#this is now officially my longest fic on ao3??? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

08melancholie · 28 days ago

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Lessen your Stress. — Dutch Van der Linde/Micah Bell/Reader

tags: Post-Chapter 6: Beaver Hollow (Red Dead Redemption 2), Smut, Shameless Smut, Porn, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Sex, Spoilers, dont read if you havent finished chapter 6, theres spoilers to it that youll regret, Rough Sex, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Anal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Orgasm, Multiple Orgasms, Mildly Dubious Consent, Abuse of Authority, Authority Figures, Double Penetration, Double Penetration in Two Holes, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Spit as Lube, Lube, Come as Lube, precum still counts i hope, Not Beta Read, no beta we die like micah bell

summary: What's one way to relieve the stress of losing your family, friends and entire gang you spent decades building? Dutch assumes it's getting his best friend to fuck his other still-devoted follower with him. It's another power trip of his you will never refuse.

a/n: initially the idea was reader and micah both trying to fight over dutch but then i was like why do we have to fightttt just let them both ruin users guts..... so here we are now. disclaimer: ive literally never written a threesome, i dont know what im doing honestly.... thank you to that one user on here who inspired this.

this is my longest fic up to date... yeah okay lets go touch grass.

words: 5,043 | AO3 LINK

A heap of shouting, spilling of secrets and killing later, the three of you regroup, all alone. Death is haunting you; you almost feel their blood on your hands, for some reason. You can't pinpoint why, but you feel guilty. Might be the fact you're still following Dutch, after he got them all killed.

Dutch might have officially lost his mind, right? You sometimes really wonder how he's made it this far, with such a good gang. Well, until now anyways. It's not until now that you notice a small flip in his head; a switch turning on for the first time. He's sat across from you, only a small fire between yourselves that lights up a small fraction of the area around you; up on a mountain, a small indent into the rocks it's built of serving as a cave of sorts. You're on the other side of the fire, laying down and watching Dutch really think for the first time, in a while. Your head is supported with the satchel you carry around your torso, visibly more uncomfortable than the plush pillows inside your old tent, now left behind. Sat behind you both is none other than Micah; staying forever loyal to the black-haired man lost in his own thoughts, his own pondering whilst his eyes illuminate the fire between your bodies. Micah is quiet; in fact, everyone is. Nobody dares say a word—not you, not Micah, especially not Dutch. Dutch doesn't feel grief, oh no; that isn't what this can be. You'd think that leaving two of your sons to die even after having the choice to save them both would make a man go crazy, but Dutch is clearly too far gone for that.

The fire crackles again, and you can't stand the silence any longer, opening your mouth to speak up. "We'll be fine, Dutch. Don't stress so much."

His head perks up from the fire, the flame-ridden irises of his catch your own. "Fine?" He repeats after your reassurance—not sounding all that reassured. You swallow and nod, always feeling so small under that dark gaze of his. "I would love to have even an ounce of your optimism." He barks, and you sink even lower. Well, it was a good try, if nothing.

He and Micah share a look, and it all goes quiet again. Fire crackles; animals howl in the distance; shrubbery whistles under the small wind blowing through the area. And all is quiet.

It seems as you'll be spending the rest of the night in here, so you decide to rest your exhausted body for today. You toss over and get as comfortably as one can, making an attempt at sleeping off the sour mood and thick tension in the air.

Your slumber only lasts you a few mere hours, both the very early morning sun picking at your eyes and gloved hands on your bare skin breaking you away from the little sleep you managed yourself. You grumble, turning to lay on your back. "Get'cho ass up," Micah, standing over you, takes a step back and moves his hands off you, the leather material slipping away from your waist. You sit up and rub your knuckles into your eyes, taking your satchel from underneath where your head was and standing up. "hoping you enjoyed Colter, darlin'." Oh, Colter; if hell was an icy, snowy blizzard, you'd assume they were talking about that part of West Grizzlies.

"Don't tell me we're going back." You hold off on groaning—only briefly as Micah nods and you can't help yourself, not at all fond of going back there again. "Why West Grizzlies, anyways?" You ask, watching him kick at the burnt-out campfire from last night.

Micah stomps out the ashy, black logs, turning back over to you with a shrug. "Dutch says so." Of course he does.

You hold back on rolling your eyes. "He at least in a better mood than yesterday?" You ask, very much still remembering his bite back to your simple attempt at making the situation you three were currently in a little more bearable. Micah starts walking off while talking to you, and you follow close behind, leaving the makeshift cave.

"Wouldn't put ma' money on it," He responds, voice getting quieter the closer he leads you towards Dutch—smoking a cigar, per the usual—and your three horses. "don't test yer luck, hm?" He gives a low chuckle, and you just sigh. Snow; low temperatures; blizzards; all things you wanted to leave and forget in Colter. But, here you were.

Dutch gives an acknowledging nod to both of you, which you swiftly return. "We ready to go, then?" Micah gives him another nod, and walks up to Baylock. You follow to your own horse, petting it briefly before getting up onto the saddle, mounting up as the two of them soon do the same.

The three of you start the long journey back up towards the mountains; almost feeling that familiar deja-vu-feeling kicking in.

The ride is long and definitely not friendly; the moment your horses get you to the snow, the wind picks up and so does the snow, plowing down on all six of you. It's almost unbearably annoying, having to ride with one hand on your reins and one covering the top of your eyebrows to block out the snow from your vision. It's only a long while later that the three of you get up on the snow-covered mountain of your liking, finding an abandoned area with a cabin, definitely big enough for the three of you, for now.

The three of you hitch your horses safely into a small stable-like area, making sure they wouldn't be cold in their spots. Afterwards, one after another, you enter the cabin and inspect it; it's a medium-sized hut-type room, a few cots still stable enough to sleep in and a kitchen on the other side, most cabinets left open and empty. Mere minutes of searching left you with a few cans of fruit and vegetables, but between you three, hunting will definitely be a must for nourishment. At least theres a run-down fireplace you can use to warm up your shivering bodies. Dutch sends Micah to get firewood, instructing you to work with him and make the place look a bit less messy. And, three of you get to work.

It isn't exactly homey, but it'll do. Can't be picky now, can you? You had a home, and it was Dutch's own fault everything at 'home' went to shit.

It's been about a week since, and you've gotten used to the spot you three settled into, you could even start calling it home. Well, no—nothing will ever replace the home that the gang provided, but that's something you'll have to simply cope with. You're still following Dutch, so really, do you miss them that much? Your trail of thought is broken up by the sound of the creaky cabin door opening, raising the volume of the small blizzard going on outside briefly.

Dutch and Micah enter after another, closing the door of the small cabin and blocking out the sound of wind outside. Your head perks up from the small book you were examining at the sound, and you nod in greeting. "Hey," Your gaze goes back to the book until Dutch clicks his tongue at you.

"Eyes up here."

You don't take even a second to comply, meeting his eyes but occasionally drifting them to Micah. You're slightly confused, they're acting odd. "You need something, Dutch?"

"Stand up."

Every command sends a small shiver to your spine, that much is sure. You place the book down and rise from your seat on the creaky cot, taking a step towards them to stand before the two men. Your compliance and submissiveness always sends one side of Dutch's mouth up slightly. "Got a.. proposition for you. Well... Not exactly, anyways." Micah matches Dutch's dark chuckle after the leader speaks up again, both looking down at you. "Listen now, it's been pretty cold, hasn't it, my dear?" As Dutch speaks to you, your eyes stay glued on him; but you can see Micah taking slow steps away from the leader, and around you. You focus on Dutch again, nodding. "That's what we thought. You see," He then takes a step closer to you, gloved hands clasping together in front of you. "we can keep ourselves warm without wasting so much firewood." At Dutch's words, you can definitely feel Micah so much closer to you, from behind your back. You're starting to feel something bubble in your abdomen; was it nervousness, anxiety? Lust, arousal? You couldn't exactly tell.

"Tell me, my dear," Another two steps; one in front of you, one behind you. You feel like you're being circled by sharks in an ocean, hunters on prey, making you feel small again. "you're a smart girl; you do know what I mean, don't you?" Oh, you do. You know it all too well as you've imagined it one too many times—late at night in your tent, your hands on yourself underneath the blanket, muffling the moans of their names into your palm—so it's not an unfamiliar feeling. Your words seem to only fail you further the more he speaks, so you just nod again. His moustache follows the curve of his lips when that devilish smirk arises again. "Thought so. Now..."

His gloves glide over your shoulders, leather on leather as he stands right in front of you now. "And surely, you wouldn't mind trying this new warm-up with us, would you?"

Like a cat playing with a mouse it's caught, toying with it until it breaks. Except, it's two big cats and one meek little mouse. A hot breath glides down to you, right over your shoulder when Micah draws himself closer, and you feel stuck in your spot between them—even more so when Micah places his gloved hands down to your sides, almost kneading at your waist. Now, how could you ever say no? It's Dutch Van der Linde and Micah Bell. For one, you've been imagining this scenario in the comfort of your tent, late into the many nights that turned very hot, very quickly. But also, do you really have a choice? Your boss; your leader, asking such a vulgar and intimate thing of you? What would he say if you refused? Would he let you refuse? Is this all another power-trip he'll hold over your head?

No time for questions when Micah squeezes your waist to bring you back to reality. "He asked 'ya a question, doll." He purrs—its low and sultry, right next to your ear, accompanied by another knead to your body. You feel almost lightheaded by your current situation. Your hands have been unconsciously balled-up, digging into your trousers in an attempt to ground yourself. "C'mon, answer the man." And all you can manage is a nod, again. A moan would probably leave your mouth if you opened it, which.. would also be an answer. Your nod was really all it took, a silent consent more than enough for Micah's hands to travel to your hips and for Dutch's to find the sides of your neck.

"Good girl, always listening to me like this. I know you wouldn't disobey."

The feeling is indescribable, really—Micah touches you with urgency and carelessness, almost selfishly and greedily; his hands map out the contour of your body, almost as if trying to mould your curves to his liking. Dutch, however, takes it hellishly slow; thumbs brush over the front of your neck while the tips of his other fingers dig into the sides, almost as if trying to coax you to relax into whatever they have planned for you. "Oh, she's good, boss." Whenever Micah speaks, it ends up right next to your ear, and you feel that familiar shiver down your spine. An agreeing chuckle leaves Dutch's mouth, which is very close to your face; your own lips. You're clueless as to what you have to do—should you stay stiff? Touch one of them? Say anything at all to their comments and wandering touches?

Dutch's slow pace slips up when he can't hold himself back from giving himself a taste of yourself, dipping his head down to latch onto your lips. It's nice and quick, and your hands find themselves creeping up his coat and resting on his shoulders, whereas his move under your jacket and place themselves on your ribs and under your chest. Micah is pressed right up to your back now, one hand leaves your hip to move your hair away from your neck, sliding your jacket collar down as he starts to pepper the side of your neck in kisses, occasionally sucking on the skin while pressing his hips to your backside—you can already feel him through both of your clothes. Dutch takes a moment to lick your lip, coaxing you to open your mouth up for him. You comply and your lips part an opening for Dutch's tongue, hands squeezing at his shoulders.

His tongue explores around your mouth with profound efficiency; with experience. It makes the feeling in your abdomen all the more prominent, and you slowly feel a heat rushing to it. Micah isn't any worse either, the mixture of his gentle kisses, rough sucks and sometimes licks up your neck all make you more worked up than you'd ever want to imagine. He's still pressed up to your rear, hands at the very top of your outer thighs, roughly handling you like previously. Then, Dutch starts unbuttoning your jacket. Slowly, each one gets undone, and your jackets pools between yours and Micah's boots, who carefully kicks it aside, just to continue marking up your neck. His stubble and beard occasionally brushes against your sensitive neck, making you let out little sounds into Dutch's mouth. Oh, how they're enjoying this.

Dutch momentarily breaks away from you, leaving you to finally breathe in. "You know, I always liked how you followed me so blindly," Dutch's hands move up and brush over your chest, then cup both of the muscles. "it was so damn hard to not take you right then and there, in camp." You gasp and sigh when his hands start massaging and fondling you. This much foreplay has never gotten you so worked up in your life, and you can definitely feel the dampness between your legs growing with each moment. Then, Micah's hands move. They're getting impatient, seen so by the man behind you who starts groping your rear, breathing oh-so-sweetly down your neck. "I'mma have my fun with'chu, sweet thin'." His hums have goosebumps running up your body. His hands squeeze your ass a final time before moving, sliding down onto your inner thighs. You almost think that he can tell how wet you are, from the low laugh he lets out into your neck.

Impatience really overtakes both of them when they break away and start stripping. Coats, vests, undershirts, trousers; all the many layers you need to survive the coldness of West Grizzlies. Once they're almost bare, left in their underpants, they walk to one of the cots and coax you to follow, taking a seat next to each other and gesturing for you to stand in front of them. "Your turn, my dear." Dutch commands, leaning back slightly.

"Make sure to give us a good show, darlin'." Micah adds, following Dutch and also leaning back. And a good show, they shall receive. You start with your undershirt, slowly and almost teasingly unbuttoning it, exposing yourself inch by inch, moment by moment. "Oh, she's good." Micah purrs to Dutch, looking at you intently and never breaking his eyes away from your body. Dutch gives an agreeing hum, nodding to the other mans' words as you move to your jeans, shrugging your undershirt off while undoing the restraints of your jeans. You slip them off and toss both clothing articles to your jacket, standing in only your garments, now only covering your chest and mound. Their eyes are still so predatory, it's almost killing you. Then, finally, Dutch gestures with his hand for you to move closer, and you step up right in front of them. They part slightly to the side, and Micah pats the space between them on the bed. You understand instantly and comply just as quickly, sitting between them now. "Attagirl... how'd 'ya train 'er to listen so well, boss?"

Neither of them say more, as Micah leans in to get his lips onto yours himself now, kissing you with speed and want; need. Dutch's hands go to your back, fiddling with your bra to get it off of you. Oh, but the best part is Micah's hands; one reaches down between your legs instantly, swiping across your slit over your undergarments. "Oh shit, 'yer this damn wet already?" Both men laugh in sync, dark and low chuckles filling the cabin. His fingers find your clit under the fabric and start rubbing, coaxing you to moan into his mouth which you do. He loves how your meek little gasps and whimpers echo down his throat, and he rubs faster. The other hand of his tangles itself in your hair, pulling you closer to deepen the kiss. Dutch finally undoes your bra clasps, working it off of you without disturbing Micah and his workings on you. Your bra is tossed elsewhere, and one of Dutch's hands instantly finds your chest, fondling one while latching his mouth onto the other. Your hands grip one shoulder of theirs each, nails digging into the skin as your moans vibrate into Micahs mouth, hips already twitching into his two fingers working your bundle of nerves perfectly. Micah only breaks himself off your lips for a brief moment, "Can't wait to see this pretty cunt stretch around me." his mouth is back on yours, and the sentence alone has you grinding into his two fingers. Where's your dignity now?

Dutch's lips kiss around your nipple, teeth graze and pull oh-so-perfectly, and you already feel like you're close. They handle you with very different paces and things in mind; Micah is clearly trying to humiliate, get you to cum for him as quick as he can to give his ego a boost. Dutch however, he's now teasing; torturously slow pace on both of your tits, yet it works you up just as well as Micah's finger and mouth. And both are equally as blissful.

"Think she's ready for us?" Micah slows his fingers down and moves away from your lips to Dutch's question.

"Oh, surely, see how she's try'na fuck herself on my fingers? Poor, little thing. Bet she wants more."

"Well," Dutch leans away from your chest, standing to get his undergarments off. It's not long before Micah follows, and you can barely look at them; nude as the days they were born, with two almost equally as big cocks twitching for you, some precum at both their tips. It's a sight. "reckon she knows what she has to do—" He turns from Micah to yourself. "—doesn't she?" You swallow. Call it practice for what's to come, literally.

You shuffle off of the bed, and your knees meet the wood floors. Their grins down at you leave your panties practically leaking your own arousal. Looking between them, unsure where to start, you choose the leader—obviously. You get on-level with his hips, placing your hands on his thighs. "Oh, now don't leave my partner out, my dear." Dutch takes one of your hands by the wrist, guiding it to Micah's lower abdomen. "Show us both some love, baby." You can barely breathe at this point, and your hands might even be trembling slightly. Now, you've given maybe one blowjob/handjob in your life; but both, at the same time? This is overwhelming. Nonetheless, can't disappoint your boss, now can you? You push your thoughts down and slide your hand around Micah's shaft, running your thumb over his precum-covered tip to slicken it slightly, while simultaneously licking a stripe up the underside of Dutch's cock, collecting the leaky substance for a taste. Their faces are full of arousal and pure bliss, they almost make you feel proud. Dutch raises a hand to run through your hair, tugging on it. "We're old, impatient men, my darlin'. Get to it."

You take half of Dutch in your mouth, and start pumping your hand up and down Micah, earning a few praising groans and another tug to your hair, trying to draw you closer. You take Dutch until he hits the back of your mouth, and you barely suppress gagging on him. Don't need to inflate his ego that much. You move and bob your head, saliva slickening Dutch's dick up and painting your lips, some gathering at the corners of your mouth. Your hand works Micah in a slightly faster pace, seeing as it's easier to pump your hand over his shaft than take one in your mouth—especially one Dutch's size. You're used to average men, so this might as well even be nice. Not so much when he'll be stretching you open, but we'll get to that problem later. You continue your demonstrations, getting both of them to groan and even chuckle sometimes, looking down at you. They always looked down at you, you knew so much—but only ever figuratively. Never literally.

It's not long before Dutch grabs your head and just fucks himself into your mouth at his pace, which makes it easier to focus on your hand that's working Micah. You increase the pace of your hand, occasionally teasing the tip to see it twitch before continuing. "Wouldn't be surprised if you was a whore before 'ya joined us, so good at this." Micah's comment should make you mad, but you're definitely more turned on than anything. "Keep working dem pretty fingers around me, 'm close." And you absolutely will.

Dutch, however, doesn't give you a warning like Micah; he suddenly cums down your throat with a groan, and you have to focus on not gagging all over his dick as it empties itself out into your mouth, and you swallow every drop like if it were holy water. Unfortunately, you're not given a breather when he withdraws his hips from your mouth, as Micah pulls your hand away from his cock and brings your closer to it, grasping your jaw and squeezing so that your lips part. "Open." You don't feel like being painted all over with his cum, so you comply instantly, and he jerks himself a few times before spilling into your mouth like Dutch, your hands finding his thighs to brace yourself.

"Damn, she's good." Dutch seats himself back on the cot with a small creak, palming himself—somehow still semi-hard. Micah lets go of your jaw after he's spent, and you can't stop yourself from coughing as you swallow practically every drop, only a few around your mouth still. Micah chuckles down at you before grabbing you by the sides, his hands grasping your waist as he brings you back to your feet. "Come on then, you ain't done yet, or are 'ya, babydoll?" You're guided over to Dutch, turned to face him as both men help position you over him to straddle the leader. Micah's hands are replaced by Dutch's ones, who immediately moves your panties off and guides your folds around his shaft to slicken himself up again. "Still practically dripping. Oh, you poor thing. We won't be selfish no longer, my dear, you shall get your own, too." His tip slides to your entrance, and you have to grasp his shoulders to keep yourself steady, your lips slightly parted in pleasure. Slowly, Dutch's tip presses into you, and you squeak out a moan as you feel that small stretch you were dreading. "I'll go slow, don't wanna split our new toy in half, do we darling?" Well, that's exactly how you're feeling, oddly enough.

You're gasping and moaning as every inch of his disappears into your slick walls, the lewd noises mixing with Dutch's small praise and breathy exhales as you sink down on his cock, feeling it twitch inside you a few times. "Good girl, taking all of me like that." He gives you a moment to adjust before lifting your hips up and slamming right back down, earning a strained moan out of you, nail indents marking his shoulders up as they dig into the flesh, which just makes him laugh. "Love how tight you are, like it's sucking me right in. Your cunt loves me stretching you out, huh." His hips slowly begin to slap against you, filling the cabin with the suggestive noises of skin-on-skin and moans.

As you finally get used to his size, you feel hands on your waist from behind. You almost forgot Micah was there, seeing how quiet he was being. Then, one hand trails down to your rear, and a thumb circles your anus. "Can't leave me out again, can 'ya?" His thumb slowly draws itself into you, and you have to bite down on Dutch's shoulder. Jesus, you did not expect them to try and fuck you at the exact same time, even less from behind. He briefly extracts his thumb to spit at your entrance, circle it and then stick it right back in, trying to loosen your muscles up for his—much fucking bigger, may you add—member. They find a similar pace, Dutch is rutting you down onto his dick while Micah's thumb stretches your other hole out, readying it for his cock which is already leaking in anticipation. You brace yourself when he moves his thumb out and spits again, this time on his own cock to moisten it up again, mixing the saliva with his precum. Then, his tip slaps against your ass a few times, before it slides to your opening. Dutch has slowed his thrusts down to let Micah get in as well, and you haven't stopped biting at his shoulder since you started, almost drooling around it. Even if it's only the tip, as soon as Micah eases it in, you shudder and gasp into Dutch's flesh, biting down harder as your asshole feels every little stretch it's getting from Micah's thick cock. Thankfully, it's sliding in somewhat-easily after a few moments, Dutch's hands squeezing your hips as he shushes you to relax you, and Micah's caressing your backside as he slowly sinks into you.

The first thrust is the worst, obviously. You almost immediately shiver when Micah slowly slips out of you, to the tip, before drawing his hips right against your ass again. Dutch coos into your ear to keep you collected as Micah gets you used to his size, kissing your slightly sweaty spine briefly. "Come on, 'ya can take me, girlie." He sinks his whole length into you, almost as breathless as you. Then, they slowly find a synced pace and fuck into you from both holes as you gasp against Dutch's shoulder and shudder into him. "We'll let'cha cum too, don't worry doll." Micah slides a hand over to your abdomen, and his thumb circles your clit once more. You're on cloud nine—hell, you've never been high, but it's probably similar to this feeling. Your holes are tight around their cocks, all three now audibly gasping and moaning in sync. It's possibly the lewdest trio you've ever heard. With how they're thrusting into you, you're reduced to a goddamn mess; gasping, moaning their names, your cunt and anus tightening and squeezing, your mouth open and tongue slightly sticking out—you look like a dog, almost. Their bitch, that's for sure. From now on, anyways. You don't see how this could ever be a one-time-thing.

You can feel your orgasm building again, and you've honestly been doing pretty well, all things considered. "Can't cum in that pretty cunt, but I can back here." Micah's comment runs goosebumps over your body, and you already dread the feeling of that. His breath brushes over your skin as he kisses up your back again, reaching the nape of your neck and grazing his teeth over it, all while his hips slam into your ass. Dutch is stroking your sides, his cock twitching even more inside you. He's close—Micah's close—you're close—you might all just come at the same time.

That's exactly how it goes down. You're first to hit your orgasm, one that causes you to squeeze around their cocks once more, which is enough for both of them to hit their peaks with you, Micah staying buried deep in your guts while Dutch pulls out and jerks himself dry over your mound and his stomach, gasping for air in sync with you. Micah draws his spent member out of your asshole slowly, some of his cum leaking out and down your thigh. He takes a breather on your back and hugs around your waist, heaving into your spine. Your body relaxes over Dutch's, who can barely hold all three of you up. It takes all three of you a moment of no movement to calm down from your highs, before Micah is first to move off your back and help you off Dutch, slowly seating you next to him. "Well, goddamn, princess. Dutch was right; 'ya didn't disappoint for even a moment." He hums, getting to the nightstand and tossing a rag over your stomach. He shuts the drawer and sits down next to you, cleaning Dutch's spent off of your stomach while you gather your thoughts, before wiping his shaft and tossing it over to Dutch.

"I'm sure you know we aren't leaving you be after that performance, my dear." Dutch adds as he wipes him self clean, and you just wordlessly nod, laying back slightly. "I guessed so." He chuckles, and Micah chimes in with his own breathy laugh, standing to walk over and grab everyone's clothes, giving them out to you and Dutch before starting to get dressed himself.

And you're damn sure you won't want to stop anytime soon either.

Kudos on AO3 appreciated, as always! This fic killed me omg its my longest one up to date and its got me in a chokehold. fuck i wanna be between them so bad.

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sequinsmile-x · 1 month ago

Text

A Few of My Favourite Things

It's Emily's birthday, and Aaron and Jack seize the opportunity to right some of the wrongs of the past.

-x-

Hi besties,

Nearly four years into my Hotchniss writing career and I finally get to write one of 'those' ao3 author notes.

I know it hasn't been *that* long since I posted a fic, but 5 days is probably the longest it's been without me posting for a couple of years. I had (planned) surgery on one of my lungs on Friday and only got home from the hospital yesterday. I'm still recovering and will be for a few weeks, but I've been working on this on and off for a few days because I always write something for their birthdays <3

I'll absolutely still be posting - writing keeps my mind alive - but probably not quite as often as we're all used to whilst my body remembers how to...breathe properly hahaha

Anyway, here's a belated birthday fic for Emily based on an anon I got <3

As always, let me know what you think!

