yoongi! I thought we were having fun!"

You follow AD, his muttered curses painting the air blue.

After that disaster with Jeon earlier, you're not sure you should push for answers. But worry's gnawing at your gut.

"Is he going to be okay?"

AD lets out this heavy sigh that sounds like it starts in his toes. His eyes keep scanning every corner, every shadow.

"I don't... fuck. He..." He drags his fingers through his hair, messing up the blonde strands. "Hobi's got history with alcohol, alright? Bad history. He's been clean for... Christ, I don't even know how many years."

Shit.

You watch AD practically vibrate with nervous energy as he searches, and suddenly his reaction makes a lot more sense.

"We'll find him," you say, and you mean it.

Because maybe you can't fix whatever's going on with Jeon (and it's not your job anyway), but this?

This you can help with.

AD nods sharply, his face set in grim determination. "Yeah. We fucking better."

You and AD split up to search the castle, which is exactly as fun as it sounds—like playing hide and seek in a maze designed by someone with a sick sense of humor.

But you keep going because it's J-Hope. The guy who patches everyone up without judgment, who keeps this chaotic family of killers alive despite their best efforts to the contrary.

He deserves someone in his corner for once.

The party noise fades as you climb higher in the castle, until all you can hear is your own footsteps echoing off stone walls.

It's weird seeing these halls so empty—usually there's at least a few people around, heading to missions or sneaking off for... whatever.

Then you turn a corner and your heart does this weird flip thing when you see J-Hope's there, crumpled against a column like someone cut his strings. His knees are pulled up to his chest, head down, and fuck—seeing him like this feels wrong. Like walking in on something you weren't meant to see.

The empty glass beside him makes your stomach twist.

"J-Hope?"

He lifts his head so slowly it hurts to watch. His eyes meet yours, and that's worse somehow. All that warmth and steadiness that makes him J-Hope is just... gone.

"Hey," he says, voice barely above a whisper.

"Hey yourself." You drop down next to him, trying to keep your voice gentle. "How're you holding up?"

"Just fantastic." His laugh is hollow, and the smile he gives you is about as real as the designer bags they sell in back alleys.

You bite your lip, wanting to help but not sure how. Your hand finds his shoulder, trying to say without words that he's not alone in whatever this is.

"What you did back there, protecting me from that shot? You didn't have to. But... thanks. For caring. You're good at that, you know? The caring part."

He looks at you for a long moment before his head drops again, but this time his smile seems a little more genuine. A little less broken.

"AD told you about the alcohol thing, didn't he?"

You tense up, your hand going still on his shoulder. Shit. You don't want him thinking AD was gossiping about his personal shit, but—

"It's fucking stupid," he says before you can explain, and his voice is so soft it makes your heart hurt. "Everyone here's got blood on their hands, trauma up to their eyeballs, and I'm falling apart over some fucking vodka."

Your grip on his shoulder tightens. "Hey, no. Pain isn't a competition. Your demons aren't any less valid just because they come in a bottle instead of a bullet."

J-Hope stares at his thighs like they hold all the answers to the universe, keeping quiet for a few seconds like he needs it. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough around the edges.

"Seven years," he says, like he's counting each one in his head. "Seven fucking years without touching a drop. Made that promise to myself when I joined Kkangpae. Thought I'd take it to my grave."

His eyes are different now—missing that sharp focus that usually makes him look like he's scanning for injuries. Instead, they're glossy with tears he won't let fall. The sandalwood scent in the air is muted, dulled.

"Used to be a doctor, you know? A good one. Fucking naive though." He lets out this hollow laugh that makes your chest hurt. "Thought I could change things from the inside. Make a difference in that corrupt shitshow they call healthcare."

You stay quiet, letting him get it out. Sometimes silence says more than words.

"You can't—" His voice catches. "You have no idea what it's like in there. The fucking politics of who lives and who dies. Had this kid once, sweet little thing. Needed emergency surgery. But some rich asshole's cousin needed a cosmetic procedure, and guess who got the operating room?"

Your stomach turns as the implications hit. J-Hope's face twists like he's tasting something bitter.

"I watched that kid die. Right there on my table. And you know what the hospital director said? 'These things happen.' Like it was a fucking paperwork error." His hands are shaking now. "That wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was how normal it was. People dying because they couldn't pay, while others bought their way to the front of the line."

He takes this shuddering breath that sounds like it hurts.

"Started drinking to numb it. Just a little at first—a shot before bed, something to take the edge off. But that's how it gets you, right? One shot becomes two, becomes a bottle, becomes..." He gestures vaguely at himself. "Becomes this."

"You were an alcoholic?" The words come out soft, careful.

"Yeah." It's barely a whisper. "Lost everything. My job, my license, my apartment. Ended up sleeping under bridges, spending whatever I could beg or steal on cheap vodka. Real fucking inspirational story, right?"

When he looks at you, the raw pain in his eyes makes your heart squeeze.

"Then RM found me. Saw something worth saving in this drunk piece of shit passed out behind a dumpster. Gave me purpose again. A chance to help people without all the bureaucratic bullshit."

He picks up the empty shot glass, turning it in his hands like it might bite him.

"That's why I swore off drinking. Not just for me—for RM, for everyone here who gave me a second chance when I didn't deserve one."

You watch him struggle with words, with memories, with demons you can't see but can feel in the heaviness of his words.

"Found a family here. Got to be a doctor again, on my own terms. Started putting myself back together." His fingers tighten around the glass. "But tonight, one fucking shot and—"

"You did it to protect me," you cut in, because you can't stand the self-loathing in his voice. "That counts for something."

His smile is sad, tired.

"Maybe. But that's not..." He shakes his head. "I can't go back there. Can't be that person again. The one who couldn't save anyone, not even himself."

The confession sits between you as you watch J-Hope—this man who patches up assassins and keeps everyone's secrets—look more vulnerable than you've ever seen him.

Fuck. No wonder he's so protective of everyone.

You squeeze his shoulder, trying to put everything you're feeling into that touch.

"You're not that person anymore, Doc. Look at you—patching up assassins, keeping us all alive, being everyone's voice of reason. One shot doesn't erase seven years of being fucking incredible."

His smile is small but real this time.

"Thanks, kid. I..." He swallows hard. "I needed that."

You bump his shoulder with yours. "Yeah, well, even newbies gotta remind you you're not just the grumpy doctor who yells at us for getting stabbed."

He actually chuckles at that, a quiet sound that makes his whole body shake.

"Newbie? You've been here four months. Pretty sure you've seen more action than some of our veterans."

"Maybe," you say with a grin. "But I still can't tell the difference between morphine and saline, so I think that keeps me firmly in the rookie category."

That gets a real laugh out of him, and some of the tension finally leaves his shoulders. He looks at you, and there's something warm in his eyes that wasn't there before.

"You know what? Screw the formalities. Call me Hoseok. Or Hobi, if you're feeling lazy."

Your eyebrows shoot up. "Wow, first-name basis? I feel so special."

"Don't let it go to your head," he says, but he's smiling now. "I just figure anyone who's seen me have an emotional breakdown in a hallway has earned it."

"Hoseok it is, then." You lean your head against his shoulder, feeling weirdly comfortable despite the cold stone floor and the lingering heaviness in the air. "Though I might go with Hobs. It suits you better."

"Hobs?" He doesn't shrug you off, which feels like a win. "I can live with that."

You sit there in comfortable silence for a while, just existing in the same space.

It hits you then, how human everyone in Kkangpae is.

Sure, you're all part of this big, scary criminal organization, but underneath all the tough talk and violence, you're just... people.

People with pasts, with regrets, with demons you're all trying to outrun.

"Hey, Hobs?" you say after a bit.

"Mm?"

"Thanks for trusting me with this. I know it's not easy to let people see the messy parts."

He's quiet for a moment, then his hand finds yours, giving it a quick squeeze.

"Thanks for giving a shit, kid. It's... it's been a while since someone did."

You're about to say something else when footsteps echo down the hallway. AD appears around the corner, looking like he's aged ten years in the last hour.

When he spots you both, the relief on his face is so obvious it almost hurts.

"You absolute fucking idiot," AD says, dropping to his knees beside you both. His voice is rough but his hands are gentle when they reach for Hobi. "Do you have any idea—I thought—fuck."

"Sorry," Hobi mumbles, and he sounds exhausted. "Didn't mean to worry you."

"Shut up." AD's already pulling one of Hobi's arms over his shoulders. "Just... let's get you to bed before you fall asleep in this hallway like some drunk college kid."

You help AD get Hobi to his feet, each of you taking some of his weight.

The party's still going strong somewhere below, but up here, it's just the three of you navigating dark corridors, trying to keep each other from falling apart.

Family. This is what family looks like.

The walk back to J-Hope's room feels longer than it should, like the hallways are stretching out just to fuck with you.

His words keep echoing in your head—all that stuff about hospitals and corruption and losing everything.

It's weird seeing someone you thought had their shit together turn out to be just as messy as the rest of you.

When you finally reach his door, AD does this thing where he opens it super carefully, like he's afraid of waking up a sleeping baby or something.

You both help J-Hope inside, and damn—his room is exactly what you'd expect from the guy who patches up assassins for a living.

It's all neat and tidy, medical books stacked up like little towers of knowledge. There are plants everywhere too, which is kind of adorable. You can just picture J-Hope fussing over them between stitching up bullet wounds and lecturing people about their alcohol intake.

J-Hope practically collapses onto his bed, letting out this sigh that sounds like it's been building up for years. When he looks at you both, his eyes are all soft and grateful. It makes your chest do this weird tight thing.

"Thanks, guys," he says, and his voice sounds steadier now—like maybe getting all that shit off his chest actually helped.

"Don't get sappy on us," AD grumbles, but you can tell he's worried because his usual grumpy cat routine is dialed down to about a three. "Just get some rest, alright? Can't have our medic falling apart on us."

J-Hope actually laughs at that, even if it's a weak sound. "I'll be fine. Just a little hiccup in the sobriety journey. Won't happen again."

AD nods like he believes him, but you can see the doubt in his eyes. He turns to you, all serious business now.

"Thanks for the assist. I've got it from here."

You nod, feeling weirdly relieved that J-Hope's not gonna be alone.

"Yeah, of course. Take care of our favorite doctor, yeah?"

J-Hope gives you this smile that makes him look younger somehow. He mouths 'thank you' as you head for the door, and for a second, you consider staying.

But nah. AD's got this.

And you? You've got a lot to process.

You start walking back towards your own room, mind still spinning.

Because if J-Hope—steady, dependable J-Hope—has skeletons in his closet, what the hell is everyone else hiding?

Fuck. You realize you're in way deeper than you thought. But the weird thing is?

You're not sure you want out.

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squidsquidsquidsquidsquidgame · 11 hours ago

Note

Hii!

Could you please write about what Hyunju and the female reader's life would have been like after the games?

(I absolutely refuse to believe that she's dead.)

of course! <3

A day in the life

Character: Cho Hyun-Ju X fem!reader

Summary: Above in he request🌺🩷

Warnings: None

Sunlight broke through the blinds like a nosy neighbor — a hot, blinding streak right across your face.

"Goddamn it," you groaned, rolling onto your stomach.

"Mmm." Hyunju was awake. You heard her yawn, voice still husky. "Blinds again?"

"Yup. Still broken. Still attacking me."

A pause. Then her laugh — soft, warm, stupidly contagious. “I told you to close them before you got in bed last night.”

"I was tired...can't help it’" You mumble

"Then don't complain pretty girl."

You peeled one eye open and looked at her. She was on her side, propped up on one elbow, hair an adorable disaster of bangs and sleep. Her T-shirt was one of yours — loose at the collar, sleeves rolled. You wondered, briefly, if she had ever looked this good when you first met her in those awful green tracksuits.

"You're staring," she teased.

"You're pretty. Shut up."

Her cheeks pinked. “Okay, fair.”

The kitchen smelled like burnt toast and bananas. Hyunju had flour on her cheek. And you were pretty sure she just dropped an eggshell into the pancake batter.

"You know, pancakes are not supposed to have eggshels, love"

"Yesyes," she said slowly, very concentratedon picking the shells out with her slender fingers. "M'fixing it..."

"Okay baby, i trust you."

"Okay, all out!" she chipped softly, tossing the shells into the trashcan.

Then she started cooking them.

"That was a 7/10 landing," you said, sipping your coffee, watching her flip the pancakes in the pan.

"7?! That was at least an 8.2."

She looked over her shoulder and winked. “Besides, you said you like my disasters."

"I said I like you despite your disasters."

"And that’s love, baby."

Then it was time for laundry.

She hated folding fitted sheets.

"No, seriously, it’s a scam," she grumbled, holding the elastic blob up like it had personally wronged her. “No one knows how to do this. Not even the people who made theese.”

“Okay, but how did you survive the Games,” you said, snatching it from her arms, “and yet a bed sheet is your mortal enemy?”

“I was trained to disarm bombs and scale walls,” she said matter-of-factly. “Not do origami with bed linen.”

You snorted, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek. “Good thing I love you for your biceps and not your folding skills.”

Her smile dropped slightly — just for a second. You knew that look. That flicker of disbelief, like she still couldn’t believe she had this now. A home. A normal errand. Someone to kiss her in public.

She looked at you and said, quietly, “I love you too.”

Later, You two were assembling a bookshelf from a suspiciously affordable furniture site.

Hyunju held up two pieces and said, “A goes into B, right?”

“That’s what the instructions say.”

“But what if B’s upside down?”

“Then you probably built a bookshelf for hell.”

She dropped both pieces dramatically. “We should’ve just bought a pre-built one. With all the money we—”

You shook your head gently, touching her knee. “No. I like this. Screwing up furniture together. It's fun, gets my anger out too” You giggle, Hyunju looked at you. The pieces in her hands, the cluttered floor, your earnest face. She set them down carefully.“I like it too.”

At night, She fell asleep first. She always did.

But tonight, she held you tighter than usual — arms wrapped around your waist like you might disappear if she didn’t.

You listened to her breathe. Watched the shadows on the ceiling. Wondered how something so normal could feel this sacred.

She stirred once and mumbled, barely audible, “Are we… okay?”

You kissed her forehead. “Yeah. We’re okay.”

Her arms tightened, and she fell back into sleep.

And you thought:

Maybe this is what winning actually looks like.

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rooniearts · 4 hours ago

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OKAY Y'ALL ITS ASKS TIIIIME!!!

Worth noting is that I won't be answering any more of these asks after this post goes up!! As fun as it is, I unfortunately can't keep analyzing ships all day :') Feel free to keep replying to this post though, it's fun to see people's takes, even if I don't have time to reply!

Thank you all so much for the responses! Let's get to answering those asks, shall we?

@h3xt0r

SURGE/WAVE!!!!! I have a friend who recently discovered this one and absolutely LOVES it, so now I'm slowly being osmosised into also going crazy for it lol. Love it when women are mean as hell, good for them <3

I see a good handful of people ship Knuxadow, which is awesome because that ship is really fun and it means I don't have to make the content myself for it to exists and I just get to enjoy it >:]

Something about how they both have such tough, stoic exteriors but still have very different personalities is just so fun. Plus, I think Knuckles would think Shadow's cool as hell

@darlingdelusion04

HONESTLY!!! It's worth playing TMoStH JUST for Barry's consistent bi panic alone lmao, I love them so much :'D I feel like this would fall under my favourite genre of Sonic ships, which is someone so obviously crushing on him and him remaining fully oblivious of that fact, willfully or not. It's funny every time

GAH YES love this!! I'm a big supporter of the "Sonic has no qualms about kissing like 99% of his friends on the mouth at the drop of a hat" agenda, it's just such a funny idea to me. And I fully agree, him and Rouge have SO MUCH chemistry, they could absolutely quip back and forth all day if they felt like it lol :'D

Wow, that's a real obscure one!! Very fun though! The idea that Blaze is so happy to have someone she doesn't have to supress herself to even touch without causing harm is going to ruin me forever though ;; My poor girlieeeeee

I haven't watched Boom, so I'm not fully certain on Sticks' personality... I know she's intense, and I'm pretty sure she's very paranoid?? About tech especially?? Which if that's the case just makes pairing her up with Omega really, really funny to me (in a good way!) She really said "I hate tech, but not this one"

With Amy, I bet she'd do just fine <3 I feel like Amy tends to generally get along with every other female character (especially moreso recently :'D), so Sticks would be no problem for her!

