#the one time i was reading a fic and the second to last chapter was super traumatic

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

fool for you

fratboy!Johnny x f!reader

summary: Johnny has decided that enough is enough! He can’t stop thinking about you and he needs to do something about it! Well… it’s so much easier said than done

word count: 4.4k

warnings: profanity

a/n: fic is set in our new and beloved, fratboy!Johnny universe and will chronologically follow after this post! and oh my gosh yes! stop pestering me! I did name this after linger by the cranberries!

divider creds to roseraris <3

taglist! @severeanxietyissues @neozon3nha @bluedbliss @lovesuhng @wishpid @myfavoritedelusion @onlyrosyjohnny @soonnypeach @noname9392 @sunghoonsgfreal @mmjhh1998 @thedaisyarchive @ohwowzersthatscool @greenyweirdo @127jfam

Johnny wasn’t sure that he’d ever felt this restless in his whole life. How is it that his life had gone from normal, boring, standard, to a complete mess simply because he’d talked to you? You, the girl he hadn’t so much as spoken more than two minutes with him in the years that he first saw you and now you lived in his head! He couldn’t stop thinking about you, he constantly hoped he’d see you again on campus, he wished you’d come to the house again. 

He didn’t think he’d ever been this infatuated before. He felt like a kid with a crush all over again. He wasn’t like any of the stereotypical frat guys who jumped from girl to girl. No, Johnny was more of a boyfriend kid of guy and he hadn’t had a relationship since he and his high school girlfriend ended things before going to opposite end of the country for college. Was it so bad that he wanted a timeless love like his parents? Was it so bad that he wanted to find his other half? The person who would know him better than anyone else and love him for who he was.

Less than an hour spent together and you had completely taken over his thoughts. When would he see you again? What was your favorite color? What was your favorite class? Did you like him as much as he liked you? He sure hoped you did.

He laid in bed, staring at his ceiling while he tried and failed to fall asleep. Why was his brain even so focused on memories of you in the class you shared during his second semester? He could remember vivid images of you, or more, the back of your head. His mind thought back to one specific moment where the class had been tasked with some kind of whole class, lazy activity. The professor, who looked worse for wear, had kicked his feet up on his desk, displayed the instructions on the projector screen and knocked out for the entirety of the class. 

Johnny remembered walking around the auditorium, filling out his worksheet with only one space left to fill out. Nobody that he’d spoken to knew the answer, since none of them had read the last chapter like they were supposed to. He knew he should have done his homework, he probably could have been out of class already, but he’d gotten caught up in frat stuff. Johnny perked his head up, making his way down the stairs and toward the row that was just two rows away from his own row, right to where you were sitting alone and diligently filling out the worksheet with your head ducked down. 

Slowly, Johnny lowered himself into the seat beside you so as to not startle you, “hey.”

Still, you jumped in your seat, having completely missed how his tall frame slipped beside you so seamlessly and quietly. He watches as your hand spreads over your chest in your shock. Your cheeks bloom with warmth and he smiles softly, you’re really pretty. Seeing you up close and not in passing, not from the back, he feels a part of him fall hard for you. 

Your voice is prettier than any song he’s ever heard, even as you laugh shyly, “you scared me.”

He chokes on his words, is that his heart pounding in his ears or is someone banging on the door? Are everyone’s eyes as gorgeous as yours? He clears his throat, blinking a few times to refocus himself, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just uh, I need some help answering the last question on the worksheet. I asked a bunch of people and no one knows the answer. Can you help me?”

“Oh, yeah! That question was hidden somewhere in the last few pages of the chapter, but I actually happened to make a note of it…” you tell Johnny as you flip through your notebook to find the page. 

He can only watch and admire your dedication to passing this class, even if it is a general requirements class. You slide your notebook over to him and he admires your neat scrawl and organized notes. “Here it is,” you tell him softly as you point out the line with the information he needs. 

Johnny copies down the information and smiles at you gratefully, “thank you so much. I’m usually so on top of my assignments, but I guess I got carried away with all the frat stuff I have going on.”

You cock your head to the side with a soft furrow in your brows, “I’m not judging you at all. It’s okay to be busy with things. The homework wasn’t even homework anyway so it’s really no bother at all.”

His body is reacting in that weird way again, but worse than usual. Probably because he’s doing more than just looking at you this time. He’s actually talking to you! A real conversation! His heart is thumping hard and fast in his chest as he forces his brain to remember to breathe! He chuckles softly, “well, I appreciate the help anyway.”

You nod as you pack up your things and stand from your seat with your backpack over our shoulder. “It’s no problem. Have a good one,” you tell him before you walk away from him to leave the lecture hall. 

The memory brings a smile onto Johnny’s face as he drifts off to sleep with thoughts of you on his mind. 

The next time he sees you, it’s not even planned. He’s just come back from a run when he walks past Mark on his way out of the door. Johnny looks at Mark in confusion, “what’s up? I thought you didn’t have class on Thursdays.”

Mark sighs, “I don’t but you guys are up my ass about going to my tutoring sessions so…”

Johnny lets out a laugh, “I think you mean that we’re up your ass about succeeding. Nu Chi doesn't keep idiots around.”

“That’s debatable,” Mark replies with a laugh, “I’m off to the library so I won’t be late. I’ve kept my tutor waiting for too many sessions already. See you later, bro.”

The door shuts and Johnny stands in the entryway for less than a second before he’s sprinting up the stairs, taking them three at a time. He pushes someone out of his way with a shout of “sorry!” He rushes into the bathroom and forces himself into an ice cold shower to wash the sweat and stink off his body. 

He knows he’s dripping water all down the hall as he runs to his room to get dressed. He knows he’s yelled at his brothers for this before, but he has a very limited amount of time to meet you at the library! You wouldn’t be tutoring Mark forever!

He finds one of his nicer t-shirts hanging in the closet, a clean pair of jeans and tucks his wet hair under a backwards cap before slipping on his shoes and making his way out of the house. He’s hustling across campus trying not to sweat while practicing what he’s going to say to you. He feels like a total idiot right now. He’s never been the kind of person to be nervous about meeting anyone. He’s always confident and charismatic, even though you’re his social opposite, he finds that he’s not himself. It’s kind of a fun feeling to experience again. 

He slows his stroll as he walks through the library, trying to look casual as he peeks into every study room, examines every table on the first floor, on the second floor, and finally, the third floor. He peeks his head to take a look in what was, of course, the last study room on this floor. He finds you and Mark looking at your laptop and taking notes. 

Johnny takes a deep breath and straightens out his clothes before freezing. Shit, what was his excuse for being here even going to be? ‘Hey there, I was just casually prowling the third floor of the library, mind if I join?’ No way! He pulls a random notebook from his backpack before knocking on the glass door with a friendly smile. He pushes the door open, “hey, sorry to interrupt. Mark, you left your notebook at the house, I wasn’t sure if you needed it.”

You look over at Mark with a confused look on your face and Mark looks at Johnny with a matching look of confusion, “I have my notebooks. That’s not mine.”

“Oh, well…” Johnny gulps nervously with sweaty palms, “I just wanted to be safe. I want you to do your best Markie.”

Mark’s face twists into a look of disgust, “since when have you ever called me Marki-”

Johnny coughs, cutting Mark off, “well, since I’m here. You guy’s don't mind if I just stay, do you? I’ll be quiet and I’ve got some studying to do of my own anyway.”

“That’s fine,” you nod slowly, returning to Mark.

Johnny spends about an hour sitting on the opposite end of the table from you, pretending to study. Really, his mind is busy working out the conversation he wants to have with you when your session with Mark is done. 

“So I guess, when in doubt, just add as many details about this time period as you can. I think your professor is likely to focus on the areas we covered today for the essay question, but don’t hold me to it. Do you have any questions before we wrap up?” Johnny hears you ask Mark.

Mark laughs as he packs his things up, “yo, I’m actually feeling really good about this test! Thank you, dude.”

Your laugh makes Johnny’s heart skip a beat as you help Mark gather his things and smile up at him, “It’s my job Mark, it’s really no problem. Good luck on your test and let me know how it goes.”

Mark leaves the study room, but not without a look of pure and utter suspicion thrown in Johnny’s direction before he leaves the two of you alone in the study room. Johnny clears his throat, “hey, so are you- you doing anything after-”

Someone clears their throat and Johnny turns to find a girl waiting in the doorway. Johnny’s eyes flit over to you to find that you’re already looking at him with wide eyes, “I’m sorry Johnny, I have another tutoring session right now.”

Johnny’s mouth snaps shut and he nods awkwardly, grabbing his backpack and making his way past the girl quickly. In an hour he’s going to feel like a major idiot for trying and failing to ask you out. He should have just spit it out! ‘Hey! Please go out with me! Please! I will beg!’ But he didn’t and somehow he didn’t feel like a loser quite yet… Mostly because, well, this was going to make him sound like a total dweeb, but you said his name! Was it possible to have two new favorite sounds upon the first time hearing them? Your laugh and his name on your lips.

If he’d have looked over his shoulder while he was leaving the room, he’d have seen you staring at his back as he left. He’d have seen how your eyes were wide and tracked his form until he was completely out of sight. Then consequently seen your next student bumping your arm and teasing you while you hid your face in your hands.

He walks back to the frat house with an extra pep in his step, though as soon as he opens the door, there’s Mark with a smug look on his face, “dude, you are so fucking lame. Really? ‘You forgot your notebook Markie.’” Mark’s face twists into an unimpressed smirk while he holds up the same notebook that Johnny had used as an excuse. A notebook that clearly read ‘JOHNNY’ in Yuta’s signature tag style. Johnny swallows as his cheeks get hot, “you didn’t show her that did you?”

Mark chuckles, “nah, you were smart enough to only show the back of the notebook. She’s not hard to talk to, you know?”

Johnny drags a hand down his face, “she is to me. Only God knows why.”

“You got it bad, bro. Pull yourself together,” Mark laughs brightly as he shakes Johnny by the shoulders.

Very rarely does Johnny like to admit that Mark is correct, but Mark is right this time. He does have it bad, so incredibly horrendously bad for you. He’s no longer keeping an eye out for you, no, he’s “casually” walking across campus to the humanities and social science buildings because that’s where your classes are more likely to be held. 

It’s a Monday when he sees you again. A whole two and a half weeks since he last tried to ask you out. His classes have already finished for the day, but he finds himself making the familiar walk across campus toward the humanities building. The sky is warm and the sun feels nice on his skin as he strolls and swipes through his phone. In the blink of an eye his phone is falling to the floor as his body collides with another. 

“Oh shoot, I am so sorry,” he hears the other person say. Not just any other person, you. He gulps, falling to his knees beside you as you gather all your papers and books back into a neat pile. He can hear your nervous rambling, “I’m really sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going. I’m just running late on my way to the library and— Johnny? What are you doing on this side of campus?”

Johnny isn’t even thinking of a response because while he was listening to you speak, he wasn't listening to what you were really saying. His brain was too busy memorizing the timbre and tone of your voice to focus on any words. It takes his brain a whole minute to process your question all while he stares at you blankly. He clears his throat, right, what was he doing over here, “I… the… I like that bathrooms over here…” What the hell, John?! The bathrooms?!

You giggle softly, “the bathrooms? Surely, the engineering building would have the nicest bathrooms since that building is the newest.”

Oh. You actually bought that flimsy excuse. He coughs softly, “are you… are you doing anything right now?” Wait a second, did your fingers just brush against his? Why was a simple brush of your fingers against making his heart race? What the heck was up with him?

“Yeah, actually, I’m on my way to another tutoring session,” you answer as you pile all your things into your arms before standing. 

Johnny stands up slowly, looking down at you as his eyes trace over every small detail on your face, every curve and every edge. His eyes drag over the curve of your lips, the lashes that line your eyes, and the way your cheeks round as you smile up at him. He blinks slowly, once, twice… what was it about you that made him act like such a fool? Why didn’t his brain work how it was supposed to around you? “Right,” he shakes his head with a smile, “of course. I’m sorry for making you later.”

Your brows furrow just slightly before you smile up at him in such a sweet way that he might just feel his pupils turning into hearts. Your hand comes up to squeeze his forearm. Great, now he’s a puddle from a simple squeeze of your hand. “You get this really faraway look in your eye when you look at me. We’ll have to talk about that next time we see each other,” you tell him in the sweetest voice he’s ever heard before hustling away like you always do. 

He doesn’t even care if you see him if you choose to turn away, but he hunches over, one hand gripping his t-shirt as he tries to catch his breath. Fuck, this was the best feeling in the world, being around you, looking at you, talking to you. And was it just his imagination or did your hand actually linger when you squeezed his arm? 

His train of thought is interrupted when someone coughs, “dude, are you having an asthma attack or something?”

“Something better,” Johnny breathes out.

The person shakes their head, “dude, you’re strange.”

Johnny has been practicing asking people out for a week now. Not only in the mirror, when he showers, before bed, to his pillow, his teammates, and also to every frat brother in the house. It helps him to develop a more well-rounded proposal since he gets so many types of feedback. When Mark and Haechan tell him it’s perfect, he goes to Taeyong to really get it the best it can be. What do those losers know anyway?

He’s thinking about you every second of the day and for some reason, manifesting your presence hasn’t worked like it has these last few times. He still walks around your class building, he keeps an eye out for Mark heading out for tutoring, and even walks around the library for a couple hours a few days. Nothing. Where could you have disappeared to? 

He knows that you’re probably busy with his own classes and tests, but.. he just misses you. It’s not even like the two of you have had any real conversations of substance, but the way you make him feel? It’s addicting. Not in a crazy way, but in a way that makes his heart beat a whole lot faster than running a few laps around the basketball court and feels a hell of a lot better. This must be the kind of feeling he remembers his dad explaining to him when he was a kid. 

Back when Johnny was a tween he’d gone to school with a bouquet of flowers to confess his crush on a girl from his science class. She had turned him down, kept the flowers, and shamelessly asked if his friend was looking for a girlfriend. Johnny had faked a stomach ache, not letting a single tear fall until he was at home and in his dad’s arms. 

“The right person for you won’t make you feel like this, Son,” his dad says soothingly as he rubs a calming hand up and down Johnny’s back, “Look, when I met your mom I felt like I was going crazy. Every time I saw her my heart would beat like crazy, I thought about her all the time, and every time she so much as looked at me I felt like I was on top of the world. When you find the right person you’ll feel all these things and more and they’ll feel the same way. This is just one of life’s lessons. I know it hurts now, but when the real thing comes along, it will feel so much better.”

Johnny’s been thinking about this conversation a lot. He wonders if, once again, he’s throwing himself into the fire to be burned. He wonders if this will just be another learning lesson on the journey to finding The One, and he starts to get really insecure. This is a feeling that Johnny rarely ever experiences, but when he really thinks about it… have you even shown him any romantic interest or just basic kindness? Did your touch linger? Did you stare a little too long? Did you even actually blush the first time you both made conversation? Whatever. He pushes the thought out of his head and instead forces himself to focus on his upcoming basketball game. He can’t distract himself with these thoughts when he needs to be in his basketball mindset. There’s no room in his head to be insecure or to overthink things. He’s not usually the kind of person to think this anxiously so he takes a deep breath and moves on.

There’s just a couple minutes left of the game, Johnny’s standing at the free throw line, exhaling to calm his nerves while he spins the ball in his hands. The feel of the textured rubber, the smell of the gym, the sight of his teammates and competitors has a familiar excitement bubbling in his stomach. His eyes flicker to the crowd on the left, then the right, and back to the hoop-- but wait, did he see that right? Yeah his frat brothers are there, he sees some people from his classes, but who is that sitting next to Mark? He blinks hard, squinting as he sees Mark pointing at the court and saying something to… you! 

You’re at his game, you’re watching him play, you’re here! It’s a complete shock to see you here. This is the last place he’d expect to see you, but Johnny smiles to himself and feels a whole new sense of confidence when he hears the referee blow his whistle. Johnny sinks not one, not two, but all three free throws with just a few seconds of the game to go. He’s playing better than he’s ever played and he’s already one of the best players on the team. Is it a little embarrassing to admit that it’s because you’re watching? Yeah, but he’s not going to admit it. 

The game ends with a victory by a small margin, but it’s a win nonetheless. His teammates immediately go to their water bottles, coach or girlfriends, but Johnny’s heading over to you. He’s making his way through the crowds accepting congratulations and claps on the back with a grateful smile before he’s walking right up the bleachers and right over to you. His frat brothers have mischievous smiles on their faces and thankfully have the decency to disperse not too far away while Johnny stops just a foot away from you. 

“You-you’re here!” Johnny smiles brightly.

You tuck your hair behind your ear, smiling as you drop your gaze to your feet, “yeah, I figured it was time to branch out of my comfort zone.”

“Well, did you have a good time? You caught me on a good day, heard coach say it was the best I’ve ever played,” Johnny tells you earnestly. 

You look up and Johnny tries to keep his breathing normal at the smile on your face. You’re just so pretty up close. He finds himself distractedly counting every beauty mark on your face and each variation of color in your pupils. You’re breathtaking. He blinks hard, forcing himself to listen to your melodic voice, “I have I admit, I don’t know a whole lot about basketball so Mark had to explain a lot of it to me. He said you did a good job and I know enough to know that you scored most of the points… so congrats!”

He licks his lips, feeling his heartbeat pounding right in the base of his neck. What better moment will there be than now? “Hey, do you want to go out with me? Like on a date… please,” Johnny manages to breathe out. 

Your eyes widen, jaw falling open the slightest bit, “you like me back?”

Johnny chokes, “you like me?!”

“I thought I was being obvious,” you murmur shyly, once again dropping your gaze to look at your feet. 

Johnny laughs a breathy laugh. It’s not malicious or teasing but it’s a laugh of relief. He reaches out and cups your cheeks, guiding your face up to meet his gaze. “I have been pining over you since the first time I talked to you. I feel like I’ve been going crazy every day and acting like a total fool— an idiot! All my stupidity just to find out that you’ve liked me back.”

“Honestly,” you tell him quietly, “I had a feeling you liked me.”

“How?!” Johnny asks, his thumb caressing the high point of your cheek.

You laugh softly and Johnny feels his heart skip a beat, “the humanities building doesn’t have bathrooms, John.”

He feels his face blush bright red as he staggers back and plants himself in a seat. He drags his hands through his hair and down his face with an embarrassed groan, “and you didn’t tell me? I really am an idiot!”

You giggle as you sit beside him, rubbing his upper arm which really doesn't help the blush on his cheeks but is something that he very quickly learns he really likes. You sigh, bumping his shoulder with your own playfully, “if it helps, I feel like an idiot too because my flirting wasn’t enough either. Clearly. We were both somewhat clueless.”

“What flirting?” Johnny asks with his brows furrowed softly.

“I looked at you a lot, I touched your arm that one time— twice actually, I came to your basketball game…” you list off as if these are the most obvious acts to have ever been done.

“Oh, Honey,” Johnny chuckles with a shake of his head, “luckily, with me you’ll get plenty of opportunities to work on that flirting of yours.”

You hide your face behind your hands as you whine embarrassingly. He catches your wrist gently and pulls your hand away just far enough to press a kiss to your cheek, “so, was that a yes? You’ll go on a date with me?”

Your voice is quiet but it’s loud enough to have Johnny standing from his seat and cheering when you murmur, “yes I want to go on date with you.”

“Yes!” You hear the guys around you cheer. You glance behind Johnny and find Mark fist pumping. You laugh quietly and lean into Johnny so your head rests on his shoulder and your arm is pressed up against his.

“Don’t take this the wrong way at all,” Johnny tells you, “but I am not worthy to have you pressed up against me right now. I am dripping with sweat, I smell, and I don’t even look good right now.”

“I’d argue that you actually look very good right now,” you reply before clapping a hand over your mouth in embarrassment.

Johnny’s head snaps in your direction with his eyes widened in shock, “now that’s flirting! Yes!”

a/n: feedback is appreciated and I'm adding the first date fic to my to do list!

[javierpenaismyhusband]

Peru: Day Two

Joel Miller x M!Reader

Summary: A gentle warmth grows between Joel and the narrator as they share a carefree ride, lunch with the narrator’s father, and an honest talk about the past. Later, back at the hotel, a quiet kiss in the elevator leads to a night of closeness, comfort, and care. Wrapped in each other’s arms, they fall asleep with the kind of ease that only comes from feeling truly safe.

Series Warnings: Fluff · AGE GAP · SMUT · 18+ · Joel is my father’s friend · Cigarettes · Alcohol · Mentions of toxic ex · threats, protective p in a, No Y/N, not an OUTBREAK and more that i cant think right now.

(Dividers by @saradika-graphics) Other Fics of Mine

Series Materialist Previous Chapter

I woke up with the weight of sleep still clinging to my limbs, but thankfully, it wasn’t like yesterday the heaviness in my chest had lifted, if only slightly. The sheets were warm, tangled around my legs, and for a second, I let myself just breathe in the silence of the room. No rush. No noise. Just the faint hum of the city waking up beyond the window.

I dragged myself to the shower, the water hitting my skin with a cold bite that forced me fully awake. I stood there longer than I needed to, letting it rinse off more than just sleep. After brushing my teeth and throwing on a clean shirt and jeans, I grabbed my phone from the bedside table.

One notification.

Joel.

I blinked, surprised. Then it hit me I’d given my dad my phone during the flight so he could have a backup contact. That must’ve been when Joel got my number. I swallowed and opened the message.

“Are you awake?”

Something about seeing his name on my screen pulled a smile from me before I could stop it. I stared at the text a moment too long. This wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t. I typed back:

“Yeah, good morning.”

The typing bubbles appeared almost immediately. He was waiting.

“Would you like to go for coffee and breakfast?”

My heart picked up. There were a thousand ways to read that. I bit the inside of my cheek.

“Us two?” I asked.

He replied faster than I could prepare for.

“Yes.”

Just that. No explanation. No fluff.

I hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen before I gave in and typed:

“Ok.”

Then his reply:

“Meet me at the tobacco store in 10 if you're ready.”

I stared at the screen again, heart still tapping against my ribs.

“See you then.”

I sent the message, locked my phone, and exhaled into the quiet. Ten minutes. Just coffee. Just breakfast. Just Joel.

I grabbed my jacket and stepped out the door, trying not to think too hard about why I suddenly cared this much about what I looked like in the morning light.

I walked through the morning streets, still quiet and sun-warmed, my hands in my jacket pockets as I tried not to think too hard. About last night. About the cigarette we’d shared. About that look.

I turned the corner and spotted him almost instantly.

Joel stood outside the tobacco store, leaning casually against the wall. A cigarette rested between his lips, the smoke curling softly into the air like it had nowhere better to be. His eyes caught mine before I could look away, and that familiar small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

There was something in the way he looked at me like he knew something I didn’t. Like last night hadn’t been a blur of confusion and mixed signals but something real.

I stopped in front of him, trying to keep it casual, but my heart was a little too fast for that.

“Morning,” I said, tucking my hands deeper into my pockets.

Joel pulled the cigarette from his mouth, blowing smoke out of the side of his lips before speaking.

“Morning. You look more alive today.”

I shrugged. “Didn’t feel like a zombie this time.”

He nodded, then flicked the ash from his cigarette, studying me for a beat too long.

“Ready for that coffee?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said, eyes flicking to the cigarette again. I don’t know why I remembered the taste so vividly.

He noticed. Of course he did. But he didn’t say anything. Just started walking.

As we walked side by side through the quiet street, my curiosity got the best of me.

“So… why just us two?” I asked, glancing at him, trying to keep my tone light.

Joel turned his head slightly, the corner of his mouth lifting again.

“Your father had something to do,” he said with a pause, then added, “And… I like your company.”

That made me smirk, maybe even blush a little. I looked ahead again, hoping he didn’t see it. It felt good, too good knowing Joel liked being around me. But the feeling was dangerous, a little spark I was pretending not to notice.

Then something clicked in my head. I turned to him, brow raised.

“When you said my dad had something to do,” I asked, “you mean he’s having coffee and breakfast with… someone?”

Joel didn’t answer right away, just gave a slow, knowing shrug, as if trying not to grin.

“Maybe,” he said casually.

“Shut up,” I gasped. “My father found a woman? Oh my God.”

Joel let out a low laugh, a real one, like the idea actually amused him.

I shook my head, still stunned. “I leave him alone for one morning and he’s out dating?”

“You can’t really blame him,” Joel said. “Man’s been smiling a lot since we got here.”

I gave him a look. “He’s been smiling because he’s been fighting with you every five minutes.”

Joel chuckled again. “Maybe he likes it.”

I laughed too, the sound surprising even me. It felt easy, like we were just two people on a sunny morning in a city far from real life. But under it all, there was still something else. Unspoken. Something in the way he looked at me just a little too long before turning his gaze back ahead.

And I pretended I didn’t notice. Because I didn’t trust what noticing would mean.

We sat at a small table outside a beautiful café, tucked away on a quiet street corner. Just to our right, a tall wall wore a faded but striking mural. The colors were bold, almost chaotic, but somehow it felt peaceful, like a painting that didn’t need to be understood to be appreciated.

Joel leaned back slightly in his chair, taking off his sunglasses and resting them on the table. “What kind of coffee do you drink?” he asked, his voice still rough from the morning.

“I like it without sugar,” I said, lifting my eyes to meet his. “Just plain.”

He nodded, looking almost pleased. “Same. Bitter and real.”

That answer made something turn in my chest. I didn’t say anything, but I smiled. It felt strange and familiar at the same time, sitting here with him like this. Like we were playing at something neither of us was quite ready to name.

We opened the menus and took a moment to scan through. The café smelled like roasted coffee beans and warm bread, and there was a soft clinking of dishes in the background that made the whole street feel alive but calm.

“I think I’m gonna get the pancakes,” I said, still reading. “The ones with chocolate and that biscuit crumble.”

Joel glanced over at my menu and smirked. “Starting the day with dessert, huh?”

I shrugged. “Might as well.”

He tapped the edge of his own menu. “I’m getting the ones with cheese, bacon, and mayo sauce.”

I blinked at him. “Mayo? On pancakes?”

He laughed quietly. “You’re judging me already.”

“I’m just confused.”

“You’ll get it one day,” he said, leaning back with a grin.

The quiet settled again, easy and warm. I sipped some water and looked at the mural, pretending not to notice the way Joel kept glancing at me when he thought I wasn’t looking.

Everything in me wanted to stay in that moment a little longer. But it was also starting to feel like more. Like something we were both trying not to touch too directly.

I shifted my gaze to the mural again, as if it could explain what was happening between us.

The waitress came by with a bright smile, pen and notepad ready. We gave her our orders, and once she walked off, Joel reached into his jacket pocket and tossed a cigarette pack across the table to me.

"That's for you," he said casually.

I caught it and turned it in my hand. "Thanks, Joel."

He just shrugged like it was nothing, pulling one out for himself and lighting it. The flame flickered briefly between us before he took a slow drag.

I watched him, maybe a second too long. The way the smoke curled from his lips, the way his eyes squinted slightly against the morning sun. It hit different. A little cinematic, like something out of a movie I didn’t realize I wanted to be in.

"You know," I said, leaning back in my chair, "I think smoking suits you."

He looked at me, lips still parted from the exhale, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Then I’m gonna keep doing it."

That made me laugh, and for a moment, everything felt lighter.

Joel tapped the ash off his cigarette, eyes flicking to mine with a seriousness I wasn’t expecting this early in the day.

"I know it’s not the best time to bring it up," he said, his voice calm but firm. "But why don’t you just block Luke from everywhere?"

The question landed like a slap. Not cruel, just sharp and honest.

I took a slow breath. Deep down, I’d known this would come. The second I told Joel about the breakup, I knew he’d eventually circle back. It was in his nature to ask, to understand.

"I don’t know," I answered, my fingers tracing the edge of the coffee cup. "I think… I think it’s because I still can’t believe it’s really over."

Joel looked at me. There was no judgment in his expression, but something shifted in the way he held my gaze. Like he was trying to figure out where to place me now.

"You didn’t want to break up?"

I met his eyes. There was a tightness in my chest, not quite pain, not quite regret. Just something stuck.

"No, I did," I said. "I want to. But I don’t know. It’s complicated."

And it was. Joel didn’t say anything right away. He just nodded slowly, like he understood more than he let on.

Then my phone buzzed. I looked down at the screen and just sighed.

“Let me guess,” I said, already rolling my eyes. “We had to ask for money.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, instantly catching on. “Luke?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

He leaned in a bit, eyes flicking to my screen. “What did he say?”

I opened the message, already bracing for some pathetic drama. I read it out loud with a sarcastic tone.

“Did you find someone new? Please answer me, baby, I’m missing you. Please, I can’t lose you.”

I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it. Joel laughed too, shaking his head. Then, without asking, he reached over and took my phone.

“Can I reply?” he asked, a grin already forming.

I grinned back. “Go for it.”

He lit up like a kid on Christmas morning, way too excited for someone about to emotionally destroy a man.

“Do you want him to stay away forever?” Joel asked, eyes still on my phone.

“Yes, please,” I said immediately.

“Leave it to me,” he said, his voice low with way too much confidence.

I watched as his thumbs danced over the screen, his expression focused like he was drafting a war speech. After a while, he handed the phone back to me.

I read the message:

Hi, this is Joel. Yeah, the ‘waste of time Joel’ who’s actually having the best time with your ex right now. This is the last message you’re gonna see, so let me make something clear. If you ever text, call, or try to meet him again, I’m going to break you. And we both know I mean that. So go fuck yourself, and maybe find someone else who gives a damn.

I stared at the screen, eyes wide. Then I looked at Joel.

“I could kiss you right now,” I said without thinking.

As soon as the words left my mouth, my face flushed. “Sorry,” I added quickly, trying to cover it up, looking away with a nervous laugh.

Joel just smiled.

Then our food and coffee came. Everything smelled amazing. We started eating, and at some point, I let Joel try a bite from mine. He gave me a piece of his too, and damn his order was actually better than mine. I didn’t say it, though. I wasn’t about to give him that win.

When we were done, we just sat there for a bit, sipping the last of our coffee. I looked at him and asked, “How’s Sarah?”

His face softened instantly. He leaned back, a little smile tugging at his lips as he started talking about her, what she liked, little things she’d done lately, how she was growing up too fast. I didn’t say much. I just listened. There was something about hearing him talk about the people he loves that made me... I don’t know. It made me like him even more.

After a while, I excused myself to go to the toilet. When I got back, Joel was already sitting back down, looking way too smug.

“You didn’t,” I said, already knowing.

He just raised his eyebrows.

“You paid?” I asked.

He nodded, way too proud of himself.

“I told you that next time, I’m getting there first,” I said as I sat down and flipped him off.

Joel just laughed, taking a sip of his coffee like he’d won a gold medal.

After a while, we got up and left the café. We walked through the streets for a bit, just enjoying the morning. Then I turned to Joel and asked, “When are we going to Machu Picchu?”

He looked over at me. “Tomorrow,” he said simply.

I kept watching him. “Are you excited?”

Joel turned his head again, giving me a small grin. ��Of course I am. But we live in today so let’s go and do something.”

I raised a brow. “Something like?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked at me and asked, “Do you trust me?”

I nodded without hesitation.

Joel led the way into a small shop. I waited outside while he disappeared behind the counter, pulling out some papers and cash. When he came back out, a man followed him and waved for us to come along. We did, walking down a quiet side street until the man stopped in front of a beautiful cruiser bike.

Then, without a word, he handed Joel the keys.

Joel thanked him and said, “We’ll return it by the end of the day.”

“Have a nice day, guys,” the man replied with a smile, then walked off.

I turned to Joel, already suspicious. “Joel, what did you do?”

He looked way too pleased with himself. “I might have rented a bike for the day. Gonna go for a ride.”

I laughed. “Of course I want to,” I said as I watched him swing his leg over the seat and get settled.

I walked closer and asked, “Where do I hold on?”

Joel didn’t say a word, he just smirked.

I rolled my eyes and got the message. I climbed on behind him and wrapped my arms around his stomach. He started the engine, and just like that, we were gone.

We were on the road, the wind hitting our faces as the bike cruised forward. On my left, the beach stretched endlessly, waves crashing gently against the shore, glinting under the sun. On my right, the town passed by colorful buildings, little shops, locals moving about their day. Everything felt alive, and yet, all I could really focus on was Joel.

He looked beautiful.

His hair was pushed back by the wind, a few strands fluttering out from under his sunglasses. One hand gripped the handlebar confidently, the other adjusting the throttle like it was second nature. There was something about the way he rode steady, calm, in control. Like the road belonged to him.

And maybe it did.

I held on a little tighter, not just because of the speed, but because being there, behind him, felt strangely perfect.

Joel stopped at a red light, his hand resting easy on the throttle. He turned his head slightly, just enough for me to hear him over the hum of the engine. “Wanna go for a swim?” he asked.

I didn’t even hesitate. “Yes, please.”

He smirked like he’d been hoping I’d say that. When the light turned green, he took off again this time steering away from the busy roads and toward a quieter path. A few minutes later, we pulled up to a small, local beach. It wasn’t crowded at all just a few locals scattered across the sand, the sound of the ocean rolling in and out like it was breathing with us.

Joel parked the bike and got off, stretching his arms as he looked out at the waves. I followed, slipping off my shoes and letting my toes sink into the warm sand.

“You coming in or what?” Joel asked as he started unbuttoning his shirt, already walking toward the water.

God, I was definitely coming in.

I started undressing, tossing my shirt to the sand while Joel did the same. Neither of us had swim shorts, so we were left in just our underwear. Joel didn’t seem to care he stripped down without hesitation, and I couldn’t help but glance. Even soft, he was… big. My face burned instantly.

That’s when I noticed him catching me looking.

He raised an eyebrow with a smug, knowing grin.

Shit.

“Please don’t throw me in or splash me,” I said, trying to sound serious, but the slight tremor in my voice made it clear I was a little nervous.

Joel stepped forward, moving close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him, even with the cool ocean breeze. He grabbed my chin gently, forcing me to look up at him.

“If you say please,” he murmured, his voice low, almost teasing, “fine I won’t.”

I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way my pulse was racing. “Please,” I said again, quieter, but this time with a little more urgency.

Joel’s lips curled into a small smile. He released my chin slowly, his fingers brushing across my skin as he stepped back and then waded into the water.

I didn’t wait. I followed him, the cool waves hitting my ankles, then my knees, as I stepped deeper into the sea. It felt refreshing, the saltwater washing over my skin, but everything else felt so much more intense with him standing right there beside me.

The water felt colder than I expected, and I shivered, but Joel was right there next to me, a quiet presence.

“See? I can behave,” he said, glancing at me with that small grin again, the one that made everything feel so charged between us.

I couldn’t help but laugh, though my heart was still racing. “I don’t trust you to behave,” I teased back, my voice light despite the electricity running through the air.

We swam for a while, laughing and talking like nothing else existed outside that stretch of sea. The water was cool against our skin, the waves gentle as they lapped around us. And then, without even noticing it, we drifted closer, close enough that I could hear Joel breathing, feel the slight ripple of the water between us.

His hand slowly came up and found mine under the surface. It was tentative, almost shy, but once our fingers touched, he held on. I looked at him, startled, my heart thudding.

“Joel… we shouldn’t do this,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t let go. His eyes locked on mine, steady and calm. “Tell me to stop,” he said, his voice low and serious, “and I will.”

But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

Instead, I kept looking at him, like my eyes were trying to find something to hold on to. And maybe they did. Because I didn’t say stop. I didn’t pull away. I just stood there, hand in his, heart in my throat, and everything around us went still.

He looked at me like he knew this was wrong but he didn’t care. And honestly, neither did I.

Joel came closer, and I didn’t move away. We met in the middle, slowly, like we both wanted to make sure it was real. And then he closed the gap. His lips touched mine, soft at first. Careful. Testing.

It was gentle… but it was everything.

I felt his hand slide around my waist, pulling me just a little closer. I placed my hands on his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin and the steady beat of his heart beneath my fingers. The kiss deepened, no longer hesitant. It was fuller now, needier. Like we’d both been waiting for this longer than we wanted to admit.

I looked at him, still catching my breath, and asked quietly, “How long?”

Joel let out a breath, like he’d been waiting for that question. “Mmm…” he thought for a second, eyes flicking up to the sky, then back at me. “I think the first time was when you came back from New York for the summer. But…” he paused, a little smile forming, “I think I started having thoughts when you gave me your headphones on the plane, then fell asleep on me while we were coming into Peru.”

I laughed, heat blooming in my cheeks. “Seriously?”

He grinned. “Yeah. You were just there, all calm and knocked out, and it just… hit me.”

Then he tilted his head, curious. “What about you?”

I hesitated, just for a second, then said, “I think since I was like… fifteen.”

Joel’s eyes widened. “Really?” he asked, genuinely shocked.

“Yeah,” I said, a little laugh slipping out. “Like you didn’t know.”

He shook his head slowly, still processing it. “I didn’t. Not that it would’ve made things different. You were underage.”

His tone wasn’t defensive, just honest. He was being careful with me, even now, and something about that made me like him even more.

We stayed quiet for a moment, just breathing the same air. The water moved gently around us. Then I leaned in and kissed him again, slower this time, deeper. There was no rush. Just the two of us, surrounded by ocean and silence, like the rest of the world didn’t matter.

If I could, I would kiss him all day. The way his hands rested on my waist, steady and sure, made me feel like I was right where I was supposed to be.

Even with the water between us, I could feel him. He was hard. And I was too. I knew he could tell. But we didn’t say anything. We just stayed close, kissing, letting the moment say what words couldn’t.

After we broke apart, Joel looked around the beach. It was quiet, no one in sight. Then he smirked and said, “So, what are we gonna do about this?” His eyes dropped slightly, and I knew exactly what he meant. Our soaked underwear clung to us like second skin.

He raised an eyebrow and asked, “Did you, by any chance, bring a spare?”

I shook my head, already knowing where this was going.

Joel sighed dramatically and said, “Then I guess there’s only one thing we can do.”

He walked toward the shore, the sunlight catching the water on his skin, and slipped off his underwear like it was nothing. He wrung them out and rested them on the back of the motorcycle. I stared at his ass longer than I meant to, then quickly looked away when he turned around. Still, not fast enough to stop my heart from skipping.

The next thing I felt was his arms sliding around me from behind. He pressed his body to mine, warm and dripping with seawater. Then he leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear.

“Your turn,” he whispered.

I started sliding mine off, slow and hesitant, when Joel’s hand found mine. He didn’t say anything. Just helped me ease it down, his touch calm and steady, but it made my skin burn in the best way. Once it was off, he took it from me, walked up the shore again, and placed it right beside his on the bike.

When he came back into the water, the smirk on his face was enough to make my stomach flutter. He tilted his head slightly, eyes locked on mine.

“Ever had a naked bath before?” he asked, voice low and smooth.

I shook my head, barely able to speak. “No.”

His hand came up to my face, warm and gentle as he cupped my cheek. His thumb moved slowly, tracing my skin like he was memorizing it.

“Are you feeling shy,” he murmured, “or does it feel awkward?”

I swallowed hard, heart pounding. “Neither,” I whispered. “You’re just making me anxious.”

His eyes flicked down to my lips, then back up. “Good,” he said softly. “So am I.”

Joel’s lips found mine again, a soft but urgent kiss that deepened with every second. His hands moved, strong and steady, pulling me closer. I wrapped my legs around his waist instinctively, feeling the heat between us.

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against mine, breathing heavy. “You’re driving me crazy,” he murmured, his voice rough but filled with something tender.

I stayed still, feeling the warmth of his body against mine. Joel’s fingers traced down my back before he cupped my cheek gently, lifting my chin to look into my eyes. “But I don’t want this to feel rushed,” he said, his words slow and deliberate. “I want it to be special.”

I looked at him with a crooked smile and said, “Mmm… so special, huh? You’re standing here buck naked under me.”

Joel let out a low chuckle, the kind that rumbled from his chest. “Ain’t my fault you climbed on like that,” he said, shaking his head. “I was tryin’ to be the respectful one here.”

I raised an eyebrow, still grinning. “Sure you were.”

He looked me over, eyes steady, then muttered, “You’re a damn menace, you know that?”

I shrugged. “You like it.”

Joel smirked, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Yeah… I do.”

He leaned in close, his forehead resting lightly against mine. “And I ain't rushin’ this. When I have you, I want it to be right. Not just... beach foolishness.”

My heart beat a little faster at the sound of his voice, low and serious. I didn’t say anything. I just let myself melt into him as he kissed me again, slow and sure.

The thought hit me like a wave. I kissed my father’s friend. And not just a kiss. He was here with me, close, and it all suddenly felt too real. I climbed off him and stepped back, needing a little space to breathe.

Joel noticed right away. He didn’t get upset or confused. He just watched me for a second, then spoke with that calm voice of his.

"Stop thinking."

Those two words carried more comfort than I expected. I looked at him, not sure what to say. He gave me a small, knowing smile.

"You’re alright. We’re alright."

There was something steady in his voice, like he meant it. Like he was sure. And just hearing that made it a little easier to breathe. I didn’t need to have all the answers right now. I just needed to be here.

Then he took my hand and gave me that familiar smirk, the one that always made it hard to stay serious.

"I think our underwear’s probably dry by now," he said.

I couldn’t help but laugh a little, the tension in my chest easing. Trust Joel to say something that pulls me right back to the surface.

"Yeah," I said, still smiling. "We should probably get dressed before someone actually shows up."

He squeezed my hand gently. "Come on, before you get all shy on me again."

We started walking back toward the bike, the sun warm on our backs and the air light between us.

We both got dressed, helping each other with small smiles and quiet touches, like we were still letting the moment between us settle in. Joel tugged his shirt over his head and glanced at me.

"So," he asked, brushing his fingers through his damp hair, "what do you feel like doing next?"

Before I could answer, his phone started ringing. He pulled it from his pocket and looked at the screen, eyebrows lifting slightly.

"It’s your dad," he said.

I froze for a second, but Joel didn’t hesitate. He answered the call and greeted him casually, like it was nothing out of the ordinary.

"Yeah, hey, Mark. All good."

They spoke for a moment, his tone easy and natural. Then I heard him say, "Yeah, he’s with me."

I realized then that my dad must’ve asked where I was. I watched Joel closely, trying to read his face as he continued the conversation.

After hanging up, Joel said we were going to meet him there. He closed the phone and looked at me. “What did he say?” I asked, curious.

“He asked if we’re together and if we’re hungry.” Joel came close, gently grabbing my chin. “Are you hungry?”

I looked into his eyes and replied, “No, not really, but let’s go meet him.” He placed a soft kiss on my mouth, and then grabbed his helmet and a cigarette, resting it on his lip.

“Let me take a picture,” I said, and Joel grinned at me. I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture of him, the light catching his face just right, and the cigarette adding to the effortless coolness he exuded.

I showed him the photo and asked, “Is it okay if I post this?” He shrugged casually.

“I don’t mind,” he said, and his voice carried that easy confidence that made me feel more relaxed too.

I jumped onto the bike after him, and as he started the engine, I grabbed my helmet. He had a cigarette resting between his lips, and I couldn't help but laugh softly to myself. I pulled out my phone again, taking videos of the road and the beach as we sped down the path. The wind whipped through my hair, but all I could think about was how good it felt to be with him in this moment.

I hugged him tighter, feeling the warmth of his body against mine. “Just hold on tight,” Joel said over the rush of the wind, his voice steady, but I could hear the faintest hint of amusement in it.

I tightened my grip around him as the bike zoomed down the road. My face was pressed against his back, and it felt like everything else in the world had faded away. It was just the two of us, the bike, and the open road ahead.

The ride was something out of a dream. The wind was soft on my face, the sea stretched endlessly to my left, and the town glowed golden on my right. As the sun began to dip, brushing the sky in soft pink and amber, we moved through it like we belonged to the moment.

At a red light, Joel turned slightly toward me, his voice low behind the helmet. “Got a cig?”

I smiled, pulled one out, and gently placed it between his lips. He didn’t even have to ask, I lit it for him, watching the tiny flame catch, the spark flickering in the warm light. He gave me a look like he didn’t know how to say thank you without saying everything else, too.

When we arrived at the restaurant, I swung off the bike and pulled off my helmet. Joel followed, ruffling his hair with one hand, the other still holding the helmet. We walked in side by side, and my eyes found my father waiting at a corner table with a half-finished glass of wine.

As soon as he saw us, he smiled. “Did you two have fun today?”

“Yeah,” I said, a bit breathless, trying to hide the way my heart was still running from the ride. “Yeah, it was good.”

Joel chuckled beside me.

My father tilted his head, eyeing the helmets. “Why the helmets?”

Joel answered easily, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I rented a bike for the day.”

“What?” my father laughed. “And you didn’t tell me?”

Joel’s grin widened. “Figured you were busy.”

My father waved it off with a small laugh, his voice light. “Stop, it’s nothing.”

Joel gave him a playful look. “Yeah, nothing.”

I sat between them, quiet, just watching. We ordered something to eat. The table filled with warm plates, light chatter, and small glances that said more than any words we could have spoken.

The whole time, I couldn’t take my eyes off Joel. And the way he kept looking back at me told me he was feeling the same. Every once in a while, our eyes would meet and neither of us would look away.

At one point, I felt his leg brush against mine under the table. It was subtle, just the slightest touch, but it made my breath catch. I didn’t move. I didn’t want to. It wasn’t bold or rushed. It was soft, intentional, like he was just reminding me he was there.

He shifted slightly in his seat, his movements relaxed. I glanced around, a flicker of nerves passing through me, but the long tablecloth draped low enough to keep everything hidden. Then, I felt it. His hand found mine, fingers curling gently around mine beneath the table.

I stayed still, heart pounding. No one noticed. Not my father, who was busy talking. Not the server walking past. It was just Joel’s hand, warm and calm, holding mine like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I looked up at him, and he was already watching me. That same quiet intensity in his eyes. For a second, everything else faded away.

In that moment, it felt like the world had slowed down, and there was only the two of us at that table.

Then my father looked at me, his voice calm, almost casual. “Hey, I know it’s not my place, but… did something happen with Luke? You can tell me. It’s okay.”

The question hit me like a slap. I hadn’t expected him to ask, especially not here, not now. I took a slow breath and gently pulled my hand away from Joel’s under the table. I set it on the tabletop, fiddling with the edge of my fork, trying to ground myself.

“Is it that obvious?” I asked, not quite meeting his eyes.

He didn’t answer right away, just gave me a quiet look that said everything. Yeah, it was obvious.

“We broke up,” I said, my voice low. “Before we came here.”

There was a short silence, not uncomfortable, just thoughtful. Then my father nodded and asked, “Can I ask why? You two looked good together.”

I shifted a little in my seat and stared at the folded napkin on the table. My voice came out quieter than I meant, but steady. “He didn’t respect me. He didn’t want me to come here… and he tried to fill me up with his own problems, like I was supposed to carry them for him.”

Joel’s hand was resting gently on my knee under the table, his thumb drawing slow, quiet circles against my jeans. It wasn’t distracting it was grounding.

My father leaned back, processing what I’d said. He didn’t interrupt or rush in with advice, just nodded slowly. “That’s heavy,” he said. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

I looked up at him and offered a faint smile. “Thanks. I think I just needed space. And being here, with you… with Joel, it’s the first time in a while I feel like I can breathe.”

Joel didn’t say anything, but his hand gave a soft, reassuring squeeze. My father caught the smallest flicker of something in my face, maybe in Joel’s too, but he just smiled and said, “I’m glad you came. Both of you.”

