#thanks for that introspection stranger | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nevernonline · 12 days ago

Text

✧.* the pages of us; jww

synopsis: Wonwoo, a quiet and introspective writer, stumbles upon The Reading Nook, a small, tucked-away bookstore owned by Y/N, a passionate book lover. their shared love for literature draws them together, but the secrets hidden within the bookstore’s collection may hold the key to both their futures.

paring: wonwoo x fem! reader.

genre:strangers2whatever

warning/s:mentions of substances (alcohol), death of a parent.

word count: 15k

content: . non-idol idolings

note: non rlly edited prob weird typos, xo.

The autumn wind tugged at Wonwoo’s jacket as he walked aimlessly through unfamiliar streets. The world around him buzzed—cars honking, people chattering—but his mind was elsewhere, tangled in unwritten sentences and half-formed ideas. When he saw it, he stopped.

Nestled between a bakery and a flower shop was a small bookstore, its wooden sign swinging gently in the breeze: The Reading Nook. The warm glow spilling through the windows beckoned him, promising sanctuary. Without hesitation, he stepped inside.

A bell jingled as the door closed behind him, and the city’s noise melted away, replaced by the soft hum of jazz. The scent of aged paper and faintly spiced tea wrapped around him like a blanket. The space was a labyrinth of towering shelves, cozy armchairs, and scattered stacks of books.

Behind the counter, a young woman sat perched on a stool, engrossed in a book. Her oversized sweater hung loosely around her frame, and a pencil peeked out from behind her ear. A steaming mug sat within arm’s reach. At the sound of the bell, she looked up, her eyes meeting Wonwoo’s.

“Lost?” she asked, a hint of teasing in her tone.

He hesitated. “Uh, No. Not really. I just needed a change of scenery.”

Her smile widened. “Well, welcome to The Nook. Are you looking for something specific, or do you prefer letting the books choose you?”

He shrugged, glancing around. “I’m not sure. Inspiration, maybe. I’m a writer. Or trying to be.”

Her eyebrows lifted slightly. “A creative soul, then. I love to see it.” She closed her book with a soft thud and hopped off the stool. “Lucky for you, this place has a knack for unsticking writers. Come on.”

She led him past rows of novels and poetry collections to a corner that seemed quieter, almost sacred. Pulling a worn book from the shelf, she handed it to him. “This one’s a personal favorite. It might be just what you need.”

Wonwoo flipped through the pages, his fingers brushing the edges of faded paper. “Thanks,” he murmured, though something on a lower shelf caught his eye.

“What’s that section?” he asked, pointing to a small, tucked-away shelf labeled Oddities & Curiosities.

Her laugh was soft and warm. “Oh, that’s the fun shelf. A collection of random finds—some rare, some downright strange. Wait here.”

She crouched down and pulled out a slim, weathered journal bound in dark leather. She placed it in his hands, her expression thoughtful. “This is special. It’s been here forever. People call it the Muse’s Journal. Writers seem to like it. It’s basically a sacred text.”

The leather was cracked with age, the pages filled with scribbled notes, odd sketches, and cryptic messages in faded ink. One phrase in particular caught his eye:

“Every ending is a beginning in disguise.”

He ran his fingers over the words, as if they might dissolve. “This almost feels like it’s meant for me.”

She watched him, her gaze softening. “It tends to have that effect.”

Their eyes met for a brief moment, an unspoken understanding passing between them. Then she broke the spell, gesturing toward the counter.

“Let me ring those up for you.”

At the counter, she slipped a hand-drawn bookmark into the journal before sliding it toward him. “Consider this a welcome gift,” she said with a smile. “Don’t be a stranger—I want to hear how it goes.”

He nodded, tucking the journal and bookmark into his bag. “Thanks... Y/N,” he said, glancing at the nameplate on the counter.

The bell jingled as he stepped out into the crisp autumn air. Inside, Y/N lingered by the counter, her fingers brushing the edge of her mug. She found herself wondering about the quiet writer who had wandered in, carrying stories he wasn’t ready to tell.

Wonwoo’s apartment was small and spare, its corners cluttered with books and scattered drafts of his unfinished manuscript. The city hummed outside, but within the four walls, it was quiet—too quiet. He dropped his bag onto the table and pulled out the journal Y/N had given him, the leather cover cool under his fingertips.

He opened it carefully, the faint scent of old paper filling the room. The handwriting inside was uneven, a mix of bold, confident strokes and faint, hurried scrawls. Sketches of stars and swirling patterns filled the margins, and snippets of phrases seemed to leap from the pages:

To find the ending, look within.

Time folds like pages.

You already know the answer.

Near the middle, he found a folded scrap of paper tucked between the pages. Carefully, he opened it. Written in the same hurried scrawl were the words:

The key lies where the light breaks.

Wonwoo tilted his head, puzzled. It felt like a puzzle piece, disconnected but tantalizing. He sat down at his desk, pulled out his laptop, and opened the document containing his manuscript. His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

For weeks, he’d stared at this screen, unable to write. But now, the words in the journal buzzed in his mind, stirring something deep within. He scrolled to the last paragraph of his story and began to type. Slowly at first, then faster.

The narrative began to flow, his characters moving through the scenes as if they’d been waiting for him to find his way back. The world outside faded as Wonwoo lost himself in the story.

The bell above the door jingled softly as Wonwoo stepped into The Reading Nook for the second time. It was raining outside, the kind of steady drizzle that dampened everything except his resolve to return. He shook off his umbrella by the door and glanced toward the counter, where Y/N was scribbling something in a notebook.

She looked up at the sound of the bell, her expression shifting from focus to a faint smile. “Back already?”

Wonwoo shrugged, setting his messenger bag on the counter. “The journal,” he said simply, pulling it out and sliding it toward her. “It’s... strange, but I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s like it knows what I need to hear before I do.”

Y/N’s fingers brushed the journal as she picked it up, her movements slow, almost reverent. “That’s what people say about it,” she replied, her tone measured. “It has a way of finding the right person.”

Wonwoo tilted his head, catching the flicker of something in her voice—hesitation, or maybe unease. “You’ve had it for a long time, haven’t you?”

She nodded, her gaze lowering to the journal. “It was one of my mother’s finds. She used to say every book had a soul, but this one...” She trailed off, her expression softening as if caught in a memory. “This one feels alive.”

Wonwoo hesitated before asking, “And the notes inside? Like this one.” He unfolded the small slip of paper he’d found tucked in the pages. “What’s ‘where the light breaks’ supposed to mean?”

For a moment, Y/N’s guard slipped, her brows knitting together in a way that told him she knew more than she was letting on. Then, just as quickly, she recovered, flashing him an enigmatic smile. “Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe it’s a metaphor. Writers love their metaphors, don’t they?”

Wonwoo gave a small laugh, though her deflection left him unconvinced. He decided not to press further, sensing that whatever secrets she was guarding weren’t ready to be shared.

“Mind if I stick around for a while?” he asked, changing the subject.

Y/N gestured toward the back of the store. “Go ahead. There’s some nice spots in the back corner by the staircase.”

Wonwoo found his favorite armchair nestled in the back corner of the store, near a shelf overflowing with worn poetry collections and dog-eared philosophy books. He placed the journal on the small table beside him and opened his laptop.

As the hours slipped by, the steady rhythm of rain against the windows created the perfect backdrop for writing. Y/N occasionally passed by, carrying stacks of books to reshelve or pausing to check in on him.

“How’s it going?” she asked during one of her rounds.

He glanced up, smiling faintly. “Better. The words are coming easier today. It’s strange—I haven’t felt this focused in weeks.”

Y/N arched a brow, setting a mug of tea on the table beside him. “Maybe it’s the bookstore’s magic,” she said lightly, though there was a touch of sincerity in her voice.

“Maybe,” he agreed, taking a sip of the tea. It was spiced and warm, the perfect antidote to the cold rain outside.

Y/N leaned against the edge of the shelf, her arms crossed. “What’s the problem anyway? Plot? Characters? Dialogue?”

“All of it,” he replied, gesturing helplessly at the screen. “It’s like I’ve forgotten how to write.”

She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Want to try an exercise? Something I do when I’m in a creative rut?”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow. “You write?”

“I dabble,” she said with a shrug, though a faint blush crept up her cheeks. “Mostly for myself. But the exercise works. Close your laptop.”

He hesitated but followed her instruction, snapping the laptop shut.

“Now,” she continued, “pick a random object in the room. Anything.”

Wonwoo glanced around, his gaze landing on an antique globe sitting on a nearby shelf. “That.”

“Perfect,” Y/N said, pulling up a chair and sitting across from him. “Tell me about the person who owns it. What do they do? Where have they been? What’s their story?”

Wonwoo blinked, caught off guard by the simplicity of the prompt. Slowly, he began to speak. “They’re... an explorer. Someone who’s seen the world but is always looking for something they can’t quite find. Maybe it’s a place, or a feeling, or—”

“A person,” Y/N interjected softly, her eyes meeting his.

“Yeah,” he agreed, his voice quieter. “A person.”

They shared a small smile before Y/N stood, brushing her hands on her sweater. “See? You’re not blocked—you’re just overthinking. Write like that, without the pressure.”

Their conversations began to spill beyond writing. That evening, after the store had emptied out, Y/N brought over not two mugs of tea this time, but two glasses of whiskey chilled with a thick cut ball of ice and sat beside him in his corner.

“What’s your story, Wonwoo?” she asked, breaking the companionable silence.

“My story?” he repeated, taking a sip of the drink to buy time.

“Yeah,” she said, tucking her legs beneath her. “You know all these characters and worlds, but what about you? What made you want to write in the first place?”

He hesitated, her question striking a chord. “I think It’s the only way I know how to make sense of things. Of people. Writing lets me put the world into words, even when it doesn’t make sense in real life.”

“That’s beautiful,” she said softly.

He gave her a shy smile, unused to such direct praise. “What about you? Why books?”

Y/N leaned back in her chair, her gaze drifting to the shelves around them. “Books were my escape growing up. My mom used to say a good story could take you anywhere, even if you couldn’t leave where you were. She started this place so people could find those stories.”

“Did you always know you’d take over?” Wonwoo asked.

“Not at first,” she admitted, tracing the rim of her mug. “I thought I’d do something else, but when she passed, I realized how much of her was here. Keeping the store alive felt like keeping her alive, too.”

Her voice wavered slightly, and Wonwoo reached out instinctively, his hand brushing hers. “She’d be proud of you,” he said gently.

Y/N looked at him, her eyes shining with gratitude. “Thanks, Wonwoo. That means a lot. To creative breakthroughs,” she said, raising her glass.

“And to mysterious journals,” Wonwoo added with a smirk, clinking his glass against hers.

The whiskey was smooth, warming him from the inside out. He leaned back in his chair, feeling the tension of the day melt away.

“Once,” Y/N said, swirling the amber liquid in her glass, “a guy came in asking if we sold books printed on edible paper. Said he wanted to consume knowledge literally.”

Wonwoo laughed, nearly spilling his drink. “Did you find him anything?”

“I tried to sell him a cookbook. He wasn’t amused.”

He shook his head, still grinning. “This place must be full of stories.”

“It is,” she said, her voice softer now. “But not just the ones on the shelves.”

“What do you mean?

Y/n smiled, shaking her head slightly. “I feel like all of my core memories were here. WIth my mom. With customers just like you, I read about sex for the first time here with my friends just spending our day giggling at the words, I had my birthday parties here, all of that. When I was younger I thought there was something hiding beneath the walls of the bookshelves like a treasure hunt. I even drew my own map, all of it. It’s just something special.”

Wonwoo’s grin softened as he leaned back in his chair, his glass of whiskey resting loosely in his hand. He took in Y/N’s wistful expression, the way her eyes shimmered with nostalgia. “That’s really beautiful,” he said, his voice quieter now. “It sounds like this place has always been more than just a bookstore for you.”

Y/N laughed softly, a touch of self-consciousness in her tone. “Yeah, it’s kind of silly, isn’t it? Most people probably see it as just another store, but to me…” She gestured around them, her hand sweeping across the shelves and corners bathed in golden light. “It’s everything. A home, a memory box, a time machine, even.”

“You made a treasure map?” he asked, his lips twitching into an amused smile.

“Oh, yeah,” Y/N said, her cheeks flushing. She sat up straighter, miming the act of unrolling a scroll. “I was convinced there were secret passages hidden in the walls or, like, a chest buried under the floorboards. I even roped my friends into searching for hours. We’d sneak around with flashlights after the store closed, trying not to get caught.”

“Did you ever find anything?” Wonwoo asked, playing along.

She smiled mischievously. “Well, I did find an old tin box stuffed behind a loose board in the back. Turned out to be a stash of my mom’s notes and doodles from when she was designing the store. She’d drawn all these little floor plans and written these whimsical ideas for themed sections. It was like finding a treasure, but instead of gold, it was her imagination.”

Wonwoo’s brows lifted in surprise. “That sounds even better than gold.”

“Yeah,” Y/N murmured, her voice softer now. “It was.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The store felt alive around them, the silence filled with the weight of its stories. Wonwoo glanced toward the rows of shelves, his gaze lingering on their uneven, timeworn edges.

“You’ve spent your whole life here,” he said finally, his tone contemplative. “It’s like you and this place are woven together.”

Y/N tilted her head, studying him. “You say that like it’s a good thing.”

“Isn’t it?” he asked, his dark eyes meeting hers. “You’ve built something that carries so much meaning—not just for you, but for everyone who steps through that door. I mean, look at me. I was completely lost, and this place pulled me in. It’s rare.”

Her smile returned, small but genuine. “You really think so?”

He nodded without hesitation. “I do. And I think your mom would be proud of what you’ve done with it.”

Y/N’s fingers tightened around her glass for a moment, her gaze dropping to the amber liquid inside. “That means a lot.”

She leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees. “What about you, though? What’s your version of a treasure map? Did you ever have a place like this growing up?”

Wonwoo paused, considering the question. “Not really. My family moved around a lot, so I never had the chance to get attached to any one place. But I guess that’s why books became so important to me. They were the only constant.”

“Did you have a favorite?”

He chuckled, the sound soft and low. “I had a beat-up copy of The Little Prince. I carried it everywhere. The pages were falling out by the time I hit high school, but I couldn’t let it go. It felt like it understood me in a way nothing else did.”

Y/N smiled, her eyes lighting up. “That’s one of my favorites too. It’s so simple, but it stays with you.”

“Yeah,” he said, his expression turning thoughtful. “I think that’s what I want my writing to do. I want someone to pick up my book and feel the way I felt holding that one—like it’s speaking directly to them.”

“That’s a pretty amazing goal,” Y/N said. “And if your manuscript is anything like the pieces I’ve seen you scribble on napkins around here, you’re on your way.”

Wonwoo laughed, feeling his cheeks heat under her praise. “Well, that’s high praise coming from the owner of the coziest, most magical bookstore in the city.”

“Oh, we’re the only magical bookstore in the city,” Y/N quipped, raising her glass in mock toast.

“Fair enough,” Wonwoo said, clinking his glass against hers again.

The night deepened, the whiskey bottle slowly emptying as their conversation wandered from books to music, from childhood memories to dreams they hadn’t dared to share before. The air between them grew warmer, the initial reserve giving way to an easy intimacy.

By the time the clock struck midnight, Y/N found herself leaning against the arm of her chair, her head resting on her hand as she watched Wonwoo animatedly describe a scene from his favorite film. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so at ease with someone.

Wonwoo caught her gaze and paused mid-sentence, his smile softening. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “Just you talk about stories like they’re alive. It’s nice.”

He tilted his head, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, with a quiet sincerity, he said, “I think it’s because they are. And you—you’re part of why I’m starting to believe in them again.”

Her breath caught, the weight of his words settling in her chest. For once, she didn’t know what to say, so she simply smiled, the corners of her lips curving upward as warmth spread through her.

Outside, the rain began again, tapping lightly against the windows, as if the universe itself were trying to write the next chapter of their story.

The clock on the wall chimed softly, breaking the stillness. Y/N glanced at it and sighed. “We should probably call it a night. I have to open up in the morning.”

“Right,” Wonwoo said, though he was reluctant to leave.

As he gathered his things, Y/N walked him to the door, her steps slow.

“Thanks for staying,” she said as he shrugged on his coat.

“Thanks for the whiskey,” he replied with a smile. “And for letting me hijack your bookstore every day.”

“You’re not hijacking it,” she said, her tone warm. “You’re just adding to its story.”

He paused, her words settling in his chest like a quiet truth. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Wonwoo.”

As he stepped out into the cool night, he couldn’t help but glance back at the softly glowing windows of The Reading Nook, already looking forward to returning to its quiet magic—and to her—tomorrow.

The morning at the store was unusually busy, with regulars and passersby drifting in and out. The faint hum of chatter and the occasional scrape of chairs filled the air, blending with the soft jazz playing from the speakers. Y/N moved easily between the shelves, offering recommendations and ringing up purchases with her usual calm efficiency.

Wonwoo arrived just past noon, carrying the journal tucked under his arm. He pushed the door open and was greeted by the cheerful jingle of the entry bell. Y/N, stationed behind the counter, looked up and gave him a warm smile.

“Back so soon?” she teased.

“Couldn’t stay away,” he replied, returning her smile as he made his way to his usual spot in the back corner.

But today, instead of pulling out his laptop, Wonwoo placed the journal on the table and opened it. His fingers traced the faint ink of the unfamiliar handwriting as he flipped through the pages, his brows furrowed in concentration.

After the rush died down, Y/N joined him, carrying two steaming cups of coffee. She placed one beside him and leaned against the edge of the table. “You’ve been staring at that thing all week,” she said, nodding at the journal. “What the hell is so fascinating about it?”

Wonwoo looked up, his expression thoughtful. “It’s strange. The more I read it, the more it feels like the writer was leaving clues for someone, almost like they wanted to be found.”

Y/N’s curiosity piqued. She pulled up a chair, sitting across from him. “What kind of clues?”

He turned the journal toward her, pointing to a section where a paragraph had been underlined. “Here, for example. The writer talks about a ‘hidden heart’ beneath the shelves, something meant to outlast them. And here—” He flipped a few pages, showing her a sketch of what looked like a rough map. “This is a drawing of something, but I can’t figure out what. It’s like they were mapping out a part of the store.”

Y/N leaned closer, her brow furrowing. “Let me see that.” She studied the map, her fingers brushing the edges of the page. The sketch showed a series of lines and rectangles, vaguely resembling the layout of the bookstore, with an X marked near the back wall.

“That’s... odd,” she murmured. “It does look like the store, but this corner doesn’t exist anymore. My mom remodeled years ago to add the café section.”

“Could there be something behind the wall?” Wonwoo asked, his voice low with intrigue.

Y/N bit her lip, considering the possibility. “Maybe. But I don’t remember her ever mentioning anything like that.”

They spent the next hour poring over the journal together, comparing the map to the store’s current layout and trying to piece together the cryptic notes scribbled in the margins. Phrases like “For the dreamers who wander” and “Seek, and you will find” were scattered throughout, written in a looping, elegant script.

“This feels like something out of one of your novels,” Y/N said, glancing at Wonwoo with a small smile.

“I know,” he replied, his excitement evident. “It’s almost too perfect.”

“But if there’s something hidden, why hasn’t anyone found it before?”

“That’s what we need to figure out,” he said, standing abruptly. “Where’s that back corner? The one your mom remodeled?”

Y/N hesitated but stood as well, leading him toward the café section. They stopped in front of the wall that now housed shelves of cookbooks and travel guides.

“This is where the X would be,” she said, gesturing toward space. “But if there’s anything back there, it’s been sealed up for years.”

Wonwoo ran his hand along the wooden paneling, his expression thoughtful. “It wouldn’t hurt to check, right?”

Y/N disappeared into the back room and returned with a small step ladder and a flashlight. Together, they began carefully inspecting the wall, knocking on the panels and listening for any hollow sounds.

“Here,” Wonwoo said after a few minutes, tapping on a spot near the floor. The sound was noticeably different, dull and hollow compared to the rest.

Y/N crouched beside him, her heart pounding with a mix of excitement and apprehension. “You think that’s it?”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

They worked together to carefully remove the lower panel, revealing a small recess hidden behind it. Inside was an old, dust-covered wooden box, no bigger than a shoebox.

Y/N’s breath hitched. “Oh my God.”

Wonwoo reached in and gently pulled the box out, placing it on the floor between them. It was heavy, the wood worn and etched with faint carvings of stars and vines. A small latch held it shut.

“Do we open it?” he asked, looking at Y/N.

She nodded, her hands trembling slightly. “We have to.”

As Y/N stared at the box and its mysterious contents, a nagging thought began to creep into her mind. She looked at the map again, then at the journal, then at Wonwoo. Her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Wait a second,” she said, her tone suddenly sharp. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

Wonwoo blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“This.” she gestured at the journal and the box, her voice rising slightly. “This whole... treasure hunt. It’s because I told you about my stupid childhood treasure map last night, isn’t it?”

“What? No fucking way.” Wonwoo said, his brows knitting together in confusion.

Y/N stood and crossed her arms, glaring down at him. “It’s just too convenient, okay? You show up here with this mystical, cryptic journal I gave you, right after I tell you how I used to dream about finding treasure in this store. And now, look. We’ve ‘found’ a hidden box in the wall? What are the odds of that, Wonwoo?”

Her words hit him like a slap, and he rose to his feet, looking genuinely hurt. “Y/N, I’m not making this up,” he said, his voice steady but defensive. “Why would I even go through all this trouble just to mess with you?”

“I don’t know.” she snapped, throwing her hands in the air. “You’re a writer. Maybe you thought it’d be funny, or it’d give you material for your next book?”

“Seriously?” he asked, his tone incredulous. “You really think I’d fake something like this? For what? A laugh?”

Y/N hesitated, suddenly unsure. Her anger fizzled as quickly as it had flared, leaving behind an uncomfortable mix of embarrassment and guilt. She bit her lip and glanced at the box again, its contents undeniably real.

“Well,” she muttered, her voice quieter now. “It just seems too perfect. Like something out of one of your stories.”

Wonwoo sighed and ran a hand through his hair, his expression softening. “I get it. It does feel like something out of a book. But that’s what makes it so amazing, Y/N. It’s real.”

She looked at him, searching his face for any sign of deception. But all she saw was sincerity—the kind that made her chest tighten.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, her voice small. “It’s just…this place means a lot to me, and I guess I got defensive.”

“It’s okay,” he said gently. “I get why you’d be suspicious. But I promise, this journal, this box—it’s as much of a surprise to me as it is to you.”

Y/N let out a shaky breath and sat back down, feeling the tension drain from her shoulders. “I guess I owe you the benefit of the doubt,” she said with a sheepish smile. “You’re not exactly the pranking type.”

“Thank you,” Wonwoo replied, his lips quivering into a small smile. “Although now I kind of wish I had thought of this. It’s a pretty great story.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “Don’t push it.”

Inside the box, they found an assortment of items: a stack of faded letters tied with a silk ribbon, a small leather pouch filled with pressed flowers, and a single gold key. At the very bottom was a handwritten note on yellowed paper.

Y/N picked it up and unfolded it carefully, her eyes scanning the elegant script.

“For those who cherish stories: The heart of the dreamer lies not in the treasure itself, but in the act of seeking. May you find what you didn’t know you were looking for.”

The note was signed with her mother’s name.

Y/N stared at the signature, her throat tightening. “She left this here,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Wonwoo placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “She wanted you to find it.”

Y/N blinked back tears and looked at him. “But what does it mean? The key, the letters... What was she trying to tell me?”

“I don’t know,” Wonwoo said softly, “but I think we’re only just beginning to understand the story.”

They sat there in the quiet of the bookstore, the mystery unfolding around them like the opening pages of a long-lost novel. The key glinted in the soft light, a silent invitation to continue the journey.

After a moment of silence, she reached for the journal again, turning it over in her hands. “So... if you’re not messing with me, what do you think this all means? The key, the letters, the note...”

“I don’t know,” Wonwoo admitted, crouching beside the box once more. “But I think your mom was trying to leave you something—not just in the literal sense, but maybe a piece of herself. Maybe she wanted you to find it when you were ready.”

Y/N’s gaze softened, her fingers brushing over the note. “She always did love a good mystery.”

“Well, lucky for you, you’ve got a mystery writer here to help,” Wonwoo said with a grin, trying to lighten the mood.

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. “All right, detective. Where do we start?”

Wonwoo held up the gold key, letting it catch the light. “With this,” he said simply.

The gold key gleamed under the soft light of the bookstore, its intricate details catching Y/N’s eye. It was old, heavy in Wonwoo’s hand as he turned it over thoughtfully.

“So,” he began, “any idea what this might go to?”

Y/N shook her head, her brow furrowing as she stared at the key. “Not really. It’s not from the register, or the front door, and it doesn’t look like any of the locks I’ve seen around here. It’s too decorative.”

Wonwoo placed the key on the table, its metallic clink filling the quiet space. “Could it belong to something in the back room? Maybe there’s an old chest or cabinet hidden back there.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly. “There is an old storage cabinet in the back, but it’s just filled with leftover inventory and random junk. I don’t think it even has a lock anymore.”

“Well,” Wonwoo said, standing up and grabbing the key, “let’s find out.”

The two of them moved through the store, weaving between shelves and heading toward the back room. Y/N flipped on the overhead light, revealing a space cluttered with boxes, stacks of old books, and various odds and ends that had accumulated over the years.

“There,” she said, pointing toward a tall wooden cabinet tucked against the far wall. It was scratched and weathered, its once-polished surface dulled by time.

Wonwoo approached it, crouching to examine the hardware. “Looks like it used to have a keyhole, but it’s been replaced with this newer latch.” He stood and glanced around the room. “What else could it fit?”

Y/N frowned, scanning the room. Then her gaze landed on an old wooden chest half-buried beneath a pile of dusty books. Her heart skipped a beat. “That,” she said, gesturing toward it. “It used to belong to my mom. I haven’t opened it in years.”

Wonwoo crossed to the chest and carefully cleared the books away, revealing its ornate design. It was carved with swirling patterns and faint images of stars and moons—details that mirrored the etchings on the box they’d found.

“This has to be it,” he said, his voice low with anticipation.

Y/N knelt beside him, her hands trembling slightly as she handed him the key. “Go ahead,” she said.

Wonwoo hesitated for a moment, then slid the key into the lock. It fit perfectly, turning with a satisfying click. The lid creaked as he lifted it, revealing the chest’s contents:

Inside was a collection of items that seemed to have been frozen in time. There were stacks of faded photographs, a leather-bound notebook, and a small music box. Among them was a sealed envelope with Y/N’s name written in her mother’s handwriting.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She reached for the envelope, her fingers brushing the paper lightly before pulling it free.

“Are you okay?” Wonwoo asked gently.

She nodded, though her hands were shaking as she opened the letter.

The letter was written in the same elegant script as the note they’d found earlier. Y/N’s eyes scanned the words, her voice barely above a whisper as she read aloud:

"My dearest Y/N, If you’re reading this, it means you’ve found the box and followed the clues. I always knew you would—your curiosity has always been your greatest strength. This store is more than a place for books; it’s a sanctuary for dreamers, just like you.

The chest holds pieces of my story, but it’s also a reminder to create your own. The key isn’t just for unlocking the past—it’s for opening doors to the future. Keep seeking, keep dreaming, and never stop believing in the magic of stories.

With all my love, Mom.”

Y/N’s voice broke as she finished the letter, tears streaming down her cheeks. She wiped at her eyes, laughing softly. “She always did have a flair for the dramatic.”

Wonwoo smiled, his own eyes glassy. “She sounds like an incredible woman.”

“She was,” Y/N said, clutching the letter to her chest. “And somehow, she still is.”

They spent the next hour carefully going through the chest. The photographs captured moments from her mother’s life: her standing in front of the bookstore on opening day, laughing with friends at a party, and sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounded by books, her smile bright and full of life.