@alialastor

Oh my gosh yes actually, Rouge and Amy had a fantastic chapter in IDW where the two of them hung out at a ski resort and gODDD do i just loved every single interaction they had, they were so sillyyyy <3 I yearn to see more of them

Kittails!! I've seen this one around once in a while, and I think it's cute enough when they're a bit older. I'm just too much of a sucker for Kit Certfied Hater Behaviour, it's so damn funny to me haha

I must unfortunately relent, as I've still yet to read Archie, so I don't know much about the characters 😔 You're right though, they really do look good together!!!

OMG YOUR MINNNDDD,,, THIS IS SO CUTE!!! The fact that they're both two very different types of cool girl AND two very different genre of loser <3

@karma-creations

HAHA, yeah no, I've learned the hard way never to make a joke about a random ship, it's a slippery slope every time............ </3

I'm almost curious what the bit was that inspired Omega X Jet in the first place because it seems so out there to me, I love it :'D

AWWWHHH!!! THAT'S ADORABLE! Now that you mention it, I do bet they would be really good for each other! Whisper being good at giving advice and Amy being the one who's good at comforting is sO FUNNN!!!!!

@basmatirick

Lol, the spiky, spiky boys >:)

That's really fun though! I do bet they would def get into small squabbles ALLLL the time, no way this flock of goobers can all decide on a place to eat lunch in anywhere near a timely manner

I have NO idea who Swifty the Shrew is, tbh </3 From what I gather he's from the Boom show?? And theres many of him??? Good for Jet that he found a relationship that needs world renowned philosophers to figure out if it's considered a polycule or not

@scarlettclownose

I'd say it's rare! Definitely haven't seen that particularly trio around myself, at least :'D Pretty fun though!

I very much need to watch the Shadow and Metal Rivals dialogue,, I don't know much of their dynamic, other than I think Shadow would feel for him. To him, that's another being created by science to fulfil someone's evil scheme, and he can't help but feel for him. I like their dynamic a lot in that sense at least :'D

And Metamy is fun too!! I just think it's so silly and funny. Just the idea of there being this scary ass murder robot, only for Amy to pick him up and be like "nope. Mine Now." cracks me up haha

(this ask was actually sent a couple days before this post, and was actually lowkey what inspired me to ask for ships in the first place!)

He really does seem to get along well with those hedgehog boys, doesn't he? :'D I fully agree though, it would be so fun to see more interaction between the miscellaneous cast. I really can't wait for the Crossworlds ones !

I answered a reply about Shadow and Espio, but their efforlessly cool x tryhard loser swag does admittedly intrigue me. But at the end of the day, I truly do love myself that good ol Silver and Espio dynamic, which was a WILD pair-up btw, even more so than Shadow and Metal imo because at least those two have the commonality of being antagonists at some point. Silver and Espio really had no business being paired, but I'm glad they did because it works SO well! But yeah, Silver's lucky Espio was so tolerant and patient with him because my boy was acting out something fierce that game, good lord lol

Y'know what? Send me your favourite rare/uncommon Sonic ships and what you like about it, and I'll throw in my two cents about 'em!

Can be asks or replies! Just kinda in a theorizing/speculation mood lol :D

#this took way longer than i thought it would lol sorry yall!!! here they are now :'D #roonie answers

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noinoi10101010 · 1 day ago

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ranking sams character based on marriage compatibility

yes you heard me. We are going there. You simps better be happy I'm doing this for shit and giggles and for you. So considering a lot and I mean A LOT of people simp for the characters I think it would be fun to rank them. First lets go over the rules

no children character will be ranks so like dazzle jack Charlie ect. I don't think I need to explain why.

Physical looks will not play a part why cause that is completely subjective. Some people find one thing hot others may not

We will be ranks each characters pro and cons That they would have as a possible partner and rank them 1 / 10. 1 being awful and 10 being a perfect Marriage material

sun

Pros:

good with kids - sun has been shown to be really good with kids in fact he so well liked by kids he is even able to handle to ones who miss behave and his merch seems to sell out the fastest

Very sympathetic - sun has been miss treated by both moon and nexus and not only still loves them both but was even shown to risk his lives in fact he hates killing and for the most part only does it when he has no option

Is a amazing father to dazzle - sun is a great dad to dazzle showing a nice balance spoiling her to death but publishing her when she does something wrong. He even had her home school so she wouldn't get bullied.

Extreme mental strength - sun has been through a lot and not only did he still be good in spit of that he still rarely lets it affect him too much. Sun has bad days but he still is his usual self

cons:

very quick to anger - sun has a very short temper and is very easy to anger

Very competitive - sun has been shown to very competitive when it comes to gaming

sun's final ranking is 9.5/10 A near perfect possible marriage option only brought down by his temper

( platonic marriage) Moon:

Pros:

very protective - moon has been shown to be very protective of his not just family but those he cares about willing to beer the law in some cases.

Intelligent - moon is one of if not one of the smartest characters in the show.

Willing to learn from is mistakes - moon may not have been the best brother but the fact he wss able to be extremely better once he came shows he can dispute his moments improve

cons:

his stubbornness - moon has been shown thorough out the show to be very stubborn

Anger issues - moon has a really bad temper and unlike sun would actually cause him to make some pretty bad choices

His Impulsivity - moon has been shown to be very impulsive

moon's final ranking 5 /10 A short of mixed bag but not awful

Kill code

Pros:

very caring - kill code is so caring and generous that he donates food to the homeless

Willing to learn new things - kill code has been shown to be willing to learn new things and have an open mind

Is very patient - kill code is shown especially when he got redeemed and even a small bit when he was evil to be very patient

Very helpful - kill code when he got redeem end up helping glamrock Freddy in that k-mart and again he ended up donating to the homeless.

cons:

has killed people - yeah it was in the past but still murder is still murder

Has a temper - not as bad as some of the other characters but still a temper

kill code's final ranking 9/10 A really good marriage option

Solar

pros:

very hardworking - solar is probably one of the most hardworking characters in the show

Very supportive - solar is probably one of the most supportive characters in the show. So much so that the celestial family was sent into a depression after his death

a caring father - solar is shown to be a very caring father to jack.

Comforting - solar is very comforting and helped a lot of the celestial through there issues

cons:

gets frustrated very easily - solar while rare has been shown to get very frustrated at times

Gets...very violent when angry - solar well...when his protective side comes out he can be very violent

solar final ranking is 8 /10 a really good marriage candidate

Ruin

Pros:

Very loyal - ruin is extremely loyal in fact probably one of the most loyal partners as even 53 years he still never dated anyone after he thought rusted was long dead

Very polite - ruin is very polite and almost gentlemanly like polite

Is a passionate artist - ruin has shown a extreme interest in stuff like theater, acting, and music

cons:

willing to kill other to achieve goal - ruin is well....ruin and will most like make a lot of awful choices for the greater good.

Is not very sympathetic to those he hurts - ruin if someone gets hurt when he needs to achieve his goals he will happily throw them to the waist side

Very manipulate - ruin can be very manipulate at times and it can be be used to his advantage if he could

ruin's final ranking 6/10 alright choice but there is some work that needs to be done

So those are the options so @lednet-sorrow-au-blog @goodolddumbbanana @catspawcreates @multifandomcutie13 @cosmossnake @sillyzone1209 @silly-a-777 @tricerapor12 @llamaisllama777 @doodledrawz @weirdcoregal35 and thought, pros and cons of your own, disagreements? Cause if not then take out the rings💍💍💍💍💍💍💍💍💍💍💍💍💍💍💍💍💍💍💍💍💍💍

#sun and moon show #tsams #the sun and moon show #sams #eclipse and puppet show #eaps #laes #lunar and earth show #femme night's at freddy

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wardenparker · 2 days ago

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The Secret of My Success, ch 3

Harry Castillo x plus size reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When not even a professional matchmaking firm can help Harry Castillo find love, he turns his attention to helping his best friend meet their soulmate instead. The surprise of finding his own in the process will challenge the attitude Harry has taken toward dating for his entire life, and open up a whole new world of romance.

(This story picks up where the last chapter of The Unbearable Weight of Perfection leaves off, and will weave in a few other soulmate characters from previous stories just for fun. Don't worry if you haven't read those stories though! I'll be dropping the pertinent references in each chapter's note section to read along with Harry and his soulmate's adventures.)

Rating: M for Mature but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 11k Warnings: *Reader is nicknamed Mack* (Continuous warnings for: food/alcohol consumption, tobacco smoking.) Fluff, sexual tension, flirting. Summary: The morning after your first date with Harry, you're floating on Cloud 9. And it doesn't look like that's going to be changing any time soon. Notes: This week we've got another Alewife reference and a mention of Dave York's soulmate from Killer Writing!

Sunday morning comes with languid stretching and a hot shower, with your daily skincare routine and fresh clothes. It comes with the satisfaction of knowing you managed to clean up the mess that your client made last night, but the giddy ache of wondering what last night could have been.

You wander out into the kitchen to make a habitually large cup of coffee, not realizing you're grinning like an idiot. That your entire face and perky body language gives you away. Probably, you would have gone on with your whole day like that if Percy and Tamara hadn't been sitting at the kitchen table smirking at you.

"Well, she did come back to the apartment last night." Tamara snorts as she looks towards Percy. "So I don't think that she got lucky?"

Percy shakes his head. "I've never known Harry to send someone home after." He admits. "If he did that last night, we are going to have to have a talk."

“I wasn’t sent.” Even performatively rolling your eyes feels fake today, considering you’re grinning into your coffee as you sit down at the table. “I had a work emergency while we were still at the restaurant. We got interrupted.”

"Soooooo." Tamara's grin is wide, almost triumphant, as if she had been betting on a positive outcome. "It was a good date? It sounds like you hated having a work emergency and I know how much you love to work." She teases, most of the time when she is talking to Percy when he's home, you are still working late into the night.

“I do love my work. I just hate it when my client gets cold feet and panics all over my careful planning.” Still, that stupid grin is plastered on your face when you sit looking between your best friend and his soulmate. “Would you guys…mind terribly if Harry was my plus one for dinner tonight? I know I said I didn’t have one, but I’ll call the restaurant myself and fix the reservation.”

They exchange grins, long and slightly smug before Percy chuckles. "You owe me." He teases, winking at you. "But sure my other best friend can come to a dinner he had begged off of just a couple of days ago."

“He did?” You ask, obviously shocked.

Percy chuckles. "Yes, he did." He shrugs. "Said he would rather work but I guess something has changed."

“Oh.” But that only makes your smile grow, threatening to overtake your face now. “Well that’s…that’s an interesting development.”

“It is.” Tamara snorts. “Harry Castillo is a workaholic.”

“And no one at this table would know anything about that,” you snort, knowing full well that all three of you also fit the description.

“Not at all.” She hums. Percy snorts and reaches for her hand to press a kiss to the back of it. “Says the woman who is fitting house hunting into costume fittings and an interview.”

“Speaking of breaks.” Eyeing them down over your coffee is definitely not making you smile any less, but at least it focuses you. “Now that you have a wedding date, we can start booking your honeymoon. Have you picked a location yet?”

“We’ve been talking about that.” Percy tilts his head. “We are actually talking about the Maldives.”

“And we’re still talking about an all-inclusive?” When they agree, you take out your phone and start to open a new note to jot things down, but it glows with a new text message instead. “DoorDash?” You frown at the screen. “I didn’t order DoorDash, why am I getting a text about a delivery?”

“Maybe you accidentally ordered something while you’ve been floating above the clouds.” Tamara jokes.

“I haven’t opened DoorDash since you got back into town on Wednesday.” You’re still frowning at your phone, and even more so when the buzzer in your kitchen goes off and the Dasher announces themself.

“Hi—uh, I think there’s been a mistake.” You say when you answer it. “I didn’t place a delivery order.”

“It’s for somebody named Mack?” The woman in the lobby says into the speaker. “The order was placed by somebody named Harry for somebody named Mack.”

“Harry?” Percy looks confused for a moment before he breaks out into a wide grin. “Mystery solved.” He snorts.

There is no elevator in your Washington Heights apartment building, but you shuffle downstairs in your fresh clothes and slippers only to reappear in your apartment five minutes later with a delivery bag.

“What is it?” Percy asks, almost bursting with curiosity. “I bet you he sent you breakfast from that bagel shop he loves.”

"Let's...see..." The nondescript bag opens up to release the most intoxicating, unctuous sweet-spice smell that is as familiar to you as home. "Oh my god..." you gasp a little when you pull out the container with an unfamiliar restaurant logo on it and pop open the top.

Bananas foster pancakes. He actually hunted around the city and found you bananas foster for breakfast. You're practically gawking at the container when you take it out, but your phone is still in your other hand and the buzz snaps your attention away for a moment.

Harry had been watching the delivery progress on his phone. Sipping his coffee as he monitored it like he was some government watchdog group. Smirking to himself when the meal is marked delivered, he opens his messages and composes a text.

‘Since we didn’t get to share dessert last night or breakfast morning, this will have to do for now. XOXO Harry’

"Oh my god." It's a little stronger now. A little more pronounced. And the stupid grin that's been plastered on your face all morning turns dreamy as you sink down into a chair. "He...we had ordered dessert before I got called away last night...and we were talking about maybe spending the night and..." And this is by far the most fucking romantic thing a man has done for you ever.

'This is the best surprise in the world, you can't imagine how much I'm smiling right now. See you tonight – 7pm, Peking Duck House in Chinatown. XOXO'

‘Enjoy every bite. I’ll see you tonight, beautiful.’

Harry smiles to himself as he sets his phone down, hoping that you enjoy his little gift. He might have to have you compare it to your Alehouse treat you had talked up so much last night.

"I have a bone to pick with you, Perce." There is a plastic fork in the bag, so you sit down at the table with your delivery and set your phone down decisively. "How long have you been friends with this man and I'm only just meeting him?"

“Uhhhhh.” His shrug is a little half hearted and he gestures around. “You just got here.” He reminds you. “And you work a lot.”

"Well, you've been hiding him and he's perfect," you huff. "This is literally the nicest thing a guy has done for me ever."

Harry’s normally a flowers or pick up the check kind of man. Percy smirks as he realizes the thought that went into the gesture. “I think that it might be you, Mack.” He admits.

"Doubtful," you snort, rolling your eyes.

“Fucking hand to God.” He holds one hand over his heart and the other like he’s being sworn in to testify in court. “The man does flowers, not DoorDash.”

"Flowers are beautiful." And these pancakes are incredible. You groan happily and do a wiggly little dance in your chair over how good they are after the first bite. "Well...whatever it is, I'm not mad about it. He's gorgeous and sweet and funny. Like to the point where I'm willing to forgive him for being a Yankees fan."

Tamara snorts, shaking her head. “You two are fucking adorable together.” She admits. “He’s handsome and fucking loaded.” Her wink is pure teasing. “And it seems like he’s got a finger on your pulse.”

"Bet he could have his finger on something else pretty soon." Percy snorts, shoving back from the table. When you shoot him a pointed glare and huff dramatically, he flips you the bird in that playful way only lifelong best friends or siblings can really manage. "I'm not wrong!" He insists, disappearing into the kitchen and reemerging seconds later with the coffee pot to top off everyone's mugs.

“Thank you love.” Tamara bats her eyes at Percy playfully. “And whenever Harry puts fingers on Mack, it’s none of our business.” She informs him primly. “Probably tonight.”

The best you can do with a mouthful of pancakes is huff and roll your eyes, but when you’re done chewing you point your fork at both of them. “Since you’re not flying out until the morning, I’ll go to his place,” you joke.

Surely it’s just joking.

“So what’s the plan for today besides moon over your pancakes?” Tamara asks seriously with a smirk.

“I’ve got a bunch of roommate interviews at the coffeeshop on the corner this afternoon.” A half dozen in total, although you have your doubts about this batch. You’re just looking for someone to fill the gap after Percy moves out. They don’t have to be perfect.

Percy huffs, clearly not thrilled with this plan. “I’ve already said I would continue to pay for half the rent.” He reminds you.

“Perce.” Your fork comes up again, plastic tines pointed right at him. “I love you. You’re the brother I never had. But you don’t need to pay for a place you aren’t living anymore while you’re out there trying to buy a house with your soulmate. It’s okay.”

“At least let me pay if you don’t find anything but weirdos or creeps.” He barters, feeling horrible about the timing of this.

“If I’m still stuck in two weeks when next month’s rent is due, we’ll talk,” you promise him, though you know how that talk will go. Percy should be focusing on his happiness right now, and you don’t want to burden that at all.

He’s not happy with that and he shows it by sticking his tongue out at you like you are both twelve again.

Tamara’s face stays completely neutral even though she’s smirking on the inside. “I have never been so attracted to you before,” she deadpans, before pecking Percy on the cheek and getting up from the table.