The waiter came back with our drinks and the food not long after, giving us a break from the heaviness. Joel sat up a little straighter, gave my dad a nod, and the mood at the table shifted lighter, easier.

But that hand on my knee stayed right where it was, steady and warm.

After a while, I leaned a little toward Joel and said quietly, “Joel took care of it.” I looked down for a moment, then back at my dad. “Luke was sending me messages… ones that were, let’s just say, not good.” I gave a soft laugh and shook my head. “But Joel took my phone and sent him a message. He hasn’t replied since. So I think that’s a win.”

Joel smirked just a little, like he wasn’t proud of it but didn’t regret it either.

That night, after we finished eating, Joel paid the bill without even asking, just quietly handed his card to the waiter like he always did when he wanted to take care of things. We stood up from the table and made our way outside, the air cooler now with the night fully settled in.

I handed my helmet to my father and said, “Go with Joel.”

He looked at me, surprised. “Really? What are you gonna do?”

I smiled and tucked my hands in my pockets. “I’m gonna walk.”

Joel chuckled and nudged my dad with his shoulder. “Come on, old man. Let me show you what Joel’s ridin’.”

My father laughed, shaking his head, and followed Joel to the bike. I stood on the sidewalk and watched them for a second Joel handing over the second helmet, my dad getting on a little awkwardly while Joel made a comment that probably made him roll his eyes. Then the engine started, a deep, steady rumble that echoed through the quiet street.

As they pulled off into the night, Joel threw one last glance back at me, just enough to catch my eye and smirk.

I started walking slowly, the sound of the engine fading behind me, and for the first time in a while, I didn’t feel like I was running from something. Just walking forward.

I stopped at a convenience store on the way, the kind with flickering lights above the door and that familiar cold air hitting you the moment you walk in. I made my way to the counter and grabbed a pack of cigarettes, but as I stood there waiting, my eyes drifted to the little rack by the register.

Condoms.

For a second, I just looked at them. Then I reached out and, without overthinking it, grabbed three different sizes. Not just one. Because honestly… sure, I had seen Joel’s dick, but I wasn’t exactly out here making scientific measurements. Better safe than sorry, right?

I tried to act casual as I handed them to the cashier along with the cigs. The guy didn’t even blink, just rang me up like this was totally normal. And maybe it was. Maybe it is.

I walked back outside, slipped the cigarettes into my jacket pocket, and the condoms into my bag. The night felt a little different now. Not heavier, just charged. Like something was shifting.

I finally found my way to the hotel, feet a little sore from the walk and the air cooler now that the sun had fully set. I didn’t expect to see Joel there, leaning casually against the entrance, arms crossed, a cigarette between his fingers and this quiet, restless energy around him. But when he spotted me, his whole face softened, like the tension he'd been holding onto finally let go.

“Is everything okay?” I asked as I stepped closer.

Joel dropped the cigarette and crushed it under his boot. “I was just worried,” he said, voice low and honest. “That I left you alone walking back here.”

I shook my head and gave a small smile. “You didn’t leave me. I offered my dad the ride back, remember?”

“I know,” he murmured, eyes locked on mine. “Still… didn’t sit right. You walking alone.”

There was a pause between us, the kind filled with everything we didn’t need to say. The night air brushed between us, but it didn’t feel cold. Not when he was looking at me like that.

“Where’s my father?” I asked as Joel and I stood outside the hotel.

“He went with his friend for a drink,” Joel said casually.

I laughed. “Do you think I’ll have a stepmom when we go back to town?”

Joel chuckled, that low, warm sound that always made my chest feel a little lighter. “Honestly? I don’t know. Wouldn’t be surprised though.”

We walked inside the hotel together, the quiet hum of the lobby settling around us. I wasn’t sure if I should invite him to my room. I wanted to God, I wanted to but I didn’t know if it was too soon. Still, we moved together toward the elevator, that tension between us hanging in the air like static.

When the doors closed behind us, Joel didn’t wait. He stepped in close and pinned me gently against the wall, his lips meeting mine in a way that felt more like a question than a statement. I answered it with a kiss of my own, hands clutching his shirt as my heart pounded.

Then we heard the soft ding of the elevator stopping.

It wasn’t our floor.

We pulled apart fast, trying to look casual just as a couple stepped in, totally unaware. Joel cleared his throat, and I bit my lip, trying not to laugh. He gave me a subtle side glance, amused, like we were both barely holding it together.

When the elevator finally reached our floor and the doors opened again, I stepped out first, the heat of that kiss still burning on my mouth.

We walked down the quiet hallway slowly, like neither of us really wanted the night to end. Our steps were soft, our shoulders occasionally brushing, the silence between us warm and full of something unspoken. When we passed Joel’s door, I didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

We just kept walking until we reached mine.

I unlocked it, the key clicking quietly in the lock, and Joel lingered just a step behind me. He didn’t move to leave right away, just looked at me for a moment. Then he said softly, “Good night.”

“Good night,” I echoed, trying to sound casual, but it came out a little too quiet, a little too disappointed.

I stepped inside, closed the door behind me, and stood there for a second, heart racing. My hand still rested on the handle. My thoughts ran in circles, but one came out clearer than the rest.

No. No, fuck this.

I opened the door again without thinking.

Joel was halfway down the hall, his back to me. I didn’t hesitate I stepped out, grabbed a handful of his shirt, and gently pulled him back toward me.

He turned, eyes meeting mine for a split second before I tugged him inside. We didn’t speak. We didn’t need to. I closed the door behind us and kissed him like I’d been waiting all day to do it

He kissed me back, his hand slipping around my waist, pulling me closer. My arms wrapped around his neck, and for a few seconds, it was just him and me and the heat between us.

Then we paused, breathless. I looked at him and said quietly, “Sorry I didn’t invite you in, I…”

Before I could finish, he kissed me again. It was firmer this time, but still gentle, and when he pulled back he said, “Stop apologizing.”

I didn’t reply. I just kissed him again.

We moved slowly toward the bed, still wrapped up in each other, laughing quietly as we tried not to trip over the shoes and clothes I had left scattered across the floor. Every step felt a little messier, a little more real, until we finally landed on the bed with a soft thud.

Joel leaned up on one arm, looking beside me. His expression changed, and for a second I thought something was wrong until he let out a quiet laugh.

I followed his gaze and immediately groaned. There, right next to us, were the three packs of condoms and my cigarettes that had fallen out of my pocket. I grabbed a pillow and pressed it to my face, but Joel picked them up and held them like he was inspecting something important.

“Oh,” he said, smirking. “I see someone came prepared.”

“I didn’t know what to get,” I mumbled from behind the pillow.

He raised an eyebrow, amused, and looked over the boxes. Without a word, he tossed the smallest pack to the floor. Then the medium one. He held up the last one and glanced at me with a crooked grin.

“Just playing it safe, huh?”

I gave him a look. “I was nervous.”

Joel leaned in, voice soft and low. “Don’t be.”

His words sent a shiver down my spine, but before I could respond, he was kissing me again, slow and deliberate, his hand sliding under my shirt, his fingers tracing lazy circles on my skin. I arched into his touch, my breath hitching as his palm flattened against my stomach.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes searching mine. “You sure about this?”

I nodded, my throat too dry to speak. His fingers brushed my cheek, so gentle it almost hurt, and then he was leaning in again, his kisses softer now, more tender.

Our hands moved together, clumsy but eager, as we started to undress. My shirt came off first, then his, and I couldn’t help but run my hands over the hard planes of his chest, feeling the faint scar that ran across his ribs. He watched me, his gaze heavy, as I traced it with my fingers, my touch reverent.

“You’re so…” I started, but the words caught in my throat.

Joel’s lips curved into a small smile, and he leaned in to kiss me again, his hands finding the waistband of my jeans. Slowly, carefully, he undid the button, then the zipper, his fingers brushing against my skin in a way that made me shiver.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark with want, and whispered, “Can I?”

I nodded, my heart pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it. He didn’t rush, didn’t push he just took his time, easing my jeans down my legs, his hands warm against my skin. Then it was my turn, and I fumbled with the button of his jeans, my fingers trembling as I worked them open.

When we were both down to just our boxers, Joel paused, his eyes locking onto mine. “You’re beautiful,” he said, the words so quiet I almost missed them.

I felt my cheeks heat up, but before I could respond, he was kissing me again, his hands roaming over my chest, my sides, my hips. I reached for him, pulling him closer, my fingers digging into the muscles of his back.

We fell back onto the bed together, our bodies pressing close, and I could feel the hard length of him against my thigh. My breath hitched, and I looked up at him, my heart racing.

Joel’s hand trailed down my stomach, his fingers slipping under the waistband of my boxers, and he looked at me again, his eyes asking the question.

I nodded, my voice barely a whisper. “Yes.”

He didn’t rush. He never did. He took his time, easing my boxers down, his touch so gentle it made my chest ache. Then he leaned in, his lips brushing against mine, and whispered, “You’re perfect.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just kissed him, my hands fumbling with the waistband of his boxers. He helped me, lifting his hips so I could pull them off, and then we were both bare, skin against skin, and the heat between us was almost too much to bear.

Joel’s hand found mine, our fingers intertwining, and he looked at me, his eyes soft but intense. “Tell me if you want to stop,” he murmured, his voice rough with want.

“I won’t,” I said, my voice steady even though my heart was pounding. “I want this. I want you.”

That seemed to break something in him, and he kissed me again, his mouth hot and hungry, his hands roaming over my body. I let myself get lost in it, in the feel of him, the weight of him pressing me into the mattress.

His fingers trailed down my stomach, lower, and I tensed for a moment, unsure of what to expect. But he was so gentle, so careful, his touch light and teasing, and when his fingers brushed against my entrance, I gasped, my hips jerking instinctively.

“Easy,” Joel murmured, his lips brushing against my neck. “Just relax.”

I tried to, but it was hard when his fingers were there, pausing at first, then pressing in just enough to make me shiver. He took his time, working me open with slow, steady strokes, his eyes locked on mine the entire time.

“You’re doing so good,” he whispered, his voice rough but gentle. “Just breathe.”

I did, my chest rising and falling as he continued, his fingers moving with a precision that left me trembling. When he added a second finger, I tensed for a moment, but he kissed me, slow and deep, and I relaxed into it, my body growing accustomed to the stretch.

By the time he pulled his fingers away, I was a mess, my breathing shallow, my skin flushed, and my cock hard and aching. Joel reached for the condoms, his hands steady as he tore one open and rolled it on, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

I nodded, my heart pounding. “Please.”

He leaned in, his lips brushing against mine, and then he was positioning himself, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance. I tensed for a moment, my breath catching, but he was so patient, so slow, and when he started to push in, I let out a shaky breath.

It burned at first, the stretch unfamiliar and intense, but Joel didn’t rush. He took his time, easing in inch by inch, his hand steadying my hip, his lips pressing soft kisses to my shoulder, my neck, my jaw.

“You’re doing so good,” he murmured, his voice thick with need.

When he was fully seated, he paused, giving me time to adjust, his forehead resting against mine. I could feel him trembling, his self-control fraying, but he didn’t move, didn’t push he just waited.

“Okay?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

I nodded, my hands gripping his shoulders. “Yeah. Just… go slow.”

He kissed me, slow and deep, and then he started to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate, each one sending a shock of pleasure through me. I clung to him, my fingers digging into his back, as he rocked into me, his rhythm steady and unhurried.

“You feel so good,” he murmured, his breath hot against my skin. “So fucking good.”

I couldn’t speak, couldn’t think all I could do was feel, the heat of him surrounding me, the friction of every slow, deep thrust building something hot and electric inside me.

Joel’s hand found mine again, our fingers intertwining, and he pressed our joined hands into the mattress, his thrusts growing just a little harder, a little faster. I moaned, my hips rocking up to meet his, and he let out a low growl, his forehead pressing against mine.

“You’re so tight,” he gasped, his voice rough with need. “So fucking perfect.”

I could feel the tension building inside me, coiling tighter and tighter with each thrust, and when Joel’s hand found my cock, I gasped, my back arching off the bed.

“Come for me,” he whispered, his voice dark and commanding. “Let go.”

I did, the pleasure washing over me in waves, my body trembling as I came, hot and intense. Joel followed moments later, his thrusts stuttering as he buried himself deep inside me, his breath hot against my neck.

We stayed like that for a moment, our bodies pressed together, our breathing ragged, and then Joel pulled out gently, his hands steadying me as he moved off of me.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice so tender it made my chest ache.

I nodded, still too breathless to speak, and he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead.

“Good,” he murmured, his hand brushing against my cheek. “That’s good.”

We stayed in bed for a while, tangled up in the quiet, the soft hum of the evening settling around us. The day had worn us out the salty air from the beach still clung to our skin, and the sunburn left behind a faint, warm sting. But I didn’t care. Not with Joel beside me.

Eventually, Joel sat up and slipped out of bed. He moved slowly, like he didn’t want to wake whatever calm had wrapped itself around us. A few moments later, he returned from the bathroom with a damp towel in hand. Without saying anything, he gently wiped my chest and arms, then my face, his touch careful and patient. When he was done, he cleaned himself off too, then looked at me with a small smile.

“Is it okay if I take a shower here?” he asked.

“Of course,” I said, without hesitation.

He gave a quiet nod and disappeared back into the bathroom. The sound of the water running filled the room, steady and soothing. I turned to look out the window. The sun had fully dipped behind the horizon, leaving nothing behind. My lips wouldn’t stop curving upward. I was so happy it almost didn’t feel real.

About fifteen minutes passed before Joel returned. His hair was damp, a towel wrapped low around his waist. He looked more relaxed, more like himself. He sat on the edge of the bed and reached out, his hand brushing against my cheek again.

Without saying anything, I stood up and made my way to the bathroom for my own bath, his touch still lingering on my skin.

When I finished my bath, the room was dim, with only the bedside lamp casting a soft, golden glow across the walls. Joel was already lying on the bed, the sheets draped loosely over his hips. He looked completely relaxed, one arm resting behind his head, his eyes half-lidded with sleep. I could tell he was naked under the sheets, and I didn’t mind.

I walked over slowly, noticing the deep pink of his sunburn across his shoulders and chest.

"That must hurt," I said gently, sitting down beside him. "Want me to put some cream on it?"

He looked up at me and nodded. "Yeah, it stings a bit."

He turned onto his stomach, and the sheet slipped just low enough to tease at the curve of his hips. I bit the inside of my cheek and tried to stay focused as I opened the bottle of sunburn cream and warmed it between my hands. Then I started applying it to his back, moving slowly, rubbing in gentle circles across the burnt skin. His muscles tensed under my touch and then gradually relaxed. I worked my way down, stopping just at the edge of the sheet, being careful but thorough.

Once I was done, he turned back over and met my eyes. I didn’t say anything. I dabbed some of the cream on his face, then his neck and chest, taking my time, treating him with the same tenderness he had shown me all day.

When I finished, he reached for the bottle and gave me a small smile.

"Your turn," he said quietly.

I lay back and he moved beside me, rubbing the cream into my shoulders and arms, then leaning forward to reach my chest. His hands were warm, his touch slow and soothing. We didn’t speak. We didn’t need to. The silence between us was full of comfort, and something else I couldn’t quite name, but I felt it settle deep in my chest.

When we were done, we lay there in the quiet of the room. I slipped off my towel. We were both naked, but it felt natural, like there was nothing between us that needed hiding. Just skin and warmth and the soft rhythm of our breathing.

We settled on the bed, close. Joel put one arm around me and gently pulled me into him. My head rested against his neck, the steady beat of his heart grounding me. I let my fingers wander through the soft hair on his chest, slow and absentminded. He did the same with my hair, his touch feather light, comforting.

The room felt still. The window was cracked open and I could hear the distant sound of waves rolling in and out. My body was tired, my skin still warm from the sun, but I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want this moment to end.

But after some time, I felt the tiredness begin to catch up with me. The day, the sun, the sea it all sank into my body like a heavy blanket. I shifted slightly, curling closer to Joel. I wrapped my arms around him and let my head rest comfortably against his chest. He held me in return, his arms pulling me in like he never wanted to let go.

The quiet wrapped around us like a lullaby, and in the safety of each other’s arms, we slowly drifted off to sleep.

Note: This chapter was so fun to write if you enjoyed it, show some love!

(People that wanted to be tagged: @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal, @deviscave, @lady-artemis27, @moonchild-warrior, @bergamote-catsandbooks)

[the-bengali-diva]

We all will turn old grannies when I actually finish my fic lol my procrastination in the biggest enemy in my life.

Wait lemme just post the first chapter for you to read. Please don't judge it has been 5 months since I wrote it my writing has gotten better in the present ����

Chapter 1: Weird encounters with the hellhound

Atsushi Nakajima had experienced many weird things in his 18 years of life.

One day he just randomly found out that he was a tiger. Well more precisely a human who could turn into a tiger since it was his so-called "Skill" and was randomly recruited by the armed detective agency, an organization operated by skill users who take cases that everyday law enforcement aren't able to conclude. Then he found out he had a bounty on his head and was hunted down by the notoriously infamous Port mafia, a criminal organization who controlled the underworld of the city of Yokohama, also operated by skill users as himself. Well, for the sheer amount of ridiculously high his bounty was, Atsushi should give them the benefit of the doubt. After all, after finding out the exact number, he too, wondered if one could sell themselves. His hunt down mission was handed over to the bloodhound of the Mafia, Ryonosuke Akutagawa, wilder of rashomon, a skill which turns any clothing to a murderous bloodthirsty demon, sharper than any sword and able to even cut through space itself. Ryonosuke Akutagawa was the devil on earth. A merciless man slaughtering down everything that crosses his path. Long story short he had multiple fights to death with him. Atsushi  was almost abducted outside Japan but was able to fight and defeat Akutagawa. The last punch sent the man to the surface of the ocean. When Kyouka, his new found sister, rescued him from the shape in his half passed out state and took him to Kunikida's speedboat, he briefly wondered,

"If we just leave, wouldn't Akutagawa die while drowning?"

But at that exact moment his enchanted tiger senses heard the sound of another speedboat reaching that area of the sinking ship. Assuming it was Akutagawa's backup, he finally let exhaustion take over him. If he had been conscious for a few more seconds, he would have heard Kunikida's voice praising his bravery.

But he wasn't only hunted down by the port mafia, he was also hunted down by an American skill users organization named The Guild. The leader of the Guild, F Scott Fitzgerald, was one of the crazy kinds

. He tried to burn down the whole city of Yokohama with the population of four million, just to get the reality altering book which is only referred to as "The Book". And apparently Atsushi was the key to find it.

To defeat  that madman, he had to team up with none other than Akutagawa Ryonosuke. Never in his life he would've considered fighting alongside the devil incarnate. But he did and they were able to beat Fitzgerald.

But disasters in his life didn't end here. His mission with the Ada to catch some thieves on the man made standard island soon turned into the destruction of the whole city of Yokohama. Four million lives evaporate on thin air leaving just haze that wavered like the lost souls of the dead.

But he was made to time travel and get sent to the right 55 minutes before the mass destruction.

He had only 55 minutes to stop the death of four million people.

But again the goddess of luck turned her face away from him and none other than Akutagawa Ryonosuke, ended up time traveling with him, accusing him of terrorism and wanting to get his head on a platter.

"Why do you hate me so much?" Atsushi asks.

"It's not hate. I can't move forward unless I kill you."

If you ask Atsushi about Akutagawa, he will describe the dark clad man as the most infuriating person he ever had the bad luck to encounter in his entire 18 years of existence.

From the moment that man laid his stormy eyes on him, only insults had poured out of his foul mouth. Atsushi just couldn't comprehend what he did to make the rabid dog hate him so much. He didn't even know him properly!

It was as if the mere existence of Nakajima Atsushi ignited the flame rage inside Akutagawa's conscience. But Atsushi didn't back up. He answered those flames of hatred with his own. He fought with that man to survive. To find the "Shell" and save everyone. But of course nothing in his life was without complications.

When Akutagawa slit his throat, he expected to see a smile of twisted gratification but when he looked over at the older man's face, it was complete silence. The smirk from a moment ago had completely vanished. There was a hint of sorrow as the grey eyes stared  right into the honey-magenta one. Before Atsushi could wonder what that expression meant, the blade went deeper stripping him from consciousness.

Long story short, Akutagawa pulled that stunt to awaken the tiger. After that both of them again fought side by side together to defeat the enemy.

After everything was settled he looked for Akutagawa. But couldn't find any traces of him. When he asked Kunikida he said he never encountered Akutagawa in the first place. The man was gone before Atsushi could even comprehend.

Atsushi had encountered many odd things and Akutagawa Ryonosuke was a major part of it. He couldn't understand that mysterious man at all. The man does everything which is possible in his hands to make his life miserable. But then he claims to not hate him.

Akutagawa Ryonosuke was a complicated man that Atsushi was still too early to fully comprehend. He was his enemy, his rival. The fight with Fitzgerald had given him the opportunity to peak at the psyche of that man. Atsushi had realized Akutagawa Ryonosuke was a man who still thought of himself as weak. Even after wielding such a catastrophic skill like rashomon, that man still thought of himself as weak.

In conclusion, Atsushi Nakajima had experienced many weird things in his 18 years of life.

But it was nothing compared to how his arch nemesis, his mortal enemy, Akutagawa Ryonosuke was behaving for the past few days.

Summer was far from over, and it was scorching hot on that day when the first weird encounter happened.

Ranpo had sent him to the nearest super market  to get some candies and ice cream for the entire office. Nothing but just an attempt to survive in the summer heat because apparently the cooler in the office was broken and needed a technician to fix it.

Insects buzzed through the bushes as Atsushi walked through the pathway, humming some random tune he heard Junichiro play on his phone. Suddenly he bumped into someone's chest. Just as he looked over to apologize he froze. Before him stood Akutagawa. Staring him down with an unreadable expression.

Why was he here?

Was he here to fight him?

Was Akutagawa going to start attacking him for bumping right on him?

Thoughts float through the speed of light inside the tiger boy's brain. It was the first interaction with Akutagawa after the Standard island incident and he just couldn't wrap his head around the situation. Just as he was about to get on a defense position he heard him utter

"Atsushi"

Atsushi's head snapped right back at Akutagawa's face making eye contact with the older's abyssal dark eyes.The shadow from the trees and sunlight peaking through the branches made a fluttering dance of light and shadow over the man's face. Akutagawa had never used his first initials and always referred to him as the man tiger, reducing him to just his skill and animosity. But here he was, uttering his name which such devotion Atsushi could not comprehend to be something worldly. The sound of his name on Akutagawa's tongue was so unfamiliar he almost didn't recognize it. But something that startled Atsushi more than his name being uttered was the gaze in Akutagawa's eyes. Those eyes, so familiar but at that moment looked so unfamiliar it frightened him. The liquid gaze held the emotions of the entire universes, or so Atsushi seemed to hallucinate.

Atsushi stuttered,

"W-What happened to you Akutagawa!"

It was after saying the words he finally noticed what the older was wearing. It was not his everyday long black coat and white blouse with trousers, but wore a black overcoat over a back shirt. In his neck, laid a silver heart shaped pendant. What a peculiar thing to wear for someone who's called the blood hound of the Mafia.

Before Atsushi could question him further, Akutagawa turned his hills and started walking in the opposite direction. As Atsushi watched the man disappear in the distance, a cold wind blew by, disturbing the trees and making a shiver run down Atsushi's spine.

"What the hell was that?"

___________________________________________________________

When Atsushi  finally arrived at the office and was handing over everyone their share of goods, Ranpo stared at his face for longer than what should be considered normal. He was trying to calculate something but after a while turned his gaze down and took his candies silently.

At that time Atsushi had a peculiar feeling that even Ranpo wasn't able to piece together and and find the answer he was looking for on Atsushi's face. Really what an absurd thought. It was Ranpo they were talking about.

But everything just becomes more absurd and weird as the days go by.

Ok so not exactly a sskk ask but more like a concept idea of a fic

So we know there are like uncountable alternative universes in the bsd verse, so imagine this,

A universe where Atsushi dies and Akutagawa breaks, breaks to the point he'd do anything to get a glimpse of his "ordeal" one last time?

So what if he finds the book, and starts dimension hopping to find his Atsushi again? 👀

But plot twist!

Atsushi is dead in every universe. In every universe Akutagawa lives, but Atsushi dies.

As if it was Akutagawa's destiny to find the other half of his soul, but lose him, just like he lost his friends. As if fate was making a mockery of him, giving him a reason to live then snatching it away every single time.

So what does Akutagawa do? He uses the book to create a fourth dimension, where he can see past and future running free.

He watches every universe's Atsushi's memories, he sees Atsushi's soul. And realizes even if they are in different bodies and circumstances, in his core Atsushi was always the same.

He does it for who knows how long. For centuries perhaps. Centuries chasing after Atsushi and reliving his memories because that was all he could do to get closer to him. ( Don't ask me how he's alive for centuries this is bsd pull up some anime logic)

To the point he knew Atsushi's soul more intimately than he ever knew his own.

He goes to the universe where atsu's was in the pm. See how Atsushi had fallen into the darkness. Then was healing under headmaster Mori. But for some cruel mockery of fate, he's pushed into the abyss again and dies ( pull up something like the pm wanted him after the chuuya crashout then he died saving Yokohama)

Beast Akutagawa stands before a grave, feeling as if someone ripped half of his soul away from him. How strange, he never even properly knew him, so why is he feeling like this?

The grave was the post mafia's white reaper's, Nakajima Atsushi's.

( the reason I'm making the "he didn't know him that much" statement is because in this au he dies shortly after the final battle and akutagawa didn't make Atsushi his reason to live)

They sure have talked about things only they could've understood, talked about their past, their similarities. They've also fought to death.

But nothing could explain the dangerous emptiness he feels, the ache of his heart is too unbearable.

"I never knew you and the white reaper were this close, Akutagawa." Oda says from behind.

"we weren't" replies Akutagawa

Then they walk away from the spot.

Dimension hoping Akutagawa was there, seeing the conversation unfold. And he had the answer to this Akutagawa's question.

It was because Atsushi and Akutagawa were soulmates, their souls bound in a way no one could understand. That's why when one dies the other's soul is ripped in half. It was a tragedy that in this universe they weren't able to spend much time with each other, even though their first meeting started with them spilling their souls to each other. If there was a universe where they could've been friends, and perhaps lovers, it was this one.

Yep should mention first that they were soulmates in this au concept lol.

Akutagawa's heart aches. No matter how many times he relives Atsushi's death, it never gets easier or less painful. Every time he feels like he felt on that day when he lost his own Atsushi, the silver haired boy smiling at him, mouthing something he couldn't hear, before death consumes that beautiful soul.

Akutagawa never understood why fate has to take Atsushi instead of him. If there was someone who deserved to live, it was always Atsushi Nakajima, not Akutagawa Ryonosuke.

With the ache in his heart and the expectation of another disappointment, he pulls up the book and dives into another world.

But this time he's In front of the person he wanted to see for who knows how long, the fallen angel, the divine tiger, but more importantly, the beautiful boy Nakajima Atsushi.

Atsushi stood before him, breathing and alive.

He'd finally reached the original world.

Yeah ik this was a stupid idea but hey we all are sskk fanatics here! Let's have a little fun with ideas ok! Who cares if it's ooc?

Pardon my language but ohhh my fucking God I actually teared up reading this (can you tell I'm emotionally unstable)

THIS. THIS IS THE SSKK ANGST I LIVE FOR that also breaks me into a million pieces and haunts me forever oh my God this fic concept is so sad and so Sskk-esque

IS ANYONE WRITING THIS?? I WILL ACTUALLY WRITE THIS. CAN I WRITE THIS 🙏

I would've crashed out if this concept didn't end happy reading this ask was an emotional rollercoaster (btw I love all your sskk asks they make my day)

I love this idea/concept oml especially how much it deep dives into Akutagawa's character (and I don't think it's OOC at all!) but also I'm sobbing 💔

AAA THIS CONCEPT IS JUST SO COOL I LOVE IT

[sheltoner]

i need to not be allowed to read fics that are longer than 10,000 words because i try to read them all at once and i stay up too late

[skitskatdacat63]

I looked forward in a fic I'm reading bcs the authors note was like "it feels bittersweet to finish this fic off" and the last chapter is titled "a year later" I DONT WANNNAAAAAAA STOP WHAT HAPPENS THAT REQUIRES A YEAR LATER UPDATE

[lildoodlecat]

Immensely disappointed to find there are no wangxian podfics at 20+ hours. What am I supposed to do, record one mysel— *forcefully dragged away*

[honey-tongued-devil]

[Arcane preference]reacting to their s/o calling them husband/wife for the first time

I’ve finished the first chapter of the long fic about Universe 7 (Anytime it rains). As soon as my second beta reader gives me the okay, I’ll post it. While I wait, I’ve written the first headcanon (out of three I’m definitely planning to write and post in the next few days) and picked up the drawing of Steb I’d left unfinished. I’m slow, as usual, but English isn’t my first language, and I’m juggling a lot of things at once. Enjoy!

socials: | INPRNT | | Tip Jar | | X | | BlueSky | | Ao3 | poster: | Jayce poster | | Silco poster | |Silco +self insert poster 1| | Steb poster | if you want to read the fluff longfic with vander and his happy family + Silco x reader you can find it here! ↠ Masterlist

Jayce:

-This man is planning to put a ring on your finger as soon as possible, okay? -Between the academy, public appearances, and both theoretical and practical studies, there isn’t a single moment when he’s really in the right mindset to bring up the topic -The worst part is that, deep down, he’s terrified of putting pressure on you -That’s why, the first time he hears you refer to him as “my husband” during a gala with noble families, he almost chokes -He has to gather all his strength not to grab the interlocutor by the shoulders and ask if they also heard you say that word -He’ll try to keep his composure, maybe responding to your remark with, “Yes, exactly. Her husband really did say/do/design that.”

Viktor:

-It’s not a thought he’s ever really entertained; it never crossed his mind -Part of it is that science is his priority, and part of it is that marriage doesn’t seem like something meant for people like him, -The first time you call him “your husband”, that thought suddenly becomes real in his head, and he can’t help but lean against a wall and wait for the other person to leave -“So, I’m your husband now, huh? Mmm… I don’t mind, a bit pretentious, though…” he jokes, making you roll your eyes -Now, more than ever, he has no idea what to do. He’ll give you a bronze ring from a machine he’s building -“Until I can get one worthy of you.”

Ekko:

-Yes -That’s it -The end -Okay, seriously. The idea of being certain that something will last forever is probably his greatest wish -The first time you call him your husband, he doesn’t see it coming -“Wait, you’re married?” -“I was talking about you, Ekko.” -The moment you say it, he points to his chest, you see his lip tremble slightly, and his eyes grow shinier -He won’t stop talking about it for a week, and at least once a day, he’ll ask if you still want to marry him, if you’re sure, if you love him -No rings before S2; the promise is made by drawing something for each other on your masks and clothes -After S2, he still can’t afford a ring, but now that life is more stable, he can start thinking about a more traditional gift, like a piece of jewelry

Vander:

-This man is ravenous for any family role you might offer him—fiancé, father, husband. Anything goes -The first time you call him “husband”, he plays it cool but will seize the first opportunity to return the favor by telling a customer you’re married -As soon as he can, he’ll squeeze your hand, even under the counter -The idea of being married and having a complete family is everything he’s ever wanted -He won’t stop calling you “my beautiful wife/husband” from that moment on.

-You said it first; you can’t take it back. Now you have to get married

Silco (old man):

-This man’s only sin is loving too much, but I’ll save that reflection for another post -Having no ties other than his illegitimate daughter doesn’t make him someone who’s particularly keen on formalities -The first time you call him “your husband” is in front of Sevika, and he slowly turns to look at you, while she slowly turns to look at him -“Did I... miss something?” Sevika asks, but he doesn’t reply, still perplexed, before glancing at her and saying, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” -He’s relieved but doesn’t show it. He can’t afford to just yet -As soon as he confirms you were serious, your name will be flamboyantly forgotten—he’ll constantly refer to you as “my wife/husband”

Silco (young):

-The man who survives on love -The first time you call him your husband is in front of Vander, and while Vander bursts out laughing, Silco chokes on his drink -“Are you serious?” He’s so happy that his pale iris are completely swallowed by his dilated pupils -He grabs a pen and draws a ring around your finger -To his credit, he works in a mine, so it’s hard to do better than that, but it becomes the goal that keeps him going -Completely focused on family, the future, and anything that sees the two of you together and happy

Steb:

-The first time you call him your husband is at a dinner among enforcer families, and being mute doesn’t stop him from stealing the spotlight -He whips around, blinking slowly with only his third eyelid in a gesture of confusion -When he’s 100% sure he understood what you said, his eyes widen, the small membranes under his eyes flutter madly, and even the barely visible gills near his jaw gasp for a moment -Someone says, “I didn’t know you were married,” and he immediately nods enthusiastically, not giving you time to take it back -Within 48 hours, he’ll have the ring ready

Jinx:

-The first time you call her “your wife”, she freezes -“What did you just call me?” -She’s used to being a little sister, a big sister, a daughter—she’d never thought she could be a wife. Family ties aren’t chosen, but the idea that someone would want her in their life so much they’d marry her feels incredible -“You want to marry me? Really? Why?” -She bursts into tears, and it’ll take at least 24 hours of cuddling in bed to calm her down -After that, she’ll run to her father to announce that she’s now a married woman

Vi:

-She might not be Silco and/or Vander’s blood daughter, but she’s inherited their deep desire for family -From her family’s tragic fate to Vander’s, she’s always seen family as the ultimate aspiration -When you call her “your wife” for the first time, she doesn’t notice right away, but a full minute later, she whirls around to look at you, as if to ask for confirmation -“Say it again.” -“...You need to buy bread?” -“No, all of it.” -“My wife needs to go buy bread.” -“Again.”

-"My... wife?"

-"Again"

Caitlyn:

-Has she thought about it? Yes -Was she planning to act on it? Not exactly -Caitlyn struggles with emotions and feelings, which is why she hesitates and takes her time -But when you first call her “your wife”, her brain completely shuts off—she just stares at you, unable to hear a single word being said -If you or someone else asks her a question, she’ll snap out of it and respond, -“My wife/husband said everything.” Even if it makes no sense as an answer, making you laugh and leaving the other person baffled

Mel:

-Not a single flicker of surprise—the first time you call her “your wife”, she remains completely composed -“So, I’m your wife?” she asks as soon as you’re in private, approaching you like a feline. You can almost hear the purr in her voice -She’s amused but also intrigued by whatever game you’re playing -The idea of marriage is complicated for her—on one hand, it feels like it would limit her freedom to act, while on the other, unresolved family issues seem to devour her at the mere thought of starting a new cycle -She’ll tell you to go ahead, to get married, but she’ll also ask for time -In the meantime, though, she’ll start using the term “husband/wife” with you—she likes the way it rolls off her tongue

Sevika:

-Between the work she does, the environment she lives in, and all the interesting circumstances of her life, marriage has never been on her radar -Not to mention that in Zaun, it’s not exactly a common practice—people just move in together and build families when they can, without much fuss over formalities or bureaucracy -The first time it happens, she’s playing cards with the other goons, and you casually ask if “your wife is winning” -Her first reaction isn’t even hers—it’s the others’. Dustin, the blond goon with the lazy eye, almost starts crying, embarrassing her -Don’t worry, she’ll make you pay for it at home -She won’t ask to formalize anything, but in true Zaunite fashion, she’ll consider you married, plain and simple

[stylesispunk]

"I only see daylight"

Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: What is waiting for you after life ends? Joel woke up to a life he had spent missing this whole time. You are there, Sarah is there, and a baby too. w.c: 1,7k (tiny baby) warnings: mentions of blood, crying, and mentions of an afterlife. I don't know if you believe in that but I like to think about it.

a/n: I don't know if you could consider this a fix-it fic, but I hope you do because I love this little idea I had the other day. I know it's short, but I have requests to work in and more "Blind faith" chapters to work in. Happy reading. Please remember to reblog and comment. I appreciate them very much.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

“Joel…Can I ask you something?” Ellie asked, clearing her throat.

He kept his eyes on the road ahead of them but gave a small nod. “Shoot.”

“Did you… I mean, before all this. Did you ever… you know. Love someone? Like, for real?”

Joel’s grip on his backpack tightened. For a moment, he wasn’t walking on that road anymore. He was somewhere else. Back when he was younger, with his baby girl in his arms and a woman’s laugh in his ears.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, I did.”

Ellie looked over at him, surprised by the weight in his voice.

“Who was she?”

He hesitated, then let out a breath. “Her name was… well, she came into my life the day Sarah was born. Her mother… she didn’t stick around. But she did. God, she did. Never asked for anything. Just… showed up with a smile and a cup of hospital coffee. Held Sarah like she was her own. She was her mother and she was my wife.”

Joel smiled faintly, a ghost of a smile. “We were together for years. Raised Sarah, built a life in Austin. Didn’t even get around to getting’ married. World ended a month before that.”

Ellie was quiet, watching him. “What happened to her?”

Joel’s eyes clouded. “The outbreak happened.”

He didn’t say more. He didn’t have to.

He still couldn’t say out loud how you died on his arms two days after Sarah.

How the smell of fresh coffee that filled the kitchen at home became the smell of blood sticking on his hands while he tried to keep you alive.

The snow fell fiercely outside the lodge. Joel’s breath ragged and shallow.

He couldn’t take the pain anymore. He couldn’t survive another punch against his face. He was dying.

He could barely see Ellie, screaming some feet away from him. Pleading.

“Joel, please get up.” “Joel, please” she choked.

Oh, his baby girl. He wanted to swallow all the pain, but his broken bones and body could barely bear the pain.

One push, one try. But something sharp on his neck stole his lasts breaths away.

His vision blurred. The world dimmed. In those mere last moments, last seconds. He saw them.

Ellie crawling to him.

But he also saw you. Beautiful as ever, eyes wet, reaching for him.

And Sarah just as she was that night in Austin, her smile breaking his heart.

Joel tried to speak, but no words came.

A tear slipped from the corner of his eye.

Then, nothing.

All went black.

For a moment, or perhaps forever, there was nothing. No pain. No cold. No Ellie’s voice calling his name. Just silence.

The soft chirping of morning birds. The faint hum of a ceiling fan. And the distant smell of fresh coffee.

Joel’s eyes fluttered open.

His breathing was steady, his body didn’t hurt. No blood. No searing pain in his ribs. No snow or cracked lodge ceiling above him.

Instead, a familiar ceiling fan turned lazily overhead, and pale morning light streamed through the curtains of his room.

At home, in Austin.

He sat up abruptly, a cold sweat clinging to his skin.

The bed side next to him was made, your side, neatly tucked like you always did. A glass of water sat untouched on your nightstand. The clock on the wall read 7:14 AM. The same perfume he had never got to forget lingered on your pillow, soft and warm, and so goddamn real Joel felt his chest tighten.

His hand shot up to his face — searching for cuts, bruises, something. But there was nothing. His hair was damp with sweat, but his fingers came away clean.

He swallowed hard, heart thudding in his ears.

What the hell was this?

Joel swung his legs over the side of the bed, bare feet pressing against cool wooden floors. He could hear movement in the kitchen, the gentle clink of a spoon against a mug, the scrape of a chair.

His throat closed up.

It was you, your laugh echoing through the house.

Soft. Carefree. Real.

And for a moment, he was terrified to move, terrified that if he stood and crossed that room, it would disappear — like every other goddamn thing in his life had.

But the pull was too strong.

Joel pushed open the bedroom door.

The house was just as he remembered it. The old photographs lining the hallway. Sarah’s soccer trophies. The faded denim jacket slung over the back of a chair. Everything untouched by fire, or blood, or the passage of time.

And then, there you were.

Standing in the kitchen, back to him, pouring coffee into two mugs. One of them — his old favorite. The one with the chipped rim.

You turned as if you felt his eyes on you.

That same smile. That same light in your eyes.

“Morning, stranger,” you teased, unaware of the storm brewing in his chest.

Joel couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.

He crossed the room in three long strides and pulled you into him, arms wrapping around your waist so tight it made you laugh, the mug nearly slipping from your hand.

“Whoa! Easy, cowboy,” you chuckled against his shoulder. “Bad dream?”

His hand cradled the back of your head, burying his face in your hair, drinking in your scent, the warmth of your body.

“I… I don’t know,” he rasped, voice thick.

“Hey,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to look at him. “I’ve been right here, Joel. I’m not going anywhere.”

And when you kissed him , soft, steady, grounding, it felt like everything broken inside him finally came home.

He kept his forehead pressed to yours for a beat longer, eyes shut, breathing you in like a man starved. But then, something shifted. His hand, still resting against your waist, slid down — and froze.

A gentle curve. A fullness where there hadn’t been one before.

Joel’s brow furrowed, his eyes snapping open. He pulled back just enough to look down, and there it was.

Your belly, round and unmistakably swollen beneath the soft fabric of your, his worn t-shirt. His mouth parted, but no sound came out.

You followed his gaze, a smile tugging at your lips. “Hey,” you murmured, resting your hand over his. “Don’t look so spooked.”

Joel swallowed hard, eyes flicking from your face to your stomach, then back again. His heart thundered in his chest, a thousand questions fighting for room.

And then you said it, soft and calm, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Ellie is right inside here.”

Joel’s breath caught.

That name.

Ellie.

The word carved through him like a lightning strike. His mind, already fragile, started to crack along the seams. He stared at you, at the tender way your hand cradled your belly, at the glow in your eyes, like this had always been your life.

“Ellie?” he croaked, his voice barely a whisper.

You smiled, brushing a thumb along his jaw. “Yeah?” you nodded, looking a bit worry because of his state. “Remember doctor says she’s stubborn already.” You chuckled, your eyes shimmering with a mix of joy and mischief. “Wonder where she gets that from.”

Joel staggered back a half-step, running a trembling hand through his hair. The room spun. A wave of warmth and memory and heartbreak crashing into him all at once.

He remembered Ellie. How couldn’t he? He remembered snow and blood and a lodge floor.

But here, here she wasn’t a girl with a mouthful of trouble. She was…

His and yours.

For real.

A future that had never existed. A life stolen from him, given back in pieces.

Joel’s vision blurred. His knees buckled slightly, and you caught his arm.

“Joel,” you whispered, concern flashing across your face. “Hey — hey, it’s okay. Breathe, baby. You’re alright. We’re alright.”

He clung to you like a man drowning.

Joel clung to you like a man drowning, his face buried in the curve of your neck, your hand stroking the back of his head, steady and familiar. You felt his breath hitch, the tremble in his arms. Whatever nightmare had clawed at him, it was still lingering in his bones.

Then, he heard the footsteps.

Light, quick steps padding down the hallway. The soft creak of the floorboard outside the room.

“Dad?” a young voice called.

Joel stiffened. His head jerked up.

And there she was.

Sarah.

Alive. Whole.

Framed by the doorway in her faded hoodie and denim shorts, backpack slung over one shoulder, a little messy ponytail, like she always rushed through it in the mornings.

“Dad, Mom — it’s getting late for school,” she groaned, rolling her eyes like any other teenager. “I already saw uncle Tommy waiting out front, and if I have to listen to him sing along to the radio one more time, I swear I’ll jump outta the truck.”

Joel’s breath punched out of him like he’d been hit. His lips trembled.

“Baby girl…” he rasped.

Sarah blinked, confused. “You okay, Dad? You look kinda… weird.”

You smiled gently, your heart cracking a little at Joel’s expression, and stepped toward Sarah, brushing a hand down her arm. “Hey, sweetheart — give your dad a second, okay? He’s just… he had a rough night.”

Sarah sighed, the way only a 12-year-old could. “Ugh, bad dreams again? Should’ve told him not to eat chili dogs that late.”

Joel let out a strangled laugh, a sound halfway between a sob and a chuckle.

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to Sarah’s temple. “Uncle Tommy’s taking you today. Go grab your stuff, and I’ll be out in a sec.”

Sarah groaned but turned, heading back toward the hall. “Tell him I call dibs on the front seat!” she shouted over her shoulder.

The moment she disappeared around the corner, Joel collapsed back to your arms, his hand dragging down your skin.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered.

“You’re safe, Joel. You’re home.” You promised as you caressed his neck with your fingertips

His eyes, wet and wide, met yours. “Is this… is this real?” His voice cracked like it was too fragile to ask. “You. Sarah. Baby Ellie. Is this…?”

You leaned, pressing your forehead to his.

“It’s real,” you promised softly. “It’s ours.”

And for the first time in years, in decades, Joel Miller cried.

He didn’t know what he had done to deserve to see this light again.

But whoever had mercy on him. Gave him the chance to live a second life in daylight.

With you, Sarah, and a baby, Ellie.

[awrkive]

NEIGHBOR BLUNDER, pt. 1 — JJK

in hindsight, you should have seen it coming. had always known your luck – or lack of it, thereof – and the universe's meticulous plan of your downfall made it easy for you to get tangled up in a series of unfortunate events, which presents itself as the neighbor that lives across from you, jeon jungkook.

PAIRING jungkook x (fem) reader

GENRE r18+ (fluff, angst, (eventual) smut) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

CHAPTER WORD COUNT 18.2k

CHAPTER WARNINGS/MISC neighbor!jk, bsf!jimin, accountant!oc software engineer!jk, jk and jimin are chaebols lol, minjoon boyfriends <<<<3 mature language, this chapter's pretty tame (for now) but theres a lot of FLIRTING, if u squint this story is a mosaic of every shows i love lmfao, for the apartment complex just imagine the namil villa from the kdrama fight for my way NB!JK VISUALS

NOTES hello im back!!!!! remember the jk in tech xmas fic i told you about last year? this is it except its not a xmas fic anymore lmfao. had an idea to make it a full blown story and im just sooo excited to share it with u guys on this platform!!!!! if ur from wattpad, the chapter system is gonna be a little different here but the content is not <3 anyway let me know what u guys think!

READ ON WATTPAD | AO3

PART ONE | TWO

You never settled your relationship with the summer season. To put it simply, it was a love and hate sort of thing; you liked that it was dry, and the air always felt like it was filtered and healthy even though you were well-aware of the current shit-state of the Earth's ozone layer. There were beams and sunlights and street vendors and people lying on the park's ground. Summer felt nostalgic, like the first time you bought a vinyl in highschool and listened to Fleetwood Mac in secret because your mom was certain they peddled cocaine and all sorts of illegal drugs, and with a highschool friend you no longer talk to, not because of a friendship-breaking betrayal but something more melancholic than that like drifting apart as you got older — the ambience, generally, was what you loved the most about it.

But regardless of those, summer got hot. Sure, you could forgo layers of clothing and it was always nice to lounge about in short bottoms and strapless tops and sandals, but at the end of the day, you needed to set your AC on the lowest temp, and it cranks up your monthly rent a greater percentage which causes a detrimental result to your monthly pay. (And you always had to reapply make-up every now and then whenever you went outside because if not, you'd be a sweating mess.)

In the grand scheme of things, though, there was nothing more than you disliked than Park Jimin, your best friend since college, asking you to be his plus-one on his mom's birthday dinner. For the second time.

“I told you, Jimin, I’m not doing that anymore. Your mom called me fat and recommended a bunch of expensive skin care products to treat one single zit on the side of my forehead the last time you brought me there. I hid that with my bangs and she still saw it, like what the hell? The baked lasagna might have tasted good but I’m not stepping one foot in your house ever again.” You spat out, rolling your eyes at your friend who just dramatically flopped himself on your bed.