The notebook turned out to be her mother’s journal, filled with musings about the store, her dreams for its future, and even sketches of book displays.

But it was the music box that brought the most unexpected surprise. When Y/N wound it up and opened it, a soft, haunting melody filled the room. Beneath the mechanism was a small, folded piece of paper.

Wonwoo picked it up and unfolded it, his brow furrowing. “It’s another map,” he said, holding it up for Y/N to see.

This one was simpler than the first, but it clearly pointed to a specific section of the bookstore: the poetry aisle.

“Of course,” Y/N said, shaking her head with a teary laugh. “That was her favorite section.”

“Looks like the treasure hunt isn’t over,” Wonwoo said, his smile growing.

Y/N glanced at him, her heart swelling with gratitude. “You really are enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Are you kidding?” he said, standing and offering her his hand. “This is the best story I’ve been part of in years.”

Y/N took his hand, letting him pull her to her feet. “Then let’s go see what else she left behind.”

The poetry section was nestled in one of the coziest corners of The Reading Nook, lit by warm, golden light from an antique floor lamp. The shelves were crammed with well-loved volumes, their spines a kaleidoscope of faded colors. Y/N and Wonwoo crouched together, studying the map they’d found in the music box.

“It’s pointing right here,” Wonwoo said, tapping a spot on the map that corresponded to a low shelf at the far end of the aisle. “You think there’s something hidden behind the books?”

“Only one way to find out,” Y/N murmured, already reaching for a stack of slim poetry collections. She began pulling them off the shelf, careful not to damage the fragile covers.

Wonwoo joined in, working methodically as the gap widened. Behind the books, they found an old wooden panel, its edges rough and worn. A faint carving was etched into the wood—a heart with an arrow through it.

Y/N ran her fingers over the carving, her pulse quickening. “This has to be it,” she whispered. “It matches the note in the journal about the ‘hidden heart.’”

“Is it loose?” Wonwoo asked, leaning in closer.

Y/N pushed gently on the panel, and it gave way with a soft creak, revealing a small compartment. Inside was a folded piece of parchment and a brass locket.

She carefully picked up the parchment and unfolded it, her eyes scanning the page. Before she could fully process what it said, the jingle of the front doorbell shattered the quiet.

“Y/N?”

The voice was sharp, authoritative, and instantly recognizable. Y/N froze, her blood running cold. She turned slowly to see her estranged aunt, Evelyn, standing at the entrance to the poetry aisle. Evelyn was tall and impeccably dressed, her tailored coat and polished heels making her look as though she belonged in a boardroom rather than a cozy bookstore.

“Who’s that?” Wonwoo asked softly, sensing her sudden tension.

“My aunt,” Y/N muttered, her voice tight. “And she doesn’t visit for small talk.”

Footsteps echoed down the aisle before Evelyn appeared, impeccably dressed in a dark tailored coat and stilettos that clicked sharply against the hardwood. Behind her trailed a man in a crisp gray suit, carrying a leather briefcase. His expression was unreadable but efficient, like a man who had won many battles in court.

Evelyn’s sharp gaze fell immediately on Y/N, then flicked to Wonwoo and the cleared shelf. Her lips twisted into a thin, mirthless smile. “Well, this is quite the scene,” she said. “Still playing your little bookstore games, I see.”

“What do you want, Evelyn?” Y/N asked, her tone defensive as she stood, tucking the parchment behind her back. Wonwoo quickly picked up the locket and slipped it into his pocket, his movements discreet.

Evelyn gestured to the man beside her. “This is Mr. Calloway, my attorney. I brought him here to settle some legal matters concerning this store.”

“Legal matters?” Y/N repeated, her stomach knotting.

“Correct,” Calloway said, his voice as polished as his appearance. He opened his briefcase and produced a stack of papers, handing them to Evelyn.

Evelyn stepped closer, holding the documents out to Y/N. “This property is not yours outright, dear. It belongs to the family, and I’m here to claim my share. Effective immediately, I’ll be taking ownership and moving forward with plans to redevelop this space into something profitable. The bookstore has had its time.”

Y/N’s jaw tightened as she refused to take the papers. “You can’t just walk in here and take the store. My mother left it to me.”

Evelyn gave a small, cold laugh. “Your mother left behind a mess. Do you have any idea how much debt this place is in? How much is it bleeding every month? I’m doing you a favor, Y/N. You can’t save this place—it’s a relic.”

Wonwoo stepped forward, his expression calm but his voice firm. “With all due respect, ma’am, this place is more than just a business. It’s a community hub, a home for people who need it.”

Evelyn’s eyes flicked to him, her disdain palpable. “And who, exactly, are you?”

“Wonwoo,” he said, offering a polite nod. “I’m a writer, and I’ve been spending a lot of time here. Enough to know how much this store means—not just to Y/N, but to the people who come here.”

“Another dreamer,” Evelyn muttered, shaking her head. She turned back to Y/N, her expression hardening. “You can surround yourself with all the idealists you want, but it won’t change the facts. I’ve already spoken to the developers, and they’re eager to get started. Your little bookstore is standing in the way of progress.”

“I won’t let you do this,” Y/N said, her voice trembling but resolute. “This place isn’t just mine—it’s my mother’s legacy. You have no right to take it away.”

Calloway cleared his throat, his tone measured. “Legally speaking, your aunt does have a valid claim. Without a specific stipulation in the will granting you sole ownership, the property reverts to shared family rights. Evelyn has chosen to exercise her claim.”

Y/N’s heart sank, but before she could respond, Wonwoo stepped in again. “That’s interesting,” he said, his voice smooth. “Because we just found something that might make things a bit more complicated.”

Evelyn’s sharp gaze locked onto him. “What do you mean?”

Wonwoo shot Y/N a subtle glance, silently urging her to trust him. “I mean, Y/N’s mom left behind a lot of things in this store. Memories, letters, documents. Who’s to say there isn’t something legally binding among them?”

Y/N caught on quickly, her hand tightening around the parchment. “That’s right. My mom was meticulous—she wouldn’t leave this place unprotected.”

Evelyn’s confident facade faltered for a split second, but she quickly recovered. “If you have something concrete, I suggest you present it to a lawyer,” she said coolly. “Until then, this store is mine to do with as I please.”

Wonwoo moved to stand between Y/N and Evelyn, his posture calm but firm. “You’re not taking anything today. Not until we’ve had a chance to go through everything and get legal advice of our own.”

Evelyn’s eyes narrowed. “You think you can stall me?”

“Not stall,” he said, his voice steady. “Protect what’s rightfully hers until the truth comes out.”

There was a tense silence before Evelyn sighed dramatically, turning on her heel. “You have 48 hours to present proof. After that, I’m filing the necessary paperwork to take control.” She glanced over her shoulder, her gaze icy. “Don’t waste my time.”

She strode out of the store, Calloway following closely behind. The doorbell jingled sharply as it shut behind them.

Y/N slumped against the shelf, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “She’s serious,” she whispered. “She’s really going to try to take this place.”

“She won’t,” Wonwoo said firmly, pulling the locket from his pocket. “Because we’re going to find out exactly what your mom left behind. And if there’s even the slightest chance this parchment can stop her, we’re using it.”

Y/N straightened, her resolve hardening. “She’s not taking this store, Wonwoo. I don’t care what it takes.”

He smiled faintly. “That’s the spirit. Now, let’s figure out what else your mom wanted you to find.”

Together, they returned to the hidden compartment, determined to uncover the secrets that would save the bookstore.

The tension from Evelyn’s visit still lingered as Y/N and Wonwoo returned to the poetry aisle. Y/N’s hands shook slightly as she gently unfolded the parchment again, staring at her mother’s handwriting. Wonwoo sat beside her, leaning closer to read over her shoulder.

The note was more cryptic than her mother’s previous messages, written in elegant script:

"Look for the words that open doors.

Find the book where the stars meet the sea,

And inside, you’ll discover the key to everything."

Y/N exhaled sharply, brushing her hair out of her face. “What does that even mean? ‘The stars meet the sea’? It sounds like a riddle.”

“It is a riddle,” Wonwoo said thoughtfully, his brows furrowing as he studied the note. “But it’s also specific. Think about your mom—did she ever talk about a particular book that had something to do with stars or the sea?”

Y/N hesitated, her eyes scanning the shelves around them. “She loved poetry. And she had a way of finding meaning in everything. If this is a reference to a book, it’s probably one she treasured.”

Wonwoo stood and began browsing the nearby shelves, running his fingers along the spines. “What about the ones she kept separate from the main inventory? Rare or personal copies?”

Y/N’s eyes lit up. “The display case in the main room. She kept her favorite editions there.”

The two of them hurried to the display case, a vintage piece with glass panels that housed a carefully curated selection of books. Y/N unlocked it with a small key she kept on her necklace, the faint scent of old paper wafting out as she opened it.

“‘Stars meet the sea,’” Wonwoo murmured, scanning the titles. His gaze stopped on a slim, navy-blue book with a constellation design embossed on the cover. Where the Stars Meet the Sea, it read.

“This has to be it,” Y/N said, reaching for the book. She opened it slowly, her breath catching as something fluttered out from between the pages and landed on the glass.

It was a folded piece of parchment, similar to the others, but heavier this time. Wonwoo picked it up carefully, unfolding it to reveal a sketched blueprint.

“This... is a layout of the store,” Y/N said, her eyes widening as she recognized the familiar shape of the rooms and shelves.

Wonwoo pointed to a section marked with an X near the back of the building. “What’s here?”

“That’s the storage closet,” Y/N said, frowning. “I’ve been there a million times. There’s nothing special about it.”

“Maybe there is,” Wonwoo said, already heading toward the back. “Your mom clearly wanted you to find something, and I don’t think she’d send you on a wild goose chase.”

The storage closet was cramped and cluttered, packed with old boxes and supplies. Y/N and Wonwoo worked side by side to clear the space, uncovering the back wall. That’s when Y/N noticed something strange: a faint seam in the wood paneling.

“There’s something behind this,” she said, brushing dust off the edges.

Wonwoo grabbed a nearby screwdriver and began prying the panel loose. It took some effort, but eventually, the panel gave way, revealing a hidden compartment built into the wall.

Inside was a small wooden box, secured with a delicate latch. Y/N’s hands trembled as she unfastened it, revealing a stack of letters tied with a ribbon, along with an aged leather journal.

“These are my mom’s,” Y/N said, her voice breaking. She picked up the journal, flipping through the pages filled with her mother’s familiar handwriting. “It’s... it’s like she’s talking to me again.”

Wonwoo watched her quietly for a moment before speaking. “I think we should take a break. You’ve been through a lot today.”

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears. “But there’s so much to—”

“Later,” Wonwoo interrupted gently. “Let’s take a minute to breathe. You’re not alone in this, Y/N. We’ll figure it out together.”

She hesitated but eventually nodded. “Okay. You’re right.”

Back in the main room, Wonwoo took it upon himself to lighten the mood. While Y/N sat curled up in one of the armchairs, he went to the small kitchenette in the back of the store. A few minutes later, he returned with two glasses of wine and a plate of crackers and cheese he had found in the pantry.

“Wine and snacks,” he said with a soft smile, setting the tray down on the coffee table. “It’s not much, but I figured you could use something to take the edge off.”

Y/N laughed softly, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “You really didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to,” he said simply, handing her a glass.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, sipping their wine. The quiet hum of the store enveloped them, warm and comforting.

“This place really is magic,” Wonwoo said eventually, his voice soft.

Y/N glanced at him, her heart tugging at the sincerity in his expression. “You think so?”

He nodded, meeting her gaze. “It’s not just the books or the memories. It’s you. The way you talk about this place, the way you care about it... it’s inspiring.”

Y/N felt her cheeks warm, her fingers tightening around her glass. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not,” he said firmly. “You make this place what it is, Y/N. Your mom might have started it, but you’ve kept its heart alive. And I think that’s worth fighting for.”

Her throat tightened at his words, and she managed a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Wonwoo. For everything.”

“Always,” he said, his voice low and steady.

For the first time that day, Y/N felt a flicker of hope. Whatever secrets her mother had left behind—and whatever battles lay ahead—she wasn’t facing them alone. And that made all the difference.

Y/N leaned back in the armchair, swirling the last sip of wine in her glass. The dim light of the bookstore wrapped around them like a cocoon, soft and intimate. But the weight of the day still clung to her like a second skin—her aunt’s cruel words, the lawyer’s smug expression, the constant fear of losing everything.

She sighed, staring into her glass. “I don’t get it. How can someone like Evelyn have the same blood as my mom? They’re polar opposites. My mom gave her life to this place, and Evelyn just... wants to turn it into concrete and drywall.”

Wonwoo, who had been sitting cross-legged on the floor near the armchair, tilted his head thoughtfully. “Your aunt is something else, huh?” he said carefully, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Y/N let out a sharp laugh, startled by his tone. “That’s putting it lightly.”

“No, seriously,” he said, leaning forward, a mischievous glint in his eye. “She stormed in here like a villain from some soap opera. All she was missing was a dramatic evil laugh and a pet cat to stroke menacingly.”

Y/N snorted, covering her mouth with her hand. “Stop it. She’s bad, but she’s not a cartoon character.”

“Are you sure?” Wonwoo countered, his grin widening. “She walked in here with her heels clicking like a countdown to doom and a lawyer who looked like he was ready to auction off your soul. I half-expected her to twirl her hair and say, ‘You’ll rue the day you crossed Evelyn!’”

That did it. Y/N burst out laughing, the tension in her chest loosening with every chuckle. She doubled over slightly, her glass wobbling in her hand.

Wonwoo sat back, clearly pleased with himself. “See? Laughter’s good for stress. And let’s face it, your aunt is absurd enough to be a villain in one of those cheesy romance novels you keep tucked in the corner.”

Y/N wiped at her eyes, still giggling. “You’re not wrong. She’s dramatic enough to fit right in.”

“And her lawyer?” Wonwoo continued, warming to the subject. “He had the personality of an empty notebook. No offense to him, but I’ve seen potted plants with more charisma.”

She laughed harder, almost spilling her wine this time. “Okay, okay, now you’re being mean!”

“It’s not mean it's true,” he teased. “Seriously, though, who shows up with a lawyer for a family dispute? It’s like she planned this whole takeover with a PowerPoint presentation and a laser pointer.”

Y/N leaned back into her chair, her laughter quieting to a soft, lingering smile. For the first time all day, she felt like she could breathe. “You’re ridiculous,” she said, shaking her head.

“But I’m helping,” he said, a boyish grin lighting up his face.

She nodded, warmth blooming in her chest. “You are. More than you know.”

There was a brief pause as they locked eyes, the humor fading into something quieter, more intimate. Wonwoo’s expression softened, his voice dropping to a gentle tone.

“Your aunt might be a lot to handle, but she doesn’t define you, Y/N. Or this store. You’re stronger than she is, and you have something she’ll never understand—passion. You care about this place. That’s why you’ll win.”

Y/N’s smile wavered, her eyes shimmering with emotion. “Thank you, Wonwoo. I don’t know what I’d do without you right now.”

He reached over and gently plucked the glass from her hand, setting it aside. “You’d figure it out. You’re pretty incredible, Y/N. I’m just here to remind you of that.”

She felt her cheeks flush, her heart thudding in her chest. “You’re really good at this whole pep talk thing.”

“Years of practice,” he said lightly, leaning back with a small smile. “But honestly, it’s easy when it’s you. You make it worth it.”

The warmth in his words settled over her like a comforting blanket, and for the first time in days, she felt the storm inside her quiet.

Y/N grabbed the wine bottle from the kitchenette, glancing over her shoulder at Wonwoo, who was sprawled lazily on the floor with his glass in hand. “Alright, Mr. Mysterious Writer. If we’re going to drink more wine, you’re spilling some juicy secrets.”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Secrets? What makes you think I have any?”

“Oh, please,” she said, settling down across from him with a grin. “You’ve got that whole brooding, quiet thing going on. There’s definitely something juicy under there.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as she refilled their glasses. “I think you’re overestimating how interesting I am.”

Y/N leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand. “Try me. What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done?”

“Embarrassing?” he echoed, groaning dramatically. “You’re really starting with the hard-hitting questions.”

“Absolutely,” she said with a smirk. “This wine isn’t free, you know. Payment in absolutely cringe-worthy stories, please.”

Wonwoo took a sip of his wine, stalling as his ears turned faintly pink. “Fine. When I was in college, I joined a karaoke contest because my friends dared me. I thought I was nailing it—singing my heart out to some cheesy pop song. Turns out, the mic was off the whole time, and everyone was just laughing at me lip-syncing like a maniac.”

Y/N burst out laughing, nearly spilling her wine. “No way. What song was it?”

He winced, looking away. “...‘Call Me Maybe.’”

Her laughter doubled, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. “Stop. Stop it right now. I’m picturing you doing those little hand motions for the chorus.”

He groaned, covering his face with one hand. “Why did I agree to this?”

“Because you secretly love making me laugh,” she teased, nudging his knee with her foot. “Okay, next question. What’s the most rebellious thing you’ve ever done? Please tell me it’s not sneaking a library book home after hours.”

Wonwoo smirked, tilting his head. “First of all, that’s a perfectly respectable crime. Second, I did once skip a whole semester of lectures to follow a girl I liked to a different city.”

Y/N’s mouth dropped open. “Wait—seriously? You followed her?”

He shrugged, his grin turning a little sheepish. “It wasn’t as creepy as it sounds. We were kind of seeing each other, and she was moving away for an internship. I thought it was romantic at the time.”

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up.” Y/N said, laughing as she set her glass down. “What happened?”

“She broke up with me two weeks later,” he admitted, his tone dry.

She gasped, clutching her chest like it physically hurt. “No! That’s awful.”

“It was definitely character building,” he said with a dramatic sigh, earning another laugh from her.

“Okay, last one,” she said, leaning closer with a sly smile. “Do you have any current crushes? Like, hypothetically, someone who owns a charming little bookstore and drinks wine with you at two in the morning?”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “Hypothetically? Are we talking about Evelyn?”

Y/N smacked his shoulder lightly, her laugh bubbling over. “Oh we’re definitely talking about Evelyn. I feel like you have a thing for terribly evil women who’d be mean to you, like a kink or something.”

He chuckled, his eyes sparkling as he leaned toward her slightly. “I usually do. But, I don’t know, Y/N. Shouldn’t the question be... do you have a current crush? Someone who maybe sings ‘Call Me Maybe’ like their life depends on it?”

Her cheeks flushed, but she kept her grin. “I don’t know, Woo. That doesn’t really sound like my type.”

“Oh, really?” he said, his tone playful. “What’s your type, then?”

She pretended to think, tapping her chin. “Hmm... someone who doesn’t follow girls to other cities or embarrass themselves at karaoke contests.”

“God the pain,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest like she’d wounded him. “Guess I’m out of the running.”

She smiled, her gaze softening just a bit. “Not necessarily. You’ve got other redeeming qualities. Like pouring wine which is an important one. At least to me.”

His grin widened, and he lifted his glass in a mock toast. “Well, I’ll take that as a win.”

Their glasses clinked together, and as they drank, the teasing energy between them lingered, warm and electric, filling the quiet bookstore with something that felt a lot like possibility.

Y/N grabbed the wine bottle, a mischievous glint in her eye as she refilled their glasses. Wonwoo watched her curiously, his grin still lingering from their back-and-forth.

“Alright, my turn,” he said, leaning back on his elbows. “What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever done in this bookstore when no one was around?”

Y/N froze mid-pour, her face immediately turning red. “Oh no. Nope. No way in hell. Not telling you.”

Wonwoo straightened, his smirk growing as he caught the look of panic on her face. “Oh, come on. You can’t not tell me after that reaction.”

“It’s not even that bad,” she tried to brush it off, waving a hand as if swatting his question away.

“That means it’s terrible, and now I have to know,” he teased, his eyes narrowing playfully. “What did you do, Y/N? Did you accidentally set a book on fire? Did you steal candy from a kid? Spill it.”

Y/N groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Ugh, fine! But you can’t laugh.”

“No promises,” he said immediately, leaning forward with interest.

She peeked out from between her fingers, sighing dramatically before finally admitting, “Okay. When I was like thirteen, I... I used to practice kissing on the spines of the books.”

Wonwoo blinked. “What?”

Her face turned crimson. “You heard me.”

It took a second for it to register, but then Wonwoo doubled over laughing, his shoulders shaking as he nearly spilled his wine. “The spines? You made out with the books?”

“I was thirteen!” she squealed, trying and failing to stop herself from laughing too. “And my friends had all kissed someone, so I panicked! I thought—‘I need to practice!’ And the books were there. Don’t judge me.”

Wonwoo fell back against the floor, wheezing between bursts of laughter. “Oh my god—what books? Please tell me it was like an encyclopedia.”

She shot him a glare, though she was laughing too hard to look serious. “No. It was whatever I could reach. Mostly YA romances, okay? I thought maybe the romance would transfer through the spine or something.”

“You were out here trying to absorb love through osmosis?” he gasped, holding his stomach as he laughed.

“Yes.” she said, her voice high-pitched from embarrassment. “I don’t know how I thought it worked.”

Wonwoo sat up, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “Y/N, that’s—that’s the greatest thing I’ve ever heard. I’m never going to be able to look at these books the same way again. Like how can I pick one up without wondering if your lips touched it.”

“I hate you,” she said, burying her face in her hands again. “I should’ve taken that secret to the grave.”

“Oh, absolutely not,” he said, grinning. “This is prime blackmail material. Just wait until you’re being all serious about the store one day, and I remind you of your spine-kissing phase.”

She peeked up at him, her lips quaking into a smile despite herself. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me,” he said smugly, raising his wine glass like a toast. “To Y/N, the Bookstore Casanova.”

“I’m never telling you anything ever again,” she muttered, shaking her head as she took a sip of her wine.

“Too late. I’m already your confidant,” he teased, leaning closer with a smirk. “But for the record, I think as a teenager you were pretty resourceful. I mean, who needs practice with people when you have books?”

“Exactly.” she said, pointing at him with mock seriousness. “See? You get it.”

“I don’t,” he admitted, laughing again. “But it’s endlessly entertaining.”

Y/N groaned, but she couldn’t stop smiling. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet, here you are—drinking wine with me. But, tell me, do you think the kissing books hacked helped?” he shot back, his eyes twinkling.

“I don’t know? I’ve never kissed myself? Honestly I haven’t kissed someone since my last relationship which was..” Y/n pretended to flip through her imaginary calendar. “Two years ago?”

“Interesting no one ever confirmed it.”

She shook her head, muttering, “Regretting this more by the second.” But her grin gave her away, and the lighthearted energy between them filled the quiet bookstore with warmth—like something rare and perfectly imperfect, just like their ridiculous conversation.

Wonwoo’s teasing grin softened slightly as he tilted his head, watching her with a flicker of something warmer in his gaze. “Two years, huh?” he said, his tone quieter now, though the playful glint in his eyes lingered.

Y/N shrugged, trying to brush it off. “What can I say? I’ve been busy running a bookstore and, you know, kissing spines.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “That’s a real tragedy, though. All that practice, and no one’s benefited from it?”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” she said, rolling her eyes but unable to suppress the heat creeping up her neck. She raised her glass to her lips again, trying to hide behind it.

Wonwoo set his own glass down on the table beside them, leaning forward slightly. “You know,” he said, his voice dropping just enough to make her pulse quicken, “I could help with that.”

Her breath hitched, and she lowered her glass, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Help with what?”

He shrugged one shoulder, the corner of his mouth twitching into that faint, irresistible smirk. “You know. Test out whether all that spine-kissing really paid off.”

Her laugh came out more like a nervous squeak, and she immediately covered it with a cough. “You’re insufferable, Jeon Wonwoo.”

“And yet, you’re still here,” he echoed his earlier words, his gaze holding hers now with a steady intensity that made her heart thud painfully against her ribs.

For a moment, the world outside the bookstore seemed to vanish, leaving only the golden glow of the little lamp, the lingering scent of old paper and wine, and the space between them that suddenly felt charged.

“You’re not serious,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe I am,” he said simply, his smirk softening into a small, almost shy smile.

Before she could overthink it—or talk herself out of it—he leaned closer, his eyes flickering down to her lips and then back up to meet her gaze. He paused there, just inches away, waiting.

Her breath caught, and something about the way he was so close, so patient, made her feel brave. “Wonwoo,” she murmured, a smile tugging at her lips. “Are you trying to be smooth?”

“Is it working?” he asked, his voice warm and teasing, but his gaze was sincere.

She didn’t answer, at least not with words. Instead, she closed the gap, brushing her lips against his in a tentative, featherlight kiss.

It was gentle at first—soft and unhurried, like they were both figuring out how this was supposed to feel. But when he cupped her cheek with his hand, tilting her face slightly, the kiss deepened, and Y/N felt her heart flutter in a way it hadn’t in a long time.

When they finally pulled back, just enough to catch their breath, he was smiling, his thumb brushing lightly against her cheek.

“So,” he said, his voice still low and warm, “was it worth the two-year wait?”

Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head as she rested her forehead against his. “I don’t know yet,” she teased. “Might need more data to be sure.”

His grin widened, his eyes crinkling in that way that always made her stomach flip. “I think that can be arranged.”

And in the quiet, cozy little bookstore, with books watching silently from their shelves, Y/N had the distinct feeling she’d just uncovered the most unexpected treasure of all.

The next few days passed in a blur of wine, laughter, and quiet moments shared between Y/N and Wonwoo. The chemistry between them seemed to grow with every secret they uncovered in the bookstore, every old clue leading them deeper into the mystery of the hidden treasure. But there was something else too—a shift, a quiet understanding that their connection had changed from something purely fun and teasing to something more real, more complicated.

The bookstore had become their shared sanctuary—where clues were scattered in dusty corners, and where they spent hours combing through old journals and books in search of the final pieces of the puzzle. Every clue brought them closer to something monumental, but with each step forward, Y/N’s estranged aunt Evelyn seemed to grow bolder, more determined to shut the whole thing down.

On one particular evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the bookstore was bathed in the soft glow of lamplight, Y/N and Wonwoo found themselves in a small, cluttered storage room hidden at the back of the shop, sifting through yet another pile of old papers. The room was quiet, save for the sound of rustling pages, the occasional clink of glasses, and the low hum of conversation between them.

Y/N paused, eyes scanning a faded letter that had caught her attention. "Wait, this is it," she said, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper and smoothing it on the table. "This has to be the deed."

Wonwoo looked over her shoulder, his hand instinctively resting on her back. "Are you sure?"

"I’m pretty sure," she muttered, tracing the yellowing edges of the paper. "It’s an old deed, but it looks like it’s in my name—well, my family's name, technically. It’s the bookstore's legal deed."

Wonwoo leaned closer, studying the document with a frown. “This is the real thing,” he said, his voice almost reverent. “This could be the key to everything.”

Y/N smiled, but her heart was still heavy with worry. "Yeah, but Evelyn’s not going to give up. She’s already trying to pressure me into selling. And she has a lawyer with her now. They’ve already threatened to drag me to court."

Wonwoo straightened, his gaze sharpening. “Then we need to make sure she doesn’t get her hands on this.” He grabbed the deed and tucked it carefully into his jacket pocket.

Y/N stared at him. "You’re not seriously thinking of hiding it, are you?"

“Not just hiding it,” he said with a smirk. “I’m going to make sure it’s safe. If she’s going to play dirty, then so are we.”

With that, he walked over to a small cupboard, pulling out a set of old, heavy keys. "I know a place. You trust me, right?"

Y/N hesitated but then nodded. "I do.”

Their hands brushed as he passed her the keys, and Y/N couldn’t help the way her heart skipped a beat. Wonwoo had been a constant presence since they’d started this treasure hunt, a calm and steady anchor in the chaos of relentless threats. And as much as they were both focused on the task at hand, Y/N couldn’t ignore the way their connection had deepened—the way her heart beat faster every time he was near, the way his presence made everything feel safer.