“I should just pay the landlord.” He threatens mildly, reaching over and swiping a banana that had fallen to the side. “Then you can’t do anything but bitch.”

“Aren’t you the one who told me two months ago that when this lease ran out, I should look for something in a different neighborhood?” You pose, knowing he had. Washington Heights has been nice but this is the place he got after college almost a decade ago. “Maybe I’ll find somebody who really really loves this place and I’ll go somewhere else in six months’ time. There’s no way to know what’s going to happen, Perce.”

“Just-“ Percy worries about you. Feels so damn guilty he convinced you to come to New York and now he’s abandoning you. “Be careful about the neighborhoods, okay?” He asks seriously, his eyes filled with all the concern he doesn’t voice.

“Perce.” He worries. You know he does. You worried when he moved here too. But you’re both older and tougher than you were then. “I’m the daughter of a colonel and an Army nurse whose idea of retiring was joining the local fire department. You are the one who gave me my nickname, remember? You know I can handle myself.”

“I know….” He does know that. Realistically. Emotionally…you’re his slightly younger sister that he needs to protect from the bullies of the world. Even though sometimes you protected him.

Forking up another bite of pancakes, you shoot him a reassuring smile. “I’ll figure it out,” you promise him. “I always do.”

He knows that you can, but he also knows Harry has a pretty good beat on real estate in the city. He’ll ask him if he knows of any good buildings that have vacancies. “Sure thing.”

******

Right at seven, Harry is opening the door to the Peking Duck House. Dressed a little more informally since this is supposed to be a family dinner, but he still has a jacket on. Only to realize he doesn’t know who made the reservation.

"One for dinner, sir?" The smiling hostess at the front desk is carefully made up and styled, making the most of the simple black clothes that are a ubiquitous uniform of the restaurant industry.

“No, I’m meeting someone. People.” He clarifies, craning his neck to look over the tall dividers to find Percy’s big head sticking up. Or better yet, to find you.

“Could be under Stokes. Or Wilson.” He huffs, remembering that Wilson is Tamara’s surname. “Or…”

"Hi, handsome." You heard his voice from the other side of the screen, appearing around the side of the wooden divider in a short blue party dress and black tights that blend right into your black heels to make your legs look longer.

“Hey.” He grins and twists around to look at the hostess. “Her. I’m with her.” He promises, not bothering to wait before he’s walking to your side. “I’m not late, am I?” He asks. “You said seven.”

"You're not late," you promise him, instinctively holding out your hand to him. "I got here about a minute ago. Right after the lovebirds." Percy and Tamara are already sitting at a table with Tam's parents and her sister. A few more people are due to arrive, but the party will be less than ten when all is said and done. "How was your day?"

“Productive.” He admits, lifting a brow at you before he comes in to buss a kiss on your cheek. “You look beautiful.” He compliments. “How was your day?”

“Tiring,” you admit, though you look very obviously pleased at the compliment. “Amazing breakfast surprise notwithstanding, of course.”

“How does that compare to your Alewife?” He asks curiously as you turn to guide him back towards the table.

"Almost as good." When he looks half-stricken you laugh. "It was amazing. Honestly. But I'm sure you have a food or a place or something that nostalgia has made all glossy and rosy in your mind."

He gives you a look that says he doesn’t really know what you’re talking about, but he supports you right as the two of you reach the table. “Harry.” Percy is full of meddling mischief as he stands up to greet his friend. “What made you decide to come?” He asks, smirking at Harry like he’s discovered some wild secret.

“I was invited.” Harry snorts, shaking his hand and then leaning down to kiss Tamara’s cheek.

"Twice, wasn't it?" She grins at him.

"Definitely twice." Percy smirks. "Said no the first time, didn't you?"

“I was busy.” He sniffs but no one at the table is buying it as he sits down. “Now I’m not.”

"Well now you can come be not busy with some excellent food." Renee smiles at him and leans against her movie star sister at the table. "I'm so glad we went shopping for bridesmaids’ dresses before dinner."

“Have you found what you wanted?” He asks, not really interested but it is polite conversation. He had learned about that when Charlotte was planning her and Peter’s wedding. She had been quite upset when he didn’t seem to care about the details like she thought he was supposed to as the best man.

"We picked out the shade of blue and the fabric that we liked best." Tamara beams with excitement. "And both of my bridesmaids found dresses that they like, so I count the day as a stunning success." The trip had been a little anxiety inducing for everyone involved since you and Renee have exceedingly different body types and styles, but it had worked out. The advantage of keeping the wedding party small was that decisions could be made easily and quickly when the mood struck.

“That’s good.” He nods, accepting the menu when you hand it to him and opens it without looking down. “I’m sure that everything will be gorgeous.”

"Harry." Percy hums in amusement. "Don't you want to know who the rest of the wedding party is going to be?"

He frowns slightly as he glances over at his friend. “Sure.” He doesn’t really care, but he’s assumed he’s going to be in it. Or he might not. Who knows?

"Best man and maid of honor will be our siblings." Percy picks up Tamara's hand at the table and presses a kiss to her palm, right by the band of her engagement ring. "My brother and her sister, I mean. Then Tam's other bridesmaid is going to be Mack," he smirks at Harry. "And I thought I'd ask you to be my groomsman."

Harry blinks and looks at you, then Renee, Tamara and Percy. “Sounds like I have to make sure my tux still fits.” He chuckles. “Of course I will.”

“It’s just a little wedding party.” Tamara is glowing about it though, holding her little sister’s hand and Percy’s as she sits at the table. “One of my best friends is ordained to do weddings and he’ll be in New York with his family starting next week. Everything is lining up so perfectly.”

“Sixty-one days to go.” Harry hums as he smirks. “It’s good that the pieces are clicking into place.”

“Extremely good.” Percy agrees without hesitation. “I just hope house hunting goes this smoothly.”

“Do you have a real estate agent out there?” Harry asks, the question aimed towards Tamara.

“I do, yeah.” She nods. “My friends and I have all sort of used one office over the years. They’re discreet and excellent with finding secure properties.” Between her own career and Percy becoming the new head of the Castillo Holdings LA office, discretion and security matter.

“Good.” Percy nods so that makes Harry relax. “I know that you will find the perfect place to set up your honeymoon nest.”

“That’s one half of your real estate concerns taken care of,” Tamara’s mother agrees. Bernadette Wilson has her hands folded on the table and maternal concern painted on her face.

“What’s the other half?” Harry lifts his brows, curious as to what could possibly be more important than finding their first home together. That always seemed to be a priority for everyone.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” you insist. “I’m looking for a new roommate and Percy’s acting like a mother hen.”

“You’re giving up the apartment?” Percy had told him that he planned on keeping the apartment for when they had to travel back to New York. Those plans had obviously change.

“We talked about it…” Percy admits sheepishly.

“The three of us,” you note so it doesn’t sound like Percy and Tamara ditched you.

Percy nods. “The three of us talked about it. And we’re going to buy an apartment or a condo here instead. Something that will be big enough for our family when we have one.” The little walkup in the Heights was definitely not big enough for more than two people. And even then it was barely big enough for that.

Harry nods, aware that is a smart move. “But not now, right?” He asks, connecting the dots.

“Well…the lease technically ends at the end of the month,” Percy admits.

“The three of us,” you note so it doesn’t sound like Percy and Tamara ditched you.

Harry nods, aware that is a smart move. “But not now, right?” He asks, connecting the dots.

“Well…the lease technically ends at the end of the month,” Percy admits.

“I’ll take it over.” What no one at this table wants to say is that you’re probably the least wealthy person at the table barring Tamara’s sister who is in graduate school. No one wants to make you uncomfortable, but you don’t mind staying the facts. “I just can’t afford it without a roommate.”

“That apartment is overpriced.” Harry isn’t just saying that, he’s told Percy that for years. The third floor walk-up wasn’t even rent controlled. Nor did it have air like a lot of the pre-war buildings. The owner didn’t care about updating it. “Let me give you the name of a broker.” He offers. “In case your roommate idea doesn’t work out.”

“That’s very nice of you.” Impractical, because you likely won’t be able to afford a billionaire’s broker or the properties they would show you, but the gesture is what counts here.

He can tell that it’s a brush off, that you are just being polite, so he nods. “Okay.” He tells you, just deciding that he will give your number to his broker and let it go from there.

Conversation moves on. It’s a delicious and elaborate dinner with more dishes than all of you could possibly finish and plenty of wine. Harry’s hand lands on the back of your chair at one point. Then on your thigh. Your hand met his thigh in turn. The burn of warmth and wanting seems to just go on and on, until you’re pretty sure you’ve unconsciously scooted your chairs closer together at the table during the meal.

Percy sees it, if the shit-eating, ‘I told you so’ grin is any indication. Harry ignores it. Even if his own lips twitches slightly. He knows he will get a ration of shit but he doesn’t care.

It takes three rounds of goodbyes in the end, because Tamara’s family is so lovely and have been such a joy to meet, but eventually you end up walking out onto the sidewalk in front of the restaurant into the summer night with side by side with Harry.

“How is your bride feeling?” Harry asks, smirking slightly as he admires the way you carry yourself. The dress is very flattering on you and he honestly finds himself wondering what kind of lingerie you are wearing up under it.

“Much better, thankfully. I ended up at the hotel for an hour straightening things out and then straightening her out for another hour.” You offer him a lopsided smile, admiring him just as much as he is admiring you. The way he’s done his hair tonight, a little curl has come loose in front and just one lock of hair should not make you feel so feral. “Everyone has dreams. And for people who dream about their wedding, I think they view it as more attainable in some ways. But big dreams can mean big disappointments if something goes awry and people have trouble managing that. That’s…well, that’s why I have the job that I do. Because somebody can be there to help them.”

“I honestly don’t understand it.” Harry admits before he lifts his hands innocently. “I’m not insulting it.” He promises, not wanting you to feel like he’s demeaning your career. “I’ve just always learned that there are risks and sometimes the deals don’t turn out like you want.”

“But you’re in finance,” you remind him gently. “Your parents are in finance. Your brother is, too. The mentality is different for people who aren’t exposed to business right from the early stages of life. Of course some people are more easygoing or more understanding than others, but on the whole…people who are inclined to hire a wedding planner are often people who want something grand or people who need help with the business end of things.”

“If you didn’t do it for a living, would you plan your own?” He knows you want to get married. You’ve admitted that you dreamed about it for a long time.

“I don’t know.” You admit, chewing on the question for a long moment. “I think I might be the kind of person to hire a wedding planner. If my fiancé was okay with it.”

You prioritize. You understand that maintaining a career and trying to balance a large scale event would wear you down. But you are in the industry. “I see.” He nods. “That’s smart.” He chuckles. “That’s why Percy and Tamara wanted you to plan their wedding.”

“I hope I do them justice.” That’s what you hope with every client you have. Every couple who chooses you to plan their wedding gets a little piece of your heart for the time you’re a part of their story. “All I want is for them to be happy.”

“You heard them.” Harry snorts. “They could get married anywhere and be on top of the world.” He envies that, he envies the love that just seems to completely consumes them.

"They're lucky." For all the dreams you've ever had, the realistic part of you knows how rare that is. There are even plenty of soulmate pairs in the world that aren't as blissful in love as Percy and Tamara are.

“They are.” He agrees. “Did you bring your car?” He asks, looking around for the closest parking garage.

You shake your head and motion down the street in the direction that you walked from. "I took the subway tonight."

“So you’re telling me that you need a ride?” He smirks slightly and pulls out his phone to call his driver.

“I could easily take the subway home again,” you remind him, grinning all the while. “But if you’re offering, I won’t say no.”

“Where do you want to go?” He asks, sending a message and then glancing down at your heels. “Not far, I’m assuming.”

“I thought I was just going home,” you hum. You’re teasing him, but it seems to you that Harry likes to be teased. “I didn’t know I had options.”

“You seem like the type to explore the city after dinner.” He judges with a half crooked grin. “Somewhere historic, perhaps slightly romantic.”

This time you hum for real, a wistful smile overtaking your face. “Got any place in mind?”

“Have you been to Bow Bridge in all your running as a wedding planner?” He asks.

“I know what it is.” There’s no use in reminding him that you haven’t been in New York very long. He knows. He just wants to show you something and you want to let him. “But I’ve never been.”

“Then what do you think about a walk?” He asks, watching the car pull up. “After a drive, of course.”

"Sounds perfect." The last thing you want to do right now is end the night, and nearly anything he could suggest would sound good. A walk in Central Park? That is the New York City rom com moment you crave.

He smiles, reaching forward and opening the back seat of the car and motioning for you to get inside. “Then let’s go walk.”

The butter-soft leather seats of his car are so easy to slide across that it feels like air, and he gets in beside you at the curb. There is a five second pause before the car takes off into traffic again, and even that motion is as smooth as the seats.

“So where have you been in our city?” He asks, twisting in his seat and giving you a small smirk. It’s playful and teasing, his eyes expectant as he waits for your answer.

"The Natural History Museum. The Guggenheim. The Whitney." Naming off the places you've gone in your spare time is easy, but you haven't had that much spare time. Monday through Friday you're in the office while things are open, and on the weekends you do as much as you can between attending client weddings. "I got my library card and spent my first Sunday in the city wandering around the library aimlessly."

“I think the last time I went to the library was in college.” Harry admits, almost shocked that it’s been this long.

"No!" One hand goes to your chest, clutching your proverbial pearls. "That library has everything! It's incredible. Percy had to hunt me down and haul me out of there."

Harry chuckles and gives an almost embarrassed shrug. “If I need a book, I go buy it.” He admits. Most often his reading material is reports, so there’s no tangible need to visit the library.

"I'm guessing...you're not a big novel guy?"

“I don’t have much time to leisure read.” Harry frowns slightly, wondering if that’s wrong. “Do you?” He asks. “Read novels?”

"All the time." It's not too surprising that he doesn't, you reflect, but you wonder if he wishes he had more time for it. Running an entire company does take up a lot of time. "The classics, obviously. Jane Austen, Agatha Christie, Margaret Atwood. New stuff, too. Romantasy is so easy to fall down a rabbit hole into, but I love mysteries too. Have you ever read any of S.H. York's books?"

The name doesn’t ring a bell and it’s probably obvious on his face from the way that you snigger at him. Lips twisted in a disbelieving smile as you shake your head. “Can’t say that I have.”

"She's a mystery writer. She's got this series about a woman who works in a lab and falls in love with this government assassin who kidnaps her." When his face morphs into disbelief, you giggle. "I know, it doesn't sound romantic. But the writing is really good and the characters are deeply complex. They're so well mapped out. Her new series is amazing though. It's just on book two, but the main character is a cop who gets put on desk duty after an injury and each book in the series is supposed to be about solving a different cold case. The books go back and forth in time. They're great."

“Sounds interesting.” Harry chuckles, unsure of how someone could fall in love with someone who kidnaps them. It must be one of those ‘BookTok’ things that Charlotte has been going crazy over. “It sounds like she is a favorite of yours.”

"She is." You're knee to knee together in the back of his car as you head to Central Park and if it weren't so schoolgirl of you, you would reach for his hand. "You must have a favorite book?"

He shrugs slightly, searching through his memories of books he’s read. “I guess….100 Years of Solitude.” He offers, unsure of what you might think about his choice.

"A classic." One that you remember reading in college and spending weeks if not months ruminating on afterward. "Beautiful and sad. A bit like life."

“Life is always…surprising.” Harry admits. “You never have the path that you think you will when you’re younger.”

He's given himself away slightly, and you wonder if he did it on purpose. "Are you telling me little Harry didn't play financier with his stuffed animals?"

He glances out of the car, watching the people and buildings guide by. “I don’t think that I ever had stuffed animals.” He muses after a moment. “I had toys. I remember that. But I don’t think I had those.”

"I cannot explain how much that makes me want to drag you to a carnival and win you a stuffed bear at the ring toss game."

He chuckles and shakes his head. “What would I do with it?” He asks, amused that you would want to buy him something so silly.

"Put it on a shelf? Cuddle it? Look at it when you go through a room?" You tilt your head, considering him beside you. "Things don't have to be useful to bring you joy."

“Like art.” He nods, understanding what you are trying to say. He has plenty of art on his walls. Some of it is because of the value it is supposed to obtain or already has. Others are because the interior decorator picked it out. He understands the functionality of it, even if none of it ‘spoke’ to him.

"Exactly." You agree, glad that he's not looking at you with such confusion now, even if there was also amusement there. "Sometimes something silly can just make you happy. Like...if I won you a teddy bear at a carnival, I would hope that looking at it would make you think of me. That it would make you smile. That's its whole purpose. Just to make you smile."