“Okay, so I’m really sorry about my mom. She’s a…” He trailed off, looking at you with meaningful eyes that weighed words you knew he couldn't exactly say without feeling bad, and you sighed. Nodded in understanding. Jimin’s face contorted into a cringed expression at that. “... yeah. But! Please. I swear! This is the last time. I just really need you to be there. They’re setting me up with Heesu, okay? You know that snotty nepo baby of the Kang clan who owns Kang Tech?”

“Jimin, you’re a nepo baby.”

He hit you with a pillow. “I am but I can earn a hundred thousand won without my family’s money. They can cut my credit cards and I'll still be thriving.”

You broke the serious demeanor and laughed loudly at his seemingly confident claim.

“I’m sorry but you could not even get a job at a burger joint without some nepotism let alone have a hundred thousand without your dad’s credit cards. Bitch, you’re just lying.”

“Fuck you. I was employee of the week at Seventh Street Burger.” He backfired, referring to that point in time in your sophomore year where you picked up a part time job during the summer at a burger joint and Jimin just decided to come along randomly. He got it because the owner knew of his dad.

“Yeah, because Sowon had a crush on you?” You said, remembering the owner’s daughter, who was also helping out at the store at that time. She was so smitten by Jimin you almost felt bad for her.

“Okay, fair, point taken. No need to be such a bitch about it,” Your best friend said with a dismissive wave of his hand, telling he was over it. You only laughed at that, boisterously, might you add, just to piss him off for no reason. Jimin deadpanned. “But seriously. I think they’re planning to marry me off to Heesu.”

Your face fell out of genuine concern this time.

“Oh my god, really?”

Jimin once again cringed visibly. “Yeah. I mean from a business lense it makes sense. But me marrying at 33? That makes me – like – a child groom.”

“Oh… yeah…” you trailed off, sympathizing with him. Not that you've ever been in the situation where your parents forced you in a sham marriage for their own wealth because there was no wealth to begin with. But you felt bad for Jimin. You always have, when it came to this particular subject.

You knew how it was with rich people, having known Jimin for almost half your life. It was true that arranged marriages were still a thing, and while Jimin seemed that he could pretty much do everything he wanted because of his free-spirited nature, his parents could still most likely make him marry someone he barely knew. Solely for business.

“Ugh.” Jimin groaned. “Should I just come out at the dinner so they can stop linking me to women? I’m gay as fuck, man. My cousin Park Youngdam would have a field day given that homophobic fucktard has been calling me the f word ever since he learned it in seventh grade.”

You shook your head, visibly cringing at his words. You didn't have family yourself. It was your mom who raised you alone for all your life, until she died five years ago. Didn't know any extended family. But frankly, you thought it was better that way than to deal with a complicated family like Jimin's.

“Nah. I mean if you’re ready, well, do it. But like, your parents are…” You two shared a look together again, and Jimin just slapped his palms over his face, indicating his doom. Your face twisted with another shot of deeper sympathy for him.

“This is it for me. They’ll marry me off to Kang Heesu and we’ll fly to the US and live in Massachusetts to fulfill her white picket fence fantasy. I’ll be a miserable husband and she'll be an even more miserable wife because she’ll eventually find out I’m gay. The neighbors will start talking and the white republicans will shun me out of the town church. We’ll have a surrogate baby and—”

“Jimin, what the fuck!” You hit him hard on his arm as you couldn't keep a straight face anymore at his dramatic monologue. “You’re not gonna marry Heesu and you won't live in fuckass Massachusetts and no one’s gonna shun you out of the town church and you won't have a surrogate baby.”

“It’s a possibility.” Jimin shrugged.

“I feel like you're guilt-tripping me into agreeing to be your date again at your mom's birthday dinner and I think that's very evil of you.” You said, squinting your eyes at him.

“Well, duh? But also, I’m really kind of lowkey highkey scared they’ll marry me off to someone now that I’m pushing forty.”

"You're quite literally seven years away from forty." You countered.

He looked at you with an expression of I know right! And he told you so.

"That's what I said to mom and dad, but they're acting like my sperm will freeze next year. God, I can't stand them!" 

Jimin, for all his jokes and unserious and bitchy behavior, was someone extremely important to you. Yeah, sure, he was rich as hell and he annoys you when he says something that reeks of too much nepotism but he was never intentionally snotty, never thinks he was better than everyone else (Jokes about how he thinks he has the fattest and juiciest ass in the world, though), and he wasn't at all like the rich people you've had the misfortune of interacting with at his mom's birthday party last year. He might be a self-proclaimed bitch but if you put him together with those people, he might as well be one of God's disciples.

For all his crass language and rather strong personality, Jimin was a doting friend who was there for you every single time. You could call him up at 3 am and he’d be at your door bringing Chinese take out and two tubs of ice cream, ready to hear you vent about your stupid job or a guy that you fumbled by being weird and off-putting because you didn't know how to handle a relationship. He was the kind of friend who would defend you in front of anyone else but will mercilessly tell you off and list down all points of your stupidity once you were in closed doors. He was the kind of friend that would ask you to be his pretend partner at a birthday dinner party, but he was your best friend ultimately and even if you had a big problem with his family and their extremely traditional (read: toxic) ways, you didn't want him to be pressured into coming out just so he could avoid to be engaged off to another random heiress. Didn't want him to do something he wasn't ready for. Didn't want him hurt or anything of the sort.

The last dinner wasn't even that bad, if you were to be honest. His parents were shitty, yeah sure, and the other guys in there that consisted of politicians and businessmen and people in the showbiz industry were something taken out of the toilet bowl for how stinky their elitist, better-than-you personalities were, but you both just totally forgot all about it by getting wasted at the local bar right after leaving. Not that his mom’s words didn't sting a bit or didn't make you a little conscious, but at the end of the day, you weren't actually dating Jimin so you didn't care what his parents thought of you.

Additionally, you didn't have something planned for the next two weeks when the birthday would be happening. You were supposed to, but that ship has long sailed when you fumbled a date with the guy at the IT department. For the record, you didn't really like him that much and he talked too much about his job and while you didn't mind that, it was getting a little too tiring. If you wanted IT lessons you would’ve majored in it in college. Still, Shin Taemu was handsome. And he wore those rounded glasses. Was tall. Had nice arms. Too bad he wanted to be the next Mark Zuckerberg. Fuck that guy.

“Ugh, I don't know,” you groaned. “It's just so disgusting to be your girlfriend, okay?”

Jimin audibly gasped. “How dare you? A lot would jump on this ass.” He said with incredulity seeping through his voice, pointing to his bum.

You rolled your eyes. “Not me, obviously. Before you take offense—”

“Offense taken.”

“—it’s just that you're like my cousin and when you call me honey I want to crawl out of my own skin.”

Jimin laughed at that while you looked miserable, remembering those moments from last year. Seriously, how could you have fooled anyone in that party that you were banging? You swore you looked like Ariana Grande and Troye Sivan in that one music video? (Jimin was the one who showed that meme to you, by the way.)

“So I won't call you honey. Just babe.”

“Ew.” You quickly retaliated.

“Ohh, the homophobia is sho-wing.” Jimin sing-sang, ever the mature individual he was.

“Fuck off, seriously.”

Jimin just giggled and then scooted closer to you. “No but like, are you coming? ‘Cause jokes aside, I'm just gonna find someone else if you really don't wanna do it. But you know you're always my first choice.”

“First choice when you do some stupid shit.” you countered, rolling your eyes for the nth time that night. Jimin would be the cause of your eye surgery if ever they got dislocated or something.

“That’s my biggest act of love.”

“I don't want it.”

“I’ll double what I paid you last year.”

“Double it again and give it to the next person?”

Jimin flipped you off. “I’ll give you my nintendo and I’ll get you a card at that coffee shop you love so much.”

That caught your attention. You raised your brow. “On god?”

“When did I ever lie to you?”

You deadpanned. “We won't finish this conversation if I list all the times—”

“Okay, okay, point taken. But I'm really serious. Please, please, please, please be my pretend girlfriend on my mom's birthday party please, please—”

“Shut up. Ugh,” you could already feel the big smile creeping up Jimin’s face when you let out a big sigh. “Okay, I’ll do it. Buy me boba now.”

Jimin tackled you to the bed and hugged you and kissed your forehead.

“Thank you! Best best friend ever.” he delightfully said, grinning widely, eyes almost disappearing in his triumph.

Your face contorted into a disgusted expression while Jimin just laughed as you pushed him so hard he almost fell off the bed.

“You are a disgusting limpy sack of dicks! Also, I’m not your best best friend, you don't have a wide selection. I'm your best friend. Period.”

“Unfortunately.” He waved you off and when you were about to retort something his phone suddenly rang. You watched quietly as he put it over his ear. “Hey, you just landed?”

If it was a private conversation Jimin would've left the room but since he didn't, you decided to stay in bed, kind of listening in to the conversation, but also not, as you turned the volume down of the show you were watching earlier on your laptop.

“Nah, you want me to pick you up?” Jimin sat up on the edge of the bed and you looked at him curiously. “Sure, I’m free, Kook. You have a place to stay? Hotel suite or something?” He nodded to whatever the other person was saying on the other line. “Oh, you're here for three months? Thought you were just flying in for mom's birthday?”

It was moments after they said goodbye that Jimin turned to you to ask, “Well, my cousin’s apparently staying here for three months. Got this job thing going on.”

“Is that one of the non-problematic twenty percent cousin lineage of your very complicated family tree?" You asked, referring to him telling you one time that his family, including the extended ones, was eighty percent shitty and twenty percent decent.

Jimin chuckled at the inside joke. "Well, yeah, he's one of the good ones. Knows I'm gay."

"Oh, nice."

Jimin stood up from your bed. “I’ll get you your boba and head off. Gotta pick cousin up or he’ll start throwing tantrums at the airport.”

“Add extra pearls please.” You told him, watching as he clicked away on his phone to get you your drink.

“I spoil you too much.” Jimin said, clicking his tongue, eyes still on his phone.

“What are you here for if not my glorified sugar daddy?”

“I will kill myself in front of you.” Jimin deadpanned, getting a chuckle out of you.

You didn't know the psychology — or if there even was psychology — behind feeling embarrassed when you were about to cross a path while carrying huge boxes. It was a normal task, and yet, it always felt like a huge walk of shame when you did it.

It was probably because you had to carry it over a flight of stairs, and there was no way you wouldn't trip on yourself carrying two heavy boxes in your hands that were already disrupting your vision.

Maybe it was your fault for choosing the pick-up option when you were checking out these furniture online, all because there was a huge increase on the fee for door-to-door delivery. For the record, there was a huge gap and the boxes were not really that heavy to the point you could not carry them both. It's just a lamp and a portable desk, you thought a week ago when you opted for the pick-up option, I could carry it all the way to the unit just fine — and obviously, your delusion has resulted to this very moment.

As soon as you managed to walk over five steps, you felt as if your oxygen supply just got cut back, panting like someone fresh from a marathon. Damn. You definitely needed to work out a little. Maybe do some squats for your New Year’s resolution, commit to it for three days straight then forget about it for the next 362 days of the year.

You looked ahead of you and a string of curses let themselves out of your mouth automatically as you estimated the number of stairs you needed to get through to get to your apartment.

This day sucked! It was Sunday and you planned to wake up at five am to have a productive day but then you slept through your five alarms and woke up at eleven am instead. You ran out of eggs and you had to go to the convenience store to eat a sad meal of yogurt and kimbap. And now there were these boxes that you needed to carry over what seemed to look like six million of stairs. You weren't Sisyphus! And where were your goddamn neighbors when you needed them?

"You need help, ma'am?"

"Jesus Christ—" you turned to look to your right only to see a man who seemed to own the previous voice.

And Jesus Christ, indeed.

He was wearing a white shirt and some shorts, Nike sliders on his feet and a pair of headphones on. He was wearing glasses. And he had a tattoo sleeve.

What the fuck.

What the fuck!

It has been so long since you thought a man was crazily attractive. Okay, well sure, the guys from the IT department were something else (or you just had a weird eyeglasses fetish, Jimin once pointed out, that you still — to this day — vehemently try to deny) but you’ve never been this taken aback by someone’s face before.

The guy’s lips tilted a bit, some sort of greeting maybe, and you quickly looked away, embarrassed, fearing that he caught you looking at him longer than necessary.

Oh god. This was pathetic! He was a stranger! He was a man! He just had a cute face attached to a very good body with an arm full of tattoos and he was tall but you were sure he wasn’t six feet two. Also, he had hair that looked fluffy from where you stood and a pair of eyeglasses but Jimin was just bluffing when he said you had a fetish for them. Right?

You were performing mental gymnastics until you realized he was asking a question.

"Oh! Uh, no, thank you. It's fine." You said, embarrassed at the way you almost jumped in surprise earlier.

But the whole thing was ridiculous. What, because there was a very fine man across from you the universe suddenly decided to fuck up your fate by making you be seen by that very man struggling with boxes all the way up to your unit? Couldn't it just have been on a day when you did your make-up and dressed up in that overpriced dress you bought hundred bad choices ago?

You fumbled with the boxes a little bit before continuing your way up, nevermind the guy whose response you didn't wait for because you needed to get the fuck away from him before you say something weird and off-putting.

Truthfully, you could use the help. But at what cost? A fine man carrying them? Okay, that wasn’t so bad. But what were you supposed to do with... all of that?

As if the universe was indeed trying to prove to you that you were, in fact, not its favorite creation, you almost tripped. And the guy most definitely saw it.

Fuck.

You turned to the side to see him looking at you, concern etching his face. You wanted to convince yourself that it was genuine concern because you'd commit something that would totally change the trajectory of his life if he was to laugh.

But you thought his own unit must be way up as well, as he was going to the same path as you, and if that was the case, he must have been a new neighbor in the complex because you've never seen the man before.

“Well, it’s not that heavy but…” you trailed off, looking blankly at the cardboard boxes. And then at him. "I could use some help, if you don't mind."

The guy just chuckled. Oh wow, his laugh was very... low.

You didn’t even know what the fuck that meant.

“I’ll get them for you.” He said, crossing the small distance between you and taking over the pile, leaving you with nothing in your hands.

“Oh, no, I’ll have that one. It’s fine.” You said, stepping closer to take the other one but he was already securing it in his hold, with stability this time, ready to take off.

He let out a small laugh again and you bit your tongue to not think about how cute he looked. If he was a new tenant, you hoped you didn't cross paths with him ever again.

"It's okay, ma'am."

He's got to stop calling you that before you do something drastic.

“It’s quite far from here, I'm all the way up to three-three-six.” You uttered, pointing forward, a few steps behind the guy, who hummed at what you said.

You quickly caught up to him. "Really, thanks for doing this."

"No problem, it's nothing." He said, smiling at you. Warm and kind. All cute. "I'm all the way up to four-four-six as well."

Your eyes widened. "No way, that's just across mine."

The stranger, apparently your neighbor now, grinned.

"Nice coincidence, huh?"

A sheepish smile formed on your lips. You didn't dwell on that comment too much. Knew it was just small talk.

"If you don't mind me asking, are you a new tenant here?” You asked out of genuine curiosity. You had never seen someone come out of the unit across from you out of all the four years you'd been here.

He nodded, agreeing with what you presumed.

"Yeah. Just temporary, though.”

“Oh…” A surprised sound. Maybe it was a good thing he was only staying temporarily... “I hope I didn’t inconvenience you or anything. You really don’t need to bring the boxes over to my apartment.”

The man just chuckled, dismissing your worry. “You looked like you could use a hand, these boxes are big. Anyway, I was just out checking 'round town. Settling in.”

From the sound of it, you'd assume he was not only moving in in a new apartment complex, but new city as well. Perhaps country? But he most definitely looked Korean. But maybe he came from abroad. Who knows.

“Yeah, there's a really nice coffee shop three blocks away. You should check it out sometime. Ji—my friend and I are obsessed with their iced caramel macchiato. And the boba.”

His brows furrowed in pure interest. “That must've been the one I passed by this morning. I’ll make sure to try that one.”

“You really should. And the barista gives you a brownie on Sundays if he likes you.” You shared like it was gossip, mentally taking note to visit the cafe sometime this week.

“And I'm sure not everybody gets the privilege?” The guy looked at you funny, and that made you laugh.

"Of course, yes! You have to earn it, I think. I feel like I spent over a million there before he started giving me brownies."

"Hope my charm works on him as well," he said, and it caught you off guard.

What did he mean, "as well"? Like he was speaking from the basis that you had charm and so he hoped he had it as well to get the barista to like him?

"Well. He's strict." Was all you could say, before you spotted your apartment. "Hey, I'll take it over from here."

The guy looked over the plated number on the door, reading three-three-six just as you said earlier. Trudging forward, he set the boxes down on the side of the porch.

"Thank you, really. This was really nice of you."

You extended your gratitude once again as if you didn't spend the walk up to here thanking him non-stop, sounding like a broken record. Thank god the guy didn't seem to mind your over-the-top gratitude, only waving his hand.

"Told you, it's fine. You need help with a few boxes again and just ring me up across," He joked, turning around slightly and looking at the door across your unit, Unit 446. It earned a chuckle from you. His face turned serious now, but there was still a charming smile on his face. “Hey. I’m actually pretty new in this town. I was thinking about visiting a few restaurants downtown, maybe you could recommend me some?”

You didn't mean to, but you took note the way his doe eyes seemed to shimmer even behind the frame of his glasses.

“My favorites are just, like, a ten-minute walk away. There’s this restobar near that drugstore when you turn left from this building, right?” The guy nodded, and you were slightly delighted he knew right away. “Yeah, their ramen's great, you'd thank me forever.”

He chuckled at the way you said it and you smiled.

Your interactions with new people were always a range from pure silence to oversharing; talking to them like they were your long lost friend whom you’ve milked goats with in your father’s orchard. It was probably just a product of introversion; not knowing the right approach to socializing.

“Thanks for the recommendation.” He said, a genuine appreciative tone lacing his words.

“You’re welcome. If I can ring you up to help me with some boxes, you can ring me up for some restaurant recommendation.”

"It's an exchange, then. Deal."

"Why not?" You shrugged, laughing along with him when he did so.

You both stood there for a while until seconds passed. You didn’t know exactly how to end the conversation, not that you wanted to, but there was nothing that went to your head to talk about more. And besides, he was probably headed somewhere, so you began to speak.

“Hey, so I’m going in—”

“What about we—”

“Oh.” You stopped. “Sorry, what was that?”

The guy just shook his head. “Nah, you’re probably busy. Thanks for the recommendation again.”

“No, seriously, sorry I didn't hear it the first time...”

“I was just gonna ask about the name of the restaurant.”

“It’s Midday Miso.” You told him, smiling.

“Midday Miso,” The guy nodded, “Yeah. Got it. Thanks again.”

“You’re welcome, and, uh, thanks. For the help.”

You took your keys out from your shorts and you didn’t expect to still see him standing in front of you when you turned around. You jokingly squinted your eyes at him.

“Yeah, you first, get in.” He said with a low chuckle.

It was a little embarrassing and pretty stupid how your heart fluttered a bit at that.

“What a gentleman you are,” You respond with a snort, opening the door to your unit and pushing the boxes inside your apartment. When they were in, you turned to look at the guy again, saying, “Okay, bye for real. See you around. Hope you like Midday Miso if you try it. And the coffee shop. It's called Brown Coffee.”

“See you around.” He did a little wave that made you both laugh before you closed the door.

When the lock system clicked, you stood on your doorway for a little while.

And then fake-cried.

You quickly clicked on Jimin's pinned contact on your phone.

You [5:35pm]: JIMINNNNNNNNN You [5:35pm]: POP EMERGENCY You [5:35pm]: POP EMERGENCY BITCH IF U DONT RESPOND You [5:36pm]: I HAVE A DIABOLICAL CRUSH AND ITS GOING IN THE MEMOIRRRRRR

It wasn’t even one full minute when Jimin replied.

cuntress #1 [5:37pm]: oh my god SHUT UP!!! im at a training program for ghis stupid ass company my fathers been running fir 600 years cuntress #1 [5:37pm]: whats up cuntress #1 [5:38pm]: its always a crush and never a job 😒

You [5:39pm]: yeh so remember when i told u im oacking up my vagina last summer

cuntress #1 [5:39pm]: many such times

You [5:40pm]: 🖕 You [5:40pm]: SO raincheck!!! You [5:41pm]: COZ I just met a fine man at my apartment AND flirted with him You [5:41pm]: i think

cuntress #1 [5:42pm]: ohhhhh OK???? cuntress #1 [5:43pm]: cuntress #2 flirting???? now thats not uninteresting go on while i fake a restroom break 👀

You [5:45pm]: this story is not for the imessages baby get ur ass up and ICE CREAM WITH ME NOW.

cuntress #1 [5:46pm]: omg 😭😭😭😭 cuntress #1 [5:46pm]: i’ll be off 7:30pm wait for me 😭😭😭 cuntress #1 [5:47pm]: i also have #stories to tell

You [5:49pm]: 🤭

There must be a time where you finally grow up and learn to cook.

You were a twenty-eight-year-old woman and yet, your meals sadly ranged from instant noodles, canned goods, and food from the nearby twenty-four-hour provision shop. Sometimes, you had the gall to cook something from scratch—but with scratch you meant scratching off the labels from food take-outs and reheating them in your microwave.

Jimin had told you one time you would die at twenty-nine with your lifestyle. You told him he couldn't tell you shit because he didn't know how to cook either, he just worked out and ate healthy stuff, and you did, too! But Jimin knew you, and in an evil manner, clocked you with, "Buying fresh produce and not consuming them does not count as healthy living."

Anyway, you never understood why you were so bad at cooking. Your mother, as you remembered her, was decent at it but you guessed it was because she never really taught you and you never really bothered, either. In some immature way of thinking, you'd like to think it was a win for feminism as you were battling patriarchal standards by not conforming to stereotypical "female" qualities. But deep inside, you knew cooking should be a survival skill.

Well, maybe Jimin was right and you would indeed die at the ripe age of twenty-nine. On the bright side, at least you wouldn't have to pay off your student loans and your monthly rent.

In relation, not knowing how to cook meant impractical visits to the restaurant, and that was how you ended up at Midday Miso for dinner after your shift.

It was only a little over seven pm when you entered the restaurant, the ahjumma quickly greeting you and preparing your usual, a sign of familiarity that implied your countless visits ever since moving in at your current apartment building.

Regular visits meant usual sitting spot, and in your case, it was the high stools that faced the glass walls of the restaurant's facade where you could see the busy street making that little area of the town alive.

As minutes overlapped with one another, your food was served and you were hit with the waft of the restaurant's delightful signature beef ramen and bibimbap that the ahjumma made sure to add extra beef on.

Eating with a happy heart made you feel like nothing in the world mattered but you and the food before you, so, you didn't pay attention to the person who was coming to your direction and eventually sat beside you, but what caught you off guard was when said person suddenly said,

"Hi."

When you turned to the side to see who it was, your eyes widened as you said in both recognition and surprise, "Unit 446?"

"That's me." He, Unit 446—in the flesh—said with a low chuckle, twisting himself so that he was sat appropriately on the high stool. Still, his body leaned towards you when he continued to say, "Fancy seeing you here."

You grinned, flattered at the casualness of his approach.

"Same to you. I wonder who told you about this local gem."

He pursed his lips. "A nice neighbor across my place... whom I still don't know the name of."

"Oh, shoot!" You'd face-palm right now if he wasn't looking, but truthfully, you didn't even think about that! You've just been referring to him as the Staircase Guy slash Neighbor 446 in your head and when you told Jimin about him. You laughed at the thought. "That neighbor of yours is __."

Neighbor 446 nodded and extended his hand to you

"I'm Jungkook."

It was a little silly but you shook hands, anyway, and knowing it was, indeed, silly, you both laughed together at your joint connection.

Jungkook. Huh. Not exactly a common Korean name, but it wasn't rare either. The name does ring a bell though, felt like you've heard it somewhere before.

You brushed off the familiarity as inconsequential.

Unlike the completely casual attire he adorned the first time that you met him, he was now in some sleek slacks and a white polo which sleeves were ridden up half high, which exposed the vines of ink on his right arm once again. There's a coat that hung around the back of his chair, and he had forgone the glasses this time around, which was a bit of a shame on the part of your brain that might have a silly crush on him.

Jungkook's clothes seemed to mirror your own business casual ensemble, and that made you think about what he possibly did for a living. Maybe he worked a corporate job just like you, and the prospect might have made you down a little—only because as far as you were concerned, corporate people weren't the most pleasant people you could encounter—but it was not something you dwelled on too much because you couldn't care less. If Jungkook was corporate, he sure didn't seem to be one the way he was.

Besides, you wouldn't be the one to bring up the depressing and aggravating conversation about gross grown-up things like... jobs... Eurgh. You both could just talk about the weather or how insane the ahjumma's ramen tasted for eternity.

"Well, hello, Jungkook." You greeted him. All warm and soft, testing the syllables of his name on your tongue. Rolled off well enough. He had a nice name that sure fit his face for some reason.

"Hi, __." He mirrored the soft smile on your lips, and just as he said it, the ahjumma was heading towards your direction to give him his order.

In that usual way grandmas reacted, the ahjumma gasped audibly—and dramatically, might you add—upon seeing Jungkook, but what she said next made you want to dig a hole under your seat.

"__-dear! Is this young man your boyfriend?"

Good thing you weren't consuming anything as of that moment, because it would've entered the wrong track.

"Ahjumma!" You laughed, totally not authentic at all because your face didn't match it, looking at Jungkook who just sent a shy smile her way.

Ahjumma must have seen you both talking to each other and had completely jumped to a conclusion. An insane one at that! 

Shaking your head, you clarified, "This is Jungkook. A friend. He's new in town and checking out all the stuff around here. I recommended him this place."

You saw Jungkook nodding along with your words while he helped her set his table.

The ahjumma just shook her head. "I apologize, then," She looked at Jungkook and as if gossiping with him, whispered in a not very subtle way, "I keep on telling this girl to date already! Such young beauty shouldn't be wasted, you know."

A tsk-ing sound made its way through her mouth, and as much as you were starting to feel embarrassed that she was telling on you on Jungkook—who was literally a stranger to you a day ago and whom you may have a teeny tiny bit of crush on—you knew ahjumma did not have any malicious intent and just chose to laugh the whole thing off.

You heard Jungkook do the same.

This was ridiculous.

"Ahjumma, I told you, you're gonna be the first one to know when I date. For now I'm just a part-time accountant and a full-time promoter of Midday Miso." You pout at her, trying to dodge the topic of romance altogether.

Not in front of Jungkook.

"Ayee," She gave you a side-eye. "Fine. I'll bring over some extra beef."

You mouthed an enthusiastic "yes!" and raised your fist in the air with excitement, and Jungkook looked at the interaction with a smile on his face.

As the ahjumma walked away, you looked over at him.

"I'm glad you came by—" You identified his order to be the same one you used to be obsessed with the first few months you came to the restaurant. "—and ordered their best seller. You sure know how to be a tourist."

"Looked good on the menu. The ahjumma also seems to be nice. Seems like she's a close friend, huh?" Jungkook said.

"Totally."

And it was the truth. There was just something about ahjumma that made you feel reminiscent about the grandmother you've never had. Ever since you moved in and became a regular at this place, it felt like she's taken care of you and your relationship had been special since.

"This is really good." Jungkook commented after having his second bite, and you nodded in agreement. "She was serious about the beef thing?"

You chuckled at the mention. "Yeah, she always gives me extra."

"You just always get free stuff around these areas?" Jungkook joked which earned a hearty laugh from you. You remembered telling him about the free brownie on Sundays at Brown Coffee, a little bit surprised he recalled that.

"Now that you said that, I actually do." You proudly shared. You've been in this town for so long that the various faces just went from familiar to friends.

Jungkook nodded, his face showing amusement.

"I have to learn your ways, then."

"The secret to that is be incompetent at cooking. It means it's either take-out or eat out. Business owners around here have no choice but to see me every three days because I can't cook my own meal."

You could see Jungkook's amusement growing every second, and to add faux insult to injury, he joked, "Oh, bummer."

You decided to ride along with that.

"You mean you're a good cook? That's the real bummer! And here I thought we were bonding." You said, purposefully trying to sound scandalous at his implication of being a good cook.

He shook his head instantly, chuckling. "Okay, nah. I'm not that good. Just decent. But I'll have you know I can make a mean tangsuyuk. Any other complicated stuff is out the window, so there, we are bonding."

"I appreciate that you're under the assumption that I know where to begin with the non-complicated stuff. You're already putting way too much faith in me."

"I seriously doubt that." Jungkook laughed once again.

"You know what my friend tells me? That I'd die at twenty-nine because I don't know how to cook."

Jungkook almost keeled over hearing you say the words, and as much as you were amused at his own amusement, you decided to further add on the joke because you were enjoying this way too much.

"Wow. I wouldn't doubt you'd be an accessory to my murder the way you're laughing way too hard at my impending death. That's next year, you know."

Jungkook reached over for the glass of water and drank it. While he did so, the ahjumma had come over to give you the beef she promised. You did not forgot to thank her as soon as she went away. 

You did hope Jungkook didn't notice the malicious wink she sent your way.

"Fuck, sorry." Jungkook's laughter had gone down this time, but his eyes still showed a hint of mirth when he asked, "You're twenty-eight, then?"

You nodded. "Yep." Unfortunately, you thought.

"Oh, that's actually surprising."

A gasp left your mouth. Jungkook was quick to correct himself.

"I meant it's surprising because I thought you were way younger."

Oh.

"Don't flatter me. I won't share my extra beef with you."

"I thought—" He shrugged. "—Early twenties."

"I'm guessing you are in your early twenties." You joked back.

"Okay, now, don't flatter me. I know how old I look." Jungkook said with a dismissive tone, but nevertheless light-hearted. Just like how this whole thing was going.

God, you were so in awe of how good he was at talking to you that he was practically bringing out the extrovert in you you only ever show to exclusive people like Jimin.

"So, you're like, fifty, then?"

Incredulous, Jungkook burst into laughter. "Wow."

"Sorry, just that you sounded like you were five years from retirement! Anyway, you look like we're the same age?"

He shook his head. "Three years older. Turning thirty-one later this year."

Jaw dropped. Not physically, but mentally.

"Oh wow, you're basically—" a fucking DILF! What the hell!

Thankfully you managed to cut yourself off before Jungkook could think you were way off your rocks and embarrass yourself in front of him for eternity. You could just hear Jimin from miles away telling you off about calling thirty-year-old men DILFs even though you didn't know if they had a child.

What do you mean this guy was thirty and why did that just make him even hotter in your head... He's got to stop this madness before you do something completely incomprehensible.

"—A senior." Was the lame thing you came up with to finish your sentence.

"Ouch." Jungkook said, but his word was completely opposite to the expression he was wearing on his face the way he just couldn't suppress the grin that had been visible on his mouth since you started talking.

You brought your hands up.

"Totally didn't mean that in a negative way."

Which was the entire truth. So far, the things you knew about him was that he had tattoos, a nice body, a nice personality, good ass freaking conversationalist, and that he was thirty! Thirty! As in, the peak of male hotness. The evil psychological concept of most men only getting hotter as they age.

"I'm sure, I'm sure," Jungkok nodded. "By the way, are you heading out after this?"

"Oh, yeah. Don't have anywhere else to go. I have a nine A.M tomorrow so..." you shrugged, and he nodded in understanding.

"You work as an accountant, right, from what you told the ahjumma?" Jungkook asked you curiously.

"Yeah... it's a very tedious job." You grimaced a little bit. "What about you?"

He tilted his head a bit, picking up a dumpling on his plate. "I'm a software engineer."

"Oh, that's cool."

You nodded to yourself while you processed what he said.

Works in fucking tech; another thing you just learned about him. 

You weren't actively seeking out guys in tech, but why did they seem to come to you voluntarily? God forbid you saw someone who wasn't in there! Was every man working in tech now? Was Jimin really only being truthful when he said they were exactly your type?

"Have you made any software or is that, like, a wrong assumption about you guys?"

Jungkook merely chuckled at your retort.

"Not entirely, no. I've designed a few software in college—I'm still doing it. I'm just currently doing more business stuff now." He gave you a sheepish smile. "You?"

"Well, it's just... you know—I actually work at a tech company. I'm a junior accountant. And, uh, nothing interesting, really. You get to do cool math like programming, and I get to do boring math like calculating money I don't have. It's always a great day at work." You said, couldn't help the laugh that skipped your mouth at your own sarcasm.

Nothing like joking about hating your job to someone who you just met yesterday.

"Programming and coding are not all that, either. It's tedious and... it's just a really boring job. But... it all pays the bills."

You chuckled.

"Yeah. Totally."

Without minding it, you raised the small glass of soju, initiating a toast, one that Jungkook understood immediately and met you in the middle of it.

The night was still you when you walked out of Midday Miso, but unlike any other nights, it was with Jungkook this time walking beside you.

"So you just—what—hid him for three months?"

"Well, yes! I wasn't about to get a notice for that! And besides, he was really cute. But he's in good hands now, his owner still sends me pictures of him. He's very grown and big."

"That's insane."

You peered at Jungkook who watched you in awe as you told him about the story of Alfredo, the cat whom you rescued on your way home from work a year ago. The landlady obviously had her fair share of rules and regulations in her building, and keeping pets was an absolute no, which was a shame. Definitely wasn't a shame when you first just moved in the complex, but things got lonely sometimes when you were living alone and company was almost a luxury.

Anyway, as told, you managed to keep Alfredo out of the landlady's sight until you found a highly qualified parent on some online forum who you still kept in contact with to this day.

But as you watched Jungkook, you noticed the way his expression fell into something concerning. He looked worried, which made you feel the same way as a result.

"What are you thinking?" You asked him curiously.

"Oh, nah, I was just... thinking. See, I actually have a dog."

"Oh!" You looked at him wide-eyed.

He has a dog; another thing about Jungkook that would qualify him on the regular rounds of hot boy of the month on Twitter dot com. 

"Yeah."

"You didn't read the terms and conditions of the building?" Your eyebrows formed a concerned expression.

Jungkook chuckled and shook his head. "I did. I just—suddenly thought about him, is all. He's being taken care of some place. But, you know, I missed him, and I was thinking about getting him here and showing him around my new place and all that."

"Oh... that's a bummer, then. The landlady's strict, even with the small dogs, can you imagine? Is he small, by the way, your dog?

"He's a Doberman, so definitely a big one."

"He must be really cute. What's his name?"

"Bam." He smiled at you, and you could totally see the pride showing on his face at the mention of his dog. And with a tone that you could only identify as someone who's suppressing his enthusiasm a little bit, he added, "You wanna see a picture of him?"

"Sure!"

Jungkook took out his phone from his pocket and showed you images of a big, chocolate brown dog. Bam definitely wasn't like the other regular Dobermans you'd see around. His ears weren't cropped, and his tail wasn't docked either. You didn't know if the lack of surgery was intentional from his side, but you'd like to think he kept it that way because he knew it hurt the dog greatly. From how you've been knowing him, you were certain he just didn't want to put his dog under unnecessary pain, which was honestly heartwarming to think about.

Jungkook was becoming way too good to be true in you head little by little.

"Awe, he's adorable!" You cooed, especially when he swiped through the picture of his pet, Bam, as a pup in what seemed to be Jungkook's arms based on the familiar tattoos that peeked from the exposed arm as seen on the picture. The tattoos also seemed to be new at that time as well, considering that the skin was still yet to be fully covered like now.

"I'm flattered you think that."

"Where is he, by the way? If you don't mind me asking."

"He's at a... friend's place in New York. He's not very good at flying so I didn't bring him with me here, and I thought, I'll only be here for three months, anyway, so." Jungkook shrugged.

Three months. Well. He did say he was only staying here temporarily.

You nodded. "For business, right?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"You grew up there?" You kicked the stone that was caught at the tip of your shoe, putting your fists in the deeper part of your coat's pockets. Summer may be hot during daytime, but it sure as hell was cold on nights like these.

"Nah, I'm from Busan. Flew to California for college and have been there since. Until now, that is."

Jimin was also from Busan, you thought. Though he said they only lived there for a few years until his parents moved to Seoul, but he made sure to visit his hometown every now and then. Most of the time, he made you come with him which you never had complaints about. You lived in the city all your life so going there, especially in the more urbanized area where you and Jimin stayed. Felt like fresh air—which Busan had, quite literally.

"My best friend's from Busan too."

"Really? What about you?"

You chuckled before answering, "I, unfortunately, did not come from any interesting place. Born and raised in Seoul, through and through. Though my mom told me she lived in Daegu for many years prior to having me."

"Seoul is an interesting place, though."

"Eh. It's okay." You shrugged, and your nonchalance made you both laugh.

The walk to your apartment building from Midday Miso was not that far. Still, it was five blocks away and while you and Jungkook were currently sharing conversation together and seemingly walking the same path, you weren't sure if you were both walking together there.

As if he read your mind, he suddenly spoke after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

"You mind if we walk together to the building?"

You decided to joke to get the jittery feeling out of your system.

"Scared of the dark, Jungkook?"

"Sure... my five-eleven self is."

You squinted your eyes at him. He did not just go there!

"Is that a slight against my height because I'm five-seven, mind you."

Jungkook stopped in his tracks which made you do the same, and you watched as he put his hand on his waist while the other reach up to his face to place a finger over his chin, seemingly assessing you up and down. You looked at him incredulously.

"You're bumping your height to two inches." He seriously said.

You gasped audibly.

"Oh, shut up,"

You rolled your eyes and turned your back at him, continuing your walk as you heard him behind you bursting in laughter at your reaction.

"I'm kidding!"

You first met Jimin at a college party. He was five years older than you, supposedly out of college by the time you attended, but he always had a problem with rebellion–what with his ragged relationship with his parents, he would intentionally flunk his courses as a message to them that he'd always be a black sheep and a proud one at that, hoping it would be enough to convey that they could not force him to be the heir of their company. (Obviously, it had taken him nowhere, given that he was now currently attending a training program to work at said company).

But maybe it was a blessing in disguise that he was set back to five years for graduation. Because you got to know him, and he got to know you.

On the outside, you might look like the total opposite of each other–because Jimin was the definition of extroversion who wasn't afraid to put himself out there–while you, admittedly, were more reserved and usually shied away from any public attention.

As much as you were welcoming to a lot of people, you didn't have a lot of close friends growing up–at least not the kind of friends you'd see on TV shows–but when Jimin came to your life, you clicked so instantly you could not even figure out where you two exactly began.

The instant way you two clicked, you realized, was like your relationship with Jungkook nowadays.

Ever since that night at Midday Miso, you've been seeing a lot of each other. Granted that it was only in the same place, same time. You'd usually arrive past seven and he, a few minutes later. Jungkook, cladded in his slacks and long-sleeved polo, was becoming a usual sight after a shift, and your business casual clothes was turning as one for him as well.

Your usual seating spot became his as nights passed, and ahjumma, thank God, no longer asked you if he was your boyfriend. You were glad that she was slowly getting acquainted with him though, greeting him with a friendlier smile and tone reserved only for customers like you when he entered the restaurant, and Jungkook seemed to welcome the newfound friendship wholeheartedly.

On the consecutive nights you'd spent with him, it was almost as if you lived quite the same life. Though, you didn't know when he went to work. In fact, you didn't see him during the mornings even though in theory, it could be easy, granted that you both lived across each other. But strangely enough, you'd never caught him retiring to his flat to go to the bus station. You assumed he started earlier than you or way later.

You never asked, it never came up either.

Still, there was some sort of tranquility in the thought that you could spend some time with someone after your shift and just talk about whatever–and whatever meant a lot of things. Random at best. You once told him about the first raccoon you met in your life, and he told you all about the lioness he got to watch when he went to a South Saharan trip a few years ago.

Sometimes, the conversation went around what happened in the office that day. Jungkook noticed the little blot of ink on the cuff of your baby blue long sleeves, and you told him about the jammed printer in the accounting department. He'd told you later on about how he almost fucked up a report, said he was nervous because he was taking on a new role in the office.

Those moments were shared in long walks from Midday Miso to your apartment building, because naturally, you both established a small tradition of walking home together after a night of eating your hearts out at ahjumma's restaurant.

It was a rather sweet gesture, if you were honest to yourself. But you chose not to linger too much on the romantic thoughts that floated in your head, especially when you'd notice the way he made sure to walk on the outer side of the sidewalk, and when your fingers got too close the tips almost touched.

Because Jungkook, for how objectively good looking he was, was more than just his pretty face and physique.

He was kind and funny and genuine unlike any other straight men you've met in your life. Maybe the bar was low, but for all the times you've gotten to talk to him, he never showed any signs of ego most men would by the second hour of your meeting.

In the dating scene as an adult, a lot of men would come up to a date talking about how high they were placed at their company's hierarchy and how much they made in a month, and when they hear about yours, they'd always have a backhanded comment about how "you could only go up from there, right?" and those moments were always a bummer. Yawn-inducing, to be more accurate. Men and their predictability was boring and it was the reason why you'd declare to Jimin almost every time you got home from a date that you were retired from looking for them because most men just plainly fucking sucked.

But with Jungkook... was it different.

You found he didn't talk a lot, and one time you asked him if you were doing it–the talking–way too much, but he just chuckled and told you that he didn't mind.

Later on, you learned that he was just more of a listener rather than a talker, and that was not only a pure assumption of yours because he did listen attentively, alright. As for all the random things you've told him about, you never expected him to recall a single thing, not until one time when you passed by a food truck.

"Hey, didn't you say you like sundae?" Jungkook asked, and when you followed where his eyes were, it was at the food truck parked just a few steps ahead from where you both were.

"I do... wow. It's been so long since I saw a food truck around here." You said, following his steps towards the vehicle.

They had tables to dine in, and even if you were still full from eating at Midday Miso that night, the sundae was just too gratifying to decline. Jungkook was the same with the tteokbokki on his small plate, telling you he missed eating at one of these things, as they didn't exactly have anything like this abroad.

After he paid for the food (and of course not without a long, silly, light-hearted argument about it), he came back with two sticks of Melona ice pops which you looked at with widened eyes, animated expression written all over your face especially when he thrusted the purple yam flavor to you.

"Oh my god, how do they have these?"

"I was surprised as well... this is the first time in a while I'm eating this again." Jungkook said and then gestured to the ice pop in your hand, "You like the purple yam, right?"

"Yeah!"

You were about to ask him how he knew, but then you briefly remembered that one time you had a passionate rant about people hating on purple yam ice cream and why they weren't right.

And as you looked at Jungkook, he seemed to remember it all too well.

Jungkook showed genuine interest in the things you'd tell him about. He'd visit the cafes and restaurants you recommended to him as much as he could, and because you've come to exchange numbers with him eventually after almost two weeks of casually hanging out, they sometimes came during lunch break.

1 message received from Jungkook (Unit 446)

That day, you only exchanged contacts the other night, so seeing him on your phone so quickly like that caught you by surprise. It was welcomed though.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:36pm]: I went to Cafe Heaven for lunch and loved their ice americano

As soon as you read the first message, another one came.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:36pm]: This is Jungkook by the way :)

You laughed at his introduction. As if he didn't see you type his name on your phone last night–like he didn't jokingly complain about you putting the (Unit 446) in there but giving in eventually and also adding (Unit 336) to yours in his own contacts.

You [12:38pm]: Hi Jungkook! You [12:38pm]: im glad u went!!! u should also try their fettuccine alfredo

Seconds later, he sent a picture of the dish you just mentioned which put a smile on your face.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:39pm]: i'll get my refund from you if this doesnt taste good

You [12:40pm]: 1 week of friendship and ur already ripping me off 🤐

Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:40pm]: 😁 Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:40pm]: first bite Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:41pm]: second bite

What was he on, you didn't know. But you were glad that he was slowly coming around, his jokes getting more... how would you say it... less polite? He just stopped apologizing after he said them! He usually would in the first few days, but now in your newfound closeness, it was like you were out of that stage where you tiptoed around each other still, feeling the other one out, trying to figure them out, all that stuff.

Nowadays, it was just more natural. Smooth-sailing. Paradoxical, almost, because of how the relationship felt more defined as well as loose.

You found you liked it that way. 

Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:42pm]: I like it 👍🏻

And to your surprise, he sent you a picture of him, indeed, holding a thumbs up.

You'd like to think you were an expert on going along with the tide because even though you would be classified as introvert by most, you did pretty well in forming relationships with people–granted, most of them were fleeting, at best, hence the lack of bigger circles in most of your life–but you were great with making friends, regardless. 

And maybe it was how you ended up with this whole thing with Jungkook. Because you were friendly and open, although you wouldn't dare to take all credits because as you mentioned before, he was a great conversationalist.

He didn't talk much as you said, but he didn't ever make you feel like you were talking way too much because he made sure that you knew he was listening, and when he talked, it was always engaging; conversations with him transitioned to different subjects in perfect seugue you would never noticed how you jumped from Melona ice pops to the existential dread you fought every morning before going to work.   

When it came to humor, Jungkook's was different from Jimin's, of course, and your dynamic with your best friend could never be replicated with somebody else but Jungkook was close to truly becoming your friend, and for that, it was getting easier to ignore his handsome face.

You may have had an embarrassing moment of panicking mentally at seeing such a man in the first meeting, but nowadays, you could hold a conversation with him without thinking how hot he was.

Dare you say, you were starting to think more platonically about him rather than romantically. As you said, you were an expert on going along with the tide.

Or maybe that was too soon a declaration, because there were moments, like now, when you were certain juvenile flirting insisted on happening between you, steering you clear from completely feeling wholly platonic about Jungkook.

"I certainly have a bigger hand than you."

As if you didn't know that, Jungkook brought his hand up to show you it. Confused but not totally minding the whole thing, you proceeded to extend your own hand towards his, pressing them both together. Predictably, his hand could have engulfed the entirety of your own.

Jungkook laughed at the sight, and you didn't know exactly who broke the physical contact first but you were glad it was over as soon as it started.

But you couldn't have forgotten the electric zap along your spine when your hand got so close like that to his. Couldn't have ignored the hot feeling in your cheeks when you were made aware of what you just did.

Wow.

Were you guys flirting? Was he flirting? It was flirting, right? Juvenile, at best, because this was what kids did in high school! And Jungkook's hand was so...

You never imagined what it felt like–never even crossed your mind until now. Expectations about how his hand felt never formed in your head because you sure as hell never thought about that kind of thing happening in the first place, but Jungkook's hand was the right balance of soft and hard. Calloused in a way most men's hands naturally were, and soft like enough comfort when held and touched.

It wasn't clammy, thank god, but you also wouldn't have thought he had clammy hands, solely because he just looked like he didn't. But god, was it big.

And my goodness, did it make you feel things.

You drank your water fast and cleared your throat, subtly, so that he didn't think too much of it.

"O-okay, but that's just genetics. Doesn't mean you could throw stronger punches."

You said in retaliation to one of your useless debates which now covered the coin-operated boxing arcade machine across the bus station nearby.

Jungkook leaned back against the monobloc chair that was definitely way too flimsy for him.

You were currently hanging out at the dining area of the food truck you came across a few days ago, forgoing Midday Miso for the night. Lately, Jungkook and you have been exploring a few more places other than there. You've tried other restaurants nearby, but ultimately, Midday Miso was still the top favorite and the food truck was becoming a staple in lieu of its convenience and just the overall vibe of eating outside and feeling the breeze of summer night air.

"You got me curious about the boxing machine." Jungkook said, crossing his arms.

"I held the highest score there for like a week, you know? Only did it though to impress the kids who liked to watch."