-x-

Warnings: None, just super super fluffy

Words: 3.5k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

“Emmy, can I ask you something?”

She smiles as she looks at Jack, nodding as she sits up to make room for him on the couch, her book already closed and on the coffee table by the time he joins her so he has her full attention. Aaron was still at work, kept behind by paperwork and reports, and she’d offered to pick Jack up from Jessica’s and take him home. Aaron had smiled gratefully at her, his eyes shining with everything he couldn’t say to her whilst they were at work. He glanced towards the window of his office to ensure no one was watching before he stamped a quick kiss against her lips, a tiny moment of them lingering between them before they returned to the professionalism they held as dear as they did their relationship.

It was a fine line they’d walked for months now, the 8 months since their first date some of the best of her life, and she knew eventually they’d have to stop. That as they moved further into this, as they took every next inevitable, wonderful, step into officially living together and marriage and kids, working together would no longer be practical. The blind eye that Strauss and the higher-ups had granted them so far would go away, any prentice of willful ignorance gone with by them submitting an address change form, or the existence of a marriage certificate.

She knew realistically it would be her who would leave the BAU, and she was content with it. If it hadn’t been for Aaron, and by extension Jack, and the love and happiness they’d brought to her life she’s sure she would have left the BAU, and potentially DC, anyway. That she’d have taken the first offer that got her out of here, no matter how far away it took her, because she needed to be who she was now without people looking at her and mourning who she once was. Aaron had helped her through it, had helped her help herself more than anything else, and she finally felt at peace. Like she had a home for the first time in her life, only it wasn’t made out of bricks and mortar but a man, who she would have once called stern, with a dimpled smile that made her stomach flip every time, and his little boy.

She loved Jack so much that it scared her sometimes. At first, she’d doubted her place in his life, never wanting to overstep, the gap his mother had left behind was not one she wanted anyone to think she was trying to fill, but as time went on she got more comfortable with it all. She cared less about what other people may think because it worked for them. She was the one Jack would seek out if he was sick or sad, his face pressed against her neck as she soothed him with soft words, gentle kisses and fierce hugs. He’d bring her paintings he’d done at school with a proud smile as he presented them to her and she’d react as if they should be hung in the Louvre. She loved him, and he loved her, and that was enough. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that when she and Aaron had more children she wouldn’t love them any differently to how she loved him.

He’d taught her that she could be a mom, even if he never ended up calling her that.

“Of course you can, sweet boy. You can ask me anything, you know that,” she says, patting the couch as he joins her, her smile getting wider as he sits next to her and huddles against her side as if on instinct, “Is everything okay?”

He sighs as if he has the weight of the world on his shoulder, “I don’t know what I want to do for my birthday.”

She has to press her lips together to stop herself from laughing, never wanting him to think she was making fun of him, “Your birthday is meant to be fun, kiddo. Let’s think about it together,” she pushes his hair from his forehead and then drops a kiss there before she encourages him further into her embrace, “Have you had any ideas at all?”

He half shrugs against her, “I know I want Daddy’s chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast.”

She hums and rests her cheek against the top of his head, “The best birthday breakfast ever.”

“And it would be fun to go to the park. And maybe the arcade?” He muses, his fingers idly playing with the delicate chain of her bracelet, something she’d rarely taken off of her wrist since Aaron gave it to her one date night just because, “I just want to spend the day with you and Daddy.”

Her cheeks ache with the smile that spreads across her face, love for him so overwhelming it briefly makes it hard to breathe, “Well, you’ll get that no matter what we do.”

It’s a promise she knows she can keep because they’d booked two weeks off work so they’d be off for both Jack’s and her birthday, a positive side effect of Strauss’s recent ‘use it or lose it’ policy when it came to the team's leave. Aaron and Emily both had so many vacation days left she’s sure they could have taken a month off and still had time to spare, but they’d settle on this for now, both of them silently agreeing they’d keep the rest banked until the honeymoon they both knew was somewhere not too far away on the horizon.

Jack pulls away and looks up at her, his head tilted slightly to the side, his eyes full of curiosity, “What did you used to do on your birthday?”

“When I was your age?” She asks, something that gets her a nod in response, and she suppresses a sad sigh, “My mom would take me out to eat at a nice restaurant if she wasn’t busy with work.” She runs her fingers through his hair, smiling when it flops back down immediately, partially covering his horrified expression.

“She never took you to the park and pushed you on the swings? Or went to the arcade with you?”

She smiles at that, internally laughing at the image of her mother in an arcade, the red soles of her Louboutins sticking to the soda-covered vinyl floor as her daughter tries to win enough tickets to get a stuffed cat from the prize stand. It wasn’t something Emily had ever really thought about all that much before. Her birthdays had consisted of over the top gifts and very little time with her mother. Any meal they did go out for was in a restaurant designed for adults - fancy dishes created to be paired with wine, nothing for a little girl who wanted pizza, chicken nuggets and ice cream until she fell asleep.

It briefly makes her sad, familiar sorrow for the younger version of herself flickering in her gut, and she promises herself Jack and any siblings he would one day have would never have to feel this way.

“No, sweetie,” she says, “She didn’t, but we’re talking about your birthday,” she says, diverting the conversation back to him, tickling his stomach to draw a laugh about him, “Chocolate chip pancakes, the park, the arcade…anything else?”

He furrows his brow and pauses, deep in thought for a moment, before his eyes go bright and he looks at her, “Ice cream.”

She laughs and nods, tugging him back into a hug, “Ice cream sounds perfect.”

___

The first thing she notices when she wakes up is the smell of pancakes. The second is the sound of Jack giggling followed by Aaron shushing him, his voice low as he tries to stay quiet.

“We need to be quiet, buddy.”

“But we’re about to wake her up anyway.”

She decides to take pity on her boyfriend when she hears his exasperated spy, not that she’s sure she could hide that she’s awake much longer anyway, her smile wide and sleepy as she half presses it into his pillow, and she opens her eyes.

“Lucky for the two of you, I’m already awake,” she says as she sits up, her smile getting wider at the sight of them - matching grins on their faces and splatters of flour in their hair and on their cheeks. She looks at the tray in Aaron’s hands with a huge stack of pancakes on it and a cup of coffee, and then back up at her boyfriend, “What’s all this?”

“Happy birthday, Emily!” They say in unison as Jack scrambles onto the bed, throwing himself into her arms, an embrace she returns just as fiercely.

“Thank you,” she replies, stamping a kiss against his forehead before she turns to Aaron who is now sitting on the edge of the bed, ready to hand her the tray. She gratefully takes it from him and rests it over her and Jack’s laps and cups Aaron’s cheek, tugging him in for a kiss, keeping him in place, chasing the taste of batter and him before he pulls back, “Thank you too.”

He smiles and kisses her quickly, “You’re welcome sweetheart,” he winks at her as he sits back so she has access to the tray, “They’re your favourite.”

She looks down at the pancakes, her smile getting impossibly wider when she realises they are heart-shaped, and she chuckles when she sees the scattering of chocolate throughout them, “Chocolate chip!”

“The best birthday breakfast ever,” Jack says, repeating something she’d said to him weeks ago when he was agonising over what to do for his birthday. They’d ended up doing everything he’d wanted, and he’d fallen asleep on the couch that night as they watched his favourite movie, happy and content and safe between them.

She hums and leans down to kiss his forehead, “Well, there are a lot of pancakes here,” she smiles up at Aaron, “I think you boys are going to have to help me.”

Aaron chuckles and reaches for one of the forks on the tray, “Why do you think we brought three forks up here?”

She laughs and shakes her head at him as he cuts through the soft pancakes with the side of the fork. She leans forward to eat the first bite when he offers his fork to her, and she smiles, “You’ve got it all planned out.”

“Trust me, sweetheart,” he says, winking again, “We’ve got the whole day planned out, don’t we Jack?”

Jack nods enthusiastically, half a pancake in his hands, his fork already abandoned entirely, “We do!”

She narrows her eyes playfully, “You two are lucky I trust you.”

Aaron kisses her cheek, and then the corner of her lips, “Eat your pancakes, Em. All will be revealed.”

After they’ve had breakfast, Aaron insists he’ll clean the kitchen, ignoring their usual rule that if one of them cooked the other cleaned up, and he encourages her towards the shower. He joins her when he’s done in the kitchen, his hands on her hips as he pulls her back under the stream of hot water, whispering he’d distracted Jack with a video game to buy them 30 minutes before he kisses her.

They give her gifts, a framed photo of the three of them from Jack and a necklace from Aaron to match her bracelet, and cards with beautiful things written in them that almost make her cry. Aaron’s warm and comforting hand on her thigh, a gentle squeeze through the material of her jeans, is the only thing that keeps her together. They tell her it’s time to go and she doesn’t even care where they are going because she feels warm and loved and just happy to be with them. Aaron insists they all wear jackets, a hint that wherever they are going they’d be outside, and they get into the car. It’s when they are just over halfway there she realises they are going to the park, a journey they’d made only five days ago for Jack’s birthday, and she smiles curiously at her boyfriend, reaching over the centre console to reach for his hand, his eyes giving nothing away when he turns to look at her.

When they are a safe distance away from the parking lot, Emily and Aaron walking hand in hand just a few paces behind Jack, the little boy takes off at a run, “I’m going to go save the swings for us.”

“Jack, be careful,” Aaron says, “Make sure-”

“I stay where you can see me, I know,” Jack says, rolling his eyes at his father and the warning he always gave him. Aaron chuckles as Jack continues to run towards the swings and he shakes his head lovingly.

“You know, he never used to do that before you,” he says, squeezing her hand, his smile getting wider when she laughs and looks at him, her eyebrow raised, her smile diminishing any attempt to pretend she was annoyed.

“So,” she starts curiously, purposely knocking her shoulder against his, “The park,” she presses her lips together to contain her smile, “Are you going to tell me what you two are up to yet?”

He stops her, turning them so he can talk to her and keep an eye on Jack, “A couple of weeks ago a little bird told me you never got to do any fun things on your birthday like go to the park or the arcade.”

She bites the inside of her cheek and looks over at Jack, the little boy now patiently sitting on one of the swings as he waits for them, and then back at Aaron, “Did he now?”

Aaron nods and squeezes her hips before his hands slip to her lower back, encouraging her closer, “He did, so we decided we’d make sure you got to do all of those fun things on your birthday this year,” he explains, his smile adorably nervous, “We’re going to a pizza place for lunch, then the arcade and then out for ice cream - which I was told was non-negotiable - which will be followed by heading home to order in dinner from a place of your choosing,” he smiles, his dimples carved out into his cheeks, “And then we’ll watch whatever nerdy movie you pick.”

She chuckles and hooks her arms around his neck, her fingers trailing through the short hair there. She feels tears pressing at the back of her eyes, her chest tight with love and everything she’d never been able to find the words for. She’d never been loved like this before. Never been loved so unconditionally or deeply, and there were moments like this when it was overwhelming, something that not all that long ago would have sent her running in the other direction.

These days, she didn’t want to run anywhere other than towards Aaron and Jack, and the future they were building together.

She watches as panic washes over her boyfriend’s face, mistaking her silence for annoyance rather than joyful disbelief, “If this was a bad idea, we can go home,” he says, half stuttering out his words in a way she’d never heard from him before, “I have a backup reservation at that new Italian place this evening-”

She cuts him off with a kiss, her hands on each of his cheeks as she pulls back, “No, this is…” she trails off into a wet chuckle, shaking her head at him, “This is perfect,” she kisses him again, “You’re perfect. I love you so much.”

He smiles, his relief spreading through him in a way she can feel, his body relaxing against hers, “I love you too.”

She leans in to kiss him again but they are cut off by a yell from Jack, his patience finally running out.

“Dad, Emily, hurry up!”

They both laugh and look at him, his hands on his hips as he stands just a few feet away from the swings, and then they look back at each other, wide smiles on both of their faces as they start to walk towards the young boy.

“He never used to do that either.”

“Aaron.”

___

It had without a doubt, been her favourite birthday she’d ever had.

Jack insisted that he had to push her on the swing, his small hands on her back helped along by Aaron’s bigger hands just above them, both of them laughing as she tried to pretend she wasn’t enjoying herself. They’d ordered more food than they could possibly have eaten at the pizza place and then spent more money than she thought possible at the arcade. Hours and hours lost to the three of them moving from game to game, the tickets they’d won stuffed into their pockets as they drank giant sodas and somehow found room for hot dogs and ice cream. She’d handed her tickets over to Aaron when she went to the bathroom, her lips stamped against his as he said they’d meet her at the prize counter, and she expected that she’d find them standing there with some plastic game Jack had picked out for himself.

Instead, she’d found them there with a large stuffed cat in Jack’s arms, his smile wide as he handed it to her and told her they’d chosen it for her. It’s probably the ugliest looking thing she’s ever seen - its black fur looked unevenly distributed, its sewn-on smile was wonky and the stare from its eyes was something close to unnerving - but she loves it. It’s immediately her favourite thing she’s ever been given, and she’s sure she’s never come closer to crying in public. It’s something that would have felt ridiculous in the middle of an arcade filled with screaming children and exasperated parents, so she’d held it together. She’d held the cat close all night, cuddled up against her as they watched Star Wars, a physical manifestation of their love for her that she wasn’t quite ready to let go of yet.

When they get ready for bed, she places it on an armchair in the corner of Aaron’s bedroom and pats it on the head before she walks to the ensuite. She’s just finished with her skincare routine when Aaron joins her, his arms wrapping around her from behind as he smiles at her in the mirror.

“Did you have a good birthday?” He asks, kissing her cheek, making her smile when he shifts down to kiss her neck, his nose nestling against her jawline, his love for her lotion well known.

“I did,” she replies, resting her hands over his on her abdomen, “The best.”

He tilts his head to look down at her, “Are you sure? It was only when we were at the arcade I realised I’d let Jack talk me into the perfect day for a 6-year-old boy.”

She’d laugh, but she wants him to know how much this had meant to her, how this had been infinitely more special to her than a dinner in a restaurant they could eat at any night could ever have been. She turns in his arms and wraps her arms around his neck, letting her thumb stroke back and forth over the patch of skin beneath his hairline.

“Honey, today was perfect,” she says, her eyes boring into his, hoping more than anything that he’d believe her, “You gave me something I didn’t even know I’d been missing,” she smiles when he relaxes, “This was the best birthday I’ve ever had,” her smile turns mischievous as she leans in to kiss him, “If anything, you’ve just made more hard work for yourself next year when you have to try and top it.”

He grins at her, his grip on her tightening, “I look forward to the challenge,” he kisses her, his hands firm on her lower back as he holds her close, his fingers sneaking under the hem of her t-shirt. He starts to lead her towards the bedroom, both of them grasping at each other, their kiss eventually lost as her knees hit the back of the bed and she pulls him down on top of her, “Just one thing though.”

She frowns at him as she tries to catch her breath, “What?”

“We’re not doing this with that fucking cat watching us.”

She laughs as she looks over to the stuffed cat sitting on the armchair in the corner of the room, and she holds Aaron’s head against her chest, his forehead against her collarbone, “Don’t worry honey,” she encourages him to look up at her, her lips stamped against his as she scrapes his hair away from his forehead, “I’m sure we’ll find a permanent place for it.”

18 months later, the cat is one of many stuffed animals lined up in their daughter’s nursery. Its wonky smile a well-loved companion on long sleepless nights as Emily feeds the baby and Aaron holds them both close.

#hotchniss fanfiction #hotchniss fanfic #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #hotchniss fan fic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #emily prentiss fanfiction #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotchniss #aaron x emily

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hongcherry · 1 year ago

Text

pretty please (stay with me) || c.sc | 1

"After being assigned a fashion show for your big senior project, you set off to find volunteers to make it successful. However, when you meet Choi Seungcheol and his unfriendly clique through your volunteers, you realize they’re an unwanted package deal you can’t escape from. Can you handle Seungcheol's obnoxious friends, and can he handle your brash behavior?"

🍒 Pairing: businessMajor!Seungcheol x fashionMajor!Reader (f)

🍒 Rating/Genres/AUs: M(18+); Slice of life (!!!), slow burn, drama, fluff, angst; Unrequited enemies to lovers (lol), strangers to lovers, college au

🍒 Warnings: [general tw (won't be repeated in the other chapters)] reader has she/her pronouns (referred to as girl, miss), reader dresses really feminine, reader is not nice, character outfit descriptors, parent/family issues (marital problems), bullying | [chapter tw] “joke” that implies prostitution in a negative way, near car accident (rear end), brief mention of death thru a joke

🍒 WC: 14.8k

🍒 Betas: Huge shout out to my bae, @love-strike, for being with me throughout this whole process, for listening to me whine, for helping me brainstorm majors for OT13, and for being so supportive! tysm 😭 And thank you to @playmetheclassics, @here4kpopfics, @angelwoozi for also beta'ing this series! ty for your time and for your sweet feedback! i really cherish everyone's efforts and brains hehe 🥰💖 i understand this was not an easy task to take on.

🍒 Author's Note: HAPPIEST BIRTHDAY TO THE LOML, CHOI SEUNGCHEOL!!!!!!!!! 🎂♥️ I started this fic in September 2022 and contemplated even publishing it multiple times. I think this will be the first fic I've worked on for so long and published. Also, this is the longest fic I've ever written, so that's exciting! It was supposed to be one long one-shot, but I ended up writing way too much for a one-shot LOL. I'm really proud of myself for powering through and not abandoning it, as I've done in the past. I also wrote this all in past tense and spontaneously decided to change it to present 😪 Anyway, please enjoy the start of this couple's journey 😁

also read here: AO3 | Wattpad

seventeen masterlist | main masterlist

previous chapter \\ series masterpost // next chapter

When people say good students are those who arrive on time, you find it hard not to scoff. Professors should care more about how hard-working one is rather than if they show up on the dot.

Of course, you do try to make it on time, but can you really leave your house looking less than perfect? Absolutely not. Plus, the first fifteen minutes usually consist of professors getting set up for their classes, so you don’t feel like you are missing anything of importance.

Today is no different.

Ten minutes past the official class time, you stroll inside the room. Students are seated where they normally sit, some are on their phones, and others are trying to finish some last-minute homework assignments. It’s a fairly small class, and being in your senior year means everyone knows each other well. Although, most of the people in your class think ill of you and don’t talk to you.

At first, you thought it was a pity, but in the end, you realized you didn’t want to befriend those who would only talk shit behind your back. This is what you figured they did since they were never discreet when they exchanged whispers with their eyes glued to you.

Luckily, you have at least one friend in the class. Quality over quantity, right?

“Right on time,” your friend, Dae, says with a sly smile when she spots you.

You chuckle and slide into the seat next to her. “Class started fifteen minutes ago.”

“It did, but you’re right on time for you,” she explains with a knowing grin.

“Guess I need to be more late from now on,” you tease as you take out your iPad.

The device is a holy grail to you. Majoring in fashion design means all your ideas and creations over the past few years are stored there. When you don’t have it, it’s stored in secret in your house. Maybe that’s a little excessive, but losing it would feel like losing a part of yourself. After all, art creations always include a part of the creator. The device almost feels like it’s an extension of yourself—something too personal for others to peek at.

Dae rolls her eyes. “Or you could come on time. That would be different.”

“Why would I? The first fifteen minutes are worthless,” you huff and open your notes.

“I wouldn’t quite say that,” Dae answers, sliding a piece of paper over. You glance down at it.

Prepare for the annual Senior Fashion Show! Students are to create their own fashion show with a theme of their choice. The show will be toward the end of the semester in the Main Theatre (official times and dates TBD). The project will count for 80% of your grade as this will require you to use all the skills you’ve acquired as a student. When creating your show, be sure to be mindful of the following…

“This was handed out at the beginning of class. Seems like we’re going to have to work with students from outside our department,” Dae comments after she gives you a few minutes to read everything.

So, this is it.

Every senior majoring in fashion design is required to participate. You attended every fashion show hosted during your time as a student here. You were always left in awe, motivated to be a student that would leave behind a name for themselves at the college. You want to inspire the next seniors just as the ones inspired you before.

While this assignment has your body giddy with excitement, there is a part you are dreading.

People skills are not your forte.

Not because you feel awkward talking to new people, but because the conversations always end unpleasantly. Sometimes with back-handed compliments, insults, or them trying to scold you. You hope that won’t be the case while recruiting volunteers.

“So, do we have the class period to start getting things together?” you question once you finish skimming through the instructions again. You’re responsible for a lot more elements than you anticipated. You need lighting, music, a theme, backstage helpers, hair and makeup artists, an advertiser, and most importantly, models. This is when you wish you had a large network. Though, every friend you tried to make didn’t end up lasting. Dae is the only person who has stuck by your side.

“Yup,” she replies. “We’ll be doing mini assignments throughout the semester to help us prepare. I think it’s just a way for Dr. Lim to give us grades so he doesn’t get in trouble.”

“Probably,” you sigh. You are already feeling stressed. Quickly, you scribble down a list of to-do’s in your notes.

“Do you have a theme in mind already?” Dae asks after a moment.

“No, do you?” you wonder.

Dae sits back in her chair, pen resting between her fingers. “I was thinking about something with space? Maybe my main colors will be blue, purple, and black.”

“Oh? Isn’t that what you’ve been doing, though? Don’t you want to try something different?”

Although the question is harmless, the tone of your voice must have rubbed Dae the wrong way. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and then looks at you again.

“Think of it as branding, okay? Why does it bother you so much?” she wonders with a frown. Realizing your mistake, you inhale slowly.

“It doesn’t. I didn’t mean to sound rude. I’m sure your stage will do well,” you reply, forcing a small smile on your lips.

“No ‘sorry’?” Dae asks despite knowing it isn’t part of your favorite vocabulary.

You narrow your eyes at her. “Nope. Just don’t be so defensive next time.”

“You’re insufferable,” Dae answers. “One day, you will be sorry for your behavior.”

Shrugging, you say, “There’s always a chance, but maybe if the world wasn’t so insecure, saying sorry wouldn’t be so wanted.”

Dae exhales disapprovingly at your thought process, displeased with your reply. “Well, for now, maybe try to be more empathetic?”

“I have bigger things to worry about right now. For instance,” you start, a finger at the top of your to-do list, “I’ve got to find someone who can provide me with music.”

Fuck, it’s too loud in here.

The sounds of different instruments being played at once, all emitting different tunes, have a migraine bubbling in your head.

You make a beeline to the professor who is sitting in the corner. She is an older lady, evident by her wrinkles and gray hair. Yet, her features are soft, and the smile she gives you makes you feel at ease.

“Hello, miss, can I assist you?” she asks when you’re in hearing range.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt, but I was hoping you could help me with an assignment?” you wonder and offer her a kind smile, hoping she won’t shoo you away immediately.

“Ah, it’s alright. They’re just practicing for an upcoming assignment today. What is it you need, dear?”

“Who would you consider your best student? Is there a way you can get me in contact with them?”

The professor’s eyes widen slightly at the question. She didn’t expect that. Nevertheless, her gaze rises to scan the classroom.

“There,” she points as discreetly as she can. You follow her finger, which lands on a blonde-haired guy tuning his guitar. “Lee Jihoon. He’s the most talented student I’ve ever had.”

“This semester?” you ask out of curiosity.

The professor shakes her head. “Ever.”

You can’t stop the small disbelieving huff that escapes you. The best student ever? You aren’t sure how long she’s been teaching, but you doubt out of all her time, he is the best. He looks too young.

“Now, now, don’t judge a book by its cover,” she scolds gently. You have to force yourself not to roll your eyes at the phrase. You’ve heard it too many times that its meaning lost its effect on you.

“What makes him your best student?” you question, sight going back to the man who is oblivious to your stare. He sits next to another student who also has a guitar. They seem to be friends from the way they are laughing together.

“His work is versatile and very good. I’m positive he will be the perfect person for your project.” The way she speaks about him makes you believe her. There was no waver to her voice, and her eyes hold a fondness in them you know one can’t replicate if not genuine.

“How long until they have their assignment due?” you wonder, realizing you may have to wait until the class ends before you could talk to him.

The professor smiles. “I’ll let them have five more minutes so you can introduce yourself.”

Internally, you sigh in relief. You’re grateful you don’t have to wait.

“Thank you,” you say before strolling to the man.

As you near, his friend glances up. He’s mid-sentence when he spots you, eyes growing slightly at the sight of you. You’re used to getting looks like that. Your fashion is always dressier than the average college student's. People just aren’t used to it.

“Hi,” the brunette friend says. He has prince-like features, and you almost consider asking him to be one of your models. You give him a small grin out of politeness before turning to the whole reason you came over.