“And pancakes make you smile.” He smiles at you softly. “Especially when they are bananas foster.”

"Right." That look on his face makes your stomach flip and your voice lighten. It brings a sigh right into your heart. "But it's...I have to be honest. Now it makes me smile because it reminds me of you."

“I knew you would like them.” He is proud that he had gotten that right, although it hadn’t been difficult to figure out. You are so open, easy to read.

"They were perfect." It feels like that was days or weeks ago and not just this morning. Something about Harry feels brand new and comfortingly familiar all at once. "It...might be the sweetest thing anybody's ever done for me, if I'm honest."

“Really?” He’s surprised and maybe a little concerned that it was so high on the list of gestures. “I’m happy that you liked it so much.”

"I really did." Your hand is itching to take his, and you end up sliding your hand under your thigh instead. It's awfully futile, as the car rolls to a stop a few seconds later, but something tells you that reaching for him in the moment would have felt...maybe desperate? Or at least needy, in that moment.

“We’re here.” He is a little disappointed that it wasn’t longer, enjoying the conversation with you. He feels like he doesn’t have to analyze every single comment and he likes that.

“It’s a beautiful night for a walk.” Something changed in his eyes just then, like a cloud drifting behind them, but you smile and try not to worry. Whatever this is between you, it’s only two days old. It’s not like the scars on your legs are from him. You don’t really have a right yet to pry or needle him for what he’s feeling in any given moment.

“It is.” He agrees, glancing down at your shoes. “Although are you sure that you will be alright in those?” He asks with a grin. “Never know how you walk in those. It’s like magic to me.”

“You might not like my secret,” you warn him with a grin. “Although it’s barely a secret, I guess.”

“Oh, I get to know a secret?” He perks up, smirking slightly. “Let me in on this.”

“There are specialty shoemakers for…larger customers. It’s not really a secret, but a lot of them make great dupes.” Holding out your foot to show him the black patent leather pump on your foot, you shrug. “These are Louboutin dupes. A hundred dollars, built to give bigger people with bigger feet style as well as comfort. But they look sheik as hell.” Are you carefully avoiding blatantly telling him you routinely buy shoes from websites and businesses aimed at drag queens? Sure. But you can’t argue with quality and you’d hate to find out he reacted poorly to the fact.

“Interesting.” He glances down at your feet and they look like they are quality. “I’ve never understood the appeal of the shoes that pinch your toes.

“These don’t.” In fact, you’re wiggling your toes right now, he just can’t see it. “They’re really well made. There’s only about two companies I actually buy shoes from anymore, just because the quality is so good.”

“Once you find a good brand and product, stick with it.” He agrees, deciding that he would snoop a little and find out what the brand is. See if he can rope Percy into letting him in the apartment to see what kind of collection you have.

“Absolutely,” you agree. “You must have preferred brands or designers, too. That’s a lot of what developing a style is.” Yours is a little more meticulous than some people’s, but that’s okay. You’ve done that for a myriad of reasons. Clients are more apt to trust a put-together looking wedding planner with a day they consider one of the most important of their lives. For you, style is branding.

“Yes.” He agrees. “Sometimes you aren’t selling more than yourself when you are with clients.” He tells you. “They trust someone who routinely looks put together, successful.” He chuckles quietly. “It’s always a ‘dress for success’ situation, isn’t it?”

“Always.” You can agree to that easily. “Dating is, too.”

There’s a pause where Harry thinks about that. “I guess you are right about that.” He admits before he offers you his arm.

Arm in arm is the perfect way to walk, and you loop your hand around his elbow easily. “There’s a trick, though. At least I think there is. Because some people don’t let don’t their walls or take off their own masks even for their partners. And then suddenly you’re not aloud to burp in your own apartment or walk around in sweats after you’ve moved in together.”

“You burp?” He feigns surprise, enjoying the way that you roll your eyes and laugh. “I didn’t think women did things like that.” He teases. “Only men burp and scratch their asses.”

“I would hate to contribute to your horror by having you find out that women are actually human,” you drawl, but the teasing is welcome. It’s a nice change from people who take themselves far too seriously. And it would be easy for Harry to take himself too seriously.

“I thought they were from Venus.” He intones seriously, tilting his head and frowning at you like you’ve just told him that the sky is purple.

“We really need to get you some updated reading material,” you tease right back.

He snorts. “That BookTok thing that I see the ladies in the office giggling over?” He asks, arching a brow. “Werewolves and operators?”

“I was thinking more like a modern medical text over a 90s pop-psych paperback, but whatever works.” The both of you are all but grinning at each other. The teasing is fun. It’s banter. It’s foreplay. “But I would kill to see the numbers you would do on BookTok. Gotta teach you the lean and get you read about fae.”

“Fae?” He looks completely perplexed and he shrugs slightly. “I have no clue what you are talking about.”

“I bet you anything that Charlotte has read half the same stuff as me.” He had told you about his sister-in-law a bit yesterday, and of course Percy had mentioned her here and there. “Don’t worry handsome, I’m not going to force you to read magical smut.”

“Isn’t it better to have sex rather than read about it?” He asks, his eyes dark and piercing when he looks at you again.

"Well...sure." But with him looking at you like that you're not sure you can even form a coherent sentence, let alone defend your reading material. "But not all of us...ya know—b-being single is a thing—" Good job dumb ass. You definitely sound like a coherent, intelligent adult.

“This is New York.” He snorts. “You can get sex any night you want. You just have to go out.” He lifts a brow at you, knowing Percy says you’re a workaholic like he is.

"You can get sex any time you want." And it absolutely isn't something meant to be a dig at yourself. Not when you first say it. It's more of a commentary on just how insanely hot he is.

He frowns at your tone and clears his throat. “Not always.” He murmurs, resenting all those times that he had been looked down on for his inadequacies.

A nerve has very obviously been touch and you have no desire to derail tonight by dredging up bad feelings or memories, so you press gently on his arm instead to make him look at you again. "Anybody who didn't get the privilege of getting to know you has lost out on how fantastic you are. Not the other way around."

He can tell you are trying to smooth ruffled feathers and console him. It’s sweet and unnecessary. He smiles at you. “Thank you.” He hums. “It’s not something I try to concern myself with.” He reaches over and pats your hand before looking at the path again.

“Sometimes it’s worth hearing from another person,” you offer. “That’s all.”

“I’ll remember that.” He walks for a few steps and then decides to ask. “What made you ask me out?” He pondered on that, because you don’t seem interested in social status or his money. He wants to know what made you go for it, especially since Percy said you didn’t normally do that.

“Honest truth?” You ask, glancing up at him. When he cocks his head at you like it’s a dumb question, you smother a laugh. “Because my gut told me I’d never meet anybody closer to the man I dream about at night. And that’s—that’s a lot — I know it is. But so far? My gut has been right.”

Your gut. He’s fond of following his gut. “You dream about someone?” He asks. “Who?”

"I don't know." That probably sounds weird, but it's true. "I think maybe my soulmate? Like...what my subconscious wants for my soulmate. Not like I'm having prophetic dreams or something."

“I would ask if you were a witch if you did.” He jokes, unsure of how to take your comment. It sounds like a compliment, but he couldn’t be that man for you because he doesn’t carry any marks from a soulmate. Never has. One girlfriend even questioned if he had a soul. It was something that honestly made Harry wonder at times.

"I don't mean it to be creepy," you clarify. "I've just always had these dreams. Domestic scenes of my future family. That kind of thing. Some people have recurring dreams where they fly or whatever. I have recurring dreams where I have a happy family."

“It’s not creepy.” He promises. “Just like you’ve dreamed about your wedding since you were little right? It’s the wanting of something. The hope.”

"I guess I must have a lot of hope, then." Since you certainly have a lot of dreams, and he seems to equate the two. "Is it...invasive? To ask what you dream about?"

“I don’t—” he frowns slightly. “I have goals…but I don’t know if they would be dreams.” He admits, wondering if you would find him creepy for that.

"Okay." He seems very focused on terminally, and you file that knowledge away. "So what are your goals, then?"

He chuckles at how simple the question seems. “Well, maintain my career success.” That’s a given. “Be a good friend. Find a romantic partner. Get married.”

"That seems pretty straightforward." It sounds like a checklist, and you wonder to yourself how many goals he has stored away in his mind that he doesn't tell people about. Impractical things. Frivolous. Fanciful. "Anything else?" You flash him that grin that he seems to love. "Or is your life complete when you get married?"

“There’s kids, but that depends on the partner.” He feels like you might be teasing him. “Hopefully stay married.”

"That usually is the hope." A gentle squeeze of his arm as you walk is as much a reassurance as it is wanting to be close to him. You feel both, and equally. "I want kids, too, for the record. And it sounds to me like you have some beautiful goals. Ones that a lot of other people would even call dreams."

“Dreams.” He hums softly, wondering if that’s what it is. Dreams. He’s never actually thought of it that way. “And what are your dreams? Behind the soulmate and kids?”

"Whoever he is, he doesn't have to be my soulmate. Just someone who loves me." He turns you down a path past some empty benches and past more trees. Central Park is beautiful, occupied with a dozen other couples tonight, all of you out for nighttime strolls. "Sometimes I think about having my own business one day. Or being able to take my kids on vacation. Give them really fantastic memories, ya know?"

He nods, although he’s never really imagined not being able to take someone on a vacation. “So you would want a wedding business?” He asks curiously.

"I think so." A couple passes you and the woman shoots you a knowing grin, as if to congratulate you on your great catch -- you shoot her the smile right back. Everyone deserves to feel good about their happiness. "I've planned other events and I think my niche really is weddings. Or at least wedding related things. Bridal showers, anniversaries, weddings, all that jazz."

“You seem to be very good at it from what I can see.” He offers with a reassuring smile. “I know plenty of my top executives that would cave under the pressure of deals and contracts and you seem to have a knack for negotiating.”

"I will take that as the highest compliment." Considering one of his top executives is your best friend, you know the caliber of person he's talking about.

“You should.” He had watched you. Not in the room unless you could when he was bringing you drinks or checking on you. But he had seen the way you took calls and handled vendors. Even when your date was interrupted you managed to stay levelheaded. He likes that about you.

“I love what I do. I think that matters.” Passion may not be everything to every person, but it certainly matters to you. It always has.

“I think it has to matter in your profession.” He agrees.

“It does.” You can agree to that. Wholeheartedly, in fact. “If I didn’t love it, I think I’d have gotten overwhelmed on the very first day.”

“How do you keep it all organized?” He asks, appreciating the way you must multitask.

"A lot of color-coding." It would probably make you seem insane to someone who didn't know how much paperwork and scheduling you have to deal with. "But it's so satisfying. Each client file gets a code, its own batch of folders, its own tabs, everything."

Color-coding. It’s simple but it sounds like it is a solid system. “That sounds….” He smirks slightly. “Solid.”

"I probably look like a psychopath to somebody from the outside," you admit, but you're laughing anyway. "I give all my clients a flower name as a code name. So I've had notes on my desk that read like indie band names or something. Teal Hyacinth and Maroon Sunflower and stuff. I admit, it sounds weird."

He does laugh now, for the simple fact that it sounds so sweet. It matches you. He shakes his head. “A romantic to your very core.”

"And if I ever pretend otherwise, I'm lying."

He nods, aware of that but you have no qualms about being honest about it. “If you deny being a romantic, you’re being held hostage.” He intones seriously.

That thought somehow strikes you as hilarious, and you practically snort with laughter. “Sure. Yes. There would absolutely be a circumstance under which somebody might hold me hostage.”

He chuckles and shrugs. “Maybe they need a wedding in a hurry and take you hostage to plan it.” It’s ridiculous, but he had been going for ridiculous just to hear that laugh some more.

It works, of course. The ring of your laugh is easily unleashed into the night air and you lean into his side a little as you walk together. “Alright, I suppose I’ll plan their hurried, villainous wedding. But you have to come rescue me when you hear our code. Deal?”

“Deal.” He grins at you, aware that he is not superhero material. “As long as there is complete adoration in your eyes when I save you.”

“I thought there always was.” When you turn your eyes up to his, you know it’s there, shining as bright as your smile. “At least…in the forty-eight hours since we met.”

He looks at you, softly and like you are wonderfully complex puzzle to solve. “Might be that I’ve overlooked that.” He teases.

“Too busy looking at my ass?” You suggest, always ready to tease him back.

Harry stops and lets go of your arm to lean back and survey your ass. “Yeah. That might just be it.” He tells you with a grin as he looks back up at your face.

Your snort of laughter rings loud and clear, making you all but throw your head back and reach for his arm all over again to steady yourself. “I’m glad you like it,” you manage, words pushed out between giggles.

He chuckles himself, wrapping your arm around his again and tugs you closer. “I do.” It might be a little bit of a surprise, but your fuller figure is sexy.

“Glad to hear it.” It isn’t something you’re going to take for granted. Not when a man like Harry Castillo — who could have anyone — is choosing to spend his time with you.

“Although you have to tell me what you see in me.” He hums playfully, sliding his gaze back over to you.

Ah. A touch of insecurity cracking the surface is actually a comfort. It’s nice to know he doesn’t know how perfect he is. “Do you want the complete list?”

“I doubt it’s a list.” He snorts, shaking his head at you.

“You’re intelligent,” you begin with the most obvious and start ticking off fingers. “And clever, those are different things. Kind. Funny. Sweet. Romantic, although I can’t tell yet if you’re surprising yourself and me with that. You care very deeply about the people in your life. You’re respectful. And curious. You ask questions and give things so much thought. Oh.” Holding up your tenth finger, you shoot him a sly grin. “And you’re smoking hot. Even if you are a little taller than my usual type.”

He frowns at you. “You like shorter men?” He huffs in disbelief. “No one likes shorter men, not really.” Although your list is incredibly flattering, your last nugget of information has him floored.

“You’ve never heard of a short king?” You ask him incredulously. It probably seems odd coming from a woman of above average height, but you were not always this tall. Not by any means. “I mean it works out, because you’re taller than me and I like to wear heels, but I swear. For most of my life I’ve date guys who were like…5’6” or 5’7” and the absolute tallest.”

“Oh.” He frowns slightly and looks down at his body and then back at you speculatively. “I’ve never- you really dated men that height? On purpose?”

“Yeah.” You have to laugh at his incredulousness, but you get it. Most men think being short is a curse. “It took a long time before I hit my…I call it my ‘last big growth spurt’. I guess you could argue that I like guys around my height and I was pretty short.”

You are shorter than the last five women he had dated. He normally preferred a woman around 5’9” or 5’10”. Thinking that he would have tall children if he had kids with them. But he’s been drawn to you despite that. “That’s interesting.” He admits softly.

“I know there’s all kinds of things about how tall men are supposed to be vastly superior, but I think it’s all personal perspective.” He sounds oddly introspective about the topic, so your mind immediately spins, trying to talk through it. “Like when men say they want a woman with a sense of humor, they mean they want a woman who laughs at their jokes. But when woman say they want a man with a sense of humor? What they mean is that they want someone who makes them laugh. I guess, from my perspective, all that ever mattered was that my perfect guy would be just a little taller than me so he can be my big spoon and I can gaze up at him adoringly on a daily basis.”

“You like being the little spoon.” He chuckles, unsure of how he feels about your observations. You’re right about the sense of humor thing. From what he can tell, most men want women to think they are funny.

“Do you like being the big spoon?” Asking the question with an air of life or death gravitas through your smile is just a way to make him smile in turn.

“I like-“ he pauses and tilts his head as he thinks about it. “Facing my lover.” He says, as he thinks through the last few lovers and how he’s held them. “So we can kiss. Although I like putting my leg up over hers.” He looks at you. “What does that say?”

“I’m not a psychologist, but it sounds like you crave connection.” Walking together, you’ve slowed your pace a little and you can see the bridge up ahead. “I like that.”

“But I can’t sleep touching.” He adds quickly, as if that might completely change your outlook.

A curious eyebrow raise. “Do you get too warm? Toss and turn?”

“I like to sleep on my side.” He admits. “Hugging a pillow.”

Instinctively, the awwe that passes your lips is soft. “The image of you all comfy in bed is…it’s very sweet,” you admit.

He snorts, never been described as sweet before. “I guess.” He chuckles.

“Doesn’t take compliments well,” you hum. He had said the same thing about you and it seems you share that characteristic.

“Personal ones.” He admits that freely. “Professional ones I will soak up like a sponge.”

"Noted." You beam a smile at him. "Although I will not promise not to compliment you."

“I wouldn’t expect it.” He promises. “Just like I won’t promise not to tell you that you look stunning tonight. That dress is….” He groans. “Very sexy.”