As Wonwoo led her out of the room, they were interrupted by the sound of the front door slamming open, followed by the sharp click of heels on the hardwood floors. Evelyn’s voice rang out, cold and sharp.

“Y/N, I know you’re here. We need to talk."

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, and she exchanged a brief, tense glance with Wonwoo before they both hurried to the back, hiding the deed for the time being.

“I’m not letting you get away with this.” Evelyn continued, her voice laced with venom. “I will take everything from you if I have to, including this bookstore. Your parents’ legacy won’t mean anything if you don’t sell to me.”

Y/N’s jaw tightened. “Evelyn, you don’t own this store. You never will.”

“Oh, we’ll see about that.” Evelyn’s laugh was cruel, echoing through the empty aisles.

The tension in the air thickened, and Wonwoo placed a reassuring hand on Y/N’s shoulder. “We’ll figure this out, I promise,” he whispered, his voice low and steady.

Y/N nodded, taking a deep breath. “You’re right. We’ll figure this out.”

But in the back of her mind, she knew that Evelyn wasn’t going to stop. The woman was determined, and Y/N needed to be just as determined to protect what was hers. She wasn’t going to let the bookstore go without a fight—not when it had meant everything to her growing up.

Later that evening, as the bookstore quieted down and Y/N sat at the small table in the back corner, sipping on a glass of wine, she looked up at Wonwoo, who had been quietly scribbling in his notebook for the past hour.

He looked up from his writing and caught her gaze, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’m almost finished with my book, you know,” he said, his tone casual but laced with something deeper.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, setting her glass down. “No way? About what?”

“About a treasure hunt,” he replied, eyes glinting with mischief. “About two people who find something they didn’t expect—something more valuable than they could have imagined.”

She grinned, leaning forward with curiosity. “And what do they find?”

“The treasure,” he said, his voice quieter now, “isn’t what they thought it would be. It’s the connection they have with each other. The way they work together to uncover something bigger than themselves.”

Y/N felt her heart flutter at his words, the weight of his gaze making her pulse quicken. “That’s really sweet.

“Well,” he said, his lips curving into a teasing grin, “it’s inspired by real life, isn’t it?”

She laughed, her cheeks warming as she glanced down at her wine glass. “I guess it is.”

Wonwoo’s tone turned more serious, though the playful edge never quite left his voice. “I think we make a pretty good team, Y/N. And I’m not just talking about the treasure hunt.”

Her heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, the world seemed to slow down around them. “Yeah,” she murmured, a soft smile crossing her lips. “We do, don’t we?”

Their eyes met, and in that moment, Y/N couldn’t help but feel the connection between them deepen. Everything they had uncovered—the clues, the threats, the mystery of the bookstore—had brought them to this place, to this unexpected, complicated bond that was far more precious than any treasure they might find hidden in the walls.

And as the night grew deeper, and they prepared to face whatever Evelyn threw their way next, Y/N knew one thing for certain: no matter what happened, she wasn’t going to face it alone.

The next morning, the sun had barely risen, casting soft beams of light through the dust-covered windows of the bookstore. Y/N had barely slept the night before, her mind whirling with thoughts of Evelyn’s threats and the looming confrontation that awaited her. But she had a plan now, one that gave her a sense of clarity and strength. She wasn’t going to let her aunt take what was hers.

With the deed securely tucked in her bag and the letter from her mother—a last message of trust and love—Y/N stood at the edge of the bookstore, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew she had to confront Evelyn’s lawyer head-on, to show them that she wasn’t just some helpless niece who could be pushed around. The store was hers, and now, she had the legal proof to back it up.

It was a short walk to the lawyer’s office, but it felt like the longest journey of her life. As Y/N entered the glass-fronted building, she was greeted by a stern receptionist, who asked for her name.

“I’m here to see Mr. Calloway,” Y/N said firmly, her voice steady despite the nerves bubbling just beneath the surface. “Tell him it’s regarding the deed for the bookstore.”

The receptionist glanced at her curiously but nodded, picking up the phone to make the call. A few moments later, Y/N was ushered into a sleek office, the kind of place that smelled faintly of expensive cologne and old leather-bound books. Mr. Calloway, a middle-aged man with graying hair and a stern expression, stood behind his desk. He motioned for her to take a seat.

“Ms. Y/N, I presume?” Mr. Calloway’s voice was smooth, but there was a certain edge to it. “I’m afraid you’ve come here for nothing. The property’s ownership is already in question. Your aunt is prepared to take this to court.”

Y/N didn’t flinch. “That’s not necessary,” she said, her voice unwavering. “I have the deed to the bookstore.”

She slid the crinkled paper across the desk, and Mr. Calloway eyed it with some skepticism. “And where did you come from?”

“This is the deed my mother left for me,” Y/N replied, her fingers curling around the letter she’d brought with it. “And along with that, she left me the money to renovate and make this store my own. She made it clear in writing that this place was meant to be mine. I’ve spent my life here, and I’m not going to let anyone take it away from me.”

For a moment, the lawyer was silent, his gaze flicking back and forth between the deed and Y/N’s determined face. He finally sighed, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers. “Well, it’s clear you have some legal standing here,” he said slowly. “I’ll need to make sure everything is in order, but I’d advise you to be prepared for further legal action. Your aunt is not someone who backs down easily.”

“I’m not backing down either,” Y/N said, standing up and grabbing the deed from the desk. “I’ll be taking the store back, starting now.”

Mr. Calloway looked surprised but didn’t protest. “Very well. I’ll have this taken into consideration.”

Y/N left the office with the deed still clutched tightly in her hand, feeling a surge of relief and adrenaline. Her heart was racing, but now, she knew she had the power to protect the place she loved. The fight wasn’t over, but she had just won the first round.

With the victory still buzzing in her chest, Y/N made her way straight to the bookstore, her thoughts already turning to the next steps. She needed to tell Wonwoo. He’d been by her side through all of this, and now that she had the deed, they could finally take the fight to Evelyn and her lawyer together.

When she arrived at the bookstore, it was nearly empty except for a few early morning customers, browsing the shelves. The usual quiet was soothing, but Y/N couldn’t help the wide smile spreading across her face as she spotted Wonwoo, hunched over in a corner with his notebook, scribbling away.

She couldn’t contain herself anymore. She rushed over to him, feeling lighter than she had in days. "Wonwoo!" she said, practically bursting with excitement.

He looked up, his eyes softening as he noticed the huge grin on her face. "What’s all this about?"

“I did it,” she said, breathless, her chest heaving as she held up the deed. “I went to Evelyn’s lawyer, and I staked my claim. I have the deed, the money my mom left me for renovations, and now—” She paused for effect. “Now, the bookstore is mine.”

Wonwoo’s face broke into a grin so wide it almost seemed unreal. He immediately stood, his arms open as if to embrace the whole victory. “Y/N, that’s amazing!”

Without saying another word, he pulled her into a tight hug, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around once, before gently setting her back down. Y/N laughed, the joy bubbling up inside her in a way she hadn’t felt in weeks.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” she said, stepping back and looking at him with gratitude. “You helped me every step of the way.”

Wonwoo smiled softly, brushing a lock of hair from her face. “That’s what partners do.” His tone was lighter now, teasing. “Although, I think we should celebrate this properly.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, grinning. “Oh? How do you plan to do that?”

Wonwoo leaned in just slightly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Well,” he said, his voice lower now, “I’m thinking of wine... and maybe even a celebratory kiss?”

Y/N laughed again, her heart racing in her chest. "You’re lucky I like you, because you’re so corny, Jeon Wonwoo."

“Lucky?” he repeated, leaning back, mock offense in his voice. “I’m not just lucky, I’m deserving.”

“Alright, alright,” she said, pulling a bottle of wine from the shelf. “You’ve earned it. But just so you know, this is just the beginning. We still have a lot of work to do.”

“I know,” he said, pouring them each a glass, “but I think we deserve a break, don’t you?”

They clinked glasses, and for a moment, the world outside the bookstore seemed to fade away. They had won today, but they both knew that this was just the start of a much larger fight.

As they stood there, the glasses of wine in their hands, the air between them still crackling with the energy of the moment, Wonwoo’s smile faded slightly. He took a deep breath, setting his glass down on the nearby table. There was something different in his eyes now—something deeper, something more vulnerable. Y/N noticed it immediately, her smile faltering slightly as she watched him.

“What is it?” she asked, her voice softer now, the excitement of the day momentarily giving way to a more serious tone. “You’ve gone quiet all of a sudden.”

Wonwoo ran a hand through his hair, his gaze flicking to the floor for a moment before meeting her eyes again. He hesitated for a second longer, as if weighing his words carefully.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” he began, his voice steady but laced with an earnestness that made Y/N’s heart skip a beat. “And I guess now is as good a time as any.”

Y/N set her glass down too, her attention fully on him now. She could feel her pulse quicken as the tension in the room shifted, her curiosity growing.

“When I first started coming here, I didn’t expect much. I was just looking for a quiet place to escape and get away from the chaos of the world, y’know?” he continued, his hands resting on the edge of the table as he spoke, as if grounding himself. “But then, I started coming more often. And eventually, it wasn’t just the books that kept bringing me back. It was... you.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected from him, but this... this wasn’t what she’d anticipated. She searched his eyes, her heart pounding in her chest. “Wonwoo, I—”

“Just let me finish,” he said, cutting her off gently, but there was a softness in his voice that she couldn’t ignore. “At first, I thought I was just drawn to this place because it was peaceful. But then I realized it was you—your passion, the way you cared about this bookstore, the way you lit up when you talked about your mom, the way you had this fire in you that I couldn’t stop noticing.” He took a small step closer, his voice growing more sincere with each word. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Y/N. Not in the way you see the world, not in the way you’ve brought me into this... this little adventure of ours.”

Y/N’s heart was racing now, her chest tight as she absorbed his words. There was no mistaking the sincerity in his eyes, no doubt in her mind that what he was saying wasn’t just a passing thought.

“I used to think I knew what I wanted,” Wonwoo went on, his voice barely above a whisper now, “but you’ve changed that for me. This place... you... have made me see that there’s more to life than just work, than just existing. You’ve given me a reason to want more, to want... us.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her hand instinctively reaching out to grasp his, her fingers trembling ever so slightly. “Wonwoo...” she whispered, her voice soft but full of emotion. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

His thumb gently brushed over the back of her hand, his gaze never leaving hers. “I do. I care about you, Y/N. More than I thought I could care about anyone. You’ve completely turned my world upside down, and I wouldn’t change it for anything.”

For a long moment, they stood there, the quiet in the room wrapping around them like a cocoon. Y/N could hear the steady beat of her own heart in her ears, the weight of his words settling deep within her chest.

“I don’t know what to say,” she finally whispered, her voice unsteady. “This is... I didn’t expect this.”

Wonwoo smiled softly, a hint of nervousness breaking through his usual cool demeanor. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know. I don’t want to hide how I feel anymore.”

Y/N felt something shift inside her, the words she had been holding back finally finding their way to her lips. “Wonwoo, you’ve changed my life too. I’ve never met anyone who just, I don’t know, gets it the way you do. You make me feel like I’m not crazy for wanting this place to mean something more. You’ve made me feel seen. I care about you too, so much more than I ever expected.”

A soft chuckle escaped him, his eyes lighting up in that familiar mischievous way. “Well, I guess that’s a good thing, considering we’ve already been on a treasure hunt together.”

Y/N laughed, but it was different this time. It wasn’t just a response to his teasing—it was a laugh filled with something deeper, something more real. “You’re right,” she said, her voice more certain now. “I guess it is.”

Wonwoo stepped closer, his hand finding hers, fingers intertwining. “So, what do you say? Want to keep going on this treasure hunt—with me?”

As Y/N held Wonwoo’s hand, her heart raced with a mixture of excitement and a little bit of disbelief. She hadn’t expected any of this—the bookstore, the adventure, and most certainly not the way he was looking at her right now, like he’d just found the last piece of the puzzle he didn’t even know he was searching for.

“You really know how to throw someone off balance, Jeon,” she teased, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I thought we were just celebrating the deed and now you’re confessing your feelings. Seriously, could you not make it so dramatic?”

He chuckled, leaning closer, the mischief still dancing in his eyes. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for drama.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile never left. “Well, I’ll give you this—you’re a much better treasure than I ever thought you’d be.”

“Aw, look at that,” Wonwoo teased, raising an eyebrow. “I’m your treasure now?”

Y/N snorted, shaking her head. “I guess. I mean, who else would tolerate my crazyness?” she said with a wink.

His response was to step even closer, giving her a sly grin. “Someone who’d do anything to stick around,” he said softly, before dipping his head and placing a quick kiss on her forehead. “You’re stuck with me now.”

She grinned up at him, her heart light. “That’s just fine by me.”

The days that followed felt like a whirlwind of excitement and resolution. With the deed officially in her hands, Y/N returned to the bookstore, determined to move forward. Evelyn’s lawyer had called to warn her that her aunt wouldn’t give up easily, but once the truth came out—that her mother had left the store specifically for Y/N to own, with funds to renovate and keep it alive—there was nothing Evelyn could do. She tried to fight, of course, but without any legal grounds or the right to contest the inheritance, it was a battle she couldn’t win.

Y/N’s lawyer had done the heavy lifting, and with everything in order, Evelyn was forced to concede defeat. The store officially belonged to Y/N—her mother’s legacy was hers to continue. But Y/N made one last effort to seal the deal. She sent Evelyn a letter, with a cheeky twist of her own: “Thanks for the help, but I think I’ve got it from here.”

It was a small victory, but it felt sweet, and Y/N couldn’t stop grinning as she turned back to the shelves, breathing in the familiar scent of old pages and dust. The Nook was officially hers.

The real fun began after that.

Weeks later, the bookstore was buzzing with activity—not from the usual morning crowd, but something much more exciting. Y/N had spent countless hours refurbishing the place, brightening the atmosphere with new coats of paint, adding cozy reading nooks, and ensuring every corner reflected her personality. But there was one thing she couldn’t do without him. Wonwoo had been her right-hand man through every part of it, turning the back office into a cozy writers’ retreat and organizing all of the books so that they not only looked great but also told a story of their own.

And now, the biggest thing was happening: the bookstore was hosting Wonwoo’s book signing. He’d completed his manuscript, inspired by all their adventures, their treasure hunts, and the mysterious secrets of The Nook. His book was a hit, and now, with the launch underway, Y/N was standing beside him in the middle of their bookstore—the place that had started it all.

She caught sight of him as he set up for the signing, adjusting the small display table with the first copies of his book. His smile was wide, and he looked so comfortable in his own skin now—more at home than she’d ever seen him before. He caught her eye, and for a moment, everything else faded away.

“You did it,” she said, walking up to him with a grin. “You’re officially a second time sexy best selling author.”

He grinned back, his eyes twinkling. “And I couldn’t have done it without a treasure hunt partner like you. Where would I be without my muse?”

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully, giving him a playful shove. “Yeah, yeah. Just sign my copy, won’t you?”

He laughed, taking the book from her hands and scribbling a dedication. “To Y/N, the true treasure of The Nook.”

She raised an eyebrow, feeling a familiar warmth spread across her chest. “You’re really laying it on thick now.”

“I’m just being honest,” he teased, handing her the signed copy. “You changed my life, remember?”

Before Y/N could reply, the first customer walked in—an eager reader looking for a signed copy of his book. The rest of the day was a whirlwind of introductions, book signings, and laughter, the bookstore alive with the kind of energy Y/N had only dreamed of before.

As the event wound down, with the last few customers having left, Wonwoo and Y/N were left standing behind the counter, both a little tired but still glowing from the success.

“So,” Wonwoo said, his voice low as he leaned on the counter next to her, “what do we do now?”

Y/N looked around, taking in the bustling bookstore, the little crowd of people chatting about his book, the laughter, and the life in the space. She felt a contented sigh escape her lips.

“We keep going,” she said with a grin, her eyes meeting his. “We keep making this place even more ours.”

Wonwoo leaned in, his face softening. “And how do we do that?”

Y/N leaned back against the counter, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “We keep finding treasures, Together.”

The following months were filled with more than just book signings. With the store officially thriving under their shared ownership, Y/N and Wonwoo were building a life together, discovering new mysteries, laughing over silly inside jokes, and creating their own stories within the walls of The Nook. Whether it was fixing up a new corner for readers, writing new books, or simply sitting together and reminiscing about their treasure hunt, they had found something real—something both fun and serious in its own way.

As for Evelyn, she had finally backed off, realizing she had no place left in Y/N’s world. Y/N had reclaimed her space—not just in the bookstore, but in her life. And with Wonwoo by her side, they were ready for whatever came next.

And so, The Nook became more than just a bookstore—it became their home, their story, and their future.

290 notes · View notes

bangaveragewhitewine · 1 year ago

Text

such a flirt!

Eddie Munson x Reader (bouncer x bartender, established relationship)

May 1992

Flirting with Eddie Munson was in your top five favourite things to do. To flirt and be flirted with was written through him like a stick of rock candy. Feeling secure in your relationship, you don't let it bother you too much - you know that no matter how many women (and men) gave him doe eyes and fluttered their lashes, Eddie would be going home with you.

That being said, you saw red when Crystal showed up.

A follow-up to crazy-mad for you & I'm yours, all yours. (part of the Happy Hours series)

Word count: 7.9k

Content / Warnings: Jealous!Reader, feeling insecure & spiralling, comparing yourself to another person, mention of being cheated on in the past. A tiny fight (kinda). Female OC. Flirting, turned all the way up to eleven. Bi-panic 😈. This is 18+ if you are not 18 please read something else; semi-public sex, fingering, a hefty helping of dirty talk, slight perv!Eddie and mention of bruises left after sex. Eddie ‘Motormouth’ Munson, a certified menace.

This one is quite introspective, a look into Bartender-reader’s self-doubt and insecurities.

Author’s note: Well girls, we’re back. I really can’t get these two out of my head. Thank you to bestie @specialagentmonkey for proofreading ♥️

Flirting with Eddie Munson was in your top five favourite things to do.

To flirt and be flirted with was written through him like a stick of rock candy. Perfected and fine-tuned over time, Eddie was smooth-talking, honey-tongued and could undress you with a simple glance - all things that had drawn you to your co-worker-turned-boyfriend. To bear witness to his talent (one of many, to be fair) had helped you to up your own flirt-game; figuring out how he liked to be flirted with, what made his pupils blow wide, or his tongue dart out to wet his lip. Flirtation was part of the very foundation of your relationship with the curly-haired rocker.

Working together made your flirtation extra fun, a tool for extended foreplay while you poured shots and beers, while Eddie checked IDs and did his rounds to make sure no one was bumping coke in the bathroom (again).

It also meant that you both had seen your other half be flirted with by strangers more times than you could even quantify. It was part of the job, a grin-and-bear-it part that sent Eddie home with more than one feather boa or a smeared lipstick mark on his cheek from a bachelorette party (bachelorettes loved your boyfriend, and you understood why). It also often meant you could make a few extra dollars on tips if and when you allowed it, extra dollars to buy a book or new tape you wanted or pay for takeout on your next night off together.

You felt secure enough in your relationship to not let it bother you too much, knowing that no matter how many women (and men) gave him doe eyes and fluttered their lashes, Eddie would be going home with you.

That being said, you saw red when Crystal showed up.

It had started off as a usual shift; a Friday night in early May; the weather was warming up and the new cocktail menu you had put together was already proving popular. You and Eddie arrive together after an afternoon of lazy sex, reading together in bed and taking turns to make coffee before hauling yourselves up for a shared shower and a pre-shift diner dinner.

By now you had all but officially moved into Eddie’s little apartment. You spent the odd night apart if you were meeting friends, or if Eddie had a gig, but oftentimes he would come crash at your place instead of going two more blocks home. His little one-bed apartment had begun to feel very much like home. You felt the question might be coming soon after he was a little too interested in your lease agreement and when it was up for renewal. If you had paid a little more attention, you might have noticed the dogeared YellowPages bookmarked with a scrap of paper on a page of addresses of key-cutting places on your side of the city.

You walked in the back door of Jackie’s, Eddie hot on your heels with his fingers dipping into the back pocket of your denim skirt to poke the mouth-shaped bruise he had bestowed upon your asscheek. It was in the tender purple-black stage, and he loved to rile you up by pawing at it.

“Quit it!” you hiss at him, scowling over your shoulder. “You’re a fuckin’ menace, Munson.”

Eddie’s clever comeback is cut off by a roar of laughter from the bar. The bar doesn’t open for another hour so it’s only the other staff in before you.

“Weird.” Eddie double-checks his watch to make sure he didn’t keep you late making out in the car or lose an hour somewhere.

“Definitely weird,” you agree. “Is it someone’s birthday? Shit…” You think through the calendar in your head. Frank’s birthday isn’t for another two weeks…

Eddie shrugs and cranes his neck as you turn the handle of the staff room door. “Go ahead out, nosy. Be there soon.”

Eddie pauses, makes sure you’re alone, and takes advantage of the distraction in the bar to press you against the doorframe. With an almost predatory grin, he leans in for a slow filthy kiss. Taking your surprised little gasp for an opportunity to slide his tongue against yours, he pulls that little gasping moan that he loves right from your throat.

“Love you,” he murmurs before grazing your lip with his teeth. “Don’t miss me too much.”

He smacks a final kiss to your warm cheek and gives your achy butt one more squeeze before hot-footing it to the bar to see what’s going on.

You hear his throaty laugh as he leaves you close to panting against the wall. “Asshole.”

The staff room door muffles the noise as you scowl to yourself, left throbbing between your legs in more ways than one. As you swipe on some lipstick and tie your apron with a bow, you contemplate just how to get Eddie back for kissing you like something straight out of a smutty romance novel. After a final once-over in the mirror, you head out to join in on whatever is going on.

Sitting on the bar, holding court, is the most stunning woman you have ever seen. She’s got these shiny green siren-eyes that command attention with hypnotic power. She reminds you of a copper-haired Kelly Bundy with deep red lips and the perkiest tits you have ever seen.

She’s hot.

She’s also got her hand on Eddie’s shoulder, toying with the freshly trimmed ends of his hair and twisting the coils around her long manicured nails.

It makes something acidic unfurl and burn in your chest.

He doesn’t even look over when you step out from the back, too busy nodding along to whatever the reincarnated Birth of Venus is saying.

Through the sheer black of her blouse, you can spy ink that will have taken hours to press into creamy blemish-free skin, black and sharp and perfect. She carries an air of ‘your friend's cool older sister’, something utterly unattainable that makes you feel like an awkward teen again.

Michelle beckons you over, flashing a smile when she sees you. “Hi sweetie,” she squeezes your hand with a little whisper.

“Who’s -?” you mouth silently, not wanting to interrupt when this siren-woman has everyone hanging on every word.

Before she can even answer, the goddess has everyone laughing again and she turns her attention on the late-comer to her one-woman show. You.

“Oh hi! You’re new!” Her voice is sultry and smoky-smooth. “I’m Crystal, used to work here way back. You’re…?”

New? In a couple of months, it will be two whole years since you first stepped foot inside Jackie’s and scored a job the same night.

You plaster on a smile, feeling tiny as you gaze up at the goddess on her plinth. You tell her your name, eyes darting to Eddie briefly but Frank has his ear while Crystal questions you.

Michelle wraps her arm around your shoulders. “She’s a superstar. Our cocktail queen! Designed the new menu and everything,” she squeezes you against her and leans her blonde head against yours.

“Oh, cute! You have to make me something later, okay?” Crystal insists, glancing at the board behind the bar where your carefully curated creations have been colourfully chalked up by Eddie’s artistic hand, complete with little illustrations of cocktail glasses - you had teared up when they surprised you with it.

Crystal taps Eddie’s shoulder. “Ed, what’s good on the menu? Is there anything better than my Long Islands? You know, I used to make him drinks after every shift.”

You watch your boyfriend smirk before he catches your eye. “Those were lethal, Crys. There’s not one bad drink on the menu. She worked super hard on it, best sellers all round.” Eddie winks at you, smiling proudly. It should settle then twisting discomfort in your chest but it barely touches the sides.

“You’re such a flirt, Ed. My god.” Crystal laughs and shoves his shoulder gently before hopping down with her graceful long legs. “You got a cigarette? We better let them get the bar prepped. Friday nights are always so crazy here.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Crystal flashes a smile your way, something playful. “See ya later for that drink.”

Warm-cheeked and grey-matter scrambled, you watch Eddie pat down his pockets as Frank and the other bar staff tell Crystal how good it is to see her again. Jeff is already walking ahead toward the door, playing it smooth and cool though his eyes are hearts on stalks like a cartoon character.

“Inside left, Ed,” you say, pointing out where his battered pack of smokes were hidden. You had slipped them in there after all.

Eddie breathes a sigh of relief, a grin on his face - he plans on quitting or at least cutting down but right now, a shift without smokes doesn’t bear thinking about. He’s about to say thanks but you have already turned your back to hide your pink cheeks, ashamed of the jealousy coursing through you.

It pisses you off more when he doesn’t come over anyway for one more kiss. Your lips still buzz from the swoon-worthy smooch he had laid on you but it turns to a sting as he turns and follows Crystal instead.

You distract yourself with your to-do list before the bar opens and ponder over the history your boyfriend may or may not have with Jessica fucking Rabbit.

You’re lucky not to lose a finger with how furiously you chop wedges and slices of lemons and limes, feeling totally on edge when you think about Crystal and Eddie laughing and smoking together. The last time you had seen another girl touch his hair he had very kindly moved her hand and directed her to the bar to buy a drink from you, ‘the hottie bartender, she’s my girlfriend - tell her Eddie says hi’.

Michelle lets you stew a bit as she checks the taps and restocks the straws and napkins. She catches you swearing at an unopenable jar of maraschinos, fearing you may smash the jar and slice your hand if you don’t quit knocking it on the counter.

“Okay, what’s going on? Did those cherries kill your grandma?” she asks, taking the jar from your lime-juice-sticky hands.

“Nothing's going on. I’m fine.”

Liar. You’re actively thinking about how good Eddie and Crystal looked side-by-side and you hate it. Red and black, his favourite colours.

“Do you have cramps? Are you and Eddie fighting or somethin’?” she asks, hand on her hips.

“No, and no. Just… Ugh.” You know Michelle doesn’t give up until she gets an answer. You love and hate her for it, she’s definitely one of your best friends for life now - especially when she opens the cherries without breaking a sweat.

“Spill, babe.” She spears four cherries with two toothpicks; one for you and one for her.

You accept it with a little smile that fades quickly and use the distraction to figure out how to say what you want to ask without sounding like a crazy person.

“Crystal… Did she and Eddie…?” You brace for impact.

Michelle raises one thin brow as she chews the sticky red fruit. “Go out? Fuck? Nuh-uh, don’t think so. You’d have to ask him though, babe. She’s just… super flirty. They were friendly, and I think she had a little crush on him.” She shrugs, “He left for tour before she quit, she moved out west.”

You nod, chewing the second cherry without really tasting it. “Yeah,” you sigh. “I guess… I just thought he might’ve told her I was his girlfriend or something.”

Michelle watches your shoulder slump and pulls you in for a one-armed hug. “Maybe he should’ve. He did hype up your cocktails - he does that when he’s checking IDs y’know, gives out recommendations and everything. Totally whipped, huh?”

She kisses your head and squeezes you to her side. “Don’t let it get to you. Crys will get bored soon, especially if he’s not flirting back. She’s a Vegas gal now, I doubt we’re to her standards anymore.”

You lean your head against your friend and fold yourself into a hug. “Thank you. You’re the best.” After a few moments, you speak again. “She’s so pretty.”

“Ugh, I know. Makes my piss boil, she’s so hot.”

You both break into giggles as you squeeze each other extra tight, pinky-swearing to have a girls’ night the next time you both have the same night off.