“Lee Jihoon?” you ask.

Jihoon’s mouth parts slightly in surprise. “Uh, y-yeah. Do I know you?”

“No. My name’s Yn. I have a project in a class and need someone to provide music for me. You won’t get paid, but any extra experience is always good, right?” you greet, not wanting to dance around the subject. After all, this is only the first of many on your to-do list.

“What major are you in?” he wonders, brows knitted in confusion.

“Fashion design,” you answer.

Jihoon is silent for a moment. “And how did you find me?”

This guy is more difficult than you wished. You just need him to say yes.

“I asked for the best student, and you were recommended. So, what do you say? Will you help me?”

Jihoon gives you a small smile, but something about it rubs you wrong. “Sorry, my plate is a little full right now—”

“Do you need money? I can give you some afterward.”

You try not to sound desperate. Lee Jihoon is not the only music major—this is obvious by the amount of noise you hear in the background.

But you never settle for less than the best.

You have been looking forward to this project since your college tour here.

“It’s not that,” Jihoon chuckles awkwardly. “I have other assignments I have to practice for, but I’m sure there will be someone else to help you. There’s a lot of talented students her—”

“But they’re not the best,” you interrupt. What else can you offer him that will make him say yes?

“Well, being the best is subjective,” Jihoon counters, voice light so you know he doesn’t mean it rudely.

You open your mouth to bargain with him more, but his friend leans into his ear. The noise from the other instruments behind you makes it hard to hear what they are saying.

Patience is something you rarely have. The longer you stand there waiting, the more annoyed you get.

“Look, you have almost a full semester to get a song done by then. I’m sure you can find some tim—”

“Fine,” Jihoon grumbles as he shoves his friend away. “I’ll do it.”

“Oh,” you pause. You are fully prepared to go down the mental list of how helping you will help him in return. One that will be complete bullshit, but if it gets him to say yes, then so be it. Luckily, you don’t have to.

“Great!” you say.

You aren’t going to give him time to back out, so you quickly retrieve a business card you had made from your purse. It’s easier to exchange contact information, and you never know when you may run into someone important. Being in an artistic field means competition. You always need to have an eye out for something, or someone, that will help you get your name out there.

“Here’s my number. Please contact me before the day ends.”

Jihoon takes the card and examines it. “Got it. What kind of music will you need?”

“I’m not sure yet, but I’ll let you know,” you reply. He nods in response.

“I look forward to hearing your music. I’ll talk to you later then,” you say.

You have half a heart to wish them both luck on their assignment, but part of you is a little petty that Jihoon put you through some trouble. Instead, you give them a wave before turning on your heel.

As you’re leaving, you hear a loud sigh followed by a laugh from behind you.

“Shut up, Shua,” Jihoon groans before the professor calls everyone’s attention.

Music, check. Now, what’s next?

As you make your way down the hallway, you stumble across Dae. She is surrounded by two other male students, none of whom you know. You don’t plan to greet her since she seems busy, but the sound of your heels clicking against the tile catches her attention.

“Yn!” she calls out cheerfully.

You halt in your tracks, turning to see her smiling at you. She gestures for you to come over, so you do.

“Hey,” you say to her.

“How’s your project going?” she asks.

“I got someone to help me with music,” you reply, then glance behind her to see the two guys staring at you. Dae follows your gaze and makes a small “oh!”

“Is that all? Do you have anyone for advertising or graphics?” Dae wonders, her voice seemingly excited.

“I don’t,” you answer hesitantly. Her eagerness has you worried.

“Perfect!” she exclaims, then turns to the others. “This is Yejun and Jeonghan. They’re both advertising majors. Yejun agreed to help me with my project, but Jeonghan,” she pauses to address the man. He has blonde hair that goes past his eyes. His soft features are handsome and almost angelic.

“Jeonghan, would you mind helping my friend with hers? She’s super talented.”

Jeonghan glances at you, but before he can say anything, you ask him, “What are your skills? Do you have some work I could see first?”

Jeonghan looks taken aback. “O-oh, I don’t have a portfolio yet, sorry.”

“Ah, that’s fine,” you say before looking at Dae. “Thanks for trying to help me, but I’ll find someone else.”

Dae’s eyes narrow at you. “Come on, Yn. Jeonghan is really good!”

“Didn’t you just meet him?” you question and try to stop the scoff that threatens to escape.

“Well, yes, but Yejun has been my friend for a while, and I’ve seen his work. Yejun and Jeonghan have worked together as well, and their creations are unique!”

You inhale deeply, eyes roaming from your friend to Jeonghan. He offers you a smile.

“What your friend said,” Jeonghan replies with a small chuckle.

“Trust me on this,” Dae says. “Jeonghan won’t disappoint you.”

You don’t feel at ease agreeing to someone blindly. Dae’s definition of “really good” could be different from yours. Although her work is good, you feel your standards are way above hers. You had planned to ask for the best student for each assigned task, so having been offered a random helper with no proof of their credentials is unnerving.

Granted, you haven’t heard Jihoon’s work, but you were sold on the way the professor spoke about him. Dae, on the other hand, is not a professor and could be biased as Yejun is her friend. Though, you still have a lot more positions to fill, and you need to do so soon.

Sighing, “Fine. You can work with me.”

From the way you word your sentence, it’s almost as if Jeonghan is supposed to jump up and down with glee. He doesn’t.

You grab another business card from your purse and hand it to Jeonghan. He takes it slowly.

“Just so you know, I have the right to replace you with someone else if I see your work isn’t fit,” you warn as Jeonghan slips the card into his pocket.

His eyes lock on yours. “That won’t be necessary,” he answers, not bothered by your comment.

“Oh?” you wonder and quirk an eyebrow up.

“Hm. You also need graphics, right? I have a person for that as well,” Jeonghan says.

“I haven’t seen their work yet—”

“You’re not very trusting, huh?” Jeonghan observes with a laugh. You shift your weight on one hip, not liking the way he is trying to tell you about your personality when he doesn't know you.

“I just know what I want, and I won’t settle,” you answer sharply.

Dae huffs next to you and gives you a gentle shove, indicating you to ease up. That isn’t going to happen.

Jeonghan doesn’t reply and instead takes out his phone. His fingers dance around the screen for a minute before he turns the device for you to see. On the screen is an Instagram account with various posts of different art and graphic pieces. Your eyes drift to the username. by_xuminghao_o. His art is impressive and definitely not an amateur like you half expected.

“So, about not settling,” Jeonghan trails off, a hint of a cocky smirk on his lips.

“I expect you both to contact me before the day ends,” is all you respond with.

Jeonghan pockets his phone and nods. He seems content with your answer even though you don’t confess the art meets your standards.

“All good then?” Dae asks, glancing between you two.

“We’re good,” Jeonghan replies and gives you another smile of his—one you are starting to hate seeing. There is just something about it that seems like he knows more things than you in a cocky, condescending way.

Yejun glances at his watch and then nudges Jeonghan.

“Thanks, ladies, but we have a class to attend. Nice to meet you, Yn,” Yejun says.

You hum in response while turning away from them. Dae says her goodbyes, watching as they leave before putting her focus on you.

“Do you have to be so picky?” she sighs.

“As I said, I know what I want. I’ve waited to do this project for years. It has to be perfect,” you explain and pull out your iPad. You check off music and advertising from your to-do list. Graphics aren’t listed, but you figure it will be a nice addition.

“I understand, but—”

“Just focus on your project, and I’ll focus on mine, okay?” you interrupt. You don’t feel like hearing her lecture you for a second time today.

“Alright,” Dae answers. “I’ll see you around,” she says, walking away before you can say anything else.

With her back turned, you roll your eyes at her attitude. It has your mood lowering, and you conclude you’re done with human interaction for now. You carefully place your iPad back in your bag, then make a beeline to the parking lot, ready to go home to figure out a theme for your show.

Home is somewhere you don’t enjoy being.

It always has this melancholy cloud looming over you. You can never seem to get rid of it completely. Even on the good days, it lingers in the corner of the room, always threatening to float above you. You doubt it will ever dissipate.

Your back is against the headboard of your bed, your iPad resting against your legs that are pulled to your chest. The music playing is too low for your liking, but you know if it’s any louder, your father will scold you for the high volume. Sometimes you will raise it just to get him to talk to you. Though today is not one of those days. You want to be left alone for once, which isn't usually too hard to do unless your sister needs attention. Like now.

“Today is the last day. Pleaseeee, Yn!” your sister whines at the foot of your bed. Her small body is bouncing with desperation and eagerness.

Reluctantly, you flicker your gaze up at her. The slight scowl on your face doesn’t seem to faze her… Probably because she’s seen it so much.

“Can’t you see I’m busy?” you exasperate, gesturing to your iPad.

Seoah frowns. “When are you not? Come on! It’ll take, like, ten minutes. I’ve been looking forward to getting a Fallin’ Flower frap for months! You know it’s a seasonal drink.”

“Didn’t Dad say you couldn’t have any more sweets?” you say and peer down at your iPad again. You’re in the middle of brainstorming themes for your show. There are various words within bubbles, each connected with a line.

“I’ll just get a small,” she explains. When you don’t move, she walks around the bed to stand next to you. Her voice becomes softer, sadder. “You said you would take me. Dad can’t.”

“That was before I got assigned this project. It’s my—”

“Senior project that you’ve been looking forward to since your freshman year, yeah, I got it,” she responds, reciting what you’ve told her before.

You finally look at her once more. “I’ll take you for the next seasonal drinks, okay? They’re probably better anyway.”

“But I really want a Fallin’ Flower,” Seoah pouts.

“Next year,” you offer and return your attention to your homework.

“Yn—”

“Next year,” you repeat firmly without looking up.

Seoah pauses in her begging. You think she’s going to continue, but you hear the soft padding of her feet as she moves.

“Oh, Seoah?” you call out, glancing up.

She pauses by your door and looks up with some hope in her eyes.

“Don’t forget to shut the door all the way.”

“Right,” she mutters slowly, then leaves the room. You wait until you hear the door click close prior to getting back to work.

You sit on your bed the remainder of the day, only getting up to cook dinner for your father and sister. Your eyes feel strained and your body weak, but the sooner you pick a theme, the sooner you can get started.

It’s days like these when your body is mentally and physically exhausted, that you miss your mom. You try not to think too much about her as it only makes the gloomy cloud above your head darker.

Is she happier? Surely, she is. She is living her dream as a traveling journalist. Sometimes you will see her adventures if you peep at her social media. It’s self-torture to do so, but curiosity gets the best of you. You hope one day you’ll have the willpower to block all her accounts.

At this point, you’re having the same conversation you have with yourself once a month. It never ends the way you want.

Inhaling deeply, you finish plating all the food before calling your family for dinner. While your father eats in his office, needing to continue his work, you and your sister eat in silence in the dining room.

Maybe one day things will change, but for now, you’ll have to settle with this.

You are about to knock on the door a second time when no one answers it. You have allotted only an hour for this meeting, so the longer you wait outside, the more you grow impatient. You have set mini-deadlines throughout the semester to ensure you will complete this assignment in a timely manner. You just hope your recruitees aren't going to slow you down.

Suddenly, the door is yanked open. Jeonghan stands on the other side, hair a little damp and a few wet spots on his shirt.

“Sorry about that,” he says hastily. “I thought I could shower quicker.”

“I told you eleven o’clock,” you scold. Jeonghan simply smiles.

“Never hurts to give people some wiggle room. Plus, aren’t you the early one?” Jeonghan leans back to view something. He looks at you after a few seconds. “It’s only three minutes past.”

“Early is on time,” you say as if that is an obvious life choice. Although you’re never really on time for classes, you reason that to be because the first fifteen minutes are a waste of time. This, on the other hand, is not. “Invite me in?”

Jeonghan moves aside and lets you enter. His apartment is tidy for the most part. It seems as if he had started to clean up but gave up toward the end.

“Where’s Minghao?” you wonder when you saw you were the only one here. He’s supposed to be here with Jeonghan, so you can all go over the advertising designs.

“He called and said he hit some traffic. Have a seat anywhere; I’m going to grab my laptop,” he instructs before jogging to another room. Shaking your head in disappointment, you glance around again.

Spotting his couch, you walk over and make yourself comfortable. You take out your iPad and open what you have so far—color ideas, font ideas, and a few mock-up fashion designs. It has been two weeks since you last saw Jeonghan. The majority of your tasks have already been assigned to people, but you still have to find a few more models.

“Alright, so, what’s the theme?” Jeonghan asks when he comes back. He sits down next to you, causing you to bounce slightly from his weight.

You angle your screen, so he can see it easier. “I decided on the four elements—water, ice, air, and earth. The title right now is Pinwheel.”

“This gives us multiple color options,” Jeonghan examines. “Maybe we could have five designs. One for each element and then one with all of them? That would give you a variety of exposure and make the audience feel they’re not looking at the same promo material every time.”

You sit still as you ponder his suggestion. “You don’t think people will get confused seeing different designs?”

“We can make it all tie in some way. You have your own logo, as I saw on your card. We can use that and the same fonts.”

“Okay,” you say slowly. “That sounds—”

A knock on the door stops you.

“Ah, that must be Minghao. Do you mind getting that? I’m going to get my notepad, so I can try to sketch some layouts.”

You nod, setting your iPad down next to his laptop, then walking to the entrance.

“You’re late,” you groan while you pull open the door.

“Oh? Am I?” the person says with a little playful smile on his lips.

Although you’ve never met Minghao, you have seen pictures of him on his Instagram. You expected to see a head of blue hair, but you are greeted with black. Instead of a narrow face, his is slightly wider. He wears an oversized white shirt, jeans, and a colorful necklace. He looks like every other college student. Sure, he’s more handsome than the average, but not by much. Behind him are two women and one man.

“Can I help you?” you exhale a disheartened sigh when you conclude it isn’t Minghao. Meaning, he’s even later than you wished for.

The guy chuckles. “I doubt it, but Jeonghan can. Is he here?”

His voice is slightly deep. You may have found him soothing to listen to if it wasn't for his irksome words.

“He’s busy right now. You can come back in an hour, though,” you instruct and start to close the door. You don’t need any distractions.

The man sticks his foot out to stop you, causing you to exhale annoyed when you can’t get rid of him. You open the door slightly again.

“Just tell him I’m here,” he says, his teasing tone not so visible anymore but still light enough to not sound too rude.

“And who are you?” you question apathetically.

“Jesus,” someone hisses behind him before shouting, “Jeonghan, come here!”

Your eyes gaze past the man to see a woman with short-length dark hair. She eyes you haughtily, hand on the man’s forearm as if she were to push him away. Though she never does. She takes in your attire, and you once again get a look of judgment at your choice of dress. Your white dress paired with a same-colored, opened button down and beaded chain around your hips is apparently not her style.

“What’s going on?” Jeonghan asks behind you. Reluctantly, you move aside so he can see. “Oh, Seungcheol! Right. One second. Come on in. I’ll get those papers for you.”

“Actually, do they need to come in? They’re not staying long,” you say quickly before any of them can move.

“Relax, princess, he’s just being friendly. You know, like when someone is kind, thoughtful, and considerate?” the girl questions as if you’re dumb and makes her way inside despite you standing close to the door. It forces you to move over.

Her friends follow along. Three of them stand in the living room, while the second guy sits at the kitchen bar before pulling out his phone. You watch them with a fire inside your chest. Not only are Jeonghan and Minghao late, you now have to deal with this obstacle.

Just as you’re shutting the door, you see a glimpse of blue down the hall. Finally.

“You’re late,” you repeat, but to the correct person this time.

“I know, I’m sorry! Oh, are they helping too?” Minghao says, pausing at the entry when he sees the group of people inside.

“No. Get in,” you huff and point a finger in the apartment. Minghao enters without a fight.

“Hao!” the second girl exclaims with a smile.

Great. Do they all know each other?

“Hi, Hana,” Minghao greets with a gentle grin.

“What are you doing here?” Hana wonders.

“I’m helping Yn with her project,” he answers and gestures to you while you shut the door.

Hana looks your way, and you can see the distaste in her expression; however, she doesn’t say anything.

Jeonghan walks out of his room with a folder in his hand. “I hope this is what you need,” he tells the first man—Seungcheol, you presume.

Seungcheol smiles and takes it from him. He flips open the folder, doing a quick glance through the papers inside.

“Looks great,” he says. “Thanks for getting these for me.”

“Of course,” Jeonghan replies.

“Hannie, do you want to come to Shining Diamond with us this weekend?” the first girl asks, tilting her head in a way that appears as if she’s begging for a yes.

“Ah, this weekend?” he hesitates. “I have a test on Monday I was going to study for.”

“A few hours won’t hurt you,” she replies.

“Alright, Hajun, but only for an hour or so,” Jeonghan says with a not-so-stern voice.

“Great! Minghao, do you want to come, too?” Hajun asks.

Minghao shrugs. “I’ve got nothing else, so sure.”

Hajun grins widely. Her eyes go past Minghao to see you standing in the corner, your arms crossed and eyes staring daggers at everyone.

She doesn’t say anything, but her look tells you you aren’t invited. As if you are silently begging to join. The thought makes you scoff quietly.

“Cool. You all scheduled your weekends,” you start and walk back to the couch. You turn briefly to Seungcheol, who is eyeing you already. “And you got your things. Can we please continue?”

Your gaze shifts to Jeonghan at your question. He offers you an apologetic look before nodding.

“I’ll see you all this weekend. You can text me the time,” he says while walking to the door.

“We can decide that now,” Hana suggests.

“Or over text like Jeonghan said,” you interject. She narrows her eyes at you.

“Be patient. It’ll only take a few minutes,” she replies.

A few minutes, my ass.

“I’d rather you use those minutes to walk out the door.” You give her a faux smile.

“Have some respect,” Hajun scolds.

You laugh though you don’t find any of this humorous. “What a hypocrite. How about you respect people’s times?”

“I did tell Yn I’d help her,” Jeonghan cuts in sheepishly and opens the door to hint at them to leave. “I’ll text you all later, or you guys can come back in a bit.”

Seungcheol’s gaze lingers on yours as he walks toward the door. Your eyes catch on his as he makes his way into your line of sight. His stare has an unsettling feeling form in your stomach, and you contemplate asking what his problem is. Before you can, he turns to Jeonghan.

“Thanks again,” he says as he lifts the folder.

“No problem. Talk to you later,” Jeonghan replies.

All his friends have filed out except for the one male who hasn’t said a word. He glances at you. You expect to receive another jab about who knows what. Instead, he gestures at your body.

“Nice chains,” he compliments with a smile.

Your eyes widen slightly as you glance down briefly at your outfit. That was certainly unexpected. “Uh, thanks.”

“Come on, Vernon!” Hana yells from the doorway. Vernon gives you a thumbs up, which is uncanny given the situation, then follows his friends out the door.

Once they leave, you narrow your gaze at Jeonghan and Minghao. They’re quick to apologize again and start asking questions about your project before you can lecture them. Lucky for them, your hour is almost up, so there isn't enough time to do that anyway.

Weeks go by with you working nonstop on your project. Annoyingly, you also realize that the majority of the people you recruited to help all know each other. It usually isn’t something to be irritated by, but each time they run into each other, they usually end up making small talk that you have to break up. They can do that on their time, not yours. Even more frustrating is that this so-called Seungcheol and his groupies know them all as well. Their reactions to seeing you are always the same—ones of displeasure. Though the feeling is mutual.

You learn they are all business majors, except for Vernon. Well, he was a business major, but he plans to switch to something else. You can’t blame him. If all the business majors act revolting, you would leave that department as well.

Seungcheol… He isn’t as bad.

You have only ever hung out with him by himself for less than five minutes. Those conversations spur when you’re both left alone after one of your “mutual friends,” because none of these people are your actual friends, abandon you both. The conversations are awkward and never hold any weight. He doesn’t throw snide remarks at you, but his presence still makes you uneasy with the possibility. You’re normally the first to leave because of that. Maybe if he didn’t have those obnoxious friends, you could tolerate him more. You can’t help but associate him with them though. You simply want to get away from them, even if that includes him. Not that you are craving his presence anyway. You barely know him and aren’t interested in changing that.

“Those are looking awesome so far!” Dae exclaims when she peers over your shoulder to see your sketches.

You smile at her and set your iPad down on the table. The weather outside is perfect, given the cool breezes in the heat. It eases your mind, and you feel more creative being in a new environment.

“Thanks, how are yours coming along?” you question and wait for her to angle her own iPad to you. On the screen are various designs, each with a hint of purple or blue.

“Those are neat,” you compliment.

“Yeah?” she says and beams at you. “What about this one? I think the shoulder looks a little weird.”

You reach over, using two fingers to zoom in on the screen to examine it.

“Maybe just lower this,” you gesture on the screen, careful as to not move the screen on accident. “You could take this part out too and make it asymmetrical.”

Dae hums, lips pursed in thought. “I’ll try it. I guess I won’t really know until it’s on someone.”

You nod in agreement before focusing on your designs again. After a while, Dae excuses herself from your homework session. She had planned to meet with one of her helpers. You bid her a quick goodbye.

Ten minutes pass when you see someone standing in front of your table, blocking your sunlight. Your eyes rise to see who it is.

“Hi,” Seungcheol greets.

You straighten your posture upon seeing him. He wears a basic navy suit that fits him well. To your surprise, it actually looks decent on him. Your eyes dart around him to see if any of his friends came.

“Just me this time,” he answers the question in your head.

“What is it you need?” you ask blankly.

“Must I need something?” he retorts.

You suppress the eye roll you want to give him. “Well, I’m sure you didn’t come here to tell me about your day.”

“I can if you want,” he responds, then to your utter dread, he sits down across from you. From the position he is sitting at, the breeze is blowing his hair forward and into his face. He raises a hand to push it back, but it’s no use.

“You can spare me. Tell me what you want and go,” you instruct. This is the first time he has approached you—and alone, for that matter. You don’t want to make it a regular thing.

“Always straight to the point,” he chuckles.

“I just don’t like my time being wasted,” you explain.

“So, I’m wasting your time now?” His eyebrow quirks up.

“Should I spell it out for you?” you scoff. It should be obvious that you don’t feel like talking to him.

“You can try, but do you know how to spell it?” he stares at you through the hair on his face. Even though you can’t see him clearly, you can tell he has a challenging gleam in his eyes.

“At this point, I think you just came to bother me,” you sulk.

He smirks at you. “I didn’t, but it is a little fun to see your feathers ruffled.”

“They’re perfectly content being unruffled.”

Seungcheol chuckles at your response. He pushes his hair back, but this time he rests his hand against his head, keeping his hair in place. His elbow is propped on the table while his other arm lays flat on the surface.

All the times you have seen him, his hair has covered part of his forehead. Now, it’s all exposed, and you feel you can see him. Maybe it’s because he’s donning a suit for once, but he looks almost… handsome like this—dressed formally with a small glint in his eyes and his lips spread in a gentle smile.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he replies. “I think you need to have more fun.”

Well, he was handsome until he opened his mouth.

“I don’t need a stranger telling me how to live my life,” you say.

“A stranger? I would think we’re at least acquaintances,” he frowns.

“You only see me because your friends are helping me. Speaking of, is that why you’re here? Does it have anything to do with one of them?”

Seungcheol bites his bottom lip, and you can’t stop your eyes from lowering to his mouth.

“Maybe,” he answers slowly. Your eyes snap back to his when he speaks. He gives you a knowing smile that has you shifting in your seat. You had only looked at his lips because he brought attention to them. Nothing more.

“Are we playing twenty questions?” you groan, finally unleashing the eye roll you have been trying not to do.

“We can,” Seungcheol says with a shrug. “You asked three already—more if you start from the time I sat down.”

Exhaling a deep breath, you put your forehead on the hand that’s propped on the table. The conversation is slowly draining your energy. The need to be alone becomes stronger with each second.

“Seungcheol,” you warn. You are not about to play a guessing game with this man. “Please.”

“Oh, so that word is in your vocabulary.”

“Yes. Would you like me to use it in a sentence?” you question, pitch raised as if you’re talking to a toddler. You lift your head to glare at him.

“Sure,” he smirks and leans forward. He still holds his hair back and this time, you can really see the way he is goading you.

“Please fuck off,” you grin widely. Your head tilts to the side as you push your arms together to act overly cute.

“Please make me,” he counters. The smirk he wears is still plastered on his lips.

“If we weren’t in public, I would,” you say, voice returning to normal as you relax your body—the cute act over.

“Oh? How?” he chuckles. From the way he looks at you, you know his mind has gone elsewhere.

You push at the arm that is stretched across the table. “Because I would rather not get caught for murder, you pervert.”

Seungcheol laughs and sits back, letting his hair fall back into his eyes. It’s the first time you notice he has dimples. Your first impression is that they are cute, but you quickly recall who they belonged to and shove that thought from your mind.