“I’m going to start keeping track of your favorite pieces of my wardrobe,” you tease. Not that your closet is very big. Or full. It won’t take long for him to see everything.

“Oh am I getting a color-coded folder?” He asks, amused by the idea. “I don’t have a wedding or event to plan.” He points out. “I’m assuming this is a personal file?”

“I’ll have to give you a code name.” The fact that he’s happy to go along with the joke makes you both smile, and you wish you’d kissed him already so you could do it now freely. “What is your favorite flower? Or color?”

“I don’t think I have a favorite flower.” He admits with a rueful chuckle. “And black is my favorite color. It goes with anything.”

"Thank god you didn't say dahlias," you smother a laugh. "I am not calling your folder after a famous unsolved murder."

“That might be taken as a bad omen.” He laughs, stopping when the bridge comes into sight. “There she is.”

"She's beautiful..." A bridge is such a simple thing, conceptually speaking. This little oasis amongst the winding paths and curated beauty of Central Park is welcoming. Practically beckoning. Like a balcony waiting with baited breath for a Juliet.

“There have been quite a few weddings here.” Harry tells you. “I saw one just last year. Obviously the park doesn’t want to shut down for hours, but this is a romantic little spot for a small ceremony.”

"I would imagine a lot of couples come walking here on early dates." Just like you are, you think with a grin. "I can see it being a favorite memory to tie into your wedding."

“It’s a nice spot.” He agrees. “Outdoors, fresh air.” He nods towards a vendor selling ice cream. “Simple and satisfying treats.”

"I can't tell if you like simple things or not." And that isn't a judgement call, either. It's just an observation. Harry is a bit of an enigma in the way he holds himself, and it feels like it's by design.

“Who doesn’t like ice cream?” He huffs, almost insulted as he guides you towards the cart. “Especially on a warm night. Sticky and sweet.”

"Well sure." Hell, you're not one to say no to a cold, sweet treat either. "But I feel like you should be surrounded by Michelin pastry chefs crafting personalized flavors for you."

“Are you saying that you think I’m a snob?” He sounds shocked but his face is grinning, telling you that he enjoys thinking about that first interaction you had. “That I’m bougie?”

"You're definitely bougie," you giggle, letting him pull you into line for the ice cream cart. "I never said you were a snob."

“You implied it about my alcohol.” He reminds you as he scans the board with all the flavors listed. “Now I guess I have to order vanilla instead of the double chocolate, caramel crunch swirl.”

The broad grin that sweeps over your face is unapologetic. Borderline shit-eating. “I was trying to get you to talk to me,” you admit, fully unashamed. “It worked.”

“And what would you have said if I had just been drinking a Stella?” He wants to know, enjoying your little self satisfaction.

“I might have started in on something else. Baseball or music.” It would have been whatever occurred to you in the moment. Impulse tended to work in your favor when you were first meeting people. Spontaneity.

“See but you would have instantly lost me talking about baseball.” He jokes. “Since you like the Phillies.”

“Cardinals!” You correct him, giggling as the two of you step up to the front of the line.

“I distinctly remember you saying the Phillies.” He counters, shaking his head in mock rumination, even though he knows you had said the Cardinals.

“I would never say the Phillies.” You huff, rolling your eyes when the girl at the ice cream cart brightly asks Harry what he would like to order.

“I am going to have vanilla.” He pouts, just to make you huff and slap his arm. “No. Not really. Can I have a scoop of the double chocolate Carmel crunch swirl?” He asks politely, grinning at you. “And whatever this wonderful lady would like?”

“I’ll have the same,” you tell the girl, having barely processed anything in the moment besides Harry’s sweet playfulness. You’re not sure you could name another ice cream flavor on that cart if you tried.

“Are you sure?” He isn’t trying to undermine you. “If you want something else, we can share?”

“Chocolate and caramel is a superlative combination,” you insist, but he radiates one doubtful eyebrow at you, and you roll your eyes again. “Fine, I was distracted by you being charming and handsome. I admit it.” It doesn’t, though, take long to decide and a few seconds later you’re asking the amused looking employee for a scoop of s’mores swirl.

He snorts as he pulls out his wallet to pay. Amused by the claim of distraction. It’s quickly scooped up into bowls and he leads you towards the bridge. “At least you get dessert tonight.”

“I’m sorry I had to run out.” He knows you are, and he understands, but it bears repeating.

“No apologies are necessary.” He promises you. “If anyone understands, it’s probably me.” He chuckles. “Plenty of women that I’ve dated don’t seem to realize how much I actually work.” He had accepted it, even if it had ruined several prospects. “They thought I just….made money.” Harry gestures vague towards a tree. “Like I have an orchard of money trees.”

“That” you swallow a lick of ice cream. “Would be an extremely cool orchard.”

“It would.” He agrees, spooning up a particularly delectable bite of his ice cream and offers it out to you to taste.

You offer him the same, making both of you grin in the sugar-sweet moment. “Tricky to harvest though. Bills must blow away like leaves.”

“Does that count as pissing money away?” He asks before he takes the bite you offer him.

“Maybe,” you snort. “Or maybe just letting it fly away.”

The reaction to your ice cream is a loud groan of pleasure. “That’s good.”

“Right?” You giggle a little at the reaction, but you fully agree. “I was such a s’mores kid growing up.”

“It’s good, but I’ve always been a salty sweet caramel kind of person.” He admits. “It’s the best.”

“Noted.” One more detail to tick away in the back of your mind. Another puzzle piece of who he is.

He tilts his head playfully. “Should I just send over a report to put in the file?” He teases.

“Nope.” Playfully bumping your shoulder against just, you’re grinning all over again. “It’s more fun to find out organically.”

Both of you casually stroll over the bridge as you eat your ice cream. “So you like bananas foster and s’mores.” He chuckles. “I bet your third favorite dessert is Baked Alaska.”

“Actually?” You brandish your spoon, thinking back and finishing your bite of ice cream. “I’ve never had a Basked Alaska. My third favorite dessert would probably be…raspberry cheesecake.”

Raspberry cheesecake. He smirks slightly at you and tilts his head back to the ice cream cart. “They have cheesecake ice cream back there that you add your own fruit swirl to.”

"Next time." In your gut, you know it isn't too cocky to assume there will be a next time. It's a natural, easy progression. But you are in danger of losing your thread of sanity a little if you don't manage a good night kiss tonight.

“Next time.” He can agree to that. At the top of the bridge he stops, turning to look out over the water. “It’s always peaceful here.”

"Sometimes a little peace is worth more than almost anything else." It's a quiet night by New York standards, and looking out over the park together is heart-flutteringly rom com.

“Priceless.” Harry agrees, spooning up the last bite of his ice cream and sighing. “Absolutely priceless.”

"Harry?" Standing in companionable quiet side by side, you put your empty ice cream cup down on the edge of the bridge and tilt your head to have a better look at him. Patently unfair -- the man is so gorgeous that he glows in the moonlight.

“Hmmm?” He turns to look at you. Not just giving you a turn of the head, but his entire body twists to face you.

"Expecting you to read my mind is completely unrealistic, so I'm going to put it out there instead." And pretty much shiver with nerves on your heels in the process, but you're trying to be an adult here. "I--would really like to kiss you tonight."

“Now?” He asks, shocked but trying to hide it. Not even sure why he’s shocked. You’ve been very open about where you stand with him. “Or when I drop you off at home?”

"It doesn't have to be either, if you're not comfortable with it," you clarify, but you can feel the pit of your stomach bottom out. Just standing around and waiting for a man to hand you your perfect rom com dream is unrealistic and potentially a little unhinged, so you've always resolved to be up front with people about how you feel. That doesn't mean you want to be pushy or demanding. Or worse, come off as entitled.

He can read it in your eyes. You want this to be the moment. Harry steps closer and his hand slowly curves around your thick hip to pull you close. “I don’t think it gets any better than right now.” He admits.

The urge to protest that you weren't trying to push is smothered as quickly as meeting his eyes. While it may not have been at the forefront of his mind, he's leaning in so easily that there can't be any hesitation in it. Any protest you could have conjured dies on your tongue just before your eyes flutter shut.

You close your eyes before he kisses you. His lips curve at the discovery and there is a chuckle in his throat when his mouth presses against yours. Immediately coming out as a groan before dying off all together because of the soft, sweet texture of your lips and how it makes his stomach immediately clench in pleasure and want.

His hand stills on your hip in that moment, freezing entirely before fully giving over to the feeling and pulling you even closer so his arm can slide around your back. One of your hands has found a place on his chest but the other makes it all the way to the curls at the base of his neck and you swear the whole world has just tipped on its access. This sweet man tastes even sweeter, and you just might float away altogether if you don’t hang on to him.

There’s a skill to kissing. He’s been told he’s a good kisser before. Several times. He’s not thinking about skill right now. He’s not thinking at all beyond wanting more.

It’s like drowning in a lifeboat, where the thing you need to save you is also the exact thing that is threatening to pull you under. If you never stop kissing him it will already be too soon, but at the same time? A girl’s got to breathe.

You pull back suddenly, almost gasping and for a split second, Harry thinks that you might not have enjoyed the kiss. Until he sees your face. Until your eyes flutter open.

“Sorry,” you murmur sheepishly, cheeks burning hot, and eyes soft and dreamy. “Forgot how to breathe for a second there.”

The slow smile that crosses his face is one of delayed satisfaction. Like he’s just processed what that means. “Stole your breath away?” He asks teasingly.

“Maybe.” Definitely. But the smirk that curls into the corner of your mouth isn’t judging or knowing or proud. It’s delighted.

“Good.” He pulls you closer. “Let me steal it again?”

You mean, sliding both arms around his neck. “Does it count as stealing if I give it away freely?”

He considers that for a moment and then shakes his head. “It’s all about intent.” He decides with a smirk before coming in for another kiss.

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

TSoMS: @inept-the-magnificent @aomi-recs @noisynightmarepoetry @beezusvreeland @vikiii07

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Harry Castillo #Harry Castillo x reader #Harry Castillo x female reader #Harry Castillo x f!reader #Harry Castillo x plus size reader #Harry Castllo x ps!reader #plus size reader #Materialists #Materialistis fanfic #soulmate au

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thinkingotherwise · 3 days ago

Note

Okay so hello I'm new here and the first fanfic I read was your "Summer time" And I absolutely got hooked!

Okay so I'm From the Philippines please to meet you

Can I request you a Bofurin and shishitoren x F reader (character are the same from your fanfic "summertime")Who's from the Philippines but moved to Japan when she was in middle school and is in a all girls school

Reader is known as the "top student" In here school always passing her test and exam and maintain a good grades She's also known for her Three Language knowledge (Filipino, French and Spanish she's half Japan so she already knows) The main reason for her knowledge about those languages is funny French because she thinks it's romantic while Spanish because she can curse out loud without anyone knowing what it means

So reader randomly would say sweet things in either French or Spanish like " Tu es beau mon amour (You look handsome my love) or Te amo ¿lo sabías? (I love you you know that?) Bonus she would sometimes speak Filipino as well

And the characters would get confused and reader likes it and if they ask she would shrug which lead them to finding out those meanings and once they found out they are Completely Smitten and Once again fall for her again

That's all hope it isn't too much

I'm so sorry that it took so long to write it. All because I had writer's block for Wind Breaker fics, and I tried to move to other series, and then I took a break before coming back to writing for the Bofurin boys.

WB characters x Trilingual! FIlipino! reader

Romantic - French - calling him sweet things in French, and he loves it and melts while hearing it, even if he sometimes doesn't want to show it in front of others. (Tu es si beau mon amour.) - asks you to teach him some endearments so he can call you that, and then calls you that in front of others, making them wide-eyed while he shows off (mon cœur / mon trésor)

Uryu Sakaki would melt, hugging you tightly while you spoke to him in French, he wouldn't let you go, keeping you close and nuzzling into your neck to hear better what you said

Jo Togame, he loved it when you read to him while playing with his hair or when he was playing online shogi, he found that listening to you speak different languages helped him relax and play better

Yukinari Arima, he surprises you by sending you memes and sweet photos in French, saying 'this us', he doesn't know what half of them mean, thinking the photo should be enough to understand - no it isn't

Teruomi Inugami loves compliments and your cute accent, and makes sure you know about anything he did that he thinks deserves praise, just to hear you acknowledging all his accomplishments

Kota Sako loves your accents as much as French sweets, making you repeat the names and even giving you a cute nickname based on one of the pastries

Hayato Suou would learn French secretly, not only to understand your sweet words, but also to search for weird slang to confuse you

Haruka Sakura would be a blushing mess the moment you spoke to him in French, thinking it sounded really nice, not to mention when you call him endearments in the language, he would argue and say he hates it - he would be so lying

Cussing out - Spanish - when he heard you cussing out in Spanish for the first time, he was confused and thought you were saying gibberish - next few times he heard you, he recognized that there were some words he had already heard you say (come mierda / hijo de puta) - you tell him all about how you prefer to curse in Spanish because it has more impact than Japanese curses - he tries to use some words he heard and completely mispronounces them, making you laugh, and then teach him as he repeats them

Mitsuki Kiryu would cuss out people he played with in Spanish, proudly showing how quickly he learnt the words

Choji Tomiyama, he was mispronouncing the curses he heard you yelling during fights, and when you heard him, you laughed joyfully, before deciding to correct him, telling him how to say it properly, he then continued to yell out, this time even more confidently

Toma Hiiragi was shocked to hear you cuss out in some weird words, only later recognizing it as Spanish, hearing them fall out of your mouth so many times, he caught some of them and unconsciously started using them

Seiryu Sakaki, he likes to irritate you, repeating after you and butchering Spanish words, only to surprise you and call you his cute idiot in Spanish

Minoru Kanuma sends you pictures with Spanish text over clothes and then surprises you with two shirts with funny texts/curses he heard from you, making you wear one, while he has the other one

Tasuku Tsubakino would use your knowledge to tell them all about music and songs they want to pick for their dancing, and when they started singing one of the songs, you had to make sure they knew the kinda vulgar words they sang

Kyotaro Sugishita, after many times of listening to you he would actually learn the words, but only to know if something disturbed you, then he would come to you and ask what was wrong, ready to help you get rid of whatever caused you to cuss

Family - Filipino - he hears your call with your family and how you speak with your parents, and is very curious and listens to you carefully - first meeting with your family, and when you introduce him your parents are surprisingly taken by him, despite you both being nervous - they immediately take him in as their new son

Takeshi Enomoto would be scared to meet your family, because of his rugged looks, but is shocked by how kind they were and how your mother told him to call her mom the second he stepped into the living room

Yuto Kusumi, your parents are surprisingly adoring of his outfits, the comfy sweaters and cardigans, saying how much they like it and calling him endearments in Filipino

Taiga Tsugeura, your parents love him so much, he always asks if they need help, and they coo at him, saying how good of a son he would be for them and for you to keep him

Akihiko Nirei, they adopted him as their own the moment they saw him, he looked just so adorable, they would easily take his side whenever you have a disagreement

Ren Kaji, he was nervous and worried he would blow up at them, but they easily understood him and even made sure there was some music playing in the background whenever he came over

Hajime Umemiya, they taught him how to call them in Filipino, and he happily did so, he was so helpful and kind, they joked they would exchange you for him whenever you irritated them, they even started saying that Ume doesn't deserve you - of course, playfully

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docholligay · 3 days ago

Note

Every episode of Fullmetal Alchemist is just you looking at the characters and going "I want you to stop." /affectionate

I HAVE NOT SEEN PAST EPISODE 18 PLEASE DON'T SPOIL EM ALSO THIS IS JUST PRETENDY FUN TIME GAMES

Me standing in front of Ed, Roy, and Scar: Okay, so in my hand, I have a hat. I have written down several different, lovely, enriching careers. You are going to draw something out of the hat and go do that instead.

Ed: I have to--

Me: Girl, you just learned that the philosopher's stone is made out of people. Let it go.

Roy: I--

Me: You are making everyone's life worse, including yours. You have not done any good for anybody. Sucks to have soaked so much time into something that makes everyone miserable, including--DO NOT ARGUE WITH ME ROY MUSTANG I AM GOD IN THIS WORLD. It's never too late to stop fucking up.

Scar: *sits quietly*

Me: One of you has sense. *points finger* No killing those two. We're done with this. You're all going to go fuck off and contribute to society. POSITIVELY.

*shakes hat*

Ed, drawing: Lawyer??

Me: You love fucking nothing like reading old books and arguing. You'll be fantastic. You will have to lose the Hot Topic look, here's a gift card to Brooks Brothers. I bet with your skin tone, a grey suit would be great. Pink shirt will set off your hair.