With a little boost from Michelle, you finish setting up the bar and write up the night’s drink specials on the menu boards. You turn the music up to cover the sound of Eddie’s throaty laugh as it carries from inside the door, trying to ignore the twisting feeling in your gut.

It’s busy from the off tonight and though you had plenty to distract you as you poured and mixed drinks, tendrils of jealousy crept in and coiled around you like boa constrictors. You half-watched Crystal flit and flirt around, distracting the other bartenders when she wasn’t lingering far too close to the door for your liking.

Why hadn’t he ever mentioned her before? Had he flirted with her like had with you before you got together? Was she going to take her job back and take your boyfriend too?

If she didn’t seem so fond of your boyfriend, you might just be in awe of her and want to be her best friend. Alas, your hang-ups don’t extend such kindness and instead make you bitterly territorial as you shrink into yourself, feeling like a toe in comparison to her.

You want to take your overloaded brain out and shake the stupid thoughts out in a chilled silver shaker, strain them away before screwing your head back on so you could be normal about the woman who might have no ulterior motive for hanging around your boyfriend.

Around nine thirty you step away from the bar to take your turn collecting empties from tables; the crowd is cheerful and you move around them with ease. Crystal isn’t anywhere and you see Eddie chatting to Frank by the door before the big boss heads home for the night. Your shoulders relax a little, hoping that Michelle is right and the redhead had decided to find somewhere a bit more salubrious for the rest of her night.

It’s almost time for your first break; you need a stone-cold Diet Coke and ideally a joint - but that’s a post-shift treat, so fresh air will have to do.

The catchy part of En Vogue’s My Lovin’ plays on a loop in your head as you drag yourself to the back door with your fizzing pint glass of Coke and lime. The ice clinks out of tune with your hum-singing.

You’re almost at the door when you realise there’s someone else out there before you. The rest of the staff is behind the bar and Eddie doesn’t take his five minutes this early (not when the door is peak-busy). You try to spy through the gap in the door where it’s propped open with a crate and see a flash of shiny copper, perched on your stool.

The click of ice against glass gives you away and Crystal turns her head, spotting you peeking. She’s not even supposed to be out here, but at least she’s not haunting Eddie - small mercies, you guess. You give her a tight smile and step outside.

“Oh, hi. Is it your break?”

“Yeah. Just my five.” You shrug and sip your drink, leaning against the cool bricks as Crystal eyes you from behind the smoke of her menthol cigarette.

“Want one?” she asks, offering the packet out.

You do. You miss the menthol burn from high school parties. “Sure. Thanks.”

She gives you a little smile and passes you the packet, a new Bic lighter under her thumb to light you up.

“Is it nice to be back?” you ask, filling the silence after your thank you as Crystal looks at her nails. Up close you can see a few of her tattoos beneath her sheer blouse; a rose on her shoulder, a fierce trad style leopard on her inner arm.

“Oh yeah. Missed the guys, they’re such sweethearts.” She smiles and watches you sip your drink. You feel like a lamb next to her, an elegant lioness. “You like working here?”

“I really do. They’re kinda like family now.” It’s no word of a lie.

“Cute. It was one of the best places I worked.” She stubs her smoke under the block of her heel. “You work with Eddie much?”

And there it is.

You take a long minty drag. “Yeah, pretty often. We’re usually scheduled on the same shifts.”

Crystal nods her head. “Super hot right? Somethin’ nice to look at to make the night go faster huh?” You watch her lips curve into a coy grin.

Your own smile is a little at her expense.

“Oh for sure.” You double-fist your drink and cigarette, tapping the ash off carefully. “That’s why we don’t let him behind the bar, leave him by the door to draw in the girls.” You echo Frank and Michelle’s teasing of your boyfriend; his heavy pours and clumsiness with glasses are the main reasons he stays stationed on security, but it’s fun to tease him.

Crystal laughs at that, head thrown back. “Right?! And such a flirt!”

It’s the second time she mentioned that tonight. It wasn’t a lie - you’re simply used to being the only subject of Eddie’s well-practised flirtation after seven months of being his girlfriend.

It rattles around your head, clanging like a bell. Such a flirt! There are a few beats of silence before she speaks again.

“Hey, do you know if he’s seeing anyone?” Crystal asks. “I’m flying back out on Sunday. The rockstar thing really does it for me.”

You feel a stone - nay, a boulder - sink in your belly and take another drink as she continues. God, you wish you had spiked this for yourself, smoky-sweet rum or clean sharp vodka. The chill of the ice and menthol can’t dampen the burn in your chest, a heady mix of jealousy and rage.

“I was going to try and link up with him when he was on tour, I was in L.A. for a bit before the move to Las Vegas. I thought he might stick around out there a while,” Crystal digs around in her purse for her compact and lipstick as she speaks, prettying her already stunning self up for your boyfriend. “Maybe tonight’s my night,” she says, touching up her powder before looking at you for an answer.

You blink a few times, bathing your sticky tongue with cold Coke before you can speak.

“Sorry, Crystal.” Your voice is surprisingly steady for how all over the place you feel. “Yeah, he’s definitely got a girlfriend. Together almost a year.” You blow menthol smoke into the air, feeling it turn your mouth acrid in a way that can’t be balanced by your sweet drink. You crush the half-smoked cig under your boot and push off the wall to head back inside.

“Guess tonight’s not your night,” you say, shrugging.

It’s a little bitchy and mean when you could just put her out of her misery. Instead, you just turn and head back inside, cutting your short break even shorter. You shut the door behind you, slamming it just hard enough to make a point.

You should have just told her, acted like a grown-up instead of a jealous teenager with a chip on your shoulder. The anxious little worm in your brain had decided for you, calling out ‘don’t tell her, she won’t believe that Eddie would want a girl like you when goddess-women like her walk the earth!’

As you rest your back to the door, you squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath.

In for four, hold for four, out for four.

Eddie isn’t like Connor. He’s not like Eric either.

Years of hurt and heartbreak, being someone’s number one until someone better, prettier, funnier came along, had made you wary of dating when you boxed up your life and moved to Chicago. You had gone on a few really crappy dates last summer before getting together with Eddie, before he showed you the real him (unexpectedly sweet-hearted, willing to get a bloody nose in a fight for you).

His flirty nature had made you wary of having your heart broken by a charming ladies' man all over again. But that’s not your Eddie. He had promised you that wasn’t him, showered you with love and promised you were it for him. He never seemed frustrated with affirming his feelings for you, promising you it was the real deal. He loved the heartbroken girl inside you just as much as he adored the woman you are now.

Having a borderline existential crisis on your five-minute break wasn’t the respite you had planned from the busy bar. As you splash cool water on your wrists and spritz your warm cheeks with rose water, you just hope that Crystal isn’t one of the girls who sees a man with a girlfriend as a fun challenge rather than off-limits.

When you feel a little less shaky - or steady enough to not drop every glass you pick up - you tag one of the other barmen to go on his five and slot back into your pit of self-loathing, hidden behind a smile and the beer taps. By the time you shake up six Appletinis and a tray of Blowjob shots for a table of girls celebrating a birthday, you have convinced yourself that Eddie would probably be better off with Crystal instead of your petty jealous ass.

You’re so deep in your wallowing that you miss Eddie darting from the door to your side of the bar. His hand is tapping the drink-slick bar top to get your attention before you even see him.

“Psst. Hey, c’mere. Need to talk to you.”

Are you in trouble? Had Crystal told him about your less-than-friendly behaviour? You plaster a smile on, one that he sees right through.

“Ed, I’m working. What’s wrong?” you ask, stepping away from your station to hear him better over the music.

“M’working too, it’ll just take a sec.” Eddie leans forward, smiling cheekily. “You’re my girlfriend, right?”

Your cheeks heat up. Shit. He knows.

You nod. “Yeah…”

“Lemme hear you say it?” he tilts his head, batting his lashes a little playfully.

You sigh and roll your eyes, pretending that your heart isn’t beating out of your chest, even though it feels a little bruised. “I’m your girlfriend.”

He looks triumphant and amused and pulls your hand in between his own, holding it like a treasure. “Okay, good. Why didn’t you just tell Crys that?”

The rolling boil of hurt that had been bubbling in your chest all evening and into the night doesn’t evaporate with Eddie’s loving little touch.

“Why didn’t you tell her, Ed? You could’ve told her fuckin’ hours ago that I was your girl.”

Your heads are close together as Eddie leans in to hear you over Alannah Myles crooning Black Velvet.

Expecting you to be a little more playful, matching his energy, he sobers and frowns, studying the hurt marring your pretty face. “Oh shit. Honey…”

“It hurt, Ed. You had like two chances right off the bat... How many more did you miss, huh?”

Eddie’s brows disappear under his bangs. “Fuck, it’s not like that. I didn’t realise… Didn’t even think. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah? Good.” You squeeze his hand anyway, proud of yourself for not minimising your feelings to just go back to normal.

“Baby…” “Eddie…”

His Bambi eyes aren’t enough this time. But you know he’s going to feel like shit because he hurt you, which makes you feel crappy for ever doubting him.

“Can I kiss it better?” Eddie’s pouted lower lip is obscenely kissable.

A mid-shift kiss is usually Eddie’s reason for waylaying you at the bar, though he can usually hold off until your break together. He leaves Jeff to man the door when it’s quiet so he can claim his sugar tax or borrow your lip balm (he really has an impressive collection of euphemisms for begging a kiss from you).

You’re usually very forthcoming, and right now you would love a kiss but the opportunity to fuck with him and get a little payback for his romance novella bullshit earlier (getting you worked up before the longest shift of your life) feels too good to miss. Your scheming lifts your mood from the doom spiral, just a little.

Yeah, flirting with Eddie was core to the foundation of your relationship, but so was fucking around with him.

You meet his baby cow eyes with your own gaze, looking through your black-coated lashes.

“You love me?” “To the death.” “Then you can wait.”

Eddie’s jaw drops. One hand clutches his heart as the other holds your hand even tighter. “Baby… You’re really withholding a kiss right now? I said sorry! And I meant it!”

You roll your eyes, classic drama queen Munson. You fucking love him.

“I am.” “You’re killing me.”

You smile and lift his hand to kiss the back of it. “Then suffer. I’ve got customers to serve, Ed. See you at twelve - maybe you’ll get a kiss then.”

You pat his cheek and turn away, hearing the thud of skull versus countertop as he groans like a wounded man.

He’s going to be insufferably lovely for the rest of the weekend to make it up to you.

Your re-found spring in your step has you back in your usual flow as you pour beers side by side with Michelle. Eddie has dragged himself back to the door to sulk, but not before tossing scowling puppy eyes over his shoulder at you.

“I should be pissed you’re slacking off to talk to your boyfriend but whatever that was made you actually smile, so I’m here for it.” She grins and bumps your hip with her own, your signature move together as you work in tandem.

“Just a wee bit of payback. I’ll tell you on girls’ night,” you promise, hearing her laugh as you ring up your customer.

Spirits lifted, albeit at your boyfriend’s expense, you make it through the peak of the night without spiralling any further. In fact, your distraction is all Eddie Eddie Eddie.

At least until the scent of freshly spritzed Dior Poison wafts over the bar as you catch sight of copper and red next in line for you. Crystal.

She looks just as gorgeous when she’s a little bashful, giving you a warm smile - a promise that she comes in peace.

You’re cringing, wishing you could duck behind the bar, but you definitely owe her an apology.

“Hi.”

“Hey, Crystal. I think I owe you a cocktail…”

She smiles, her creamy cheeks blushing in the dim light of the bar. “What do you recommend? I’ve heard you’re like, the queen of mixology and know exactly what drink people will like.”

You can hear Eddie’s praise of you in her words; his little alchemist, his sexy potion-mistress. He took his role of taste-tester in chief with the utmost seriousness.

“Mm, I do my best. You like cherries?” you ask, tilting your head.

“I do.”

She lifts her arm to show you a stick and poke cherry tattoo on her wrist.

“Tequila?”

“Girl… Are you in my brain right now?”

You grin and shake up a mix of cherry liquor, ginger syrup, tequila and lime juice with ice - adding a little extra cherry syrup just because. You pour the mixed margarita into a chilled glass with salt and sugar rim and a cherry garnish.

“Don’t even think of getting your purse out,” you say as you slide it across the bar. “I’m sorry for being weird.”

Crystal accepts the proffered straw and slides it into her drink, taking a slow sip. Her eyes blow wide as the flavours of cherry and earthy tequila bathe her tongue, zinging sharp with bright lime. “This is amazing.”

You smile and shrug. “It’s my personal favourite, and… Well, you strike me as a woman with excellent taste too.”

The thick tension and coiling vines of envy from before are totally gone now as you both share a knowing smile.

“Sorry for flirting with your boyfriend. I definitely wouldn’t have if I knew…” Crystal squeezes your forearm where it rests on the bar. “Nothing ever happened between us, just friends when I worked here. We flirted back and forth, just for fun. That’s all.”

You nod, feeling more at peace now. “He’s fun to flirt with, I don’t blame you. We started off just flirting too. And bitching at each other. Just for fun.”

Crystal smiles and sips her drink again. “He’s crazy about you. You know that right? Only has eyes for you. He’s got it bad.”

Feeling your cheeks and chest heat up, you nod again. “I do, I’m kinda crazy about him too. Literally crazy tonight, apparently. I’m really sorry I was a total weirdo with you earlier.”

Crystal extends one hand, long red nails pointed at you, and you take it to shake. “Water under the bridge, babe.”

You wish you hadn’t wasted your time spiralling when you could have been making a friend.

She squeezes your hand, making sure you’re looking at her. “Y’know, I was gonna ask earlier if you were single even if Eddie wasn’t… The hot bartender thing also does it for me.”

Oh, she was good.

So good that your brain goes static for a few moments.

The hot girl thinks you’re hot. She’s totally flirting right now. It feels…good?

Crystal fixes you with that siren stare, black lashes sweeping her cheeks when she blinks slowly. Your face and chest flame hot as you become the focus of her flirtation.

“Uh… I… Wow. Really? Sorry… We kinda ruined your night, huh?” Your voice is shakier than you would like, your tongue thick in your mouth, but she finds it endearingly sweet.

“Nah, you made me this yummy drink. And hey, if you two are ever planning a trip, Vegas can be lots of fun. Come find me maybe?”

Crystal drops you a wink before disappearing into the crowd like a breath of cherry smoke, a napkin with her number left on the bar for you - for you and Eddie. You fold it into your back pocket, another little thing to tease Eddie with when you get on your break with him.

Being flirted with and propositioned while you were working had never been quite so fun or exhilarating. Usually, it made you feel icky, but now you feel like you’re zinging with electricity that helps you power through the thirsty queuing customers cleaning spills and collecting glasses until you’re tagged to go on break again.

You uncap a beer for yourself, shoving lime in the tall neck, and take one for Eddie with you when you head out back to meet him. You pause to swipe more rosy lipstick on before shouldering past the heavy exit door.

Your brain hurts from the tornado of different emotions you have experienced on your shift so far, but the chill of brick against the back of your head and the cool beer on your tongue helps.

As always, you hear your boyfriend before you see him. Tonight is heavy boots pounding on stone as he rushes back to you, unable to stand another second of being un-kissed.

“Medic? We have an emergency!”

For a moment you think he might not be fucking around, but the way his eyes glint when he sees you proves otherwise.

“Jesus Christ, you scared the shit outta me,” you tut.

“Thank god you’re here! It’s life or death.” His breath comes quick as he stops in front of you, holding your face in his hands. “There’s a dying man, he needs urgent mouth-to-mouth.”

Your brow rises as you fight the urge to grin. “Oh yeah? Poor guy. Sounds fatal.”

“It is. He was a total idiot and now he’s not got long left.”

Those baby cow eyes shine with genuine regret, sparkling with a sprinkle of mischief that is so innate to Eddie Munson.

“Well, maybe I can help. But I don’t think he’s totally in the wrong.” Your hand slips over his shoulder, touching butter-soft leather. “There’s also a crazy woman on the loose - you might have seen her… I think it might be all my fault.”

“Nah. Only saw this crazy-beautiful woman. She looked kinda sad though… Broke my heart a little.”

You look up into Eddie’s eyes, feeling more than in love as you close the gap between you. Pillow-soft lips press against your rose-tinted mouth, kissing away any remnants of worry and sadness as he wraps you up in his arms.

“I fuckin’ love you, baby,” he murmurs, barely breaking away to remind you of what is true. “M’sorry.”

“I love you.” Your palm curves, moulding against his neck and you can feel his pulse hammering beneath. You move back slightly, so you can tell him what was bugging you without being waylaid by the need to kiss him. “I got so in my head. It just…”

Eddie’s head rests against yours as he listens.

“I got really jealous.” It’s barely a whisper when you speak it out loud. “It was stupid because it was all in my head.”

Eddie runs his nose against yours, lips tracing its path until they press your forehead.

“S’not stupid if it’s real to you, princess.” Eddie holds you against him, pressing kiss after kiss to your busy head. “I wish I could’ve made it better sooner. It’s not nice to hear that I made you doubt me. I’m not going to hold it against you, I promise.”

You direct him back to your lips, kissing him when words fail you.

“M’sorry,” you whisper against his mouth. “I never doubted you, Eddie. I just.. it was me. I didn’t get why you’d want me when Crystal was right there. She’s the hottest woman ever.”

Eddie scoffs. “Are you jokin’ with me? Baby, you are the hottest woman ever.”

“Eddie, it’s fine. We both have eyes - she’s hot,” you admit, smiling a little. “Wanna hear something funny?”

He nods and presses one more kiss to your mouth.

“She was trying to flirt with me too. I was just too up in my head to realise…”

Eddie grins, shaking his head. “As she should, you’re smokin’.”

Your arms wrap around him, hugging tight. “We’re all good now. I made her a drink, she prepositioned me…” you say, totally offhand.

You brace for Eddie’s reaction.

A ten thousand-watt grin almost blinds you when Eddie peels himself back. “Oh yeah? That is kinda hot…”

“Shut up.” Your voice wobbles with laughter. “Don’t worry, babe. She said you’re invited too. If we’re ever in Vegas, that is…”

Brown eyes blow wide - Eddie doesn’t know what to do with himself. “H-whaa?”

Pressing your face against the soft black cotton of his t-shirt, you giggle against his chest. “You heard me. She was crushing on both of us tonight.”

“That… I… My brain has stopped working…” “Stop imagining it, Edward.” “I’m not.” “You are! I can feel your dick on my leg, dude!”

Eddie takes two steps back, hands on his head as he spins in a circle. “I’m in some parallel realm. Did I die? Oh, I did die… See? This is why you should’ve kissed me earlier! I’m flatlining here! Medic!”

His dramatic ass has you cackling, cheeks hurting as the no-game nerd inside him fails to comprehend what you just told him. You were both interested in exploring with each other in the bedroom and had already broadened your tastes with him, but neither of you had anticipated stumbling across this unopened door…

“So I’ll throw her number in the trash?” you ask, sipping your beer with a pointed raise of your brow.

The nonsensical goblin-yelp that comes from Eddie’s mouth makes the bubbles fizz up the back of your throat, making you cough and splutter. He’s an absolute dork and you adore him.

He presses pause on the dramatics to check on you, making sure you’re not going to choke on lime-spiked beer.

“Hot.” Eddie laughs as he wipes the fizz from your lip, then pats you hard on the back. He pouts as you pinch your brows at the sting of beer in your nose. “Poor baby.”

“Dick.”

“Yeah, your dick.” His cheeky grin softens. “You’re the only woman for me,” Eddie says, cupping your face again. “I mean it. It’s hot as fuck that we were kinda prepositioned like that, but you’re it. I only want you.”

You pull him in for a kiss again, deeper this time as his tongue licks against yours. The zing of electricity that runs the length of your spine pushes you closer to Eddie.

“Yeah? Even if Elvira rocks up?” “She’s my hall pass, baby. Just like you and Keanu.” “Mmmm...okay.”

Eddie drags you in for another smiling kiss. You feel small in comparison to the breadth of his shoulders, the subtle bulk he carries - you love it. His hand rests on your neck as he presses up close to you, thigh slotted between yours where your skirt pulls tight across the plush part of your legs. The well-loved denim bunches and slips higher as Eddie crowds you against the brickwork - he’s amped up and wound tight too many kiss-less hours and the revelations of the last few minutes. It’s easy to match him, mirror the needy grasp of hands on denim to pull him close.

His kisses soothe any whisper of doubt or fear that haunted you since your shift started.

“You’re so fuckin’ sexy, princess. S’hot that you’re crazy for me,” he murmurs against the side of your mouth before diving in again for another filthier kiss.

Your nails graze the back of his head, fingers twisting and tugging in dark brown curls to draw that pleasured little noise from the back of Eddie’s throat and swallow it all for yourself. Hips shift against the meat of his thigh; silky lace on denim dark enough to mask the damp mark you’re bound to leave there.

Eddie’s mouth moves down to your neck, seeking out that spot that makes your jaw drop open and your lashes flutter. One big ringed hand dips lower to encourage your hips to roll and rock against him, propped against the wall with his lean strength holding you up. “That’s it, baby. I gotcha.”

It’s easy to forget you’re at work, where any one of your co-workers could come looking for you or Eddie, but when he’s touching you like this and making you burn for him you can’t spare the space in your brain to care. You’re sure that you should both be on some sort of formal warning by now after how many times you have been caught making out and groping each other on your breaks. You had given him a hand (and head) more than once on the clock; some nights were slow and called for a distraction.

And nights like this? When you need each other so desperately, they were something else entirely.

“Ed..” Your voice sounds whiny and pathetic in your own ears as you clutch at his shoulders.

“That’s me, doll,” he murmurs, “M’gonna make it up to you okay? Say sorry for making you jealous’n’sad.” His fingers slip up beneath the bunched hem of your skirt, touching the warm spot on the front of your underwear as his forehead presses against yours. “Can I? Just a little somethin’? Promise I’ll make your head all empty when we get home. Yeah?”

You’re a weak woman, rendered boneless and speechless as Eddie’s fingertips press there. With a lazy nod, dragging him back for a kiss, you roll your pelvis against his hand.

“That’s it.”

You feel his smile against your mouth as he pushes your underwear to the side, enough to feel how wet you are as his fingers press and dip and stroke. Eddie drags your slick gloss up, easing the friction as he circles his thumb.

“Oh Jesus,” you gasp, a shuddering breath as he pushes two fingers inside with ease. You hold him to you, clutching the back of his neck.

Eddie spares you a cocky comment in favour of kissing you again, stroking up inside you before beginning to fuck into you. He doesn’t stop his kisses when your jaw slackens, tongue meeting his with lazy strokes as blood rushes in your ears.

“That’s it, just let me take care of my girl.”

My girl. It gets you every time.

He feels the pulse and gush, a Pavlovian reaction, and presses deeper.

A slow pleasured smile spreads on your face as his fingers fill you. Eddie watches, eyes heavy-lidded, before moving back to kiss your neck.

Motormouth Munson keeps his title as he murmurs filth against your neck, punctuating praise and promises with sucking kisses and scrapes of teeth, soothed by his slick tongue.

“That’s my girl, I know what she likes. Need it so bad, don’t you?”

“Oh, you’re so fuckin’ soaked for me. Can feel you pullin’ me in, princess.”

“You been so worked up all night, huh? I’m gonna take such good care of you. Not leavin’ our bed tomorrow until you forget your own name. Gonna show you just how much I love you, baby.”

You choke down your moans, quietening yourself to breathy gasps and pleas in Eddie’s name. The fear of interruption, of getting caught, gets you both going.

Eddie hoists your thigh up to his hip, widening you more more more as his fingers find, then curl and press on your spongy spot.

Your moan is muffled against his shoulder, still too loud to be decent and louder still in Eddie’s ears.

“Fuck, there we go. Oh, you’re so fuckin’ close already, huh? Gonna come for me right here?” His voice is low and rough, words ground out as you feel him hard against your leg.

“Yeah,” you whimper, already shaking. “G-uh.. Oh god.” Your back arches away from the brick as his fingers speed up, thumb pressing hard circles in tandem. “Eddie… Fuck, fuckkk!”

He nods, speeding up just enough, just like he knows you need. Eddie squares his jaw as he listens to the sloppy wet sound of his fingers between your legs. Your jaw drops, brow creases; blissful agony. Eddie steals another kiss, soaking up the little noises you make when you’re close, the noises that make him throb in his jeans.

“Come on, sweetheart. Come for me.”

You leave the marks of your teeth on his leather-clad shoulder, biting back your moan as you obey. Eddie makes you come hard, making you drip over his silver rings. Eddie has to hold you up, keep you steady as your body convulses with absolute bliss. You hold on like he’s your life raft; he is your life raft - steady and sure when you falter or fall.

Eddie keeps you close, basking in your glow as you catch your breath. The hand on your thigh moves, cups and cradles the back of your head so you don’t bust it too hard against the wall.

“Fuck, baby. That was a big one.” He smiles when you smile, pliant and lazy, brushing kisses and praise against your hot cheek. He reaches to prop the stool beneath you to take your leaden weight.

“There she is, my pretty princess.” When you open your eyes, you can see the flush on his cheeks and the pulse of the vein in his neck.

You’re so utterly spoiled by this man. You kiss his lips, softer now as you come back to life, to earth. You’re shaky, breathless but you feel alive. You feel loved.

“That was… Full marks, no notes.”

Eddie raises a fist, triumphant like John Bender. “I know what my baby needs.”

He makes you giggle and bite your lip as he licks the taste of you from his fingers. “Sweet.”

You pass him your open beer to down as his prize, as you put yourself back together, sliding your ruined underwear off over your boots to use in lieu of a rag.

Eddie snatches them just as you consider trashing them (not that you were going to, they weren’t cheap). “Mine.” He’s breathless from sucking down the fizzy beer as tucks them into his pocket.

Your laugh is shaky but you don’t even fight him on it. It’s not the first pair he has pocketed mid-shift, nor will it be the last.

“Pervert.”

He shoves them against his nose for good measure, living up to the accusation. “Oh yeah. That’s the good shit.” He winks before shoving them back inside his leather jacket, right by his heart. A romantic pervert at least.

“That keep you going for the rest of the night? Until I get you home?” Eddie asks, before starting on the second beer; he shares a few sips with you.

“Mm, just about. You have promises to keep, rockstar,” you say, pulling him in with fingers hooked in his belt loops. “I wanna return the favour but ‘Chelle will kill both of us if we disappear again…”

“I’ll survive. Be strong.” He musters up faux courage as you press kisses to his face.

“My brave boy.”

Your arms wind around each other, hugging and holding your other half close.

“Y’feeling a bit better than earlier?” Eddie runs his hands up and down your back; his voice is sincere and sober.

“Mmhm. Much better. Not just ‘coz you made me come. But that did help.” You smile and tuck your head under his chin.

He hums a happy noise and presses his lips to your head. “Glad to be of cervix. I mean, service.”

“Ugh. Really?” You can feel him laughing, shaking with it.

“It’s a good one!” “Eddie, my love - what’s a cervix?” “It’s like…womb-adjacent.” You can hear his smugness. “Hmm, don’t need to know how you know that.” “Did biology three times.” “Oh. Okay.”

You weren’t sure what you were expecting. You tilt your head to look up at him and smile when he kisses you again.

“If I help you clean up later we can get fries on the way home. You’re going to need your strength, baby.”

His eyes glint with that look that makes your tummy flutter.

“Deal.”

Eddie cups your face and kisses you with a soft sweetness, something like a peach, that contrasts with his filthy promises of taking you apart and putting you back together later.

He helps you up from the stool, making sure your knees don’t buckle and your skirt is pulled down properly to cover up your lack of underwear.

Eddie makes you spin for him, admiring you with his kiss-bitten lip between his teeth. “Mm, one more time for me?”

You roll your eyes at him before tucking yourself under his arm.

“Love you.” Eddie pulls you in for one more peck before opening the back door for you.