“Seokmin wanted to let you know he lost your card,” he finally discloses. “Asked if you could give him another.”

“If he lost a simple card, is he really reliable?” you sigh as you grab another from your purse.

“The good news is those stage lights are so big, he won’t be able to lose those,” he says, taking the card from your hand.

“Thankfully,” you mutter. “I hope you’re better than Seokmin at not losing things.”

“I’ll get this to him, don’t worry,” he replies and puts the card in his suit jacket. You want to ask why he is wearing that, but that will mean you will prolong this conversation. Fortunately for you, he starts to stand up before you succumb to the temptation.

“Thanks for the talk,” he says as if you had a choice. “I’ll see you around.”

You would have doubted that, but you know that won’t be true.

The second time Seungcheol approaches you by himself is a few days later when he catches you exiting a building he is approaching.

“Don’t tell me someone else lost my card as well,” you say after he calls your name. You readjust your bag on your shoulder as you wait for his response.

“About that,” he starts sheepishly.

You put your weight on one hip and cross your arms, and set your mouth in a straight line. You wait for him to tell you who is the perpetrator.

“I may have left your card in my suit jacket when I washed it.”

Well, that explains why you haven’t received a message from Seokmin yet.

“Seriously, Seungcheol?” you exasperate.

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” he says, lips pouting and eyebrows angled.

Shaking your head, you retrieve another card. You make a mental note to restock later as you are running out.

Seungcheol reaches out to grab it from you, but you quickly pull back.

“Put this in your bag,” you instruct.

You slowly give him the card and watch as he slings his bag around to his front. He makes a show of unzipping one of the front pockets and sliding it inside.

“Done,” he says, acting like he should be rewarded for doing as he was told.

“Good. Is that all?” you wonder. You’ve just finished your last class of the day, and all you want to do is climb into bed.

“Yes.”

Seeing no need to continue the conversation, you start walking in the direction of the parking lot.

“Great. Bye, Seungcheol,” you say over your shoulder.

“Hey, wait,” he says quickly, walking briskly to be by your side. “We’re going in the same direction.”

You peer up at him momentarily. “That doesn’t mean we have to walk together.”

“You said before we’re strangers. This would help us not be that anymore,” he shrugs casually.

“I never said I wanted that,” you reply flatly.

“It might benefit us since we’ll have to see each other a lot.”

“Is that so?” you sigh sadly.

Seungcheol smiles at you before shoving his hands in his pockets. “You did ask my friends to help you.”

“Well, if I knew you were a package deal, I wouldn’t have.”

“Come on. I’m not that bad.”

Sighing, you slow your steps to look at him better. He stops next to you, awaiting your response. His gaze is hopeful, but you’re not sure why.

“I’ll agree if you leave me alone,” you finally say.

Seungcheol’s lips dip in a frown. “I’ll get you to admit it one day.”

He starts to walk again before you can reply. Now is your chance to let him get a few feet from you. You have the opportunity to finally end this conversation you’ve been dreading. Though, for some strange reason, your feet quickly move on their own accord.

Seungcheol’s steps are small, and you catch up with him easily. Neither of you says a word, but you can see a hint of a smile on his lips.

Instead of parting ways once you reach the parking lot, he follows you to your car. Something about it being dangerous for you to walk to it alone, even though it’s light out.

“Yn?” he says to catch your attention when you open your door. You turn and give a small “hm?” in response.

“My friends and I plan to go to this poetry lounge in two weeks. Would you want to come?” he asks. You aren’t sure why he appears to be anxious.

The shock you feel must be evident on your face because Seungcheol’s apprehensive expression relaxes into a gentle smile.

“Business friends or our ��mutual ones’?” The idea doesn't sound so bad if you are hanging out with the people who are helping you. Although you have your issues with them, they aren’t that bad to be around if you’re being honest.

“Business.”

That’s not what you want to hear.

“Do your friends know you’re asking me this?”

Seungcheol shakes his head. “No, but I don’t need their permission. What do you say?”

You can’t recall being invited to a night out with someone other than Dae. If you were to go out without Dae, it would be with your family or for a class assignment. To be invited to a place by Seungcheol, out of all people, catches you off guard.

Despite having an opportunity for a different change of pace, you answer, “No.”

“No?” he asks, perplexed.

“Your friends don’t like me, Seungcheol,” you explain matter-of-factly through a sigh, leaning against your open door.

“They just like to tease you. I’ll talk to them before,” he explains.

Tease is a funny way to describe it, you think.

“I don’t need you fighting my battles,” you answer, referring to the latter part of his reply.

“Still. I want you to enjoy yourself. You’ve probably been glued to that project of yours. Step away for a bit,” he reasons.

He isn’t wrong. Your focus has solely been on the project. Of course, you have other classes, but you aren’t putting as much effort into them as you are this one.

“I’ll pick you up and pay for any expenses,” he offers. The more he talks, the more taken aback you are. You figured he’d drop the offer once you rejected him. From every interaction you’ve had with these “friends,” it never ends well. You doubt this will be any different. Regardless, something in you feels a little… honored he is so adamant about getting you to come.

Thus, hesitantly, “Fine.”

Seungcheol’s face breaks out in a grin. “Okay. I can give you my number, so you can text me your address.”

He starts to pull out his phone, but you stop him.

“No need,” you say. At Seungcheol’s confused expression, you continued with a faint smile, “You have my card.”

His mouth opens briefly in realization before the corners are pulled up.

“One step ahead, I see,” he teases, pulling it out to inspect it as if confirming your number is there. You suppose he may think you’re lying to get out of going.

“I’ll text you then,” he concludes and places the card back.

“Alright,” you say, shifting your weight. You aren’t sure if he wants to say anything else. Why are you giving him the time to? You have already given him enough of it.

Sensing your readiness to leave, he waves as he slowly takes steps backward. “Drive safely, Yn.”

“You too, Seungcheol.”

You climb into your car’s seat, turn on the engine, and watch as he makes his way through the maze of cars until he is out of sight.

That Friday comes sooner than you would’ve liked.

Throughout the times you had met with your “friends,” you had bumped into Seungcheol one-third of the time. Sometimes, you were left alone with him again. Each interaction you had with him became easier the more you talked to him.

Dare you to admit; his presence wasn’t actually teeth-gritting anymore? At least when he was alone, you didn’t have to deal with his business friends. Despite him not usually laughing at their jokes, he never really stepped in to stop them teasing you at first. Maybe only a few times when he felt things got too heated. He wasn’t your best friend, but part of you did hope he would’ve said something.

Each time he didn’t, you felt your disappointment rise. He apologized on their behalf constantly, but his apology meant nothing when they kept insulting you. However, lately, he has been stepping in sooner. Although you didn’t want him fighting your battles initially, some things you couldn’t do alone. One thing you and his business friends had in common was that no one really knew where the sudden change of attitude came from. For once, you didn’t complain, though.

You’re tempted to cancel this outing, but talking to Seungcheol a few days ago made you realize he was a little more excited than he was letting on. The reason is unknown to you—maybe he really likes poetry lounges—but you’d feel slightly guilty if you ditch last minute.

It’s not like you haven’t been out on a Friday night with people, yet your heart is beating rapidly in your chest. You have changed about six times, exchanging your accessories with each outfit. Normally, you would dress up more, but these aren’t your friends you’re about to hang out with. They are Seungcheol’s—business majors who think skirts more than two inches above the knees mean you’re a slut. Though, you can’t figure out why that matters. You never dress with the thoughts of others. If you want to wear something that day, even if it’s “over-the-top” for some, you wear it. So, why are you in such a fashion dilemma now?

In the end, you settle for a simple, spaghetti-strapped red dress that is slightly bunched on the sides with strings that are tied in bows. You pair it with a small, heart-shaped purse and white heels. There isn’t any bling in your outfit, which is unusual for you. The accessories you wear are minimal and small. They are a matching cherry set you were gifted by your mother on your 12th birthday. Although it’s been years since you received them, they’re still wearable and delicate enough not to call much attention—unlike some of your other accessories.

You reach for a white fur jacket only to stop when your fingers graze it. Your eyes travel to yourself in the mirror as you debate on wearing it. The jacket will be too much, you conclude.

The buzzing of your phone catches your attention. It’s Seungcheol telling you he’s five minutes away. After stuffing your phone in your purse, you quickly apply red lipstick and toss it in your purse for later touch-ups.

When your phone buzzes again, you hurry to your front door. Your family is home, and you don’t want Seungcheol to meet them. Life at home isn’t ideal, and the only person who has a hint of what is going on is Dae. You doubt Seungcheol will find that out from one quick meeting, but you don’t want to risk it.

You throw your door open, ready to meet him at his car. Instead, he stands in front of you with a hand raised. He takes a step back in surprise. His eyes glide down your body quickly, but you’re too concerned about your family coming to notice.

“Oh, hey,” he greets. “I was just about to knock.”

Before any of your family can intervene, you close the door and start your way down the porch steps. Seungcheol follows you.

“You didn’t have to. I can make my way to your car by myself,” you answer. Although you’ve never been in his car before, you’ve seen it around. Plus, it’s the only unknown vehicle near your home.

You stand next to the passenger door and wait for him to unlock it, arms wrapped around your body when the chilly weather hits you.

“You sure you don’t want a jacket?” he asks when he notices you didn’t bring one.

“It didn’t go with my outfit,” you explain. It’s a lie. The coat did go with your fit, but you didn’t feel like disclosing the fashion crisis you had gone through.

Seungcheol chuckles. “So, you’re going to freeze instead?”

“It’s not that cold,” you lie again.

“It’ll get colder later, though,” he explains and comes closer to you. You step aside when he is a few inches from you. You press your arms tighter around you, eyes averting from his because of his close proximity. The small distance has you wanting to squirm away, but your feet can’t move. He peers at you with a small smile while he reaches behind you.

“My lady,” he murmurs when he pulls the door open and gestures for you to get inside.

“How chivalrous,” you reply after you force your nervousness away. You carefully slide inside his car, situating yourself comfortably in the seat.

Seungcheol waits to ensure you have all your limbs inside before shutting the door. As he walks around to the other side, your eyes scan his car. The seats are leather, and the interior has higher tech than you thought it would. It is a nice car—not overly luxurious, but enough to show it isn’t cheap. It makes you wonder how much it costs.

“You warm enough?” Seungcheol questions after he gets in and buckles.

“Yeah,” you reply quietly, hands resting awkwardly in your lap. The heat from the vents aids in your goosebumps disappearing.

Your mind is already wondering what to expect tonight. You know his friends aren’t fond of you. At least most of them. That guy, Vernon, seems nice enough. He is the quiet one in the group; however, you did notice he has his own quirks that make him unique. You foresee yourself hanging out with him most tonight. But even then, you don’t feel too great about going.

The longer you sit in Seungcheol’s car, the more you regret agreeing to this.

He stares at you for a moment; brows knitted together slightly. You feel uncanny acting so meek, and Seungcheol can't help but notice.

Silence consumes the small area for a few seconds until Seungcheol says, “Seatbelt.”

You look at him confused, then realize he is talking to you. Of course he is, who else?

“Right,” you mumble, quickly pulling the belt over your body.

“You don’t have to come, you know?” he says with one hand on the steering wheel while the other is on the gear stick.

You sigh and gesture to the road ahead. “Let’s just get going. I’ve got stuff to do after.”

It isn’t completely a lie. You still have to work on bringing your designs to life for the show, but it isn’t like you are behind schedule that you need to do that tonight. You just know you might actually back out if you ponder on leaving more.

Seungcheol bites his bottom lip, averting his focus to the road. He doesn’t reply and obliges to your request by shifting the car into drive.

During the ride, your gaze drifts to Seungcheol. He is relaxed in his seat. One arm stretches to hold the wheel while his other rests on his thigh. One which is clad in a pair of light-washed jeans with a black belt between the jean loops. He wears a white shirt tucked in and a black jacket.

You peer forward slightly to read what his shirt says. Propriety of Balenciaga? The Balenciaga? You don’t think he’s wealthy enough to afford one of those shirts. Perhaps it was a gift or a knock-off brand? Maybe he thrifted it… Though, Seungcheol doesn’t seem like the thrifting type.

“Do you need this?” he asks, breaking you out of your thoughts. He’s holding his jacket open to show you what he means. You must’ve been staring too much.

“No, I’m okay,” you say and turn your attention away quickly. “I just didn’t realize you wore glasses.”

Although the comment is true, you need something to say before he questions why you truly are staring at him. You had noticed the spectacles earlier but didn’t feel like mentioning them.

Seungcheol laughs lightly, “Actually, I don’t. I just thought I’d try to improve my fashion. What do you say, did it work?”

He glances at you after stopping at a traffic light; his mouth quirks up in a teasing smile. You turn toward him and scan his face quickly. They do look good on him, but you aren’t going to tell him that.

“They certainly did something, but whether that effect is good or bad is a secret,” you reply, looking away again.

“I’ll take that as you not wanting to admit they look nice on me,” Seungcheol says and continues driving at the green light.

“I think they’d look better on someone else,” you answer. Though, you don’t believe what you said. Something about the glasses on him has you wanting to stare at him more. They fit his face well and make him appear more attractive. You don’t want to sit on that thought for much longer.

“Is that so? Here,” he says, pulling them off his face. The glasses come into your view, and you stare at him, puzzled.

When you don’t take them, he adds, “They won’t bite.”

You roll your eyes at his comment and finally grab them from his grasp. You pull down his sun visor to look at yourself. After sliding on the spectacles, you turn your head from side to side to see the different angles.

“I think I was right. They do look better on someone else,” you tease and face him as you shut the visor. Seungcheol turns to you at your reply.

His eyes wander across your face, a hint of a smile appearing on his lips.

“Maybe I’ll have to agree with you this one time,” he says. His stare lingers on yours so much that it has you shifting in your seat. When you avert your gaze, your eyes widen.

“Cheol!” you shout as he was about to rear-end another car. Instinctively, he shoots an arm out across your chest that has your back pressing firmly against the seat. The sudden act causes you to reach up and grab onto his arm tightly.

The car screeches as it comes to a sudden halt. Luckily in time to not hit the other car.

You both sit still, breathing intensified at the near accident. After a few seconds, Seungcheol retracts his arm. It’s then you realize you’re still holding onto him. Your eyes dart to his forearm and frown when you see small crescent shapes indented in his skin.

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly.

Seungcheol’s focus is ahead of him but glances at you in confusion at your apology. “What?”

You quickly gesture to his forearm. When he sees the marks, he rubs a hand over them absentmindedly. “It’s fine. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?” you reply, heart rate slowing down to normal.

“I’m alright. Sorry. I guess I shouldn’t make you play dress up in the car.”

“No, it was my fault.”

Seungcheol eases on the gas pedal when the light turns green, keeping a safe distance from the car in front. He remains quiet for a while to ensure you are both safe.

“Are you sure you’re okay? First, you apologize, and now something is your fault?” he jokes.

You don’t remember what you said a few minutes ago, so it takes a while for you to comprehend what he is saying. “Shut up,” is all you can respond with in the end.

Seungcheol laughs but doesn’t pester you about it any longer.

“Oh, you can take these back,” you say and tug off the reason for almost hitting another car.

“Thanks,” he mumbles as he slides the glasses back on his face.

You nestle yourself back in the seat again and glance out the window. As the buildings pass, it dawns on you that you’ve never called him Cheol. The thought of using a nickname for him has your body tingle with an unknown feeling. It’s strange. You aren’t the first to call him that, but you aren’t that close to him to start using nicknames. Annoyingly, you spend the remainder of the car ride fretting about how he felt toward you shortening his name.

Did he even notice? If he did, did he like it? Had you crossed a line?

When he parks, you become acutely aware of everyone’s attire. Many wear jeans or tights with a plain shirt and jacket. A few have on skirts or dresses, but they are more t-shirt dresses or plain skater skirts, if anything. Plus, they are accompanied by tights because of the weather. No one has as much skin showing as you do.

The sinking feeling of not belonging consumes you. You can’t remember the last time you felt this way, and that alone has you questioning yourself even more.

“I’m too dressed for this, aren’t I?” you think out loud.

Seungcheol turns off the car, eyes raking your body again. Though this time, you’re aware of it. You tug down the bottom of your dress at his stare. It’s not like it’s predatory, but it still has your nerves skyrocketing.

“Since when did you care about what others thought of your outfit?” he wonders. The question has you sighing, momentarily closing your eyes as you remind yourself you dress for you, not for others’ approval.

“Right,” you swallow harshly and sling your purse over your shoulder—mentally throwing away the negative thoughts too. “Let’s just go.”

With that, you open his car door and step out.

“Yn wait—” you hear Seungcheol call out right as you shut the door.

Your hair is immediately pushed from your face as the wind blows past. It makes your body shiver, and for a split second, you wish you took up Seungcheol’s offer to grab a jacket when you were at your house.

Seungcheol’s car beeps as it locks before he stands in front of you. His broad body blocks the wind, and you feel your own ease from feeling a tad warmer.

“I’m sorry if that came off rude,” he apologizes softly. “I think you look great.”

You look at him, face void of emotion. You don’t believe him, but you don’t want to argue. At least not standing in this weather.

“Okay,” you reply. “We need to go meet your friends.”

You take a step forward, thinking it will get him to start walking toward the building, but he doesn’t budge. You only decrease the distance between you two.

“I mean it,” he whispers.

Goosebumps are forming on your exposed skin the longer you stay out. You blame the cold weather for them, but something in your chest tightens at the way Seungcheol is speaking to you.

“I think red is your color,” he pauses. “You should wear it more, Cherry.”

Your head tilts at his last word. “Cherry?”

The corner of his mouth raises at hearing it from your lips. Slowly, he brings a hand to your face. You stand still as you stare at him with wide eyes. His hand brushes past your cheek before he grazes his fingertips along your ear.

“It suits you,” he murmurs, eyes moving away from yours.

You follow his gaze and realize he has been looking at your cherry-charmed earrings. His eyes then flicker to the matching cherry-charmed necklace resting below your bare collarbones. You’re not sure if he means the color suits you or if the nickname he just made suits you. Either way, you’re surprised at his words.

Suddenly, the weather doesn't feel as chilly anymore. Your body heats quickly at his comment, or maybe it’s from how close he is to you. Nevertheless, you need to distract yourself from this warm, odd feeling bubbling in your chest.

You clear your throat and step back. His hand lowers steadily.

“I’ll think about it,” you reply more confidently and clearly.

Seungcheol takes the hint and moves aside, hands stuffed in his jeans pockets. He nods his head in the direction of the building, and you start walking toward it. Your pace is slightly faster than his, but you don’t mind not walking next to him. If anything, you need distance from him anyway.

The moment you open the door to the lounge, the heat from inside greets you in full force. You step inside and are welcomed by a worker. He is young, maybe a few years younger than you. He gives you a friendly smile.

“Hi, are you wanting to be seated, or are you with a group already?”

“With a group,” you reply. The worker nods.

“Do you need help locating them?”

You shake your head as the jingle of the door opening sounds behind you. Seungcheol stops behind you. His hand comes to hover over your lower back, not really touching you, but close enough to feel the heat radiate from his hand onto your skin. It has you shuffling away.

“They’re over there,” he says. You peer up to see where he is gesturing. Fair enough, you see his friends at a table toward the back of the building. There are five of them, all smiling at each other. You can spot a few familiar faces—one of them being Vernon. You feel a little at ease knowing he made it here.

“Thanks,” you murmur to the worker before making your way to the table. The closer you get to the table, the slower your steps become. You’re used to keeping your chin high in situations you aren’t completely comfortable in. The whole “fake it until you make it” is on repeat in your head.

Yet the saying is not encouraging you much right now.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” Seungcheol asks when he catches up to you. You don’t realize you had stopped a few feet from the table.

“No,” you say. You aren’t mad at him; you just need some space from him for now. You don’t like how you aren’t in control of your emotions when you’re around him. “I’m going to freshen up in the bathroom.”

Seungcheol eyes you for a second before nodding. You make your way to the bathroom, but right before you enter, you can hear the welcoming echoes coming from his table of friends. All of them sound cheerful and excited to see him. You don’t expect any of them to look forward to your presence, yet you feel a little disappointed when no one brings up your name—in a positive way.

After using the restroom and washing your hands, you stand in front of the mirror with your hands lingering under the warm water. Your eyes roam your face and body, taking in your appearance. Compared to your normal fashion, you really did dress down. You sigh when you realize you’re circling back to the same issue.

You retract your hands from the faucet and grab a few towels to dry them.

It doesn’t matter if you’re overly dressed. You usually are and don’t care. You look great. You should feel confident in your fit.

You gently tug the dress down before turning in front of the mirror.

You look fine. You look nice.

As you reapply your lipstick, you keep repeating compliments and reassuring phrases in your head.

They’re going to look at you funny. You are going to ignore them.

“That’s right,” you sigh to yourself as you toss the lipstick back into your purse.

Suddenly, your phone starts to vibrate. You pull it out to see Dae’s name appear across the top. You eagerly answer her call.

“Hey babe,” Dae’s voice comes from the other line. “How’s it going?”

“I’m ready to go home,” you say with a small huff.

“Damn, that horrible? Is he treating you badly?” Dae questions. You had told her about Seungcheol’s invitation when you got home that day. She was shocked, but ultimately supportive of you going.

You shake your head despite her not being able to see you. “No, he’s been fine. I just,” you pause. Although you have your ups and downs with Dae, she has stayed with you when no one else has. You don’t disclose your troubles often, wanting people to not see that side of you, but you’re feeling too low that you can’t stop the confession from coming out.

“I’m way overdressed for this place. Everyone’s in jeans or tights. I don’t belong here,” you say.

Dae sighs sadly. “Jeans are boring. I think I only own a pair,” she answers, trying to make you smile. “Just remember, if you were to die right now, would you want your last outfit to be something boring?”

“No,” you answer slowly.

“Exactly. These are people who are used to looking plain. They’re probably jealous you’re outdressing them. Don’t let them get to you, Yn. I’m sure you look beautiful.”

Your shoulders ease at her words. “Thanks, Dae.”

“No need. If they had the talent to dress themselves better, they would.”

You let her words sink in, but the reassurance doesn’t last long.

“I shouldn’t have come,” you say, beginning to pace the small area in the bathroom.

“It’s good for you to be around people from outside our department. It’ll make you more open-minded,” she encourages. “Plus, Seungcheol isn’t as bad as he seemed, huh?”

There is a teasing tone to her voice that you don’t like.

“One outing with him doesn’t mean he’s my friend,” you argue.

Dae giggles. “No, but it’s a start. Do you like him?”

“No!” you answer quickly.

“I was just asking in general. Not ‘like’ as in crushing on him,” she explains nonchalantly, but you can hear her smile.

“He’s,” you pause as you try to think of a word to describe him, “he’s been alright.”

“Well, I better let you get back to him then. I just wanted to check in,” Dae answers.

“Thanks. I appreciate it,” you say.

“Remember, you don’t need their approval. You never have, and you never will. People want the confidence you have.”

“I’m not feeling too confident right now,” you mumble.

“That’s because you’re overthinking. Chin up, okay?”

Sighing, you reply. “Okay.”

“Good. Talk to you later!”

“Yeah,” you say before hanging up.

Taking one last look at yourself, you roll your shoulders back and exit the bathroom.

Seungcheol is sitting in the middle of Hajun and someone you don’t know. His eyes lift to meet yours when he hears the sound of your heels.

“Hey, you okay?” he asks.

Nodding, your eyes roam for a spot to sit.

“You knew you were just going to a poetry lounge, right? Not the runway,” Hajun comments with a small scoff.

Your eyes move to look at her, and you quirk an eyebrow. She wears leggings with a graphic tee. Her discarded jacket is slung over the back of her chair. “Are you sure you know that, as well? Or did you think you were just going back to your bed?”

“This is how normal people dress,” she replies.

“Relax, Hajun,” a voice you don’t know sounds. You direct your attention to them.

The guy has black hair that is parted on the side to expose his forehead. His eyes are narrow, and even though he has a soft appearance now, you’re sure his gaze can be fierce when needed.

“People don’t need to dress up for special occasions,” he says.

You’re taken aback by his comment. Seungcheol’s friends have always questioned your wardrobe, so for this new “friend” to not agree with Hajun is surprising.

“No, they don’t, but you gotta’ admit she’s a little overdone huh, Soonyoung?” Hajun replies.

“Hajun,” Seungcheol interjects, giving her a pointed look.

“I understand not everyone knows how to dress. It’s okay, though. I can offer my services if you need some help,” you comment, half tempted to reach in your bag to get a business card. Although you aren’t on campus, you never know when you’ll run into someone who will make a good connection, so you keep them with you wherever you go.

“Services?” Hajun laughs and rests her crossed arms on the table. “And what ‘services’ are you offering? Because from the looks of it, I can tell exactly what you offer. Sorry, I’m not interested.”