At that, Jungkook's face lit up in interest.

"We should do that sometime."

"Oh... I see, I see. You wanna impress the kids, too?" You playfully accused, squinting your eyes at him.

He chuckled and waved you off.

"It can be a challenge." Jungkook shrugged and looked at you with a hint of mirth in his eyes.

You let out a puff of breath, amused at his obvious antics.

"What's the catch?"

"Well... free boba delivered to your door for a week if you get the higher score. How's that sound?" He looked at you expectantly.

You chuckled before saying, "I'm gonna rip you off so bad, Jungkook."

"Only if you win, though." He said with a mischievous smirk. 

"Oh, wow. When, you mean. When I win. So what's in it for you?" You leaned your elbow on the table and studied his face.

He looked at you for a while, then, the smirk from earlier was wiped off and exchanged with a much gentler smile.

"Home-cooked dinner at my place next week Friday."

Your eyebrows met.

"You want me to cook you something? Jungkook, do you have a death wish? I may either give you unintentional food poisoning or burn your house down, there's no in between."

"No," Jungkook laughed at your insane conclusion. "Sorry, I should've specified. I mean if you lose, I'll be cooking us a meal at my place."

"Oh."

You were left staring at him, a bit dumbfounded.

He just said he wanted to cook you guys a meal. At his place.

He was inviting you to his place. His personal space.

"It won't be better than Midday Miso but I think I can keep up." Jungkook added with a sheepish smile and scratched the back of his head in that seemingly boyish manner.

"Sure..." you responded, a bit delayed, much to your effort of not showing your big surprise at his offer. Before he noticed the way you were not believing what you heard, you chose to quip in a (hopefully) cheeky, "That is if you win, though."

Jungkook only hummed and then nodded.

"If I win."

He said, smiling at you.

This was dangerous.

The whole thing was teetering to something that was not very platonic, and just as you were starting to think this whole thing was!

Jimin always told you that you were bad at flirting, but in your defense, how were you supposed to know, exactly, if someone was flirting with you? A lot of people were friendly like that! Jungkook was maybe like that? Had you shown interest and he noticed so now he was playing into it? But that would be uncharacteristic of him. You didn't think he'd be the type to do something cruel like that...

But the tide was always rising and falling, they said, and the good thing was; you knew how to go along with the current.

So you did what you do best.

"Would you like to donate to the poor?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but there's a chance this card's gonna decline because I am the poor."

The cashier looked you in the eye with an even more impassive look than the one she had before you got your turn on the counter.

"Could've just said no." She said, punching your order away and you had to shamefully swipe your card and leave to go over where Jimin was.

"The cashier just snubbed me for being poor." You complained to Jimin, moving your coat to the next seat and settling in in yours.

Jimin took a sip from his latte and looked at you dead in the eye and said, "I'll call the manager if you want."

"Fuck off." You retaliated immediately. Jimin snorted at your way too predictable response.

See, this has happened way too many times more than what your fingers could count. You could not even pinpoint the exact time when Jimin started to joke about going full-on Karen-mode when you complained about a single little thing at the places you went to.

Anyway, you were currently on a lunch break when Jimin texted to see if you were free. What better way to spend your lunch than with your best friend? The company's canteen food was getting tired and they hiked up their prices. Your office's kitchen also ran out of Solhee's – your coworker – biscuits and so you thought you had to make do of Jimin's money for that day. You told him your motives yourself and as a petty retort, he told you to pay for your own pasta — at a café that was way too expensive for its own good.

You stole a bite off his churros, and predictably, he rolled his eyes at you.

"Why'd you want to see me, by the way? What's up? You don't have training?" you glanced at your wristwatch, reading 12:40pm.

Soon, you were casually taking over his plate of churros. For how ridiculously priced it was, it sure tasted good as hell.

"I got the day off." Jimin shrugged.

You eyed him suspiciously almost immediately.

"Did you really...?"

It was a few seconds before Jimin gave in and took back his plate.

"Okay, no, I ditched the training today but for the record it's for a very important reason."

You put your hand over your chest and contorted your face in an awed, touched expression.

"The important reason being... meeting me?"

"Ew, no," Was Jimin's quick, disgusted, response – which earned a laugh from you as usual.

From your peripheral vision, you saw the waiter heading towards your direction and so you waited for him to come over and serve you your pasta and frappe. After thanking him, you huddled closer to your best friend and asked, "Okay, what is it then?"

Jimi pursed his lips, making your eyebrows meet.

"It's kinda... bummer news."

"You're pregnant?"

"No, you'd be way too happy and I can't be a single dad," He shook his head as if not even wanting to imagine that.

"Namjoon looks like he's gonna take care of it with you." You sing-sang, sipping on your coffee and winking at him indiscreetly – emphasis on indiscreetly because you never knew how to wink properly.

What you did not expect, was the look on Jimin's face when you mentioned Namjoon.

"Well..." He trailed off, and you waited for it curiously; anticipating his impending answer in return because your conversation was always quick-witted like that. But right now, Jimin's expression was devoid of any jokes. 

Not something you expected when you just mentioned his boyfriend.

"I— did something happen?" You quickly dropped the teasing tone and exchanged it with a concerned one, eyes looking at him with worry.

Jimin closed his eyes for a while and let out a deep breath. "See, that's the bummer news."

"Do you want to tell me? Or we can just—"

He cut you off before you could even finish your sentence. But he did it with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes – and this was Jimin. His eyes did not not reach his eyes when he smiled!

"He's going to Italy."

"Oh."

When the pause prolonged for over a minute, with you looking at him mouth agape, Jimin let out a heavy sigh once again and shook his head.

"I know. It's work... and I always understood that. He travels a lot and we're both okay with it. But it was usually just around the country, not another continent. I mean, what did he mean Italy? And that's not even the worst part. He knew a month ago he was going but he only told me two days ago and he's leaving Thursday," Jimin looked at you to take a pause, seemingly trying to look for a reaction.

You thought, that's tomorrow.

As if he read your mind, he nodded, sounding almost defeated.

"I know."

"Oh, Jimin..." You said, not exactly knowing what to say.

Jimin and Namjoon had been together for over a year. At least, officially, because they spent the last three years just casually hooking up on and off. You liked them together and had been more than glad when they finally put a label to it – exactly why you knew Namjoon enough to not badmouth him when you usually would men Jimin usually dated. You knew perfectly well that Namjoon genuinely cared about your best friend and he loved him. So if Jimin was at a loss for this obvious mistake on his boyfriend's part, even more so you were.

"He's been blowing up my phone ever since." Jimin added, glancing at his phone on the table. "Intentionally didn't charge my phone today so I don't receive his calls and texts."

That prompted you to remember the message you received from Namjoon last night.

"Oh, that's why he texted me yesterday. He asked about you, and I told you through text but you didn't answer." Things were starting to make sense now, and as you observed Jimin's face, they were getting clearer. "You never talked since?"

Jimin pursed his lips. He took his coffee back to his mouth and sipped while looking away. "Nope."

"Jimin." You tilted your head.

He looked at you again, and you knew exactly that he was thinking the same thing as you: It was within his right to feel off about what Namjoon did, but regardless; Jimin was being a little petty, and he needed to communicate with his boyfriend instead of giving him the cold shoulder.

There was a pout that formed on Jimin's lips right after.

"I know. I just..."

"He could've told you sooner?" He nodded at your words. You mirrored that. "He should have. Italy is not Busan – it's not just a train ride away."

Jimin sighed, looking exasperated now. "I told him that exactly. I'm not even mad he's going to Italy, I just think I deserve to know right after he was told about it."

You nodded. "You should really talk. It sounds like he wants to apologize, anyway, given that he's now trying to talk to me to get through you."

"Sorry you got caught up in this. I'm gonna talk to him about it."

"Eh, it's fine. Joon and I are also friends, you know?" You shrugged, genuinely not minding Namjoon coming to you. 

You liked Namjoon and thought that he was the perfect match for Jimin. They were cute together and just seemed to... take the best out of each other. You'd go to any lengths to keep them together, as long as Jimin wanted Namjoon and as his boyfriend. You've seen Jimin go from relationships to relationships, some just fleeting and simple dalliances, and most destructive and were just... not good for him. You've never seen your best friend truly happy and committed in a romantic relationship other than with Namjoon, and as someone who cared about him, you'd do a lot of things to make him happy.

"Here's another thing, his flight is tomorrow at 11:30pm in the evening. Mom's birthday dinner is at 10." Jimin usually had his composure everytime, and it was very rarely you'd see him show any worry because he liked everybody to think he was in control of every situation. You smiled. Classic Jimin. He'd only ever show his true nature to you though, and that was exactly why he looked at you with worried eyes and continued to say, "I really wanna be there to send him off."

The call time for his mother's party was at 10 and naturally people would start swarming in way past that time. If Jimin were to sneak out way too early, you knew his mother was not going to be happy about it and his father would give him an even bigger shit for it. Sure, he could cancel, but what would he say? That their supposed cishet son is sending off his boyfriend at the airport for the night? He couldn't reason work either because he didn't exactly have one.

After having his wrongful DUI accusation last spring– which was actually already settled, on the grounds that it was definitely not DUI and the owner of the other car just overreacted to a fender bender, the media was adamant on tactically using that to taint his family's image and it unfortunately succeeded – hence, why Jimin had been laying low these past few months; going to training programs, obeying his parents more than usual, doing what they wanted...

You sighed. Your best friend deserved so much better.

"Don't worry, I'll find a way to get us to leave early." You told him after awhile.

Jimin arched his brow, intrigued.

Waving him off, you said, "I can fake something."

As if hearing some magic words, Jimin suddenly perked up.

"No way you're using the diarrhea card?"

Giving him a dirty look, you shook your head. "Nah, not during a dinner party. It's gotta be something new and less... gross."

"Oh, oh!" Jimin put a finger over his lip. "What about a sprained ankle? Can you pull that off?"

You deadpanned. "Okay, you ought to pay me more if you want me to do that."

"I can, but I won't. Stop ripping me off, I'm your best friend."

"Jimin, I'll save you from your family. I'm great at this." You said jokingly, but you hoped that he knew you weren't just jesting and were serious about it.

With the appreciation masking your best friend's face, though, you knew he got the message right away, but as you looked at him longer, you realize that he was about to say something and you quickly pulled back, shaking your head.

Jimin quickly reacted. "No! You know what, I'm gonna say it—"

"Don't say it." You quickly cut him off, giggling while you shake your cup of coffee.

"You can't keep me from saying I lo—"

"Jimin, I will tell everybody in this place you watch dubbed anime, I'm serious."

He gasped, quite dramatically.

"You did not just go there!" Then, he lowered his voice a bit, arching his brow at you, vindicative when he said, "You wore skinny jeans a month ago."

"How dare you, you wore a fuckass poncho last week. I saw on your IG story."

"That was from Namjoon and he also gave you one, FYI."

You grimaced. "Tell him I love him but I'm not wearing a poncho, Jimin."

"I was gonna tell you I love you and that you're the best person ever but now I have to rethink all of that." He rolled his eyes, and when the banter ended with you having the last words, you laughed at his face.

"God, you're just never beating me at this."

"Please, we both know you write your mediocre insults on your diary every night trying to one-up me, __. But let's talk about something else."

"I'm not even gonna acknowledge the diary thing but, sure, shoot." You said, starting to eat your pasta.

Jimin looked at your food full of judgement and grimaced. "Is that shrimp? Your doctor is growing grey pubes as we speak," He commented, and you knew he was referring to your shrimp allergy so you shushed him.

"This is vegan shrimp. It's tofu."

He just shook his head, disagreement written on his face. But he let it pass, anyway.

"Anyway, how's Mr. 446?"

The pasta suddenly entered the wrong track.

"Girl," Jimin was quick to offer you the glass of water on his side and you were just as fast to drink it. "You okay?"

"I'm sure there are existing cases of people dying because food got on the wrong track while they're eating, but yeah, sure, I'm okay." When you finished the water, you looked at Jimin who was just doing the same thing.

Crossing his arms, he eyed you expectantly. "Well?"

"I mean... what do you want me to say?" you told him, and you could've sworn you did not want to show anything on your face but you were certain there was a huge smile on it and for some reason, you couldn't help it.

Jimin's jaw dropped, expressions of disbelief and amusement when he asked you curiously, "What do you mean by that?"

"Okay, look, Jimin—" You scratched the back of your head, feeling a little sheepish to tell him all about Jungkook. "He told me we'd get dinner at his place this Friday if he wins this... thing."

His mouth was agape by then and you couldn't help but laugh.

"You... slut."

You would absolutely be rolling off the floor if you weren't at a public place the moment he mouthed the word, but still, you couldn't help but retort back.

"Shut up, you can't be the only one whoring around in this friendship." Jimin snorted at that and you both had to stifle your laughter when you noticed a woman from across the room eyeing you both.

This was one of the reasons why Jimin and you didn't belong in public places other than bars or clubs – because you were way too rowdy together for civilization.

"So you're saying you're whoring around?" He eyed you suspiciously.

"Wrong information. It's actually kind of platonic."

Jimin quickly waved you off. "Babe, if a guy invites you to his place, nothing is ever platonic about it. What do you think you'll do together there? Stare at each other for two hours straight?"

God, you hated and loved that he enables your delusions.

"Okay, you're being insane about this. It's just dinner," Trying to fight off the not-so-very-platonic things that suddenly played in your head after hearing his previous remark. To show that you didn't care, you added for good measure, "—And anyway, we had some sort of deal about it so it's not definite."

Your best friend just shrugged. "I'm all for it. But you're sure he isn't a serial killer, right?"

"Jimin, god, no," you chuckled at that. "I mean, I don't really know for sure, but we're friends now and as far as I know, he's never shown signs of psychopathy."

Jimin and you hadn't hung out in a while, so you haven't really told him all about Jungkook yet and the things you got to know about him. He didn't even know his name. As far as he was concerned, Jungkook was still Mr. 446, and you were fine keeping it that way. He had a lot on his plate right now, anyway.

"Just being cautious." He sing-sang, putting both his hands in the air.

You shook your head.

"Anyway, we also need to talk about what we're gonna wear tomorrow," Jimin suddenly said. "You got the Pinterest board I sent you, right? For the inspo."

Grinning, you grabbed your iPad from your bag and got to the link immediately. Your phone died on the way to the café. Good thing you had another device and brought it with you.

"I also added a few things in here. Gold and black's the theme, right?" You clarified, scrolling through the board you and Jimin both contributed to. Your best friend took it upon himself to transfer seats so he could be beside you and look at your screen at the same time.

"You're gonna look so good in Schiaparelli, babe," Jimin said while checking out the pictures you added.

"It's just an inspo, I don't actually need to wear a Schiaparelli." You chuckled.

"Who do you think your best friend is?"

You both laughed at that but it stopped when a notification popped up on your computer. Recognizing the address as your work email, you were quick to hover over it. When you were about to open it to see the full message, your iPad suddenly died.

"Shoot." You looked at Jimin with a straight face. "I forgot to plug it in. Didn't notice the battery."

Jimin grimaced. "Didn't bring any power cable."

"We'll have to do with a phone. Mine died."

You were just about to ask him for his but then you remembered what he said about avoiding Namjoon, hence, his phone was of no use either. 

"We're gonna have to freestyle."

Last year, Mrs. Park's party was held at a theater hall – your first time at one, by the way.

Tonight, it was at their mansion.

You've only ever been to the Park's a total of one time, which was now. Stepping a foot inside here for the first time in your life, the house felt unreal. It was the epitome of money and wealth and everything regal in the world – like a palace of some sort. They had butlers and guards at the gates so maybe that wasn't an exaggeration, but damn, Jimin truly came from money.

Regardless of how shiny the whole building was in both literal and figurative senses though, there was an emptiness to it. It didn't look lived in – which was a fair assumption for a house this big. It definitely did not look like people liked staying here, and maybe that was not a stretch, because as soon as he turned 18, Jimin moved away and lived in his own place ever since. You asked him on your way here and he told you it was his first time this year to visit his own house.

The decoration was sick, though. Granted, they must have surely hired people to do it but at least they'd hired excellent ones. You wouldn't have expected anything less from Jimin's mom.

Jimin and you arrived at 10pm sharp, and thankfully, people were already starting to fill the place up. It was now past 15 minutes to 10pm since you arrived and there really was nothing different that went on from last year; you saw some familiar faces, politicians, and celebrities. Jimin introduced you to some people as his girlfriend, and you got to have quick chats with his model friends.

You knew it didn't actually matter if you thought about it carefully, but there was truly nothing compared to the feeling you get when you see someone in the flesh that you only see on TV all your life. You didn't feel lucky to see them in person, per se, you were just poured over the realization that these people were actually real and they weren't just some sort of simulation to keep the entertainment industry of your country afloat.

Although, you did meet Han Sol – an actress whose works you genuinely admired. Jimin just told you her husband was his second cousin.

It wasn't later that Jimin and you were invited to his family's table, where some of his cousins and immediate family were.

The greetings went pretty normal. Normal as in: Jimin's mom didn't say anything about your weight first thing first. Granted, she didn't try to hide the look of disappointment on her face when she saw you with his son. Probably reeling at the fact that you were still "dating" each other even after a year — she was probably under the impression that it wasn't serious between you two last year. His father, meanwhile, was... quiet. As usual. A man who obviously didn't really say much except ask Jimin about the training program and his siblings' jobs.

Mr. Park didn't really talk to you, just like last year. Like you were almost invisible to him – and you were glad that was the case. He probably didn't like to acknowledge your supposed relationship in the first place. Probably knew that you were working a middle-class job and didn't want to know any further. But at least, he wasn't saying anything. That was nice.

"Where's your cousin?" Asked Jimin's mom suddenly, looking at his son.

"He said he got caught up in traffic. Sent 20 minutes ago." Jimin shrugged. You would ask him about which cousin they were referring to but they had like millions of it at these events so you didn't bother.

Mrs. Park shook her head disapprovingly. "That kid. Always late to the family dinners. Did Junghyun ever teach—"

"Hey,"

Your attention was then focused to the man who just arrived. Black tie, tall... dashing. Jimin was a good-looking individual and his family, as evil as they may be as per his words, were blessed with good genes. If you were to look at the new man that arrived to the table very carefully, you'd say he almost looked familiar.

"Oh, Junghyun!"

Jimin glanced at you and discreetly mouthed, "Cousin."

"Aunt, happy birthday." He said after laughing at Jimin's mother coos. He looked across the table and continued, "Hi, uncle. Jaeyul, Sunghoon, Jimin." They all greeted him back and you could feel the hairs on your nape starting to stand up when his eyes landed on you once again. "And this is...?"

"Oh, that's Jimin's girlfriend, __." Jaeyul, Jimin's brother said.

"Hi." you greeted him, waving a bit.

"Oh?" Junghyun immediately looked at Jimin, eyes not hiding his shock. When you trained your eyes on Jimin, you felt his fake smile. "That's great, man. I didn't know you had a girlfriend. Hi, miss...?"

"It's __." you filled in.

"Nice to meet you, __." He said with a smile. The more you looked at him, the more you could almost pinpoint who he looked like – but that shouldn't really matter.

Junghyun looked over Jimin's parents once again, "Anyway, sorry I'm a bit late, got caught up in traffic."

Jimin cleared his throat.

"How about you, Junghyun? Got a girlfriend yet?" He asked as soon as Junghyun sat on the opposite side of the long table.

You could see Jimin's mother's curiosity peaking at that.

"Tell us, dear. Last time you were dating Kang Iseul, right? The actress. You're still with her?"

Everybody at the table nodded while you almost choked on the smoked quail you were eating. He was dating Kang Iseul? She was a popular actress who announced a hiatus three years ago. That actress Kang Iseul?

Junghyun chuckled and shook his head. "Nah, aunt, that was my brother, and uh, no, I'm not dating anybody currently."

"Oh well. I just wish your brother stops dating that woman. I never really liked that girl. She acts way too self-righteous! I mean, who cut ties with their billionaire father and live independently just so they can say they're self-made? It's ridiculous." Jimin's mother said in that usual snotty tone of hers, and you could not possibly process all of what was going on.

If it wasn't clear to you a moment ago, it was crystal now. Unfortunately, you were a bit chronically online and were there in real time when one random tweet blew up about Kang Iseul being a nepotism baby. But was this guy's brother really dating her? The most important and concerning thing, though, was that: why was Jimin's mom always so annoying about who her family members date? And this was not even her immediate family, mind you.

"Jina," Jimin's father had a warning tone when he called her but Jimin's mom just shrugged him off with a "tsk!"

"Kids are so ungrateful nowadays, don't you think? Anyway, Junghyun dear, you remember the Kang gala I told you about two months ago?" Jimin's mom looked pointedly at Jimin and you bit your lip.

Of course, here comes her passive aggressive disapproval of you. 

"Kang Heesu and her sister Kang Hani will be there. Heesu is a wonderful woman," she chuckled, looking over at Jimin's direction subtly. You had to physically restrain yourself from rolling your eyes. Couldn't she be more obvious about acting as a wingman for Jimin and Heesu? But she continued, just like she always did. "I also heard Kang Hani is going for senior partner at Yoon and Yang, you may be interested. Pretty lady."

Junghyun just awkwardly laughed. "I'll keep that in mind."

Jimiin's father suddenly spoke, making everyone look at him.

"Where is that kid?" He said, authority dripping through his voice. Jimin was obviously not close to his father, and who would be? Mr. Park was way too intimidating. You found it funny to think if he ever did anything remotely paternal towards his children.

"We were supposed to go together but he said he had something to finish. He'll be arriving later." Junghyun said, obviously not oblivious to the "kid" Mr. Park was referring to. You were way too uncaring to actually try to figure that out.

"I see." Jimin's father nodded. "How's Jeon and Min, Junghyun? I heard you were just appointed managing partner last week."

Junghyun responded with a "yes" and they started to talk about the law firm – you assumed – and other people they mutually knew related to the business.

You knew Jimin's complicated family tree was composed of all sorts of professionals, but damn, they had lawyers in here too. It was like out of a career day event at grade schools.

"Is it true Gukka's going to be CEO?" Jimin's mother said, joining the conversation.

You were glad they were doing all the talking. Last year, they talked to you like they were interrogating you and that was not nice.

"Well, dad's not giving up the company so soon. Gukka's going for interim CTO first." Junghyun said with a polite smile.

Gukka. That must be the brother of Junghyun, although it sounded more like a nickname than a real name.

"Your brother's a hard worker. He's looking at a CEO position, some are still at training programs." Jimin's father remarked with a pointed tone.

Oh, fuck me, you thought to yourself. You thought it was gonna take awhile for the comparison to start, but it seemed they were determined to beat their record of one hour from last year.

You tried subtly looking at Jimin to see if he was okay or anything, but you felt him squeezing your wrist under the table. His face was devoid of any emotion as he continued with his own food.

Junghyun, meanwhile, was obviously taken aback by the response and also looked over at Jimin. He was quick to recover, though – probably knew that was a jab at his cousin just like every other person in the room. Atmosphere grew tense, and you had to squirm in your seat a little bit.

"Training programs help a lot, though." Junghyun awkwardly laughed. You were starting to feel bad for him as well.

"Well, you're lawyering. Trainings are important. Mine's kinda stupid." Jimin said which made everybody look at him, including you.

"You're learning anything yet, son?" His father pointedly looked at him.

"We'll see."

Jimin's dismissive tone made you feel the eye roll he would've done after saying that.

Look, he rebelled for the most part of his life so him being passive-aggressive towards his family was not a new thing, but to witness it was both nerve-wracking and honestly... funny. His parents were such assholes so they probably deserved his attitude.

Mrs. Park smiled a fake one before looking at you.

"Well, what about you __ dear? You're a... what was that again? How is that going for you?"

Because you wanted to piss them off, you mirrored her fake smile and said, "I got fired six months ago at my accounting job."

"Pft—" you pinched Jimin's arm at his reaction.

Of course he'd laugh at that. You asked him how you could piss his parents off tonight just to get back at them from last year and he told you to pretend to be unemployed or you work a minimum wage job because that was their biggest ick. Jimin didn't know you were going to come through.

"Oh."

The look on Jimin's mom's face looked as if she heard the most scandalous thing ever, and if his father's frown was deep even before the dinner started, his face was now below the ground. It felt satisfying to get those looks on their faces. Good! They were such assholes. Imagine getting devastated at someone being unemployed? Okay – for the record, being unemployed was devastating but these people weren't sympathizing with that, they found it humiliating in an elitist way– criminal almost. 

You nodded, your lips almost getting tired from stretching them too far.

"Yeah. Anyway, I started working at a local burger joint. You should visit us sometime."

"I'm vegan." Jimin's mom said, her face now drained with the fake joy she's worn all night.

"We have vegan options." you quipped. Jimin once again made a sound beside you, hiding his laughter.

"Wait, really? They offer vegan options at a street burger joint?" Sunghoon, the youngest of the Park brothers, asked.

You almost laughed at the genuine curiosity in his voice. He was still in high school and from what Jimin told you, he was a nice kid. He wasn't very close to any of his brothers, though.

"Nah, it's the only one in town." You bullshit one more time, drinking the wine beside you. "Sorry, can I excuse myself for a minute?"

They nodded and you stood up, heading to the bathroom, brisking once you got out of their sight to get there more quickly.

It was now 10:30 pm – meaning, you had to do something to get Jimin out of here now if he wanted to be on time at the airport to send off Namjoon.

Once you got inside, you looked at yourself in the mirror and sighed. 

This whole thing was sucking the shit out of your soul, but you needed to get through it.

It took you awhile to finish your pep talk in the bathroom.

If only you could've have locked yourself in there to avoid socializing with anybody, you willingly would. But you were running out of time and unfortunately, you had something to do and that was to fake some illness to get both Jimin and you out of here.

When you got out to approach the family's table one more time, you suddenly stopped in your tracks.

The table was at least fifteen meters away from where you stood, but you could clearly see the side in which Jimin's cousin, Junghyun, sat, facing your direction. He wasn't the issue – no, far from it. It was the guy beside him who wore the same set of black tie as him; the face attached to the body who wore it though, was someone you did not expect to see.

Why the fuck was Jungkook, Unit 446, here?!

From where you were, you could see him engaging with Junghyun and Jimin's parents. You couldn't hear them, of course, but it was clear that they were acquainted – close – even from afar.

Why did he look so comfortable with the Parks? Why was he at the family table laughing and conversing with everybody, including Jimin? Why did he seem like he went to many of these, like this was just another Thursday for him?

There was a waiter who walked past you and you were grateful for it because had it not been the case, people would start to get weirded out about you standing on the same place longer than necessary, looking stoned. That was also an opportunity to run away from the situation without Jungkook possibly seeing and recognizing you.

"I'll take this," You told the waiter and grabbed the glass of champagne and quickly turned on your heels, heading to the opposite side of the family table where the Parks, and apparently, Jungkook were.

You found yourself heading to the bathroom again, your feet seemingly developing a mind of its own as it led you there unconsciously. You knew you'd be in trouble if they found out about you putting the champagne glass in the sink, but you needed to get inside the toilet and think over everything that was happening tonight.

What the fuck. What the fuck!  Again, why the hell was Jungkook here?

As far as you knew, he was just a regular man that happened to be living across from you. He was just supposed to be some guy you were regularly hanging out with nowadays. Your friend. Your crush – whatever! What he wasn't supposed to be is be here at your best friend's mother's birthday party and hanging out with his family!

Your phone dinged, a message notification from Jimin welcoming you.

cuntress #1 [10:32pm]: girl what happened I saw u going back to the bathroom?

You didn't know why it was suddenly too hot, but you felt the balls of sweat starting to form on the side of your forehead.

You [10:33pm]: im going with the diarrhea excuse

cuntress #1 [10:33pm]: tbh idc atp I just wanna go to joon 😔

"Shit!"

Right! Joon. Namjoon. Jimin needed to go to Nmajoon as soon as possible.

cuntress #1 [10:33pm]: also another cousin has arrived u rmr jeon jungkook he's junghyun's brother cuntress #1 [10:33pm]: love this guy but moms starting to compare me to him and I need out right NEOW im justt aking hits after hits jesusssssss

You could just feel the blood draining from your face as soon as you read Jungkook's name in the text.

Jeon Jungkook. Jungkook. Gukka. Kook-a.

That was why the Junghyun guy looked familiar. Because he had the same coloring of Jeon Jungkook. Because they were goddamn siblings.

You started to replay some memories in your head, trying to figure out if you've ever heard Jungkook talk about his family in one of your conversations. But as far as you remembered, he never did. All you knew about him was that he was from the States, and he only got here because of work and he had a dog and as far as you were concerned, his cousin was definitely not Park fucking Jimin, your best friend.

Pacing around the confined space of the toilet, you tried to wrack your brain if you've ever mentioned Jimin to him and in the event that you did, why he never told you that he was his cousin – but you came up blank. Blank because you never told him about your best friend's name... and in turn, Jimin didn't know what Mr. 446's name was, either. They were both genuinely oblivious about the whole thing and couldn't have made you a fool in the situation.

In short, you were the one who was stupid as hell for not connecting the dots sooner.

"Hey, you just landed?"

If it was a private conversation Jimin would've left the room but since he didn't, you decided to stay in bed, kind of listening in to the conversation, but also not, as you turned the volume down of the show you were watching earlier on your laptop.

"Nah, you want me to pick you up?" Jimin sat up on the edge of the bed and you looked at him curiously. "Sure, I'm free, Kook. You have a place to stay? Hotel suite or something?" He nodded to whatever the other person was saying on the other line. "Oh, you're here for three months? Thought you were just flying in for mom's birthday?"

It was moments after they said goodbye that Jimin turned to you to ask, "Well, my cousin's apparently staying here for three months. Got this job thing going on."

"Fuck me." You hissed, remembering that time when Jimin told you about his cousin staying here for three months because of work.

cuntress #1 [10:35pm]: its either ur taking a guinness world record breaker piss there or u really do have diarrhea now and ur shitting cuntress #1 [10:36pm]: anyway get this, jungkook's gonna be interim cto at your company did u know that??????????????????

You almost dropped your phone upon reading the last message.

What the hell did he mean by that?

Heart beating fast as if it wanted to break out of your own ribcage, you closed your eyes and read Jimin's message once again. There was no way he would be shitting you about any of this. He knew where you worked at and you knew your current company was his uncle's, and now that you knew Jungkook was his cousin...

Shit. Was this what they were talking about at the table earlier? About Junghyun saying his brother was gonna be interim CTO? Did he mean Jeon Jungkook all along? Your freaking neighbor?

Suddenly, you remembered the email you received that afternoon that you never bothered to check again because you simply forgot about it. Who even actually checks their work email? Literally no one. You spend your weeks facing your computer while email flew in like porn ads on a shady website, you weren't about to willingly go to the app and check it on your leisure time.

But maybe you should have.

Fingers involuntarily shaking in their wake as you switched to your work email on your phone, you clicked on the recent unread message that was on top from the HR department.

Subject: Invitation to Ceremony: Announcement of Interim CTO Dear Blue Nexus Inc. employee, We hope this email finds you well. We would like to inform you that a ceremony has been scheduled on July 29, 2028, 10:00 am at the AVR Hall 5, 12th floor. The purpose of this meeting is to announce the appointment of our interim Chief Technology Officer (CTO), Mr. Jeon Jungkook. As you may be aware, our previous CTO, Mr. Shin Juman, is currently on medical leave recovering from a stroke. While he is recuperating and undergoing treatment, it has become necessary for us to appoint an interim CTO  for an indefinite period of time to ensure the continuity and effectiveness of our operations. Your presence at this ceremony is highly valued as we introduce the new leadership to the team and outline our strategic direction moving forward. Light refreshments will be served. Thank you for your attention to this matter. We look forward to seeing you at the ceremony. Best regards, HR Department

You knew that feeling when you were just taking hits and hits? This was it.

So not only was Jeon Jungkook Jimin's cousin, he was also gonna be the interim CTO of the company you were currently working at. He was technically going to be your boss, and you would be both working in the same place all the while living across each other where he would see you taking out your trash every Sunday morning in your worn-out highschool PE shirt and pants. He was going to be your boss working at the company you complained to him about on the nights you walked together to your shared apartment complex.

You flirted with Jungkook. You flirted with the guy who was the son of the owner of your whole company building – and not only that, he was your best friend's cousin, to add salt to injury.

You [10:38pm]: jimin we need to get out of here

cuntress #1 [10:38pm]: ive been saying

You [10:38pm]: but i cant go out there again. Just tell them i had a problem in the bathroom??

cuntress #1 [10:38pm]: ok on it  cuntress #1 [10:38pm]: im kind of convinced u shitted in there tho????????

You rolled your eyes, but at the same time found an opportunity in that. Jimin can't know the truth.

You [10:39pm]: u cant judge me for having a very human experience fuck u the cake i ate earlier was giving cake boss

cuntress #1 [10:39pm]: KJAHFKGSIDFHDSHASFHSKJBF

You [10:39pm]: im literally doing this for u and joon

cuntress #1 [10:39pm]: IKNOW!!!!!!!!!!!!thanks to ur stomach problems cuntress #1 [10:39pm]: im going there

You [10:40pm]: make sure they don't see us again to really sell the whole im-embarassed-thing

cuntress #1 [10:40pm]: ON IT! Were going out the back door I don't think they'll notice

You couldn't even find it in you to laugh a little bit at your silly exchange and scheme, because you were way too stressed about what you just found out.

You let out a controlled, heavy breath, leaning your back on the door and shut your eyes aggressively.

"What the hell am I gonna do after this?"

PART TWO | ....

all right reserved © awrkive, 2024. no reposts, modification, and copying allowed. if you enjoy my work/s and have the extra means, please consider supporting me on ko-fi <3

[navybrat817]

Hold You Tight: Part 23

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 22 | Series Masterlist | Part 24

Chapter Word Count: Over 5.8k

Chapter Summary: Bucky wants answers from Clark.

Chapter Warnings: Heavy violence, torture, blood, talk of assault, threats, obsession, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), Bucky's POV, more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight. Thank you again for sticking with me, and this is our first chapter from Bucky's POV! This is a heavy chapter, so proceed with caution. Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-in-darkness . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky Barnes wasn't a good man. He figured that out a long time ago. He believed he had good qualities deep down thanks to his mom, but they didn't surface a lot in his line of work or way of life. They couldn’t, otherwise he would’ve been eaten alive. So he took a page out of his dad’s book, as much as he would never admit it, and made sure he was on top in his world. He thrived as a king, even though he had no queen to share his life with.

Until you came along.

He sighed, gazing at a photo of you on his phone. He brushed his finger along the screen, his heart aching from how beautiful you were. Loving you should've been a weakness, but it made him feel invincible. You were so wonderfully different from the people he surrounded himself with- unafraid to call him out on his bullshit, leading with kindness, and too pure for the world he lived in. He knew that, but he was too selfish to let you go because you brought light back into his life.

He had to be careful not to snuff it out.

“Buck?” Steve asked.

Bucky stared at your photo for a few seconds longer. “Hmm?”

“You ready?”

Looking down the hall at his office door, his heart clenched. He logically knew you were safe and sound with Natasha, but he wanted to rush back to you and not let you out of his sight. He wanted to hold you, comfort you, let you know that-

“Buck?” Steve gently asked.

Turning away, he shook his head. He’d have you back in his arms soon enough, and he had business to take care of. “Yeah.” He smirked and tucked his phone away. “I think we let our guest squirm long enough.”

His blood boiled with each step he took, anger etched in his features as he descended to the club basement. It was an area that only select staff and men had access to, the ones he had introduced you to. He’d never bring you down there. You’d already have enough nightmares thanks to everything that had happened and he didn’t want to give you one more.

The men scattered around the room stood silently as he made it to the last step. The tension was thick enough to choke on, most of them likely wondering who Clark was and why he was worth the trouble of shutting down the club for the night. No one asked though. No one breathed a word.

“Gentlemen,” he smiled, his eyes sweeping across the room. “Before I introduce the guest of honor for the evening, I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that whatever happens down here stays down here.”

He shrugged his jacket off as he noted a few nods and grunts of acknowledgement. Trust wasn’t easy. Neither was loyalty. He had no reason to doubt anyone in this room though, and there was no reason to threaten any of them.

“Good. Hal, would you mind pouring me a drink?” he asked as if he had all the time in the world. “Jake?”

“Y-Yeah. I’m here,” he said, taking a step forward.

Bucky had to smile. Curtis and Ari stood beside Jake, almost like they were protecting him, but he didn’t need protection. Jake was strong in his own right, and one of the smartest men he knew. He was a valuable asset, even if he didn’t always agree with his methods.

“You get that file I asked about?” Bucky took the glass from Hal while Jake nodded quickly. “Why don’t you tell everyone about him before we bring him out here?”

Jake pushed his glasses up. “M… Me?”

“Yeah, you,” he answered, casually sipping his whiskey.

“Sure.” The former military Captain retrieved a small tablet from his bag and swiped a few times. “The guy tied up in the closet is Kal, renamed Clark Joseph Kent after he was adopted by Jonathan and Martha Kent. Only child, and grew up on a farm in Kansas. Been in and out of therapy for anger management.” That may have explained part of why he snapped. “He moved to Metropolis years ago and worked for The Daily Planet. Moved here over a year ago to work for The Tribune.”

Thor chuckled, taking a sip from his own tumbler. “What is this? Did Kent try to write a scathing article about you? I thought everyone at The Tribune was on our payroll.”

Bucky understood why Thor thought that. Just about everyone in the room had done something worthy of attracting the wrong sort of attention, which they always made sure got buried. “Not this one, and we’ll get to why he’s here,” Bucky said, motioning for Jake to continue.

Jake cleared his throat. “He was recently discussing moving to Gotham to work for The Gotham Gazette. Bruce Wayne even wrote him a letter of recommendation before he was hired.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. Everyone knew who Bruce Wayne was. Rich, brilliant, basically Tony Stark without the ego. Clark wasn’t kidding when he said he had a powerful friend, but he had been leaning toward Zemo being that friend.

Was Clark planning to drag you to Gotham? The thought of another man trying to take you out of the city made him want to commit violence. And he would soon enough.

“Did you find anything on a woman named Lois?” Bucky asked. You told Bucky that he had recently split with his girlfriend, and you also asked to find out what happened to her. If anyone could find out anything, Jake could, and Bucky didn’t want to let you down.

Jake swiped twice. “Yeah. Lois Lane. Moved here with Clark and also a journalist, but she wasn’t working for The Tribune and she stopped going to work about a month ago. Emailed her resignation notice to her boss. Didn’t even go in to get her stuff.” He looked around the room. “I don’t… I don’t think anyone has really seen her.”

Bucky’s stomach sank a bit. He didn’t know Lois, but he knew it would break your heart if something happened to her. “You still in contact with Pooch and Cougar?” Jake nodded. The men weren't necessarily on his payroll, but they were loyal to Jake. “Send them to Clark’s place. Find out anything you can, and find her.”

“As fascinating as this all sounds, what does this have to do with any of us?” Nick asked, looking as bored as he sounded.

“Well, Clark has also been spotted talking with Helmut Zemo,” Jake said, his face a bit pale under Bucky’s stare. “But I don’t know why. I’m sorry.”

Bucky took another sip. So, Clark had been speaking with Zemo. And Zemo was either smart enough not to leave a paper trail, or he spoke with Clark in areas where Jake couldn’t hack nearby cameras. No matter. He’d find out why soon enough. “Good work, Jake.”

“You shut down the club and brought us down here for a guy who was spotted speaking with Zemo? That doesn’t make any sense,” Sam said.

“No, it doesn’t.” Bucky made sure to look at every single one of them before he stated, “The reason he’s here is because he put his hands on my Kotyonok, and you know what that means.”

Bucky briefly closed his eyes, your screams still echoing in his mind. He wasn’t a man who scared easily, but what happened tonight scared him. He could’ve lost you, and you could’ve lost a part of yourself if they had been minutes later. The worst part was that he hadn’t seen it coming, not completely. He knew what to expect from certain players and had to protect you, but he hadn’t anticipated someone like Clark. Someone who wasn’t in the normal circle of enemies.

It nearly cost him, and he would make him pay.

The atmosphere shifted immediately, and Steve had to pull Thor back when he took a step forward. “Unhand me, Rogers,” he gritted.

“She’s not your woman,” Steve reminded him, not letting him go just yet. “And since she isn’t your woman, you don’t get to decide who gets first blood.”

Thor took a deep breath. “My apologies, Barnes.”

“Nothing to apologize for. I appreciate that you’re protective of my girl,” he said sincerely. You needed protection, even if you didn’t want it from them. “Ari, Jax, put him in the middle of the room. I want to talk before we punish him.”

As much as he wanted to make Clark hurt, he did need some answers first.

Jax and Ari didn’t have to be told twice, dragging a tied up Clark out of the dark closet. He had a bag covering his head, but there were no marks or wounds, save for the ones he received in your apartment. His shoes and socks had been removed, too, and his blood would stain the tarp beneath him soon enough.

Nodding to the men, they shoved Clark unceremoniously to the floor before Jax pulled the bag off. Clark’s face was screwed up in fury, his blue eyes blazing as they darted around the room, but his words were muffled by the gag. Part of Bucky hoped he fought. It would make things more interesting.

Looking at the prick in front of him, he told himself that this was all for you. All for the woman who occupied his every waking thought. It didn't matter what he looked at or who was speaking to him, his mind found a way to tie anything and everything back to you. And it wasn't just his mind. Oh, no. Sight, touch, hearing, taste, smell, you ensnared his senses.

Nothing and no one had control over Bucky Barnes except for you.

“Kal or Clark or whatever the fuck your name is, welcome to the basement of The 107th!” Bucky smiled, deliberately slow clapping. “Do you like it? Soundproof walls so your screams aren’t heard upstairs and a tarp underneath you so you don’t get blood on my floor.”

Clark paled slightly, but it didn’t lessen the anger in his eyes.

“Now before my men and I have some fun with you, and it will be fun for us, I have a few questions to ask,” he explained, giving him a dark smile and pushing a button on the far right wall. It opened up to reveal a range of weapons, each one more deadly than the last. “If you don’t answer or if I think you’re lying, I’ll start by cutting off a toe. Is that understood?”

He motioned for Ari to remove the gag. “Go fuck yourself,” Clark growled.

Bucky sighed and ran his finger along some of the weapons. “So many options. What should I choose first?”

“The blowtorch could be fun,” Nick smirked when Clark squirmed. “Though the smell of burning flesh isn't.”

“You could start with the pliers.” Thor elbowed Sam with a chuckle. “Though I prefer a hammer.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yes, Thor, we all know how much you love using hammers to hurt people.”

“You're really going to skip your signature weapon?” Steve asked. The men all knew how fond he was of knives.

Bucky hummed and picked a sharp and sleek blade after careful consideration. “Curtis, since you were the one who got to my girl’s apartment first, I think it’s only fair that you get the first punch.”

Curtis didn’t hesitate to march forward and grab Clark by the hair. The fury in Clark’s eyes paled in comparison to Curtis’s. “You would’ve raped her if we hadn’t gotten there in time, you piece of shit,” he snarled, his fist connecting with Clark’s mouth.

“He what?!” Thor shouted. Steve and Sam both had to hold him back this time.

Bucky felt the same surge of anger. He pushed your limits, but he wouldn’t force himself on you. He wasn’t that kind of monster.

“Stand down, Thor. You’ll get your hits in,” he promised, needing to keep himself in check so he didn’t just outright kill Clark. “First question- Why did you go after my girl?”

To go after you was to go after him, and he took it personally.

Clark spit blood on the tarp. “Your girl? You mean the girl you forced to be by your side?” he laughed, grating on Bucky’s nerves. “Oh, I know all about that. She’s a kind and good person, so you either forced her to be with you or lied to her since she wouldn’t be yours willingly if she knew who you were.”

His nostrils flared. He wanted to believe you were with him because you wanted to be his girl, but he knew the truth. If he hadn’t forced your hand… “Hold him,” he ordered, stepping forward with the knife.

Clark struggled in Ari and Jax’s hold. “I went after her because I wanted her, okay? She’s nice and she needed me to save her from you!” he shouted, his eyes wide when Bucky gripped his ankle. “I answered your question!”

“Save her? Were you planning on taking her to Gotham?” he asked, the blade nicking his big toe.

Clark hissed. “Yes! She’s a florist, she can do that anywhere.”

“If you knew my girl the way I do, you’d know this place is her home and she wouldn’t want to go to Gotham,” he said. Gotham would never be your home. Nowhere else would.

“She would’ve accepted it eventually because needs me.” No, you didn’t. “He said so.”

“Who?” he pressed. “Who said so?”

Clark hesitated before the blade dug in again. “Helmut Zemo!”

Bucky froze. “Why would Zemo tell you that, and how do you know him?” He didn’t want to believe Zemo was stupid enough to set this up, but he’d fight if he wanted a war.

“He approached me, okay? Said he knew I stopped into the flower shop to see her, and alluded to the fact that a dangerous man recently trapped her into a relationship.” Bucky’s jaw clenched. “He said if she stayed with you it would ruin her, but someone like me could be a hero and help her.”

Clark was no hero. “Do you work for him?” Bucky asked. Was he on his payroll?

“No. Zemo and I talked some more, but I don’t work for him. I’m just a journalist.”

Bucky scoffed, but he believed him. Zemo could stir the pot when he wanted to and feed into anyone’s ego. He knew just what to say to Clark to light a fire under him. “But he told you to help her, and how did you do that? You stalked, scared, and attacked her.” He pointed the blade at Clark’s face, wanting to slice his skin off and carve out his eyes. The irony also wasn’t lost on him that he had stalked and scared you, he was more than aware of that. “You’re a monster.”

“No, I’m not,” Clark said through his teeth.

“Yes, you are because you pretend that you’re a nice guy, but you’re a piece of shit just like the rest of us. You said you wanted to help her, but it was all about you. And you couldn’t accept the fact that she rejected you and your help, and you snapped,” he said. He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and Zemo encouraged him to go after you. He wanted to gut him for that. “Were you planning to get her out of the city tonight?”

“Yes. We knew she was going to the winery and I thought it was the perfect opportunity, but I also thought she would’ve been a bit more… docile when she came back.” Clark shifted uncomfortably. “I told the driver to slip something in her drink if he had to, but he either didn’t or she didn’t drink it because she was too alert.”

Bucky’s fingers twitched, but he didn’t hit him. You had asked about your poor friends, and your suspicions seemed to be correct. He was thankful you weren’t drugged, otherwise tonight would’ve been much worse. “The driver, did you pay him? Promise him anything?”

“That was all Zemo. I’m not made of money,” Clark answered easily.

It made sense. Zemo paid the driver to take off, which gave Clark the opportunity to ambush you. Steve would have to hold Bucky back when he got his hands on Zemo. “Where’s he now?” he asked Nick. He wanted the driver brought to the club.

Nick nodded to another door. “Second closet. Nice and cozy.”

“I’ll be sure he knows you sold him out before I put a bullet between his eyes,” he promised Clark. Anyone who couldn’t stay loyal had no business breathing. Anyone who set you up to get hurt or worse didn't have a place in his world.

A bitter laugh came out. “I guess killing’s easy for a guy who murdered his own flesh and blood.”

“My own flesh and blood?” he asked, holding up a hand when Steve stepped forward. “No, no. I want to hear what he has to say.”

“Your dad. You murdered him. Hid your tracks pretty well, but I know what you did,” Clark smirked, but Bucky didn’t flinch. What happened to you scared him, but this prick didn’t scare him in the least. “I have quite a few articles ready to go about you, your dad, and some of your other indiscretions. You may be rich and powerful, but you can't buy off everyone.”