“Love you more, rockstar.” You feel like a girl being walked to homeroom as he smooches one more kiss against your cheek.

As he backs away, not wanting to be the first to turn, Eddie points a finger at you, “Love you most.”

You roll your eyes, grinning anyway as he backs around the corner with the Bender-fist raised in the air again.

Eddie Munson might be a flirt, such a flirt, but he is all yours.

Thank you for reading! Likes, reblogs and comments are absolutely adored and cherished ❤️

Tags: @oneforthemunny @munsonmecrazy @parmawiolets

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fortheloveofwonderland · 9 months ago

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Rusty | Chapter 11 | S.R

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A/N - Just an FYI - the fics being posted now were finished months ago. I haven't written anything for the fandom in quite a long time and at present have no drive to do so. Once Midnight and Rusty are finished posting that will be it from me for the forseeable. Thank you for coming along for the ride.

Chapter Summary - Spencer pushes through another barrier on his way to recovery. But when a face from his past shows up out of the blue it threatens to destroy everything between the two of you.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - male masturbation, Spencer’s incredibly dirty thoughts, brief mention of three ways, handjobs, oral sex (f receiving) and penetrative sex (both p in v and p in a) all by way of Spencer’s imagination (Spencer is basically writing his own smut fic in his head), self inflicted wounds, talk of weight loss, swearing, arguing, yelling, tears, sad Luke, bit of a cliff hanger ending. WC - 7.6k

Chapter 11 - All My Ex's Live in Texas

The sentiment, to be able to love someone we must first learn how to love ourselves, felt oddly poignant in this moment, as Spencer stood in his bedroom, in front of the full-length mirror tucked away in his closet.

It wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence, he often gave himself a cursory glance before he left the lodge of a morning, giving himself a brief once over.

It also wasn’t something he made a habit of doing. He kept the mirror inside the closet for the purposes of not having to look at himself for long periods of time.

But this was for entirely therapeutic purposes.

And the idea of having to love oneself before allowing others into our heart rang true in an entirely different way.

Spencer needed to be able to engage himself physically before he could expect anyone else to do the same.

It had been four days since his trip to Doctor Ortega’s office. In those four days the two of you had participated in a string of increasingly heavier make out sessions, three of which fervent enough to yet again cause Spencer to come in his pants, but as yet had not graduated onto anything more intimate.

Yesterday the two of you had ridden your respective mares into Pipe Creek for Spencer to collect his new prescription and Doctor Ortega had caught him on his way out.

She’d taken him aside and reminded him that in order to take back control of his own body, he had to truly own it himself before he frivolously tried to hand it over to someone new.

And that’s what led him here. Standing in front of his full-length mirror, naked as the day he was born.

The only part of his body that was concealed was his casted arm, he’d even gone as far as to remove the dressings from his bicep, thigh and stomach.

The wounds were all at various stages of healing, scabbing over and starting to scar. They would all leave their marks upon his skin for the rest of his life, a constant reminder that he’d been to hell but was desperately trying to claw his way back.

He focused on them for longer than necessary, trying to distract his mind from the task at hand for as long as he possibly could. You’d gone to the grocery store with Rusty and wouldn’t be back for a while. He had time for his introspective.

He inspected each cut with a keen eye, taking note of how each brandished him, pictured what they’d look like once solid and pink against his alabaster flesh.

This was not an activity Spencer relished. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked at his naked form in such a manner. It felt clinical. Yet another experiment.

Spencer liked experiments so he tried to keep that in mind as he took himself in as a whole before slowly ingesting each individual facet that made the full Spencer Reid picture.

Start at the top, work his way down. Cold, removed, distant.

Still got a good head of hair, not like William. Good hair. Thick hair. No greys. Almost forty and no greys. That’s pretty good going considering the stress I’ve been under.

Nice eyes. Friendly eyes, that’s what JJ called them. Or was it kind eyes? Nice no less. Brown with gold flecks mom always used to point out.

Bags under the eyes aren’t so nice. When did they get so purple? I look like I’ve never slept a day in my life.

Nose. Lips. Chapped lips, such dry lips. How does Y/N kiss me? Need to buy chapstick. Must remember to buy chapstick.

Need to shave. Or do I? I don’t hate the stubble, it makes me look tougher. Wonder what Y/N’s opinion on it is? Maybe I should ask her.

His eyes trailed slightly lower to his torso.

Still so skinny. Didn’t I put on weight? Where did that go? Mom always says I look like I’m not eating. Have I been eating? When did I get this skinny?

Lost weight in prison. Couldn't eat after…my mouth was always too sore. Thought I’d put it back on. Did I lose it again? How? When?

He raised his hand in absent-mindedness and ran his fingers along the visible bones of his sternum, protruding through his milky skin. He pulled a face and dropped his hand again, somewhat unamused.

His eyes briefly flitted back over the cut on his left side, garnering his attention once again before flicking to his stomach.

Definitely lost weight, but how? Hip bones are more prominent. Got one of those little v-cut muscles I was always jealous of on Luke. Did I get that from riding? It does require core strength. I’ve never noticed it before.

He continued quickly past the appendage where his attention was supposed to be, down to his legs. He’d always had strong thighs, thick thighs but they were somehow even meatier than he remembered.

Is that from riding too? Must be. Good legs, definitely not terrible legs. Sturdy. Load bearing.

I’m stalling.

He closed his eyes with a loud huff, feeling incredibly self conscious all of a sudden. Opening his eyes again he forced his gaze between his legs where his flaccid member hung in a bed of pubic hair.

And here we are, the thorn in my side. The bane of my goddamn existence. My…

…it’s not gonna get hard if you berate it.

He grit his teeth and stared almost aggressively at the length of flesh and muscle between his legs.

Masturbation should not be this difficult.

It felt forced. He wasn’t aroused, not even a little. On the occasions in his life he had turned to self pleasure, it was only because he was incredibly horny, which wasn’t a regular occurrence for him unless he was in the act itself.

He’d never just sat and thought I’m bored, maybe I could jerk one off. What was normal protocol here?

His new phone had the internet and he would probably be able to look up a porn site. But what porn? Spencer didn’t even know what kind of porn he liked.

He found both men and women attractive, where would he even begin? In an ideal world, what kind of sexual desire would…oh…oh!

He stared at his cock as it twitched very slightly, heart beat picking up at the simple thought. He kept his eyes trained downwards while he contemplated it again.

I like both men and women, I find them equally attractive. Specifically one man and one woman so what if I could have both?

Again he twitched, before his very eyes his cock started to swell. His mouth fell open, chest heaving with his breaths.

Y/N and Luke? Together? And me. All three of us. Together. Touching. Kissing. Or I could just watch, I’d be pretty happy to watch.

Again he was amazed by the sudden jerk of his shaft, swelling slowly but surely.

Oh this could work. I think this might work.

He wrapped his hand around his shaft without too much thought in case he might talk his way out of this. He was only semi-erect but the speed in which it had happened meant he could be fully aroused in no time.

He kept his eyes open, trying to force himself to watch as he started his slow strokes but his mind was wandering quickly down a sinful rabbit hole.

Standing over them while she straddles him, her bare thighs pressed against his bare thighs, taking hold of his hard cock in her hand.

Hearing Luke moan as his Adam’s apple bobs at her touch. Her beautiful, petite hand, unable to wrap all the way around his shaft. But she tries, she tries so hard. She wants to make him feel good, wants to give me a show.

Luke’s looking up at me, his eyes blown out with lust.

“Come closer, cariño, let me touch you.”

Oh how I happily oblige.

Whilst she’s stroking Luke I kneel on the bed next to them and Luke is immediately taking me in his own large hand. I moan and my head falls back against my shoulders at his touch.

He strokes me in time with her strokes on him. The sound of flesh on flesh echoing in the room. Moans and heavy breaths.

There’s another hand on my jaw, I look at her and she draws me in for a deep kiss. Her tongue explores my mouth while Luke’s hand pumps my cock.

My other hand finds her breast and I knead it beneath my fingers, pinching her hardened nipple in my hand.

Yep, that’ll do it.

He was fully erect in his hand now, stroking himself at an almost furious pace. His hand twisted and tightened, staring at his cock in his own hand in the mirror.

Laying on my back and she’s on top of me, lowering herself down, slowly, slowly. Inch by inch I watch myself disappear inside her silken walls. I can feel the way her body stretches and pulls around my hard cock.

Luke is behind her, palming her tits, kissing her neck. She’s whining, moaning because she’s so tight and I’m so big.

“How does he feel, baby?” Luke whispers against her flesh once I’m completely sheathed inside of her.

“Fuck, he feels so good.” She starts to rock back and forth on top of me, eyes staring intently down at me.

One of Luke’s hands travels downwards, to the juncture where our bodies meet. His index finger pressing against her clit.

She vibrates around me, sending shockwaves down my cock. The moan that leaves my lips is nothing short of feral.

Frantically fisting his own cock whilst imagining the pleasures of being with the both of you and his head was already leaking against hand. He swiped his thumb through it, legs buckling a little at the sensation and using his precum as lube.

He was gnawing on his lip, watching the way his cock throbbed in his hand. It was a heady sight to behold. He thought he’d be disgusted by it. Was it wrong that it turned him on more?

He looked good like this, strong, virile, dare he even say, sexy? He felt powerful as he watched his face contort in the pleasure he was bestowing upon himself. His staunch thighs shook beneath him.

His thick and heavy length pulsed against his palm.

She’s on her back, legs spread for me. I leave a trail of kisses across her soft skin but I’m in a hurry, I need to get to my final destination.

Once my face is buried between her folds, I lap up at her arousal before my tongue settles on her swollen bud. She writhes beneath me at the contact, trying to move away. But I stop her with an arm across her abdomen.

She moans and screams as I take her in my mouth, suckling on her sensitive clit. Like a man possessed I work between her legs, like she’s my favourite meal.

I can feel a heat behind me, and hands on my hips guiding me up onto my knees. I comply because I’m so wrapped up in the way she tastes on my tongue.

Then there’s something pressing into me from behind, I’m being stretched but in the best possible way.

As Luke fills me up I moan into her core, making her squirm. The sounds in the room are melting into the walls, the smell of sex is heavy in the air.

Luke thrusts into me hard and fast and I take two fingers and plunge them inside of her waiting heat while keeping my mouth on her desperate clit.

She’s rocking against my face, coating my lips and chin in her arousal as my fingers sink inside of her.

Luke is grunting as he fucks me, filling me up in a way I haven’t been filled in so long. Between my legs I can feel my cock twitching, pulsing, close to the edge without being touched.

“Oh fuck,” Spencer mumbled, legs trembling. “Oh Jesus fucking Christ.”

More precum leaked from his tip, coating his hand as he thought of eating you out while Luke fucked him. His head was hazy, his breaths ragged.

“Fuck, Spence, I’m close. So close.” She screams as I plunge my fingers in and out of her and swipe my tongue over her clit.

Luke’s thrusts are growing more violent, his balls slapping against my ass.

“Make her come, Spence. You can do it, cariño.” Luke encouraged me and I pick up my speed.

Soon enough I feel her walls clenching around my fingers and she’s coming undone at my will. She’s convulsing beneath me and I know it’s all because of me.

And as I feel her coming, moaning my name, my own orgasm starts to pinch at my stomach and I know it won’t be long before I’m…

…“fuck, fuck, fuck!” Spencer screamed as he gripped the base of his shaft and started splattering streaks of his come all over the mirror.

He kept stroking himself through his orgasm, his legs undulating back and forth as he expelled himself on the reflective surface, covering his hand in his sticky seed.

He watched every small movement of his body, his quivering thighs, his leisurely strokes on his spent cock, his chest dragging up and down with each shallow breath.

His brain was foggy but his vision was exceedingly clear. He was fascinated by the way his body moved, how one small ripple in one muscle caused another to flex and so on and so forth.

The contours of his body seemed so sharp in his post orgasm haze, every pull or push, every pulse, every dilation.

He’d never looked upon himself with such startling clarity before as his shaft started to soften in his hand, it was all becoming clear.

This is my body. I can see it. I can feel it. My body belongs to me. My body doesn’t belong to anyone but me.

I am whole. I am whole.

I am Spencer Reid and I am whole.

He was so lost in his newfound captivation of his own frame, he didn’t hear you enter the lodge or call his name. He also didn’t hear the bedroom door open or your footsteps on the wooden floor.

It wasn’t until your face appeared in the reflection behind him that he registered his company.

“Uh, hi?” A smirk adorned itself on your features as you regarded him, soft cock in his hand and the distinctive come stains on the mirror.

You couldn’t stop your gaze flitting up and down his body. You’d never seen him completely naked before, uninhibited, exposed.

You tried to make a mental note of every dip and curve of his glorious body. He really was a sight to behold.

“Hi,” he replied, returning your smile.

“Everything okay here?”

He let go of his length, turned to face you. His pupils were blown out wide.

“More than okay.” He nodded.

And suddenly he advanced on you, smashing his lips against yours and not caring in the slightest that he was naked and sticky with his own come.

He grabbed at you, pawed at you hungrily. His wandering hands got you out of your clothes in no time at all and soon the two of you were falling back to the bed.

He was on top of you, kissing you with reckless abandon. He could already feel himself growing hard again between your bodies.

His tongue desperately explored your mouth as though it were the first time, he manoeuvred you both so he was on his back and you were straddling him.

He hissed as he got an unhindered sight of your breasts as you sat atop him. Needy hands wandered until they were palming them, pinching your nipples between his deft fingers until they stood to attention, not allowing himself to be impeded by his cast.

You moaned and rocked back and forth on top of him, his hard cock gliding between your folds. Spencer whined and bucked against you.

He removed his hands, letting his casted arm fall back to his side. His good hand circled around your wrist, gripping it tight and moving your hand so it hovered above his cock.

You stared at him, silently questioning him. Spencer simply nodded in response and let go of your wrist.

You sucked in a breath, cautious as you lowered your hand closer to his throbbing member. When your hand wrapped around his base he moaned in fervour.

His eyes rolled back into his skull, back arching off the bed. You slowly started to move your hand up and down around him but he was soon bucking into your hand, setting the pace for you.

His desperation was evident in the surges of his hips snapping back and forth fiercely. His teeth sunk into his bottom lip as his eyes landed on you again.

He smiled up at you, the ethereal being perched on his thighs whilst working to bring him the utmost pleasure.

He was whole. He was finally beginning to feel whole.

***

It was getting late by the time the BAU finally wrapped up in Texas. Luke had agreed with Rossi that he would take one day off to visit Spencer before he joined them back at Quantico.

Given the hour, Luke intended on getting a hotel for the night in Bandera town. He drove those forty some miles north from San Antonio in his SUV, fingers tapping nervously against the steering wheel as he tuned into a country and western radio station.

The back seat was full of gifts and cards which Garcia had sent to the police precinct for Luke to deliver to their old friend for his birthday which was just a few days away.

Luke’s nerves flooded his body, causing his stomach to form into tight knots. The closer he got to Bandera, the more anxious he grew, palms sweating against the wheel.

He was under no illusion that Spencer would be happy to see him, especially with him showing up unannounced. But in Luke’s defence he had tried to call Spencer several times over the last few days to inform him of his visit. It wasn’t his fault Spencer didn’t answer.

It was nearing eleven pm by the time Luke arrived in Bandera and try as he might he couldn’t get himself to the hotel.

He couldn’t wait another minute. He needed to see Spencer now.

He took the turning off the main road with the directions Garcia had sent him. He drove a little ways up a dirt track until he came to a stop next to another car.

Killing the engine he frowned himself. He didn’t think Spencer had a car. He supposed he could have purchased one any time.

He slid out of the SUV, dropping to the dirt and closed the door behind him. There was a small single storey lodge a few hundred yards up on the left.

There was a light on.

Luke swallowed, smoothing out his shirt and running his fingers through his hair. His chest swelled with nerves and his legs shook a little as he started towards the lodge.

***

Spencer’s second orgasm seemed to come quicker than the first, your small, dainty hand bringing him to completion in no time at all. Chest heaving with his breaths, he immediately pulled you down by the back of your neck so he could kiss you.

He was whole. He was whole. They didn’t win.

He kissed you fiercely, his come sticky between your bodies but neither of you minded. His hand stayed on the back of your neck, pinning you to him.

“You’re amazing.” He mumbled against your lips.

“No, you’re amazing.” You replied.

You wanted to tell him you were proud of him but you didn’t want to make a big deal of it or have him think you were patronising him. Instead you continued kissing him, grinding your bodies together as you did so.

Spencer felt like every single one of his nerve endings were on fire. He was overstimulated, he could feel every thread of the sheets beneath him, feel every negligible movement of your body as it moved against his own.

It was eye opening. He’d forgotten how this was supposed to feel. Intimacy wasn’t meant to make him feel guilty, pleasure wasn’t designed to cause him pain.

He’d neglected to remember how it should feel. Two bodies coming together, becoming one. Becoming whole.

He felt as though he could well be floating, his body lighter than air. He needed more. He needed so much more. He needed everything and he needed it with you.

He gripped the back of your neck firmly, tongue roughly exploring the deepest recesses of your mouth. The sound of heavy breathing filled the room alongside soft moans and the friction of skin on skin.

And for the second time that night, Spencer didn’t hear the door to his cabin open or the heavy footsteps on his hardwood floor.

***

Worryingly, Luke found the door to Spencer’s lodge was ajar, not quite closed all the way. His hand immediately pressed against the butt of his gun in its holster, ready just in case. In his experience, nothing good came from doors being left open. Least of all way out here in the sticks.

He hesitantly pushed it open and took a step inside. The space was small and mostly full of books which didn’t surprise him at all. There were a few paper grocery bags on the kitchen counter. Nothing looked out of place or disturbed.

He let his hand fall back to his side, trying to calm his erratically beating heart. Spencer could be scatty sometimes, perhaps he’d just been in a hurry. There was nothing to panic about.

He stepped closer towards the closed door past the kitchen, for which he assumed was the bedroom. It was only as he drew closer that he started to register the sounds of heavy breathing.

His first thought was that Spencer might be having a panic attack. He’d had them a lot after prison, Luke knew all too well what they looked like. Perhaps he’d started to have one when he arrived home with groceries, it would explain why the door wasn’t closed properly and why the bags were still on the counter.

Another wave of unease washed over him and he quickly pushed open the door without a second thought.

The two bodies on the bed came into view and Luke felt as though the whole world came crumbling down around him in a single second. The body on top with their back to him was definitely female. The body beneath, laying on the bed was obscured from view but Luke would recognise those soft moans anywhere.

“Wow,” he croaked out the single word as tears flooded his vision.

Spencer suddenly sat up in bed, glaring at Luke over your shoulder. His mouth fell open, eyes wide in shock at the ghost standing in his doorway.

“L-Luke?” He stuttered.

“Luke?” You hissed without looking over your shoulder. “As in…?”

“Hmm.” Spencer nodded.

You were still in his lap, trying to hide your naked frame against Spencer’s. You needed to leave. You couldn’t be part of this. You swung yourself off of the bed and in one swift move sprinted to the bathroom before you could give this stranger an eyeful.

You’d left Spencer exposed and he quickly pulled the sheet around his body despite the fact Luke had seen him naked hundreds of times before. He hadn’t seen this version of him though, the one with the cuts and scabs from self abuse. He stared at Luke and Luke and him. Seconds seemed like hours.

He noticed Luke’s gaze flicker down to his arm and his brows pinched together.

“What happened to your arm?” Luke asked in concern.

Spencer didn’t know whether he meant the cast or the cut on his bicep but he didn’t ask.

“Riding accident.” Spencer clenched his jaw. “What are you…why are you here?”

“We were in town for a case. I tried to call, you didn’t answer. The door was open and I thought something might have happened to you.” The hurt in Luke’s voice was palpable and Spencer felt a little guilty that he’d had to walk into this.

“Uh, lemme get dressed okay? I’ll meet you outside?” Spencer chewed on the tip of his tongue, half thinking his overstimulated brain was imagining the man in front of him.

Had he given over so entirely to his fantasy that it had begun to feel real? Was this all part of his vivid speculation? Was he in fact still masturbating in front of his mirror?

No, it was all too real. The sadness in Luke’s eyes, the way his shoulders slumped with the weight of seeing his ex in bed with someone else. The way you’d so hurriedly scampered off to the bathroom.

This was real life, even if it did feel like a nightmare.

Luke nodded stiffly and turned about on his heels. Spencer watched his retreating form pad out of the bedroom and close the door behind him.

Spencer got to his feet and started gathering up his clothes from the floor. He tapped on the bathroom door as he was fighting with his boxers.

“Are you okay?” He called when he got no answer.

“Your ex is here, what do you think!” You hissed in response.

“I had no idea he was coming here, Y/N. I didn’t invite him.” He was stuffing his legs back in his jeans, trying to ignore the way the fabric scratched his open wounds.

“What the hell is he doing here then?”

“I don’t know! I have no idea.” He grabbed his t-shirt whilst still working on the button of his jeans. “I need to deal with this, hopefully I won’t be long.”

“Okay.” You whispered, hearing his footsteps head away from the door.

He pulled the t-shirt down over his torso as he swung open the bedroom door. Through the window in the front door he could see Luke pacing the length of his porch.

Spencer exhaled, raking his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame it from his previous activities. He swallowed around his dry tongue and stepped towards the door.

A frigid burst of air hit him as he stepped outside, joining Luke on the porch. Luke stopped in his tracks and glanced at Spencer. Even in the darkness he could see the tears in Luke’s eyes.

“So, you’ve moved on, huh?” Luke folded his arms across his chest.

“It’s been two years, what did you expect?” Spencer shrugged.

He hated that even after all this time Luke could still cause all the air to leave his lungs. He looked much the same as Spencer remembered in his mind's eye that last time he saw him. He had an extra few creases around his eyes, a few more greys peppering his hairline, but otherwise he remained unchanged.

“What did I expect? Well for starters I expected more from you than leaving without a damn word! I expected that you wouldn’t completely cut me out of your life! I expected…maybe I hoped that I wasn’t the only one still pining like an idiot.” He choked back a sob. “So she gets the healed Spencer Reid? She gets to have you now you’ve worked through your trauma? When I was the one that spent a year by your side after, trying to help you? How is that fair?”

“You think I’m healed?” Spencer’s voice raised a little. “You think I’ve worked through my trauma?”

“It looks that way to me. I seem to remember the last time I tried to get you into that position you pinned my arm behind my back!” Luke spat.

“You have no idea what this is like for me.” Spencer shook his head angrily. “She is the first person I have been able to get close to and even still I’m terrified I’m only one second away from breaking down at all times. It’s been four years and this is the closest I’ve come to moving past what happened to me but I am by no means suddenly shiny and new. I haven’t had sex with her, is that what you want to hear? At this point I’m not even sure I can!

“You can’t just show up here after two years and think you know what I’m going through. I have to take medication every day just so I am not completely crippled by my trauma. I blackout when the stress gets too much, I dissociate because my mind can’t handle the pain. Don’t come here and assume you know what I’m going through. You have no idea.”

In the bathroom you heard raised voices outside and worried about Spencer’s rising anger and what could happen if he let it get out of control. You snuck back out and found your clothes, quickly redressing and creeping into the living room.

From the kitchen you could see them through the glass pane in the front door without them being able to see you were watching. You told yourself you weren’t eavesdropping, you just wanted to be ready in case Spencer needed grounding.

You tucked yourself away in the corner, eyes on the side of Luke’s face. You felt that swell of familiarity again that you couldn’t place. Your fingers kneaded your achy jaw as you listened.

“You were supposed to come back! I gave you time, I gave you space. I thought if I did those things you would come back and we would be okay again.” Luke rubbed his eyes to try and stem his tears.

“That’s not my fault, Luke. I didn’t ever give you a reason to believe that would be the case. I’m sorry I left without telling you, I know I should have said goodbye. But I can’t change that. This is my life now, I have no intentions of coming back to DC. I’m sorry if you thought that I would, but I never gave any indication that I would.” Spencer rubbed his hand on his jeans, focusing on the rough texture.

He needed to stay tethered, he couldn’t let the anger bubble and cause his mind to detach.

“Did you love me?” Luke’s voice pitched. “Did you ever really love me like you said you did?”

You knew that voice, you were sure of it. You just couldn’t place it.

“How can you even ask me that?” Spencer softened. “Of course I did.”

“But it was easier for you to run away than try and make things work with the man you supposedly loved?” Luke exhaled.

“I had to leave. After everything that happened, after Merva, it was just too much. I needed to get away from DC, away from it all.” Spencer sniffed loudly.

“You could have talked to me instead of running away, Spencer. It’s what I was there for. But you never talked to me.”

“I couldn’t talk to you, Luke. I couldn’t talk to anyone. I just wanted to forget.” Spencer’s eyes filled with tears and he rubbed his palm roughly against his thigh, focused on the material of his jeans.

“You know I know what happened right?” Luke shrugged. “I know what happened to you in prison. I read the medical reports.”

Spencer froze. His rampant rubbing of his thigh stopped, he felt like his breathing stopped. He glared at Luke while he processed his words.

He’d read the report. He’d known all along.

Inside your brows pinched together. Prison? Spencer was in prison? Surely you must have the wrong end of the stick? Spencer did not seem like the type. There must be something you were missing.

“You…how could you?” Spencer croaked. “How could you do that to me?”

“You wouldn’t talk to me. I was worried about you.”

“Worried? You were worried? So you invaded my privacy? Those reports were not your concern Luke! I figured Prentiss would have to see them but you…I can’t believe you would do that to me.” Spencer’s voice raised again and felt the anger in his stomach.

Deep breaths, take deep, calming breaths. One, two, three, four, five. One, two, three, four, five. Feel something beneath your hand, ground yourself. This will be okay. One, two, three, four, five.

“Maybe if you’d talked to me I wouldn’t have felt the need to.” Luke didn’t know why he was trying to justify himself, he knew what he’d done was wrong. “How did you ever get cleared to come back to work? You were clearly struggling.”

“Oh please, we wrote those questions. You think after fifteen years of profiling I didn’t know the right things to say to the bureau shrink so she would reinstate me?” Spencer clucked.

“Did you ever tell her you were ra-”

“Don’t you dare you say it.” Spencer cut him off. “Don’t you dare.”

Your head was spinning with the new information. Prison. Profiling. Bureau? What did this all mean? Your cell phone was on the counter next to the bags and you reached for it before hiding back in your corner. The arguing continued outside while you brought up a Google search.

Spencer Reid + bureau

Within less than a second, hundreds of search results popped up on the little screen, articles upon articles. You quickly skim read some of the search results as your hand shook around the device.

The youngest academy graduate recruited to the FBI’s illustrious Behavioral Analysis Unit, twenty two year old Doctor Spencer Reid…

With his three PhD’s, and IQ of 187, SSA Doctor Spencer Reid was hand picked by BAU founder Jason Gideon…

After a high speed chase in Mexico the FBI’s Behavioural Analysis Unit are on the scene. It’s thought that a member of the team is involved…

BAU Member SSA Doctor Spencer Reid acquitted of charges against him…

Hostage situation involving two members of the BAU…no further information is known at this time…

Your head swam. Your stomach lurched. This couldn’t be true, yet it was here in black and white.

You were sleeping with the enemy. The sweet, kind cowboy you’d rescued from the desert was a former FBI Agent.

Three PhD’s? An IQ of 187? Doctor?

What the fuck was going on? You knew there were things he hadn’t told you but did you know him at all? And what led to an FBI agent going to prison? And what happened to him in prison that Luke had ascertained from his medical records?

You felt dizzy. You pushed yourself back up against the wall so you wouldn’t collapse. Luke’s raised voice brought you back around.

“You could have told me! I would have understood, I could have helped!”

“No one can help me! Why don’t you understand that?” Spencer yelled back.

“She seemed to be doing a fine job.” Luke scoffed, nodding his head towards the door.