Roy *Opening a slip of paper*: Open a wine cafe that serves a variety of regional cheeses.

Me *hands him 'the wine bible*': Learn all of this and then you can spend your days swirling a glass and telling people what to drink. Set your distributors against each other if you need drama. Put Hawkeye in charge of the cheese *slaps 'the world cheese book' onto the desk* I trust her and she also needs to chill the fuck out.

Scar *draws paper*: Mailman.

Me: You know what you're good at? Doggedly going on in the heat, rain, whatever. This also requires next to no people skills. You can mull over how God hates you all day if you want. All you have to do is put the mail in the slot.

Ed *claps*: Hey it won't...

Me: No, all of you are gonna take a break from alchemy for a little fucking while. *hands them all 'The PTSD workbook'* That one's on the house. Get out. Go to work. We're done with military and guerilla bullshit. It's time to be useful.

#doc answers #Anonymous

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splonk-fox · 1 day ago

Text

Something I don't think a lot of people realize about Nugget and Lily's relationship is that they're actually a lot more closely intertwined than it would initially appear.

In the first game they are the ones who were the closest to Billy and were clearly the most affected by his disappearance. Lily making it her goal to find him no matter the cost and refusing to make friends or really even socialize until she's done. Meanwhile Nugget became grief-stricken by Billy's disappearance to the point where he began taking the principal's pills just so he could forget the pain.

Lily and Nugget are also the ones who end up being targetted by the two major bully characters in the first game, with Cindy's mission revolving around humiliating Lily while Nugget has slop thrown at him every morning by Buggs.

Nugget and Lily's missions also have pretty close ties to each other, with Nugget's mission requiring the player give Lily a love letter while Lily's mission is only accessible if you give her Billy's note which Nugget gave to you and also requires the player to be sent to the principal's office by Nugget, so even if he's not directly involved he is still incredibly important to the mission.

Last thing I want to point out about the first game specifically is that Lily and Nugget are both portrayed as outcasts of sorts. Nugget is self-explanatory with how he admits to having no friends and the fact that everyone (including Lily) finds him weird, but Lily herself doesn't really seem to be in a much better position.

She has no friends outside of Billy in the first game. No one even talks about her outside of Nugget, Cindy, Jerome's dad and Ms. Applegate, and of those four only one of them actually sees her in a positive light, everyone else either hates or ignores her.

There's admittedly not as much to say about their relationship in the second game as they literally have no interactions outside of Creature Feature due to Lily being in hiding the whole time. That said I do find it interesting how it is Nugget specifically that she decides to give the Monstermon Plush to when it probably would've made more sense to give it to Kid considering he was the one who helped her save Billy in the first place, yet it was Nugget who she ultimately trusted it with at the end.

Aside from that there is the other, more obvious stuff, like Nugget's mission once again being crucial to her and Billy's, the fact that Nugget actually plays a direct role in said mission and of course, the ship tease moments at the end of the game.

Finally there's Kindergarten 3. I doubt I even need to explain this one. Nugget and Lily literally get their own mission together that is all about exploring their relationship dynamic, do I really need to explain myself here?

Outside of these specific instances, there are also other ties they have that aren't tied to any specific entry and can be applied to the entire series.

Lily and Billy's dad is the one who created the Monstermon Cards which are required to get the secret endings of the first two games where Nugget fucking murders everyone.

Both Nugget and Lily are named after and have a strong associations with an inanimate object (Nugget being well... nuggets and Lily being flowers)

I'm sure there are more details that I'm missing here, in which case feel free to point them out. But my point is that Nugget and Lily's relationship goes way deeper than just "weird kid likes pretty girl and pretty girl might like him back". They are both crucial to each other's development and have ended up driving out each other's best qualities because of it.

Had it not been for you giving Lily Billy's note at the start of her mission (something which Nugget says you should do by the way), Lily would've never found her brother and she would've remained the sad, lonely little girl that no one pays attention to unless it was to bully her. Instead she did find him, and we can see in the latter two games that she's much more confident and sure of herself than she ever was in the first game. All I'm saying is that Lily post-Kindergarten 1 would not have taken Cindy's bullshit and you can at least partially thank Nugget for that.

As for Nugget himself, while his development is a lot more subtle than Lily's is, he is shown to be a lot friendlier and more heroic in the second and third games compared to the first. He still does a lot of morally questionable things but it does appear that spending time with Lily has genuinely made him a less murderous person, even if he still dabbles in violent acts occasionally.

Overall, the point of me making this post is to say that Lily and Nugget's relationship is a lot more interesting than first meets the eye. I'm not saying that you have to ship them or anything, it's fine if you don't, I just made this post cause I love these two goobers and think they deserve more love.

#kindergarden game #kindergarten 2 #kindergarten 3 #lily kindergarten #kindergarten nugget #nugget x lily #lilget #analysis

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theneighbourunderthebed · 2 days ago

Text

I love shipping two characters that fucking hate each other. Anyways, get 11 pm ramblings from a caffeinated idiot who's supposed to be sleeping

Anyway, the dad and Mark Adams from the Neighbour's. Their asses dated in like, late high school. I don't make the rules y'all, it's canon (lie) that they did.

I'm gonna relapse back into calling the dad Jack because I really like the name Jack. Either that or I'm gonna name him John and Johnny is now John junior. Uh. I'm gonna name him John

Anyways, these two fucks met back when they were on their respective elementaries' football teams, facing off for the interschool competitions because those happen in other countries right. Wutheringham (is that how you'd spell that?) Rangers for John, Raccoon City for Mark. They were canonically 10 when the Rangers beat the Raccoons 7-nil. And they were just. Not friends. John because he wasn't interested in befriending the enemy and Mark because those sons of bitches beat the Raccoons without even letting them score once????? Yeah, this is where Mark develops a deep fucking hatred for the Rangers. And also Abigail is like one of Mark's closest friends because everyone else on the team thinks he's a weirdo and the team also thinks that Abigail is a weirdo. Yeah and he's bad with names so people lowkey don't like him for forgetting who tf he's talking to

Anyway, they'd meet again when they're in high school. Mark goes to sign up for the football team and finds a familiar name on the little sign up paper thingy. John Evans. The little blond cunt that was part of the Rangers. Fuck

Uh, John is actually pretty chill in person when he's not hyperfixating on football. He's nice but he is very serious about football. He will shove his foot up your ass for saying one bad thing about football. Mark likes that because wowie zowie someone else is as hyperfixated on football as he is!!!!

They properly meet not as enemies but as potential friends, yadda yadda I don't know how dating works but they start doing that. Eventually they break up because they're old now and the Rangers and Raccoons are actual big teams that their elem schools took the names of because that's normal right. They join opposite teams, try to bridge the gap, fail, break up, eventually get wives and uh. Yeag. John ends up getting rich from his successful football career as a Ranger, Raccoon City disbands because it was just really shitty in every attempt of competing. Mark goes back to hating John and also finds that Abigail is a Raccoon again too???? Yeah, that's right, friends to lovers is in here too, and now they start dating and I'm gonna say that Abigail is pre-t when they start dating and Mark is fully supportive of his girlboss wife transitioning whilst they're together. Like. She was a hot guy and now she's a really hot girl????? Shit??1!1???1?

Mark obsesses over destroying John's career and life because how come his ex gets to succeed in life while his life is shit all around?????? Yeah, fuck that

Anyways isn't it kind of fucked up that with this idea, that means that Mark fucked his ex's wife. His ex's wife that probably likes pegging especially considering the sex scene in the actual play. Ermermerm. Uh. Huh. Idk y'all I'm eepy but I can't eep

#potato fics #shoot from the hip #sfth #shootimpro #sfth fic #sfthposting #enemies to lovers to enemies........#and also friends to lovers but add in t in there #the neighbour's under the bed #the neighbor's under the bed

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cameronsbabydoll · 1 day ago

Note

sofia doesn’t do anything for me. i’m gonna go on a rant about why, and i wanna hear your thoughts.

there’s quite literally no build-up. the girl was introduced by a hook-up. wasn’t interesting whatsoever.

she doesn’t even know the real rafe. she doesn’t even know he’s a killer. she knows nothing about his real self. how would she react if she found out? i’m sure she’d stay, like the no-backbone girl she is. she stayed, and accepted, a proposal. after she scammed him. for not claiming her.

if you’re with somebody for two years, and they embarrass you like that, you should leave, or at least talk to them, and ask what the hell was up with that. not cry like a baby and scam that person. it’s so stupid. the writers can’t write female characters for the life of them. to make her do this, then have her take him back, is embarrassing. my goodness.

she’s literally a self-insert. y/n character who’s a plot-device and a blank-canvas. absolutely no personality outside of being his girlfriend. this is a fact. fiona did a interview about how the pates had literally nothing planned. they had to make scenes up. she was basically told to sit and be his ‘pretty’ innocent girlfriend who ‘changes’ him. whilst not even knowing who he really is.

they only like her because she’s latina, (so are her fans), and a nepotism child. that’s literally it. like i said, a self-insert.

they wanna add some stupid angst in the next season, to try and spice shit up, but it just makes her look yet again, dumb, with no backbone. staying with him regardless of him humiliating her.

the hypocrisy with rafia fans is funny, too. the way they hate riara, yet ship him with sofia? how does it make sense? it doesn’t.

if you say he’s a killer, a racist, abuser… why would you want him with a mexican immigrant woman? who doesn’t even know about his abusive past. shouldn’t he, by their logic, be in prison? away from women? you can’t change a ‘psychopath’, that’s what they call him, when referring to riara. that’s why they don’t ship it. and okay, i understand, but then you can’t want him with anyone then. it’s only right, no?

sofia and rafe aren’t even a ship, they’re a couple. literally canon. and the editors still make those fake scene edits using fiona’s character from control z, and rafe. it’s hilarious to me, because they have to use other shows to make characters up. it’s understandable if it’s a ship, because they aren’t canonically together…

but y’all have sofia, why are you using her control z character? she’ll never be a baddie, PLEASE. they need to let that go. she’s the ‘innocent, sweet, little angel’, who does whatever rafe does. they probably do pet-play in bed, my god.

it’s just so badly written. embarrassing. the only fans are the brazilian people who love her because she’s latina, like i said. that’s literally it. other than that, she’s absolutely nothing. i can’t believe it’s so popular, because i skip their scenes.

they shit on riara all the time, yet want their nachos for their boring ship. “i want angst, angry confessions, screaming then kissing!” girl, just say you want enemies to lovers. AKA… riara.

the way they’re so convinced she changed him, when he’s still insane. the man knew his pregnant sister was starving and had money, not giving her anything. she hasn’t changed him, whatsoever. delusional bunch.

it’s so cliche. kook boy, innocent pogue girl. kiara and rafe have more chemistry in their three second scenes then these two. so does barry and rafe.

they always bring up how the entire cast hates riara, and that’s a sign, but never bring up how everyone ships rarry! isn’t that hilarious? don’t forget they all want rafe single, or with barry. nobody other than fiona genuinely cares for that flop couple. drew doesn’t even think he should be having one.

their bot stans on twitter are stupid as hell, and so hypocritical. under every damn riara post, hating, whilst having the most flawed logic. it’s hilarious to me.

saw one admitting to being a drew and fiona shipper/admitting to being one of #those insufferable fans, when somebody posted that video of fiona having her arm around drew, and then got mad at someone gagging over drew and madison being seen on set. the hypocrisy is hilarious. your ‘ship’ doesn’t even hang out like that, outside of set. rarely. pleaseeeee. shipping real people is so corny, too.

anyway, that’s all. i understand not liking riara, it’s valid, but don’t ship rafe with sofia then! that’s what i hate about twitter fans. i have so many blocked now.

IF I COULD PIN THIS I WOULD!!!!! like rafe lowkey hates her it’s so funny. they’re like cause rafe loves sofia but respects kiara. BABE IF YOU LOVE SOMEONE YOU RESPECT THEM??????? also her actor is a bit controversial so i really don’t care for her, her acting was subpar in obx but that’s probably because she has no character to act with. but everyone saying “they’re in love” even drew and the actress are in love like… when have they ever hung out together?? HMMMM??????

i ship barry and rafe cause that’s what the entire cast WANTS but riara isn’t bad tbh. they have more chemistry as two characters who supposedly don’t like anyone yk. like… “just like in barbados kie” BOY????

#anons ♡⸝⸝#rafe cameron headcanons #rafe cameron #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron x yn #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe obx

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mingiatz · 2 days ago

Text

Y/N thought Jongho was just the annoying black-coffee addict who made her mornings miserable. But late-night movie marathons, marathon training (literally), and one accidental kiss prove he might be the one person who can turn her world upside down—in the best and worst ways.

Pairing: Choi Jongho (ATEEZ) x Female Reader (Y/N)

Trope(s): College AU, Enemies to lovers (light), Slow burn, Mutual pining, Idiots in love, Protective!Jongho

Genre: Romantic Comedy, Fluff, Light Angst, Smut (later), Slice of Life

Featuring: ATEEZ (Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Mingi, Yunho, Wooyoung, San, Yeosang) as Jongho’s chaotic but supportive friend group, Original female roommates Mina & Hyun as Y/N’s equally chaotic emotional support system

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

The first time you meet him, it’s too early in the morning for anyone to be that smug.

You’re standing in line at your favorite campus coffee shop, still half-asleep, scrolling on your phone and rehearsing your order in your head. It’s long. Ridiculous, probably. But you’ve earned it. You stayed up until 3 AM finishing a paper that wasn’t due for another week. If anyone deserves a venti caramel cookie crunch frappuccino with extra drizzle, three pumps of vanilla, and oat milk, it’s you.

“Hi! Can I get a venti caramel cookie crunch frappuccino? Extra caramel drizzle, three pumps of vanilla, oat milk, and—”

“That’s not coffee.”

The voice comes from directly behind you, deep and startlingly calm. You turn, blinking.

“Excuse me?”

The guy behind you doesn’t even flinch. He’s tall—not in a lanky, awkward way, but in that broad-shouldered, built-like-he-belongs-on-a-sports-team way. His dark hair is slightly tousled like he didn’t bother fixing it before leaving his dorm. He’s wearing a plain black hoodie and jeans, hands stuffed into his pockets, and he’s staring at the pastry display case like it owes him money.

“That’s not coffee,” he says again, his tone maddeningly neutral.

You blink at him, processing. Then you laugh—a sharp, incredulous sound that turns a few heads.

“Wow. Thank you, random caffeine snob. I don’t remember asking for your opinion on my order.”

“Wasn’t an opinion,” he replies smoothly. “It’s just a fact. That’s dessert in a cup.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you shoot back. “I didn’t realize you were the appointed gatekeeper of coffee. Should I kneel or something?”

He finally glances at you then—properly looks—and you hate how annoyingly nice his face is. Strong jawline, warm brown eyes that don’t seem warm at all right now, lips pulled into the faintest smirk.

“No need to kneel,” he says. “Just admit you’re ordering a milkshake.”

You gape at him. “Milkshake? This is coffee.”

“That’s sugar, caramel, and whipped cream with a splash of coffee,” he counters.

“Okay, Mr. Black Coffee,” you snap. “What’s your go-to order then? Straight-up regret?”

As if on cue, the barista calls for the next person in line. “What can I get for you?” she asks him.

“Large black coffee,” he says without hesitation. No cream. No sugar. No joy.

You can’t help it. You scoff loud enough for him to hear. “Figures.”

He raises an eyebrow, accepting his cup when it’s handed over. “What does?”

“You’re one of those ‘real coffee’ people. The ones who think adding milk is a crime against humanity. Bet you’d drink it straight out of the bean if you could.”

A small laugh escapes him—a huff of air, really, but still. “Better than drowning it in syrup and sprinkles.”

You clutch your cup like it’s a lifeline. “Do you even taste happiness? Or is it all… bitterness and despair?”

“Bitterness builds character,” he says, already heading toward the door.

“Yeah, well, sugar builds serotonin,” you call after him. “Enjoy your bean water!”

“Enjoy your liquefied cake,” he shoots back without turning.

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

The next morning, he’s there again. This time he’s ahead of you in line, which should be a relief. Except when he collects his black coffee, he glances over his shoulder—and smirks.

“Still alive after all that sugar yesterday?”

You groan dramatically. “Barely. My pancreas sent me a strongly worded email last night.”

He exhales a small laugh. “At least you’re honest.”

“At least you’re consistent,” you retort. “Still ordering disappointment in a cup?”

“Disappointment tastes better than a cavity.”

You grab your drink, muttering under your breath as you pass him, “I’d rather get cavities than be boring.”