Her eyes roam your body once more, indicating that the way you are dressed, means your services consist of paying to be with people in bed.

“I don’t think those services would help you anyway. Your rotting attitude is enough to repel anyone. Though I guess some people are willing to lower their standards when they’re desperate,” you counter.

“You’re such a—” she starts.

“Can we talk?” Seungcheol asks Hajun quickly, but he doesn’t give her the option to answer because he takes her hand and pulls her away from the group.

The table is silent for a few seconds before Soonyoung speaks up again.

“Don’t pay any mind to her. It’s nice to meet you. You must be Yn?” He smiles at you, slightly bowing at you.

“Correct,” you say, trying to not show how irritated you feel.

“Come sit,” he offers, pulling up a chair so you’re sat between him and Vernon. You thank him before sitting in the chair. You sit your purse in your lap as conversations begin to spark again.

Their voices become background noise as your gaze drifts to Seungcheol and Hajun in the corner. They stand close to each other and are in a deep conversation—clearly about you. Seungcheol has his back to you, so you can’t see his expression, but you can see Hajun’s. Her lips are in a frown, her expression not as sassy as before.

Though her pouting seems forced, her bottom lip a little too far stuck out. Soon enough, she rolls her eyes, an expression similar to how it was earlier. Her eyes then move from him to you over his shoulder. When she catches your gaze, she smiles and raises a challenging eyebrow. However, her gaze doesn’t last long because Seungcheol’s hand comes up and guides her eyes back to him. Even though his hand isn’t touching her completely, she leans into his touch. The act has you stilling.

“Yn?” Vernon questions, tearing you from your thoughts. You don’t realize you’re clutching your purse until your focus goes to Vernon. You ease your grip and raise an eyebrow.

“Soonyoung was asking what your major was,” Vernon explains.

“Oh,” you say, glancing around the table. It appears the others are in their own conversation.

You look at the man to your left. He gives you a reassuring smile that tells you he is patient. “I’m studying fashion design. Are you in business, too?”

Soonyoung shakes his head with a laugh. “I could never. I’m a dance major.”

“Wow, that sounds nice,” you say. “Aren’t your career choices limited with that, though?”

“A little,” Soonyoung replies honestly. He doesn’t seem offended by the question. Maybe he gets it a lot. “But it makes me happy. I can always teach or maybe even become a dancer in a well-known group.”

You hum, understanding his words.

“Isn’t fashion design limited, too?” Vernon asks.

“Clothes are everywhere. I can do a lot with it.”

“But not everyone will wear your clothes,” Hana says, having finally heard your discussion.

“There will always be someone,” you argue, confident in your work. It may be a slow start, but you believe in your designs.

She laughs. “Who? Your mother?”

Your eyes narrow at the mention of your mom, and Hana is quick to notice the change in attitude. Instead of letting go of the topic, she continues.

“Ooh, trouble at home? See? I knew the ‘Great Yn’ isn’t as perfect as she seems,” Hana says. What makes her think you are so “great” is unknown to you, but you aren’t surprised to guess people have made up a persona for you.

“Stop, Hana,” Vernon says, but it has no effect.

“Oh, so we were right?” Hajun’s voice comes from above. You glance up to see she and Seungcheol have returned. It appears their little chat did nothing to keep Hajun from being a bitch.

“Seems so,” Hana says with a smile. “Care to share with the class what kind of mommy issues you have?”

“No wonder she dresses like that,” Doyun, another one of Seungcheol’s alleged friends, adds. “She’s not getting attention at home. I guess Daddy isn’t there either?”

“That’s enough,” Seungcheol scolds them all.

Your eyes are darting from everyone at the table. Their stares are akin to shrink rays, making you feel tiny and minuscule. You know when you aren’t welcomed, and there’s no reason to stay listening to this. You want to snap back, end the conversation with your own last words, but nothing comes to mind.

In lieu, you push your chair back and stand up. Your hands twitch with the temptation to dump their food all over them, but you just want to get out as soon as possible.

You waste no time careening for the exit.

Seungcheol calls your name; you ignore it. The worker from before sees you, telling you goodbye, but you couldn't care less and push past the door before he can finish his sentence.

Your breath gets caught in your throat at the sudden breeze that slams into you. Instantly, your arms wrap around you once more. You glance around and see a bus stop down the street. You don’t care that it’s the other way from Seungcheol’s car. You hurry to the station, not sure when the next bus will come.

The bus stop isn’t deserted despite the cold weather. The area must be busy all the time since the sidewalks are littered with more people than you expect. All the seats at the stop are taken, yet you still shuffle under the shelter in hopes to get away from some of the breeze.

You are shaking, and your teeth are chattering. It’s impossible to force your body to stop since you need to generate heat somehow. You probably look like a pathetic naked chihuahua in winter.

You take out your phone, open up a browser, and search for bus times. Thankfully, there’s one coming in three minutes in the direction you need. The thought of taking the bus is not pleasurable. You hate the idea of your skin touching something so many others have touched. It feels unsanitary.

Accidentally leaning back against the wall while you silently groan has you jumping at the cold material touching your bare skin. Your jolt catches the attention of an older woman who is sitting near you.

“Aren’t you freezing, child?” she asks as she stares at your attire—or lack of.

“I’ll be fine soon,” you say, not really in the mood for talking.

“Where is your coat? Did you not know the weather was going to be cold?” she continues.

Utterly done with all the people-talk tonight, you hiss, “Focus on yourself. I’ll focus on me.”

She seems startled at your outburst. Her already crossed arms tighten as she turns away from you. Her muttered “bitch” doesn’t go unnoticed, but you don’t say anything about it. There’s no point in arguing with a stranger.

The sound of the bus calls your attention, and you mentally thank the universe for the great timing. After people leave and all the new patrons enter, you finally take a step up the bus’ steps. Before you can climb all the way, you hear your name being called. You look past the bus doors to see Seungcheol running toward you.

Just what you need.

You disregard him and step farther up the steps of the bus.

The bus driver looks expectantly at you, and it dawns on you that you need to provide payment before you can board fully.

“Card?” you wonder. The bus driver nods and gestures to a device to the right.

As you unzip your purse, you feel a hand grip your arm.

“Where are you going?” Seungcheol asks, slightly breathless. His hair is disheveled from running, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“Home, idiot,” you huff and pull your arm out of his grasp so you can retrieve your card.

“Just come with me. We can talk somewhere else,” he pleads, a hand stopping your movements again.

“I’m not going anywhere with you, Seungcheol,” you hiss. “Now, let go of me.”

He hesitates but slowly releases your arm. He doesn’t leave, though. “I’ll take you home. You don’t need to take the bus. Come on.”

“Go with him or get on! We have places to be,” a passenger exclaims, clearly annoyed with your drama.

You raise your head to the person, narrowing your eyes in a glare that tells them to pipe down. It has no effect on them. They shoot a fierce look back.

“I know you don’t want to take the bus,” Seungcheol comments quietly.

He’s right. Not only do you not want to sit next to a lady whose arms are filled with shopping bags—the only available seat—you really don’t want to add time to your trip home.

Seungcheol reaches out again and carefully takes your hand in his. This time, you don’t fight him as he guides you off the bus. Once you’re both off, the bus doors shut and begin its trip down the road.

You watch it silently, not knowing Seungcheol is discarding his jacket until you feel the warm material cover your shoulders. Your eyes snap back to him as if remembering who you’re with.

“I’m sorry they said all that stuff. I told them not to do that tonight,” he says remorsefully.

“Oh, so you’ll let them talk shit about me another day?” you chide and start walking away from him. Thankfully for Seungcheol, it’s in the direction of his car.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” he replies as he hurries to catch up, which doesn’t take much effort as you aren’t walking too fast due to your cold, stiff legs.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll do that whenever they want to. They wouldn’t be the first,” you scoff.

“It doesn’t make it right regardless,” he says. You halt in your steps, causing Seungcheol to stop and turn to look at you.

“I talk shit about people behind their backs, too. Does that make me a bad person?” you question. Perhaps if he sees you as one he’ll leave you alone.

He exhales a deep breath. “Let’s just get in the car, okay?”

“You can admit it,” you challenge and walk closer to him. “Does talking shit about someone make me a bad person, Seungcheol?”

He stares down at you, soft gaze turning dark with annoyance.

“To the car, Yn,” he demands slowly just in case you won’t understand; his tone is sharp in a way you haven’t heard before. You don’t let that scare you away. Maybe if you weren’t so fired up, you would have been a little intimidated.

You laugh darkly and roll your eyes at his command. “You want me to sit next? Bark, too?”

“Now, you’re just being dramatic.”

Dramatic, he says.

“Woof?” you reply, dramatically giving him the best puppy-dog eyes you can muster.

Seungcheol’s jaw clenches at your response—not pleased with your sarcasm. However, instead of replying in an annoyed tone, he takes a step forward. His head draws closer to your face to ensure your eyes are glued to his.

“Wanna be a good girl and go to the car, Cherry?” he murmurs lowly, an eyebrow quirking up for a second.

His sudden change in tone has you stiffening. You want to bite back—figuratively or literately… you aren’t sure yet—but you can’t even remember what you are mad about in the first place.

“Hm?” he croons when you don't reply quickly.

Rather than a sarcastic reply, you simply grumble, “whatever,” before pushing past him to get to his car.

You stand next to the passenger side like before, waiting for him to unlock it. Seungcheol comes beside you and swiftly unlocks the vehicle. Although you aren’t arguing at the moment, you can sense some irritation lingering from him.

You get the feeling he'll always hold the door open no matter how annoyed he is with you.

You feel suffocated.

The air in the car is too hot. The weight of his jacket has you overheating. The tension is unbearable.

Seungcheol keeps his eyes on the road, not throwing you a single glance as he drives. Every once in a while he will tighten his hold on the steering wheel. One time you even catch the way his muscles flex at the motion—now exposed from not wearing his jacket. You never realized how fit he is. This isn’t the first time you have seen him sleeveless, but you just never stared long enough to notice. Or if you did, you simply didn’t care. Regardless, you notice now, and you have to force your eyes away before he catches you staring.

You want to ask for music so you don’t have to sit in this insufferable silence, but your mouth feels dry. You decide to just deal with the quietness, shifting in the seat so you’re facing the window more. Your eyes drift close as you let the hum of the car distract you.

Seungcheol’s jacket is snuggled around you, and his woodsy cologne fills your senses. It’s pleasant, and you don’t mind if you smell more of it in the future.

By the time you arrive home, you are on the verge of sleep. You stumble out of the car and shut the door without saying a word to Seungcheol. You expect him to drive off, but the sound of his tires moving never comes. Instead, you hear his car door opening and closing.

“You don’t have to walk me to the door,” you say while you glance behind you. Seungcheol is following you languidly.

“No, I don’t,” he says and pauses at the bottom of your porch steps. He places a foot on the first step while a hand holds onto the rail. You have your keys out, ready to slide them into the keyhole when you speak.

“Then don’t,” you reply sternly.

He chuckles lowly but doesn’t say anything about it.

“You can go now,” you say when he doesn't move.

“You have something of mine.”

Puzzled, you stare at him for a second. Seungcheol gestures to your body, and you quickly remember you’re wearing his jacket. You tug it off and toss it to him. He grabs it from the air with ease. The loss of heat makes you wish he didn’t say anything.

“Goodnight, Cherry,” he murmurs as soon as you click open your door. You step inside before turning to face him.

The nickname you used earlier forms on your tongue, yet you can’t find the courage to say it consciously.

“Night,” you answer, then shut the door before either of you can say anything else.

With your head bowed, you turn the lock slowly while you exhale deeply. His nickname falls from your lips under your breath—unable to keep the desire at bay.

previous chapter \\ series masterpost // next chapter

A/N: Can't believe the first chapter is actually published 😭 I sat and stared at this for a few before hitting "post" because I'm so anxious! dfl;kbjdvs. Please feel free to share your thoughts on it so far!

For my “shy/silent” readers, I’ve created a feedback form where you can share your thoughts on my fics in a more anonymous and private way. ^-^

taglist: @iammisstora, @christinewithluv, @lithelust, @musingsofananxiouspotato, @yoozuku, @lockburn-castle, @mystikhal-blog, @oncloudvii23 (couldn't tag :c), @cheolcherries (tysm!!!)

©️hongcherry // DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY Please consider reblogging if you liked this work to show your support. Feedback/commentary is always welcomed.

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forest-hashira · 9 months ago

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Noble Blood - Chapter Six

hello everyone! i think this is officially the longest it's been between updates of this fic, but this chapter made me want to put my head through a brick wall until about three days ago, so. you know. i had to step back from it several times so i didn't completely lose my mind. that being said, @mitsuristoleme (kay) definitely saved the fic from dying right here and never moving forward so give him a big hug and a kiss she deserves it & i love them sm. after this chapter and the next more plot things will happen! hopefully...... anyways, please enjoy this chapter!

fic masterlist here | read on ao3 here | wc: ~3.8k | cw: gn reader, sort of discussion of injuries (reader has a concussion), satoru being a drama queen, bonding time with the boys

“When are they gonna wake up?”

“Soon, hopefully, but it looked like they hit their head pretty hard. No, don’t shake them—“

Noise filtered through your hazy mind as you came to, though it was difficult to tell who or what it was. The voices grating against your skull, making your head throb sounded vaguely familiar, but you couldn't pinpoint why.

“Hey, wake up!”

Satoru, you realized, the confusion from earlier dissipating as you registered your friend's worried tone.

“You’re starting to freak me out, wake up already,” he whined insistently, followed quickly by a hand on your shoulder, shaking you a bit.

The groan that escaped you was totally involuntary, and the hand on your shoulder tightened its grip slightly.

“I told you not to shake them—“

“But it worked! I think?”

There was a few moments of silence then, and you realized, rather belatedly, that your friend and whoever he was bickering with were likely staring at you. With no small amount of effort, you forced your eyes open, though you immediately closed them with another groan, the lights in the room too much for you to handle.

“What’s wrong?” the less familiar voice asked, and your brain was too jostled to figure out where you’d heard it before.

“Please don’t fall asleep again.”

“Satoru-san,” the other voice chastised.

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you to stop using honorifics with me, Suguru. We’re the same age!”

Suguru. Now you remembered; you had snuck into the Gojo estate to meet the newest arrival in the settlement, and had fallen off the wall in the process.

“Too loud…” you protested, cutting off any further argument between the two boys.

“Sorry,” they apologized in unison, and you couldn’t fully appreciate the fact that Satoru had just apologized to you because of how much your head still swam.

“Where are we?” you asked; you hadn’t caught a glimpse of anything familiar in the brief second your eyes had been open.

“The infirmary,” Satoru answered. “Suguru carried you here after you hit your head.”

“Thank you.” You tilted your head slightly in the direction you thought the other boy’s voice had come from.

“You’re welcome,” he said quietly. “How do you feel?”

“Eyes hurt,” you huffed. “My whole head hurts, really.”

“The healer said she’d be back soon with something for the pain,” Suguru told you, and you appreciated that, despite the fact that he had only just met you by watching you topple off a wall, he was trying to make you feel better.

You gave a soft hum in response, not knowing what else to say.

Almost at the same time, you heard a soft, familiar little chirping noise, and a couple seconds later two small, cold feet touched your forearm. They paused when you let out a soft hiss, but when you didn’t try to shake them off, they continued up your arm, quickly joined by two more. A nose brushed against your cheek briefly, and shortly thereafter a cold weight settled itself over your closed eyes; you were surprised to find it actually felt nice against your skin.

“Thanks, Kenji,” you murmured, reaching up towards where you assumed the dragon’s face was, and you smiled slightly when he nipped lightly at your fingers, careful not to break the skin.

“…How did he know that would work?” Suguru asked, seeming rather impressed by the dragon’s actions.

“I get headaches sometimes,” Satoru answered simply. “It helps me when he does that, so he probably thought it would help them, too.”

“Feels really nice,” you confirmed, finding you were able to relax a bit, now that there was something combating the pain behind your eyes.

There was a knock on the door, then, announcing the arrival of another person – the healer, you assumed. “I’m back,” a soft voice called, stepping into the room. The footsteps that crossed the room were equally soft , and when the woman spoke a second time, her voice sounded much closer. “Can you sit up at all?” she inquired. “I have something you can take for the pain I’m sure you’re feeling right now, but you’ll need to sit up to swallow it.”

With some help from the boys, you were able to push yourself into a sitting position, which Kenji accommodated by draping himself across your shoulders. You forced your eyes open again, but only to a squint; just enough to see the cup you were being handed so you could lift it to your mouth.

“It’s going to taste unpleasant,” the healer warned, “but you need to drink all of it.”

With a slight nod, you did as you were told, pressing the cup to your lips and taking a big gulp. You nearly gagged at the taste, but you managed to swallow, then down the rest of… whatever it was that you’d been given.

“That was disgusting,” you croaked, handing the cup back to the healer and wiping your mouth with the back of your other hand. You moved to lay back down, eager to close your eyes and have Kenji act as a cold compress again, when the healer spoke to you once more.

“You might have a concussion,” she said, “so you really need to stay awake.”

“For how long?” you asked; it was the middle of the night, and you were tired, so being told you couldn’t sleep was the worst thing in the world to you at that moment.

“All night, if you can make it that long.”

“All night?” you echoed, then groaned, both at the idea of having to stay up for so long, and at the additional pain that flared in your skull from the outburst.

“We’ll stay up with you,” Satoru promised, already settling himself beside you on the bed you’d been laid out on while you were unconscious.

The healer seemed to hesitate another moment, but she apparently knew better than to try and argue with the Gojo heir, so she gave a small bow before leaving the room.

“Help me lay back down,” you said, once the door to the infirmary was closed once again. Your friend easily complied, helping you settle back down and allowing Kenji to drape himself over your eyes just like before. A small sigh of relief slipped from your lips as the dragon shielded your eyes from the lights once more. “Thanks, Kenji…” you murmured. He flicked his tail lightly against your ear in response.

“You don’t have to stand there, y’know,” Satoru said, clearly talking to Suguru, who still stood beside your bed.

“...Are you saying I should leave?” Suguru’s response was obviously confused, and had a slight undertone of hurt.

“No, dummy,” you could practically hear Satoru rolling his eyes at the other boy. “I meant you can sit with us.”

It was silent for a moment; you could feel him hesitating, so you offered up a small smile. “I don’t mind,” you assured him. “Besides, I can feel you staring at me while you stand there. It’s weird.” You patted the empty space on your left to emphasize your point, which finally seemed to do the trick.

There was a few moments of shuffling as Suguru settled himself on the bed next to you, though you could feel that he was sitting up straighter than Satoru was, fully relaxed at your right side.

“No need to be so tense,” you tried to soothe, hoping you hadn’t made him uncomfortable by insisting he join the pair of you on the bed.

“You’re not going to get in trouble for not minding your manners every waking second, Suguru,” Satoru added. “I certainly don’t.”

“Yes, but this is your family’s home,” Suguru replied, his voice somewhat pinched. “I’m… I’m just a guest.”

That descriptor didn’t quite feel fitting for the boy at your side, given the reason he arrived in the settlement in the first place, but you didn’t say anything about it. You decided not to push him any further about the way he chose to sit, but before you could think of anything else to say, the sound of snuffling and the feeling of alternating breaths hit your ear, and you flinched slightly at the proximity.

“Sorry,” Suguru apologized, and there was a soft, confused little chirp as the dragon was pulled away from your ear.

“What’s your dragon’s name?” you asked, realizing you hadn’t heard him say it at all.

“His name is Niji.”

“But he’s black,” Satoru replied; the words quickly earned him a swat to the gut from you. “Hey!”

“I like that name,” you told Suguru, able to feel the way he had tensed slightly at your friend’s words. “Did you choose it for a reason? It’s okay if you think it’s a stupid reason, Toru’s reason for picking ‘Kenji’ as a name is pretty stupid.” The dragon squirmed a bit, made a sound of displeasure. “Kenji is a very nice name,” you quickly added, reaching up and lightly stroking your fingertip along his horns until he settled again.

“My reason is not stupid,” Satoru insisted. “Kenji and I are going to be the strongest dragon and rider pair ever.”

“If you say so,” you agreed, mostly trying to get him to let it go and give Suguru a chance to speak.

“I’ve always loved rainbows,” Suguru explained,a hint of nervousness in his voice, as if he were expecting to be made fun of. “My mother told me they were good luck, and when I was little, my father would carry me around our hometown to help me find the ends of them. I mean… I never did find the end, of course, but…” he trailed off then, and you waited a few moments to see if he would speak again. When he didn’t, you decided to ask another question.

“What’s your home like?” you asked curiously. “I’ve never left the settlement, I want to know what other places are like.”

“It’s not as big as the city here, so everybody pretty much knows everybody.”

“That sounds nice,” you said.

“That sounds boring,” Satoru disagreed. You ignored him.

“It is nice, most of the time, but it means gossip goes around fast. You can’t keep anything secret at home.” Suguru sighed then, sounding both wistful and frustrated. “That’s how word got out about Niji so quickly, I guess.”

“When did you bond with him?”

“Just a few days after my birthday, on New Year’s Day.”

You were silent for a long moment then, and you felt Satoru still beside you, as well; it had been less than two weeks since the new year had started.

“I’m sorry,” Satoru murmured after a few moments, surprising both you and Suguru.

“Why are you sorry?” the dark haired boy asked, genuinely sounding confused.

“Because my parents are the reason you had to leave your home. That’s not fair.”

“...No, it’s not,” Suguru agreed quietly. “But it’s not your fault, Satoru. You didn’t make them bring me here.”

“I guess not,” your white haired friend agreed. “I’m still sorry it happened, though.”

You slipped your hand into his, then, giving it a gentle squeeze; you were more than a little impressed by his manners, since he tended to be more self-centered, whether he meant to be or not. He squeezed back lightly, then asked a question of his own.

“What do you guys do over there for new years, anyway? How do you celebrate?”

“Oh, uh… sometimes we have sparklers, and usually people make orange cakes. There’s an old man who spends days every year making enough origami animals for all the kids to have a few each. The adults usually exchange good luck charms.”

“What kind of origami animals?” you asked; Utahime’s mother had tried to teach your class origami the year before, but you hadn’t ever gotten the hang of it.

“Cranes, mostly,” Suguru answered, that note of wistfulness returning to his voice, “and swans, for the younger kids. But sometimes he makes really fancy ones. Last year a girl in my class got a unicorn. He let me sit and watch him make a dragon this year.”

“Did he use black paper?” Satoru asked curiously.

“No, actually. He used white paper. He was convinced you and I were destined to meet each other some day.” Suguru seemed to grow a bit bashful then, and you guessed that, had you been able to see him, his face would be dusted with blush.

“I bet he didn’t think we’d meet this soon.”

“Did you get to keep the dragon? The origami one, I mean.” You supposed that maybe it didn’t matter in the long run whether Suguru got to keep the paper dragon, since he was now living in the same house with Satoru and Kenji, but you were eager to know.

“Yeah, he did.”

“Did you bring it with you?”

“No. I left it in my room at home. I knew I was being brought here to meet the real white dragon, so I didn’t see the point.”

You could hear the soft shuffle of fabric, then a small, pleased sound from Kenji right by your ear, so you guessed that Suguru was giving him a bit of attention.

“How do you celebrate new years here?”

“We have a big festival every year!” Satoru answered eagerly, and you could hear the grin in his voice. “There’s games, and food, and at the end of the night there’s a fireworks show!”

“Games?” The other boy seemed intrigued, and you smiled.

“Yeah! There’s a bunch, but we always spend our time at the ring toss booth. It has the best prizes,” you told him.

“The four of us do make a pretty good team,” Satoru bragged.

“The four of you?”

“Oh, right! You haven’t gotten to meet anyone else yet,” Satoru said, though he in no way sounded embarrassed or bashful at all for having forgotten that Suguru had been pretty much confined to the Gojo estate since his arrival.

You pinched his leg; he yelped in protest.

“He’s talking about our other friends. Technically there are six of us in the group, but only Shoko and Utahime have ever played the ring toss game with us,” you explained.

“So… who are your other two friends?”

You couldn’t tell if he was curious or uneasy, but you pushed on anyway, not wanting the conversation to come to an awkward stand still. “Kento and his little sister Kokoro.”

“Their parents run the bakery,” Satoru cut in, “they make the best chocolate chip cookies ever.” You could practically hear him drooling over the thought of those cookies, which made you giggle quietly, before wincing at the way it made your head throb.

“Why don’t they play the ring toss game with you at the festival? Are they not allowed to go, or something?”

“They help their parents with their stall at the festival, they sell cookies and other desserts during the night.”

“Ah,” Suguru said, and you could feel the way he relaxed beside you a bit more, no longer sitting up so stiffly. “How old is everybody? You said Kento has a little sister.”

“I’m the oldest.” The smug declaration from the white haired boy earned him another pinch from you, and he yelped again. “Stop that! All I’m doing is stating facts!”