Bucky laughed this time. Stories never made it to the pages, his men made sure of that. “Yeah. I killed my father. So what?” he said nonchalantly. “I did the world a favor by getting rid of that piece of shit.”

He should've killed his dad a long time ago for what he did to his mom. And if your parents ever hurt you again, he wouldn't hesitate to ruin their lives. It was the least he could do for you.

That was how much he loved you.

Fear flashed across Clark’s face at his indifference. If it was so easy for him to kill a member of his family, it wouldn’t be any skin off his back to kill anyone else. “You-”

“And your plan was to… what? Get my girl out of the city, and you’d release articles about me? The Tribune works for me, and you know they’d never release them, which you probably hate.” He tilted his head. “But The Gotham Gazette doesn’t work for me.”

Clark’s mouth fell open. “How the hell did-”

“This is starting to make a little more sense,” he said, twirling the knife in his hand as he smiled at Steve. “He gets my girl to Gotham where he thinks I have no jurisdiction since it’s Bruce Wayne’s territory and he’s a friend of his. But to make sure I really don’t step foot in the city, he releases articles about me claiming that I killed my dad along with some other indiscretions that’ll spread like wildfire so that I’m either arrested or confined to my city. Makes sense, doesn't it?”

“Yeah, it does,” Steve replied, crossing his arms.

“Is that right? Am I on the right track?” he asked Clark, who squared his shoulders and didn’t answer. Losing his patience, he made good on his word and brought the knife down on his big toe. The scream of pain only fueled his fire.

Clark screamed and made the mistake of looking at his foot, quickly turning his head away to dry heave. Bucky hoped he got sick. Hoped he choked on it. “You son of a bitch!” he yelled.

“Son of a bitch? My mother was a fucking saint. My girl saved her, and what did you do to my girl?! You put your hands on her. You hurt her!” he roared and brought the knife down again, blood splattering on the tarp. None of the men looked phased by his anger or the violence. “Everyone I’ve killed was a monster and I’m glad they’re dead, but what’s your excuse, huh? Why did you kill Lois? Did she see you for what you really are?”

Clark tried to breathe evenly through the pain. “I didn’t… I didn’t kill her! I just wanted to teach her a lesson for trying to leave me,” he replied. What the hell was wrong with this man? He hoped Pooch and Cougar got some answers. “Same with ‘your’ girl. If she had just grabbed that coffee with me, I could’ve explained, but she just had to fight.”

Bucky was proud that you fought and called out to him for help when you needed it. And he knew you would’ve never gone with Clark if he told you the truth, not even for a chance to escape him. “You know, I almost want to thank you.”

“What?” Clark’s brows pinched.

“I dreamt of so many ways to bring her closer to me, and thanks to you she’s in my home where she belongs even sooner than I planned. You handed her to me on a silver platter, and we’re going to be so happy together,” he smiled.

In the beginning, Bucky debated staging something where he got to be your hero, but he ultimately decided against it. There were too many elements that would’ve been out of his control. Not to mention, the thought of another man putting their hands on you made him see red, and it would’ve frightened you.

He still chose to frighten you instead of courting you correctly. Deep down he knew if he had approached you like a normal person that there would be a chance you’d decide to leave him when you realized what kind of man he was. He couldn’t have that, so he deliberately scared you. Power and control was what worked in his world, and trapping you with fear and subtle threats against loved ones made you join his side.

Now that you were in his home where you belonged, it would be a reset of sorts. He’d pick up the pieces that Clark and Zemo broke, as well as the damage he’d done himself. He’d also have to earn your love and keep it. He would because he was a determined man and there was no one else for him.

“You really are a sick-”

“I get why you wanted her, I really do,” Bucky continued. You were an angel on earth, a woman who could disarm the strongest man with a mere smile, beautiful with a loving heart, someone who deserved the entire world. “And you see, I scare her, I know I do, but you?” He pointed the knife at him again. “Your actions terrified her, and you pushed her right to me. She doesn’t want to see you ever again. She doesn’t even want to remember that you exist.”

Clark’s shoulders slumped. Was he losing his will to fight? “Just let her go. Let me go, and I'll make sure the stories stay buried.”

“You think you're in any sort of position to threaten me?” he asked. Clark was nothing, and he could see Jake out of the corner of his eye working his magic. Wherever those pending articles were, he’d find them and get rid of them for good. “And I’m never letting her go. She’s mine.”

Clark’s lip raised in a snarl. “I think that if the public were to get wind of your escapades, ‘your girl’ would be even less safe than she already is,” he said. Bucky didn’t want to agree with that because he did want you safe. “You don't want that, do you?”

“And now you're threatening my woman? Knowing that releasing those articles could potentially put her in danger?” Maybe he should cut his tongue out. “You may know things about me, but you must really not have done your research if you think I’d let you bring her harm again.”

“I've done more than enough research! Your dad isn't the only man you've killed, you said it yourself, and those victims have friends and family who would love to hurt your loved ones in return,” he snapped, starting to sweat. “You can't keep her safe forever.”

“You hurt her. You threw her to the ground and put your fucking hand around her throat,” he growled. Zemo may have fueled the flames for Clark, but something still wasn’t quite right. “At any point when Zemo spoke with you, did he tell you to put a hand on her or tell you why he hates me?”

Zemo hated Bucky because of what happened to his wife and son, though Bucky hadn’t been the one to kill them or order their deaths. If he gave Clark an order to physically harm you, it would be his death sentence because that was a line no one could come back from. He knew that. Was he that eager to die?

“No. He never said why he hated you and he didn’t tell me to hurt her,” he admitted, with regret on his face for the first time that evening. “In fact, he told me I should be very careful with her because she was innocent and important to you.”

Bucky stared into his eyes. The fucker was actually telling the truth. Jake mentioned he had been in and out of therapy for anger management. Your rejection must’ve overridden Zemo’s warning in his head. Zemo still had a price to pay though. But how?

“She isn’t just important to me. She’s my whole world.” Bucky’s metal hand curled, having to stop himself from stabbing the fucker in the heart. “And you almost took her from me,” he growled.

“I didn’t want to hurt her,” Clark whispered, but he did and he couldn’t take it back.

Clark's words infuriated Bucky, his fist connecting with his jaw. He wanted him to suffer until his dying breath for what he did to you. He wanted to send a message to Zemo and anyone else who thought they could harm what was his and get away with it. “Gentlemen, I want you to pay close attention to this audio,” he announced, pushing himself to his feet and pulling out his phone. “There will be a quiz after,” he added sarcastically.

Clark winced when your scream rang out from the device. “Bucky, help! Help me, please!”

It took everything in Bucky not to crush his phone as the audio continued, bile rising to his throat. Hearing your raw fear, being attacked in a place that you made your own, was something that would haunt him until his dying breath. And as he looked around the room, carefully taking in the furious and shocked expressions of his men, he knew they were thinking of their own partners or future spouses and how they’d react if someone did to them what Clark dared to do to you.

The only sound in the room when the audio stopped was Clark’s heavy breathing. He was the pig presented for slaughter, and he knew it. Good.

“How many times did Kotyonok say my name?” Bucky asked his men, his voice calmer than he expected.

“Three times, boss,” Raymond answered right away.

Bucky snapped his fingers. “That’s right, Ray. Three times. So, Clark, I’ll be taking three of your fingers as payment.” Clark thrashed, but his strength was no match compared to Jax and Ari. “And I’ll make sure every bone in your other hand is shattered since you tried to choke her.”

“Y-You-”

“We should castrate you, too, because I agree with Curtis. You would've raped her if we hadn't shown up in time.” He stomped hard on Clark's crotch, and smirked when all that came out was a breathless scream. The thought of another man inside you was enough to piss him off, but someone trying to take you by force? He wouldn't let that go. “We’ll cut your pathetic dick off, too.”

“No!” Clark wheezed, his eyes almost bulging out of his head. It was impressive that he could still talk. “You can’t do that!”

Bucky’s chilling laughter echoed in the room. “I’m James Buchanan Barnes and this is my city, so I can do whatever the fuck I want,” he boasted. Clark couldn’t touch him or escape. “And you fucked with my woman, so I’m going to torture you and enjoy every second of it.”

“You can’t-”

“I won’t kill you tonight, no, but I’m going to make you suffer before I kill you. I’m going to make you suffer for hurting my girl, for making her cry, for breaking the trinkets in her apartment, everything.” He ignored Clark’s shouts and pointed at Steve. “As my best friend and one of the guys who helped tonight, you get the next hit once I cut his fingers off, followed by Raymond.” He heard Thor huff from where he stood. “Followed by Thor.”

“I want to be the one to break his hand,” Thor said before he smirked. “With my hammer.”

“Done.” Bucky gestured to the rest of the men. “You can decide the order after that, but don't kill him. I want him to beg for death by the time we’re done with him.”

And it didn't matter if Clark begged for his life because he’d never leave this basement alive.

“You don’t deserve her!” Clark spat.

Bucky’s heart twisted when he pictured your face, how you flinched at this touch, your tears from everything you went through since he came into your life. “No, I don’t,” he agreed. At least, he didn’t deserve you yet. He had a lot of making up to do when it came to you, but he had all the time in the world since he wasn’t letting you go. You possessed him body, mind, heart, and soul, and he would weave the strings of fate as tight as he could to keep you. “But neither do you.”

His hand shot out and wrapped around Clark’s throat. “Stop,” he gasped, unable to move with Ari and Jax holding him firm.

“You didn't stop, and I can't forgive that. No amount of begging, money, anything will spare you. And when I go home tonight, I’ll wipe away her tears, and kiss her sweet lips, and I’ll slowly put her back together and make good on that promise that she’ll forget you existed,” he smiled, squeezing harder. “I hope when you take your last breath that you imagine her calling out my name, and you die knowing that she’s going to live a long and happy life by my side as my wife.”

Something inside of Bucky shut down when he released his throat and cut off the first finger, feeling numb to the cries of pain as Clark tried to yank his hand away. He hadn't felt a thing when he killed his dad, and he refused to feel remorse for Clark’s suffering. His fingers brought you harm, so he was more than happy to get rid of them.

He glanced at his men by the time he finished removing the third. Steve and Thor saw you as a sister, someone to care for. Ray had a soft spot for you whether he would admit it or not. Jax and Hal harmlessly flirted with you. Nick took any slight against a friend's partner as a slight against himself. The rest of the men knew what you meant to him.

And he wanted them to destroy anything that brought you pain.

“He touched what belongs to me. Hurt him for hurting her,” he ordered, his voice devoid of any emotion as he let them go to work.

Steve kicked Clark square in the face, his nose crunching under the heavy force. Bucky didn't smile, didn't blink. Every drop of blood, every scream, every punch and kick and blow was justified. Thor was right when he said you were the queen of The 107th, and he and his men protected and defended their queen. And none of them showed Clark any mercy.

This is all for you, Kotyonok.

Clark’s cries and screams diminished to whimpers and ragged breaths. His handsome face was hardly recognizable anymore, and he was somehow still conscious. That made Bucky happy. He hoped he felt every ounce of pain.

“Pooch and Cougar may have found Lois! She isn't in good shape, but she’s alive!” Jake called out. He was the only one who hadn't gotten a hit on Clark, but that was okay. He was doing what he had to do. “And those stories won't get released. I made sure of it.”

Bucky didn't react. Instead, he stared at the blood soaking the tarp and thought about buying you flowers. With petals as soft as your skin that smelled just as sweet. That would put a smile on your face, right? He just wanted to make you smile.

And he wanted you to wear his mother's ring. Not the gaudy ring his dad gave her. No, you’d wear his mom's family ring, a timeless and beautiful heirloom passed down from generation to generation. And he’d make love to you after he proposed. He’d make sure you knew how much he loved you.

“Buck?” Steve asked when he didn't say anything to Jake. “Do you want Clark put back in the closet?”

“String him up. Keep it warm enough down here so he doesn't freeze. I’ll decide when he dies.” Bucky’s eyes were still cold when he looked at his best friend. “If Lois really is alive, we’ll make sure she gets the best medical treatment and assure her that Clark will never go near her again.”

That's what you would want for Lois because you were a good person.

“The driver?” Steve asked, nodding to another door.

“I’ll deal with him later.”

Steve nodded. “And what about Zemo?”

“We find him and make him talk,” he said. They couldn't kill him without causing ripples throughout the city, so they had to tread carefully.

“No need to look far, boss,” Ray said, pushing his glasses up. “Yelena followed him and he’s just outside of the club. He hasn't left his vehicle.”

Bucky exchanged a look with Steve before he took a gun from the wall. He couldn't kill Zemo, but he’d defend himself if he had to. “Let’s invite him in and give him a proper welcome.”

Fury filled him all over again knowing you were upstairs, but he wouldn’t let Zemo get to you. He wouldn’t let you down this time. And when he was done dealing with that problem, he’d bring you home, hold you tight, and whisper in your ear how much he loved you when you fell asleep.

Because you were his happy ending, and no one would take that away from him.

Whew! You still with me lovelies? How will the talk with Zemo go? How long before Bucky kills Clark? And I have to say, as fun as Bucky's POV was, I miss Kotyonok! Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[kameyyy]

#recs

this didn’t fit anymore lmao😭

try again

part 0.11. HERE TO STAY

“on the other side of the wall, she’s listening to her client with a smile on her face. she’s a professional; she’s been trained to multitask and take notes while still listening and providing feedback to her clients. right now, she’s clicking off a tab back to the one filled with bullet points on things her client has said. she always knows when he arrives. she hears the left door open, which she knows because it squeaks more than the one on the right. he always uses the left door (she thinks it has something to do with the fact that more people touch the handle of the right door on their way in) and his paces are always steady down the creaky hallway. her last sign that he's here is the chair he sits in every time, the one right next to the door into her rooms. the legs are the slightest bit uneven and the back of the chair will lightly tap against the wall as its way of letting her know of her welcome guest. she already has her queue of songs up. she’s always hated her thin walls until he started coming in. a lot has changed in her life since he's come back, hasn't it?"

content warnings: the big finale which isn't that dramatic! i'm sorry for my bad writing! y/n dad reveal! breaking news: her dad is an asshole! tad bit of violence, one mention of blood and also just cursing and abusive fathers </3

he insists on paying and she doesn’t argue with him about it for long; she’ll have countless more opportunities to steal the check from him, she hopes.

she feels better when she's finally eaten after a day of nervous nausea and time spent anxiously bouncing her knee. on top of that, she’d been with him for the majority of the day, distracting her from what had happened in the morning. he even listened to her issues, and she’s finally starting to believe the promise that he’s here to stay. 

they’ve just stepped off the train, and her apartment building is only a few minutes away. he walks alongside her the entire time, their arms brushing each other ever so often. whether it’s on purpose or not, neither of them will fess up.

he’s only distracted from his time spent mindlessly reaching his arm out just the slightest bit more to hit hers ever so often when he feels a buzz in his pocket. he slips out his phone quickly to check its screen:

akaashi’s a moment too late, because they’ve just made it up the stairs to her floor.

she’s already seen him, and he’s already seen her.

she wants to puke. 

he’s there, arguing with iwaizumi outside their door. his sunken eyes and gaunt face make her stomach twist with guilt, but a brush from omi’s knuckles reminds her where she is again. it’s not her job to take care of him. it never was, and it never will be.

"you," the man is pointing a finger towards her, stumbling forward and she immediately shrinks back like a shriveling flower, losing her confidence. omi's already standing in front of her without even thinking about it, putting a barrier between the two.

the old man keeps talking as if he can see right through him, though “you’re a disrespectful worthless piece of shit, you know that? can’t ever in your life put even a single person about yourself. here you are living with a bunch of boys. what are you, a whore? do you suck them off so they’ll keep the bad guys away? they’re doing a shit job at it. i’m standing here after, all, aren’t i?”

“it’s not like that,” her voice is quiet and weak, and she’s not even sure it makes it to the man’s ears.

“you can’t think about anyone else. you're too selfish. you won’t even answer your own father’s calls much less say anything to him at all–”

“i told you to back off!” her voice comes out loud this time, louder than she means for it to, “i’ve told you to back off so many times but you just don’t listen,” she steps out from behind omi, standing next to him instead while the man in front of them stops at the sound of her voice, “these are my roommates and my closest friends. i'm living with them because they genuinely care about me and aren't using me for any purpose, something you can't even dream about. the only reason you’re still standing here is that they have enough self-control and respect for me that they won't beat up the man i regrettably call my father.”

omi’s gaze slides over to hers, trying to see if she’ll meet his eyes. he’s simultaneously trying to communicate how proud of her he is and let her know that he'll support her no matter what happens. 

“take that back,” her father spits, starting to curl his fingers into a fist. she stays silent, and his face begins to flush an angry red. “you’re only proving my point. you’re just an ungreatful little girl who thinks she no longer has to care about anyone else because she's older. i took care of you your whole life and i will not have you ignoring me for the rest of my fucking life!” the smell of beer invades her senses as he steps closer.

“you did jackshit in my life! you never helped me with anything I asked you to. never bought me anything i needed, you've never cared about me. i’ve grown up and moved out. i can do whatever i damn please and i told you to leave me alone. maybe if you respected me i wouldn't ignore you, but that's impossible for you,” she retorts, standing her ground.

“don’t you fucking talk to me like that–” he nears her, only a few steps between them and she starts to feel the panic in her chest, “your stubbornness is the reason your mother left–”

“my stubbornness?” she can’t help but fight back. that’s what separates her from her past self. her younger self ran away, left home as soon as she could to live on her own, but now she’s grown into who she is today, and she won’t let him ruin that. “you treated your wife like shit and refused to change no matter how many times she screamed and argued with you right in front of me about how horrible you were. you've never fixed anything because you’re so stuck up and think you’re so high and mighty that she decided to pack up her bags and leave–”

“then why did she leave you behind too?” 

it’s like her heart stops beating for a second. her blood runs cold before her vision is a blur and the face of the man is crushed right in front of her, sending him to the ground groaning. his hand is covering his nose, preventing her from seeing how badly damaged it is, but she can’t find it in her to care.

“don’t blame her for your faults. grow up and take responsibility for your shit. she deserved better than either of you,” omi is talking down on the man now, and she looks up from her father’s body to the fist of the boy beside her, bruised and a little red.

he’s been by her side since day one, and maybe he disappeared for a section of it, but now he’s back. they're back together, and she stands proudly beside him, “she left me too, but i can’t be mad at her for being sick of you. or us. whatever it is, you’re both selfish and her absence nor yours is something i’m mourning over. i’m happy to have left you too and for the last time, i never want to see you again”

iwaizumi has joined them, standing above the man, no trace of sympathy in his eyes despite the blood that's streaking down her father's face. he tries to get up, only for iwaizumi to keep him down on the ground with a foot on his shoulder, “you heard her. don’t ever show your fucking face around here again. i’ll kill you the moment i lay eyes on you.” iwaizumi’s olive eyes move from the ground to meet hers, slightly softening when he sees her, “are you done with him? i’ll make sure he gets out of here and stays away for good.”

omi’s words from the diner rush back to her head, and she doesn’t feel so bad for relying on her friend. she believes he's willing to help her, and she won’t let her father’s words get to her head. she’s cared for others, unlike him, and developed relationships that she’s earned by giving out her own love. “yeah, i’m done,” her voice is quiet again as she keeps looking at her friend, searching his eyes for any sort of annoyance. but she can’t find any, and she smiles, walking towards him, wrapping her arms around him. “thank you, iwaizumi.”

he has an arm around her shoulders, his foot still resting on her father. “always,” he replies simply before she leaves him embrace, gesturing for omi to follow her. “i’m going to take care of his fist, now.”

iwaizumi only nods, turning his attention back to the man on the ground omi following his gaze as he passes by. iwaizumi will do more than a good enough job at keeping his word, he knows that, but he feels like he should have some part in taking care of the man whose plagued the girl in front of him for her entire life.

but she hasn’t asked him to take care of the man in front of her, and he knows its not his place. she knows she does not resent the man to the point that she wishes harm upon him, she simply wishes that he would leave her alone. and iwaizumi will make sure that wish is honored, and omi should be satisfied with the hit he landed on the man’s nose.

before her hand can even reach the knob of the door, it swings open and she’s pulled inside by the arms of a black-haired man who he recognizes to be akaashi. kita is standing beside him, a hand on [y/n]’s shoulder as they both check on her for any injuries or harm.

he hasn’t seen kita since his days in high school when he was the captain of inarizaki; atsumu told him he had moved out to the countryside but he must have come back after some time. he feels like a weight is lifted off his chest at the sight of her in the arms of his roomates, and he knows that she is cared for. that she has found her people, just like he told her earlier that night, and he hopes that she’s starting to accept his words as the truth.

he’s happy just watching her from afar, but she breaks apart from akaashi’s hug to gesture him in, and kita shuts the door behind him. “omi, this way,” she says with a smile on her face, beckoning him with a hand.

it’s the first time she’s called him by that old name since high school, and he thinks he’s falling even harder for her if that’s possible. she makes him sit on a stool in the kitchen while she searches her cabinets and a nearby closet for medical supplies. she’s begun to apply an ointment to his hand when he opens his mouth, “i can’t believe you think your roomates would ever leave you. look at how they all came to make sure you were okay. mine are one fight away from starting to vote people to kick out of the apartment nearly every week.”

she laughs at his comment, unwrapping a roll of bandages, “i’m sure no one would ever vote for you if that happened, but i guess you’re right, they’re pretty good, aren’t they?”

he nods, watching her face while she’s focused on his hand, “are you doing okay?”

she hums back in response, “yeah. the thing about my mom leaving me behind too kind of stung, but i don’t think life would’ve been any better with her, so it shouldn’t really hurt that bad. i’ll be okay. what you said at the diner really helped, you know. i feel like I can trust myself to say what i'm thinking rather than being scared i'm wrong or selfish. i can trust that it's not egotistical to believe my roomates don’t actually hate me. and that you don’t hate me. so i feel like i’ve finally escaped the weight of my dad’s words always crushing me and playing down anything i do.”

he reaches a hand up with his uninjured hand to wipe away tears from her face she didn't even realize were falling. and then he keeps his hand there, caressing the side of her face. “i don’t hate you, i never have. this entire time…how i feel about you is quite the opposite,” the words are slightly too intimate for him and as soon as they escape his mouth, it becomes hard to swallow and his face feels a little hot, but he doesn’t remove the hand from her cheek. he opts to say something more neutral next, “you did well, talking back down to him. i think you could’ve taken him down yourself.”

she chuckles at that, tying a knot to finish his bandage, “that’s what you think, but i’m sure i’d break my thumb or something. and if i have a hot man to defend me? i’m not lifting a finger.”

“you think i’m hot?” he says with a smile.

her cheeks grow warm under his hand, but she can’t look or move away from him, “i’m pretty sure thousands of people think so. it’s like a fact; newspapers can make money off of just having your face on the front page even if they barely mention you or don’t focus on sports at all.”

“well none of that matters,” he’s smiling softly now, and she’s still looking into his dark-colored eyes, hands holding his wrapped hand, “it just matters what you think.”

“what i think?” she repeats. and maybe it’s the adrenaline from the encounter they just had, or his boldness rubbing off on her in this current moment, but her next words come out clear and confident, “i think i love you, and i have for years. even when you left, i never stopped loving you.”

“i’m gonna make up for those years, you know,” he whispers back, pulling her by the sides to stand between his legs, bringing her closer. “i know i love you. i’d be a fool not to. and i loved you back then in high school too, even if i didn’t know it. i swear, losing you made me realize how much i took you for granted and everything became clear. letting you disappear was the worst mistake i ever made. i’ll make up for that lost time. make it up to you to the the point that you’re sick of me and you forget we were ever even separated for a time in our lives.”

“oh? and how are you gonna do that?” there’s a breathless feeling growing inside of her chest, where her heart beating fast with his confession and the way she's allowing him to pull her face close to this.

“starting with this,” his breath is hot against her lips before he closes the gap between them, and she’s kissing him back. she doesn't mourn or wish for the past, or for anything to change. he's come back and that's all that matters. she's happy with the word again. she likes it better than a phrase like "we fell in love at first sight." instead, she can say, "we met again. we fell in love again.

"we tried again."

it sounds like a story that reminds people endings aren't set in stone. she likes it.

.

.

.

“by the way, have you been playing songs for me in your lounge room when i’m waiting for you?”

“oh, you noticed?”

.

.

.

"the more you love your friends the more their features start to blur until all you remember is a pair of warm, welcoming eyes and laughter that feels like home."

prev. | m.list

extras <3

this is the end! thank you for reading try again <3

that last little quote is something i should've included like two chapters ago but it got lost in my gallery so here it is now <3

y/n's a good therapist i swear!!! she takes like one second to hit a play on a spotify playlist she's not playing games on her computer for entire sessions 😭

this is all i have tbh! i hope you enjoyed a little bit of this story <3 thank you so so much for being along on this ride w me!!

taglist: @eggyrocks @wyrcan @guitarstringed-scars @strawberryuri @violetesensou @kakeru-eem @glmge @heytheredemonsss @mollyrolls @bemebiu @daszy @snail-squasher @0moonii @thiisisntlovely @todorokiskitten @rory-cakes @iiwaijime @iatethemochi @yuminako @savemebrazilhinata @kismyscars @bokutoko @nobodybutnnoorr @wolffmaiden @daisy-room @softpia @lees-chaotic-brain @v3nusplanetofluv @crispchocolates @phoenix-eclipses @hhoneyhan @encrypta @rockleeisbaeeee @cr4yolaas @zombriesworld @localgaytrainwreck @moucheslove @hibernatinghamster @notverymarley @certaindreampost @akaakeis @ciderscape @lucien-luna @strawbrinkofdeath @wave2mia @samuel1004 @01trickster10 @dazqa @cosmiicdust @chemiru

[unconventional-lawnchair]

Marauders and Lightning Era Masterlist

started - 08.13.2024

last updated - 02.12.2025

Credit for Dividers

All triggers and small summaries listed in the fanfiction

Matured audience advised

Random fic ideas

Faceclaims

HARRY POTTER and CO.

-In The Absence of Goodbye (Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort - Enemies to Lovers to Strangers to..)

Bartemius Crouch Junior x Fem!reader

Summary: Concept- After being sent back in time to spend a year in the Marauders Era, reader is thrown forward in time and has her memories erased. But was she truly sent home? Aka: Dumbledore underestimates Barty's absolute disregard for order when it comes to his vixen.

-HIATUS We'll Heal Together (Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort) 13/? parts Remus Lupin/Sirius Black x Reader

Part 1-9 can be read as a standalone. Summary: Harry Potter grew up without the warmth of a family he should have known. A father in James Potter, a mother in Lily Potter, a God Father in Sirius Black, and an uncle in Remus Lupin. Oh, and let's not forget, a godmother in {Y/N} {L/N} Alt Summary: Starts at the end of Chamber of secrets and into the Prisoner of Azkaban with the first chapter, Harry meeting his father's old friends, and starts learning the fate of {Y/N}, who has long since been presumed dead. there seems to be more of a story hidden behind her disappearance, and in turn, her reappearance.

-Good boy, Pads {Mini-Siris}

Summary: Long hours, late nights, and dark alleyways. Good thing you have a guardian angel looking out for you. {Aka: Padfoot protects a muggle reader on her walk home}

-Expectations

Summary: Reminiscing on some romantic encounters, you have come to the conclusion Harry Potter is not someone you'd ever date. HURT/COMFORT

HEADCANNONS

Jealousy, Jealousy

Where the boys get jealous... (Feat. Barty, Regulus, Sirius, Remus, and James)

POLY!SHIPS

-Poly!Marauders+Lily x Fem!Reader

- Zombie Apocalypse Au

-Loving You is Easy

Summary: Being younger than all your respective partners was never a big deal; until they graduated and you were left behind. As your mental health declined and their lives started without you, a break was needed.

-Lily's Touch {Omegaverse}

Summary: The reader is experiencing her first heat, and nothing matter how hard she tries, she can't get the nest right.

-Jily x Slytherin!Reader

Jily x Slytherin!gnreader Summary: An interesting situationship with Jily}

-Sirius/James/Remus Band Au

Summary: Reader has a horrible encounter on stage and the boys comfort her

-What's Your Name? {Sneak Peak}

Moonwater Fluff

-Status Quo

Summary: Early mornings and the Status Quo of the Marauder's house hold. {THIS FANFICTION IS INSPIRED- no, actually, basically a tribute to @/ellecdc's PadVix fanfiction. I would be amazed you are reading any of my stuff and not having read theirs but the link is here if you need it.

REMUS LUPIN

-Spoiled Brat (Pt 1?) (Lil Angsty, +18, fluff)

Summary: When your escapism over the summer turns a bit more real, as you fall in love with a half blood your father would never approve of}

-Think like a Lupin (Angsty, lotta angst, happy ending! fluff +18)

Summary: Your parents are planning to marry you off the second after you graduate, but after an unfortunate encounter with a werewolf, plans change.

-Break a Leg Not My Heart (Some angst, mostly light hearted fluff)

Summary: You get hurt during Quidditch practice and Remus doesn't leave your side. Friends to lovers.

-Meeting Royalty (Fluff, Suggestive)

Summary: Meet cute but make it royalty} Part 2

-Too Late (Angst, no comfort) {Pt.2}

Summary: Remus comes to terms with a love lost to his own insecurities.

-Stray

Summary: Post war Remus finds home for his heart

-It Repeats Itself

Summary: Even years after the war the effects of Voldemort's reign still had waves of effects. One just so happened to have a poor girl caught in the cross fire. (This is more of a concept then a fleshed out story-a little cliche)

-Just thinking about Sirius testing tattoo ideas on you...

-Over and Over Again

Summary: The legend of soulmates and the myth of endless lives tied to one another permanently was once a myth you don't believe. Until you met Remus Lupin.

BARTY CROUCH JUNIOR

-The boy I knew {Sneak peek}

Summary- When Barty knew love

-The Boy I Knew {Part 1} (Angst, Fluff, +18)

-Do You Some Good

“When we’re done here, we can go back to hating each other. Deal?” “You’re not going to believe this, but I think I actually prefer things like this.”

-Dear Future Husband

-Cat and Mouse

Summary: The reader can never truly get away Barty, no matter how hard she tries. He'll always find his family.

-Love me, too

Summary: Late nights with loose lipped Barty, a single conversation unraveled years of yearning.

-I am not writing this because I could not mentally take it but...

-Trust and Obedience

Summary: Small snippets of moments between you and Barty, where you really should have picked up on his spiral.

Potter!Reader;

-Everything is Blue

Summary: As things escalate with Barty he draws a line in the sand.

-I Might Still Hate You

Summary: An unexpected guest shows up at your house late at night.

-Not Quite Poison- {Pt.2}

Summary: after a chance meeting in the library; a whirlwind love affair between Barty Crouch Jr and the youngest Potter blossom, but neither of them were prepared for how life would go after.

-They'll Be Alright

Summary: James Potter learns to like tolerate his sisters taste in men.

-Making Mistakes - {Pt.2}

Summary: After a horrible break up in 7th year, Barty and you haven't spoken a word to eachother. Then, he comes barreling back into your life begging for forgiveness, will you trust him?

JAMES POTTER

-Fall in Love in a Night (A lil angst, basically just a fluffy fluffy love story)

Summary: College AU, Muggle AU, James falls in love with the some of the worst parts of you }

-Fix it Yourself (All the Angst, lil comfort) +18

Summary: Falling in love with James Potter was a whirlwind affair full of lies and heartbreak. Everything comes to a head when he asks you to fake date someone so Lily will give him a chance.

-Little Lupin (Fluff)

Summary: James has a little crush on little Lupin

-Masterpiece

Summary: James Potter goes a little too far with a girl everyone happens to like.

-Just Kiss Her

Summary: You find a few unsent letters with your name on them- literally.

-Bed Hopper

Summary: After creating a tradition of cuddling James before bed, you'd think you'd have the path down by now.

-Not Made for Easy

Summary: Years of loving and yearning unfurl the night before graduation. A dramatic love confession.

-Why Couldn't It Be Us

Summary: James grappled with the reality of loosing the love of his life.

SIRIUS BLACK

-Casual (Angsty, fluff at the end) +18

Summary: Sirius falls for his most recent hook up, and she refuses to cave to what she wants}

-Fix it Yourself (All the Angst, lil comfort) +18

Summary: Falling in love with James Potter was a whirlwind affair full of lies and heartbreak. Everything comes to a head when he asks you to fake date someone so Lily will give him a chance.

-Like my father {Blurb}

Summary: Reader wants a man to love her like her father loves her mom. She just hasn't met him yet.. maybe.

-Kiss And Make-Up

Summary: Pool side at the Potters, Sirius takes you for a swim.

-Rock 'n Roll

Summary: Sirius stays home with a hangover, but the reader is always there to lend a hand.

-Just thinking about Sirius testing tattoo ideas on you...

-Self Fulfilling Prophecy

Summary: Potters love like it's a sport, but it seems that only a Black can challenge that.

FRED WEASLEY

-Summer Talks

Summary: Fred lets you know what he's waiting for

-Too Much Like Me

Summary: James finds out Lily's type in men is apparently genetic.

-Burning Bright, Falling Hard

Summary: Fred Weasley and you share a quiet moment in your room

HERMIONE GRANGER

-Invisible (Lil Angsty, basically just fluff) Blurb

Summary: Reader is a bit of a punk like Sirius, with Remus's insecurities. She doesn't believe she deserves a girl like Hermione. No real plot just Angst straight into fluff

MATTHEO RIDDLE

-But daddy I love him (Lil Angst, fluff)

Summary: Harry finds out his sister is dating Mattheo Riddle Ft. James, Lily, Remus, Sirius - No war au }

" Dinner Party " (Pt 2)

Summary: The Potters throw a dinner party; Mattheo meets the family} Wc- 4142

-King's Gambit

Summary: You go to a Ministry gala with your family, meeting and dancing with Mattheo Riddle, who is just looking to cause some trouble,

REGULUS BLACK

-Monarch butterfly (Hurt/comfort) wip

Summary- Monarch butterflies only live for up to six weeks. Their life brings an unspoken joy to the people who witness it, a peaceful feeling to the life that last so much longer then their own. They bring smiles to the faces of children, they bring good luck for those who choose it, they bring so much value to lives they will never truly be a part of. Your butterfly was, and always would be, Regulus black.

BLAISE ZABINI

-Before a Stranger

Summary: Friends before a stranger

[pitlanepeach]

From Eden | Chapter Six (6/8)

Oscar Piastri x Francesca Gold (OFC)

Summary — Francesca Gold is an introvert with a quiet life and a Youtube channel where she talks about books, drinks too much tea, and rarely ever shows her face. She prefers it that way - tucked into her London flat with her cat, Henry, and safely hidden behind a screen.

Oscar Piastri is a Formula 1 driver. Fast-paced, high-stakes, always on the move. He hasn't read a book in years, but he's watched every single one of Francesca's videos. Just for the sound of her voice.

Following her on Instagram was a moment of weakness. He didn't think she'd notice.

She did.

Chapter Warnings — Mentions of agoraphobia + severe social anxiety. Mentions of mental health medication. Sexual content. Francesca has a lot of anxiety but is being very brave about it.

Notes — Some time skips, which I’ve tried to make as clear as possible. This chapter (and the final 2) are a lot longer, so grab a tea and a snack. Also: my race calender/fic timeline isn’t perfect. Just don’t focus on it too much and it’s fine. lol

It wasn’t a dramatic goodbye.

There were no tears, no desperate clinging (however much Francesca secretly wanted to). Just the low hum of the kettle in the kitchen, still steaming from their morning tea, and Henry sulking under the couch because his new treat dispenser (Oscar) was leaving.

His duffle bag sat by the door — not even fully zipped — and Francesca stood barefoot in the hoodie she’d claimed as her own, her hands swallowed by the sleeves.

“You’ve got everything?” she asked. 

He nodded. “I triple-checked. Twice.”

“Sounds excessive.” She teased, though the words came out quiet and unsure. 

“Sounds like me,” he grinned, stepping closer, his hands slipping under her arms to rest at the small of her back. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, but didn’t move from where she’d tucked herself against his chest. “Just… it’s been so nice. Having you here. Being with you for real.”

Oscar’s chin rested lightly on her head. “Yeah,” he said, after a pause. 

Francesca’s fingers curled in the fabric of his t-shirt. “Do you want me to walk you out?”

He shook his head. “No. Stay here. It’s cold.” He leaned back slightly to meet her eyes. “You’ll be okay?”

“I’ll be okay,” she echoed. Then, quieter, “you’ll come back, right?”

Oscar let out a breath, soft and sure. “Of course I’ll come back. I already miss you.”

“You haven’t even left yet.”

“Exactly. Tragic.”

She laughed, and he kissed her. A steady, soft press of lips that lingered a moment longer than it needed to, a goodbye without having to say the words, really.

When he pulled back, his thumb brushed the corner of her mouth like it was second nature now. “I’m only going to be an hour away,” he reminded. “Text me. Or call. Whenever you want.”

She nodded. “Okay. I will.”

“I like it when you bother me,” he added, as if she didn’t already know.

“I like being heard,” she said, a little wry. He was ridiculous. Who liked being bothered?

Another kiss, this one to her forehead.

She huffed out a breath, her cheeks flushing red. 

And then he was throwing his bag over his shoulder and opening the door, glancing back one last time.

Francesca stayed where she was, fingers curled into the hem of her sleeve, watching until the door clicked shut behind him.

Henry mewled in despair. 

“Yeah.” Francesca whispered. She stared at the front-door. “I think I know how you feel.” 

— 

TWO DAYS LATER

iMessage — Francesca & Oscar 

Francesca 

osc

would u still want me if i was ginger 

Oscar

I have nothing against ginger people 

Francesca 

🤨

oh

did u date a ginger b4 me 

Oscar

No I’ve never dated a ginger girl 

Francesca 

you’ve dated a ginger guy??????!

Oscar 

Stop 

I’m in a meeting 

Francesca 

ok sorry 

i might dye my hair 

Oscar

Whatever makes you happy 

Francesca 

ok <3 

— two hours later — 

katie talked me out of it 

Oscar 

Thank god. 

Francesca 

😾

ur mean 

Oscar 

You’re gorgeous just the way you are. 

Turns out they don’t need me for anything else this week. I’m going to borrow a car and drive back to you. That ok? 

Francesca 

yay yay yay 

of course it’s ok duh  

also i have a question. 

Oscar 

What is it baby 

Francesca 

do u wanna take me on a date? 

Oscar 

… 

Of course I do 

Do you want me to take you on a date? 

Francesca

yes 

somewhere like… quiet  

maybe not too far from the flat 

if that’s ok. 

Oscar 

I’ll make it happen

Proud of you. 👍🏻

Francesca 

ew why r u using the dad emoji. 

Oscar 

👍🏻

Francesca 

oscar 

Oscar

👍🏻

Francesca 

you’re good at making me laugh 

thank u 

i got a bit anxious overthinking the date thing 

Oscar 

I know 

Go make yourself a cup of tea and eat one of the pastries I got you 

I’ll take care of everything. 

Francesca 

god i want to kiss u so hard rn 

Oscar 

👍🏻 

Francesca 

fuck off 

—

iMessage — Katie & Francesca 

Katie 

Have you managed to get the outline finished? I’m getting pressure from the team at H.C. 

Francesca 

um 

yes it’s been done for 2 days 

im scared to send it to u 

Katie 

I need it. 

They’re annoying me with their emails Francesca 

Do this for me 

I hate emails. You know this 

Francesca 

im worried it’s not going to be good enough 

and they’re going to hate it 

Katie 

How about this. 

I like reading. I love romance. 

Send it to me. I’ll read it. 

I will be brutally honest with you - no holding back. 

Francesca 

ok 

i would rather you be the one to tell me that it’s terrible actually 

Katie 

Send it. 

Francesca 

*word document* 

— 

iMessage — Oscar & Francesca

Oscar 

About to leave Woking 

Do I need to go to Tesco for anything on my way back? 

Francesca 

i would like some cans of sprite 

and also there’s this book i need for the video i want to film tomorrow 

they sell it in tesco apparently 

*screenshot of book cover* 

Oscar 

I’ll try my best to find it 

Do you have dinner planned already? 

Francesca 

i didn’t know u were coming back tonight rmbr🤨

Oscar 

Yes but what were you going to eat? 

Francesca 

uhhhhh i have some instant noodles in the cupboard 

probably that 

Oscar 

I’ll bring food back for us 

I’ll probably get there around 7

Francesca 

im being very casual about this ‘u wanting to come back here so soon’ thing

but i might bite u or smth when u actually do get here. 

fyi 

Oscar 

I’m sure you weren’t this strange before I made you my gf🤨

Francesca 

no i was 

just hid it better 

do u want me to stop 

sorry 

Oscar 

Don’t stop. 

Francesca

😼

Oscar 

Freak. 

Can’t wait to see you 

Actually leaving now. Call me if u need me. I’ll answer on the Bluetooth 

Francesca 

❤️❤️❤️

—

iMessage — Katie & Francesca 

Katie 

It’s really bloody good 

Not perfect. Very real 

That’s what makes it so good 

They’re going to love it. 

Can I send it? 

Francesca 

yeah. send it. 

love u 

Katie 

Love u twice 

—

iMessage — Oscar & Francesca

Oscar 

Is this the right one? 

*picture of oscar’s hand holding a book* 

Francesca 

yesssssssssssssssss 

thanku 

Oscar 

Cool 

Are you okay with lasagna? 

Francesca 

yesssss please 

that sounds so good 

with garlic bread though

Oscar 

Of course babe 

Francesca 

hurry up and get back here

want to smooch you 

Oscar 

Don’t make me blush in Tesco 

Francesca 

ok 

ooooooooooo ur so handsome 

oooooooooo i wanna kiss u so bad 

oooooooooooooo ur my boyfriendddddd 

Oscar 

You’re impossible. 

—

The door swung open before Oscar even had the chance to knock properly.

Francesca stood in the doorway, wrapped in a fluffy pink dressing gown covered in little hearts — fucking cute, Oscar thought — her hair a little mussed, her expression soft and sleepy. Hard to believe this was the same woman who’d been threatening to bite him an hour ago.

Her eyes darted straight to the bag in his hand.

“Book first,” she said, grabbing it from him. “Boyfriend second.”

Oscar blinked. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” she said, digging through the Tesco bag not unlike the way a raccoon would approach a bin. When she eventually found the paperback — slightly curled at the corners due to the fact that he’d piled the family sized lasagna on top of it — she held it up triumphantly. “Thank you. Best boyfriend award goes to you.”

He stepped into the flat, kicking the door shut behind him. “Okay. What happened to wanting to smooch me, huh?”

Francesca, cradling the book like a newborn, looked up at him with a small, crooked smile. The way she held herself around him had already changed — looser, lighter — but there was still a flicker of nervousness in her eyes that made something tender unfurl in his chest.

“Oh, that’s still very much on the table.”

Then she launched herself at him.

She wasn’t particularly heavy, but Oscar still stumbled back a step, letting out a surprised laugh as she wrapped herself around him like an overexcited octopus. Her arms looped around his neck, her legs around his waist, and he buried a grin into her hair, heart thudding a little too hard in his chest.

“You’re ridiculous,” he murmured into her shoulder.

“I missed you,” she mumbled, clinging tighter. “It felt like you were gone forever. I nearly forgot what you looked like.”

Oscar hummed. “I was gone for two days. And we FaceTimed twice.”

“Same thing.” She pouted. 

He kissed her cheek. Then again, a little closer to her mouth. “I missed you too.”

“Okay,” she said, peeling herself off of him just enough to look at his face, though her arms stayed loosely around his neck. “I’m hungry. Ravenous. I’ve been glued to my laptop all day. I posted the Taylor video and it’s already getting such a great response. Comments are so sweet and—” She stopped herself abruptly, biting her lip. “Sorry. I’ll shut up. You’re probably exhausted.”

Oscar shook his head, eyes gentle. “Don’t do that.”

She blinked, caught off guard.

“I want to hear about it,” he said, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Tell me everything.”

And then, without any real warning, he lifted her up fully off of the ground. Francesca let out a delighted squeak, arms tightening around his neck. He carried her into the kitchen, her dressing gown trailing behind them like a little pink cape, and settled her carefully on the counter. She beamed at him, legs swinging slightly.

He touched her thigh gently, grounding. “I’ll sort dinner. You talk. Start from the beginning. And don’t think I forgot — tell me what Harper Collins said to Katie too.”

Francesca looked momentarily flustered, but her smile was soft. “Okay. So, I woke up super early. Couldn’t sleep. Ended up doing this last-minute edit on the Taylor video because I thought the voiceover sounded weird and it was annoying me—”

Oscar opened the oven and slid the lasagna in, listening as she spoke. He added the garlic bread to a tray and popped it on the top shelf, wiping his hands on a tea towel as she continued.

“—and then eventually, at like five, I posted it, and it took off way faster than usual stuff. I thought it might do well, but not like… this well. People are already posting clips on TikTok and, like, videos of them talking about me analysis too.”

He pulled out a bag of pre-washed salad and gave it a little shake.

Francesca pulled a face. “No thanks.”

Oscar laughed. “It’s baby leaf salad. It tastes like nothing.”

“It’s sad green sogginess in a bag. I’m not eating that.”

Still grinning, he put the salad aside without argument and leaned back against the counter, gesturing for her to continue.

“Okay. And then Katie called,” she went on, fingers tugging at the edge of her sleeve. His gaze zeroed in on her hands without meaning to. Slightly red, a few new dark purple bruises near her wrist. He blinked and averted her gaze before she could notice where his attention had fallen. “She said she sent the outline to Harper Collins. And they liked it. A lot, apparently. There’s going to be another meeting next week. It’s not, like, a done deal or anything but… it’s probably going to happen.”

Oscar’s chest swelled with something deep and proud. “That’s massive, baby.”

“I know,” she said, in a whisper, like she still couldn’t believe it herself. “I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and it’ll have been a dream.”

He stepped closer and kissed her forehead. “Nah. It’s real. You did that.”

She smiled into the kiss. “You’re annoyingly supportive for somebody who has no real interest in books.”

“You’ve watched every race since we started talking,” he said, resting a hand on her hip. “Even though I know you hate it. Seems like we’re even.”

She nudged his side with her knee and leaned forward to rest her head against his shoulder, quiet for a moment. 

“I really missed you.”

Oscar turned and pressed a kiss into her hair. “Yeah. I missed you too.”

They stayed like that for a beat — her legs swinging gently off the counter, his hand warm against her side, the quiet sounds of the oven in the background. Then she tilted her head, nudging her nose against his jaw.

“How was your simming?”

He let out a soft, amused breath. “Decent, actually. They’ve been saying nice things lately — about how I’m handling the car, learning fast. It’s been a bit surreal.”

She smiled. “I’m not surprised. Although maybe I’m biased, since I think that you’re the best driver in the world.”

Oscar rolled his eyes, but he looked suspiciously fond. “I have my moments.”

She gave him a measuring look. “What do they mean, though? Like… when they say you’re doing well — how do they measure that? Is it because you don’t crash a lot?”

He looked briefly thoughtful, then leaned his hip against the counter beside her. “Well, part of it is just about the data — lap times, feedback. But I think it’s also about how I’ve adapted. Rookie seasons are usually tough.”

“Rookie?” she asked, brows knitting slightly. “That’s like… you mean you’re in your first year?”