“I heard that,” he says lightly, holding the door open for you.

“Good. You were supposed to.”

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

By the third encounter, it’s practically a routine. Same time. Same café. Same infuriatingly calm guy with his plain black coffee and subtle little smirks. He holds the door for you again, wordlessly.

“Thanks,” you mumble.

“Don’t mention it,” he says. “Really.”

You’re too tired to come up with a retort before ordering, but when he steps up next, you tilt your head with faux curiosity.

“Let me guess. Black coffee. Again.”

He glances at you. “Let me guess. A drink so sweet it could rot teeth on sight. Again.”

“You’re relentless.”

“You’re predictable.”

“And you’re insufferable,” you say, grabbing your cup and heading for the door.

He follows, falling into step beside you for some reason. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Still taking it.”

You stop walking and turn to face him. “Do you annoy everyone in your vicinity, or am I just lucky?”

That earns you the faintest hint of a real smile. It’s… annoyingly nice. The kind of smile you could get used to if he wasn’t so aggravating.

“Jongho,” he says suddenly.

You blink. “What?”

“My name. Since we’re apparently doing this every morning.”

“Oh. Cool.” You tell him your name too, against your better judgment.

“Great,” he says, sipping his coffee like this isn’t weird at all. “Now I can properly judge your order every time.”

“Wow. I’m so honored.”

“You should be.”

You don’t realize it yet, but this is how it starts—not with a spark, but with a slow, simmering heat. Like coffee left a little too long on the burner.

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

“Tell me why my mornings have turned into caffeine-fueled battle royales with some random guy.”

Your friend Mina doesn’t even look up from her phone. “You mean your enemy-to-lovers rom-com meet-cute?”

“NO. Not lovers. Enemy-to… enemy.” You jab your straw into your caramel frappuccino with more force than necessary. “He’s insufferable. He drinks black coffee and acts like I committed a war crime every time I order my drink.”

“Sounds like he has taste.”

You whip your head toward Hyun, who’s smirking from his spot across the table.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying. Maybe he’s got a point. Your order is like… 90% sugar.”

“Oh my God. Don’t you start too,” you groan, slumping forward dramatically. “I’m already being verbally assaulted every morning. I don’t need my own friends turning on me.”

Mina finally looks up. “Okay, but is he hot?”

You freeze. “That’s irrelevant.”

“Which means yes.” She grins. “What’s his name?”

You take a long sip of your drink, stalling.

“…Jongho.”

“Oh my GOD.” Mina claps her hands. “It’s a hot name too! You’re so doomed.”

“Doomed to murder,” you correct. “I’m going to snap one of these days. They’ll find me on the news: Local college student bludgeons caffeine purist with a venti caramel frappuccino.”

Hyun snorts. “At least you’d go viral.”

You bury your face in your hands. “I hate both of you.”

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

“Be honest,” San says between bites of his bagel, “did you really tell her she’s drinking liquefied cake?”

“I might have,” Jongho admits, sipping his black coffee.

The room explodes.

Hongjoong’s laughing so hard he has to set his laptop aside. Yunho nearly chokes on his orange juice. Mingi actually claps.

“You didn’t,” Wooyoung wheezes. “Oh my God. You’re such a menace.”

“She started it,” Jongho says calmly.

Seonghwa raises an eyebrow. “Did she, though? Or did you provoke her first?”

“She was ordering something with… I don’t even know. Extra drizzle? Three pumps of vanilla? Whipped cream? That’s not coffee. That’s—”

“—happiness,” Yeosang cuts in with a smirk.

Jongho shoots him a look. “It’s a dessert.”

“Sounds like someone’s bitter,” San singsongs.

“I drink coffee to wake up, not to—” Jongho pauses as Wooyoung leans across the table, grinning like a devil.

“Not to what? Fall in love?”

Jongho rolls his eyes. “She’s loud, dramatic, and calls my coffee ‘bean water.’ Definitely not my type.”

“Yet here you are, talking about her,” Yunho points out with a knowing grin.

Jongho opens his mouth to argue—and promptly shuts it.

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

It’s crowded. Too crowded. You almost consider leaving when you see the only available seat… directly across from Jongho.

You freeze. He looks up, already smirking.

“Don’t say it,” you warn.

“I didn’t say anything,” he says mildly, sipping his coffee.

“You were about to.”

“You’re imagining things. All that sugar must be affecting your brain chemistry.”

You set your cup down with a dramatic sigh. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are.”

You narrow your eyes. “I’ll have you know I’m only sitting here because there’s nowhere else. This is purely out of necessity.”

“Sure.” He leans back casually. “Keep telling yourself that.”

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

Later that night, Mina’s lying on your bed scrolling through her phone.

“So let me get this straight,” she says. “You sat with him for forty minutes. Didn’t kill him. And even brought him up again now.”

You groan, rolling over to bury your face in a pillow.

“Do NOT make this into a thing.”

But deep down, annoyingly, you can still hear his laugh.

This is fine. Totally fine.

Except it’s not.

Because sitting at your table—your sacred corner table, your daily caffeine sanctuary—are not one but two of them.

One, you’re used to. Jongho with his black coffee and unreadable expression, like he owns the place. But today there’s a second one. His friend. Dark-haired, mischievous eyes, and a grin so wide it should be illegal this early.

“Morning,” the friend says as you approach, voice smooth and inviting. “You must be the famous frappuccino girl.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“Jongho’s told me all about you.”

Your eyes snap to Jongho, who—of course—doesn’t even flinch. He’s just calmly sipping his coffee like he isn’t being betrayed in real time.

“He hasn’t,” you say flatly.

“Hasn’t he?” The friend leans forward, resting his chin on his hand. “I feel like I know you already. Sweet tooth, dramatic, calls black coffee ‘bean water’—”

“Oh my God,” you mutter. “There’s TWO of you now.”

“I’m Wooyoung,” he adds, smirking. “But you can call me anytime.”

“Are you serious right now?” You stare at him. “Is this… is this your bit? Are you the flirty one?”

“Depends.” Wooyoung winks. “Is it working?”

“On me? No.” You drop into the seat across from them with an exasperated sigh. “On Jongho? Maybe.”

Jongho’s lips twitch. It’s the faintest reaction, but you catch it.

“Don’t drag me into your dramatics,” he says evenly.

“Oh, sorry,” you shoot back. “Didn’t realize I was interrupting your bromantic coffee date.”

Wooyoung snickers. “Bromantic? I like her.”

“I don’t,” Jongho mutters.

“You love me,” Wooyoung teases.

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

This was a mistake.

Bringing Wooyoung along seemed harmless when he suggested grabbing coffee together. He didn’t know you’d show up at your usual time. But the second he saw you, Jongho could see the gears turning in Wooyoung’s chaotic brain.

Now Wooyoung’s flirting like his life depends on it, and Jongho’s trying very hard not to react.

“You know,” Wooyoung says, chin still propped on his hand, “I don’t actually mind sweet drinks. I think it says something about a person.”

“Oh yeah?” you ask, arching a brow.

“Yeah. Like… you’re fun. Warm. A little impulsive maybe, but in a good way.”

Jongho fights the urge to roll his eyes.

You snort. “Or maybe I just like sugar.”

“That too,” Wooyoung agrees easily. “But still. I like people who don’t pretend to be bitter for personality points.”

Jongho’s eyebrow twitches. “I’m not—”

You cut him off with a triumphant grin. “HA. He’s talking about you.”

Wooyoung’s grin widens. “Didn’t say any names…”

Jongho takes a long, slow sip of his coffee. He refuses to give either of you the satisfaction.

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

You don’t know what’s worse—Wooyoung’s blatant flirting or Jongho’s calm, unbothered facade. Like he doesn’t care. Like he’s above it all.

But you see it. The way his jaw ticks slightly. The way he’s gripping his coffee cup just a little tighter than necessary.

Good. Let him suffer.

“Anyway,” Wooyoung says, flashing another grin, “I should probably let you two get back to your—what is this? Morning rivalry? Slow-burning enemies-to-lovers thing?”

You sputter. Jongho glares.

“Not a thing,” you both say at the same time.

Wooyoung’s laughter fills the café. “Sure. Keep telling yourselves that.”

He stands, stretching. “Well, I’ve got class. Nice meeting you, sugar queen.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Too late.” He winks and saunters out, leaving you alone with Jongho.

There’s a long beat of silence.

“Your friend is…” you start.

“Annoying,” Jongho finishes.

“Exactly.”

Another pause.

“You’re still sitting here,” he points out.

You glare at him. “There’s still nowhere else.”

He smirks faintly. “Sure.”

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

“You’re never going to believe this.”

Mina doesn’t look up from her phone. “You and coffee boy made out in the middle of the shop?”

“WHAT—NO.” You nearly choke on your bubble tea. Hyun snorts from the other side of the booth.

“Then why do you sound so dramatic?” Hyun asks, eyebrow raised.

“Because he brought backup.”

“Backup?” Mina repeats.

“His friend. This… this menace named Wooyoung. He was there today. And he’s just as bad as Jongho but in a different way.”

Hyun leans forward, interested. “Define ‘bad.’”

“Like… annoyingly charming. Flirty. Called me ‘sugar queen’.”

“Oh my God.” Mina claps her hands. “That’s iconic. What did Jongho do?”

“Nothing. He just SAT there sipping his disappointment juice like it wasn’t even weird that his friend was flirting with me.”

Hyun exchanges a look with Mina. “So… let me get this straight. You’re mad because now there are two attractive guys giving you attention every morning?”

You groan, dragging your hands down your face. “It’s not attention. It’s psychological warfare.”

Mina leans across the table, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Y/N… babe… this is the first somewhat romantic interaction you’ve had since psycho ex-boyfriend.”

You sit up straighter. “WHAT. No. It’s not romantic! It’s infuriating. He insults my drink every day.”

Hyun smirks. “Yet you keep going back.”

You open your mouth. Close it. Open it again.

“That’s because it’s the only good coffee shop on campus!” you finally blurt.

“Mmhm,” Mina hums. “Sure.”

“Don’t make this a thing,” you plead.

But it’s already a thing. You can see it in their smug little faces.

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

“Wooyoung told us what you said,” Mingi says as soon as Jongho walks in.

“About what?” Jongho asks warily.

“About sugar sludge girl.”

Jongho stops in his tracks. “Don’t call her that.”

“Ohhhh.” Wooyoung’s eyes light up. “You’re protective now?”

Jongho scowls, heading straight for the fridge. “She’s annoying. That’s all.”

“You keep saying that,” San says, grinning. “But you also keep sitting with her.”

“I don’t—” Jongho cuts himself off, realizing too late there’s no winning this.

Seonghwa smirks knowingly. “Sounds like you’re in trouble, Jongho.”

He glares at all of them. “I’m not.”

But later, lying in bed, he can’t stop replaying the way your eyes flashed when you called his coffee “disappointment juice”.

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

You’re running on three hours of sleep and spite.

It wasn’t your fault, really. You’d broken up with your ex weeks ago. Weeks. And yet here you were, staring at your phone screen at 2 AM while it vibrated over and over with calls you didn’t answer.

You hate how his name still makes your stomach churn.

This is fine, you told yourself as you trudged to the campus café in your hoodie and leggings. Totally fine.

Until you saw him.

Of course Jongho is here. And of course he looks irritatingly well-rested, sipping his black coffee like he’s never experienced anxiety in his life.

“You look tired,” he says as you approach the counter.

You shoot him a glare. “You look… annoying.”

He hums, unbothered. “So, the usual?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I was going to guess your mood based on your order,” he says simply. “Frappuccino with extra drizzle? You’re in a good mood. Iced caramel macchiato? Stressed. Hot chocolate? Midterms week breakdown.”

You gape. “You’ve… been paying that much attention?”

He shrugs. “It’s hard not to when your drink orders are an event.”

Your cheeks warm despite yourself. “Well, today it’s just… a latte.”

“Ah,” he says softly. “So tired.”

“Drop dead.”

His lips twitch like he’s holding back a laugh.

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

It started as a regular hangout. Just him, Wooyoung, San, Mingi, and Yunho walking across campus after grabbing food.

But then Wooyoung freezes mid-step, eyes narrowing at a figure across the quad.

“Hey… isn’t that Y/N?”

Jongho follows his gaze and sure enough—there you are, standing stiffly near the old library. Except you’re not alone.

Some guy has you cornered against the stone wall, talking too close, too loud. Your arms are crossed tightly over your chest, and even from here, Jongho can see how uncomfortable you look.

“Damn,” San says lowly. “She’s cute, Jongho. You didn’t say she was cute.”

“Very cute,” Mingi adds, grinning. “No wonder you fight like an old married couple.”

Jongho doesn’t answer. His jaw tightens as he watches.

But then Yunho frowns. “Wait. Is it just me, or does she look… I don’t know. Off?”

Wooyoung’s smile fades too. “Yeah. She doesn’t look like she’s enjoying that conversation.”

For a moment, nobody says anything. The guy leans closer to you, gesturing wildly. You flinch slightly.

And that’s all it takes.

“I’ll be back,” Jongho says, already striding forward.

“Wait—are you—?” San starts, but Jongho doesn’t respond.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, eyes darting around for an escape. “We broke up, remember? That means I don’t owe you anything.”

“Don’t give me that. You’re probably seeing someone else already, aren’t you? That’s why you’re avoiding me.”

“I’m not,” you snap, hating how defensive you sound. “And even if I was, it’s none of your business.”

He steps closer. Too close. “Y/N, don’t lie to me. I know how you get with guys—”

“Everything okay here?”

The voice is calm but firm. You look up, startled, and see Jongho standing a few feet away. Hands in his pockets, expression neutral but eyes sharp as they flick between you and your ex.

Your ex scowls. “Who the hell are you?”

Jongho tilts his head slightly. “A friend. Is she bothering you?”

You blink. “Wait—you mean is he bothering me?”

“Ah.” Jongho’s gaze returns to your ex. “So you are bothering her.”

Your ex scoffs. “Stay out of this.”

But Jongho doesn’t move. His posture is relaxed, almost casual, but there’s something in his stance—controlled, solid—that makes your ex hesitate.

“I think she asked you to leave,” Jongho says evenly.

Your ex mutters something under his breath and stalks off, shoving past Jongho’s shoulder.

You let out a shaky breath. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

“But… thanks.”

Jongho studies you for a moment. “He does that a lot?”

You glance away. “Not usually in public. But yeah. He’s… he doesn’t take no well.”

He doesn’t push for more. Just nods once.

“Want me to walk you home?” he asks softly.

You almost say no. Almost. But then you realize you don’t want to be alone just yet.

“…Yeah. Okay.”

You’re still processing the fact that Jongho—a guy who’s spent the past two weeks making your mornings mildly unbearable—just rescued you from your psycho ex.

Now he’s walking beside you, hands tucked into his hoodie pockets, steps matching yours. It’s quiet. Strangely not awkward.

Or at least it was…

Until you hear voices behind you.

“Ohhhhhh my GOD.”

You freeze. So does Jongho.

You turn around to see a whole group of guys approaching—laughing, whispering, and very obviously staring at you two.

“Please tell me that’s not your entire friend group,” you mutter.

Jongho exhales through his nose like this is the exact nightmare he’d been hoping to avoid. “It’s my entire friend group.”

Wooyoung’s the first to catch up, grinning like he’s been waiting for this moment his whole life. “Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly. “You have nothing here.”

“Funny,” San adds with a smirk. “Because it looks like something.”

“It’s not,” Jongho says firmly, his tone giving nothing away.

“Sure.” Wooyoung winks at you. “Hi, sugar queen.”

You groan. “Not you again.”

“She hates that nickname,” Jongho tells him.

“Which is exactly why I’m keeping it,” Wooyoung shoots back.

You didn’t ask for this. One guy walking you home was enough. Now there are five of them.

San and Mingi are up ahead, loudly debating something about snacks. Wooyoung and Yunho trail behind, whispering and laughing like middle schoolers. Seonghwa walks with the calm air of a chaperone trying to keep the chaos contained.

And then there’s Jongho, right next to you. Silent but… present.

“You really hang out with these people voluntarily?” you whisper.

“Unfortunately.”

You stifle a laugh. “You seem like the least chaotic one.”

“I am.”

“Congratulations on being the dad friend.”

“Thanks,” he says dryly.

“Alright,” Seonghwa announces as you near the halfway point between the café and your dorms. “We’re cutting out here. You two can handle the rest, right?”

You blink. “Wait, you’re leaving?”

“Yep.” Wooyoung wiggles his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t want to third-wheel your romantic night stroll.”

“It’s not romantic,” you and Jongho say in unison.