“Stating facts like a menace,” you corrected, and though you couldn’t see him, you knew your friend was sticking his tongue out at you.

“How do you even know what that word means?”

“Because I read.”

“I read too!”

The sound of quiet, stifled laughter from your left kept the argument from escalating any further, and Satoru sighed as melodramatically as he possibly could before flopping back onto the mattress beside you.

“Satoru is the oldest,” you confirmed, turning your head slightly back in Suguru’s direction. “But not by a lot. Shoko, Utahime, and I are all in the same year of school as him. And you, too, I guess.”

“I see. And the other two?”

“I am a year older than Nanamin,” Satoru grumbled, though he jerked so hard to avoid a pinch from you that never came that he wound up throwing himself onto the floor. The startled oof! that escaped him as he hit the floor had you and Suguru laughing again, and you were relieved that it didn’t hurt as much as before.

“That wasn’t funny,” he insisted, picking himself up off the floor. “If you’re going to be mean and keep making fun of me, I’m going to leave you here and go back to bed.”

“Then I’ll just have to keep talking to Suguru, I guess. Maybe he’ll be my new best friend in the morning.”

The beats of silence that stretched between you were full of the nearly tangible offense Satoru felt at your words. Just as you began to wonder if maybe you’d been too harsh, to think that you should take the words back and apologize, you heard your friend mutter something under his breath about not being replaced, then felt him climb back into the bed beside you, though he made much more of a point to invade your personal space than he had before.

Letting out a soft sigh, you leaned your head lightly against Satoru’s in silent apology. “Kento’s a year below us in school, and Kokoro is two years younger than him.”

Suguru hummed softly after you finished speaking, though he remained quiet, as if he were processing everything you’d told him.

“I’m sure you’ll get to meet everyone else soon,” you offered, hoping it sounded as encouraging as you intended it to. “Right, Toru?”

“Yeah,” Satoru agreed half-heartedly, then perked up a bit as he realized something. “Hey! Suguru, now that you’re here, there’s another boy in the group who isn’t a stick in the mud!”

“Huh?”

“Kento is very serious for his age,” you said.

“Yeah, serious and boring. We’re still just kids, I don’t know why he has to try and act like a grown up all the time.”

“Is he the only one of you guys that has any siblings?” Suguru asked curiously.

“Yes.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“He probably has more that he’s responsible for at home, since he’s the oldest.”

“...Oh. I didn’t think about it like that,” Satoru admitted sheepishly.

Not wanting an uncomfortable silence to sour the mood, you blurted out the first question you could think of. “What’s your favorite dessert?”

“Me?” Satoru asked, clearly confused.

“No, I know what yours is already, I was asking—”

“What is it, then?” your friend cut you off.

You sighed, knowing he wouldn’t let you move on until you answered him. “It’s those fancy imported kikufuku you sneak in the middle of the night so your parents won’t stop you.”

“No it’s not,” he replied, sounding disappointed that you had gotten the answer wrong.

“What? Since when?” you asked, shifting Kenji slightly so you could actually look up at Satoru. “You have to tell me these things, I’m your best friend! When did the kikufuku stop being your favorite? What’s your favorite now?”

Satoru wouldn’t meet your gaze as you looked up at him, and even in the low light of the room, you could see the blush that burned high on his cheeks and the tips of his ears as he hesitated. “My favorite now is chocolate chip cookies. Has been since you got them for my eighth birthday,” he murmured, only just loud enough for you to hear.

You froze then, eyes wide as you stared up at him, and you could feel your own face heating up at his words. “Oh, uh…” you started, then trailed off, not knowing what to say to that; it had never occurred to you that the cookies you had gifted him over a year ago had been that important to him.

Satoru nodded stiffly, awkwardly, and, apparently no longer wanting to be the center of attention for once, he cleared his throat and looked over your head at Suguru. “They were trying to ask you the question, before I interrupted. Sorry.”

Equally ready to move past the awkwardness, you turned to look over at the dark haired boy, gently pushing Kenji off of your eyes, letting him curl up on top of your head, instead, even though he was most likely going to make a complete disaster out of your hair.

To his credit, Suguru looked like he had been trying to give you and Satoru as much privacy as he could, given that all three of you were sitting in the same bed, and he only looked up from where he had focused on Niji in his lap when he was spoken to directly.

“Hm?” he hummed, then seemed to remember what the initial question had been. “Oh, uh, well… I don’t really like sweets all that much.”

“What?” Satoru exclaimed, looking the most baffled and offended you’d ever seen him, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. “What do you mean you don’t like sweets?”

“I just… don’t?” Suguru said, shrugging slightly with a little blush now dusting his own cheeks. “I’ve always preferred salty foods, I guess.��

Looking as if he might faint, Satoru dropped his head to your shoulder, letting out a very dramatic, “He doesn’t even like sweets…”

“Nanami-san sells cookies made with almonds at the bakery sometimes, they’re not as sweet as the stuff Toru likes,” you said, reaching up to gently pat your friend’s cheek as you looked over at Suguru. “Maybe next time they make some I can get one for you.”

The blush on the dark haired boy’s face deepened a few shades. “You don’t have to do that,” he said, looking almost uncomfortable at being under the full force of your attention.

“Hey,” Satoru grumbled in protest, bumping his head lightly against yours. “You can’t get him cookies and not get your best friend cookies, too.”

You just rolled your eyes at him. “Well,” you said, turning back to Suguru once again, “if you don’t like sweets, what kinds of food do you like?”

And so went the rest of the evening, the three of you jumping from topic to topic, Suguru occasionally having to jump in and break apart you and Satoru bickering over silly things, and you having to do the same with the two of them on a couple of occasions. Any time it looked like you were falling asleep, one of the boys would gently nudge you and start asking you questions until they were satisfied that you really weren’t going to fall asleep on them.

Eventually, though, the late – or was it early? You weren’t sure – won out against all three of you, and you fell asleep half curled on top of each other, soft smiles on all of your tired faces, with Kenji sprawled out in your hair and Niji curled comfortably in your lap.

i gave myself cute aggression writing the exchange abt chocolate chip cookies so i hope you guys found that as adorable as i did (i need to squish baby satoru sooooo bad it's not even funny). also, for full transparency, i'm not sure when i'll be updating this again. my birthday is on friday, my brother & i are celebrating next tuesday, & i have a couple demon slay one shot fics i want to write, which means i need to pick up my kny rewatch asap so i can actually write the characters,,,,,, in character. lol. take care of yourselves in the meantime!!!

taglist: @ghost-1-y @kentohours @whatthefucksatan @why-the-fuck-am-i-so-tired @mitsuristoleme @lu-dao-writes @peachdues @lik0 @deepestartisanhumanoidshark @here-for-the-tea-baby @staryukis @roselleviennesstuff @witchbybirth @marinnnnnnnnn if your url is crossed out, it's because tumblr won't let me tag you for whatever reason. i apologize! & if you want to be added to the taglist, just drop a reply to the post/put it in the tags of your reblog!

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velvethopewrites · 1 year ago

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The sob story with this is that I wrote this yesterday and it got deleted before I could save it. I wanted to die cry, basically. Somehow I managed to re-create most of it, after working on it all damn day. (I basically ended up writing over 6,000+ words in one day. Yowza) I still feel as though the first version was better, but…no one knows that but me, I suppose. (And my partner, who got to read it right before the horrors happened). Regardless, I am proud of this and proud of myself for not giving up when it really would have been easy to. So huzzah to the fickle hand of fate and all that stuff.

For Suptober 2023 prompt “starlight”

I tag @fellshish and @canonblastedships and @clarkenting for being super cool reblog buddies, lol (which is just a thing I made up) This is the longest destiel fic I’ve written yet and it will be my first official AO3 destiel! (As soon as I remember how to do that, oy)

Edited: Now with Spiffy AO3 Link! Here!

The Starlight

There were three types of people that visited the Starlight Lounge — drunks, people desperate to score, and the employees that made their bread and butter trying to tame the other two.

Dean Winchester, unfortunately, was a member of that third group. Oh, sure, Dean had been known to put away a fair bunch of liquor in his day, and sure, Dean had definitely been known to do the Bedroom Rodeo whenever the opportunity presented itself. Hell, back when he’d first started at the Starlight he’d often been three types at once. Work, drink, get laid. Sometimes, not even in that order.

But that was past Dean. Current and newly mature Dean (hah) just wanted to work, go home, eat and fall into his bed. Working at the Starlight wasn’t that bad – it had fairly decent pay and it was often interesting. And like everyone else, Dean had bills to pay and he gave more than his fair share to Sammy. Not that Sam really needed it anymore; he was busy working as a law clerk downtown, putting himself through school. But still, Dean wanted to help as much as he could and besides it was his brotherly duty. Heh. Duty.

Tonight, due to the cold and rainy weather, the bar was fairly empty and business had been slow. There was only one of his regulars, a writer by the name of Chuck crying into his notebooks at the back of the bar. To be honest, Dean had never seen Chuck write a damn thing but the man sure could put scotch away like a pro. There was also a young couple making out in one of the booths near the restrooms. He’d been keeping an eye on them most of the night, actually, making sure no one lost any clothing. The Starlight didn’t need a public indecency charge on the books. At least, not so soon since the last one, at any rate.

Dean yawned and finished cleaning up the bar, hoping Chuck and the couple on their way to Soft-Porn Town would soon be leaving. Maybe Dean could even push them on their way a bit early, so he could get home at a decent time, for once. As he walked over towards Chuck to perhaps lightly suggest the writer hit the road, the double doors of the bar blew open – bringing in the rain, the cold rush of the wind and a new customer in a beige trench coat with seriously fucked up hair. Great.

Dean sighed and turned back around as the new guy slumped onto the first stool at the bar. His dark brown, messed up hair looked even worse up close, and he had a scowl on his face as he glared down at the bar in front of him.

“Whiskey. Neat,” Messy-Hair said, voice low and very rumbly.

Dean pulled down a clean glass and poured some of their nicer whiskey into it. Dude looks like he could afford it, at any rate. He had a nice suit on under the coat, now that Dean could properly see it and his watch was one of those big clunky things that could probably tell the time on Jupiter or some shit like that. The man’s hand reaches for the glass before Dean has barely pushed it forward. He throws back the drink in record time and hits the bar with it so that it makes a loud thunk.

“Another one.”

Dean shrugged as the man kept glaring down at the bar as though it contained all the answers to life and everything else; Dean knew for a fact that it didn’t. It didn’t even have a ‘42’ scratched into it or anything. (RIP Douglas Adams)

This time the man just wraps his hand around the glass, his fingers clutching at it and woah, Dean thinks, dude’s got some huge fucking hands. They’re big and they’re strong looking. The fingers are nice and long and graceful and oh, oh, oh. Maybe it’s a kink, or maybe it’s a preference, but Dean loves hands. Manly looking mitts like Messy-Hair here and even smaller, more delicate hands like on most women, with pretty nail colors. But Dean’s not choosy.

He sees motion out of the corner of his eye and notices Chuck signaling that he’d like to pay up. Glancing at Messy-Hair he figures he has a few minutes before having to pour him another so he sets the bottle down and heads over to the other side.

“All right there, Chuck?”

“Yeah, yeah, thank you, Dean.”

The older man is flipping through his wallet and counting out his cash slowly. Dean wipes the bar and puts Chuck’s last glass into the bucket for later cleaning.

“Write anything tonight?” Dean always asks this question. It’s like a little game he and Chuck play because it always has the same answer.

“No,” Chuck says looking up at him. He places his finger to his temple solemnly, almost like he’s holding a gun. “But I did a lot of work up here.”

He always gives Dean this look as though Dean should know exactly what he’s talking about. But, of course, Dean never does. He likes to read but he sure as hell would never attempt to write. Personally, he thinks Chuck is sort of crazy, but hey, to each their own, right?

Chuck pushes his notebooks into his old canvas bag on the bar. It’s bulging with everything he carries with him and looks fit to burst. Dean supposes that writer’s block is heavy business.

Chucks nods goodnight as he slips his bag over his shoulders, buckling a bit under the weight. Dean watches as he wobbles away and he’s not sure if it’s from the alcohol or the bag. He’d normally be worried (hey, no bar can stay in business if all its clientele got themselves killed), but he knows Chuck lives nearby. He’ll be all right and probably in his same spot tomorrow evening. He puts Chuck’s money into the till and realizes he tipped Dean more than usual. He really did have had a good night, then.

He notices the couple trying to break the world record for smooches in a single night are getting up and putting on their jackets. Maybe Dean can get out early; he’s got the DVR set for Dr Sexy already, but he wouldn’t say no to catching it live for once.

Glancing over he sees Messy-Hair is now resting his head on the bar, but he lifts it as the doors bang shut behind Chuck, the cold burst of wind making his hair looking even more disheveled. Dean heads back over to see if he needs a refill and is suddenly struck dumb by the other man finally looking at him. Holy Mother of Blue, those are some eyes. The dude is handsome. Like old-time movie handsome. Strong jaw, with a smattering of scruff, pink soft lips and eyes that look like they can see into your soul, no, scratch that, not see, but pierce. Dean swallows roughly and picks up the whiskey bottle.

“Hey, uh, it’s getting late. One more for the road?” Dean assumes the dude doesn’t know the Starlight is technically open until midnight. Assumes, hah. More like prays.

Blue-Eyes stares at him and frowns. “I thought this establishment closed at midnight.”

“Er, yeah. I suppose it does.”

“Then I’ll take another,” Blue-Eyes pauses and holds out his glass. “And keep them coming for the next forty-five minutes, barkeep.”

Dean blinks at the old-fashioned word and pours another round. They stare at each other until he hears a giggle and a clearing of a throat. He looks over to see the couple and wonders how long they’ve been waiting. Judging from the churlish look on the guy’s face and the barely contained laughter emanating from the girl, it’s been awhile. He settles their tab and takes their money (lousy tip, of course) as the two saunter past Blue-Eyes and escape out into the night. Well, at least Dean can see it’s stopped raining.

Making up his mind, he follows them from behind the bar and locks the door after them. He flips off the sign, too. He may be stuck here with Blue-Eyes, but he’ll be damned if he’ll let someone else come meandering in to make him get home even later.

He comes back to stand in front of his customer and makes a decision. Pulling down another glass, he pours some of the whiskey into it and sighs as the warmth of it hits his system. What do they always say about good whiskey? It should warm the cockles of the heart, or something like that. Not that Dean actually knows what a cockle is, but hey, it went down smooth.

He realizes Blue-Eyes is watching him and Dean decides to bite the bullet. He’s tired, bored and probably on his way to cranky town if Blue-Eyes keeps his word about the next forty-five minutes.

“So, what brings you out on a cold and rainy night like tonight, Mr, uh…what’s your name? I can’t keep calling you what I’ve been calling you in my head.”

The other man squints and tilts his head at Dean like a tiny, confused bird. And no, Dean doesn’t find that adorable at all. Nope.

“What have you been calling me in your head?”

Dean purses his lips. Sometimes he’s really an idiot. He gives Blue-Eyes a shaky laugh.

“I said I wasn’t gonna keeping doing that.”

They stare at each other again, neither one budging until Blue-Eyes releases a breath and blinks, shoulders slumping a bit more. By the end of the night Dean expects this guy to be melted into the floor.

“Cas.”

Dean frowns. “Your name is Mr Cas?”

“No, just Cas.” Blue-Eyes, no, scratch that, Cas then holds out his hand so Dean can shake it like they’re fellow professionals meeting at a party or something. As he grips the other man’s hand in his own he realizes Cas’s hand is warm, dry, and, yep, strong. The dude is seriously ticking all of Dean’s boxes without even trying. It’s a bit unnerving, really.

“Is that short for something?” Dean asks, wondering what type of name that is.

Cas just looks at him over the rim of his glass. “Perhaps.”

Neither of them say anything else for a long moment and Dean shakes his head. “People ever tell you you talk too much?”

“Yes. All the time,” Cas says with a smirk.

Dean laughs. “Well, whatever. It’s officially nice to meet you, Cas. I’m Dean. Humble and professional barkeep at your service.”

“Hello, Dean.”

Cas’s voice is deep but there’s a warmth to it that makes Dean happy. They chit-chat for a bit, just like Dean would do with any newbie to the bar. He pours them both another round and then tries his question again.

“So, you seemed a bit upset earlier. What brought you through my doors, Cas?”

Cas sighs and glances away. He taps his fingers lightly on the polished wood of the bar. He stares at Dean as though assessing him and then looks as though he’s made up his mind.

“My…er, the person I’ve been dating, dumped me tonight. We went to an expensive restaurant and ordered far too pricey food for the serving size and drank outrageously fancy wine. Then they ordered an expensive bottle of cognac, drank it all and then told me I wasn’t worth it.”

Dean winces. “Ouch. How long were you together?”

“Six months.”

“Well, it’s not too long for a relationship, but it’s long enough to hurt.”

Cas nods, looking sullen again.

“What special occasion was it?”

Cas stares at him. “How could you possibly know that?”

“Fancy restaurant, the way you’re dressed, the cognac. Nobody orders that unless there’s been a birth or an anniversary or both.”

“It was my birthday,” Cas says, looking down again.

“Fuck,” Dean blurts out without thinking. “And they dumped you? Seriously bad juju, man.”

Cas nods and takes another drink of his whiskey, looking miserable. Dean tops off both of their glasses and hums.

“What was his name?”

Cas whips his head up, suddenly looking confused and more than a little worried. “I never said it was a he.”

“It was your distinct lack of pronouns, dude. Always the dead giveaway. Trust me, as a guy who plays for both sides, I know. Pronouns are key. Hey, relax, Cas, this is a safe space.” Dean points to the small pride flag he keeps above the bar and watches as Cas visibly relaxes.

The silence that falls between them is comfortable now. Welcoming, even. Cas clears his throat and rests his hand on his chin, peering at Dean.

“So…you’re bi, I assume or, pan, perhaps?”

“Got it in one. Just another bisexual loser ruining the world one lay at a time.”

Dean winks to show he’s only kidding. He’s proud to be bi, but it doesn’t mean he can’t make a joke at his own expense. Of course, if Sam or his friend Charlie were here they’d both tell him what they thought of that.

“His name was Bartholomew.”

Dean snorts. “It fits him. Douche-y name for a douche-canoe.”

Cas barks out a laugh and it completely changes his face into something truly beautiful. Dean suddenly feels the need to always make Cas laugh like that. He can’t imagine anyone not wanting to – his laugh is infectious. And the light it puts in his eyes is irresistible.

Cas looks serious again as he swirls the rest of the whiskey in his glass. “To be honest, Bart was just the last in a long line of failed…connections. I’m doubting my own self-worth at this point. Everyone ends up leaving or they get fed up with me. I’m too introverted…too socially awkward to deal with, I suppose.”

“I don’t know, you seem to be doing okay right now.”

“I’ve been drinking,” Cas says, deadpan. “And also I’m paying you.”

Dean chuckles. “Not really, I decided to stop charging you as soon as I poured my first one.”

“Your hospitality know no bounds. Truly.”

Dean laughs. Cas’s dry delivery and poker-faced expressions really are the limit. He feels that familiar warmth he always gets when he meets someone new. A someone new that excites him. But he pushes the feeling aside because he knows on some level that trying to get into Cas’s pants is so not what the other man needs right now. Dean shivers as he realizes how damn mature that sounds. Next he’ll be looking into 401ks and cemetery plots.

“Well, consider them birthday drinks. Of course, this stuff doesn’t cost a small fortune or anything, but I figured you’d already paid out enough tonight.”

Cas smirks and shakes his head at Dean. “Thank you, Dean. It’s actually very kind of you to…take pity on me.”

He says it jokingly but Dean gets the sense that he means it. He reaches forward and touches Cas’s hand.

“Hey, no pity here. You are ridiculously attractive and if I didn’t have a conscience, I’d definitely be throwing out my best lines here to help you relieve some tension, if you know what I mean. And you are not awkward to me, but even if you were, it wouldn’t be enough to stop me from asking for your number or seeing if you wanted to meet up sometime. I barely know you but you seem like a decent guy, Cas. And I think all of those people that don’t get you can just fuck right off. You need to keep trying, man. Don’t give up just because a few losers couldn’t see what they had.”

Cas blinks at Dean, blue eyes getting huge. “You think I’m ridiculously attractive?”

Dean thinks back. Did he say that? Yeah, he said that. Figures that would be the only thing to register with the dude.

“What sort of line would you use on me? I mean, if you were going to, that is.” Cas shyly glances away and then back, a curious look on his face.

“Oh, uh, probably something like, well you know what they say — the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.” Dean waggles his eyebrows and smirks, faking a leer.

“I’m not sure that would work with me,” Cas says, mirth clear in his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. You’d make me work for it, I know. But seriously, you need to regroup, clear out the douche-canoes from your life and find a new guy, man.”

Cas smiles at him in fondness, and nope, Dean is not going to do it. He will not break his rule about dating people just out of relationships. Not even for big huge blue eyes that make him feel sappy like a love song. Cas, however, clearly has other plans.

“This may be forward but, um, Dean would you allow me take you out for dinner? As a date, in case you were wondering how I meant it.”

“Oh, wow, Cas, um, I mean…”

Cas’s face takes an interesting journey in two seconds – from hopeful joy to miserable and wretched. Dean feels his heart break a little bit for him in that moment and mentally kicks his own ass for being a tool.

“Oh, I see. I…I’m sorry, Dean. Thank you for hospitality.” Cas fumbles with his wallet and places far too much money next to his glass. “I won’t keep you anymore. Go home and enjoy whatever is left of your night.”

Dean watches dumbly as Cas sits up straighter and then turns in his seat, his broad shoulders unyielding, suddenly. Dean knows he just can’t let it end like this.

“No, wait, Cas!”

Dean practically flings himself around the bar to reach Cas before he can unlock the door and leave without a backwards glance. He rests his hand on Cas’s shoulder, stopping him.

“It’s only because I have a rule about dating people that just got out of a relationship. It has nothing to do with you, I promise you. You need to focus on you, dude. Figure out what you’re looking for. If this one was just the last in a long line of guys who don’t understand you, try and see what people you’re going for. I mean, I’m no expert, and God knows I’ve had my fair share of jumping before looking moments, but I think you just need some Cas time right now, you know? If we ever start something I do not want to be rebound guy and you deserve something better than a one night stand.”

Cas stares at him, blue eyes half in shadow. Dean holds his breath, hoping he didn’t just lose something. All he can hear is the clock ticking behind him and the pounding of his own heart in his ears.

“That was quite the speech,” Cas finally says. “You sound like you know from experience.”

“Cas, man. You have no idea.”

“I have some, like I said, a long line of rejections. Still…” Cas’s eyes search his face and then nods to himself. “Maybe you’re right. I do tend to do things without thinking in this area of life despite being very practical usually. And you’re also right on anther point, Dean. You do not deserve to be “rebound guy”.”

Dean can’t help his grin as Cas makes the quotes motion with his fingers. They stare at each other for a bit longer before he unlocks the door. Cas steps out as the cold air filters in between them, causing them bother to shiver. Dean pauses, and then holds out his hand. “Let me have your phone.”

“My phone?”

“Yeah, you have one, right? Or have you moved on to something flashier like sky writing?”

Cas snorts and shakes his head. He fumbles in his pockets and then pulls out a slim, black smartphone. He unlocks it and hands it over. Of course, it’d be that kind of phone that can help you bake bread or turn off all the lights in the world with just a click or something. He finally finds what he’s looking for and puts his contact information in.

“There. There’s my number. Text me to let me know you get home, okay? And as for the rest, we’ll take it one day at a time, Cas. Let’s be friends, first.”

Cas smiles shyly as he looks down at his phone and nods. “Friends, first. I like that. Goodnight, Dean.”

“Goodnight, buddy. Be safe.”

Cas slips out and away, leaving a coldness in his wake as he takes his body heat with him. Dean watches him go, the black of the night almost swallowing him up. Cas pauses to pull his coat tighter, the glow of the streetlight lighting up his profile. To Dean he looks pure—angelic, almost, like a painting or a sculpture. With one last look at Dean, he eventually fades away, disappearing back into the world. Soon all Dean can see is his own breath in the air and the twinkling starlight from the surprisingly clear sky above. He locks up again and finishes his routine for the night. After he’s put the money in the safe and headed out back to his car, he feels happy inside. Like something good just occurred — like some new path has been cleared for him to travel. His drive home is quick and easy, there’s hardly any traffic mostly due to the earlier rain. It’s just as he’s pulling into his driveway that he feels his phone buzz in his pocket. It’s from an unknown number and his heart beats faster as he reads the message.

From unknown: I arrived home safely, Dean. Thank you, again. Would you like to get coffee tomorrow, or, perhaps I should say, later today? Oh, this is Cas, by the way. In case you didn’t know. :)

Dean saves the number and then returns to the message to reply, a grin creeping onto his face before he even realizes it.