Oscar nodded. “Yeah. First year in F1.”

She blinked at him, clearly surprised. “Oh. Wow. Really? But you’re so good.”

His ears went a little pink, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Yeah, I guess. I—uh, they’ve been saying I might win something. Rookie of the Year, maybe. Because I already have the podiums in Japan and Qatar.”

“Wait,” she said, brows lifting. “Okay. Podium. That’s when you got handed the trophy with Lando and the other guy, right? With the champagne?” 

“Yeah. When I came third,” he said, trying not to sound too proud. “In Suzuka. And second in Qatar.”

“I didn’t realise Japan was your first podium.” Suddenly, she was so glad that she’d sat and watched the entire race. 

He gave a small, almost shy smile and turned back to the oven to check the lasagna. “Thanks.”

She was still looking at him, trying to piece it all together. “I still can’t believe this is your first year, though.” 

He glanced over his shoulder. “I’ve been racing for a long time, just not in F1. Started in go-karts when I was six. Moved through the junior formulas — Formula 4, 3, 2.”

She gave a slow nod, processing. “Like levels in a video game.”

He chuckled, setting a timer on his phone for the garlic bread. “Exactly like that.”

She swung her legs idly from the counter. “So how’d you get into McLaren, then? They’re a, uh, good team… right?” She attempted. 

That made his smile falter just slightly, like he was choosing his words. “Bit of a weird one, actually. I was with Alpine before. They had me signed as a reserve driver — like, waiting in the wings in case someone got sick or injured.”

She nodded along. “Okay. So what happened?”

“Well… they were supposed to offer me a seat for this year, but they didn’t. Or, they sort of tried, but it was messy. Public. I wasn’t even properly informed about it, and they kind of announced me without confirming things with me first.”

Francesca’s face twisted. “Wait — what?”

“Yeah,” he said, glancing over at her with a wry smile. “They just… assumed I’d go along with it. But I’d already been talking to McLaren, because I wasn’t getting answers from Alpine. And McLaren offered me a proper seat. Real deal. They wanted me.”

“So you picked them,” she said.

“Yeah. I signed with McLaren. And then Alpine’s team principal — Otmar — lost it. Tried to sue me.”

She blinked at him. “Wait. What? Like — actual legal action?”

He nodded, looking faintly amused. “Yeah. They took it to the Contract Recognition Board, tried to argue I was theirs and McLaren had no claim. But it didn’t go anywhere. The CRB ruled I was free to go. McLaren had the real contract. That was that.”

She stared at him, lips parted in disbelief. “You had a team try to drag you through court because you didn’t want to drive for them?”

He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, though the muscle in his jaw ticked slightly. “Yeah. It was stressful. It sucked, honestly, especially because it was all happening during the first few races of the season. But McLaren were amazing through all of it. They backed me.”

Francesca looked at him, a little in awe. “That’s… insane. No offence, but you’re kind of underselling this. You survived a motorsport custody battle and won.”

He laughed, properly. “It does sound much more dramatic when you put it like that.”

“Because it is dramatic,” she said, nudging his knee with her foot. “God. People online always talk about the politics in F1 but I didn’t realise it was that petty.”

“It can be,” he admitted. “But it worked out. Mclaren’s my home now.” He said. 

She smiled at him. 

He moved to the other side of the kitchen, pulling open drawers and cabinets, trying to familiarise himself with the space. 

She cleared her throat. “Um.”

Oscar looked over. “Yeah?”

She fidgeted slightly, fingers picking at the edge of her dressing gown sleeve. “I, uh… I like your helmet, by the way.”

Oscar looked up from where he was rustling around in a drawer for a spatula. “My — what?”

“Your race helmet,” she clarified quickly, already pink in the cheeks. “The design. The colours. I think it’s cool.”

Oscar paused, blinked once, and then that slow, boyish smirk spread across his face. “Is this…” he started, crossing the small kitchen toward her, “is this like that TikTok trend? The one where girls admit they’re into guys who wear masks and helmets?”

Her eyes went comically large, and then she groaned loudly and buried her face in her hands. “Oh my God.”

“No, no, come on,” he said, grinning as he stepped closer and nudged her knee with his hip. “You like my helmet, huh?”

“I liked it before you made it weird,” she muttered into her palms.

“You like me better with the visor down?” he teased, voice low and amused. “Does it take me look all scary and mysterious?” 

She peeked out from between her fingers, glaring at him. “It makes you quiet. That’s the appeal.”

He laughed, light and happy. “Rude.”

“I was trying to be nice,” she mumbled. “I see lots of pictures of you. You look… cool. Really cool. Like you know exactly what you’re doing, even though you say that you’re still learning.”

That softened something in him instantly. His teasing grin faded into something smaller, more genuine.

“Thanks,” he said. “That means a lot.”

She shrugged, pretending to be nonchalant. “It’s just a helmet.”

“No, it’s not,” he said, nudging her leg again, gentler this time. “It’s a big part of the job. You wear one every race, every test. And the design — that’s personal. You pick it. You make it yours. Kind of the only part of the whole thing that’s really yours, you know?”

“I thought that,” she mumbled through her fingers. “Before you made it weird.”

“I didn’t say anything! You’re the one who—”

“Oscar.”

He grinned and leaned forward, nosing her hands out of the way. “Hey,” he said, soft. “Thank you. I like it too. It’s custom painted, you know. I’ve had different designs through the years but the current one, the colours, the patterns, it feels like me.”

She met his eyes again, visibly trying to recover her dignity. “It’s… really nice.” She glanced at her bookshelf, where she kept all of her trinkets. “It’d be cool to have a mini one. To keep there.” She told him. “On my shelf.”

He kissed her. “I’ll see what I can do.” 

—

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—

The room was quiet, dark except for the soft golden spill of the hallway light that Francesca had insisted on leaving on. The bedsheets were warm and a little tangled, kicked down around Oscar’s shins. Francesca was curled up against his chest, her ear pressed over the slow rhythm of his heartbeat, one leg slung lazily over his hips.

It was the first night they’d shared her bed. The couch had been fine — cramped, but fine — and she’d liked the way he hadn’t minded, hadn’t pushed. But this… this felt easier than she thought it would. Softer.

His hand moved slowly up and down her back, tracing the hem of her t-shirt with absent-minded comfort.

“I like your bed,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.

She smiled against his skin. “It’s my bed. Of course you do. I also have impeccable taste in blankets.”

He chuckled, low in his chest. “Mmm. Can’t argue with that.”

For a long stretch of moments, there was only silence, shared breaths, and the occasional shift of limbs, adjusting to new closeness. Then Francesca tilted her head just slightly, her cheek still pressed against him.

“Do you want to… I don’t know. Brainstorm date ideas?” she asked softly. “I was thinking about it again earlier.”

Oscar blinked his eyes open, a little surprised. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Her voice was quiet, a little shy. “Just… you know. Not all at once. Just ideas. Things we could do. If I felt up to it.”

His hand stilled on her back for a second, then resumed its slow movements. “I’d love that,” he said. “No pressure. We can keep it all imaginary if that helps.”

She nodded against him. “Imaginary dates are safer.”

He smiled. “Alright. Imaginary date number one: picnic in the park. I bring sandwiches that are way too elaborate because I’m trying to impress you. You bring crisps and get mad when I try to steal them.”

She snorted. “Realistic.”

“Imaginary date number two,” he continued, warming to the game, “I take you to a little museum, rent the entire place out for just us. We look at weird 18th century art and pretend to care about it.”

“That sounds amazing, actually.”

“We leave early because it’s so boring and end up eating fast food in the car.”

“You would be the one to get bored first,” she teased.

“Probably.”

She shifted slightly, snuggling even closer, nose brushing along the edge of his collarbone. “I think I could do a museum. If it was just us.”

Oscar’s heart did something slow and fond in his chest. “If that’s what you want, I’ll make it happen.”

She smiled, sleepy and small. “That’s very boyfriend of you.”

He kissed her hair. “I am your boyfriend.”

“Mm. I like that.”

They lay in silence for a few more moments. Then, in a whisper so quiet he barely caught it, she said, “Thanks.”

He pressed his lips to her forehead and didn’t move them for a long while. “There’s never a rush,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere, ‘Cesca.”

She let out a soft breath. ‘Cesca. Nobody had ever called her that. She liked it.

Then, after a moment, she told him, “I love the beach. I haven’t seen the sea in a long time. Forever, it feels like.”

His thumb rubbed slow circles into her hipbone through the thin fabric of her sleep shorts. “Okay, baby,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “We’ll go.”

She nodded against his chest, and he felt it more than he saw it.

“Okay,” he repeated, this time with a little smile, a little certainty, “but for now, go to sleep.”

“Only if you keep tickling me like that,” she mumbled.

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Deal.”

She melted further into him, her breathing evening out as his hand continued its gentle rhythm.

—

The sun had barely started to rise when Oscar stirred, warm and grounded beneath the Francesca’s weight. She was breathing steadily, her cheek smushed against his chest, legs tangled with his. Her hand, as always, had found the hem of his shirt in her sleep and was fisted there. Soon, all of his shirts would have pull-marks and creases in the front — he couldn’t even force himself to pretend to be bothered by the idea.

He didn’t want to move. But he had an idea.

He leaned down, brushing his nose against her hair, inhaling that sleepy mix of raspberry shampoo and his aftershave that made his heart clench. “Francesca,” he murmured.

She made a soft, displeased sound and burrowed further into him.

He kissed her temple. “Baby, wake up.”

“Mmnnno,” she groaned. “Go away.”

Oscar huffed a quiet laugh and nuzzled behind her ear. “Do you trust me?” He asked quietly.

Still half-asleep, she didn’t even hesitate. “‘Course I do.”

“Good.”

In a practiced motion, he sat up, pulling her with him. She slumped into his chest, blinking slowly.

“What’re you doing?” she mumbled.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed one of his hoodies from the floor and gently tugged it over her head. She whined in protest but didn’t resist, letting him guide her arms through the sleeves. It was far too big on her, hanging down past her thighs, but it would keep her warm, and that’s what mattered.

“Where do you keep your flat keys?” he asked.

She blinked up at him blearily. “My bag. Front pocket.”

He found them easily before coming back, bending down and, without warning, scooped her up into his arms.

She gasped, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Oscar!”

“I’m not giving you time to overthink,” he told her.

“This is kidnapping,” she said through a yawn. She buried her face in his neck and inhaled his scent. Then she nipped at the skin above his collarbone. “Don’t put me down.”

He snorted, not even wincing at the sharp pain of her fangs against his skin. “Not kidnapping if you don’t fight me.”

Outside, the morning air was crisp and biting. She shivered, instinctively pressing herself closer into his side, her face still tucked into the crook of his neck. He paused for just a moment, uncertainty flickering through him. Was he pushing her too far? Was this too much, too fast? But she hadn’t pulled away. Hadn’t protested. She’d only held on tighter, quiet and pliant, when he’d whispered a soft “be good” to Henry and locked the flat door behind them.

So he settled her into the passenger seat of the sleek, absurdly expensive car (one of the McLaren courtesy models, perk of the job), and buckled her in. She blinked at the dashboard, then at him.

“This is a spaceship.”

Oscar leaned down to kiss her cheek before closing her door and walking around the car to slide behind into the drivers side.

She didn’t ask questions. She wanted to. The anxiety was curling quietly in her chest, a cold thread of apprehension weaving through her ribs. But she knew asking would make it worse. Knew that the need to control every part of her day was one of the reasons she hadn’t done anything like this in years.

Before even starting the engine, he had one of his big hands on her thigh, his grip tight and grounding and exactly what she hadn’t even realised she needed.

“I trust you,” she said again, barely above a whisper.

His eyes flicked to hers, warm, steady, and he squeezed her thigh in three quick motions. “I know.”

The drive was quiet.

She kept her eyes closed for most of it, focusing on the rhythm of his breathing, the soft hum of the car, the weight of his hand on her leg. When the roads started to widen, when the buildings gave way to trees and hills, she could smell salt on the air and feel the shift in the wind through the cracked window.

Her heart beat like a drum against her ribs.

It was too much.

The world. The movement. The not-knowing.

But she didn’t panic. She let it rise. Let it crest. Let it fall.

Just kept breathing.

When he finally slowed the car, she opened her eyes. The light had shifted, gone golden — soft and hazy with the rise of early morning sun. She blinked, disoriented and heavy with sleep, as he pulled into a small gravel lot nestled against a grassy hill. And when he eased the car into park, she turned her head to look out the window and… froze.

The sea.

Endless. Expansive. Glittering beneath the sunlight.

And just like that, the ringing in her ears stopped. The ache in her chest loosened. She could hear gulls crying overhead. The steady hush of waves meeting the shore. The quiet, constant pull of tide.

“Hey,” Oscar said gently, not looking away from her. “We don’t have to get out of the car. We can just sit here. I just—”

She turned to face him fully, her eyes wide and already brimming with tears. He hesitated.

“I couldn’t stand the thought of you not having seen the sea in so long,” he said softly. “Not when you clearly love it so much.”

The tears slipped free.

Francesca covered her face with both hands and sobbed.

Not loud. Not panicked.

Just quietly. Fully. Overwhelmed.

Oscar leaned across the console, wrapping an arm around her and tugging her onto his lap. She curled up into him.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out.

“Don’t be,” he whispered. “You’re okay. You’re so brave, baby. So good. I’m here.”

She clung to his hoodie like a lifeline, breathing him in.

And for the first time in years, she let herself be small in someone else’s care.

They stayed like that for a long time. Not speaking. Just existing.

When she was ready, when her breathing steadied and her hands stopped shaking, she pulled back and looked out at the water again.

“It’s so blue,” she whispered.

He smiled. “It is.”

“I forgot how it sounded.”

“Now you can remember.”

She turned to look at him, her face blotchy and red and beautiful. “You really didn’t have to do this. I- I might’ve freaked out on you. Made a scene.”

“You can make as many scenes as you want,” he said again. “But I will always try to give you what I think you need, yeah? Always.”

Francesca reached up and touched his cheek, brushing her thumb along the edge of his jaw.

“I- you know, Osc.” she whispered.

Oscar’s heart stopped. Then surged.

He leaned in, rested his forehead against hers.

“Yeah. I know.” he whispered back. “I know.”

With the sea as witness, she leaned up and brushed her lips against his jaw.

—

ONE WEEK LATER

Oscar was in Mexico.

Francesca and Katie were in her flat, the race coverage playing at a low volume on the TV as they chased Henry around the living room with a feather toy that had arrived two days ago — a surprise Amazon delivery tied with a note in Oscar’s handwriting, “for the little bastard”.

Francesca had laughed for ten minutes straight when she opened it. Katie had filmed the whole thing and, after stealing his number from Francesca’s phone, had sent it to Oscar, along with a voice note that simply said, “I don’t think it was that funny.”

Now, Henry was a blur of zoomies, paws skidding on the hardwood as he launched himself under the sofa to hide from the feathered menace. Francesca collapsed backward against the cushions, breathless and flushed. Katie flopped down beside her.

On the TV, the camera cut to a live shot of Oscar standing in the paddock. His race suit was half-zipped, arms folded casually as he chatted to his engineer, sun beating down on the brim of his cap. He was grinning at something, head tipped slightly to the side.

Francesca went quiet. Just… watching. Soaking him in through the screen like it might bring him closer.

Katie nudged her with a toe. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I just— I get it. Why they put up with long flights and stupid time zones and overpriced airport water. I’d do it. For him.”

Katie’s face softened. “You don’t have to prove anything, you know. You being here, letting him in, the fact you’re even saying that stuff out loud — that’s a lot already.”

“I know,” Francesca whispered. “I just think… he makes me brave.”

The feather toy squeaked as Henry pounced again, launching himself at Katie’s leg with the precision of a tiny, sharp-clawed assassin. She screamed, jerking her leg away and nearly spilling the tea she’d balanced on the arm of the sofa.

“Bastard!” she shouted, glaring at the cat now crouched smugly by the TV stand, tail swishing.

“Shit,” Katie murmured, genuinely impressed as she leaned forward. “He’s good, then.”

“The best,” Francesca replied without hesitation.

The footage shifted to Oscar on the podium in Japan, then in Qatar, smile boyish and eyes squinting beneath the bright lights as champagne sprayed from either side. Francesca felt her heart swell and ache at the same time.

“He’s going to win an award,” she added softly. “Rookie of the Year. From the FIA — the people who run the whole thing. He keeps trying to act like it’s not a big deal, but it is. There’s a gala and everything.”

Katie glanced over, eyebrow raised. “He tell you that?”

“I… looked it up,” Francesca admitted, shrugging with a sheepish smile. “The night he told me he might win. I couldn’t sleep, so I just kept Googling stuff. The voting, the dress code, past winners…”

“You’re obsessed.” Katie giggled.

“Not obsessed,” she said, nudging Katie with her foot. “Just… proud. And maybe a little bit obsessed.”

Katie laughed. “Okay, but like, in a really soft girlfriend way. Not a weird clipboard-and-red-string-stalker way.”

Francesca flushed. “I’m just trying to understand it all. His world. Because he makes so much space for mine.”

Katie was quiet for a moment. Then, “He’s very fucking lucky to have you.”

“I think it’s the other way around,” Francesca said quietly.

The camera cut to him again. He ducked his head.

“He doesn’t really know how to be the centre of attention. Which is crazy, considering the job he’s chosen.” Francesca laughed.

Katie tilted her head. “Sounds like he’s found the right person to help balance all that out, huh.”

Francesca didn’t say anything at first. Just sat there, curled up in the corner of the sofa, the TV screen casting soft flashes of light across her face.

Then, almost to herself, “I think I want to go to the gala with him. If he gets the award.”

Katie blinked. “I— Uh. Wow. That’s… big. Seriously?”

Francesca nodded, tucking her knees closer to her chest, arms wrapped tight around them. “I want to be there. I want to see him get it, hug him, tell him how proud of him I am.”

It came out calmly. Almost too calmly. Because inside, her heart was thudding like it had suddenly remembered all the reasons why that was a bad idea.

First, she’d have to travel to even get there — multiple planes, cars, etc. The venue would be huge. People would be watching. She’d have to wear something elegant, maybe heels — God, the idea of heels made her stomach flip. There’d be lights and flashing cameras and probably hounds of press. She could already feel the too-tight air in her chest, her body doing that thing where it anticipated danger before there even was any.

Katie hesitated, and Francesca braced — because she knew what was coming.

“Are you sure?” her friend asked softly. “I mean… that’s a lot, Fran.”

Francesca’s throat tightened almost immediately. She looked down at her hands, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve instead of the skin that was itching to be scratched and tugged and twisted.

“I know,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “I know it’s a lot. But it’s not like it’s next week or anything. There’s time. Months, even. And—”

She paused, squeezed her eyes shut for a second, then forced herself to breathe. To make the next words come out like they were calm and considered, instead of shaky and sitting way too close to fear.

“And it’ll take a lot of therapy. Like, probably multiple sessions just to deal with the dress shopping part. And definitely a higher dose of medication than I’m on right now. But… I want to do it. Not even just for him. For me.”

Katie’s expression softened instantly — because of course it did. She loved her. Francesca knew that. But the worry didn’t leave her eyes, didn’t waver. It was still there, settled in the tight line of her mouth, the way her fingers drummed absently against her knee.

“I know,” Katie said, voice low. “And I see that. How hard you’re trying. How far you’ve come. But… you also mask it really well. You always have. And I know what it looks like when you burn out. When you go too hard and then crash so badly it takes you weeks to feel even remotely human again.”

Francesca chewed on her bottom lip.

It was the truth, and it stung. But it wasn’t unfair.

“I don’t want that for you,” Katie added gently. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this, just because you like him, or because you want to prove you can.”

Francesca looked over at the TV, at the basically-muted coverage still looping behind them. A slow-motion shot of Oscar stepping into his car, pulling on his helmet, caught in profile — calm and sharp.

“I know I’ve done that before,” she said, her voice soft. “Made myself sick just to prove something. But this… this feels different.”

Katie was quiet.

“I want to be someone who shows up, you know?” Francesca continued, her voice shaking despite her best efforts. “I want to be there when they call his name. I want to experience the joy with him.” Her hands clenched briefly, and then she forced herself to loosen them. “I don’t want to live in this safe little box forever. I want more.”

Katie’s eyes were glossy now, but she smiled too. “Okay,” she said. “Okay. God, I can’t believe those words just came out of your mouth. I’m so bloody proud of you.”

Francesca exhaled, letting herself fall sideways against Katie’s shoulder, their heads leaning together.

“You’re gonna look hot as fuck,” Katie said after a beat.

Francesca laughed — a real laugh, bubbling up unexpectedly.

She didn’t think it would ever truly go away — the debilitating fear, the constant, clawing need to be surrounded by safety and warmth. That wasn’t how agoraphobia worked. It could get better, sure. There would be progress, steps forward, days where the world felt a little less sharp around the edges. But would it ever vanish completely?

Probably not.

Still, she could learn how to live with it. How to manage the spikes of panic, the silent spirals. How to catch herself before the fall.

Oscar had shown her that it was possible — that the world didn’t have to stay small and suffocating forever. That the sea was still hers if she wanted it. That safety could exist outside the four walls of her flat.

He’d shown her what it meant to be cared for without conditions, to be seen and still held gently. If she asked for the world, he’d put it in her hands. No hesitation. No doubt.

She reached for her tea and took a sip. Her hands still trembled.

But she held it steady.

—

TWO DAYS LATER

iMessage — Francesca & Oscar

Francesca

gonna walk to a café

i’m scared lol

His reply came almost instantly, despite the time difference.

Oscar

u got this baby

text me when you’re there

proud of you already 🧡

She stared at the screen for a moment, clutching the phone to her chest. Then, with a shaky breath, she pulled on her coat, slid her flat keys into her pocket, and stepped out of her building.

It hit her all at once — the cold air, the stretch of sky overhead, the noise of the street. Her pulse jumped. Her brain started whispering all the familiar taunts — what if you can’t breathe? What if you freeze? What if everyone sees you fall apart?

She stopped. Planted her feet. Breathed in.

What do you see? her therapist had said once, when she’d asked how to stop dissociating when things got scary. Don’t run from the world around you. Notice it.

So Francesca noticed.

The glint of morning sun on parked cars. The little cloud her breath made in the air. A dog straining at its lead, ears perked. A crisp packet doing a sad little tumble across the pavement. A window-box full of drooping flowers that someone hadn’t remembered to water.

Her heart still raced, but her feet kept moving.

By the time she reached the café, her fingers were frozen and her stomach was doing that slow, swooping panic thing it did — but then she spotted Katie by the window, already waving.

Francesca pushed through the door. The bell jingled above her head. The warmth and scent of coffee hit her like a hug.

Katie was up in a flash, wrapping her in a real one. “You did it,” she whispered. “I’m so proud of you.”

Francesca didn’t trust herself to speak just yet. Her eyes were hot and blurry with tears, but she nodded, and let herself lean into Katie’s warmth.

They sat by the window. Ordered muffins and flat whites, Francesca’s with oat milk.

Francesca’s hands trembled around the mug at first. But Katie didn’t mention it — just kept talking, light and breezy, about some ridiculous email thread she’d been stuck in that morning.

And slowly, Francesca started to relax. Her fingers stilled. Her chest loosened. She took a bite of her muffin and actually tasted it — lemon and poppy seed, bright and soft.

Out on the street, life moved around her. A child in a school uniform trailed a parent, kicking a pebble. A bus drove by, and the windows slowly got misty from inside. Someone laughed across the room.

And Francesca realised, quietly, achingly, that the world could still be hers, in any way she wanted it.

They didn’t stay long, maybe an hour and a half, but by the time Francesca got back to her front door, her legs felt like lead.

Katie had walked her home, not hovering but close enough that it didn’t feel like she was alone. They didn’t talk much after leaving the café — just a few quiet murmurs about Henry and whether they’d both want to have a pizza night this week — but Katie squeezed her hand before heading off.

Inside, Francesca shut the door behind her and let her back hit it, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor.

Her hands were cold. Her face was flushed. Her heart was still a little loud. But…

She’d done it.

She fished out her phone and typed, thumbs slower than usual, deliberate.

—

iMessage — Francesca & Oscar

Francesca

i did it

it was cold. i should’ve worn gloves

but the muffin was good

It took less than a minute before Oscar replied.

Oscar

What flavour muffin did you get baby

Francesca

lemon and poppyseed

i wanted chocolate but they’d sold out

Oscar

How dare they

I’ll UberEats a chocolate muffin to the flat

So proud of you baby

Francesca

<3

—

She really didn’t mean to write the whole thing.

At first, it was just a paragraph — a single paragraph that came to her in the shower and refused to leave her alone. Then it became a scene, and then a chapter, and then, somehow, fourteen days later…

“I think I blacked out,” she said, eyes wide, cradling a mug of tea. “I opened a blank word document and now I have… 82,000 words.”

Katie just stared at her. “I— What?”

“I finished the draft. Of the thing. The book.” Francesca said slowly. “Like, the whole thing. Beginning, middle, end. There’s an actual story in there. Characters. Pacing. A climax. I have no idea how it happened.”

Katie slowly lowered the spoon she’d been stirring her coffee with, mouth parted. “Francesca. Babe. That’s… that’s bananas. You wrote a whole book in two weeks?”

“I didn’t try to,” she said, almost sheepishly. “It just kind of… poured out. I couldn’t stop. It felt like if I did, I’d forget how to do it.”

Katie got up from the kitchen table and crossed to her, putting both hands gently on her shoulders. “That’s amazing. It’s also extremely unhinged, but in a way that I deeply respect.”

Francesca laughed — properly laughed — and it felt so surprising in her own mouth that she covered it with one hand, like it might escape again if she wasn’t careful. “I think it might be crap.”

“It probably isn’t,” Katie said with a smile. “You’re just your own worst critic.”

Later on, when Katie was gone and the sun had started to set, she sent a photo to Oscar — her laptop open on the coffee table, the word count highlighted in red.

—

iMessage — Francesca & Oscar

Francesca

author gf vibe.

Oscar

So many words

No explanation

Francesca

i kinda finished writing the book

Oscar

I think you mean started writing it

Two weeks ago.

Francesca

i guess i found my groove

i also think i have carpal tunnel now

my hands are very sore

Oscar

You’re crazy. I can’t wait to read it, baby

—

liked by oscarpiastri, flonorris, and 64,529 others

bookishgoldie hi. posted a vid on youtube and it’s pretty special to me. go give it a watch ❤️ love ya’ll

view all comments

user64 YOU’RE WRITING A BOOK?!!!!!

user52 i really appreciate u being so open about your mental health. it helps SO MANY PEOPLE

—

Her camera was rolling, the soft ring light casting a gentle glow over Francesca’s face. She stared at the blinking red dot for a long moment, gathering herself.

“Hi,” she said, finally, her voice still a little scratchy from nerves. “Um. It’s been a while. I missed last weeks upload. Sorry about that.”

She gave a sheepish little smile, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Her dressing gown had been swapped out for a black hoodie, soft and oversized — not hers, technically, but she didn’t think anyone would notice. Unless they looked close enough to see the little orange swoop on the left shoulder.

“I’ve been… working. A lot.” A pause. “And not just on my usual content. I’ve been working on myself, too. I’ve made some really big progress with my mental health. Not linear. Not easy. But… real. Lots of therapy. I kinda, like, actually leave the flat now.” Her voice caught slightly, but she kept going. “I’m still scared most of the time, but I’m learning how to deal with that in a healthy way.”

She let out a long breath, then reached down, holding up a printed stack of pages — thick, with a title page on top. “Anyway. I wrote a book.”

A beat. A smile. That dazed, giddy kind that always came when she said it aloud.

“I know. Wild. It just kind of… spilled out of me. And I’m still in shock. But it’s happening. It’s a romance, obviously.” Her smile twitched into something shyer. “I really enjoyed writing it, which is probably why I managed to do it so fast. I had some good inspiration.”

She bit her lip, trying and failing not to blush, then looked off camera briefly. “I’ll be sharing more soon,” she said, regaining her footing. “It’s still early days — editing, cover design, all the terrifying fun stuff. But it’s coming. And I wanted you to hear it from me first.”

There was a pause. Then, quieter, “Thank you for sticking with me. Even when I disappear sometimes. Even when I get scared to do this. It means more to me than you know.”

She reached out to stop the recording — then hesitated.

“Oh — and no, this hoodie isn’t mine. I stole it. No follow-up questions.”

Click.

—

Top Comments:

@litwitch420

the way you casually drop “I wrote a book” like that isn’t the most iconic thing you’ve ever done. proud of you, bestie.

@hannahsbookshelf

I don’t even care what the book is about. I’m buying ten copies. One for me, nine for the girl who couldn’t leave the house but still kept trying

@crymewithcoffee

not Francesca writing a book, going to therapy, AND soft-launching in the same video… multitasking queen.

@thisissochaotic

“i leave the flat now” I’M SOBBINGGGG you don’t understand how proud I am. been here since the ‘flop eyeliner tutorial’ days and this is the growth arc of the century.

@traumabrat98

Been battling agoraphobia for years and this gives me hope. Thank you.

@henryhasfans

I’m only here for Henry tbh but good for you I guess (jk I’m so proud of you I’m crying and I’d die for you)

@softestheartsclub

Your face when you talked about “the boy” 😭 you glowed. I don’t even need to meet him — if he made you write a whole book and start living again?? he’s a keeper.

@pidgeinajar

idk who needs to hear this but francesca wearing Someone Else’s hoodie while announcing her debut novel and mental health glow-up is PEAK soft girl renaissance

—

The front door clicked open with a soft thunk, and before Francesca could even reach it, Oscar was already inside, dropping his bag beside the shoe rack and wrapping her up in a hug so tight her feet left the ground.

“Hi,” she murmured into the side of his neck, her grin buried in his neck. “Welcome back.”

“Hi,” he said, kissing the side of her head, voice low and tired and happy. “Missed you.”

There were flowers in his hand — some daisies, a few sunflowers, wildly uncoordinated colours like he'd grabbed whatever looked brightest at the airport. A few petals had fallen off in transit. Still, they were perfect.

Francesca reached for them, heart too full. “These are tragic and I love them.”

Oscar gave her a sheepish smile. “Thought they looked happy.”

Before she could respond, Katie stepped out from the kitchen holding three glasses of Prosecco, eyebrows shooting up.

“Oh my god, you’re real,” Katie said, walking toward them with a glass of Prosecco in each hand, the third awkwardly balanced between her elbow and her ribs. They were celebrating the completion of Francesca’s first draft. “I was starting to think you were just one of Francesca’s very elaborate delusions. Like the time she thought the pigeon outside her window was trying to communicate with her through Morse code.”

“I— that was one time,” Francesca groaned, her voice muffled against Oscar’s shoulder. She didn’t move away from him, though — fingers curled into the hem of his t-shirt like muscle memory, like she needed to know he was still there. Still real.

Oscar’s arm stayed wrapped around her waist, steady and warm.

He glanced between the two women, visibly entertained. “Hi,” he said, smile crooked. “Francesca’s told me a lot about you.”

Katie handed over his glass, eyes scanning his face with barely disguised curiosity. She didn’t say anything immediately — just sipped her drink and narrowed her eyes slightly, like she was assessing a very expensive, very complicated piece of IKEA furniture.

Oscar didn’t flinch under the scrutiny, though his hand did tighten ever so slightly at Francesca’s waist.

“She better have,” Katie finally said, tone light but edged. “I’m very important to her.”

Francesca groaned again. “Katie.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Oscar said, a little too quickly, already half-grinning. “I get it. Honestly… I like knowing you two are so close.”

Katie raised a brow, as if surprised by his easy sincerity.

“I mean it,” he added, glancing down at Francesca, then back up. “You’re important to her. And I’m really glad that there’s someone else who sees her the way I do.”

Katie’s expression softened, just a bit.

“Well,” she said, after a beat, “good answer.”

Oscar smiled. “Thanks. Felt like a test.”

“Oh, it was.” Katie clinked her glass against his. “And you’re not done yet. But… you’re doing alright so far.”

Francesca laughed into his chest. “You’re both so annoying.”

“You love us,” Katie shot back, giving Francesca a quick, affectionate pat on the arm as she breezed past. “Now come on, there’s cake, and I’m not slicing it until everyone’s in the kitchen.”

Like she hadn’t just casually dropped the big L word.

Like she hadn’t just implied that.

Oh my god.

Francesca’s brain stalled, cheeks warming as she blinked rapidly up at Oscar, who, mercifully, didn’t seem to be reacting with any kind of alarm.

Instead, he watched Katie retreat into the kitchen, then leaned down to murmur near her ear, “She’s intense. I like her.”

Francesca huffed a quiet laugh, the tension bleeding from her shoulders. “Told you she’d be like this.”

He smiled, warm and genuine, eyes soft as they met hers. “Yeah. She loves you,” he added, like it was the simplest truth in the world.

Francesca’s throat tightened unexpectedly. It hit her somewhere deep, that quiet reassurance. That he wasn’t threatened by the friendship she shared with Katie, or overwhelmed by the depth wrapped around it. That he saw the weight of it and respected it.

“I’m lucky,” she said, voice a little rough.

Oscar’s thumb brushed her knuckles. “You’re loved.”

She rose onto her toes and kissed him. Just a press of her mouth to his, gentle and real. Something in her saying thank you without needing the words.

Oscar stilled for a beat, surprised by her initiating it, maybe, and then kissed her back with a soft hum in his throat, his hand cupping the back of her neck. It was brief, sweet, but lingered in the same way that it always did with them.

When she pulled back, her cheeks were warm and her eyes a little too shiny.

Oscar’s voice was quiet when he spoke. “Hi again.”

She laughed, the sound muffled as she dropped her forehead against his chest. “Hi.”

From the kitchen, Katie’s voice rang out. “If you two are done making out, the cake is getting impatient!”

Francesca snorted into Oscar’s shirt.

He just smiled and whispered, “Come on. Let’s go celebrate.”

—

It was late by the time Katie left, the last crumbs of cake still on their dirty plates piled up in the sink. Francesca had smiled so much her cheeks were aching, and Oscar hadn’t stopped touching her all evening. Little things like his hand at the small of her back, arm around her waist, kisses on her knuckles whenever he could.

Now, the flat was quiet again. Just the two of them.

She stood in the doorway to her bedroom, brushing her teeth with one hand, the other lazily twisting the hem of Oscar’s shirt. He was already in bed, hair slightly damp from the shower he’d taken, propped up against the pillows, scrolling absently through something on his phone. Shirtless.

She watched him for a second.

Noticed the strong slope of his shoulders, the thickness of his neck, the way his chest rose and fell in that even, sleepy rhythm. He looked up when he felt her staring.

“Hi, beautiful girl.” he said.

She grinned at him around her toothbrush, cheeks pink.

As soon as she’d rinsed her mouth out in the sink, she padded over to the bed on bare feet, curling up beside him under the duvet, slotting her body into the space he immediately opened for her.

“You’re so warm,” she mumbled against his skin, her fingers curling lightly at his side, nails digging into his skin.

“So are you,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch feather-light. “Everything okay?”

She nodded, eyes half-lidded. “Just… full of cake. And happiness.”

Oscar didn’t say anything for a beat. Just looked at her, his gaze soft, reverent in the dim lamplight. “I’m so proud of you.”

She smiled, shy, teeth tugging at her bottom lip. “You brought me flowers.”

“Half-crushed ones, yeah,” he chuckled.

“They were perfect,” she whispered.

Their lips met, slow and soft. No rush, just heat, rising in degrees, like a pot of water on an open flame. Simmering, simmering.

His hand slid down to her hip, not demanding, just there, grounding. Her fingers fanned out across his chest, slow and steady.

“Is this okay?” he asked against her mouth.

She nodded, then leaned in to kiss him again, more insistently. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

He shifted them gently, giving her room to roll onto her back, then hovered above her, foreheads nearly touching. His hands explored with care; the curve of her waist, the dip just beneath her ribs. He stared at every movement his hand made, like he was trying to memorise every inch of her body.

“You tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured. “You tell me, and I’ll stop.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I don’t want you to stop, though.”

He kissed her again, her mouth, her neck, the hollow beneath her ear, and her body arched instinctively into him.

His fingers slipped beneath the hem of her (his) shirt, resting warm and still against her bare stomach, waiting. She nodded once, more sure about this than she’d ever been about anything, and he peeled it off with the same gentleness that he reserved only for her.

When she tried to cover herself, out of habit more than fear, he caught her hands gently.

“Don’t,” he whispered. “You’re so beautiful, ‘Cesca.”

She flushed. “You always say that. Call me that. Beautiful.”

“Because it’s always true.”

He kissed his way down her chest, slow and careful, taking care to notice every little reaction she gave him. Every time her breath caught, he paused. Every time she arched up to meet him, he smiled into her skin.

Her legs parted to welcome him without needing to be asked. The weight of him above her, around her, was a certain kind of comfort. And when he finally slid into her, it wasn’t shocking or overwhelming or intrusive.

It was right.

She let out a shaky exhale, fingers digging into his shoulders, eyes fluttering closed.

Oscar stilled, forehead resting against hers. “Okay?”

She opened her eyes. Nodded.

And then he moved.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t even really about sex. It was about them being together, like this. About breathing the same air, pressing close enough that the fear didn’t stand a chance. He held her hand the whole time, fingers interlaced, their bodies shifting in the slowest, most perfect rhythm.

She let the thrill of sensations roll over her, the heat, the fullness, the sharp pulse of her heart softening into something sweeter. Safe. Loved.

When she came, it surprised her. Gentle and deep and unlike anything she’d felt before. Her breath caught in her throat, a tear slipping down her temple as Oscar murmured her name, again and again, grounding her in the present.

He followed soon after, with a deep grunt and a tremble that echoed down to his toes. And when it was over, he didn’t move. Just kissed her. Tucked her hair back. Pressed their foreheads together.

“I love you,” he whispered, like he hadn’t meant to say it yet, but couldn’t not.

She blinked up at him, wide-eyed. Her chest ached, in the best way.

“I love you too,” she said softly, voice trembling but sure.

Later, they curled around each other, her head resting on his chest, one leg slung loosely over his. The sheets were tangled around their hips, warm with the quiet hum of leftover heat between them. His hand moved in lazy circles on her bare back, soothing and unthinking.

Francesca let herself melt into it. The rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat — her new favourite sound.

Her voice came soft, nearly lost in the hush of the room. “Can you take me back to the sea tomorrow morning?”

Oscar’s fingers paused for a second. Just a second. Then he resumed the gentle motion, even slower now. He tilted his head so his lips brushed her hair. “Of course I can.”

—

Oscar was sleeping, one arm draped around her waist, his breath warm and even against the back of her neck.

Francesca reached carefully for her phone on the nightstand, trying not to wake him. Her fingers hovered over the screen for a second, heart still fluttering with something so tender and unreal she could barely believe it had happened.

But it had.

They’d said it.

She opened her messages, scrolled to Katie’s name.

—

iMessage — Katie & Francesca

Katie

we said the L word

he said it first

and i said it back

katie. i think i’m in love with this man. like properly. like forever.

—

Oscar shifted behind her, murmuring something incoherent, and nuzzled into her shoulder with a content sigh. Her heart ached in the best way.

—

Katie

SHUT THE FUCK UP

Are you still breathing

Francesca

i would follow this man into war

im a new woman. i am reborn.

we. had. SEX.

like actual sex. not metaphorical holding-hands-and-weeping sex.

REAL. NAKED. BODY-TO-BODY. SEX.

and it was so good i think i saw god.

i am speaking to you as a ghost. i have perished. i have transcended.

i am levitating in the corner of my bedroom.

Katie

I’m not afraid to block you.

…

Is he… big?

Francesca

NO. MINE. BACK OFF HARLOT.

Katie

Jesus Christ

It was that good huh

Francesca

I. Transcended.

—

Francesca’s hand was tucked securely in Oscar’s. The world was still quiet, save for the cry of gulls and the rhythmic crash of the waves.

Oscar nudged her gently. “You look happy.”

“I am,” she said honestly. “It’s like my brain is breathing. I’m not… scared.”

He was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Do you think you’d ever want to live somewhere like this? Near the water?”

She glanced sideways at him, brows raising slightly. “Like… move?”

He shrugged, but the question lingered in the air. “Maybe. Someday.”

Francesca didn’t answer right away. They kept walking. The breeze picked up, tugging her hair, and he watched as she closed her eyes for a second, just breathing in the salty sea air.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I mean, my flat is my safety net. My bubble. But this… this doesn’t feel scary. Not with you.” She paused, then added, “I think… it would be possible. Maybe with my therapist on speed dial.”

Oscar smiled. “I could make that happen.”

She rolled her eyes fondly. “You- I mean, is that something you want? To live near the water?”

“I think it’d be nice.” He said, noncommittal, but honest.

“If I ever did leave my flat behind… it would have to be for something really, really good. Somewhere Henry would be able to call home for the rest of his life. Somewhere I could always rely on to feel secure.”

Oscar stopped walking. Tugged her closer until she was pressed against his chest.

“Baby,” he murmured.

She looked up at him, squinting against the morning light. “And I’d want to be with someone who makes me happy, as often as possible. Not always, but… often.”

He leaned down and kissed her, salt on their lips, sunlight on their skin.

“Okay,” he said, smiling against her mouth. “I’ll work on that.”

When they started walking again, her hand found his once more, thumb tracing the back of his knuckles.

Oscar was quiet. Thinking.

Not in the way that meant worry, more like… turning over puzzle pieces.

“I think you’d like Monaco,” he said eventually, voice soft and a little far-off. “It’s warm all year. Sunny. You could leave the windows open and let the air in, not just light.”

She glanced at him. “That’s a big change from London, huh.” She said, quietly.

“Maybe,” he said, not even bothering to deny it. “It’s small, too. The whole country. You wouldn’t ever feel lost in it. Everything’s within reach. You can walk almost everywhere. I know all the quiet spots.”

Francesca blinked. “You… you want me to live in Monaco?”

“I want you with me,” he said, simply. “And I want you to feel safe somewhere that we can both call home forever. I think it could be a good place for you. No pressure, obviously. Just—” He glanced at her. “I think about it sometimes. You, there. Henry too. Able to watch the water from a balcony.”

She was quiet.

“You’d be busy,” she said after a moment, her voice low. “With racing. And everything else. I’d be on my own a lot.”

Oscar didn’t pretend otherwise. He gave a small, thoughtful nod, thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Yeah. But I’d come home to you. Every time. And… you wouldn’t really be alone. You’d never be far from someone you know.” He hesitated, then added, “The girls— I mean, if you wanted to know them.”

She turned her head slightly to look at him. “The girls… You mean the WAGs?”

Oscar’s nose scrunched a little, bashful. “They’re all nice. Some of them travel with us, but not all of them.”

Francesca hummed, then looked back out toward the water. A gull wheeled overhead, shrieking. The waves were starting to turn silver at the edges now, sun climbing higher.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for that, Osc.” Her words were barely more than a whisper. “I— It excites me, though. The idea of making somewhere our home. And I do like the idea of being able to see the water from my window. Or a balcony, like you said.”

He didn’t push. Didn’t try to convince her. Just reached for her hand and tangled their fingers again. “Want to pick up pastries on the way home?” He asked.

She looked at him incredulously. “Uh. Yeah. When have you ever known me to say no to a pastry?”

He rolled his eyes at her, and then he kissed her.

Just because he could.

—

iMessage — Francesca & Katie

Francesca

hypothetically. in the future.

if one were to move to monaco. like monaco monaco. the fancy boat people place.

would that be a terrible decision or just like. a very bold rebrand.

asking for a friend (me)

also oscar told me he’d wait forever if it meant i’d be happy and i almost fainted like a victorian man seeing ankle for the first time.

Katie

When you say “in the future”

Do you mean 5 years or 5 weeks because those are very different things fran

Francesca

I HAVEN’T EVEN MET HIS FAMILY YET

he hasn’t met MY family yet

i’m still trying to mentally prepare for him being in the same room as my sister

we’re not there yet

we’re like. emotionally there. but logistically? spiritually?? maybe not. idk.

Katie

Answer my question you scoundrel.

Francesca

I DONT KNOW

maybe 5 months

maybe a year

maybe never

but also maybe i’ll wake up tomorrow and pack a suitcase and just see what happens

is this what love does??? it makes you consider international relocation???

Katie

It absolutely does.

And also you’re unwell. Deeply. Fundamentally.

But in like. A beautiful way.

Pls continue

Francesca

his eyes are so brown.

like unfairly brown.

like melted chocolate mmmmmm yummy

Katie

I’m gonna need you to calm down before you start a fire in your PHONE

What is this?? Shakespeare meets horny tumblr??

Pull yourself together girl

Francesca

i can’t

he said “baby, you’re all I want” last night and i saw god

like my brain blue-screened

if he blinks at me too lovingly again i’m going to dissolve into mist

Katie

ok nope. i'm out.

i’ve reached my francesca-in-love limit for the day

you’re talking like a victorian poet who just discovered lust and it’s deeply upsetting me

Francesca

LMAO

wait no come back

i haven’t even gotten to the part where he called me a good girl

Katie

🔇

this is me putting you on mute.

tell oscar to pay my therapy bills

Francesca

lol x

i’ll invoice him in kisses.

CHAPTER SEVEN

[takes1]

Hiii, I love all ur fics sm! Ur literally so talented omgg

I wanted to request a fic where Oikawa and short/academically inclined reader are friends with benefits. I think it would be fun to see them get jealous and tiptoe around their feelings for each other since they don’t wanna ruin what they have. Can it also be nsfw and could u add some angst pls? Thank youu!

f*cking jealous!oikawa in secret

hi! thank you so much!! hope this interpretation is alright!

warnings. heavy nsfw, minors DNI

details. fem!reader / short!reader / jealous!oikawa / popular x loser trope / jock x nerd trope / tutor!reader / subby-switch!oikawa / switch!reader / oikawa with a nerd fetish / needy!oikawa towards the end / kind of hate fucking? / oikawa being mean / riding / implied oral / fluff, angst, and smut / reader with glasses / 1.8k words

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my ao3. my imagines

"You're sooo lucky to tutor him, (Y/n),"

Your hopeless friend sighed, scrolling through Oikawa's Instagram for the upteenth time.

"I'd give anything to spend that much time alone with him."

It was a little creepy, but you loved her. Other girls fawning over your secret fuck-buddy was something you had to -begrudgingly- get used to. It pained you more when it was somebody so close, but nothing was worth coming clean about it.

The last thing you needed during senior year was a target on your back.

"Oh, he's such a prick!" You wave her off and grab your drink from the café counter with a smaller, pleasant, 'Thank you.'

The table was more of a C-curved booth that your group had to shimmy into. The shape made it hard to get in and out of, rather serving as an ultra-cozy prison to focus on your studies, your caffeine, and your snacks.

As a way of not letting you off the hook so easily- your friends cracked open their notes, laptops, textbooks, while entertaining the 'absurd' idea that any of you could actually date Johsai's least eligible bachelor.

A bunch of star-students with decorated academic achievements was the only impressive thing about the patrons at your favorite, quiet, coffee house. With- maybe-- the exception of money in eyeglass prescriptions, or luxurious stationery that decorated the table.

Your voice stood as the most displeased, the most troubled, of the discussion. You flipped through the chapters, halfway forgetting what page you needed to be on, because you got caught up in his shortcomings.

"He doesn't listen- he takes my hours away from people who might actually need it- he's, obviously, got the biggest ego I've ever seen--, Oh- hold up."