Mingi grins. “Sure. Keep telling yourselves that.”

Before you can argue, they’re already disappearing down a side street, their laughter echoing behind them.

You and Jongho are left alone in the quiet.

“Sorry about them,” Jongho says finally.

“Don’t be,” you reply. “They’re… surprisingly entertaining.”

He gives a small huff of amusement.

A few steps pass in silence before you speak again. “So. Do you always rescue people from crazy exes, or is that a limited-time offer?”

His lips twitch. “Limited time. Don’t get used to it.”

You smirk faintly. “Oh no. I was planning to make it a weekly thing.”

Jongho glances at you, and for a moment there’s something soft in his expression. “Seriously though… you okay?”

You hesitate. “Yeah. I mean… I will be. He just… doesn’t take rejection well.��

“Does he still call?”

“…Sometimes.”

He doesn’t push, but his jaw tightens slightly.

“Thanks for stepping in earlier,” you say quietly. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know.”

You reach your dorm steps too soon.

“Well… thanks again, Jongho.”

He nods, and there’s a beat where it feels like he might say something else. But then he just gives a small wave and turns to leave.

“You walked her ALL the way home, huh?” Wooyoung teases as Jongho rejoins them.

“Shut up,” Jongho mutters.

San grins. “Bet you didn’t even insult her drink once.”

He didn’t. And he’s still not sure why.

Something’s off.

You can feel it the second you step into the café. Maybe it’s because you actually slept last night. Or maybe it’s because you can feel Jongho’s eyes on you from his usual table in the corner.

“Morning,” he says calmly as you approach the counter.

You blink. “Morning.”

No snark. No mocking. Just… “morning.”

The barista (you’re pretty sure her name’s Hyejin) glances between you two with raised eyebrows. “Whoa. No sarcastic remarks? No drink-related judgment?”

You and Jongho speak at the same time:

“She started it.”

“He started it.”

Hyejin snickers. “There it is.”

But even as you shoot Jongho a look, the usual fire isn’t there. Instead, he just gives a small smirk and sips his black coffee.

“Did you sleep better?” he asks casually.

You hesitate. “…Yeah. Thanks.”

Hyejin nearly drops the espresso cup she’s holding.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” you say, shoving a spoonful of ice cream into your mouth. “It’s like… we’re broken.”

Mina blinks. “Broken?”

“He didn’t insult my drink today.”

“Okay… and that’s bad because…?”

“It’s weird! He always insults my drink. It’s our thing.”

Hyun grins. “Sounds like your ‘thing’ is evolving.”

“It’s NOT.” You groan dramatically. “It’s just… after last night, things feel… different.”

“Different how?” Mina presses.

“Like… less annoying? But also… not not annoying?” You bury your face in your hands. “Why am I like this? He’s still smug and judgy and drinks sadness in a cup.”

“Yeah,” Hyun says lightly. “But he also walked you home after saving you from psycho ex. That’s… kinda hot.”

“It’s not hot.”

“It’s a little hot,” Mina says.

You grab another spoonful of ice cream. “I hate you both.”

“Sure,” Mina hums. “But not as much as you don’t hate Jongho.”

“You didn’t even call her sugar queen this morning?” Wooyoung teases.

“No.”

“Didn’t insult her drink?”

“No.”

Mingi gasps dramatically. “Did you even make eye contact or did you propose on the spot?”

Jongho throws a pillow at him.

“It’s not like that,” he says evenly. But even as he says it, he remembers how your shoulders had seemed looser today. How your voice didn’t sound as tired.

And how, for some reason, the silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable anymore.

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

“This was supposed to be a chill girl’s day,” Mina grumbles as she fans herself. “You know. Sun, water, gossip.”

“It still is,” you say, adjusting your sunglasses. “Just… slightly more populated than planned.”

She glares at you over the rim of her drink. “Populated? Girl. You didn’t mention your mortal enemy comes with seven other extremely hot friends.”

“They’re not my friends,” you hiss.

“They’re hot, though,” she says.

Hyun nods solemnly. “Objectively hot.”

You groan into your beach towel. Because of course the universe decided to dump Jongho and his entire squad at the same lake, on the same day, at the same time.

And of course Wooyoung immediately clocked Mina and started turning on every ounce of chaotic charm in his arsenal.

“You must be Y/N’s best friend,” Wooyoung had said when they first crossed paths. “She didn’t tell me she rolls with goddesses.”

Mina nearly choked on her soda.

“She didn’t tell me all her mortal enemies are boyband-level attractive,” Mina had shot back, crossing her arms. “Seems like a crucial detail.”

“I don’t consider myself her enemy,” Wooyoung had said smoothly. “I consider myself… a fan.”

Mina’s still fuming over it. “You’re dead to me, Y/N. DEAD.”

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

“Don’t stare.”

“I’m not staring,” Jongho says automatically.

“You’re staring,” Yunho teases, elbowing him lightly.

Jongho drags his gaze away from where you’re laughing with your friends by the water. But not before his brain betrays him with a very inconvenient thought:

She’s hot.

He clenches his jaw. Nope. Not going there.

But of course, Wooyoung doesn’t let him off easy.

“You seeing this, Jongho?” he whispers conspiratorially. “Our sugar queen in a bikini. Bet you didn’t expect that when she was ordering liquid cake every morning.”

“Shut up,” Jongho mutters.

“She’s pretty, huh?” Mingi grins.

San leans back on his elbows, smirking. “He’s been staring since we got here. Can’t even blame him.”

“I wasn’t staring.”

“Sure,” Seonghwa says dryly.

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

Mina has fully surrendered to Wooyoung’s relentless flirting and is now arguing with him about Marvel movies while Hyun watches in horror.

You’re trying not to think about Jongho. Failing. Because every time you glance up, he’s there—lounging in the shade, black swim trunks, hair slightly damp from the lake.

You hate how unfairly good he looks.

You’re sitting on the dock, legs dangling over the edge, when footsteps approach.

“You’re quiet today,” Jongho says, sitting down a few feet away.

“Maybe I’m saving my energy for when you insult my drink again,” you reply.

But your voice lacks ist usual bite.

He glances at you. “You’re different lately.”

“You started it.”

He hums. “Maybe.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“You look…” he starts, then stops.

You raise an eyebrow. “I look what?”

“Never mind.” He shakes his head slightly.

But you catch the faintest flush on his cheeks before he looks away.

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

“Did you talk to her?” San asks as Jongho rejoins the group.

“For like two minutes,” Jongho says coolly.

“Two minutes of you staring at her like she hung the damn sun in the sky,” Wooyoung mutters.

“Shut up.”

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

“This is a cruel joke. A cosmic prank. I’m going to sue the universe.”

Mina doesn’t even look up from her phone. “What now?”

You shove your screen in her face. “Look at my partner for the campus pair marathon.”

She squints. “…Choi Jongho?”

“Yes. Choi. Freaking. Jongho.” You collapse into a dramatic heap on your dorm bed. “Of course it’s him. Out of hundreds of students. The caffeine snob. The destroyer of frappuccinos. My mortal enemy.”

Hyun’s voice drifts from the mini-fridge where he’s stealing your snacks. “You mean your slow-burn love interest?”

“Get out,” you groan.

“I’m just saying,” he replies around a mouthful of Oreos. “If this were a rom-com, this would be the part where you realize you’re falling for him.”

Mina finally sets her phone down. “Wait. Does he even run?”

You pause. “…Actually, yeah. He’s on the intramural track team.”

“So he’s hot and athletic.” Mina sighs dreamily. “Are you sure he’s not your type?”

“I’m sure.”

“Sure-sure? Or rom-com sure?”

“GET OUT,” you yell.

“You’re late,” Jongho says the next afternoon as you approach your usual café.

“You’re smug,” you shoot back, tugging your hoodie tighter.

He’s leaning against the railing in full running gear—black joggers, a fitted gray long-sleeve, and sneakers. Of course he looks good. Of course.

“You ready?” he asks, straightening up.

“For what? For you to lap me and rub it in my face?”

“You said it, not me.”

You glare. He smirks.

The first half-mile goes surprisingly well. You’re keeping pace. Your breathing is steady. Maybe this won’t be so bad—

“Slowing down already?” Jongho asks casually.

You shoot him a death glare. “I’m conserving energy.”

“Uh-huh.” He’s barely breaking a sweat. His voice is calm. His stride effortless. It’s infuriating.

“Stop… looking… so smug,” you pant.

“I’m not smug.”

“You’re radiating smugness. It’s suffocating.”

He glances at you, amused. “You’re dramatic.”

“And you’re—” Your foot catches on a stray rock. You stumble but recover, shooting him a glare. “Shut up.”

You collapse onto a park bench, chugging from your water bottle like your life depends on it. Jongho sits beside you, annoyingly composed.

“You’re wheezing,” he observes.

“I’m not wheezing.”

“You sound like a pug.”

“Shut up.”

He smirks and offers his bottle. “Want some? You look like you’re dying.”

You take it reluctantly, chugging half before shoving it back. “You’re gross.”

“You’re welcome.”

“So let me get this straight,” Mina says, scrolling through her phone as she sprawls across your bed. “You’re meeting him daily to train. You share water bottles. And you haven’t killed each other yet?”

“It’s not like that,” you insist.

“Sure. And I only follow Wooyoung on Instagram for his dog pics.”

Hyun snickers. “Face it. You’re in a training montage with your enemy. Next step is romantic tension.”

You fling a pillow at him. “There is NO tension.”

“So how’s training with sugar queen?” Wooyoung asks, grinning like the devil.

“It’s fine.”

“Fine? That’s it?” San leans forward. “You’re not gonna mention how she almost tripped but kept running? Or how she refused to quit even when she was dying?”

Jongho exhales. “She’s… persistent.”

“Persistent is code for cute,” Mingi says knowingly.

“It’s not cute.”

But later, lying in bed, Jongho catches himself replaying the way your hair stuck to your face with sweat, how determined your expression was.

Maybe… a little cute.

He rolls over and shoves his face into his pillow.

The second run is quieter. You’re still bantering—mostly him teasing you for trying to match his pace—but there’s less bite. More… ease.

“Hey,” he says as you both slow to a walk.

“What?”

“You didn’t die today.”

You smirk. “Thanks for noticing.”

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

Jongho had never considered himself the jealous type.

He wasn’t the guy who got possessive. He didn’t brood over things that weren’t his business. And he definitely didn’t care who you talked to outside your training sessions.

At least, that’s what he thought.

Until this morning.

You were standing outside the café when he arrived. Dressed in your usual hoodie and leggings, hair pulled into a messy ponytail. Except this time, you weren’t alone.

The guy was tall. Athletic-looking. Designer joggers, blindingly white sneakers. His smile was wide and confident, the type of smile that implied he was used to people laughing at his jokes.

And you were laughing.

You weren’t even paying attention to your phone in your hand. Or to the way the guy leaned in slightly, hand brushing your forearm as he said something else.

Jongho couldn’t hear him, but he didn’t need to. The body language said enough.

And for some reason, it felt like a pebble lodged in his shoe—small but impossible to ignore.

He’d walked past without a word, keeping his expression neutral. Not that you noticed.

⛧°. ⋆༺☾��༻⋆. °⛧

You spotted Jongho waiting by the park entrance, arms crossed over his chest, jaw set tighter than usual.

“Hey,” you said, a little breathless from jogging over.

“You’re late,” he replied flatly.

You blinked. “It’s five minutes.”

“Five minutes is still late.”

“Wow. Okay. Someone’s in a mood today.”

He didn’t respond, just turned and started jogging. Faster than usual.

You frowned but followed.

The air was thick—not just with humidity but with the unspoken tension between you.

“You’re slowing down,” Jongho said abruptly, glancing over his shoulder.

You bristled. “I’m keeping pace.”

“You’re half a step behind.”

“It’s called pacing myself.”

“It’s called slacking off.”

You almost tripped over your own feet. “Excuse me?”

“You said you wanted to improve. This isn’t improvement.”

“Oh my God.” You quickened your stride, heart pounding from more than just the run. “Did you wake up and choose violence today or what?”

He didn’t answer.

Another quarter mile later

“Not everyone’s a track star, Jongho,” you snapped as you struggled to keep up. “Some of us are trying.”

“Trying isn’t enough if you’re not pushing yourself.”

“Maybe I’d push harder if my coach wasn’t a human glacier.”

“That’s your excuse?”

You stopped dead in your tracks. “What is your DEAL today?”

He stopped too, finally turning to face you.

“My deal,” he said tightly, “is that I’m trying to get us both ready for this marathon, and I’m tired of you treating it like a joke.”

Your mouth fell open. “A joke?”

“Yeah. You show up late. You don’t take it seriously. You think you can coast on half-effort—”

“I’m giving everything I have!” you shouted. “Sorry if I’m not perfect like you, Mr. Black Coffee Track God!”

The words echoed a little too loudly across the empty park trail.

He stared at you, chest rising and falling with barely concealed frustration.

You stared back, too angry—and too hurt—to back down.

Then you turned and started jogging again. Faster than before.

You weren’t paying attention. Not to the uneven trail. Not to the way the path narrowed as it curved around a low slope.

Your foot hit loose dirt.

There was a terrifying moment of weightlessness.

And then you were sliding—gravel scraping your palms, branches whipping your arms—until you landed hard at the bottom of the incline.

Pain shot up your knee as you tried to move.

“Shit,” you whispered, clutching it.

Above, you heard the sound of pounding footsteps skidding to a halt.

“Y/N!” Jongho’s voice, sharp and panicked.

You looked up at him from the base of the slope, tears pricking your eyes—not from the pain alone, but from sheer frustration at everything.

“Y/N!”

The sound of his own voice startled him. Too loud. Too panicked.

You were clutching your knee at the base of the slope, hair falling into your face, dirt streaking your hands.

“I’m fine,” you called weakly.

You weren’t fine.

By the time he slid down and knelt beside you, Jongho’s chest felt tight.

“Where does it hurt?” His voice came out sharp, but his hands hovered gentle and sure.

“My knee. Left. Landed on it weird.”

“Any sharp pain?”

“Not… sharp. Just throbbing. It buckles when I try to stand.”

“Don’t,” he said quickly. “You could make it worse.”

You stared at him. “You sound like you know what you’re doing.”

“Pre-med,” he admitted. “Orthopedics rotation last semester.”

You blinked. “Wait—you’re a medicine major?”

“Yeah. What, did you think I was a professional coffee critic?”

Despite everything, a small laugh escaped you. “Honestly? A little.”

He sat back, running a hand through his hair.

“Listen…” he started. “I was out of line earlier. Snapping at you like that.”

You stared at him, surprised.

“I don’t know why I did. I think I was… frustrated. But that’s no excuse. You’ve been trying. I wasn’t fair.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you… apologizing to me?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. Mr. Perfect is human after all.”

“Don’t push it.”

“Can you stand?”

“Probably not.”

“Then I’m carrying you.”

“Wait—what?”

Before you could argue, Jongho slid an arm under your knees and the other around your back, lifting you effortlessly.

“Hey—”

“Don’t argue. You’re not walking on that knee.”

Your arms flailed for a second before you gave up, crossing them tightly over your chest.

“This is so embarrassing. I probably weigh a ton.”

Jongho didn’t even pause. “You could weigh more and I’d still carry you.”

You blinked up at him.

“You’re as light as a feather,” he added matter-of-factly.

Your face went hot. “You’re lying.”

“Why would I lie? I lift more in the gym.”

He hadn’t expected to notice—hadn’t expected to feel—how small you were.

Your weight barely registered in his arms. Your hair smelled faintly like vanilla shampoo. You were quiet now, gaze fixed anywhere but his face.

For some reason, it made his chest feel tighter than when he’d watched you laughing with that guy earlier.

Back at campus he heard a voice.

“Jongho?”

He looked up to see four familiar faces: Seonghwa, Mingi, Yunho, Yeosang and Hongjoong.

“Bro… are you carrying someone?” Mingi’s eyes went wide.

“Holy shit, he is,” Yunho whispered loudly.

“Wait—” Hongjoong squinted. “Isn’t that…?”

Seonghwa’s lips twitched. “The girl from the lake.”

Your eyes went wide. “You guys were there too?”

“Of course,” Yunho said, grinning. “The infamous sugar queen in the flesh.”

“Oh my God,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands.

“Nice to see you again,” Seonghwa said smoothly. “We didn’t know you two were this close.”

“We’re not,” you said quickly.

“Could’ve fooled us,” Mingi teased.

Jongho muttered, “She hurt her knee.”

“Mmhm.” Hongjoong’s grin widened. “Sure.”

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

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