“Goddamnit, would you let that go?”

“Let it go? How the hell can I let that go? Every time I close my eyes I will see her on top of you!” Luke threw his arms up into the air.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be stronger, okay? I’m sorry I pushed you away. But I am finally starting to move past what happened to me. I’m sorry I couldn’t do that for you but Y/N is…she makes me feel like I can heal. And I need that Luke, I need to heal.” Spencer sniffed again, feeling his tears dangerously close to falling.

Luke didn’t appear to be listening though, his brows pinched together as he rolled something over in his mind.

“Did you say Y/N?” He rubbed the side of his neck.

Your back went rigid. Hearing him say your name dislodged something distant in the back of your mind.

“Have you seen this woman? Her name is Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N and we have reason to believe she’s been seen in this area.”

“Yeah, why?” Spencer’s voice broke through your memory.

“I…I’m not sure.” Luke looked deep in thought. “Can I…? One sec.”

Spencer watched in confusion as Luke turned and headed down the stairs towards his SUV. He wrapped his good arm around himself in protection and to stave off the cold night.

“Have you seen this woman? Her name is Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N and we have reason to believe she’s been seen in this area.”

“I don’t know nothing, ‘bout nothing.”

“Can you take a closer look at her photo ma’am? Your neighbour seems to think she’s been staying here.”

“Again, I don’t know nothing, ‘bout nothing.”

“Would you mind if we took a look around?”

“You got a warrant?”

“No…”

“Then get the hell off of my property.”

Magnolia Springs, Alabama. Mrs Royce, the kindly old woman for whom your mother had been best friends with all throughout childhood. She’d offered you a place to stay after you escaped custody. That was until her nosy neighbour recognised you from the wanted posters.

You’d buried your mom’s money under a tree in the wooded area behind her house and watched from a distance as two FBI Agents had come to her home to question her. Even though she hadn’t seen your mother in more years than she could count, Mrs Royce was fiercely loyal, and hadn't said a word.

You hadn’t had a great vantage point for which to see the agents, only caught small glimpses of them from where you hid in the back of the house. But they’d introduced themselves as -

- Agents Phil Brooks and Luke Alvez.

Luke was hurrying back from his car with a manilla folder and Spencer stayed stock still while he awaited him. Luke opened the folder and pulled out a sheet of paper which he proffered to Spencer as soon as he was close enough.

“What is this?” Spencer frowned at the paper.

“Is this the woman? I only saw her from the back. She coulda changed her hair? Is this her?” Luke jabbed a finger at the photograph in the corner of the page. “She escaped from a max security facility a few weeks ago. Phil called me.”

To Spencer’s credit, no matter how many years it had been since he’d needed to to use his poker face, he was still an expert at it. His expression didn’t even so much as flinch as he looked at the photograph of you on Luke’s printout.

He was right, you had changed your hair. But it was without a doubt you looking back at him from that mugshot. He glanced away, back at Luke and shook his head.

“No.” He lied. “I’ve never seen this woman before.”

Luke’s eyes narrowed in scrutiny, watching for any little twitch, any tiny hint that Spencer was keeping something from him. But the truth was, even though they had dated and Luke thought he knew Spencer better than anyone, he never could read Spencer.

“You wouldn’t lie to me would you, Spencer? Because this woman is dangerous, and if you’re lying to me, that’s harbouring a fugitive. I don’t need to tell you that comes with a prison sentence.” Luke observed again.

Even at the mention of prison, Spencer’s features didn’t change.

“I’m telling you Luke, I don’t know this woman.” He waved the paper in front of him. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”

Your own brows pinched together. You peered out the window to see the paper in Spencer’s hand but it was too dark to see exactly what was on it. But you were certain he would know it was you in the photograph. So why was he lying?

“Right, I’m just being paranoid I guess.” Luke huffed, snatching the paper back from Spencer.

“I think you should go Luke, it's late and you shouldn’t have come here.” Spencer returned his arm to its position wrapped around him.

“I’m staying down the road for the night. Maybe we can meet tomorrow for coffee or something?” Luke tucked the file under his arm.

“No,” Spencer shook his head. “I don’t want this Luke. I moved out here for a reason, to get away from my life in DC. To get away from…from…”

“From me?” Luke croaked.

“From everyone.” Spencer corrected him. “You will always have a place in my heart, Luke. I did love you but I’m not the same man I was when we started dating and I’m never going to be him again. You have to let me go, Luke, please? Please just let me go.”

Luke wanted to argue, he wanted to argue with every fibre of his being. He didn’t drive all the way out here to have it end like this.

But Spencer’s sad eyes and downturned lips forced him to bite his tongue. Spencer had been through an immeasurable amount of trauma and he was just trying to make it through to the otherside. Luke couldn't help him, he tried, but he’d failed. Perhaps the best thing for Spencer’s wellbeing was for Luke to walk away, to let him go once for and for all.

Luke huffed a breath out through his nose and took a few steps backwards. He navigated the steps whilst never taking his eyes off of Spencer.

“I wish it could have been different.” Luke’s first tear fell and he didn’t try to hide it. “You were the love of my life.”

“I know.” Spencer scrunched his face up as he felt his own tears ready to escape.

“But I wasn’t yours.” Luke spoke for him with a weak shrug of his shoulders. “I want you to be happy, Spencer, it’s all I’ve ever wanted. Just promise me you’ll check in? I’m not asking for daily phone calls or anything like that but please stop ignoring me when I reach out. I’d really like to still be a part of your life even if only in a small capacity.”

“That, uh, sounds reasonable.” Spencer nodded.

“And call Penelope more. She worries about you more than anyone.” Luke shrugged, still walking backwards toward the SUV.

“I will.” He nodded, swallowed thickly. But he was sure if you were who he now knew you to be, he’d never be able to talk to any of his old team ever again.

He felt overcome with discomfort. The goodbye he’d avoided two years ago now here at his feet. Spencer didn’t like goodbyes, it was why he’d left without them the first time.

Goodbyes were endings. Full stops. The closing of a book. Spencer had wanted to keep the story open, unfinished, just in case he ever had the impetus to write that final chapter. But it had been penned for him. Luke had snatched the metaphorical pen from his hand by coming here and effectively completed their story.

“Uh, goodbye then I guess.” Luke shrugged as he reached the car.

“G-goodbye, Luke.” Spencer whispered.

The book slammed shut. Or perhaps it was the car door. Either way, Spencer Reid and Luke Alvez’s story had come to its bitter end.

He stood on the porch and watched as Luke started the engine before putting the vehicle in reverse. He continued to observe as the headlights cast an eerie glow on his land as the SUV turned around. He still just stood there as Luke’s car took to the dirt track back to the main road and soon vanished from sight.

He huffed out a breath, rubbed his eyes to disperse the tears before turning to the door and practically throwing it open. He marched inside and found you in the corner of the kitchen, back pressed up against the wall. You’d been listening, of course you had.

Spencer stayed on his side of the kitchen counter, worried what he might do if he came too close to you. He needed the barrier between you. He slammed his good hand on the counter top but you didn’t even flinch. His eyes were manic as they looked at you, large and wild. His chest was heaving erratically.

He opened his mouth several times to speak but the words kept getting stuck in his dry throat. Minutes of painful silence stretched between you while you kept your eyes on each other.

Eventually Spencer sucked in a sharp breath, his jaw set in a tight line when he finally spoke.

“Who the fuck are you?” He spat the words like venom on his tongue.

You straightened yourself, squared your shoulders as if it might somehow intimidate him. When you spoke it was with equal malevolence.

“I was going to ask you the same thing, SSA Doctor Spencer Reid.”

More silence followed, reaching out into the sparse caverns that gorged their way between you. The wicked talons of the unspoken words weaved around you, wrapping you both in their icy clutches.

You were both acutely aware that whatever conversation was about to transpire between you would inevitably make or break this fledgling relationship. You were no longer who you had been just hours before. A lonely cowboy and a weary traveller no more. All that remained was an FBI Agent and a Fugitive.

It seemed inescapable that this could only end in one of two ways -

Either he called the cops on you and you were thrown back in prison, having the key thrown away and left to rot for the rest of your life behind bars. Or one of you would wind up dead.

And you were not going back to prison.

@kalulakunundrum @small-and-violent @voledart @katrina0-0 @bakugouswh0r3 @prettyboyandthefangirl @zooni92802 @mavellover1819 @babyspiderling

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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asgardian--angels · 2 months ago

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I don't talk about this much but I'm just going to say it now.

there's something uniquely vile about being the daughter of a father who is a trump supporter. and not just a casual supporter, a full drank-the-kool-aid moon-landing-was-fake deep red neonazi maga crackpot. because I had to watch that change happen over the last decade. my father, an intelligent, introspective scientist, whose brain has essentially turned to mush and critical thinking skills shriveled up and died thanks to that orange rapist.

He has always loved me, supported me to be whatever I want to be, given me the most opportunities he could in life. He taught me to be kind, and forgiving, and to remember that we are all in this together. And now, while still claiming to feel that way, he vehemently, and viciously, spews hateful rhetoric and vitriol against women, against climate change, against democrats, against all the things I am, against the field of study I've dedicated my life, my soul to. We can no longer even have a regular conversation because all he does all day is sit online and watch trump rallies, listen to 'patriot' podcasts, and troll people on forums. He has nothing else to talk about, and cannot be negotiated with. Him and I used to love having sparring matches of wit, picking topics to debate in good faith. Now, any hint of a challenge and he becomes enraged, petty, and belittling. He somehow maintains this hypocritic fallacy in his mind that he is a good person, that he does everything to make my life better, and that humankind must come together to make a better future. Just, not *those* people, I guess, not them or them or them who aren't even people to him.

And I must occupy some gray area in his mind, Schrodinger's political prisoner. Because even though he knows I am a democrat, that I am a woman who will be affected by these laws, that I study climate change in the work that he supposedly supports, I must not be to him, one of 'those' people. I'm not like 'those' democrats, 'those' women, 'those' climate change cronies. Except when I am, because if we argue, if we discuss policy at all, I am just a girl, under his roof, and I have no idea what I'm talking about - because I'm young, because women aren't capable of understanding His greatness, because Elite Academia has brainwashed me into being a liberal. That my mom and I are ganging up on him, constantly, to paint him as the villain when he's only the victim. He's going to elect the man who will save us all, whether we want it or not. Our say doesn't matter, because we just don't understand.

I miss the father I knew. He was always petty, always ready to poke and prod - he hurt my feelings plenty, but I could deal with it. But I felt he was genuinely good at his core, that he tried his best. Now, I don't know him. I don't recognize him anymore. I've imagined so many times what I would say to him if I could give a speech, or write a letter, where he could not talk back and just had to listen. I don't know if I'll ever get that chance, or take it. But I know he has truly no idea how hurt and betrayed I am, and he wouldn't believe me if I told him. He knows no shame, and he does not apologize.

I'm not looking forward to spending the winter at home with him every day for two months. I don't see how I can look him in the eye. And how dare he look me in the eye after fucking me over.

I love my father, no matter what, and that's why it hurts me so badly to see him change into a stranger, and wonder if there was anything more I could have done to change his mind before this transformation completed. Knowing that it's not my responsibility to argue with him to try and make him see reason when he's too far gone and all it does is make me feel like shit, and yet.

I'm sorry to everyone who may relate to this within their own families. It's probably going to get worse. These men will feel empowered to speak their minds and force you to hear it. They try to provoke you, just so they can say you're hysterical or overreact as women do, when you get reasonably upset. Know that you're not alone in this, Trump has truly torn families apart in ways that I don't think will ever heal.

#.#..#...#....#.....#personal

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inevitably-johnlocked · 3 months ago

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Hi there fandom friend! (I hope I may call you that?) Your blog is amazing! Thank you for this wonderful little space. I have a very specific fanfic question. And please ignore if it feels too personal, BUT - what is THE fic that made you really and properly cry? Or maybe top 5? (Doesn’t necessarily need to be tragic or sad - just emotionally…evocative maybe?)

Perhaps your followers might want to chime in, too? The more recs, the merrier! I know this is a super duper subjective criteria but I would love to get some recommendations. I am in dire need of some emotional catharsis. :-) Thank you❤️

Hey Nonny!!!

You ABSOLUTELY can call me your friend! I am so lonely LOL

OH gosh, I actually have a whole LIST of fics that Made Me Cry that you can check out! I don't have enough new additions for a new list, but here are the ones currently on Part 2:

The Skin Over My Heart by standbygo (E, 8,849 w., 1 Ch. || Post-Hiatus, Fake Relationship, Case Fic, Dog Tags, Military, Homophobia, Gay Bashing, POV First Person Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Declarations of Love, Undercover, Haircuts, Flashbacks, Touching, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Metaphors, Introspection, Hand Jobs, On the Couch, John’s Past, Angst with Happy Ending) – Sherlock and John are still trying to adjust to Sherlock's return from his hiatus when John's friend Bill Murray brings them a case. Someone is targeting the LGBTQA+ members of Bill's unit. John and Sherlock go undercover at the unit, but when they end up having to flirt to flush out the suspect, Sherlock realizes he's in over his head.

Spare Parts by Raina_at (E, 63,497 w., 10 Ch. || 24th Century / Futurism AU || Post TRF, Pre-TRF Relationship, Case Fic, Mutual Pining, Estrangement, Reconciliation, Science Fiction, Reunion, Nightmares, Angry John, Cybernetic John, Emotional Discussions / Heart to Heart, POV John, Scars, Past Drug Use, Forehead Touching, Emotional Lovemaking, Kissing, Apologies, Kidnapping, Rescue Mission, BAMF John, Bed Sharing, Top Sherlock) – Two years ago, Sherlock Holmes jumped off the roof of New London Hospital. Two months ago, he walked into John's clinic as if no time had passed at all. John hasn't seen him since. But then Sherlock knocks on John's door with a case he can't say no to, and while figuring out why the biggest manufacturer or synthetic limbs in the System is going after veterans, they also need to find out whether there's a way to fix what's broken between them. Part 1 of Realigning Gravity

Bakers with Benefits by Raina_at (E, 88,130 w., 14 Ch. || Great British Bake Off AU || Strangers to Lovers, Switchlock, Friends with Benefits, Mentions of Alcoholism / Past Drug Use, Banter, Flirting, Fluff, Light Angst, Semi-Public Sex, Past Sherlock/Victor, Mutual Pining, POV Sherlock, Obsessive Sherlock, John’s Bum) – Sherlock Holmes has a successful YouTube baking channel, but what he really wants is his own bakery. When an old friend sends him a call for the very first Great British Bake Off, he seizes the opportunity to finally win a sponsor for his bakery. Here's the plan: Win Bake Off, get the bakery, don't fall in love with the handsome Army doctor at the neighbouring station. Easy.

=====

But yeah, please check out the original list rather than me having to pick only five!!!!!

And as Nonny suggest, you guys PLEASE share your fics that made you cry!!!! I WOULD LOVE IT!!!

Hope these please you, Nonny!!

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #made me cry fics #my fic recs

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graytodd · 8 months ago

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Hi, hello (,, ･∀･)ﾉ゛!! Just wanted to write and tell you what a joy your art is; it's absolutely gorgeous and always so lovely to see! ♡♡♡ Also, I was wondering if you have any favorite dickjay tropes or headcanons? Your dynamic of them in your art is always so appealing so I'm very 👀 !! about any thoughts you have (୨୧ ❛ᴗ❛)✧

Hi !! thanks for this message, you're my favorite writer and let's face it, the only dickjay juicy source here ~ thank you for inspiring me daily ! and thanks for appreciate my art, it really means a lot to me 🙏 I do love drawing dickjay, especially soft/cuddling tropes, trying to catch an hidden romantic/sexual tension between the lines. I try my best lol I'd say that my favorite tropes/headcanons are mainly based on the introspection into their dynamics and the misunderstanding! hate to lovers fits them so well ❤ come on, they do not 'hate' each other: Dick was an only son who finds himself to be the older brother and mentor of a little punk lol when his attraction to jaybin grows to such an extent that Dick feels like a deviant, a creep, he pushes Jay away and loses him definitely (at least he thinks that). A good one is also Dick losing it over Jay from your #monstrous!dick grayson agenda // Self-control is a characteristic of Dick's character, getting his hands dirty for Jay, beating the shit out of Joker and challenging B's authority, must mean a lot. Dick being a jealous, possessive shit! the urge to remind people he is the only one who can take care of Jay, the only one allowed to cuddle, kiss, fuck his little wing and Jay inexperienced (a virgin? maybe??) in dating, too focused on anger and revenge after returning as Red Hood to worry about sex, which was never his priority until he met Dick again, and memories and desires have resurfaced; from his huge crush on a young!Dick when baby!Jay saw him at the circus, to Dick as mentor to become Robin ❤❤❤ I refuse to think of bottom!dick, because Richard Grayson is the most experienced, cocky, sensual man Jason has ever dealt with. Jason just acts like it, flirting back with sarcasm without pushing himself too far: many are his insecurities, his desire to be loved presses as much as his fear to open up, which is why I can't imagine Jay randomly hooking up with strangers, especially women !! I like to think hookers as those who Jay occasionally chat with, to feel some 'motherly affection' he never had as a child. Yes, I am dramatic af. I've many other tropes I love about dickjay, like age gap !! Jay is a baby ;w: and must be protected and pampered by proud daddy!Dick hu-hu and there's also something about Dick's perfectionism and the pressure to achieve those too-high-standards he set for himself to become 'the hero' that fascinates me! maybe his failed relationships are also due to his fear of being judged, seen as who he is, as a man who considers sexual chemistry too important in a relationship. But Jay is free from these imposed constraints, free to be and Dick admires him for this (and wants to be free, like with him huhu) I went on a bit too long, maybe lol I'm not a good writer but I hope I was able to explain my intentions whenever I draw dickjay ❤

#message #thank you 002yb!#dickjay #writing prompt #m.txt

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libellule-ao3 · 4 months ago

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NSFW - 🔞 | ⚠️ Various physical, psychological & emotional abuse | Ominis Gaunt x OFC | Currently 20 200 words

Tags: angst & hurt/comfort, strangers to lovers, developing relationship, smut, dark themes, introspection, trauma etc.

Summary: Ominis Gaunt, the pure-blood wizard, struggles to thrive in the stifling shadow of his family manor. A prisoner of a heritage he rejects. Evelyne Lavandin, on the other hand, is a precocious Muggle-born witch who has been uprooted since people greedy for power and money tore her away from her family. Two characters and two solitudes separated by everything. And yet, who still believes that encounters are the fruit of chance?

In Chapter 3 "Between Roots and Branches": The 5th year draws to a close. While Evelyne seizes an unexpected opportunity, Ominis returns to Gaunt Manor after five years of absence.

Credit: This fantastic cover art was created by @/tamayula-hl, whom I can never thank enough.🙏🫶

Extract and links under the cut:

“Forget what I just said... but I want to express my gratitude to you so you can ask me anything you like.”

Then the morning breeze, hitherto soft and caressing, twists into a powerful blast that makes the leaves of the weeping willow and the two students shiver. The sky, previously azure, darkens, as if a black cloud has smothered the summer light. The boy tilts his head, listening for a sound the witch can’t make out, his expression shifting from annoyance to terror in an instant.

“Return to Hogwarts, immediately!” shouts Ominis, shoving her roughly out of the green curtain, which she catches herself as best she can to keep from falling.

She doesn't have time to recover before her feet are already leaving the ground, being magically lifted. She clings to the branches until they give way. Her heart races and she panics.

“Ominis!!! Is that you? Take me down!”

“Finite Incantatem!” he cries, waving his wand frantically. “Finite Incantatem!”

To no avail.

Evelyne, suspended in mid-air, feels a growing sense of fear.

Who is doing this?

And why?

A threat approaches, colder and darker than a dementor. Suddenly, an invisible force - an attraction spell, no doubt - pulls her into a powerful hand that seizes her arm. A man with an aura more relentless and deadly than a terrible basilisk holds her so tightly that she will bear the imprint of his fingers for days.

“Anything he likes, eh? Those are very careless words from a young girl,” says the newcomer who, while not exactly handsome, has charisma to spare.

FIRST CHAPTER 🟢 MASTERLIST

A/N: Apologies for any possible grammatical errors or awkward phrasing. I don’t always cross the language barrier without causing a bit of damage (ESL writer).😅

#hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #Evinis #Evelyne Lavandin #ominis gaunt fic #hogwarts legacy fanfic #ominis #ominis x oc #ominis gaunt imagine #ominis gaunt fanart #ominis gaunt fanfiction #Ominis gaunt fanfic #hogwarts legacy ominis

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hawkyon-days · 1 month ago

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Some more Stranger Things fic recs:

Part 1

Thanks again to the Whistler by SleepyEye: complete, lumax, blind!max

I Will Always Be Here For You, No Matter What by Morganski_19: complete, lumax, disabled!max

Wish on an eyelash by fastcardotmp3: complete, ronance, max-centric

California show your teeth by fireflywitch: complete, s1/s2 au where the Byers move from Cali to Hawkins

open up, everything's waiting for you by chamb3rs: complete, lumax, post s4, not canon compliant

Steadfast, Slightless by robinbuckleydeservestheworld: lumax, blind!max, post s4

Counting the Seconds (But They Feel Like Hours) by local_dragon_haunt: complete, lucas-centric, s4 compliant

rooftop blues and midnight reds by flowercrowngods: complete, post s4, max-centric, introspection (one of my absolute favourites)

something to hold onto by ghosttotheparty: complete, post s4, lumax, lucas-centric

mike wheeler we know what you are by hopperbyers: chat fic

Star Stickers My Beloved: chat fic

The Monster Slayers by Morgansky_19: complete, chat fic

#stranger things #max mayfield #lucas sinclair #lumax #fanfiction #fic rec #my post

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flowercrowngods · 1 year ago

Note

oooohhh liminal spaces my beloved,,,,

I would LOVE to see you write number 3 (moving out and checking your now bare rooms if you left anything, either it be materials or memories) with Steddie!

klausi! 🥰🤍 thank you for indulging me, beloved! this got a little too introspective and too projecting but oh well

no. 3 — when you're moving out of a house and checking your room when it's almost or completely empty and sorted out

It takes him a while to realise what that feeling is that overcomes him; what to call that weight that’s been so firmly lodged inside his chest that he feels like his steps and movements have actually slowed down lately.

A lump in his throat and a heaviness in his bones is not necessarily new in this house, not a new sensation to feel within these walls, reinforced day by day, morning by morning, night by awful night.

But now, seeing it like this, there is a new emotion. A new heaviness. And Steve takes it all in as he lets his gaze roam over the empty floor, still dirty and dusty because he hasn’t the strength or the energy to clean it all again. He takes in the walls, splotched with light and shadow and the echo of pictures and posters that hung there for years, leaving behind only a trace of their shape on the wallpaper, untouched by sunlight for years.

They’re spectres of who Steve used to be. Spectres of versions of him — genuine and pretend alike.

He stares at the spot where a picture frame hung for as long as he can remember, just a tad off centre from the plaid wallpaper in a way that never ceased to make Robin complain.

He wonders, staring still, if he will hang up the picture frame again in his new place. If it will be off centre again, just for Robin. Just for a reason to smile. If he will keep that version of him, or if it will stay behind as a spectre within these walls, too.

One last victim for them. One last thing for them to take.

It’s a silly thought. Dramatic, really.

Just as dramatic as Robin, who refused to come upstairs with jim again for one last check, claiming If I go upstairs with you again and have to deal with your melancholy face, Steven, I will actually burn this place to the ground.

She’d flicked her Zippo at him in a way that was almost cool, and it almost made him tear up right then and there.

He will hang up that frame again. Maybe replace the picture, take one of Robin with her Zippo, put it right above the front door, just a little to the left.

Steve‘s eyes begin to sting as he tries to take a deep breath, tries not to give the awful wallpaper its old power back, tries not to feel so small. So big. So displaced.

His knees buckle at the same time as his resolve does, and he sits down on the floor, the plush carpet a familiar sensation against his palm.

He hates this room. He’s going to miss it so much. It was his prison. It was his sanctuary. It was never his, and yet he hates the idea of it becoming someone else’s. Nothing good happened between these walls. Every happy memory he has are linked to them. He is a stranger to this room. It knows his every secret.

He wants to burn this place to the ground and leave and never return. He wants to sit here forever and watch the discolouration deepen.

He wants this place to be his home. And yet he knows it never will be. He doesn’t know if he can make a home.

A tear runs down his face, and he doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s relief. Maybe it’s regret. Maybe it’s grief, or overwhelm; or maybe it’s all of them and more.

There is a knock, gentle and careful, sounding against the door frame. It has never been tapped like that. Will it know such gentleness again?

“There you are,” Eddie says, lingering behind Steve, his steps not approaching. Not encroaching upon Steve and his heavy little moment.

He wipes at his face and turns around, flashing what must be a pathetic rendition of a smile.

“Yeah, I’m here, just…” He clears his throat. “Just checking, y’know?”

Eddie smiles, kind and patient, like he sees right through him. “Checking and getting stuck, hm? Happens to me all the time.”

Steve shrugs.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure. I’m done anyway.”

Eddie hums, murmuring something that sounds a lot like No, you’re not. And Steve sags into Eddie as soon as he comes to a stop beside him, leaning against his leg and feeling the soft fabric of Eddie’s worn denim against his cheek. Like this, his head is at the perfect height for Eddie to run his fingers through his hair.

“You wanna talk about it? Or just sit in silence ‘til getting up is an option again?”

Steve doesn’t say anything, too focused on feeling all these things that the emptiness of his childhood bedroom makes him feel. All that fear, all that relief, all that anxiety and the nervousness and the excitement and the freedom and the yearning. For a home.

For picture frames off centre, for candles and fairy lights not just around Christmastime, for dinner with friends and finding that you don’t have enough dishes yet for everyone and then just eating stew out of a mug when all the bowls are gone already. Late night dancing and conversations and singing not just in the shower, arranging and rearranging a room until it’s just right and realising that a year or two has passed already and you’ve still not changed the makeshift lightbulbs in the hallway.

He wants a home. And he wants to make it, to create it, to build it from nothing but hope, love, and just enough craziness to not give up after the first failed attempt.

“Hey,” Eddie says at some point, and Steve didn’t realise there are more tears now until Eddie’s wiping them from his face, the warmth against Steve’s cheek gone now; replaced by the sleeves of Eddie’s hoodie. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

And he does. Steve falls forward now, into Eddie’s arms, and clings to him.

“I wanna make a home.”

“You’re gonna make a home, sweet thing.”

“But what if I can’t? What if it’s always gonna be like this?” Steve pulls back, wiping at his face, looking at Eddie now, whose hands are now in Steve’s lap, keeping him so, so warm. “So full of… nothingness and regret and just. Just empty.”

Eddie smiles and leans forward, his nose almost touching Steve’s. “You’re the least empty person I know, Stevie. You’re moving in with Robbie! That place is gonna be a home the moment you two set foot in it. And then we’re gonna paint your walls, we’re gonna go to the hardware store seven times a day because you two suck at decision making, but it’s okay, because it’s a process. And you’re gonna be so, so good at it. And you’re gonna have a home, okay? You’re gonna make it. Build it. Create it. And you get to start over and over and over until it’s right.”

Eddie’s hands have found their way into Steve’s hair again, lightly scratching at his scalp in soothing circles.

“And you know what’s best about homes?”

Steve shakes his head, hanging on Eddie’s lips and his words and all of his warmth.

“They’re a community effort. Meaning you have us to help you. You ain’t gotta do it alone. Robbie and I are gonna build your home just as much as you will, yeah? And we’re gonna be so annoying about it.” He ends his little speech with a manic little grin that never fails to get a laugh out of Steve, even if this one’s a little watery.

He breathes a little, and sighs at last, the tears finally stopping. “Do you really mean that?”

“What that I’m gonna be so annoying?”