It was a struggle to flip to your page and rummage around your pocket for your buzzing phone.

"Well, I'm glad somebody's got some common sense-," Was the only guy in your group, disgruntled at all the Oikawa-talk.

Oikawa's name flashed across your screen. Your body seized and you hugged it to your chest.

"Woah!"

"You good?"

"I'm just--gonna take this outside," You cleared your throat and sank all the way to the floor, crawling over shoes and bags from under the table to get far away from your friends.

It was on the second-to-last ring by the time you hurried outside. You hated him for many things, but the wind picked up, spraying a chilly mist all over your clothes, and you couldn't help but associate him with the feeling. Your hoodie was still inside, forgotten in your haste.

"What? I'm busy right now." You spat, shivering already.

"Don't fog your glasses up, princess."

His easy, light tone particularly bothered you. You groaned.

"Get to the point, pretty boy, I'm busy--,"

"I know. I just called to say you should stop talking about me. Reads as a bit... obsessive, don't you think?"

The breath you took to poke a hole in his 'obsessive' argument gave way to nothing- except a silent realization.

"You're- where are you?"

You squinted at the dark window, but it was one-way.

Oikawa watched you turn to the parking lot, smirking, from inside the cafe.

He sighed, a real airy, fake one; the one he knew you loved to hear from him in bed.

His voice was lower, closer to the receiver. "I thought you said you were busy?"

The audacity to call you obsessive, mixing with the adrenaline his sudden proximity shot into your system. You pressed 'end call.'

When you re-entered the cafe, you spotted him immediately. He was walking back to his booth, one away from yours, from the restrooms. Though you both saw each other, there was hardly an indication that you knew one another at all, thanks to so much practice.

It was, still, hard to watch him slide into a seat right next to some other girl.

So, he heard you talking shit about him while on a date, then left her to go call you? You rejoined your booth, and spared a mean glance over at him, like the absolute garbage he was. He returned it with lesser intensity.

-

You'd think, with his cock in your hand, he wouldn't bring up the events of that morning. It put him in a less-than ideal position.

"Y'knoww,"

He hadn't said anything yet, but your eyes were rolling. Used to the attitude, and equipped with a firm point to make, he continued:

"You should ditch- ahh, that little loser in your little friend group."

A little roll of your hips had him wincing- spreading the slickness all across his dick, from all the work he had put in, already.

You cocked your head at him, "Oh, yeah?"

Oikawa's eyes rolled back into his skull, a groan at how hot you looked, grinding on him. You were his perfect, nerdy little secret. He specifically wanted you to keep your glasses on today. It was a thing. You didn't understand it in its entirety, but it likely had a connection to the reason why he opted for a lowkey arrangement.

"And you should ditch that shallow whore--,"

"Oh my god!" He gasped, surprised to hear such a thing uttered from your mouth, "Fuuuck you're so jealous-!"

"Me?"

It was completely unfair and utter bullshit that he acted like his jealousy was nonexistent. To him, only you could get out of your pay grade. He pretended to forget that the only reason you were fucking multiple times a week was because he 'needed' you so bad. You felt a little exploited.

"That's so hot-aughhh!"

His big, strong hands were forcing your cunt against his slippery, thick cock, since you wouldn't move quite right.

"M-mmh-! Tha-t's-," You struggled, voice breaking, hands against his muscular chest, "Not- mh, fair."

Your textbooks, his assignment due in 40 minutes, were neglected on the floor across his bedroom. Your tutoring was basically roleplay. It turned him on as soon as you got to talking about the relevant class material, telling him that the work he had already done was wrong.

It turned you on too, to an extent. You liked that you got him stiff without trying, without touching. You loved when he pretended like he wasn't, but bounced his leg right next to yours, cleared his throat before every response, got caught staring like some depraved creature.

You were exactly his type. He was the hottest guy you'd ever met. Something had to give.

"I- ah, don't wanna--," He fucked you hard, like you had a ring on your finger, "See you talk to that loser again."

He couldn't stand the threat of being second place. A guy with such a precious ego needed to feel like you wouldn't leave him. While your social structure may have harbored the suggestion that this would be the case, it wasn't an accurate representation of your feelings.

The whimper lacing his voice grew as you placed a firm hand around his throat.

"Don't- date- other girls." You threatened through gritted teeth and bitten-back moan.

It was just your luck that the most ridiculous peacock of a man would have such a great dick, give you such great head, that you couldn't live and let this fucked-up situationship die. The timer of the semester ticked away, standing as an informal end to it, so neither of you had the gall to cut things off before you needed to.

He whined under your touch, bottoming out hard, keeping himself as deep as he could get.

The lonely bastard draped his arms around you and pulled you close.

"Mmh- you know I gotta- h-ah, keep up appearances for us, princess," His quiet mutter, spilled across your shoulder, forced a shiver down your spine.

His sheets smelled just like him.

You loosened your grip and decided to play with his soft, lush locks, taking in his scent, his touch- that feeling. Like you were his, but not in some twisted, shameful way.

You wanted one of his shirts but it wasn't that simple.

For the moment, you chased the dream, while he was still gentle and peppering you in kisses.

Maybe in some perfect world, he would let go of his status, be a little less weird about your intelligence, and you could have a boyfriend instead of a glorified dildo.

He sounded close, so you fucked him back, hand back on his throat; you wondered how many girls would be disappointed to know that Oikawa Tohru didn't last very long in bed.

"You wanna cum, pretty boy?"

A wince at your rough, loaded kiss. His grip was iron, his strength speaking enough for how mute you got him.

It was so quiet, so pitiful: "Pl-ease,"

God, he looked so cute all fucked-out. He only looked at you like that. Like he never wanted you to leave, like he couldn't breathe without you around him, like you weren't just friends with benefits.

Too bad you were just some freaky nerd-fetish.

He pulled out and you sat, buzzed, on his drained cock, more than satisfied with the sight of cum all over his stomach.

When you pushed up your fallen glasses, his cock twitched accordingly and reminded you of the only reason you existed to him at all.

Kissing, cleaning up, cuddling, all of the winding down was still commonplace between you. He wanted attention, you wanted time to chill before you had to go home. He even made it difficult to get dressed and out the door.

Today, he kept his arms around your waist when you attempted to get up, after 20 minutes of cuddling.

"Pleaaase stay," He whined, unable to hold you as firm as he wanted for fear he would hurt you.

You smiled.

"I need to study more tonight."

"Study here!" He pouted.

Right. Then this would happen all over again- because as soon as he would see a pencil between your teeth, he'd try to replace it with his cock.

"Really study," You pried his fingers off and got dressed.

He watched for a time, but needed to assert himself more in order to feel like he wasn't useless, or forgettable. He joined to get dressed, too, and kept a close eye on your seemingly unbothered expression.

"I'm sorry for cursing at you."

It was so unimportant that you had no idea what he was talking about.

"It's okay," Rolled off your tongue, fast.

Oikawa got twitchy. His sly attempts at dragging out your departure slipped through his fingers like sand.

"Let me help you with that," His unprompted kiss to your forehead, along with his gentle gathering of your things, left you a bit dazed.

You fixed your hair- hesitant to look at him.

"Thank you."

He insisted, like usual, to walk you home. You sighed and posed the same argument, the way you had for the past month. People would notice if you were together in any capacity. Rumors would start.

When he was done packing your books up, he was touchier, and hung over you like a cat rubbing itself all over your ankles as you walked to the door.

You rationalized that it had to be your glasses. It gave him some sort of kick. He barely let you out of his bedroom, let alone his house.

You forgot to ask for a shirt, but... maybe next time?

☆VIP☆

@integers @paradoxicalwritings @yuchacco

my masterlist. more haikyuu. (new) my imagines.

[skiesuconn]

all the ways i stay

paige bueckers & azzi fudd യ notes: it took me a while to find satisfaction with this, but i’ve finally settled on it. i figured i’d jot something down quickly while i work on chapter 3 of the argent. fic. it’s still in the making, but trust me, it’ll be worth the wait. in the meantime, i hope you enjoy this quick blurb i had in mind. also, i highly recommend playing the song mentioned later on—it really brings the moment to life. happy reading, lovelies.

paige never thought she’d be sitting through a rom-com marathon with azzi, yet here they were, limbs tangled on the couch, a half-empty popcorn bowl wedged between them. the air smelled like butter and whatever candle azzi had burning—something warm, vanilla, a little too cozy for a night where paige had fully intended to roast every movie choice.

but azzi was taking this seriously. too seriously.

the notebook had been playing for all of five minutes, and already, azzi was watching like it was a high-stakes thriller, arms crossed, one perfectly manicured hand occasionally reaching up to twist a curl between her fingers. paige, meanwhile, was sprawled out, one socked foot nudging azzi’s thigh, head tipped back against the armrest like she was suffering.

“this is the dumbest shit i’ve ever seen,” paige muttered, watching ryan gosling pull off some grand romantic gesture. “like, imagine a guy hanging off a ferris wheel, threatening to let go unless you agree to a date. that’s not romance, that’s blackmail.”

“he’s being dramatic. it’s supposed to be sweet,” azzi countered, eyes still locked on the screen.

paige huffed a laugh, shifting so her shoulder knocked against azzi’s. “oh, so if i dangle off a balcony and demand you take me to chipotle, that’s sweet? good to know.”

“you wouldn’t last five seconds. your upper body strength is—” azzi let her gaze flick down to paige’s arms, the definition obvious even under her hoodie. she cleared her throat. “never mind.”

paige smirked. “oh no, finish that thought, princess.”

“no.”

paige, who lived for this kind of thing, propped herself up on one elbow, getting close enough that azzi’s perfume curled around her senses. she smelled expensive, like warm florals and a hint of something soft, maybe honey. she should be paying attention to the movie, but instead, she was studying the way azzi’s lashes brushed her cheek when she blinked, the exact shade of brown in her eyes. totally normal. not a problem at all.

“admit it,” paige drawled. “you just got distracted by the guns.”

“i hate you.”

“no you don’t.”

“i do. i hate you so much.” but azzi’s mouth twitched, and her hand, traitorous thing that it was, had found its way to paige’s wrist, fingers pressing absentmindedly into the skin there.

paige noticed, but didn’t comment. instead, she shifted again, nestling further into azzi’s space like she had every right to be there. “okay, but you have to admit this movie is trash. a seven-year breakup over a letter she never got? and then she gets engaged to some other dude just for funsies?”

“it’s about fate.”

“it’s about bad communication.”

“well, not everyone’s an oversharer like you.”

paige grinned. “first of all, rude. second of all, if you ever fell in love with me and wrote me letters for a year, i’d totally read them.”

“good to know,” azzi said dryly, but her fingers curled slightly around paige’s wrist, like she was holding on without thinking about it.

paige caught it this time. dragged her thumb over the inside of azzi’s wrist, slow, lazy. “you’re holding my hand, princess.”

“no, i’m not.”

paige laced their fingers together, making it undeniable. “yeah, you are.”

azzi let out a long, suffering sigh, but didn’t pull away. instead, she rested her head against paige’s shoulder, like it was easier than fighting whatever this was.

“shut up and watch the movie.”

paige smirked. “yes, ma’am.”

azzi groaned. “don’t call me that.”

“whatever you say, sweetheart.” paige turned her head slightly, pressing a lingering kiss to azzi’s temple. it was casual, effortless, like second nature. azzi’s breath hitched, but she didn’t move. didn’t push paige away.

paige still thought the movie was ridiculous, but if it meant getting to sit like this, wrapped up in azzi’s space, maybe rom-coms weren’t so bad after all.

paige stretches out on the couch, head sinking into azzi’s lap like she owns the place. which, technically, she does. well—half of it, at least.

"story: five out of ten," paige announces, dragging a lazy hand through the air. "sure, it's the usual love story. boy meets girl, they fight, they make up, they cry… whatever."

azzi snorts, idly combing her fingers through paige's hair. "so poetic."

paige tilts her head up, grinning. "what can i say? i have a way with words."

"yeah," azzi deadpans. "like a drunk guy at karaoke."

paige gasps, pressing a hand to her chest. "wow. that was personal."

azzi hums, twisting a strand of blonde between her fingers before flicking it back into place. "well, i’d give it an eight."

paige jerks up like azzi just said something blasphemous. "eight? for that?"

"it's a classic." azzi shrugs, like that explains everything.

paige squints. "so is canned tuna, but you don't see me crying over it."

"maybe because you have the emotional depth of a teaspoon," azzi muses, lips twitching.

"okay, rude." paige flops back down, arms crossed. "also, i think we’re ignoring the real issue here. you, azzi fudd, are a rom-com crybaby."

"i am not."

paige smirks. "oh, really? then explain why you sobbed over that one scene in 10 Things I Hate About You last week?"

"because heath ledger was singing in the bleachers, and that’s a valid reason!"

paige hums, tapping her chin. "mm. i dunno. seems a little wimpy to me."

"i'm emotionally intelligent," azzi corrects, flicking paige’s forehead.

"mm. tomato, tomahto." paige closes her eyes, perfectly at peace, until—

"you know," azzi starts, voice all sweet and innocent, which immediately puts paige on edge, "when we're old, you’ll be the one looking for your eye contacts only to realize you’ve had glasses on this whole time."

paige's eyes snap open. "excuse me?"

"just saying." azzi grins, all dimples and mischief. "you give off that energy."

paige sits up, pretending to be offended. "i do not give off ‘losing my own glasses while they're on my face’ energy."

"you so do," azzi counters, biting back a laugh.

"i'm literally the most capable person you know."

azzi raises an eyebrow. "paige, last week you spent ten minutes looking for your phone while you were on a call."

paige squints. "…that proves nothing."

"and two days ago, you left your car keys in the fridge."

paige huffs. "that was one time."

"mm-hmm." azzi pats her cheek, eyes sparkling. "sure, babe."

paige flops back down, grumbling, but as azzi goes back to running her fingers through her hair, she lets the thought settle.

growing old with azzi.

being with her through all the ridiculous, mundane, beautiful little moments life throws their way.

paige isn't sentimental. not really. but the idea sticks, burrows into her chest in a way she can’t shake.

she smacks azzi’s thigh, lightly. "you're annoying."

azzi just laughs, warm and soft, and yeah—paige thinks—maybe she wouldn't mind losing her glasses if it means azzi’s the one to find them for her.

the room still smells like buttered popcorn and the faintest hint of azzi’s vanilla-scented lotion. the air’s a little stuffy from them being curled up on the couch for hours, so paige cracks a window while azzi smooths out the blankets, fluffing the pillows back into place.

"teamwork makes the dream work," paige announces, dramatically tossing a handful of snack bags into the trash like she’s steph curry sinking a three.

except—

clunk. one of them bounces off the rim and lands just outside the bin.

"except when you miss." azzi deadpans.

paige squints. "i meant to do that."

"mm-hmm." azzi picks up the stray bag, dropping it in as paige gathers up the cups. she takes a final glance around, making sure everything's set for the next movie marathon.

when she's satisfied, she turns to paige, a little smirk playing at her lips. "good job, partner."

paige barely has time to process before azzi leans in, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to her lips. it’s barely a second, but it’s enough to make paige's brain short-circuit.

"oh." paige blinks, a slow grin creeping onto her face. "so i get kisses for cleaning? noted."

"don't push it." azzi nudges her toward the kitchen, but there’s no real bite to it.

paige busies herself grabbing the cupcake cups while azzi starts setting out ingredients. she fills a few with nuts—strictly for herself, since azzi's allergic and she’d rather not spend the night in the er. then she loads up the rest with fruit, especially kiwi, because azzi swears it tastes like happiness. she adds pineapple and strawberries too, then tosses in some dark chocolate and a generous amount of gummy bears.

azzi watches, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. "so… you’re just making a personal charcuterie board of sweets?"

paige shrugs. "some of us like variety."

azzi snorts. "some of us just like sugar."

"pot, meet kettle." paige gestures at the chocolate chips azzi’s been sneakily snacking on.

azzi flicks a marshmallow at her, and paige, never one to back down from a challenge, pops it into her mouth midair with a smug look.

"show-off," azzi mutters, but her lips twitch like she’s trying not to laugh.

they settle into a rhythm, prepping ingredients for the ultimate snack session. paige, of course, insists on making s’mores, because what’s a cozy night without them?

azzi leans against the counter, watching paige work, arms brushing every so often. the night is easy, familiar, filled with little moments like this—bickering over snacks, stolen kisses, the kind of comfortable chaos that only comes with knowing someone like the back of your hand.

and honestly? paige wouldn’t trade it for anything.

azzi pads over to the kitchen, where stewie is curled up in his usual spot, breathing slow and steady. he looks peaceful, like he doesn’t have a single thought in that fluffy little head of his.

she crouches down, rubbing his ears, voice soft. "he’s literally perfect."

"mhmm." paige barely glances up, focused on skewering a marshmallow.

"paige, look at him," azzi insists.

paige, still hunched over the stove, murmurs, "kinda busy making s’moresess right now."

azzi squints. "s’moresess?"

"shhh." paige waves a hand, half-heartedly. "it’s a process."

azzi shakes her head, muttering something about her girlfriend being a lost cause, and moves behind paige, arms slipping around her waist, chin resting on her shoulder.

paige stiffens slightly but doesn’t stop what she’s doing—at least, not until azzi exhales slow and warm against the shell of her ear.

paige’s brain? fried.

her grip on the skewer slips, and the marshmallow nearly meets a fiery demise.

"azzi." her voice comes out a little strangled.

"what?" azzi hums, feigning innocence as she straightens up, leaving paige standing there like a malfunctioning robot.

"you—" paige exhales sharply through her nose. "you almost made me burn the s’more."

"tragedy," azzi deadpans, already moving toward the kettle.

paige glares, but it’s weak at best. instead, she focuses on plating everything while azzi makes herself a cup of tea and grabs some coconut water.

the dorm is spotless, the only sound the occasional clink of dishes and the low hum of the kettle. the candles caroline gifted azzi flicker gently, their scents—vanilla and lavender—mixing in the air, making the whole space feel warm, intimate.

it’s just them. no distractions.

azzi leans against the counter, stirring her tea, watching paige with something unreadable in her eyes.

paige, finally done, turns to face her, a cocky little grin playing at her lips. "so, did you come over here just to sabotage my s’mores, or…?"

azzi takes a slow sip of her tea, gaze steady. "maybe."

paige squints. "that’s evil."

"you love it."

paige sighs, defeated, but she can’t hide the way her smile softens just a little.

azzi kneels beside stewie, fingers ghosting over his soft fur, careful not to wake him. his little chest rises and falls in the slow rhythm of deep sleep, curled up on his uconn-themed dog bed—matching blanket and all. of course azzi had to go all out. paige swears this dog has more school spirit than half the team.

paige finishes up in the kitchen, setting the last plate down before making her way over, dropping onto the floor beside azzi. but while azzi’s watching stewie, paige is watching her.

azzi looks peaceful, more than she has in weeks. this semester drained the hell out of her—paige saw it firsthand, the late nights, the stress, the way azzi pushed herself through it all. and yet, right now, in this tiny little moment, she’s soft, calm, just existing.

paige leans back on her palms, studying her, a quiet sort of pride settling in her chest. that’s her girl. the girl she had all her firsts with.

and tonight? well, she’s about to have another first with her.

azzi really should stop making paige feel like her heart's a metronome—this can't be normal.

paige’s thoughts swirl for a second as she watches azzi, completely unaware of the storm brewing in paige’s head. “if Azzi asked me to climb a mountain right now, i'd probably do it just to see her smile. how much do I need to pay for her to stop being this cute?”

“this is why I’m not allowed near dogs,” paige thinks, watching stewie snooze. "one pet and suddenly I'm invested in a team of athletes who can't even talk."

azzi shifts, catching paige’s gaze. there’s that smile again—the kind that makes paige feel like the world stops for just a second. “Not that I mind,” she thinks, "but damn, this girl has me wrapped around her finger."

and honestly? paige is okay with it.

they’re talking about nothing and everything all at once, voices low, lazy, like the world outside doesn’t exist. sitting cross-legged on the floor, the snacks long forgotten, azzi’s hand moves in slow circles over stewie’s ear, careful not to wake him.

paige, propped up on one elbow, watches her with that look—soft, amused, completely gone. azzi catches it, and for a second, wonders if she needs to take notes because damn, paige's stare is next level.

azzi meets her gaze, smiles, something quiet passing between them.

paige leans in first, and azzi follows, her free hand slipping to paige’s side, fingers pressing just enough to ground them both. she smiles into the kiss before it deepens, slow and sure, like every time they kiss, it means something more. because it does. because it always does.

when they pull back, paige, still close enough that azzi can feel her breath, grins.

“hey az,” she murmurs, voice teasing. “remember that night a few years back when we slow danced on the porch and i stepped on your feet like… fifteen times?”

"of course i do, paige," azzi says, voice soft but sure. "that memory’s engraved in my brain."

she remembers everything—the exact date, the thick warmth of summer, the way the night unfolded like a scene straight out of one of her movies. “And honestly? The embarrassing foot stomping was just part of the charm,” she thinks. the way it led them here, to something that feels eerily similar to what’s about to unravel.

paige raises a brow. "woah, was i really that bad?"

azzi grins, playing with paige’s fingers absentmindedly. "kind of."

paige groans, leaning her head back dramatically. "well, i was nervous, okay? i was dancing with the girl of my dreams."

azzi snorts. "oh yeah?"

"yeah," paige says, eyes locked on hers now. "you were wearing your mom’s pearls that day. that dress i thought was pretty on you, though—let’s be real—all of them were. swear, you could wear a trash bag and i’d still go crazy." she shrugs, lips twitching. "doesn’t even matter what you wear. you are your outfit. if that makes sense."

azzi flushes, her smile growing. she tugs paige closer by her hoodie, pressing their lips together. paige grins into it, hands finding azzi’s waist as the kiss deepens.

when they break apart, azzi hums, eyes playful. "i think the romance movies really got to you, huh?"

paige scoffs. "hey, i’m not the one who wants to watch them."

"that’s true."

"but i wasn’t finished with my little speech, actually," paige adds, tilting her head.

azzi rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning. "oh? go on, then."

paige squeezes her fingers, something shifting in her expression—something softer, something certain. "wanna dance?"

azzi’s face lights up instantly. "right here? right now?"

paige nods. "right here. right now."

“Oh god, we’re doing this,” azzi thinks, trying not to grin like an absolute fool.

without hesitation, azzi takes her hand. paige, playing the gentleman, offers it with a dramatic flair, one hand behind her back like she’s in some old-timey movie. “Oh yeah, I’m totally swooning now,” azzi thinks, trying to keep her cool. azzi laughs, but she takes it.

they step into the open space in the kitchen, the only sound the faint hum of the fridge. the soft glow of candlelight flickers against the walls, filling the room with something unspoken. something warm. something that feels like them.

as they settle in, azzi tilts her head. "are we doing a silent slow dance, paige?"

paige blinks. "my bad." she pulls out her phone, scrolling for a second before pressing play. the soft, melancholic notes of my love mine all mine by mitski fill the air.

azzi raises a brow. "since when do you know this song?"

paige smirks. "since sarah put me on."

azzi laughs, shaking her head. as the first seconds of the song settle over them, paige—who’s just a little taller—takes azzi’s hands. azzi sighs, already knowing how this is going to go. "please don’t step on my feet."

paige grins. "can’t promise that."

azzi smiles, and they fall into place like they always do. her head finds paige’s shoulder, her hands finding her waist, and paige isn't forcing a thing. they just fit. like they were made to be here, in this moment, like this.

the song is calm, and so are they, just swaying together. the stillness, the trust, the years of knowing each other—it all settles between them like a quiet understanding. azzi closes her eyes, memorizing every movement, the way their breaths sync, the way their heartbeats seem to fall into rhythm.

paige looks down at her, eyes soft, full of something deeper than words. she presses a gentle kiss to azzi’s head and whispers, "i love you more than you’ll ever know."

azzi lifts her gaze, the candlelight flickering in her eyes. "i love you more than i ever thought i could love anybody."

paige swallows. their bodies are so close, and as the second verse starts, azzi wraps her arms around paige’s neck, resting her chin on her shoulder. her curls brush against paige’s face, tickling her cheek.

"you can put your feet on mine," paige murmurs. "i’ll lift you with ease."

azzi snorts. "you’re ridiculous."

"and yet, here you are, playing into it," paige teases.

but azzi does it, stepping onto paige’s feet, letting her take the lead. it’s ridiculous, yeah, but it’s them.

paige smiles, eyes slipping shut, and this time, azzi’s the one watching her. with nothing but love.

she presses a soft kiss to paige’s cheek, and paige’s lips curl into that cocky smile—the one that always makes azzi feel something she can't quite name.

the way paige’s whole face lights up just from being near her… that’s the kind of love scientists should be writing articles about.

as the song fades out, azzi’s fingers trace lazy circles on paige’s back. they haven’t moved, still molded into each other, warm from the dance, from the love they just shared. they were always meant for this moment.

"can we just stay like this forever?" azzi murmurs.

paige chuckles, looking down at her, at the soft smile on azzi’s face. "and who’s gonna break ankles if we do?"

"kamorea can handle that," azzi says, completely serious.

paige laughs, shaking her head. as azzi pulls her hands back, she really looks at paige. paige is holding her hands now, thumb brushing over her skin, absentmindedly tracing small circles—no, actually tracing azzi’s name on the back of her hand.

azzi bites her lip. "gotta say, you improved. you didn’t step on my foot once."

paige nods, all cocky. what azzi doesn’t know is that paige spent her free time watching dance tutorials. even asked tim—azzi’s father—for tips.

"thank you," paige smirks. "i’m a natural."

azzi scoffs. "sure."

"should we go back to the movies?" azzi asks.

paige stretches. "yeah, just gimme a sec. gotta use the bathroom."

"okay." azzi leans in, pressing a quick kiss to paige’s cheek before heading back to the room.

but paige doesn’t go to the bathroom. instead, she crouches by stewie’s bed, quietly filling his bowl with water, making sure he’s set for the night. she grabs a few dog treats and places them beside him, scratching behind his ear as she whispers—(keep in mind, it’s a dog):

"i’m gonna marry that pretty girl someday. i know you’re her #1, but i’m never gonna stop loving her."

stewie snores in response. paige grins, giving him one last pat before heading back.

when she walks in, azzi’s already curled up, waiting for her with a look of love and safety. paige jumps into bed, and azzi immediately rests her head on paige’s chest.

"let’s do frozen again," azzi mumbles.

paige laughs, pressing a kiss to azzi’s head. "i’m covering your eyes when olaf loses his head."

azzi gasps and smacks paige’s leg. "rude."

as the movie starts playing, the soft glow of the screen flickering against their faces, azzi reaches for a s’more, breaking off a piece for paige. she turns to her, eyes warm, lips curled into a soft smile.

“open,” she says, holding it up.

paige laughs, tilting her head back slightly, and obliges. azzi stuffs the piece in her mouth, giggling as paige tries to chew through the marshmallow, cracker, and chocolate all at once.

“i love you,” azzi murmurs, almost absentmindedly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. because it is.

paige, still chewing, looks at her with the kind of softness that makes azzi’s heart ache in the best way. she swallows, then leans in, brushing her nose against azzi’s.

“i’m right here,” paige whispers, voice thick with certainty, “not going anywhere. always gonna take care of you.”

azzi blinks, the words settling deep in her chest, something warm and overwhelming blooming inside her. she presses closer, burying herself into paige’s arms, where everything feels right.

paige holds her like she’s never letting go.

[stylesispunk]

"Did the love affair maim you too?" | Part ii

Joel Miller xf!reader

part one | next part

chapter summary: After getting back his memories, Joel and you slipped away again.

word count: 15,3k (yes, it's longer than the first chapter)

warnings: angst, perhaps fluff, mentions of death, mentions of blood, and more angst, you will find out why Joel is mean in this chapter. I know I'm a teacher, but I didn't proofread, so I apologize for any mistake. paragraphs in italics indicate flashbacks.

a/n: Hello! The awaited part 2 of this story is here! I want to say thank you for the amount of love the previous part received, it was so nice to see all your reactions to this one! It was also my first fic reaching 1k> in less than a week and was overwhelming (positively). THIS IS NOT THE LAST PART, so stay tuned for the next! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! happy reading and PLEASE tell me what you think. 💌

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

For a mere second of time, wanting was enough for you. In a harsh reality where a tender love couldn’t be part of the writing pages of a tragedy that had changed the plans destiny had for humanity, even a simple glimpse of a spark was enough to initiate the fire.

Finding a reason to wake up was enough. Joel was enough for you, even when it was a path with not a clear ending.

A lie.

A maim affair engulfed in fire burning your lungs.

A tragedy.

You looked up from your work as you sensed people entering at the place, your eyes meeting Joel’s for the first time. His expression was hard, his eyes narrowed as he sized you up. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched you with a guarded look that made you feel like you were being evaluated.

“Can I help you?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady under his intense gaze.

“She needs that looked at,” he said, his tone brusque as he gestured to Ellie’s arm.

You nodded, motioning for Ellie to sit down. As you began to clean the wound, you could feel Joel’s eyes on you, watching your every move. It was as if he was waiting for you to make a mistake, to prove that you didn’t belong there.

“So, you’re infamous nurse” Joel said after a moment, his voice still cool and distant.

You looked up from your work, meeting Joel’s eyes briefly before returning your focus to Ellie’s wound. His words hung in the air, a subtle challenge beneath the surface.

“Infamous?” you repeated, trying to keep your tone neutral. “I didn’t know I had a reputation.”

Joel shrugged, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his gaze never leaving you. “Small town. People talk.”

You nodded, understanding that this was as much about sizing you up as it was about Ellie’s injury. You’d heard about Joel—everyone in Jackson had. He was a protector, a survivor, and not someone who trusted easily.

“I’m just here to help,” you said, keeping your voice steady as you wrapped Ellie’s arm with a bandage. “That’s all.”

Ellie, sensing the tension, glanced between the two of you, her eyes wide. “She’s okay, Joel,” she said, trying to ease the atmosphere. “It’s just a scratch.”

Joel didn’t respond to Ellie; his focus remained on you. There was something in his eyes—a guardedness, a wariness that told you he was waiting for you to prove yourself, or perhaps waiting for you to slip up.

“I’ve been in Jackson for a few days” you continued, finishing up with Ellie’s bandage. “Just trying to do my part.”

“Everyone’s got a part to play,” Joel said, his tone still clipped. “Just make sure you know yours.”

You felt the sting of his words but didn’t let it show. Instead, you nodded, stepping back as Ellie hopped off the table.

“Thanks,” Ellie said, giving you a small smile.

“You’re welcome,” you replied, managing a smile in return.

Joel pushed off the wall, his eyes still on you as he motioned for Ellie to follow him. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice softening slightly when he spoke to her.

As they walked towards the door, Joel paused for a brief moment, his hand resting on the doorknob. He turned back, his eyes meeting yours once more. There was something in his gaze, something more than just suspicion. It was as if he was searching for something in you, trying to read who you really were beneath the surface.

For a second, the hardened lines of his face softened, but just as quickly, the guarded expression returned. Without another word, he turned away and led Ellie out of the infirmary, the door closing behind them with a quiet thud.

You felt like breathing again.

By the moment you had reached your house, the sun had barely risen, casting a pale light over the quiet settlement. A few people were starting their duties as you walked with dried tears on your face, just wanting not to be perceive and being able to take a shower and follow your routine as you always used to die it since your arrival, but the ache was bigger than your wiliness and you ended up lying in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, the horror on Joel’s face kept replaying in your mind. The heartbreak was raw and overwhelming, making it hard to breathe, let alone face the day.

You didn’t even notice you had fallen sleep until a knock came at your door, it took a moment for you to register the sound. You dragged yourself out of bed, wiping at your newly fresh tears from your eyes and trying to compose yourself as best as you could.

Opening the door, you found Maria standing there, her expression concerned.  “Hey,” she said softly, her eyes scanning your face. “Ramirez told me you didn’t show up at the infirmary this morning. Thought I’d check on you.”

You forced a weak smile, stepping aside to let her in. “Thanks, Maria. I just... fell asleep”

Maria nodded, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. She glanced around, taking in the disarray before turning back to you. “You don’t look like you’ve slept much.”

“I had a pretty good sleep” you said, voice breaking at how you so could still picturing Joel’s eyes looking at you with adoration last night “But morning came” you said, voice breaking “Joel got his memory back.”

Maria's eyes widened with concern and understanding. She moved closer, gently placing a hand on your arm. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry.”

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes again. "He doesn't remember loving me, Maria. He thinks I took advantage of him. He hates me."

Maria's expression softened, and she pulled you into a comforting hug. "I can't imagine how painful that must be for you. But you didn't take advantage of him. You both shared something real, even if he doesn't remember it now."

You clung to her, "I don't know what to do. I feel so lost right now."

Maria pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes. "Take it one step at a time. Give yourself permission to feel what you're feeling. And remember, you have people here who care about you. You don't have to go through this alone."

You nodded, trying to find some comfort in her words. "Thanks, Maria. I just... I don't know how to face him now."

Maria squeezed your hand reassuringly. "You don't have to figure it all out today. Take some time for yourself. Maybe stay away from the infirmary for a today? give yourself a break."

You sighed, feeling lost. "Yeah, maybe that's a good idea."

Maria smiled softly. "We'll figure this out together, okay? You're stronger than you think, and you have a lot of people who care about you."

You managed a small smile. "Thanks.”

She nodded, giving you another comforting squeeze before standing up. "I'll check in on you later, alright? And if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

As she left, you felt a small sense of humiliation, as if what had just happened was just a small piece of gossip to feed a community.

You stare at the wall for a minute, getting your stuff together. If you could get over what happened before arriving to Jackson, you could follow your life. That’s what you were making yourself believe.

So, you changed into new clothes, placing Joel’s shirt under your bed to not having sight of it again. And with a deep breath you left your house, walking to de infirmary to get your job done.

A broken heart wasn’t really a big issue in an already broken world.  

As you walked to the infirmary, the weight of the morning's events lingered in your chest. The usual bustle of the settlement seemed distant, like a muted backdrop to your internal turmoil. Every step felt heavy, but you kept moving, determined to focus on your responsibilities and find some semblance of normalcy.

Upon arriving at the infirmary, you were greeted by the familiar soft hum of activity. People glanced at you with curiosity, but no one asked any questions. You were grateful for their unspoken understanding, and you quickly immersed yourself in your tasks, finding solace in the routine.

Hours passed in a blur of tending to some Jackson residents, organizing supplies, and ensuring everything was in order. The work kept your mind occupied, though it couldn't completely drown out the ache in your heart.

As the afternoon sun cast long shadows across the room, you felt a tap on your shoulder. Turning around, you saw Maria standing there, her expression gentle yet firm.

"Hey," she said, her voice soft but steady. "How are you holding up?"

You managed a small, tired smile. "I'm getting by. Staying busy helps."

Maria nodded, understanding in her eyes. "I'm glad you're here. I just wanted to check in and see if you needed anything."

You shook your head. "I don’t want to talk. It’s over” you said, avoiding her gaze.

She placed a reassuring hand on your arm. "I know you said you don't want to talk, but I'm here if you change your mind," she said softly. "Sometimes it helps to just let it out."

You looked at her, the pain still fresh in your eyes. "Thanks, Maria. Maybe... maybe later. I just need some time now."

She nodded, respecting your need for space. "Take all the time you need. Just remember, we're here for you."

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, a bit of rage simmered.

“You all were the ones who told me to go for it. You told me Joel was in love for me and him recovering his memory wouldn’t break what was there, but this morning he treated me like a whore and broke my heart.”

Maria's eyes filled with sympathy and regret. "I know, and I'm so sorry for what you're going through. We all believed it would be different. Joel... he's complicated. The things he's been through have left deep scars. But that doesn't excuse how he treated you."

You took a shaky breath, the pain still fresh and raw. "I just don't understand how it could change so quickly. One moment, we were so happy, and the next... he hates me."

Maria reached out, placing a comforting hand on your arm. "Joel's been through a lot, and sometimes people lash out when they're scared or confused. But that doesn't make it any easier for you. You deserve better than that."

You nodded, tears welling up again. "I just wanted to be happy. I thought we could be happy together."

Maria's grip tightened slightly, a gesture of support. "You will be happy again. It might not feel like it now, but you will. You're strong, and you have people who care about you. We'll get through this together."

Maria gave your arm one last reassuring squeeze before stepping back. You watched her leave, feeling of sorrow. The pain was still there, but you knew it would take time, but you also knew you wouldn't have to face it alone.

Later that evening, the emotional turmoil still roiling within you, you decided to head to the bar. You hoped the familiar atmosphere and a drink might help numb the pain, even if just for a little while. As you pushed open the door, the hum of conversations and the clinking of glasses filled the air, a stark contrast to the quiet despair you felt inside.

You made your way to the bar, trying to avoid looking around too much, but it was impossible not to notice Joel sitting at a table in the corner. His arm was wrapped around Lori, and they were laughing together, looking every bit like a happy couple. The sight hit you like a punch to the gut, the wound from the morning’s confrontation ripping open all over again.

Taking a deep breath, you walked up to the bar and ordered a drink, trying to keep your hands from shaking as you waited, Rick, the bartender, sensing your mood offered a small smile.

“What’s wrong with your face, darling?” he asked, concerned on his eyes.

You graced him with a small, tired smile at the question. “Just a rough day,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded understandingly, setting your drink in front of you. “Well, here’s something to help take the edge off. If you need anything, just let me know.”

“Thanks,” you said, taking a sip of the drink. The warmth of the alcohol spread through you, momentarily dulling the pain.

As you sat there, trying to lose yourself in the comforting anonymity of the bar, you couldn’t help but glance back at Joel and Lori. Their laughter and closeness were a stark contrast to the emptiness you felt. You turned away quickly, not wanting to see any more.

“Is it Joel?” Rick asked gently, his voice cutting through your thoughts.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak without breaking down.

He sighed sympathetically, shaking his head. “Love can be a real mess sometimes.”

You chuckled bitterly. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

The bartender gave you a knowing look. “It’ll get better, you know. It might not seem like it now, but time has a way of healing these things.”

You took another sip of your drink, hoping he was right. “I hope so.”

“If you need anything, just ask me, okay?” he said, smiling at you before going back to his task.

You took another sip of your drink, hoping he was right. “I hope so.”

You nodded, trying to muster a smile in return. As the Rick moved away, you felt the weight of the day pressing down on you again. Lost in thought, you barely noticed the person sitting next to you until you felt their presence.

Turning slightly, you saw Joel, his expression unreadable. Your heart skipped a beat, a mix of emotions surging through you, all the pain, anger, and a lingering trace of love.

Perhaps he was here to apologize.

Joel cleared his throat, looking almost as uncomfortable as you felt. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice carrying a hint of uncertainty.

You stared at him, trying to gauge his intentions. “Hey,” you replied, your voice strained.

Joel shifted in his seat, glancing at the drink in front of you. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to say much more. The sight of him so close, the contrast memories of his tender touch last night and the harsh words from the morning still fresh, made it hard to breathe.

He took a deep breath, his eyes finally meeting yours. “Look, about this morning…I was asking myself if I should let my door open tonight for you to come in the lure or something?”

The laugh he made after that cracked your already broken heart. The sound was harsh, cruel, and it cut through you like a knife. Your eyes widened in disbelief, and you felt your entire body tense.

“You think this is funny?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling with hurt and anger. “You think what happened between us is something to joke about?”

Joel’s laughter died on his lips as he saw the hurt and anger in your eyes. “I- “

“What did you mean? you interrupted, your voice rising despite your efforts to keep it steady. “Because it sure as hell feels like you’re entertaining yourself by making jokes right now.”

Joel's face twisted into a bitter expression. “What do you expect me to say? That I suddenly remember everything and I'm head over heels for you? Life doesn't work that way, princess”

Your heart sank further, the cruelty of his words stinging more than you wanted “You don’t have to be cruel to be funny, Joel. You could at least try to understand what I’m going through.”

He leaned back, crossing his arms defensively. “Understand what? That you’re upset because you tried to rewrite a history that doesn’t exist between us? I’m sorry, but I can’t change how I feel—or don’t feel.”

You shook your head, feeling an anger bubbling within you. “You don’t get it.” You said, simply. Taking a seat on the stool, again.

Joel’s expression hardened. “You’re too busy living in a fantasy to see that whatever you think happened between us is over. I don’t remember it, and I don’t care to. Move on.”

You looked at him, fighting the tears. “I will move on from you. You’re not that important.” You looked towards the direction he had come from, not breaking the façade. You immediately spotted Lori who seemed amused at Joels treating you badly. “Go back to your woman, Miller”

Joel’s jaw tightened at your words, and he leaned in closer, his voice low and laced with anger. “You know what? I will. At least she knows where we stand. Unlike you, clinging to some fantasy that never existed.”

Your vision blurred with anger and hurt as you stared at him. “You really think you’re better than me.”

He smirked, a cruel glint in his eyes. “I’m done with your drama.”

The words hit you like a slap, and before you could stop yourself, you balled your hand into a fist and swung at him. The punch landed squarely on his jaw, causing him to stagger back, a look of shock and pain flashing across his face.

The bar fell silent as everyone turned to witness the commotion. Joel touched his jaw, his eyes narrowing as he looked at you, anger and something else—something more vulnerable—flickering in his gaze.

“Don’t you ever talk to me like that again” you spat, your voice trembling with the intensity of your emotions. “You are the worst mistake I’ve done here.”

Joel's eyes blazed with a mix of anger and shock, but he didn’t say anything. You could see his jaw clenching, and the vulnerability in his eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, hardened look. The silence in the bar was deafening, every eye on you.

You didn’t wait for his response. You turned on your heel and marched towards the door, your heart pounding in your chest. The weight of your emotions threatened to overwhelm you, but you refused to let Joel see you break down.

As you pushed the door open, the cool night air hit your face, offering a small respite from the intensity of the bar. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the tears you had been holding back finally spilled over. You wiped them away angrily, not wanting to show any more weakness.

As you stormed out into the night, the tears mingling with the cool air, you heard the door swing open behind you. Heavy footsteps quickly followed, and you knew who it was before you even turned around.

"Hey," Tommy called out, his voice filled with concern. "Wait up."

You spun around to face him, your anger and hurt bubbling over. "What do you want, Tommy?" you snapped, your voice trembling with emotion. "Did you come to see the fallout of your brother's words?"

Tommy stopped a few feet away, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "I came to check on you," he said softly. "I saw what happened in there. Are you okay?"

You laughed bitterly, the sound harsh and broken. "Do I look okay to you, Tommy? Your brother just ripped my dignity there?”

Tommy's eyes were filled with sympathy. "I know Joel can be a real asshole sometimes. But he's just confused. This whole memory thing has messed with his head."

You shook your head, the tears streaming down your face. "No, Tommy. This isn't his memory. He doesn't care about me. He never did. He never will”

Tommy took a step closer, his expression pained. "That's not true. I know my brother, and I know he cared about you. He's just scared. He doesn't know how to handle this."

You scoffed, the anger boiling over. “Care about me?” you laughed. “He was just dumfounded. What you saw inside is the real him.”

Tommy's face twisted with concern, his eyes pleading for you to understand. “Look, I know it seems like that right now, but Joel’s been through a lot. This memory thing has him all messed up.”

You shook your head, your voice trembling. “No, Tommy. You didn’t hear the things he said. He thinks I took advantage of him. He doesn’t remember any of the good times, any of the moments we shared. He just sees me as some... some opportunist.”

Tommy sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know what to say. Joel’s always been stubborn, and this whole situation is making it worse. But you’re not alone in this. We all care about you.”

“Caring about me doesn't fix what he did," you said, your voice breaking. "He treated me like I was nothing.”

“I get it. I really do,” Tommy replied, his voice softening. “Just... give it time. Maybe things will get clearer.”

“Time won’t change what he said. It won’t change how he made me feel,” you replied, the bitterness in your voice evident.

Tommy opened his mouth to speak but then closed it, realizing there were no words that could ease your pain. He took a step back, giving you space. “I’m here if you need me. Just remember that.”

“I don’t need the baby miller protecting me.” You spoke. “From now on, I’m just the nurse and if you need me patrolling, I don’t want Joel near me.”

Tommy's face fell slightly, but he nodded, understanding the gravity of your words. "Alright. I'll make sure to arrange things so you don't have to cross paths with him."

You could see the concern in his eyes, but you didn't have the energy to address it. "Thank you," you said, your voice hollow. "I need to be alone now."

Tommy hesitated for a moment, then gave a small nod. "Take care of yourself, alright?" He turned and walked back towards the bar, leaving you standing alone in the quiet night.

As you watched him go, you felt a mixture of relief and sadness. The night air was cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside you. You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to find some semblance of comfort.

Turning away from the bar, you started walking, not sure where you were heading but knowing you needed to move. Each step felt heavy, but you forced yourself to keep going. You would find a way to heal, even if it felt impossible right now.

One step at a time, you told yourself again. One step at a time.

Week one.

You had promised yourself to not having. And Joel had had started to have punctuating headaches.

When he arrived, he noticed another guy standing where you used to be. The unfamiliar face caught him off guard, and a sense of unease settled in his stomach.

"Where's the nurse?" Joel asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

The new guy, a young man with sandy hair and a nervous demeanor, looked up from his preparations. "She asked to be reassigned. Said she didn't want to do patrols anymore."

Joel's heart sank. "Did she say why?"

Before the guy could answer, Tommy walked over, overhearing the conversation. "I'll take it from here," Tommy said, looking at the new guy, who nodded and walked away.

Joel turned to Tommy, his expression a mix of confusion and worry. "What's going on, Tommy? Why'd she ask to be reassigned?"

Tommy sighed, crossing his arms. "She didn't want to be around you, Joel.”

Joel felt a pang of guilt and frustration. "I didn't mean for things to get this bad. I was just... I was trying to deal with everything, I think I handled it wrong."

Tommy nodded. "Yeah, you did. And now she’s moving on as you asked her to.”

Joel's chest tightened at Tommy's words. "I didn't think she'd actually was…I- I thought she’d... I don’t know, understand.”

"Understand what, Joel?" Tommy asked, his tone sharper than usual. "That you were scared and hurt, so you took it out on her? You made your bed, now you’ve gotta lie in it."

Joel ran a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of his mistakes. “Okay what’s so wrong? Since when she is in love with me?”

“Did you know she was the one who brought you back here when you feel and hit your head so hard you forgot about her? Or about all this past year?” Tommy said exasperated, “She was there for you every single day and man, she was scared of letting you in because she knew all this was going to happen.”

Joel's mind reeled as Tommy's words sank in. "She brought me back?" he echoed, a wave of guilt washing over him.

"Yeah," Tommy said, his voice heavy with frustration. "She did everything for you. Every single day. And you just pushed her away like she meant nothing."

Joel felt his heart constrict. He had been so consumed by his own confusion and pain that he hadn’t stopped to consider what she had gone through. "I didn't know. I didn't remember."

"That’s the point, Joel. You didn't remember, and instead of trying to understand, you lashed out at her."

Joel nodded slowly, trying to absorb the pieces of new information.

"You can't just fix this with a few words, Joel.” Tommy added, as if he had just read his brother’s mine. “She had gone through much already.”

“What do you mean by that?” Joel asked, concern came from nowhere.

Tommy sighed deeply, looking away for a moment before meeting Joel's gaze again. "She went through hell before she even got here, Joel.”

Tommy’s words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of unspoken pain. Joel's brow furrowed as he tried to grasp what his brother was saying.