Dean: Of course, dude. Coffee sounds great. Around 1pm?

Cas: Perfect. Do you know the Blue Java Café on Marion and Elm? It’s across from the park and one of my favorite places.

Dean: Sounds good. Can’t wait to talk to you sober, ya lush… (lol j/k hah)

Cas sends him a sticking-tongue-out emoji as a response and Dean chuckles as he locks up his car. He has a nice, happy feeling in his heart as he thinks of Cas. Like maybe this is something special. Or maybe it’s just that it could be and has the potential to be. He knows he told Cas friends first, but Dean’s willing to see where it…where they, can go.

#suptober23 #destiel #prompt:starlight #dean and cas #meet-cute #my writing #biting nails here #like posting stuff is scary #wth #I am not used this anymore #castiel #dean winchester

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musings-of-a-rose · 1 year ago

Text

Falling Slowly - Chapter 5

Pairing: Tommy Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 5400+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.

Notes: This is it. The chapter I initially wanted to write. Literally, just a small little one shot. But no. That’s not the Miller way apparently and once again, a Miller man took me by the hand and said “more”. Also I’m sorry please don’t hate me.

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

**Divider made by @benkeibear

**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Falling Slowly Masterlist

Tommy Miller Masterlist

Dating changed absolutely nothing between us. It felt the same as it always had, us sharing jokes, laughing, listening to each other, the amazing sex, just being around each other. Tommy and I always got along well and I guess it feels the same because we’d always been flirting. And then fucking. The only thing we never did was officially date.

A couple months in, Joel and Sarah have us over for our weekly family dinner. Joel had asked us to not tell Sarah about the baby until we were sure it was sticking around, which was fair. Since everything was going great with the pregnancy, we all agreed it was time to tell her.

“We’re having steak? Since when are family dinner’s so fancy, dad?” Sarah asks as she walks into the kitchen, looking over her dad’s shoulder at the plate of grilled steaks.

Joel nods towards me. “It was Daisy’s request.”

Sarah raises her eyebrows. “I didn’t realize we could make requests.”

“She can. You can’t.”

Sarah scoffs as she sits down, the rest of us joining her at the table. “That’s not fair. Why does she get special treatment?”

Joel starts loading steak onto plates and passing them around the table. “Because she’s stuck with Tommy and I feel bad for her.”

“Fuck off,” Tommy says, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. He clears his throat before looking at Sarah. “Actually, there’s a reason. A real reason.”

Sensing the change in tone, Sarah looks up at her uncle. “What’s up? Did someone die? Oh no, you guys aren’t breaking up are you? What did you do, Uncle Tommy?”

“Hey now, what makes you think I screwed it up?” Sarah looks at him, one eyebrow raised. “Alright, fair point. But no.” Tommy takes my hand, rubbing little circles into the back of it. “You’re going to be a cousin.”

It takes her a second, the math playing out in front of her glazed over eyes before she looks at me for confirmation and I nod, my hand going to rest on my small stomach before she screams, launching herself out of her chair and nearly knocking me out of mine as she flings her arms around my neck.

“Oh my GOD this is amazing news! I can’t believe I’m going to have a cousin!! AAHHH A BABY, DAD! THERE’S GOING TO BE A BABY IN THE FAMILY!” She launches herself at Tommy next, nearly knocking him out of the chair. “I promise I will help and babysit and do whatever you need for the baby! Wait, is it a boy or girl?”

“We won’t find out for a bit yet. But when we do, we’ll let you know.”

Sarah squeaks and hugs Tommy again. “I am so excited! You’re going to be a great dad, Uncle Tommy I know it!”

The rest of the dinner I wanted for nothing, Sarah immediately jumping to help me before Tommy could blink. Joel explained that she’d been dying to have a sibling for the longest time, but this is the next best thing. When it’s time for us to leave, she hugs me but pushes her face to my stomach, whispering things to the baby. Tommy gets in his truck after helping me in, chuckling as he starts it.

“Well I don’t think we’ll ever have to worry about a babysitter.”

“At least until she finds a boyfriend.”

“Don’t let Joel hear you say that.”

We reach the end of Joel’s street and Tommy stops, his hand hovering over the blinker.

“Tommy?”

“Move in with me.”

“What?”

He turns in his seat, throwing the truck into park. “I mean it. I’ve been wanting to ask you for…well, forever. I hate you being so far away all the time and fuck I love you so much and I just want to take care of you, and make sure that-”

“Tommy-”

“-that you’re never wanting for anything and-”

“Tommy-”

“-and I want to wake up every day beside you, officially, and-”

“Tommy!”

He pauses and looks at me. “Y-yeah?”

I take his hand and hold it, feeling his warmth seep into my skin. “I love you too and I would absolutely love to move in with you.”

His eyes brighten as a smile stretches across his face. “Yeah? Really?”

“Really. I love you, Tommy Miller.”

He pulls my face to his and kisses me, only breaking it to the sound of a horn honking from behind us. He laughs and pulls back, putting on his blinker and driving towards my apartment.

“Tomorrow then?”

“Tomorrow.”

Several weeks later, once we’re all moved and settled in, we go to my OB, an ultrasound wand gliding around my stomach as they take their measurements.

“Baby is looking good, healthy. Growing just as they should be. Oh which reminds me - do we want to know what we’re having?”

Tommy takes my hand where he stands next to me. “Yes, ma’am we would.”

She slides the wand around for a few moments and then stops, taking a picture of the ultrasound. “You’re going to have a boy.”

Tommy lets out a puff of air. “Are..are you sure?”

The OB smiles. “Oh yes. You see this here?” She points at a spot on the screen. “Definitely a boy.”

Tommy laughs, actually whooping a little and when he turns to me, I see tears welled up in his eyes before he wipes them away. “We’re gonna have a son. I can’t believe it! I’m gonna have a boy!” He leans down and kisses me and my hand comes up to the back of his head to pull him closer. He pulls back a little, eyes looking between mine. “What do you think?”

“Honestly, I just wanted a healthy baby. But I can’t wait to see a mini you walking around. Will it come out with a tiny belt buckle?”

“Oh shut up!” He smiles against my lips as he kisses me once more before letting the tech finish their scans.

The pregnancy progresses and I start to feel more like a house, sweating whenever I think about walking, struggling to get up from sitting. The Texas heat becomes more and more oppressive and I find myself sweating from places I didn’t know I could.

Tommy is wonderful. I don’t know what I did to deserve him. Every day he comes home and gives me a massage, paying extra attention to my feet and lower back, even learning how to massage for the sciatica that started up several weeks back. He gets me anything I ask for, no matter how ridiculous, and showers me with love and affection, praising me for the ability to grow a new life.

“Ugh, I’m so big I can’t do anything!” I slam my fist on the bed next to me where I had tried, and failed, to sit up.

“You’re in the home stretch, darlin’. Soon you’ll be holdin’ that son of ours and making me want to put another one in you I know it.”

“Slow down there, cowboy. I haven’t finished cooking this one yet.”

Tommy chuckles. “True. But until then, can I help you feel better?”

“How would you oh.” Tommy slides his hand between my legs, gently brushing over my sensitive clit. He leans in and nibbles on my ear lobe, gently pressing a finger over me where I need him and I whine. “Is that a yes, darlin’?”

“Oh fuck yes.”

Tommy continues to touch me as he nibbles on my ear, kissing that spot under it that has my hips jerking into his hand. Then he pushes up and drops between my legs, pulling from me 2 of the most intense orgasms I’ve had this entire pregnancy.

“Feeling good, darlin’?” Tommy asks as he wipes his face, sitting up from between my thighs.

“Mmhm. But I need you.”

Tommy looks at me, his eyebrows pulled together. “I’m not sure-”

“The doctor said it might help stimulate labor.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t. And I am so ready to not be pregnant in this heat. Please Tommy?”

He looks at me and I try to copy his puppy eyed look, but all he does is laugh at me. “You’re so terrible at that.”

“Shut up.”

“Tell me if I hurt you, ok?”

“Of course.”

An hour later, my water breaks.

Calm and collected, Tommy uses every ounce of his training from the army to get us to the hospital on time and safe. Once we’re in the labor and delivery room, he shoves our bags to the side and continues his support, counter pressure on my hips during contractions when I ask him, ice chips, sneaking me honey sticks or whatever I wanted when the nurse wasn’t looking. He lets me tell him what I need and then he did it and I really don’t know what I would’ve done without him. He constantly whispered words of affirmation in my ear, especially as time went on and he could see me getting exhausted.

“You’ve got this, Daisy. You’re the strongest person I know. You’re gonna breathe this baby out.”

16 hours of labor later, our son Jackson was born. The moment Tommy caught him he had him wrapped around his tiny little finger, Tommy’s tears falling onto his tiny little chest as he took his first breaths in this world.

“Hey little guy. It’s me. I’m your dad.” His voice cracks on the last word as he turns to hand me our son. I take him, tears streaming down my face at this little tiny human who holds my entire being.

“Hey Jackson. It’s mom. I’m so glad to finally see you on the outside!”

Tommy cuts the cord and then comes back by us, tears fully streaming down both of our faces as Jackson cuddles further into me. If he wasn’t in my arms he was in Tommy's, his tiny little body curled up and relaxed on his dad’s broad chest was enough to punch anyone right in the baby maker. And I’d just had a baby.

Sarah is beside herself. She absolutely adores Jackson and spends every moment she can with him. Whenever she can get him away from Tommy that is. Even Joel, who had warmed up to me the moment Tommy and I started dating, melted over him, visions of his daughter playing in his eyes whenever he looked at Jackson.

A few weeks after Jackson was born, Tommy comes out to find us in the living room, the tv on low as I feed him, circles under my eyes from lack of good sleep, hair in a messy bun, and smelling of milk. He sits next to me and puts his hand on my thigh, rubbing circles into it.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?”

I scoff. “Oh yeah, I’m sure I look like I’m ready for the runway.”

“I’m serious. You fucking made a human. You did that. Made a human and take such good care of him and you just…I love you.”

I can’t help it, but I cry, half from his words and half from the hormones that are just about out of my body from everything.

“Marry me.”

I stop crying to look at him. “What?

“I had a whole thing planned but seeing you now? I can’t wait. Will you? Marry me?”

“You wanna marry me when I look like this?”

“Darlin’, you are gorgeous and strong and I fucking adore you. But if you’re not ready and I asked too soon, I promise I’ll wait. I can-”

“Yes.”

“Y-yes?”

The tears fall again, streaming down my face as I nod furiously. “I want to be Mrs. Miller.”

He laughs, pulling my face to his and kisses me, his tongue sliding into my mouth, moaning slightly before a tiny cry makes him pull back.

“Sorry, bud. I just had to kiss your mom. Wait right here.”

Tommy disappears into our bedroom and comes back with a small black box, opening it to reveal a ring, a slim white gold band with a modest sized diamond in the middle, and an engraving on the inside that simply said “Miller” with a tiny daisy engraved with it.

“Oh Tommy! This is beautiful!” He slides it onto my finger and I cry again looking at it. Honestly, I would’ve stayed with Tommy for the rest of my life without a ring. Without even officially dating. And when I told him as much, he laughed and said he wished he’d have known as he could’ve saved a lot of money.

We get married when Jax is about 6 months old in a small ceremony in our own backyard. Tommy, Joel, and Sarah completely transformed our small yard into something out of a story. Twinkling lights strung amongst the tree branches and bushes, a few long, wooden planks are set on stumps to make benches, and Tommy builds an archway for us, decorating it with vines and flowers, Sarah adding lights and a beautiful purple strip of fabric that was her grandmothers. I can see the tears glisten in Tommy and Joel’s eyes before they turn away clearing their throats, memories of their parents flashing in their eyes.

It’s strange. I’ve always heard people say, either in real life or on tv or movies, that they were so nervous on their wedding day. Cold feet. But me? I have none of that. I know that I was meant to be with Tommy, whether we got a receipt or not. And when I make my way down the flower petal clad aisle, staring into his deep brown eyes that are glistening with tears, a smile stretching his face, I know that he feels the same way.

The celebration goes long into the night, Jax snuggled up next to Sarah, who also passed out in a little makeshift play area she had made for him. When it’s finally time to say goodnight to everyone, Joel quietly picks up Sarah and carries her to his truck and Tommy does the same with Jax, taking him upstairs to put him in his crib. The mess had been cleaned by family and so I follow Tommy, watching as he carefully adjusts Jax in his bed. My little family. I never dreamt in a million years that this is where I’d be at this point in my life, but I know I wouldn’t change a thing.

“What do you think about this one, little guy?” Tommy holds up an apple in front of him, Jax in the baby carrier strapped to his chest. He stares at the apple for several moments before babbling loudly and reaching for it. Tommy chuckles. “Alright, this one it is then.” He kisses the top of Jax’s head and puts the apple in the produce bag and repeats the process with all of the apples, completely oblivious to all of the women looking at him with heart eyes and at me with jealously. I really couldn’t care less. My eyes are glued to my husband, making me feel like I’ve been punched in the uterus. Suddenly, a Buddy Holly song rings out over the store’s PA system and Tommy puts the bag of apples in the cart, quickly moving to stand in front of me.

“Let’s dance with mommy!”

Jax looks at me, his grin wide on his face with his few teeth showing as Tommy dances and sings with him, moving his little arms in time with me as I dance too. When the song ends, I look up at Tommy and find him already looking at me, his eyes soft and full of love that washes over me, making me warm all over. He takes my hand and pulls me to his side, leaning down to press his soft lips to mine. When he pulls back just a bit, he looks into my eyes and I nearly melt into a puddle there in the produce section.

“I love you, Daisy.”

“I love you, Tommy.”

“You boys are sure working hard on that sandcastle! You want to take a juice break?” I ask, shielding my eyes from the sun as it blares down on the sandy beach.

“No, mommy. Build!” Jax waves a hand at me, never removing his eyes from the sand castle Tommy is building in front of him. He’s pointing out different structures, the way to build it properly so it wouldn’t fall over and Jax stares between the castle and his dad with rapt attention. When the wave finally comes in, the water fills the moat perfectly, not even a crumble of sand coming down from the castle. Jax squeals with delight as Tommy hoists him in the air, laughing as he spins him around.

“Great job, Jax and Uncle Tommy!” Sarah smiles wide at Jax as he takes her hand, pointing out all of the things that Tommy did to her. Joel stands to the side, making notes on what he’d do different until Tommy punches him in the arm.

“Shut up, asshole.”

“Language.”

Joel kneels down by Sarah and Jax, attempting to make his changes while Tommy walks back over to me, trying to insert himself next to me on my towel.

“Excuse you, sir. I do believe there is no room on this towel for you.”

He slides his hand over my bare skin, lifting himself to lay partially on me, his hand cupping my face, turning me to him. He leans down, his nose tracing a line up my neck and I let out a puff of air, my hand immediately coming up to scratch his scalp. His lips meet mine, his tongue gently prodigy at my lips and I slowly open them. He moans into my mouth, his hips slightly moving of their own accord. I turn towards him, throwing my leg over his back-

“Hey! There are kids here!” Joel yells from the sandcastle.

Tommy turns his head to the side and yells back. “How do you think they got here?”

“Get over here asshole and help me finish this castle so we can have lunch.”

Tommy chuckles and kisses me once more before leaning next to my ear. “We’ll pick this back up later.”

He pushes himself up, dusting his trunks off before turning and running back towards them, Jax and Sarah screaming with delight as he chases them around, nearly destroying all of Joel’s work. Soon Joel has joined in too, mostly to tackle Tommy into the sand, the kids’ laughter ringing out loud when Tommy’s butt hits the ground.

“It still needs a little work, but Joel and I can finish that up. Maybe make it self sustainable,” Tommy explains as we drive down the very narrow road that I eventually realize is a driveway. We pull up to a cabin that Tommy has definitely undersold.

“Tommy, we can’t afford this. Not even splitting it with Joel.”

We pull up in front of the modestly sized cabin that looks like it belongs on HGTV. And he says it isn’t even finished?

“Well that’s the thing. You remember the Jones’s? That big client we landed right around the time we uh, got together?” Tommy smiles and clears his throat, his eyes quickly darting to the rearview mirror to make sure Jax was still asleep.

I nod. “Of course. They’re your biggest client.”

“Yeah, well I guess they have too much property and just want to get rid of it.”

“And they’re just giving it to you?”

He chuckles, putting the truck into park and shifting to look at me. “Nah. But they offered it to Joel ‘n me for an extreme discount. Less than what they paid for it, even including the upgrades.”

I glance out of the front window towards the cabin before looking at him again. “Why would they do that?”

Tommy shrugs. “What can I say? Mrs. Jones loves me. Anyway, they have it almost finished, just a bit of work on the patio and then basic stuff inside.”

His eyes are bright and excited. I can tell he really wants to do this and honestly, it would be really great to have somewhere to come to relax and unwind with the family.

“Tell me more about it.”

His smile lights up the cab and I already know I’m on board with whatever he says. That damn smile with those fucking freckles kills me every time.

“There’s 4 bedrooms and 4 bathrooms. All en suite. A big kitchen with those double stoves you always talked about, a nice sized dining area we could put a nice big table in, a stone fireplace that nearly spans the whole wall. Oh, and uh walk in closets and a sort of game room? Activity room? Somethin’ like that. And…let’s just go inside. I’ll give you the tour.”

Jax wakes up at that moment, yawning and looking around with his eyes that match his dad’s as he takes it in. “Daddy, we go in?”

“Yeah, bud. You wanna see?”

He nods furiously. “Yes!”

Tommy gives us the tour, Jax squealing with delight at nearly everything and I can’t blame him. This place is gorgeous. But Tommy also points out the practicality of everything, from the titanium shutters that will board the windows when no one is here to the laundry room that I always wanted, and the fact that he and Joel were planning on finishing the self-sustainable grid and water system, so we wouldn’t have to worry about the power going out, which was apparently pretty common all the way out here.

“And over there?” Tommy points to a space out in the backyard as Jax runs around laughing. “I was thinkin’ we could put in a greenhouse and root cellar. I know how you always wanted one.”

“Really? You think Joel would be ok with that?”

“Darlin’, if we weren’t already married, he’d have proposed after tasting one of your tomatoes.”

“Explains the moaning when he eats one.”

We have a laugh and watch Jax run around for a while between the trees. He comes running up to us and Tommy picks him up, swinging him through the air, Jax’s scream of happiness ringing out.

“Daddy, we stay here?”

Oh shit. They’re both looking at me with the same puppy eyed look. I cave instantly, although I was already going to agree.

“Only if daddy and Uncle Joel think they can handle it.”

“Pass me the hammer please, Jax.”

It’s been a few months since we officially purchased the cabin, splitting it with Joel. All of us have spent several weekends here, Tommy and Joel finishing the upgrades to make it self sustainable, adding the greenhouse and other little touches. Today was the day they would finish the back porch. Sarah has been inside the greenhouse with me, helping me plant some vegetables and things in the root cellar. I come up to watch them for a bit, Jax following around his dad, tiny little toolbelt around his waist, complete with a giant belt buckle like his dad’s. He’s turned his hat backwards and is bending over Tommy’s large tool bag, tiny little finger pressed to his chin while his eyes scan the tools. He grabs one using both hands and holds it up, smiling triumphantly as Tommy praises him.

“Look at my strong little man! Let me see your muscles.” He takes the hammer from Jax who immediately flexes his little arms. Tommy squeezes his biceps and whistles. “You’ve got some strong muscles there, son.”

“There’s no way. Let me see.” Joel stops what he’s doing, Jax turning to him and waiting his approval. Joel raises his eyebrows and looks at him. “Wow Jax! I bet you could even pick me up!”

“I can! Watch!” Jax runs up to Joel and throws his arms around his leg, trying to lift him. Joel discreetly goes up on his toes, acting shocked and impressed that Jax could lift him.

They finish the porch and pull out a folding table, Sarah and I quickly grabbing some chairs to put around it, adding a big pitcher of lemonade that Sarah had made to the middle of it. Tommy and Joel argue at the grill for a bit over how exactly to grill the steaks, but eventually we all sit, admiring the setting sun and their hard work.

Many weekends are spent here, holidays too, all of us loving the peace and quiet. A short ways from the back of the house is a giant lake that is shared with a handful of other cabins across the way. Tommy and Joel vow to look up someone to build a dock eventually, so until then, we have to push the little pontoon boat into the water ourselves, bringing it back up onto it’s trailer and storing it in the outside garage. The fact that this place came with it’s own boat still blows my mind.

Sarah and Jax end up sharing one of the bedrooms, complete with bunk beds, their laughter and talking echoing down the hall until one of us has to tell them to go to bed. I love their relationship, Sarah treating Jax like the sibling she never had, and Jax the same with her.

3 years after Jax was born…

“Pancakes, mommy?” Jax asks me as he walks behind me into the kitchen.

“Let me see, bud.” I rummage through the cabinets, no pancake mix to be found. “Sorry, Jax. No pancakes today. How about a smoothie?” He nods enthusiastically and tells me a laundry list of fruits he wants, some completely made up. I’m gathering up what we have when Tommy comes downstairs, his red shirt unbuttoned, showing off his white tank underneath, stretching out over his large chest. He walks up to me and cages me in against the counter, both of his hands planted on either side of me, smiling when I look up at him.

“Mornin’ darlin’.”

“Morning.”

He presses his lips to mine, his tongue coming out to slide across my lips and I moan slightly, fisting my hands in his tank top as he closes his arms around me. I can feel him growing more needy but a plastic cup clatters across the floor, breaking the moment.

“Sorry!”

Tommy breaks the kiss and chuckles, turning to see Jax chasing down the cup that was bouncing across the tile floor.

“That’s alright bud. I’ll just have to-”

Jax squeals as Tommy launches himself at him, chasing our little 3 year old around the kitchen. He bolts and runs towards his room upstairs and Tommy slows, stopping next to me to give Jax a moment to get into his favorite hiding spot, deep in his closet.

“He’s a fast little bugger, isn’t he?” Tommy catches his breath while I hand him a to-go mug of coffee.

“That’s why I don’t blink ever… You going to be early today?”

Tommy thinks a moment. “We have to meet the suppliers for this one gig and meet with the Rivieras to try and finalize that building deal. I think I’ve got them, just gotta cover a couple more things.”

“Don’t forget about Joel’s birthday today.”

Tommy takes a sip of his coffe and savors it for a quick second. “Yeah I know. I gotta pick him up today. His truck is in the shop.”

“Again? He really needs a new one.”

Tommy sighs. “Yeah. He’ll wait until that thing is drove into the ground though.” He pauses and looks at the counter behind me where Jax’s smoothie sits waiting to be blended. “Smoothie? No pancakes?”

“Out of mix. I’ll pick some up tomorrow at the store.”

He sticks out his lip to pout and I can’t resist it. I reach out, sliding my fingers behind his large belt buckle and pulling him to me, leaning up to bite his lip.

“Careful there, miss. Don’t start somethin’ you can’t finish.”

I open my mouth to respond when Jax yells from upstairs. “DAAAAAD!”

Tommy chuckles, kissing me one more time. “That’s my queue. We will finish this tonight.” His eyes are dark as they meet mine and I push my legs together, a movement that doesn’t go unnoticed by Tommy. He winks before leaving the kitchen, moving exaggeratedly loud up the stairs. A moment goes by before Jax squeals and Tommy comes back downstairs with him hooked under his arm like a football, kicking and laughing the whole way. He sets him down and Jax tries to play fight him. They wrestle a moment before Tommy pretends to get hit hard, crumbling to the floor as Jax jumps on him and he grunts.

“You got me, little man!”

“Look mommy! I win!”

“My strong boy!”

Jax puffs out his chest as Tommy stands, giving him a hug before putting on his boots.

“You be good for your mama today, alright?”

“We go to cabin tomorrow? With Uncle Joel and Sarah? And Uncle Joel's um..girl friend?"

Tommy nods. “Yeah, bud. If they’re still up for it. But-" He glances up at me "- Rose has to work so she can't make it. Guess the hospital needs extra hands."

This seems acceptable to Jax and he bounds back into the kitchen, sitting at the table to wait for his smoothie, pulling some coloring books and crayons towards him that were on the table. I walk Tommy to his truck where he quickly spins me around and pushes my back into it, kissing me deeply, one hand gripping my hip and the other twisting in my hair. He whimpers as he pushes himself against me and I almost tell him to meet me in the backseat.

“We do have neighbors, Tommy.”

“So?”

“They have kids.”

He sighs before pulling back. “I can’t wait to get you on my own for a bit this weekend. I gotta make sure you remember how to yell my name.”

My knees go weak as his lustful gaze bores into mine. “Th-that’s good because I need to see how many sounds I can pull from you.”

Tommy groans and kisses me once more before he gets in his truck, turning it on.