“No, that one I know,” Steve grins, and Eddie cackles at that, leaning in to kiss him on the nose. “No, I mean… Do you really think I can do this?”

Eddie’s expression sobers into something more genuine. “I do. If there’s anyone who can make a home, it’s my boy Steve fucking Harrington. And do you wanna know why?”

He nods.

“Because you’re my home.”

The smile he gives Eddie before closing the gap between them for a proper kiss is one that these walls have never seen before.

The afternoon sun comes streaming in through the windows one last time just as Steve gets up, pulled into Eddie’s arms. It leaves the room tinged in gold for Steve one last time.

It’s goodbye. It’s farewell. It’s Steve, moving on.

🌷🤍 the prompt list

#steddie fic #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #liminal steddie #dio words #i had a bad day. i’m scared i can’t make a home on my own. have some projections #it’s been a while since i wrote anything my head is too full sorry guys :(#dio’s steddie ramblings

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wintaerbaer · 2 years ago

Text

things we don’t say: part 2 (kth)

banner credit: @itaeewon

summary: Three years after graduating college, everything seems to be falling into place for you: stable job, cozy apartment, and a long-term boyfriend with a ring box hidden in his desk drawer. But when a mutual friend makes a remark that your best friend of nearly two decades is clearly in love with you, you realize that life may not be as simple as it seems.

pairing: Taehyung x Reader (with some VERY brief Seokjin x Reader and Yoongi x Reader)

rating: 18+ (minors dni)

genres: best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, slooooow burn, angst, fluff

word count: 11.4k

chapter warnings: IN THE SOOP TAE, swearing, alcohol consumption, feelings?, implied sexual situations (not for oc), that chicken fight game you can play in a pool (definitely not the animal cruelty kind, just want to clarify), bartender jungkook (who is also an absolute MENACE), infidelity, namjoon’s chest

a/n: we’re heading into the thick of things now! thank you to everyone who has shown this series love thus far. and even to those who may be silently reading, i appreciate each and every one of you. these characters have been in my head for years, and it’s so incredible to finally get to share them!

PREVIOUS // SERIES MASTERLIST // MASTERLIST

Read on ao3

You’re starting to think you might be a terrible friend.

It's been a week and a half since Maya's art show when Jimin slides into the chair next to you in your office building's cafeteria. You've worked at the same company since graduation but in different departments, so while you don't see each other every day, you occasionally grab lunch together or pop over to each other's desk for a quick chat.

"Hey, stranger," he chirps, setting his food on the table before peering closely at your face. "Almost forgot what you looked like."

You roll your eyes at him. After the incident at the gallery sent your brain into an emotional spiral, you had decided to put some distance between you and Taehyung until you could figure out what the hell this all meant for your friendship. As a result, you hadn't been over to the guys' apartment since then—an unusually long amount of time for you to stay away.

Jimin frowns at your lack of a response, leaning forward until you look at him. "You avoiding us?"

"No," you say simply, busying yourself by taking a bite of your lunch.

"Sorry, let me rephrase. Are you avoiding Tae?"

You chew slowly, carefully considering your words before settling on, "Why would I be?"

"I don't know, that's why I'm asking. For a friend of course." Jimin shrugs. "He mentioned that you haven't really been talking to him—asked if I knew why. Plus, you missed two Sunday meal preps."

"I've missed them before—"

"Two!"

You purse your lips, guilt creeping in at the thought of Taehyung spending two nights cooking alone as you broke your tradition. "You can tell him what I told him—I've been busy."

Jimin frowns again, watching you stare at the table as you chew another bite. "Is something going on? Did he say something to you?"

"About what?" you ask, eyes snapping up to his.

"I..." he hesitates, suddenly uneasy. "I don't know. I just know that I've never seen you two like this."

"Like what?"

"Apart."

You give a dry laugh, more out of nerves than anything. "Chim, we're not literally attached at the hip, you know? We have our own lives."

"Yah, you know that's not what I mean." He sighs. "I can just tell he's missing you, that's all.”

If getting called out on missing meal prep nights made you feel guilty, then this is the true slap to the face. Taehyung may be mild and introspective by nature—a quiet force in his own right—but he holds close those who are dear to him, and you know he can't be pleased with your recent silence.

Still, any guilt tingling through your veins inevitably winds up outweighed by the memory of the flash of heartbreak that had crossed his face at the party, reinforcing your need for space.

"Well we'll see each other in a couple days," you murmur, a tiny burst of excitement breaking into your mind at the thought of your upcoming vacation.

Property of Jungkook's family, the beach house rarely used by his parents had become a staple for your friend group over the years as the go-to site for New Year’s parties and summer holidays. When Hoseok and Sunny had lamented the astronomical cost of the wedding and how they were going to opt out of having bachelor and bachelorette parties to help save money, Jungkook had offered up the house to do a combined pre-wedding bash to celebrate their upcoming nuptials.

Jimin taps his fingers on the table, looking at you quietly before accepting the change in topic. "It should be fun. Jace coming?"

"No, he has that conference."

"Damn," Jimin huffs. "Does that guy ever get a day off?"

"Guess he had to afford the ring somehow," you say, the corners of your mouth tilting up on impulse.

Jimin smiles back. "And here I was, wishfully thinking we might get a front row seat to a proposal this weekend."

“Not his vibe.” You scrunch your nose. “He never went to the house as frequently as everyone else. And I don’t know if he’d want a bunch of other people around. At least not people who know us.”

“Aww, why not?” Jimin whines. “We could all celebrate with you! And Maya could take pictures!”

“Or Tae.”

“Or—yeah, or Tae.”

You pretend not to have noticed his hesitation or the way he startled at that, and certainly not the way it made your pulse jump. Has everyone really been seeing this except you?

“Regardless,” you say, trying to ignore the sudden nausea rolling in your stomach, “I don’t think he’ll do it in front of you guys. And if he was going to ask Maya to take pictures, I think he would’ve done so by now if he was going to propose soon.”

When you had told Maya about the ring the afternoon after the gallery opening, she’d seemed genuinely surprised, clapping her hands together and immediately calling dibs on being maid of honor.

Go figure.

“Ah, well,” Jimin sighs. “There’s always the planning to help with.” He holds up a hand and begins ticking off his fingers. “And the bridal shower, the bachelorette party, rehersal dinner, eventual baby shower—“

“Woah, Park, getting a little ahead of yourself now, no?”

“Y/N, this is an exciting time for you! I’m excited for you!” He slurps down a mouthful of his noodle bowl. “And maybe I’m living a little vicariously through you. Maybe. A little.”

“Geez, Kook’s right, you are in a drought.”

“Oh, great. You too now?”

You giggle as he dramatically presses a hand to his forehead, food puffing out his cheeks.

“But really though,” he says, leaning forward again with concern in his eyes, “you are excited, right? After you told us about the ring, you seemed a bit off.”

Shit.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I haven’t seen you get drunk that fast in a while.”

“I was happy for Maya and Tae.”

“And yourself?”

“Yeah, and myself.”

Jimin stares at you for a long few seconds, clearly not buying what you’re selling. “Fine. Don’t tell me.” He leans back in his chair in a way that says he’s letting you off the hook. “But you’d better figure out this weird thing with Tae before he corners you at the house. Good luck avoiding him then.”

Okay, maybe not entirely off the hook.

The rest of the short work week passes in a blink, and you quickly find yourself packing for your trip on Wednesday night, the plan being to leave Thursday morning and stay until Monday. Jace fiddles with his phone on the bed, occasionally glancing up to watch you flit around the room as you fill your travel bag with an excessive amount of clothes.

"Are you leaving for five days or a month?" he teases as you cram ten pairs of underwear into a side pocket.

"I like to keep my options open," you say. "Never know what could happen with the weather."

"Or your bladder, apparently."

"Hey, it's gonna be hot. I'll have to hydrate."

He laughs at that before his eyes settle on you with a warmth that has you shifting under his gaze.

“What?”

“I just love you, you know?” he hums.

Warmth blooms in your chest. “I love you, too.”

“It’s going to suck being apart.”

“I know,” you sigh. “I wish you could’ve come.”

At your words, you feel like you can literally see a light bulb turn on in his head as his expression brightens with an idea. “Do you want to take my jacket?”

He can only mean one jacket. You’d found it together a month after you started dating at a thrift shop downtown, and it’s been his signature piece of clothing ever since. Jace had pulled the bomber jacket and its bright green satin off the rack, and your first reaction had been to laugh. The thing practically glowed.

“You’ll look like a traffic light,” you’d giggled.

But Jace was already pulling the shimmering material over his shoulders. “Consider this your green light to jump my bones whenever you want,” he’d said with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“I’d feel bad separating you from it, to be honest,” you say in the present. “I’m pretty sure a piece of your soul is tied to that jacket by now.”

He pouts. “You’ll be carrying a piece of my heart already; what’s a piece of my soul?”

“Smooth.” You poke at your bag. “I may not have any extra room in here though.”

“Fair enough, but if you change your mind, the offer still stands. What time are you leaving tomorrow?"

"Eleven. Should get us there a little before lunch."

"Us?" He pauses, setting down his phone. "You're driving with Tae?"

"No, Maya." A tinge of panic drops into your chest at the mention of Taehyung's name. Does he know? "Why?"

Jace shrugs, nonchalant. "No reason, just wondering. And you're back Monday?"

"Mhm, by dinnertime." You settle on the bed next to him, trailing your fingers along his forearm. "Do you want to maybe do a date night after work that day?"

He sighs deeply, tilting his head back against the headboard. "We have our conference debrief Monday, so who knows when I'll get home." You nod in understanding, but the disappointment must show on your face because then Jace is leaning forward to take your hand in his. "I'll tell you what, I know work has been keeping me from you lately, so let me make up for it.”

The pads of his fingers lightly dance along your jaw. "Fancy date night next Saturday? That upscale Italian place on Fifth that you love so much? I can make a reservation."

Your heart pounds as you will your eyes not to subconsciously drift to his desk, and you put on your best poker face. "It's a date."

The drive proves an easy one for you and Maya as sunny weather and a surprising lack of traffic has you at the house in under an hour. As you drive through the iron gates, a small mansion, white and pristine, spreads itself out before you, and you're once again reminded of just how wealthy a family Jungkook comes from.

You had grown up very well-off, sure, but Jungkook’s parents and their vast real estate portfolio are on an entirely different level of rich. And while your parents had immediately cut you off right after you left for college, Jungkook’s parents continue to supplement his bartending income with a monthly allowance to this day.

The word “spoiled” is a bit of an understatement when it comes to your friend.

"You sure you don't want anything more serious with Kook?" you tease Maya, who sits in the passenger seat with her dark sunglasses over her eyes. "All this could be yours."

"As if," she scoffs. "Not worth it to have to put up with his ass for the rest of eternity."

You key in the code for the front door and are greeted by a multitude of voices, the cavernous open-concept kitchen/dining room/living room only serving to amplify those inside. Hoseok and Sunny are quick to reel you in, introducing you to Sunny's three bridesmaid friends, Hoseok's brother (who you’ve met a few times before), and—

"Joonie!"

Namjoon swoops in to pull you into a bear hug while lamenting how long it's been since he last saw you. Hoseok's best friend since freshman year of college, the former pre-med major had been a core member of your group of friends, but med school combined with helping to manage his family's restaurant means that you rarely see him nowadays in spite of him sharing an apartment with Hoseok and Sunny.

"How's the roomie search going?" you ask as Namjoon pulls Maya into an equally crushing hug.

"Mmph, still no luck. Though I may have an old friend from grade school moving into the city soon, so we'll see if that pans out." He throws a quirked brow at Hoseok. "But I haven't entirely given up on convincing these two to reconsider breaking up the dream team."

"Ah, Joon, you really wanna live with two newlyweds that badly?" Hoseok whines. "Just think about it for two seconds. Really think about it."

Namjoon clicks his tongue, cheeks now tinged with a dusting of pink. "Okay, maybe you have a point."

The light mingling continues as everyone settles in, and you find yourself taking stock of the kitchen and planning a grocery run with Sunny's friends when the last three members of your party come spilling through the door. Your companions head back to the entrance for introductions, but you stay firmly put, mindlessly busying yourself with plates and silverware, nerves alight at the thought of who just entered the house.

Voices still echoing from the living room, it's only a minute or so later when you sense the quiet presence of someone stepping into the kitchen, and, ever in sync, you don't need to turn around to know who.

"Hey, can I talk to you?"

You turn on instinct, your body responding to his voice before your brain can remind you of your avoidance. Taehyung leans against the kitchen island in a long-sleeved yellow shirt, baseball cap turned backwards on his head. Chin slightly tilted towards his chest, he's gazing at you from under his lashes, and you recognize it as nerves. "I, um, I'm about to go on a grocery run."

"I can come with?" he offers. "Keep you company, carry the heavy stuff—"

"I made plans to go with Sunny's friends, actually."

"Oh, okay." His shoulders drop ever so slightly, and you glance away at the shoreline crashing in the distance, anywhere but at your best friend looking like a kicked puppy in front of you because of your own cowardice.

"Listen, Y/N—"

"Later?" You quickly interrupt, not mentally prepared to have this conversation right now, especially with Jimin casting you looks from where he stands in the living room.

Taehyung licks his lips, seeming to scan your face for something before he swallows down words on the tip of his tongue, grimacing as if they're nails. "Yeah, okay. Later."

When you said later, you truly meant it. While you and Sunny’s friends (Taehyung thinks their names were Iseul, Hana, and Yumi) run out for groceries, the rest of the group bustles around the house, splitting up rooms, settling in, and eventually migrating to the pool. Taehyung tries to catch you again when you return, but you hurry past him with a box of liquor, mumbling something about helping Jungkook set up the bar out back. Sunny’s friends dump the rest of the groceries on the kitchen island before scurrying away to the back deck with everyone else, which is how Taehyung winds up unpacking the bags.

Alone.

Nice.

He’s pushing a box of ramyeon on top of the fridge when he hears the back door click and slide open behind him.

“Need a hand?”

Namjoon walks into the kitchen, fingers poking at one of the bags.

“Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

They unload the groceries in a comfortable silence for a couple of minutes before Namjoon says, “So how have things been?”

Taehyung shrugs a shoulder. “Ah, you know, the usual. You?”

“Same.”

Quiet takes over again, and Taehyung thinks the conversation has ended before it even really started as he moves to place a bottle of orange juice into the fridge. But then—

“I heard about Y/N and Jace.”

Taehyung freezes mid-motion, the cool air from the open fridge slipping out and chilling his skin. When he looks up at Namjoon, the other man is studying him with a calm intensity that raises goosebumps along his arms. It’s not his first time being under Namjoon’s microscope, but he’ll never get used to the feeling of being simultaneously picked apart and comforted. Because while his friend may exude a quiet warmth, he always gives the sense that there’s also a million calculations going on under the surface at any given time.

It’s easy to let one’s guard down around Namjoon.

With that in mind, Taehyung opts for the simplest answer, slowly closing the refrigerator and saying, “Yeah?”

Namjoon nods, equally slow. “Are you alright?”

“I’m great,” Taehyung says, breaking the eye contact and closing the refrigerator to reach for another bag. “She’s always wanted this. And Jace is…” He finds himself rooting around his brain trying to find a descriptor for the guy. For someone who he’s known for several years, it’s bizarre how he can’t find a single word for him.

Weird.

“She’s happy with him,” is what he eventually comes out with.

“But is he right for her?” Namjoon presses.

“You think he’s not?”

Namjoon reaches up to put a few bags of snacks into a cupboard. “I don’t know. It’s like he was always around in college, but he was never truly present, you know?”

“That’s a Joon-ism if I’ve ever heard one.”

Namjoon smiles, a dimple dotting his cheek. “You don’t get what I mean?”

“No, I do. But that’s not important, is it? It doesn’t matter if we think he’s the right guy; it matters if she thinks he’s the right guy. And if she does, then I support it. It’s not my place to do anything else.”

The words settle in the room, and he means every one.

“You know, I’ve always admired the two of you,” Namjoon says after a moment. “The way you care for each other is…extraordinary, to say the very least.”

The sincerity in his voice makes Taehyung blush. “Well, we only had each other growing up, you know? She saved my life when we were kids. I truly believe that.”

“I know, you’ve said that before. She gave you a way out.”

“A way out, a purpose, a friend.” He crumples a plastic bag into his hand. “She chose me when no one else did. Not even my own family.”

And you had, when no one else seemed to want anything to do with him, there you were, hanging by his side like his own personal guardian angel.

“She’s the most incredible person I know, and I would just…do anything for her.”

“Including watch her marry him, apparently.”

“Yes,” Taehyung says. Unhesitating. “If that’s what she wants.”

“And where does that leave you?”

Taehyung has nothing to answer that with—his worst fear laid bare in front of him. It’s the thought that keeps him up at night, plagues the very marrow of his bones every time someone mentions that tiny velvet box. Your childhood friendship may have allowed you to grow together as one through the years, but just as trees grow apart as they grow upwards, it feels like only a matter of time before your branches no longer intertwine, drawn apart by jobs and relationships, life and love.

How long until you’ve outgrown him? How long until you’ve started your own family and left him behind?

He has no right to you, and he knows that. The last thing he would ever want to do is hold you back, but perhaps a part of him thought he’d have more time. Now, with you suddenly not talking to him for reasons he can’t even begin to grasp, he feels like he may have already lost you.

Namjoon puts him out of his misery. “Do you know what Plutarch said about friendship?”

“Who?”

“I don’t need a friend who changes when I change and who nods when I nod; my shadow does that much better.”

Taehyung stares, stunned and confused. Because Namjoon couldn’t possibly be suggesting…

“You’re saying I should tell her to say no to him?”

“I’m saying it’s possible to be selfless to a fault.”

It doesn’t sound terribly different in Taehyung’s mind, but he tries to consider Namjoon’s words regardless. Your happiness has always been his utmost priority, but could his unconditional support really be doing more harm than good? He likes to believe that if he felt your well-being were truly at risk, he would speak up.

Then again, with the way his friend is looking at him, he also can’t help but feel like he’s missing something important.

“What are you trying to specialize in again?” he asks, deflecting.

“Psychiatry.”

“Of course.”

Namjoon chuckles. “It’ll all work out in the end.” He winks, moving to rejoin your friends outside. “Life finds a way.”

You’ve managed to evade Taehyung all day, but that doesn’t mean you haven’t felt his eyes on you.

The early hours had been easy, your supermarket run giving you an (albeit weak) excuse to put some physical distance between the two of you. But it’s becoming increasingly difficult to maintain, especially after your group gathered together to decide what to do tonight.

When you’d entered the living room, Taehyung had already been seated at the end of the couch, a free spot open on his left; with the way that his hand had been resting, it was almost as if he was saving it for you. Instead, you’d chosen an armchair diagonally across from him, squirming more and more the longer he looked at you. Throughout the entire conversation, as the group decided upon going to the beach bar down the street to kick off your first night at the house, you don’t think his eyes left you even once.

You’re being a coward, and you know it.

Now, you sit at the vanity in your room, struggling with your necklace and just about ready to give up on the damn thing so you don’t hold everyone else up. The clasp doesn't want to cooperate, your fingers can't seem to get purchase on the thin metal, and really, who are you trying to look good for anyway?

Right as you prepare to abandon the cause and stuff the offending item back in your bag, someone knocks on the door and you yell for them to come in.

Taehyung saunters into the room, now wearing a black t-shirt and shorts, his hair pushed back in such a way that you can tell he's been running his hands through it. His eyes skim your figure as he softly closes the door behind him, and you feel your pulse double in pace. "Need help?"

"It's okay—I, um—" but before you can stutter out an excuse, he's already taking the thin chain from your hands, and all you can do is try not to focus on how his fingers feel brushing the back of your neck.

"There. Easy peasy." He eyes you up and down again before clearing his throat. "Looks good on you."

"I, uh, thanks." Your voice is practically a whisper, and you busy yourself with your make-up case...which may have been an adequate distraction if not for the fact that you've already done your make-up and so your hands are only left to wander aimlessly. Glancing up, you catch Taehyung gazing at you over your shoulder in the mirror, and the intensity of his stare has you dropping the case back to the table. "What?"

"You're avoiding me." He states it as a fact, eyes unwavering, and you turn to face him.

"I'm not."

"You are." He searches your face as if to find the answer written there in big, bold letters. "Why?"

A tiny spider makes its way across the corner of the ceiling, and you find yourself staring at it as you chew on your bottom lip, not knowing what to say.

"Hey," Taehyung murmurs, pulling your attention back to him. "It's me, yeah? We don't keep secrets."

But still you hesitate. "You won't get mad?"

He reaches out to hook his pinky with yours. "Of course not."

Letting out a shaky breath, you ask, "Are you okay with Jace proposing?" The question hangs between you for a second, the air thickening with apprehension.

His eyebrows press together, confused. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know, it's just..." You pause to collect your thoughts. "When I told you about the ring at the gallery opening, there was a second where you appeared to be…bothered."

"Ahh, well..." He pushes his hands through his hair, mulling over his next words. "Do you want me to be honest?"

"Please."

"I know we're friendly, but I've just never been his biggest fan, even in college." Taehyung shrugs. "You know I want the best for you, and he seems like a good guy and all, I just—I don't know." Another run of his hand through his hair. "I just get a weird vibe from him sometimes."

You smirk at that. "A weird vibe?"

"Yeah, like," he licks his lips, still fidgeting. "I can't put my finger on anything in particular, just something about him rubs me the wrong way sometimes." You open your mouth to respond and he quickly cuts in, "But I will 100% support you! If he's who you want and he makes you happy and treats you well, then I will cheer you on the whole way. Hell, I'll even walk you down the aisle if you want me to." That draws a small laugh from you, and he smiles. "If you’re happy, then I’m happy for you. That's all I care about."

You take in his beaming figure and are reminded of how thankful you are to have this man in your life. But the voice in the back of your head is still not entirely placated and before you can stop yourself, you're blurting, "And that's really it?"

Taehyung's smile fades, lips slowly turning downward into a frown, and you silently curse yourself. After seventeen years of friendship, the man can practically read your mind and you know it. "What aren't you telling me?"

You sigh. Seems like there's no way getting around it at this point, and so you decide you may as well dive in. Tucking your hair behind your ears, you quietly ask, "You don’t…have feelings for me?”

Taehyung's eyes blow wide, and you're surprised his jaw isn't touching the floor. After several moments of stunned silence, he lets out a strangled, "What?"

"No, I just—" you stutter. "Look, someone said you did, and after you seemed upset about Jace proposing, I thought maybe..."

He's deeply scowling now, the crease back between his eyebrows, and a flare of his nostrils indicates that he's pissed. "Who?" he asks.

"Who what?"

"Who said that?"

"Tae—"

"No, Y/N, if people want to talk about me behind my back and screw with my private life, I have a right to know who."

He stares you down until you purse your lips and break. "Maya."

"Fucking hell," he says under his breath as he rubs at the lines in his forehead, and his lack of a denial has your head spinning.

"So it's true?"

"Y/N—"

"You haven't answered the question—"

"No!" He almost shouts it. "I don't."

"Because if you did have feelings for me, you could tell me. No secrets, right?"

He lets out a huff and stuffs his hands in his pockets, leveling his gaze back at you. "No," he says. Firmly. Definitively. "No, Y/N, I don’t have feelings for you."

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. But something in your blood continues to tingle.

"Okay."

And really? You should've known. Should've trusted to get the truth from him and not secondhand from your friends who, though they mean well, have been known to meddle and gossip (and sure, maybe that includes yourself at times).

The heightened tension has dissipated from the room, but the two of you are still left looking awkwardly at each other. After a stretch of time, Taehyung shifts on his feet and asks, "Y/N, are we good?"

There's a hint of fear in his eyes, and it has any residual worry you're feeling melting away. This is still Tae. Your Tae.

"Of course we are." You link your pinky with his. "Always."

The beach bar is relatively crowded for a Thursday night, the warm summer air and mix of bodies driving your group to disperse around the venue. Some migrate towards the live band, while others choose to mingle (and flirt) with the other patrons.

Noticing the way one guy at the bar has been eyeing you since you got here, Taehyung sticks close to your side, just in case. That is, until Namjoon finds his way back to the two of you looking harried, drawing you in so he can gently rest his hands on your elbows.

“Y/N, can I borrow you?” His light smile and the way he leans in close are clearly meant to project the image of intimacy, but his eyes are desperately screaming for help. “There’s an intoxicated woman who seems determined to motorboat me, and I don’t know where Maya is. I need a fake girlfriend.”

You pretend to swoon. “Joonie, with a chest like that, I’d be honored to be your fake girlfriend.”

Something aches behind Taehyung’s ribs as he watches you walk away on Namjoon’s arm when he just got you talking to him again. Still, a bit of breathing room is probably for the best. His conversation with you has him rattled; he doesn’t think his pulse has fully returned to normal since you suggested he has feelings for you. At the very least, he was able to smooth things out, which has noticeably eased the weight he’s been carrying the past couple of weeks.

But speaking of your conversation, you being summoned away by Namjoon gives him the opportunity to address the other elephant in the room.

He scans the crowd, determinedly ignoring the woman who’s been trying to catch his eye from a few tables over. (She pouts in his peripheral vision, shifting the neckline of her shirt to sit lower on her chest.) Finally spotting his target making her way back from the bathroom, he quickly moves to intercept her before she can join you and Namjoon at the bar.

Maya startles as he tugs lightly on her arm, leading her to a quieter spot towards the edge of the beach before abruptly spinning to face her.

"What the fuck?"

"What?" she quirks an eyebrow as if in askance but her overall countenance says that she knows exactly what this conversation is going to be about.

"You know what."

"Maybe, but I want to hear you say it."

Taehyung takes a deep breath. He loves Maya like a sister, but that sibling relationship means that she often gets under his skin like one, too. "You told Y/N that I'm in love with her?"

Her other eyebrow joins the first one in climbing her forehead. "Are you?"

"No."

Maya scoffs. "I'm going to give you another chance to say that, but try to sound like you actually believe it this time."

"You had no right—"

"So you're not denying it now?"

"I said no."

"Okay, that time was better, but it could still use some work—"

"Maya, fuck!" He scrubs a hand over his face. "Don't do this."

"She needs to know! What did you tell her?"

“That I don’t—“

“I thought you two didn’t lie to each other.”

“I didn’t!”

“You’re full of shit, and you know it.”

He’d swear he can feel his eyelid twitch. Maya always seems to know which buttons to press to get a reaction out of him. "She's getting married, for fuck's sake!"

"No, she has a boyfriend with a ring box in his drawer."

"Same difference."

"It's not."

"It is."

"She hasn't said yes yet, Tae."

He goes quiet at that. It’s painfully reminiscent of his conversation with Namjoon, and yet he’s equally at a loss. What are they honestly expecting him to do here? What could he possibly do that would accomplish anything other than drive you away, and rightfully so?

Maya’s gaze rakes over his face, scrutinizing him with a mixture of frustration and pity. "Tell me it isn't killing you."

Taehyung licks his lips, looking out across the bar until he finds where you’re standing with Namjoon. The latter says something that makes you laugh, and his stomach flips watching the way your eyes twinkle with mirth as you toss your head back, hair spilling over your shoulders.

You’re radiant. Stunning.

"She's happy," he finally croaks, but it comes out like he's physically straining to push out the words. "Leave it the fuck alone."

“Hey.”

You find Taehyung in the kitchen bright and early the next morning, already rummaging around and littering the counters with bowls and ingredients. The soft morning light drenches him in a golden glow, highlighting his honey skin, the slope of his nose, the long lines of his fingers as he works.

“Hey!” The smile he gives you is light and easy, the awkwardness between you having evaporated as easy as steam after your discussion last night. “Want to help me make breakfast?”

You jump in, immediately falling into rhythm with the way he maneuvers around the kitchen. God, you’ve missed this. It may have only been a few weeks, but cooking with Taehyung is one of your life’s greatest joys, and after missing two of your meal prep nights, it feels like a part of you has come home. There’s no doubt that you’re breathing a little easier today with the air cleared between you.