"What do you mean?" Joel asked, his voice low and hesitant, the concern now unmistakable.

Tommy looked at him for a long moment, as if debating whether to reveal something he wasn’t sure Joel was ready to hear. Finally, he sighed, his expression softening with a mix of empathy and frustration.

"She was on her own for a long time before she found Jackson," Tommy began, his tone measured. "Lost her family, everyone she ever cared about. Saw things that would break most people. But she survived. She made it here, and despite everything, she decided to stay and help us. She didn’t have to, but she did. And when you came back hurt and lost, she put everything into helping you, even though she knew it was a risk."

Joel felt a lump forming in his throat as Tommy spoke. He had been so wrapped up in his own struggles that he hadn’t seen the depth of what she had endured.

"And you," Tommy continued, his voice thick with emotion, "you were her last straw, Joel. She let her guard down for you, and you crushed her.

Joel’s heart ached at Tommy’s words. He felt the sting of regret deep in his chest, knowing that he had only added to her pain.

"Tommy, I..." Joel started, but the words failed him. What could he say that would make any of this right?

"You need to understand something, Joel," Tommy said, his voice firm but not unkind. "She’s not just some woman who’s here to patch us up and send us on our way. She’s a survivor, just like us. And she deserves a hell of a lot better than what you gave her."

Joel nodded, feeling the full weight of his actions pressing down on him. He realized now just how much he had taken for granted, how much he had failed to see.

That same afternoon, the weight of his guilt and determination pressing heavily on his chest, Joel made his way to the infirmary. He had rehearsed what he would say a hundred times in his head, but the closer he got, the more uncertain he felt. He needed to talk to you, to apologize, to start making things right.

When he arrived, he hesitated at the door, taking a deep breath before pushing it open. The familiar smell of antiseptic and the soft hum of activity greeted him as he stepped inside.

You were at the far end of the room, organizing supplies and preparing to leave for the day. Your back was turned to him, and for a moment, he just stood there, unsure of how to start. But then you sensed his presence and turned around, your eyes meeting his.

For a brief second, something flickered in your gaze—recognition, maybe even surprise—but it was quickly replaced by a cold, distant expression.

"Hey," Joel said, his voice sounding more tentative than he intended.

You didn’t respond right away. Instead, you continued with what you were doing, organizing a stack of medical supplies. It was clear you were trying to keep busy, to avoid engaging with him.

"Can we talk?" Joel asked, taking a cautious step closer.

You paused, your hands stilling for a moment before you turned to face him fully. Your expression was unreadable, your eyes guarded. "I'm busy, Joel," you said, your tone clipped and distant.

Joel felt a pang in his chest at your coldness, but he knew he deserved it. "I know. I just... I wanted to apologize. For everything. I know I hurt you, and I’m sorry."

You looked at him for a long moment, your expression hard. "I don’t need your apologies," you replied, your voice steady but laced with an edge of bitterness. "What’s done is done."

Joel swallowed, feeling the sting of your words. "I understand that, but I still want to make things right. I want to try."

You shook your head, a small, bitter smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "You can’t just fix this with a few words, Joel. You made it clear how you felt. I was so pathetic for seeking tender love in a world like this, and I was so pathetic for accepting it from you."

Joel flinched at your words, the harsh truth of them cutting deep. He opened his mouth to respond, to say something—anything—that might reach you, but you were already moving past him, grabbing your coat and heading for the door.

"Wait," he said, reaching out to stop you, but you brushed past him without a second glance.

"I’m done with this conversation, Joel," you said over your shoulder, your voice cold and final. "If you have something to say, save it for someone who cares or maybe for when you fuck Lori.”

For a long moment, he didn’t move, his heart pounding in his chest as he replayed the conversation in his head. The way you looked at him—so detached, so unlike the sweet person you were—shattered any remaining hope he had of mending things between you. Joel clenched his fists frustration welling up inside him.

And with that, you were gone, leaving Joel standing in the infirmary, the empty room echoing with the silence of everything left unsaid.

Week two.

The distance between you and Joel grew even wider. You kept yourself busy with your duties at the infirmary, throwing yourself into work to avoid thinking about him. Jackson was large enough that it wasn’t hard to avoid each other, especially since you made a point to steer clear of any places where you might run into him.

Joel, on the other hand, wasn’t faring as well. The days felt like they were dragging on, each one heavier than the last. The guilt and the lingering regret of how things had ended between you, was starting to take a toll on him. He found it harder to concentrate on anything, his mind constantly wandering back to you, replaying your last conversation over and over again.

Things hadn’t started bad between the both of you. There was a time, not too long ago, when things between you and Joel had been different—better. When you first arrived in Jackson. He was wary, of course, just as everyone. People with big walls up for protecting the same from the dangers from the outside.

Initially, he had kept his distance, observing you with a cautious eye. But as days turned into weeks, something shifted. You’d taken on the role of a nurse with a quiet determination, and your compassion and dedication gradually began to break through the walls Joel had built around himself.

There was one particular evening when you both found yourselves at a small community gathering. It was one of those special moments for people to unwind and reconnect. Joel, usually reserved and gruff, had shown up with Ellie in tow, and you were surprised to find him engaging in casual conversation, a rare sight indeed.

You and Joel had ended up chatting while sitting around a makeshift bonfire. The conversation had started with practical matters—how best to handle a certain type of injury or a recommendation for new supplies—but soon it evolved into more personal topics. Joel had shared stories from his past life, and you found yourself opening up about your own one.

The old versions of two people trapped in the endless tragedy

The atmosphere was relaxed, and for the first time, you saw a different side of Joel.

Joel was seated across from you, a relaxed look on his face that you rarely saw. His eyes, usually so guarded, were softer tonight. Ellie was nearby, occupied with a makeshift game she’d crafted from scavenged materials.

“So, you actually went through all that trouble for a single, mediocre meal?” you asked, chuckling at Joel’s tale of a particularly botched cooking attempt.

Joel grinned, a rare and genuine smile that lit up his face. “You’d be surprised what we went through to get even a half-decent meal back then. We were pretty desperate.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I can’t imagine. I’m just grateful for what we’ve got now, even if it’s not gourmet.”

Joel nodded in agreement. “Yeah, things are better here. A lot better than they were.”

There was a comfortable silence between you, punctuated only by the crackling of the fire. You glanced at Joel, noticing how his eyes softened as he spoke. “I’m glad you’re here. It’s nice to have someone who understands what it’s like out there.”

Joel met your gaze, his expression sincere. “And I’m glad you’re here too. You’ve done a lot for everyone. For Ellie, especially.”

For Joel, dealing with all of this started to become unbearable the moment migraines hit. They had started as a dull ache, a constant pressure in his head that he could push through if he focused hard enough. But as the days went on, the pain intensified, becoming sharp and unrelenting. The pounding in his skull would come in waves, leaving him dizzy and disoriented. He tried to hide it at first, not wanting anyone to see him weak, but it wasn’t long before people began to notice.

He’d find himself gripping the edges of tables or leaning against walls to steady himself, his vision blurring as the pain surged through him. He hadn’t had migraines like this in years, not since the early days when the world had first gone to hell. But these were different, more intense, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were somehow connected to something else.

Maybe someone, his thoughts screamed.

Tommy noticed too, of course. He had been keeping a close eye on his brother ever since the confrontation in the infirmary, and it didn’t take long for him to realize that something was wrong.

Joel had just returned from patrol; his face pale and his movements unsteady. As he walked through the door of the house, he winced, his hand pressing against his temple. The migraine had hit him hard, and he was struggling to keep it together.

Tommy was already in the kitchen, grabbing a drink when he noticed Joel’s distress. He set the cup down, crossing the room quickly. “You okay, Joel?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

Joel tried to force a casual shrug, but the pain in his head made it difficult. “Yeah, just—” He hesitated, trying to find a plausible excuse. “—just got a bit of a headache. My new patrol partner’s been causing me more stress than usual. You know how it is.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Your new partner? We’ve only had him for a few days. Doesn’t seem like he’d cause this much trouble.”

Joel rubbed his temples more vigorously, trying to stave off the waves of pain. “It’s been rougher than I expected, okay? Just one of those days.”

Tommy didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push the issue further. “Alright, if you say so. But if this keeps up, you should get it checked out. Don’t let it go too long.”

Joel nodded, grateful for Tommy’s concern but unwilling to admit the full extent of his struggle. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Just need to rest.”

Joel couldn’t even convince himself. He just didn’t find strength to face you.

That evening, the bar was lively, filled with the hum of conversation and laughter. Joel sat at a corner table with Lori, Tommy, and Maria. He was trying to focus on the conversation, but the throbbing pain in his head made it difficult. Lori, noticing his discomfort, kept a concerned eye on him, occasionally reaching out to touch his arm reassuringly.

As you walked in, the bar’s ambient noise seemed to momentarily quieten, and Joel’s gaze instinctively shifted toward you. You moved with purpose, but your demeanor was cold and distant. Tommy and Maria spotted you first and greeted you warmly.

“Hey, it’s good to see you,” Tommy said, waving you over.

Maria offered a friendly smile. “Yeah, come join us.”

You returned their greetings with a nod, but when your eyes met Joel’s, you turned your attention elsewhere, ignoring him completely. Joel shifted in his seat, trying to hide his discomfort, but the strain was visible in the tense lines of his face.

Lori noticed the awkwardness and frowned. “You could at least hide you jealously and stop being a mean bitch” she said to you, loud enough for everyone around to shut.

The bar’s noise seemed to drop as Lori's words cut through the air. You felt every eye on you as the tension escalated.

You turned to Lori, your face hardening. “I’m not here to entertain you or play nice.”

Lori’s face flushed with anger. “Well, if you can’t be civil, then maybe you shouldn’t be here at all.”

Joel, trying to defuse the situation, interjected, “Lori, that’s enough.” His voice was strained, both from the growing migraine and the emotional weight of the confrontation. “We don’t need to make this any worse.”

“No! I’m tired of this bitch being a pain to us just because you don’t love her back” she continued, calling you out.

Joel’s face tightened with a mix of frustration and pain. “Lori, seriously, stop. This isn’t helping anyone.”

You stood tall, your voice icy as you spoke. “I don’t need a lecture from you or anyone else. I’ve been nothing but professional, and this—” you gestured between yourself and Joel, “—is a personal matter. I’m done being the target of everyone’s frustration.”

Joel’s gaze wavered, his eyes reflecting the hurt from your words. “You don’t have to be like this.”

“No,” you snapped, “I don’t have to be here at all. If you want to know why I’m acting this way, it’s because I don’t want to be around someone who can’t see my worth.” Your voice cracked with emotion. “You can keep Joel. I don’t want a man who can’t appreciate me.”

You sighed, taking a deep breath. “I’m so done with all your pity because the man I’m in love with doesn’t remember loving me. But life moves on, and so do I. I’m done being the center of anyone’s misplaced sympathy.” You sighed a little, embarrassment creeping up your body “I’m just- I want you all to stop talking about me as if I’m a broken little girl, please.”

With a final, resolute glance at the group and the rest of people inside, you turned and walked out of the bar. The door swung shut behind you, the muffled noise of the bar fading as you stepped into the night.

Joel froze there, the harsh sting of your words lingering.

The man I’m in love with.

Why did you even love him?

Joel’s heart pounded in his chest as he processed your words. The sting of your rejection mixed with the searing pain in his head, making it hard to think clearly. He stood frozen for a moment, watching you leave, his mind racing with regret and confusion.

After a few seconds, he shook himself out of his daze. He could feel Lori’s eyes on him, her frustration still palpable. Ignoring her, Joel pushed himself up from the barstool, his movements tense and hurried.

“Sorry, I need to go,” he muttered, his voice rough and distant. He didn’t wait for a response and headed for the door. As he stepped outside, the cool night air hit him, offering a brief reprieve from the oppressive atmosphere of the bar.

Joel saw you standing just outside the bar, leaning against the wall with your arms crossed tightly over your chest. The cool night air seemed to accentuate the solitude you radiated, and the flickering streetlight cast uneven shadows over your face. Joel’s heart ached as he approached, the intensity of his migraine fading into the background compared to the weight of his regret.

He stopped a few feet away, taking a deep breath to steady himself. "Hey," he said, his voice rough but gentle. "I didn't mean to... to make things worse tonight."

You looked up, your eyes meeting his. They were red-rimmed, a sign of the emotional toll the evening had taken. "What do you want, Joel?" Your voice was quiet but edged with defiance.

Joel shifted uncomfortably, the words coming out in a rush. "I know I screwed up. I know I can’t undo what’s been done. But I want you to know that I’m sorry. I was a damn fool, and I didn’t see how much you were hurting."

You shook your head, looking away. "It’s too late for apologies. You made your choices."

“I know,” Joel admitted, his voice heavy with sorrow.

“Go back inside to your woman” you said, voice steady yet the truth of the words cut your throat.

Joel looked at you, his eyes filled with an aching with regret and yearning. He could feel the pounding in his head lessen, as if your presence, though tense and fraught with pain, was soothing the storm within him.

He swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. "I don't want to go back inside. I came out here to talk to you. I need to explain—"

You cut him off, your voice colder now. "I don’t want explanations, Joel. I want you to be honest with yourself and with me."

Joel's expression faltered, his usual resolve wavering under the weight of his migraine and the emotional strain. "I don't know what to say," he admitted quietly. "Every time I try to make things right, I just seem to make it worse."

"Look," Joel said, taking a step closer, though he kept a respectful distance. "I know I can’t fix everything right now, and I know I’ve hurt you more than I ever intended. But if there's any chance at all to mend things, I want to try. I need to try."

You glanced at him, feeling the strange mix of emotions. His presence, his apology, even his struggle, created a confusing pull. You nodded, not trusting your voice.

"Just... take things slow," you said finally, your voice softening slightly. "Show me, don’t just tell me."

You gave him one last, lingering look before turning away, the night air feeling strangely lighter as you walked back toward your house. Joel watched you go, a fragile sense of relief mingled with the lingering weight of his migraine.

Joel nodded, his heart aching.

Week three

The situation between you and Joel remained tense and unresolved. Despite the brief moment outside the bar, there was still an emotional chasm between you two. Meanwhile, Joel's migraines continued to worsen, each one more debilitating than the last. The pain had become a constant companion, gnawing at him, making it difficult to focus on anything else.

Tommy had been watching his brother closely, his concern growing with each passing day. He had noticed how Joel winced at the slightest noise, how he gripped the edges of tables to steady himself, and how he often retreated to dark corners to try and alleviate the pain. Tommy knew something had to give, and he wasn't sure how much longer Joel could keep this up, especially with patrols still on the agenda.

During the morning, as the patrol assignments were being handed out, Tommy pulled Joel aside. “You sure you’re up for this?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. “These migraines… they’re getting worse, Joel.”

Joel nodded, though the movement sent a sharp pain through his temples. “I’ll be fine,” he muttered, not wanting to admit how bad things had really gotten. “Just need to keep moving, keep my mind off it.”

Tommy sighed, not entirely convinced. “Alright, but I’m pairing you up with someone who won’t hesitate to call for backup if things go south.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, wondering who Tommy had in mind. His answer came when you walked into the room, your expression unreadable as you glanced at Tommy, then at Joel.

“You’re on patrol with Joel today,” Tommy said, his tone firm, leaving no room for argument. “Consider it part of the consequences for that little outburst at the bar the other night.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but then closed it, seemingly deciding against saying anything. Instead, you simply nodded, surprising both Tommy and Joel.

Due to your situation with Joel, you would have argued, pushed back, but you didn’t. Whether it was out of a sense of duty, or because you had your own reasons for going along with the assignment, neither man could tell.

Joel looked at you, his expression hard to read. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but he knew that this patrol was going to be anything but ordinary. The tension between you two was palpable, and the fact that you hadn’t fought the assignment left him uneasy.

As the two of you geared up and headed out, the silence between you was thick, neither of you willing to break it first. The path ahead was familiar, but the atmosphere was charged with unresolved emotions and the weight of things left unsaid.

As you and Joel prepared to head out for patrol, Tommy pulled you aside, his expression serious. “Listen, I know things are tense between you two, but if Joel starts feeling bad, you come back immediately. No heroics, no pushing through it. Understood?”

You nodded, not meeting Tommy’s eyes. “Understood,” you replied, your tone neutral. The truth was, you didn’t know how you felt about being on patrol with Joel, but you weren’t going to argue with Tommy’s orders.

Tommy looked at you for a moment, as if he wanted to say more, but he held back. Instead, he just gave you a small nod before turning back to Joel, who was adjusting his gear a few feet away.

Joel caught Tommy’s eye, and there was a silent exchange between the brothers—Tommy’s concern evident, and Joel’s stubborn determination clear.

Once outside the gates, the silence stretched between you and Joel, heavy and uncomfortable. The forest around you was quiet, the only sound was the crunch of your boots on the dirt path. You kept your eyes ahead, focused on the task at hand, but you couldn’t help but be aware of Joel’s presence beside you.

As you walked, you noticed something strange. Joel, who had been rubbing his temples and wincing in pain earlier, seemed to be a bit more at ease. The tight lines of pain on his face had softened, and he wasn’t clutching his head like he usually did.

You didn’t want to think too much about it, but you couldn’t help but wonder if your presence had something to do with it.

Joel, too, was aware of the change. He had been bracing himself for another wave of pain, expecting the migraine to hit hard as it had been for days now. But instead, he felt… better. The pain was still there, lurking in the background, but it was muted, manageable. And the only thing that had changed was that you were with him.

As you continued walking, the strange shift in the atmosphere didn’t go unnoticed. Joel glanced at you every now and then, his brow furrowing slightly, as if he was trying to figure out what had changed. You kept your focus straight ahead, but the weight of the unspoken tension between you two was hard to ignore.

After a while, you slowed down and finally came to a stop, gesturing for Joel to halt as well. Without saying anything, you walked over to your horse and untied a small bouquet of flowers that had been carefully wrapped and secured to the saddle.

Joel watched, puzzled, as you held the bouquet tightly in your hand. "Just... just wait for me here for a bit," you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. There was a softness to your tone that caught Joel off guard, and he nodded, sensing that whatever you were about to do was important.

You walked a short distance off the path, through the dense trees and underbrush, until you reached a small clearing. The air was still, and the only sound was the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze.

Joel stayed where he was, leaning against his horse, but his eyes followed you, curiosity and concern mingling in his expression.

In the clearing, you knelt down beside a small, unmarked grave, the earth slightly raised from where you had buried your boyfriend two years ago.

You placed the bouquet gently on the grave, your fingers lingering for a moment on the petals. Your heart ached with the familiar pang of loss, the pain of carrying love for someone who was no longer here. It was a pain you had learned to carry with you, but it never really went away.

As you knelt there, a few silent tears slipped down your cheeks, and you quickly wiped them away. This was a private moment, one you hadn’t shared with anyone, not even Joel. He had no idea about the depth of your loss, about the man you had loved and lost before arriving in Jackson.

When you finally stood up and turned back toward the path, Joel was still waiting, his expression unreadable. You walked back to him in silence, feeling the weight of your emotions pressing down on you.

"You alright?" he asked, his voice soft as his eyes studied your expression.

You didn’t answer right away, your fingers brushing lightly against your jacket. Finally, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. "This is where I buried him. My fiancé."

Joel’s heart sank as he remembered the voice of Tommy telling him some things he didn’t even remember about you. And now seeing you here, in this quiet, sacred place, made the weight of your grief all the more real.

"I didn’t know," Joel said, his voice laced with regret. He felt a pang of guilt for not being there for you when you had gone through this, for not understanding just how much you had carried with you all this time. "I’m sorry."

You nodded slowly, still staring at the grave. "It’s been a long time since I’ve come here. I didn’t think I’d be able to handle it, but… I guess I needed to say goodbye again. Properly."

Joel stepped closer, his presence a comforting warmth at your side. He didn’t know what to say, but he knew he needed to be there, to offer whatever solace he could.

"He was a good man," you continued, your voice stronger now. "He was kind, patient, everything I could have asked for. But this world… it takes everything good and leaves you with nothing but memories."

Joel clenched his jaw, feeling the familiar ache of loss that never truly went away. He knew all too well the pain of losing someone you loved, the emptiness that followed, the way it changed you forever.

"He deserved better," you said, your voice cracking slightly. "He deserved a future, a life. But instead… he got this."

Joel rested his hand gently on your shoulder. "I’m sorry," he repeated, the words feeling inadequate but all he could offer.

But instead of finding solace in his touch, you flinched, the weight of everything crashing down on you all at once. The grief, the anger, the overwhelming sense of loss—it all came flooding back, and you couldn’t handle it, not right now.

“Don’t touch me, okay?” you said, your voice trembling as you pulled away from him, putting a small but significant distance between you. You didn’t want to hurt him, but you needed space, needed to breathe without feeling like you were suffocating under the weight of your emotions.

Joel froze, his hand lingering in the air for a moment before he slowly lowered it, the rejection hitting him harder than he expected. He swallowed, trying to push down the rising tide of guilt and pain that your words had stirred up.

“Okay,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He knew better than to push, knew that you needed time to process everything on your own. But it didn’t stop the sting of your words from cutting deep, reminding him of all the ways he had failed before, all the ways he had let the people he cared about slip through his fingers.

“Peter was the only man who deserved my love,” you said, your voice laced with a mix of bitterness and sorrow. The truth of it stung, cutting through the air like a blade. You didn’t mean to be cruel, but the words slipped out before you could stop them, a reflection of the turmoil swirling inside you.

Joel swallowed hard, the hurt in his eyes evident as he processed what you had just said. He knew you were grieving, that you were speaking from a place of pain, but it didn’t make the words any easier to hear. For a moment, he didn’t know how to respond, his mind reeling from the sudden shift between you.

“I get it,” he finally said, his voice tight with emotion. “You loved him. And he was… he was a good man. Better than me.”

He looked away, unable to meet your gaze, feeling the weight of his own inadequacies bearing down on him.

 “Yes, he was” you said without a doubt. “And that killed him.”

Joel’s heart clenched at your words, the blunt truth of them landing like a blow. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground, the weight of your statement pressing down on him. The silence between you grew thicker, charged with the grief and anger that neither of you could fully express.

“He and I had a kid” you confessed, you heart clenched at the memory of that little boy you took care of for five years of your life.

Joel’s head snapped up at your confession, his eyes widening in shock. The weight of what you had just revealed hit him hard, leaving him momentarily speechless.

“He and I… we had a kid,” you repeated, your voice trembling as you forced the words out. Your heart ached at the memory of the little boy you had taken care of, loved, for five years of your life. The pain of losing him, of losing the family you had built, was still fresh, a wound that hadn’t even begun to heal.

Joel’s expression softened, the anger and frustration that had been simmering beneath the surface giving way to something deeper—compassion, understanding, and an overwhelming sense of sorrow for everything you had lost. He could see the pain etched into your features, the way your shoulders slumped under the weight of your grief, and it broke something inside him.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He didn’t know what else to say.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you quickly wiped them away, not wanting to break down in front of him. “His name was Sam,” you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. “He was just a baby when we found him, abandoned… we took him in, raised him as our own. And then, one day” you sobbed, “They killed him…Those fucking soldiers killed him.”

“Peter and I had planned on how leaving all behind, he had hear about Jackson from a friend, and then he trusted the wrong people.”

Joel’s breath caught in his throat as he listened to you, the horror and anguish in your voice cutting through him like a knife. He could see the pain etched deeply into your features, the way your body trembled with the force of your grief. The image of what you had endured—losing not just your partner but the child you had raised together, taken away in such a cruel and senseless way—was almost too much to bear.

“They killed him,” you repeated, your voice thick with emotion as tears streamed down your face. “They took everything from me… from us. We just wanted to be safe, to give him a life that meant something. But those soldiers… they didn’t care. They saw us as a threat, as nothing more than collateral damage.”

Joel’s fists clenched at his sides, anger surging through him at the thought of what had been done to you and your family. He knew the kind of world you were living in, where trust was a dangerous thing, and hope could be ripped away in an instant. But knowing it didn’t make it any easier to accept.

“I’m so sorry,” Joel murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He wanted to say more, to find the right words to ease your pain, but everything felt inadequate in the face of such a profound loss.

You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself as you continued. “Peter and I… we had it all planned out. We were going to leave everything behind, start over in Jackson. He had heard about it from a friend, and it seemed like the only chance we had. But… he trusted the wrong people.”

Your voice broke again, the sobs coming harder now as you relived the nightmare. “They promised us safe passage, said they’d get us out. But it was a trap. They turned us over to the soldiers, and Sam… he didn’t stand a chance. He was just a little boy. He didn’t even know what was happening…”

Joel felt a lump in his throat, his own emotions threatening to overwhelm him as he watched you unravel before him.

Without thinking, Joel stepped closer, pulling you into his arms and holding you tightly against him. He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to offer empty words of consolation. He just held you, letting you cry against his chest, his hand gently stroking your back in an attempt to soothe you.

The world had gone eerily quiet after the gunfire ceased, the only sounds left were your ragged breaths and the distant cries of crows circling overhead. You could still feel the heat from Peter’s body fading beneath your hands, his blood soaking into the earth beneath him. The image of his lifeless eyes, staring blankly up at the sky, was seared into your mind, a horrific reminder that he was gone, that the man you loved, the father of your child, was never coming back.

You had been too stunned to cry, too numb to feel anything beyond the cold realization that you were alone.

Hours seemed to pass in a blur before you finally forced yourself to move. You couldn’t stay there, not with Peter’s body cooling beside you, not with the knowledge that those men might come back to finish what they started. So, you rose on shaky legs, your heart pounding in your chest, and stumbled away from the scene of the massacre, your mind numb as you left him behind.

The sun had begun to set by the time you found the old cabin, hidden deep within the woods. It was small, decrepit, with broken windows and a door that hung askew on its hinges, but it was shelter, and that was all that mattered. You pushed open the door and stepped inside, the musty smell of decay filling your nostrils as you surveyed the dark, empty space.

It felt wrong to be alive, to still be breathing when Peter wasn’t, when Sam wasn’t. But survival was instinctual, and something inside you kept pushing you forward, kept you searching for a way to stay alive, even when all you wanted was to curl up and disappear.

You sank to the floor, your back pressed against the rough wooden wall as the tears finally began to fall. They came slowly at first, like a trickle, but soon they turned into gut-wrenching sobs that echoed through the empty cabin. You clutched your knees to your chest, rocking back and forth as the storm outside began to roll in.

The wind picked up, howling through the trees and rattling the cabin’s fragile walls. Rain began to pour in heavy sheets, drumming against the roof and leaking through the cracks, pooling on the floor around you. Lightning flashed, illuminating the dark interior in brief, blinding bursts, and the thunder that followed was so loud it shook the very foundation of the cabin.

You were alone for the first time in years, truly, devastatingly alone. The weight of that realization crushed you, making it hard to breathe, hard to think of anything other than the emptiness that stretched out before you. The storm outside mirrored the chaos inside you, the violence of it a reflection of the torment that raged in your heart.

Maria and a group of people found you two days later

And you had become terrified of storms ever since.  

You stiffened in Joel’s arms, the overwhelming flood of emotions too much. You couldn’t let yourself be comforted, couldn’t let someone else get close, not after everything you’d lost. The fear of opening up, of allowing yourself to be vulnerable again, was suffocating.

“Don’t,” you whispered, your voice cracking as you stepped back, pulling away from him. “Don’t touch me.”

Joel’s arms fell to his sides, the rejection clear in his eyes as he took a step back, giving you the space you needed. The hurt in his expression was evident, but he didn’t push, didn’t try to reach out for you again.

“You just feel pity because you see me as a broken doll” you said.

Joel’s expression tightened, his brow furrowing as your words cut through the air like a knife. He opened his mouth to respond but closed it again, clearly struggling with how to convey what he was feeling. The accusation hung between you, heavy and bitter, and the silence that followed felt suffocating.

“I don’t—” Joel started, his voice low and rough. He took a breath, trying to gather his thoughts, but the hurt in his eyes was unmistakable. “I don’t see you that way.”

“Then why are you here, Joel?” you demanded, your voice rising with the pent-up frustration and pain. “Why are you trying so hard to be… whatever this is? You didn’t care before, but now you do because I’m broken?”

“How were you so sweet to everyone after what happened?” he finally asked, his voice tinged with a mix of confusion and a hint of disbelief. It was as if he couldn’t comprehend how you managed to keep going, how you could still find kindness within you after everything you’d endured.

You looked at him, your expression softened by the lingering sadness, but there was a strength behind your eyes, a resilience that had kept you moving forward. “Because I didn’t lose them because of you all,” you said quietly, your voice steady despite the pain that laced your words. “I wasn’t going to become angry at the people who gave me another chance.”

The truth of your statement hung in the air, a stark contrast to the turmoil you felt inside. You had chosen to protect the small bit of humanity you had left, to hold onto the kindness that others had shown you when you needed it most. But that didn’t mean the anger, the grief, or the pain had disappeared—it was still there, buried deep, threatening to consume you if you let it.

Joel looked down, his shoulders sagging slightly as he absorbed what you said. He understood the weight of guilt, the way it could twist inside you, making you question everything. He had carried his own burden of guilt for years, but hearing you speak those words, seeing the strength it took for you to hold onto the good in the face of so much loss, it humbled him.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, the words barely above a whisper. “I wish I could take it all back, change what happened. What I did to you and how I treated you the morning you woke up in my bed” he sighed, “Sorry for not remember what happened between us”

You looked at him, your eyes filled with a quiet, resigned sadness. “It doesn’t change anything, Joel. It’s done. I can’t change the past either.”

Joel’s shoulders slumped, the weight of your words settling heavily on him. The finality in your voice, the distance between you, made him feel even more lost, and he turned away, the ache of regret and loss deepening with each step he took.

Joel walked away, his steps heavy and deliberate. The weight of your words hung over him, a constant reminder of the things he couldn’t change, the pain he had caused. Each step felt like a step further from any hope of repairing what had been broken.

You watched him go, the solitude of the moment pressing in around you. The quiet was suffocating, filled with the echoes of the past and the weight of unspoken words. You turned back toward the grave, the memories of what you had lost mingling with the present pain.

A simple affair, torturing you.

+

Grieving the death and grieving the living were taking a tool on you.

Week four

A week had passed since that tense confrontation. The days had been a blur of activity and emotional exhaustion, the storm within you a constant companion. The quiet conversations with others and the daily routines in Jackson offered little distraction from the lingering sadness, but they kept you moving forward, one step at a time.

Everyone could say than a simply affair would dissipate with the time, that each week would make you unlove Joel, but you couldn’t take a complete distance from your lingering feelings.

And Joel? Joel had kept his distance, following your request for space. His presence was felt in the background, a reminder of the unresolved tension and the feelings that had been left hanging in the air. You had seen him around, in passing, but there was an unspoken agreement that he would not intrude upon your space.

He couldn’t bear to face you.

One morning, as you prepared for another day at the infirmary due to Tommy’s request, you found yourself in the familiar surroundings of the clinic. The routine was a small comfort amidst the chaos of your emotions. The soft hum of medical equipment and the scent of antiseptic filled the air, offering a sense of order and control.

As you were organizing supplies and checking on your patients, a familiar voice broke through the calm. “Hey.”

You looked up from your tasks to see Joel standing in the doorway, his expression a mix of hesitation and resolve. He seemed slightly out of place in the clinical setting, but there was a determined look in his eyes.

“Joel,” you greeted, your voice steady but tinged with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

Joel took a step inside, his gaze scanning the room before settling on you.

“I’ve been trying to find the right time to give this to you,” Joel said, his voice a bit rough, as if he was struggling to find the right words.

Curiosity mingled with the apprehension you felt. “What is it?”

Joel took a deep breath, stepping closer but still maintaining a respectful distance. “It’s a little something I thought might help. I know it doesn’t fix anything, but I wanted to offer it to you anyway.”

You hesitated for a moment before reaching out to take the package from him. It was small and wrapped simply, the gesture surprisingly thoughtful given the circumstances. You carefully unwrapped it, revealing a worn leather-bound journal. The cover was embossed with a delicate pattern, and as you opened it, you found pages filled with blank lines, waiting for your thoughts and feelings.

“You can write on it,” Joel said softly. “And I thought maybe, if you wanted to, this could be a place for you to put everything that’s been on your mind. It’s not much, but I thought it might help.”

The gesture was unexpected, and as you looked up at Joel, you could see the genuine care in his eyes. It was a small attempt to bridge the gap between you, to offer something meaningful despite the unresolved pain.

You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of gratitude and sadness. “Thank you,” you said quietly, your voice almost choked with emotion. “It’s… thoughtful.”

Joel nodded, a small, almost relieved smile touching his lips. “I hope it helps, even just a little.”

There was a moment of silence between you, the weight of the past week settling in the air. Joel’s eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of the connection that had once been there, while you felt the tug of conflicting emotions—appreciation for the gesture, but also the lingering pain of his actions.

“How are your migraines doing?” You asked.

Joel looked slightly taken aback by your question, the personal nature of it a stark contrast to the more distant conversation that had been unfolding. He studied your face for a moment, perhaps surprised by your concern.

“They’re getting worse every day,” he admitted, his voice carrying a weight of weariness. “But today, I’m feeling a bit better. It’s been rough, though. The migraines have been relentless.”

You felt a rush of blood to your cheeks, concern and embarrassment at the question. “Tommy mentioned it,” you said quickly, wanting to clarify your source of information. “I just—well, I wanted to know how you’re doing.”

Joel nodded, his eyes softening slightly. “Thanks for asking. It means a lot. It’s been tough, but I’m managing.”

The vulnerability in his admission made you feel a pang of empathy. It was hard to see him struggling, especially when you had your own unresolved feelings and painful memories.

“Well, I’m glad you’re having a better moment today,” you said, your voice steadying as you tried to offer some comfort.

Joel’s expression grew more thoughtful, and he gave a small, appreciative smile. “Yeah, I’m holding onto that. Thanks for checking in.”

The silence between you was charged with unspoken emotions. You both stood there, the weight of your recent conversations lingering in the air. Joel looked like he was about to say something else, but instead, he gave a nod and started to walk away.

“Take care,” you called after him, the words carrying a genuine warmth despite the emotional distance that remained between you.

You had settled onto a barstool, a glass of whiskey in hand. The amber liquid was smooth and comforting, its warmth spreading through you as you took a sip. The effects of the alcohol were starting to take hold, making everything feel just a little more relaxed, a little more bearable.

Joel was at the bar, nursing a drink of his own. He hadn’t been particularly social that night, just sitting in his usual spot, lost in his thoughts. As the evening wore on and you became tipsier, you found yourself drawn to him, the comfort of familiarity outweighing the shyness that normally kept you at a distance.

You slid off your stool and made your way over to Joel, the room spinning slightly as you approached him. “Hey,” you said, your voice a bit louder than intended, carrying the cheerful buzz of someone who’d had a few too many drinks. “Mind if I join you?”

Joel looked up from his glass, his expression a mix of surprise and curiosity. “Sure, have a seat,” he replied, gesturing to the empty stool next to him.

You plopped down beside him, the warmth of his presence surprisingly comforting. “You know,” you said, leaning in slightly and grinning, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here this early before. You’re usually so… serious.”

Joel chuckled softly, the sound of a low rumble that was both soothing and grounding. “Yeah, I guess I am. Just needed a drink tonight.”

In the afternoon, the usually calm atmosphere of the infirmary was disrupted by the sound of the door swinging open with a sense of urgency. Joel stumbled inside, his face pale and etched with pain. He moved slowly, his usual steady gait faltering under the weight of his unbearable migraines.

You looked up from your work, your heart sinking at the sight of him. He was clearly in distress, his eyes squeezed shut as if trying to shut out the world. You quickly set aside what you were doing and hurried over to him.

“What do you want?” you asked, intending to sound too rude.

“I—” Joel started, but the words were interrupted by a sharp grimace of pain. “I can’t take it anymore. The migraines… they’re just too much.”

“From one to ten? How much is the pain?” you asked.

“What’s that bullshit?” He cried out.

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your own frustration in check. Despite the roughness of Joel’s response, you could see that he was in genuine distress, and you needed to get a handle on his pain level to help him effectively.

“It’s just a way to measure how bad the pain is,” you explained, your voice firm but compassionate. “On a scale from one to ten, where one is no pain and ten is the worst pain, you’ve ever felt, where are you right now?”

Joel clenched his teeth, his face twisted with agony as he tried to focus. “It’s… it’s an eight,” he finally managed to say through gritted teeth.

He had saved that ten.

 The ten was the amount of pain he had when he lost Sarah.

A ten was the pain his heart felt when he looked at you from the distance.

You nodded, quickly assessing the situation. “Alright, I’m going to get you something stronger for the pain. Try to sit down and breathe slowly. I’ll be right back.”

As you hurried to prepare a stronger medication, you felt the weight of the past few weeks pressing heavily on you. The bitterness in your words and his pain seemed to intertwine, creating a tense atmosphere that was hard to ignore. But your focus remained on getting Joel the relief he needed.

You quickly gathered the necessary medication and made your way back to Joel, who had seated himself on one of the examination tables. As you approached, you noticed his breathing was uneven, and his eyes were squeezed shut as if he was trying to block out the pain and your presence.

"Let me check your head," you said softly, your voice gentle despite the tension that hung between you. "I need to make sure there's nothing else going on."

Joel nodded slightly, his face still contorted in discomfort. As you leaned in to examine his head, your proximity made his breath catch in his lungs. The closeness between you seemed to amplify the charged atmosphere, making the air around you feel heavy.

You carefully placed your hands on his temples, your touch light but firm as you assessed his condition. Joel's breath became shallow and uneven, a sign that he was acutely aware of your closeness. He tensed under your touch, the intensity of his pain mixed with the vulnerability of the moment.

"How's that feel?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady as you moved your fingers over his forehead and the sides of his head.

Joel swallowed hard, his eyes still closed as he tried to focus on your touch rather than the pain. "Feels… a bit better," he managed to say, though his voice was strained. "Just… don’t know if I can handle this much longer."

You gave a reassuring nod, trying to offer comfort despite the lingering tension. "You're doing great. The medication should help soon. Just hang in there a little longer."

You both could feel your breathing mingling together, the agony of the closeness taking everything from you.

Joel closed his eyes for a bit, feeling you scent and your fingertips on his temples. In the haze of his agony, there were fleeting glimpses of a night that felt both distant and achingly familiar. He remembered the warmth of your touch, the softness of your lips against his. The kiss you had shared the night before he got his memory back began to resurface, bringing with it a surge of emotions he had long tried to bury.

The kiss had been tender. Joel could almost feel the echo of that moment now, a soft, lingering taste of intimacy that was both comforting and heartbreaking.

He remembered the way you had looked at him, the way your eyes had softened with unspoken words. The image of your face, so close to his, the way you had smiled before the kiss, replayed in his mind with a clarity that cut through the pain. It was as if your closeness was pulling these memories to the surface, forcing him to confront them once more.

Joel’s breath caught as he recalled the warmth of your lips, the way it had felt to hold you close. It was a vivid contrast to the overwhelming pain he was experiencing now, and it made him realize just how much he had missed and lost. The memory of that kiss, the feeling of being connected to you, made his heart ache with a mix of longing and regret.

He let out a slow, shaky breath, trying to ground himself in the present while the memories swirled around him. As much as the past few weeks had been a struggle, this moment of closeness with you was stirring up feelings he had tried to keep buried. Joel’s eyes opened slightly, looking at you with a vulnerability that he hadn’t shown before.

“Sun…” he started, his voice barely above a whisper.

The sound of "Sun" coming from his lips felt almost foreign, yet deeply familiar. It was a term of endearment he had used before his memory loss, one that had held a special place between you two.

“Sun…” he repeated, the word carrying tenderness and longing.

Your heart skipped a beat, the nickname a bittersweet reminder of the bond you had shared. It was a small yet significant piece of the past surfacing, offering a glimmer of connection despite everything that had happened.

You felt a rush of conflicting emotions, the glimmer of hope mingling with a deep-seated fear of revisiting old wounds. The nickname, the touch, the faint echo of past affection—it all stirred up feelings you weren't sure you were ready to confront.

Taking a steadying breath, you stepped back, your hand moving quickly to hand him the medication. “Here,” you said, your voice steady as you handed him the small packet of pills. “This should help with the pain. You should head home and rest.”

Joel looked up at you, a flicker of understanding and disappointment in his eyes. He could sense the shift in your demeanor, the way you were putting distance between you both. “You sure you don’t need any help?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

You shook your head, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “No, I’m fine. Just… please, go home. A storm is coming, and you should get back before it hits.”

Joel hesitated for a moment longer, but the look in your eyes told him that you needed space, that pushing further would only cause more pain. With a reluctant nod, he took the medication and turned to leave, his steps heavy with the weight of what was left unsaid.

As he walked out of the infirmary, you watched him go, the storm outside a stark parallel to the storm brewing inside you. You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to steady yourself against the wave of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. The fleeting connection, the memories stirred up—it was all too much to handle right now.

You were a bit tipsy, the effects of the whiskey making your steps a little unsteady. Joel walked beside you, his presence a steady anchor amidst the haze of your inebriation. You were both quiet, the conversation from the bar having dwindled into comfortable silence.

As you approached your house, you turned to him, a small, tipsy smile playing on your lips. The intimacy of the evening and the warmth of his proximity were too comforting to ignore. Without thinking, you leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss against his lips. The action was impulsive, driven by a mix of affection and the blurred boundaries of alcohol.

Joel's reaction was immediate. He responded to the kiss, his arms finding their way around you as he deepened the connection. There was a brief moment where the world seemed to hold its breath, the kiss a sweet and tender promise of something more.

When you finally pulled back, your faces were flushed, and you looked at him with a mixture of uncertainty and contentment. Joel’s eyes were filled with a mix of surprise and warmth, the kiss having ignited something within him that he hadn’t anticipated.

“Good night, Joel,” you murmured, your voice soft and slightly slurred as you turned to go inside.

Joel watched you enter your house, his thoughts swirling in the wake of the kiss. He felt a strange blend of hope and confusion, uncertain about what the kiss meant for both of you. But the feelings were there, undeniable and strong.

The morning light streamed through the curtains, casting a soft glow in your bedroom. You woke up with a throbbing headache, the remnants of last night a blurry haze. As you shuffled through your routine, the details of the previous evening remained frustratingly out of reach. The bar, the tipsy laughter, Joel walking you home—these were fragments, but the kiss itself was a complete blank.

When you encountered Joel later that day, you greeted him cheerfully, assuming nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “Hey, Joel. How’s it going?”

Joel’s response was curt, his eyes avoiding yours. “Hey. I’m alright.”

You noticed the shift in his demeanor, the coldness in his tone. It was as if he was keeping you at arm's length, his usual warmth replaced with a frigid distance. You tried to brush it off, attributing it to a possible bad mood or personal issue.

Joel had resolved never to bring up the kiss, his feelings of hurt and confusion simmering beneath the surface. He’d come to see the incident as a miscommunication, a misunderstanding that he’d decided to keep buried rather than confront. The bitterness of feeling forgotten and dismissed had solidified into a quiet, unspoken rift between you.

Joel found himself unable to shake the feeling of the day's events. The migraine had ebbed slightly during the patrol, but as soon as he was back in his house, the pain returned, gnawing at him with a persistent, dull ache.

The house was quiet, save for the steady patter of rain against the windows. The storm outside was fierce, the wind howling and the rain pouring down in relentless sheets. Joel’s mood matched the tempest outside—stormy, unsettled.

As he was trying to organize his gear and get ready for bed, his eyes fell upon something on a chair near the door. It was the blouse you had lost that morning when he pushed you away from him, a soft, familiar fabric that he recognized immediately. He picked it up, holding it gently, and his mind replayed that morning events.

Joel held the blouse up to his face, breathing in deeply. The scent was faint but unmistakable—a mix of the outdoors, a hint of your perfume, and something more personal, something that reminded him of you. As the scent reached his senses, it hit him with a wave of emotions he hadn’t fully processed until now. He felt a rush of regret and longing. The migraine that had been a constant presence in his head now seemed to fade slightly as he held the blouse. The emotional weight of his actions, the pain he had caused you, and the gulf that had grown between you all came rushing back

You sat in the dimly lit living room of your small house, wrapped in a blanket, trying to find some semblance of comfort amidst the chaos outside. The storm had intensified, the wind howling and the rain slashing against the windows with a ferocity that made the walls tremble. Every rumble of thunder and flash of lightning felt like a jolt to your already frayed nerves.

You tried to focus on something—anything—to distract yourself from the fear that had settled deep in your chest. The living room was sparsely decorated, the bare walls and simple furnishings reflecting the practical, no-frills life you had tried to build for yourself. But tonight, it all seemed cold and empty, unable to offer you the comfort you so desperately needed.

You glanced at the clock. It was well past midnight, and sleep was elusive. The noise of the storm outside seemed to drown out any thoughts of rest. You wrapped your arms tightly around yourself, trying to stave off the chill that had little to do with the temperature and everything to do with the lonely feeling that had enveloped you.

As you huddled on the couch, the flashes of lightning illuminated the room in brief, stark bursts. Each flash cast eerie shadows on the walls, making the storm outside feel even more menacing. You found yourself jumping at every crack of thunder, your heart racing with each one.

Part of you wanted to reach out to someone, but who? The distance between you and Joel felt insurmountable, and you had made it clear that you wanted to be left alone.

The living room was filled with the sound of the storm, punctuated only by your occasional sighs and the rustling of the blanket around you. You tried to focus on breathing deeply, calming yourself in the midst of the chaos. But as the storm raged on, so did the turmoil within you.

It was during a particularly intense flash of lightning that you heard a knock on the door. Your heart leaped into your throat, and you froze. Another knock, louder this time, followed by a faint call. “It’s Joel. Can I come in?”

The voice was muffled by the storm, but it was unmistakable. Your emotions were a whirlwind of confusion and surprise. You hesitated, wondering why he would come here, why he would seek you out now, but the desperation in his voice made you move towards the door.

You opened it cautiously, the cold wind rushing in and mingling with the warmth of the living room. Joel stood there, drenched from the rain, his face lined with worry and a mixture of other emotions that you couldn’t quite place.

“Joel,” you said, barely above a whisper. “What are you doing here?”

He looked at you with an expression that was a mix of regret, concern, and something softer that you couldn’t quite define.

Words weren’t need for moments like these. Two hearts beating as the silence felt like freedom of the remised prisoner love victim of the passage of time, the destiny or perhaps the fate of cursing spells.

It was there for you to see it and it was there for him to see it, but blindness was his curse. Not remembering was his curse. Joel wasn’t incapable of loving someone, but he was terrified of the pieces of the old him coming to the present where losing people was a daily occurrence.

Joel was terrified of loving and losing the last flame of goodness left in this mad world that had tainted people, but you. There was a pure innocence in your eyes, in your actions and in your kindness and he had come to face his old him through you, the old him that had died with his daughter years ago.

Joel’s gaze lingered on you, his eyes reflecting the soft light from the flickering candles. His voice was a murmur, almost lost in the howling of the storm outside. “You’re afraid of storms.”, he said quietly, his voice low and gentle. It wasn’t a question. He was stating a fact, something you had confessed to him when the love affair between you was burning. 

You looked at him, the realization dawning on you like the slow break of dawn. “You remember.” You whispered.

And you could only hear the steady beat of your own heart and the sound of Joel’s breathing.

I tagged everyone interested in part 2 but I couldn't tag everyone because all got mixed () if you don't want to be tagged you can tell me, if you want to be tagged, you can also tell me

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