And honestly, how stupid to let a single comment from Maya drive a wedge between the two of you. You’ve known Taehyung practically your whole life. If he did have feelings for you, you would’ve figured it out by now.

Surely, he would’ve told you.

Lost in your thoughts, you don’t even notice that Taehyung is sneaking up on you until he’s already smeared a streak of waffle batter across your cheek.

“Augh, Tae!”

“What?” He quickly backpedals out of your reach, anticipating retaliation, but grinning widely. “You were clearly somewhere else. Had to bring you back to me somehow.”

A while later, as Taehyung sets out the platters of waffles, fruit, and eggs, you begin making the rounds to let everyone know that breakfast is ready. Sunny and her friends thank you from where they’re hanging out on the back deck and say that they’ll be in soon. Moving back into the hallway, you greet Hoseok and his brother, Jiho, as they pass you; Hoseok gives you an appreciative high five when you tell them about the food. Namjoon and Jimin have their door wide open, so you only need to poke your head in, Jimin immediately taking off down the hall at the mention of waffles.

When you get to Taehyung and Jungkook’s door, it’s closed, a series of muffled groans coming from inside. Unhesitating, you knock hard, and the groaning stops, followed by a curse and the sound of shuffling before Jungkook is opening the door halfway, blocking your view of the room. Clad in only a pair of gray joggers, a light sheen of sweat coats his bare chest, and you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Can I help you?”

“Tae and I made breakfast. You’re welcome to join.” You nod your chin at the area behind him. “Unless, you know, you have better things to do.”

Jungkook smirks, amused. “Alright, I’ll be out in a minute.”

He moves to close the door, but you manage to stick a foot out to block him.

“Maya, you too!”

There’s a moment of silence as you stand there, Jungkook looking as smug as ever, before a voice sounds from inside the room.

“Okay!”

It's a cloudless, sunny day so your group heads down to the beach after breakfast. Jungkook's beach house sits down the street, away from the center of town and tourist areas, which allows you a relatively private, uncrowded stretch of sand. The air is sticky with humidity, only mitigated by the breeze coming off the water. It's an oddly soothing combination of hot and cool that has you pulling in deep breaths of the salty air. You could stay out here forever.

"This is paradise," Hana says, verbalizing your own thoughts. "I wish I could live here."

You're sitting on your towel in the sand helping Maya sunscreen her back, but you don't miss the cocky grin on Jungkook's face.

"Well, pretty ladies like you are always welcome here."

Maya's shoulders tense up under your hands, and you're tempted to say something snarky in her defense before Sunny beats you there.

"Not my friends, Kook!"

Hana giggles, Jungkook feigns innocence, and you think that's that, stretching out on your towel to sunbathe. But an hour later, Taehyung is plopping down next to you in the sand.

"I need your help."

You slide your sunglasses to the top of your head so you can look at him better. "Sunny trying to set you up with someone again?"

He blushes. "No, Kook wants to have a chicken fight."

You push your glasses back down your face. "No."

Taehyung is quick, reaching over to pull the shades off your eyes entirely.

“Tae!”

“Look,” he murmurs, leaning in close. “Normally I’d blow him off, but he’s pairing up with Hana, and Maya actually seems kind of bothered.”

You peek over his shoulder to where Maya is now chatting with Jimin, throwing furtive glances at Jungkook and Hana flirting by the water’s edge.

“I know they’re not exclusive,” Taehyung continues, “but you have to admit Kook is being a bit of a dick, and I kind of want to show him up.”

You’re still hesitant, lips turning downwards, and so he presses closer, until all you can see are big brown eyes.

“Please? For me?”

The past two weeks creep into your mind, two weeks of intentionally avoiding him—hurting him—due to your own idiocy, and that’s when you cave. You owe him.

“Okay, fine.”

You follow Taehyung down to the shoreline, where Jungkook grins widely at your approach and claps his hands together.

"A challenger!"

You shake your head at his antics and move to tie your hair up and away from your face. "Do we have any stakes?"

Jungkook strikes a dramatic pose: calf-deep in water, hands on hips, six-pack abs already glistening as he pouts his lips in thought.

Then, with a snap of his fingers, he says, "Loser cooks dinner tomorrow."

Well, that's much tamer than you expected. "Just dinner? No, 'loser has to go skinny dipping' or anything like that?"

His mouth forms into a tiny "o", eyes wide with excitement. "Do you...want that?"

"No," you're quick to clarify. "It just doesn't seem like much of a punishment for us."

Jungkook shrugs his shoulders. "I like your food."

"Okay, but what if we win?" Taehyung asks, nodding from your right.

The cocky grin is back. "You won't."

Seagulls circle above like curious spectators to your game as you get into position. Taehyung squats in the surf so you can scale his back, sliding your legs over his tanned shoulders. He wraps his arms and hands tightly around your knees to secure you as he walks deeper into the ocean until the water is up to his waist. Roughly ten feet across from you, Jungkook and Hana have assumed a similar stance, and you're not sure if it's the waves rolling in or if Jungkook is actively bouncing on his heels.

"Jimin, wanna count us off?" he shouts.

From his spot on the beach, you see Jimin cup his hands around his mouth.

"On your mark...get set...GO!"

The men charge at each other through the water until you and Hana collide, grappling at each other's arms. In spite of a tiny build, she's surprisingly strong and sturdy, and you already have to adjust yourself on top of Taehyung, who likewise rearranges his grip on your legs.

"You good?" he grunts from under you, and you assure him you're fine.

You change your tactic, moving to push at her shoulders and send her backwards, but Jungkook shifts his legs to keep the two of them balanced. This gives Hana the chance to bump you with an elbow, and Taehyung likewise has to tighten his hold on you again to keep you steady.

This back-and-forth goes on for a short while, your friends now cheering from the sidelines, until Jungkook pushes forward and Hana collides with you again. This time, Taehyung adjusts to the hit by sliding his hands upwards, his long fingers skating up the soft inner flesh of your thighs and digging in.

A flash of heat rushes straight to your belly.

The sensation forcefully jolts your entire body and sends both you and Taehyung tumbling into the water. You kick around trying to find your footing before he pulls you up, sopping wet and spluttering as Jungkook and Hana celebrate their victory with raised arms and whoops.

“Are you alright? What happened?”

Hell if you know. You’d swear you can still feel the pads of his fingers on your legs, and so you merely blink at him with a shake of your head.

A biological reaction, you tell yourself, as you wade your way back to dry land. Nothing more.

You will your body to get a grip as you settle back down on your towel. You love Jace, you’re taken, and you and Taehyung have just reestablished the platonic nature of your friendship. Letting his touch have that kind of effect on you is nothing short of wildly inappropriate on two counts.

Trying to shake the shame poking at your brain, you angle yourself towards the waves and snap a quick selfie to send off to your boyfriend.

You [2:05pm]: miss you so much, wish you were here <3

It’s not long before your phone chimes with a reply, and you open the message to see a picture of Jace taken at a similar angle. He stands in a sea of businessmen and conference booths, suit crisp and hair neatly combed. The smile he wears is bright, eyes crinkling in the way you love so much and setting of a flurry of butterflies in your belly.

J <3 [2:07pm]: i’d say i wish you were here but i wouldn’t wish this place on my worst enemy let alone my favorite girl lol

J <3 [2:07pm]: i miss you too, beautiful :(

By the time the sun starts its descent, you’ve all moved to the pool on the expansive back deck, Jungkook immediately hopping behind the outdoor bar to make drinks.

“You know,” you say from your perch atop one of the stools, “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who can match your enthusiasm for your job.”

He smiles, rattling a cocktail shaker. “It gets me booze and ladies. What more could I ask for?”

Yumi soon joins you at the bar top to ask Jungkook for a margarita, and is quick to strike up a conversation with you. Unsurprisingly for one of Sunny’s friends, she’s incredibly nice, and you learn she works as a hairdresser in the city.

“I’ll have to check out your salon!” you say. “I’ve been meaning to get a trim.”

She claps her hands together eagerly. “If you want to give me your number, I can text you the address!”

As you’re putting your contact information into her phone, she looks at you thoughtfully and adds, “Not to sound like I have an ulterior motive, but Sunny also mentioned that you’re going to be getting married soon, too?”

Heat creeps into your cheeks. “Ah, yeah, nothing official yet. But, you know, it seems like it’s coming.”

“Exciting!” she declares. “Just figured I’d let you know that I do weddings, too, in that case. And I know we’ve just met, but I’d still give you the friends discount. Sunny’s friends are my friends, as far as I’m concerned.”

“That’s so sweet of you. I’ll definitely give you a call to talk about it once we’re actually planning.”

“That sounds gre—“

“Sorry to interrupt.” Taehyung wanders up to where you sit, handing you a plate of steaming beef and cucumber salad. “Hoseok and Jimin got the first round of meats done. I knew you’d want it hot.”

The moan you let out as you take the plate from him is downright scandalous. “Ugh, you’re the best.”

You’re rewarded with a light chuckle and a signature boxy grin. “I know.”

As he heads back to the grill and you dig into your food, Yumi lets out a dreamy sigh. “It’s no wonder he’s planning to put a ring on your finger. I wish someone would look at me like that.”

A piece of food lodges itself in your throat, and you cough hard. Yumi stares at you in alarm until you regain your breath and turn to her with wide eyes. “Tae and I aren’t together.”

She looks back and forth between the two of you like she’s trying to solve a puzzle. “You’re not?”

“No.” You shake your head emphatically. “We grew up together. My boyfriend is at a work event.”

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” she exclaims. “I just noticed how close you were at the bar last night and how he’s always—“ She cuts herself off with a shake of her head. “Nevermind. That’s my fault. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

You assure her it’s fine, and she changes the subject, asking how you know the others and what college was like. Your chat carries on for a while longer before you excuse yourself to use the bathroom.

You don’t even make it halfway across the deck, though, before a tattooed arm is snaking across your waist, lifting you off your feet, and carrying you in the direction of the pool.

“Jeon Jungkook, don’t you fucking dare!” you screech, trying to wiggle yourself out of his grip to no avail.

All you hear behind you is a maniacal giggle before you’re tossed through the air and land in the water with a splash.

When you come up to the surface, pushing your wet hair out of your eyes, you find Jungkook cackling by the pool’s edge. You glare at him.

“Asshole!”

“C’mon, Y/N! It’s a tradition!” he laughs. “It’s not a beach house trip without—“ But he doesn’t get to finish that thought before Taehyung shoulders him hard in the back, propelling him into the water next to you.

You only give Jungkook a second to get his bearings before you’re hopping onto his back and trying to play wrestle him back under the water to the laughter of your friends. It’s hopeless really—Jungkook is basically a mountain of hard muscle that barely budges under your touch—but a few minutes of scrambling all over him with determination, and he eventually concedes and humors you by allowing you to dunk him below the surface.

It’s later, once you’ve clambered out of the pool and are toweling off on the deck when you hear him talking to Jiho behind you.

“He got you good. You didn’t even hear him coming, did you?” There’s a shuffle and a “Pow!” like Jiho is reenacting Taehyung’s takedown.

“Ah, it’s alright,” Jungkook laughs, no hint of a grudge in his voice. “I messed with his girl.”

Your party stretches on into the night until the sky has turned inky black, peppered with stars that shine intensely this far removed from the city. Almost ironically, your group has mellowed out as the alcohol has flowed, settling into smaller groups scattered around the deck. Namjoon sits with Hoseok and Jiho, clearly getting philosophical around the fire pit. Sunny is gathered to the side with her friends as they sloppily braid each other’s hair, the occasional burst of laughter coming from their general vicinity. Jimin lays on his back at the side of the pool, drunkenly tracing constellations with his finger. And Maya and Jungkook are nowhere to be found.

There’s a sense of peace that flows through your veins as you watch your friends smile and talk while you grab yourself a beer from the poolside bar. You’ve always loved coming here. Sure, getting a free stay at a waterfront mansion is nothing you’d ever say no to, but it’s really getting to spend quality time with your friends—away from all of your real world responsibilities—that makes this place feel almost magical.

You look out to the shoreline and spot a figure sitting alone on the beach, staring out at the waves. You’d been thinking about joining Namjoon’s group by the fire, but that plan is immediately pushed out of mind as you grab a second bottle and make your way towards the sea.

You’re not loud in your stroll, the soft sand muting your steps, but Taehyung seems to sense your approach anyway, not startling a bit as you seat yourself next to him and hand him a beer.

“Contemplating the wonders of the universe?” you ask. From this angle, he looks almost like he did in Maya’s photograph of him—the same constellations in his eyes.

Taehyung stretches his legs out with a sigh, leaning back on his palms. “Where do you think we’ll be this time next year?”

You sip at your drink. Honestly, you can’t imagine things being all that different.

“Right back here?” you say. “I don’t think I’ll ever tire of coming here. This is my ultimate happy place.”

Taehyung hums in agreement. “It could be your pre-wedding party we’ll be having next year.”

“You think?”

His brow furrows at your doubt. “I’d expect you’d at least be planning then, no? Or you could already be married by then if you guys want to move fast.”

The thought sends jitters running down your spine. “Who knows?” you challenge. “Maybe you’ll be the one married. Maybe you’ll meet your soulmate tomorrow and elope because you know it’s fate, and there’s no point in waiting.”

Taehyung barks out a laugh. “That sounds somewhat out-of-character, no?”

“Hmm, true. You’re more of a wait five years to move in and another five years to propose kind of guy. Work on your credit score and establish a detailed financial plan before even thinking about merging assets. And don’t even get me started on the background check.”

“Geez, Y/N. Does Jace know you just casually talk dirty to other guys like this?”

You playfully shove at his shoulder, and the pink of his tongue pokes through his teeth as he laughs.

“Oh, wow, look.”

Taehyung points a delicate finger as a tiny flash blazes through the sky, trailing light and stardust in its wake. He turns to you, smiling.

“Make a wish?”

The words come out on a whisper like a secret meant just for the two of you.

As you sit there, gazing out at the shadowy horizon in the distance, you feel perfectly content. What do you wish for when you feel like you already have the world? Work has been going great, and after almost a year of unpacking boxes and rearranging furniture, you feel like you and Jace are finally settled in and cozy at your apartment. You think about Jace—his smile, the soothing feel of his hands on your skin, the little black box in his desk—and contemplate all of the joy you can sense coming your way.

And then you consider the man beside you.

His eyes are closed as he meditates on his own wish, his legs now drawn up so he can rest his forearms on his knees. It flashes you back to when you were kids, lounging away the hours in your room or hanging at your favorite spots around town—the park, the library, the ice cream shop where Mrs. Kang would often take pity and treat the two of you to free cones. When you were young, Taehyung almost always sat like this, knees to his chest as if he was trying to make himself smaller. As if he could make himself invisible to the shadows that followed him every second of each day.

Taehyung’s always been a positive person, steadfastly determined to not let his demons poison his perspective of the world. Though neither of you were fond of explicitly discussing your situations, Taehyung always maintained a bright outlook on the rare occasions when your frustrations would spill over. There’s still the family we can choose, he’d tell you. We’ll find them one day.

Still, though, you could always sense a certain anxiety lingering under the mask of his smile. It showed itself in the way he’d sit with his arms around his knees, in the way his forehead would crease during the moments when you’d catch him lost in thought. This had eased up in college, the change in scenery and your newfound friends loosening his bones and laugh lines. But since graduation, you’ve seen some of that tension return to his shoulders like he’s carrying extra weight, especially in the past year.

You consider the man beside you, and you think, then, that he deserves the world, too.

I wish for Taehyung to have everything he wants. You squeeze your eyes shut, casting the thought out to the universe with everything you have. Every last desire of his heart. He deserves it all.

No one in the world would be more deserving. Of that, you’re sure.

When you open your eyes again, he’s watching you with an unreadable expression on his face.

“What did you wish for?” is all you can think to ask, blinking at him.

“Well if I tell you, then it won’t come true.”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head with a teasing scoff. He smiles.

“Happiness,” he declares. “If I had to put it simply.”

You smile back at him, hoping those stars stay in his eyes. “Yeah, me too.”

He’ll find it. You know he will.

It's Sunday morning when shit hits the fan.

After Saturday passes with ease, another lazy day by the pool punctuated with you and Taehyung collaborating on a fried chicken dinner as per your bet with Jungkook, you wake up on Sunday to the sound of Iseul's squeals over there being no hot water, a fact which is soon confirmed after the men team up to check the heater. Jungkook calls his family handyman (apparently those come standard when you have more houses than you can count on one hand), but the man is quick to inform him that he's getting ready for his granddaughter's birthday party and won't be able to come out until tomorrow.

"There's no way I'm making it through the day without a hot shower," Maya grumbles.

Jungkook wiggles his eyebrows. "I can show you a hot shower.”

She doesn't even look at him.

You're also not enthused about the prospect of having to either take a cold shower or skip one entirely. So when Maya suggests going home a day early, you're already leaning towards the idea as well.

"It won't be that bad," Taehyung says, lips turning down in a tiny pout when you tell him. "The key is to just go fast."

"I'd rather not have to do it at all." You giggle as his pout deepens. "We're going to stay until the evening. It's only like a twelve hour difference."

"But I thought we were going to do a movie night."

Okay, now you feel bad.

"Temporary reschedule?" you suggest, poking at his bottom lip. "Jace and I are going to dinner on Saturday, but my Friday night is free."

A hand rubs at his chin as he pretends to make a show out of pondering your offer. "Deal."

Later, you're sitting on a chaise lounge on the back deck, soaking up your last few hours of sun with one of Jungkook's signature cocktails in your hand when Maya sighs deeply beside you in a similar show of disappointment.

"It really is a shame though," she laments. "Tonight was supposed to be our big send-off, and now I cleared my schedule tomorrow for nothing."

"We could do a girls night?" you say. "I have this new cab sav I found the other week that we could split."

"Ooh, twist my arm."

Plans made, you pull out your phone. Jace has been texting you on and off from his conference all weekend—just brief check-ins and I miss yous—so you shoot him a quick message now.

You [4:53pm]: the water heater here is busted so i'll be home early tonight. maya is going to come too, might stay over. can't wait to see you <3

The sky is a misty orange when you pack the car and say goodbye to your friends, Taehyung giving you a particularly tight hug. Things were great between you for the rest of the weekend, but you can feel the tension of your conversation lingering in the way he holds you that extra second.

You check your phone as Maya settles into the passenger seat and buckles her seat belt. There's still been no word from Jace. It's not particularly unusual for him to forget to answer his phone—especially since you expect he's busy wrapping up the conference—but a seed of worry still plants itself in the back of your brain. You hope everything is alright.

The ride is mostly quiet, you and Maya occasionally singing along to a song on the radio as the evening gradually turns to night. But about halfway back home, you feel the need to straighten things out.

“So I talked to Tae.”

She’s quiet for a second, her face shrouded in shadow. “Uh-huh.”

“He said he doesn’t have feelings for me.”

Maya shifts in her seat, angling herself towards you ever so slightly. “And you believe him?”

“Yes. Definitely.” There’s no doubt in your mind. “He’s never given me a reason not to.”

Silence stretches itself between you, Maya entirely unreadable as she seems to be puzzling something out in her head.

“Okay.”

It comes as a surprise, and you jerk your eyes away from the road to glance over at her. “Okay?”

Maya shrugs. “Okay.”

“That’s it?”

“Do you want there to be more?”

You work your mouth in a stunned gape. Because she’s right; why are you pushing this?

“No. We’re good.”

When you get to your apartment, you swipe you and Maya into the building and head towards the elevators. You’re a little bummed that your time at the beach house had to be cut short, but you take solace in the fact that you get some time back with Jace.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” Maya asks on the ride up.

You grin. “We could play that Twilight drinking game I sent you.”

“Pfft, I know I said I have tomorrow off, but I meant I could handle a mild hangover, not alcohol poisoning.”

You fumble for your key at your apartment door, sliding it into the lock and pushing the door open. The first thing you notice is that the lights are on, so Jace must be home.

“Babe?” you call, as you and Maya dump your bags by the couch.

“Where’s that cab sav?” You nod in the direction of the kitchen, and Maya skips over to investigate.

A moan sounds through the apartment.

You and Maya both freeze, staring at each other. Goosebumps break out over your entire body, a frightening sense of impending doom slamming itself down on your consciousness.

A second moan, and now you notice the lights on under the closed door of your bedroom. There was no sign of forced entry, but the image of a wounded and bleeding Jace pushes itself to the forefront of your mind.

You rush to the bedroom door, fearing the worse.

“Jace?”

You swing it open.

And your entire world collapses.

Taehyung can’t quite shake the feeling that you’re slipping through his fingers.

Movie night had been his idea, a way to get you in one spot (and mostly to himself, if he’s being honest) after your two weeks of silence. Now knowing the reason behind your push for space, he doesn’t blame you at all. Maya throwing that wrench into your relationship was surely unsettling, and he understands wanting time alone. But he’s missed you; he’s not going to deny that. And he’s desperate to prove that things can be okay between you. Things can be normal.

But the universe, it seems, is stacked against him.

He’s ambling through the house, wondering if Jimin might be up for a game of ping pong in the downstairs game room, when his phone blares in his pocket. It’s a jarring sound, violent in the way it disrupts the calmness of the house, and Taehyung frowns when he sees Maya’s name on the screen.

Maya never calls.

“Hello?”

“Tae, oh thank God.” Her voice is high and tight—clearly in distress. “You need to come to Y/N’s apartment as soon as physically possible. Grab Jimin and Kook if you need to drive them back—whatever. But just—as soon as possible.”

“Wait, wait, slow down,” he urges, hairs standing at attention on the back of his neck. “What’s going on? Is everyone okay? Is Y/N okay?”

“We got back to the apartment, and Jace he…”

Time seems to slow in anticipation of Maya’s next words—the kind of eerie stillness that precedes a storm, quiet and disarming in its disguise.

And then she drops the bomb.

“He was with someone else.”

Taehyung’s ears ring. There is no possible way he heard that right. “What?”

The breath that comes from the other side of the phone is heavy, like Maya can’t even believe the words coming out of her own mouth. “He was in bed with someone else.”

A chill drips down his spine, pushing its way through his veins until his entire body runs cold. This can’t be happening. Not to you. You’ve had enough pain and hardship in your twenty-five years of life—he’s seen it, weathered it with you. Things are supposed to be getting better; this is supposed to be the payout for years of heartache. Surely, the universe wouldn’t be so cruel.

But then it happens. A single, anguished sob rings out in the background of the call, sharp and pained in its grief.

His heart shatters, shards piercing the spaces between his ribs.

“Tae? Are you still there?”

“Yes.”

“She needs you. Please just get over here.”

Then line goes dead.

Taehyung is only frozen for a second longer before he’s bounding into motion, tearing down the hallway and into the living room where Jimin lays on his back on the couch. The latter shoots into a sitting position when he sees the look on Taehyung’s face.

“You okay?”

“Y/N—she—we—“ His mouth feels like it’s filled with sand, and while he stands there, working his jaw in agonizing frustration, Jimin leaps to his feet to close the distance between them, grasping Taehyung’s shoulders.

“What’s wrong? What happened to Y/N?”

His lungs burn as he finally finds the words. “Jace is cheating on her.”

Jimin goes still, the same stunned shock registering in his body.

“We need to—we need to go,” Taehyung gasps, and Jimin is quick to sit him on the couch.

“I’ll get Kook. We’ll take care of this,” he says, voice steady. Commanding. “You just wait here and breathe.”

The next several minutes are a blur as Jimin rushes to get Jungkook, and they work on packing the car, briefly explaining the situation to the others. Taehyung can’t think of anything but you, his focus reduced down to a pinpoint in his mind. You must be devastated. In spite of what he had said about his own feelings on Jace, he knows how much you love him, how you were expecting to spend the rest of your life with him. How must you be feeling to have an entire future ripped away? To have to bear witness to and suffer that kind of betrayal?

He’s not quite sure how it happens, but he winds up in the passenger seat of his own car, Jimin sliding behind the wheel and peeling away from the house and onto the highway. The air inside the cabin is thick, a stifling combination of premature summer heat and heavy silence, with even Jungkook sitting oddly quiet in the backseat. Taehyung is thankful for the absence of conversation; he doesn’t think he can handle talking about any of this until you’re in front of him and he can hold you, feel that you’re safe.

He realizes somewhere along the way that he’s shaking, your cry still ringing in his ears.

The trip from the beach house to the city only takes about forty-five minutes, but it feels like days, headlights and street lamps zipping by like tiny suns as Taehyung wills the car to go faster, faster, faster. He’s never felt further from you before, never been so determined to close the distance between you like he is now.

Whatever you need from him, he’ll give it.

Jimin finally pulls into your apartment parking lot, and the car hasn't even fully stopped before Taehyung is bolting out at a near sprint. Jungkook and Jimin catch up to him as he pulls out the duplicate access card you had given him in case of emergencies, swiping them into the entryway and down the hall where he pounds the button for the elevators.

"It'll be okay," Jimin says, staring Taehyung down where he seems to be vibrating in his shoes. "She'll be okay."

"She'd better be," Jungkook mutters, fists clenched tight.

(Jimin hopes Jace has long cleared out of the building, lest they run into him.)

The elevator ride is tense and slow, the numbers ticking upwards in time with the pounding in Taehyung's ears.

2...

The bastard was sleeping with someone else.

3...

You thought you were going to marry him.

4...

He'd spent time with Jace all through college. Even laughed with him at times.

5...

The sound you'd made on the phone, like you were physically wounded.

6...

If he ever sees that piece of shit again—

The doors open with a ding that snaps the mess of Taehyung's thoughts into focus.

He's here. You need him.

It's a brisk walk to the end of the hallway, and then he's practically punching your apartment door, which swings open almost immediately as if Maya was waiting on the other side. She and Taehyung stare at each other for a brief moment, her mouth stretched into a tight line before she simply nods her head in the direction of the bathroom. Taehyung makes the final leg of the trip in five long strides before freezing in the doorway.

The fractured shards of his heart turn to dust.

You're curled up on the bathroom floor, a tangle of arms and hair covering your face as your body trembles with quiet sobs. They echo around the tile, filling the space between you until Taehyung thinks he can feel the sound burrowing itself under his skin, a morbid tattoo he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to erase. This image, he thinks, will surely haunt him for the rest of his life.

You. Completely and utterly broken.

He falls to his knees so he can brush your hair aside, the strands draping themselves over his fingers like a tether. Your face is red and stained with tears, and he reflexively wipes at the ones he sees rolling down your cheeks as you peer up at him, only now registering his presence.

"T-tae?"

"I'm here," he murmurs as his hands continue collect your tears, trying to carry them for you.

When you hear his voice, your cries start up again in earnest, and you reach out to clutch at his shirt. Taehyung immediately gathers you into his arms and tucks you into the haven of his chest, holding you like if he squeezes hard enough, he can press your broken pieces back together.

"T-tae...h-he..." you gasp at his collarbone, words failing you as Taehyung hugs you to him even tighter.

He runs his hands through your hair, presses kisses to the crown of your head, trails his fingers up the length of your back as you burrow into him, wails escalating.

"Shh, I've got you, baby."

He does. He'll hold you forever if he has to.

"I've got you."

a/n: thoughts? guesses as to what taehyung used his wish on? likes, reblogs, and feedback give me life :)

taglist is open!

a/n 2: oh, fun fact. when jace caught oc going through his desk in part 1, he wasn’t even thinking about the ring box when his eyes flicked to the drawer. he was worried she was going to find the condoms, which would’ve been weird since they hadn’t used them in like two years (oof) (this isn’t plot relevant, just a detail tidbit lol)

#taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #bts x reader #bts x you #bts imagines #taehyung imagines #taehyung fic #taehyung fanfic #bts fluff #bts angst #taehyung #bts fic #bts fanfic

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