“See you tonight. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I watch him drive off, giving me a wave before his truck disappears around the corner. Heading back inside, I see that Jax had moved from the table to turn on the tv. He was pressing buttons on the remote and getting more and more frustrated as the news program won’t click off. Instead, it gets progressively louder as he jams the wrong button.

“...continued disturbances in Jakarta, but are advising US citizens…”

“MAMA HELP!” Jax shoves the remote at me and covers his ears while I tap a few buttons, quickly putting on PBS Kids. He settles on the couch and I let him drink his smoothie there, snuggling up next to him as I sip my own.

I spend some time playing with Jax, but then decide to start packing for the trip to the cabin. Joel had wanted us all to go for his birthday so I packed up some things for the 3 of us, scanning the cabinets and tossing some small snacks into our snack bag. We’ll have to stop at the store on the way. When Tommy doesn’t show up for dinner that night, I start to worry. He usually calls when he’s running late, although he was trying to close that deal today. I just tuck Jax into bed when suddenly, my phone rings and I rush to pick it up.

“Hello?”

“Hey darlin’.” Tommy sounds apologetic and I sigh.

“You’re going to be extra late, aren’t you?”

He sighs into the phone. “Yeah. I mean, we closed the deal with the Riveras.”

“That’s great news!”

“It is. But since it’s Joel’s birthday, I told him I’ll take the Riveras out to celebrate the closing deal so he can go home to Sarah.”

“You’re a good brother.”

“The best. ‘M sorry, darlin’. You’ll be ok to pack by yourself?”

“Of course. I’ll pack your bag for you too.”

“Thanks. I’ll have to make it up to you this weekend.”

“I can think of a few ways you can do that.”

Tommy clears his throat and I realize he must not be alone in the room. “I can’t wait. Gotta go. Love you. Kiss Jax goodnight for me.”

“I will. Love you too.”

I cleaned up the kitchen and packed a bag for him, taking my time in getting ready for bed, intending to wait up for him. But the second I start reading my book, I pass out, book open in my hands.

Until the screams outside rip me from sleep.

General Taglist:

@frankie-catfish-morales @chaoticgeminate @janebby @astoryisaloveaffair @balekanemohafe @greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional @marvelousmermaid @hauntedmama @giuliarogers @icanbeyourjedi @wretchedmo @sunnshineeexoxo @livingmydreams13 @adventures-of-a-noodle @sara-alonso @theewokingdead @punkerthanpascal @giggly-otter @f0rever15elf @phandoz @dirtytissuebox @gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride @sarahmilesbendrix @booksarekindaneat @mrsudontknowme @swol-bear @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox @amneris21@gooddaykate @alindeluce @avengers-fixation @paintballkid711 @harriedandharassed @ladykatakuri @marrianena @practicalghost @withakindheartx @batdarkladyvampir @justanotherkpopstanlol @mermaidxatxheart @alexxavicry @ichigodjarin @justreblogginfics @sullyosully @kmc1989 @veryprairieberry

#tommy miller #gabriel luna #The last of us #tommy miller x you #tommy miller x f!reader #tommy miller x female reader #tommy miller x reader #tlou #tlou fanfic #tlouff #the last of us fanfic #gabriel luna x reader #gabriel luna x you #gabriel luna characters character fanfic #gabriel lunal character ff #gabriel luna character fanfiction

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talktonytome · 12 days ago

Text

20 questions for fic writers

tagged by @hearteyestommykinard <3

How many works do you have an AO3? 41

What's your total AO3 word count? 62,037

What fandoms do you write for? 9-1-1 right now, but I've also written for Marvel and Our Flag Means Death.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos? Four Times Buck Sits in Tommy's Lap + 1 (1,241), Take My Words (and read 'em everyday) (786), Come Home (and be with your man) (685), written all over your face (530), and some part of me came alive (480)

Do you respond to comments? Yes, I love reading them and like to thank and reply to people :)

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? lol I don't really have one because I don't normally write angst, but I do have an ambiguous/ open ending, post Civil War Stevetony one that was kinda angsty throughout

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? haha, almost all, but the most? probably Take My Words (and read 'em every day)

Do you get hate on fics? I think I've had only one true hate comment? But other than the occasional unprompted "I wish" comment, nah

Do you write smut? Some, I've only just started and I want to continue getting better at it

Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've ever written? Sort of, I wrote a 911/ 911 LS scene with tarlos and bucktommy. And the only other one/"craziest" was a marvel x supernatural one lol

Have you ever had a fic stolen? I don't think so, not that I know of.

Have you ever had a fic translated? not that I know of

Have you ever co-written a fic before? I haven't!

What's your all time favorite ship? oughhh, it cycles so idk if I can pick just one. My OG one is stevetony and obviously my current one is bucktommy. I also love blackbonnet (ofmd) and hannigram

What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? I really love the idea of my bucktommy cultivating a garden/ relationship WIP, but idk that I'll ever actually finish :(

What are your writing strengths? I think I'm good at capturing emotions and dialogue.

What are your writing weaknesses? I don't write a lot of angst or smut so I think I could use more time in those settings and sitting with those dynamics and feelings

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I will only do it if I'm comfortable doing it and know it's accurate. I'm fluent in Spanish so I'd be down to do that and I like/ know terms of endearment in other languages, if it fits the story.

First fandom you wrote for? technically supernatural, but never posted. officially, marvel for stevetony

Favorite fics you've written? I'm really proud of Come Home (and be with your man) It's the second-longest fic I've written and I feel like I got the Buck pov feelings and pining down well. Also the ones mentioned in question 4 and The One Where They Get Their Dance

np tags: @firewasabeast @wikiangela @thatmexisaurusrex @theotherbuckley

#tag game #fic writing #bucktommy #my fics

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yeehawbvby · 27 days ago

Text

When the Moon Fell in Love With the Sun | Ch. 6

March x F!Farmer

Rating: Mature/Explicit (eventual smut)

Chapter Summary: Olric and the farmer hang out!

Author’s Note: Sorry in advance to Olric enjoyers but god damn, the idea of Lady Who Works With Heavy Things x Himbo Who Likes Lifting Heavy Things is GOLDEN to me.

Also! Now that the game's first major update has been announced (!!!!!!), I wanna make it known for readers of the future that the entirety of this fic was written during the earlier months of the game's early access release!! The max number of hearts you can reach with anyone is 4 at the moment :3

Table of Contents + Work Summary

Check it out on ao3!

Prev | Next

After Elsie caught December and March canoodling in the bath house, word of their closeness spread like wildfire. They hadn’t “officially” begun a relationship yet, but nobody would believe their denial, so they’d stopped bothering to correct it.

It wasn’t like it was a bad thing. It was just tedious. They wanted to move at their own pace — both of them feeling nervous, on top of being out of practice — but they suddenly felt the pressure of everyone in Mistria doing their best to speed things up. As much as they both adored their small town, they were less than enthused to be the center of its gossip.

Luckily, the hype died down and they stopped having to avoid being seen too close to each other in public after only about two weeks, Juniper and Valen once again taking precedence. Nobody knew what they had going on, but nobody could deny that there was something there, and it was fascinating enough to make its way into the town’s entertainment rotation on a regular basis.

Elsie adored a good rivals to lovers arc, so on more than one occasion she’d watch from across the bar or upon the inn’s balcony as the two bickered over wine just centimeters from each other’s faces.

“Do you think they’ll kiss this time?” Reina, who was taking a break from the kitchen, asked one day from the second floor.

“I can only dream of it,” Elsie sighed on her left.

December nodded her agreement to Reina’s right, took a sip of her own wine, and pursed her lips for a moment. “I just know they wanna make out sloppy style.“

“Ha! Ew!” the chef reacted in tandem with December’s goofy, tipsy smile. Elsie nodded in concurrence with the farmer.

Olric had made his way into the watch party that night, and poked fun at December with a (surprisingly) light nudge to her shoulder, “That’s basically what you and March looked like for the longest time!”

She groaned while he and the ladies giggled, and as if he had a sixth sense for this, March magically appeared to whisk her away and save her from their prying eyes.

The duo still lightheartedly argued plenty, and they still shot the shit daily. December was a pro at that, after all, utilizing her goofiness to diffuse just about any situation she found herself in. But they settled into a habit of merely holding hands and linking arms in public while kissing, hugging and cuddling in private. It was lovely.

Another week passed, and March and December were perusing the market hand in hand, a hot chocolate and an iced coffee in their respective opposing grasps.

March noted as they neared Vera’s booth a second time, “My roots are growing in… I should probably go see her.”

December gave his hand one last squeeze and saluted him, encouraging him to go for it (and earning a flick to the forehead for being a dork) before heading off to browse more of the market on her own.

“December!”

She halted in place, looking around for the source of her name until she landed on Olric waving her over from the furniture stall. As she made her way towards him, he said bye to Merri, gave her a sweet peck, and jogged to meet December halfway. Before turning to walk with him, she and the merchant shared a quick wave.

December liked Merri. She was friendly, witty, and she was always more than willing to share tips with her when it came to decorating or building her own pieces. Ryis did the same plenty, but he was much less focused on aesthetics, making Merri’s advice one of a kind. It was a shame the saleswoman could only come to town every so often — especially considering how smitten Olric was, December thought.

“You two are adorable, you know.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. His grin was wide and proud, his cheeks dusted with pink while he responded, “Aw, thanks!” December finished her coffee and tossed its empty vessel into the bin near Darcy’s set-up. “Any good finds?” Olric asked, noticing and nodding to the paper shopping bag in her hand.

December shrugged, “Louis finagled me into buying a dress I’ll probably never wear.”

“I can’t imagine you in a dress.”

“Neither can I!”

“He’s dangerous.”

“I can’t even call him a fraud to cope,” she lamented. She knew he was amazing at his job. “What about you?”

“Nah, I’ve just been hanging out with Merri all morning.”

“Did you lug any furniture for her?”

“Of course! I am a gentleman, thank you,” Olric bowed slightly, putting a hand on his heart as if to prove the point. December laughed at the gesture. “Oh, so you might like this: I was talking to Errol this morning, and he was describing, like, the sickest rock ever.”

Nodding along, December proceeded to listen as Olric gushed about said rock. While this went on, they stopped by the farm so she could drop off her shopping bag at home before wandering around town.

This rock Olric was talking about was round. Really round, in fact. He fawned over it even more when she told him that she was the one who donated it to the museum. She promised to save one for him if she found any more, and they made plans for him to actually come mining with her one of these days before they wrapped back around to the market square.

They noticed near the fountain that the Dragonguard — as well as Reina and Celine, who were supervising their shenanigans — had matching streaks in their hair: a single sliver of purple on the right side. Since Luc’s hair was so short, he received a small butterfly-shaped plot of dye instead.

“They’re so cute, bro.” Olric then wondered, “I wonder if March would ever go purple.”

December snorted at the thought. “Have you ever thought of trying to match with him?”

“Ha! I’ve thought about it, yeah. I don’t think he would like that very much though.” Then, inspecting the top of December’s head, he asked, “Has your hair always been white?”

”Mhm,” she nodded, “It’s genetic.”

“Maybe you should change it up!” Olric beamed. “It’s not like it’s permanent.”

“I don’t even know what I’d do with it.”

She tried to think: The last time she dyed it was for a fundraising event with her old sponsor, and before that…

She reminisced about her younger self leaning over the bathroom sink, the potent and chemically stench of box-dye filling the room while its color stained the porcelain below her. On more than one occasion, she found herself doing her best to put some messy streaks of various colors into her hair before coating what little remained of her white tresses in black. It was a disaster, but it was fitting for a little punk who wanted to defy authority.

So, she concluded to herself, it had to be back when she was a teenager.

“Why not let Vera choose the color?” December’s eyes widened as she shot her friend a look. He laughed before reassuring her, “You can trust her! She dyes everyone’s hair around here.”

”Well, yeah, but—“ She stopped mid-sentence, changing her mind. Maybe she needed some extra spice in her life. “Hm.” She sighed. “I’ll think about it.“

“There ya go!” Olric patted December on the shoulder — accidentally moving her, as usual.

___

Just a few days later, December and Olric acted on those plans to go mining together. March was less than enthused to stay back and man the shop, but knew he needed to without Olric around. He’d be damned if he ever closed it down for a day.

December loved adrenaline. Going mining was a perfect way to fulfill her yearn for it in the otherwise relatively calm life she’d now cultivated for herself. It was one of her favorite pastimes in Mistria, maybe aside from just hanging out with all the cute animals on her farm, Goose included, of course; and while she enjoyed just throwing on some music, wrecking shit, and kicking little gooey monsters underground for a few hours, it was exciting to have a companion for a change.

“I haven’t been down there in ages,” Olric mentioned as they entered the mines, gesturing towards the shaft. “I never thought I’d need a sword for it.”

“You’d be surprised,” December mumbled. As they approached the makeshift elevator, she took his weapon from its sheath, inspecting it. While it was only iron, it was — unsurprisingly, given his family’s long bloodline of smiths — extremely well-made. “This should be fine.”

“Well, yeah. How bad can those guys be?”

She answered nonchalantly, handing his sword back and lowering them down, “Some of them will projectile vomit rocks at you.”

Olric was horrified.

December figured the deep earth would be a good section to focus on. It shouldn’t have been too hard to manage, given the farmer’s experience in the area, combined with Olric’s mining prowess and almost absurd musculature.

Plus, it was pretty.

Being agile from her snowboarding days, the farmer had no trouble dodging attacks from monsters and was light enough on her feet to fight right back at a moment’s notice. She had to handle it that way. Sure, she adorned a protective vest and padded leggings beneath her clothes, but she was still fragile after all.

Olric was in awe. He knew he shouldn’t be, given December’s past as an athlete and adventurer, but it was still a sight to behold. He struggled keeping up — plus, taking a few hits from the aforementioned rock creatures and stepping on what he aptly named A Spiky Dude deterred him from combat — so they decided to split up the work. December focused purely on fighting while Olric gathered stone, ore, and whatever other materials he stumbled upon within her protection.

To his absolute delight, he found his very own, very round, perfect little rock. It was at that moment that they decided to call it a day.

After stopping at the museum to drop off a few donations, Olric offered December a seat at the dinner table. He and March made it a point to have at least a few home cooked meals together per week outside of going to the inn or getting takeout.

Olric liked to do it for the sake of brotherly bonding. March did it to ensure Olric would eat his fucking vegetables.

December took up the offer, and the next thing she knew, she was pestering March while Olric made them all some curry to share.

The farmer sat on the desk in the smithy while March sketched beside her.

“If you could be any forgeable item, what would you be?” she asked.

“What kind of question is that?”

“The fun kind.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Alright, have fun being a nail, then.”

March scowled at her. “Why a nail?”

He fell right into the trap! “So you can screw yourself.” Holt would have been so proud of her for that one. She just knew it. “And also ’cause you’re boring,” she rapidly tacked onto the end.

While December flashed him a shit-eating grin and mentally patted herself on the back, March contemplated why he fell for her of all people.

“I hate you…”

“Sure you do.”

The queen of dad jokes began skimming through some of the most stunning blueprints for weapons and armor she’d ever seen, all of which March hadn’t had a chance to craft yet.

“Speaking of, you ever think about making something cooler than nails?” she teased. The comment earned her a firm elbow to her hip. “Ow,” she laughed under her breath.

“You ever think about leaving me the hell alone?”

“You see, that doesn’t work anymore. You like being around me.”

“Is it too late to take that back?” he grumped.

”Depends,” December shrugged, answering with her own question, “How badly do you wanna kiss me right now?”

March looked up from his work to chance a glimpse at her mischievously curved lips, and her focused, sparkly gaze on his drawings in her lap.

Truthfully, he wanted to so incredibly badly. Instead, he responded with a silent glare that she could only see in her peripherals.

“Alright, it’s ready!” Olric called from the kitchen.

March stood, offering a hand to December as she hopped down from her perch. He felt a sudden impulse to be cute and acted on it before he could even think, giving her a quick twirl while their fingers were still clasped together.

He was almost annoyed with himself. Her laughter paired with the way she beamed a smile up at him like he was the most precious thing in the world to her made it worthwhile.

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crystalninjaphoenix · 25 days ago

Text

A Single Opportunity

Switch AU

A JSE Fanfic

I think, with this chapter, the Switch AU is officially my longest fic series! Discounting my bad end ask blog and the interactive fic Many Roads Diverge, because those are special. Out of all my normal fics, this is now the longer, I'm pretty sure. And what a chapter to push it over the edge. The side characters on the outside are ready to rescue the five guys from IRIS. They're confident in their plan, but will it go wrong? Maybe with some strange magical help and the aid of a certain whispery stranger, they might just escape... heh. This chapter is a bit longer than usual. I hope you enjoy!

More of This AU | | First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Read on AO3 under CrystalNinjaPhoenix

———————

“Alright, the plan is simple,” Jack said. “We get in, we grab everyone as quickly as possible, and we get out again.”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that, I think,” Stacy muttered.

“Well... yeah, but those are the details that matter.”

Rama glanced over at Jack, sitting in the passenger seat, then looked forward, out at the road again. “You nervous, Jack? We’re getting close to the facility, after all. Are you saying that unprompted out of nerves?”

“What? Nooo. It’s for Aoife.” Jack twisted around in his seat and looked back at the backseat, where Stacy was sitting... along with Aoife, who was coming along with them, despite not coming with them on the recon mission. “She needs to know the plan!”

Aoife raised an eyebrow. “Well, something like that isn’t quite enough for me to go off of, I think.”

“It’s alright to be nervous, Jack,” Stacy said, twisting her hands in her lap. “I’m nervous too.”

Jack swallowed a lump in his throat. He was already wearing that copied IRIS uniform he’d gotten during their recon mission. It felt strange. But at least Sam was tucked away in one of the belt pouches. They reassured him that everything would be alright. They had a good feeling about this.

“I think this is a good place to stop,” Rama muttered.

They pulled off the side of the small dirt road they were on and drove onto the grass for a while, circling back to face the way they came so they were ready to drive away as quickly as possible after all this. This wasn’t Rama’s car, like it had been for the recon mission, or even the one where they got Jackie away from the other IRIS facility. Instead, Rama had rented an eight-seat van: two seats in the front, then a row of three in the middle, and another row of three in the back. They were still one seat short, but someone could squeeze in somewhere. “Is it safe to leave this here?” Stacy asked. “What if IRIS notices it?”

“Well I’m done with waiting in the car,” Rama said. “My fucking husband is in there. I’m going to go get him. Those protection charms Persephone and the other magicians cast earlier should hold up.” They glanced at Aoife. “Right?”

“Right.” Aoife nodded. “Now let’s go.”

The four of them got out of the van. Aoife tapped Stacy and Rama on the shoulders, mumbling a spell under her breath, and the two of them vanished from sight, leaving behind only a slight disturbance in the light to show they’re there. Then Aoife gestured at herself, and her clothes were covered by an illusion, a copy of the uniform Jack was wearing.

“Alright, Sam.” Jack patted the belt pouch. “We’re ready whenever you are.”

After a few seconds, the cloaking disappeared, and the IRIS compound appeared from nowhere. The four of them hurried forward. “We’re getting the guys in the basement first, aren’t we?” Rama asked. “Are you sure you can open the doors, Aoife?”

Aoife nodded. “I don’t think IRIS can account for magic. They’re probably magnetic or electric locks, my shocking spell can disrupt that for long enough for us to open the door. And if it doesn’t work, we have Sam to fall back on.”

They walked up to the wall around the compound, trying to look casual while also moving as quickly as possible. And it’s there that their first stroke of luck happened. Stacy had reported that the main gate was guarded by three of those C&C people, but as they walked up to the heavy portcullis-like gate, there wasn’t a single sign of any of those guards. Jack and Aoife glanced at each other nervously, and Rama invisibly hurried forward, testing the door next to the gate. “Locked,” they reported.

“Of course it is,” Aoife muttered. She walked up to the door and put her hand over the gap where it joined the doorframe, her palm glowing yellow.

“Where are the guys?” Stacy whispered. “That’s suspicious, isn’t it?”

“Let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth,” Jack said. “Maybe they’re on break. Or they got called away or something.”

“Got it!” Aoife reported, pulling on the door. It slid to the side, and the four of them quickly walked inside, through the little guard station, and out into the rest of the facility.

From there, Jack led the others towards the building where their friends were being held. The plan was indeed to start in the basement first. Schneep and JJ were probably going to be the hardest to rescue, since there was no doubt more security measures around their cells than the others. The group had discussed it for a long time yesterday, about whether it’d be easier to break into three lower-security cells first of the two higher-security ones. In the end, they decided that if something went wrong after rescuing the first person, they wanted as much time as possible to unlock the high-security cells, so it was better to get them done earlier.

Aoife used the same spell to open up the door to this big building, and the group went inside, taking the hallway straight to the elevators. They passed a few clumps of other guards as they went, many of them glancing at Jack and Aoife strangely as they walked past. Were they... suspicious? Jack swallowed the nervous lump in his throat and continued to act like he belonged here, looking casual as they reached the elevator and pressed the call button, waiting for it to arrive.

It did... but there were a few other guards riding the inside. They looked at Jack and Aoife in surprise. “Uh... hey,” one said as the guards all left the elevator. Jack could see Stacy and Rama’s invisible forms trying to get out of the way so they don’t bump into anything suspicious. “Where are you guys going? Up or down?”

“Uh, just down,” Jack said nonchalantly. “We’re supposed to check on things down there.”

“Really?” The guard seemed doubtful.

“Yeah... well, honestly, it’s more of a personal choice,” Jack improvised. “We want to make sure it’s all safe, you know?”

“I suppose that makes sense. But you know Leigh will have your head if you’re away from your positions for too long.”

“Don’t worry, we won’t be but a few minutes,” Aoife lied.

“Seriously.” The guard narrowed his eyes. “Get in, check the cells, and get out. We’re on high alert for a reason.”

Jack and Aoife nodded. “We’ll be careful,” Jack promised. “See you soon.” And with that, the two of them walked into the elevator. Aoife reached for the bottom button, but it was pressed before she got there, lighting up before their eyes. Rama had pushed it. And then Stacy pushed the ‘close door’ button, wanting to block out the view of the guards as quickly as possible.

As soon as the doors closed and the elevator started to move, Stacy hissed, “They’re on high alert?! What happened?!”

“I don’t know!” Jack whispered. “Everything was fine when I checked things out two days ago. Did something go down after that?”

Rama gasped. “Do you think they knew we were coming?!” they asked, horrified.

“No... no, there’s no way,” Jack insisted. “But... even if they do... we can’t stop now. We have to at least try to get the others out! We can’t waste this chance!”

None of the others said anything in response, but they didn’t need to. They’d thrown all this effort into this rescue. They might not get another opportunity after this.

The elevator doors opened and the group hurried out into the basement. “Ohhh this place is freaky,” Rama whispered. “It looks so... cold.”

“Come on, I think these are their cells.” Jack’s copied helmet still had the Xs in view. He ran down the hall, leading the others to the first marked cell. He tried the door experimentally, but of course, it was locked. “Aoife?”

Aoife stepped forward, trying out the same spell. Her posture hunched as she concentrated, but after a while, she shook her head. “It’s not working. Strange.”

“That’s fine, that’s fine,” Jack whispered. “Sam?”

Sam flew out of the pouch and bopped into the door. They told Jack to hurry and open it! Which he did, pushing it and walking into the room beyond.

The stark emptiness of the cell shocked him into stillness. He knew that IRIS was horrible, he’d seen into Anti’s cell, but... this was worse than that room. The walls were a blank white, lit up by the bright lights overhead. It was a strange, long rectangle shape, and everything was squished against the far end. The bed, the alcove with the toilet, and Schneep. “Henrik!” Jack gasped, rushing forward.

Schneep was lying curled up on the bed. He looked up at the sound of his voice, surprised to hear his real name be called. “Wh-what do you want?” He asked, voice hoarse as he pushed back against the wall.

Jack raised the visor on his helmet. “Schneep, it’s me!”

“...Jack?” Schneep whispered. “Wha... h-how did you get here?”

“We don’t have much time to talk,” Jack said. “We’re here to rescue you! All of you!” He glanced down, and noticed a problem. There was a manacle around Schneep’s ankle, attaching him to the ground. “Shit.”

“Aoife, do you have a spell to break that?” Stacy asked.

Schneep jumped in surprise. “Stacy? You are here, too?”

“And me,” Rama added. “Aoife cast an invisibility spell on us.”

“I am guessing it is Aoife in the uniform, then,” Schneep said, glancing at Aoife.

“Yep.” Aoife didn’t take her helmet off as she hurried forward, crouching on the ground to look at the manacle. “Hm... this isn’t metal. It’s more like plastic. But that’s fine, this spell should work the same, anyway.” She raised her hand, pointing at the cord of the manacle. A laser of yellow light shot out from the tip of her pointer finger. She moved the laser back and forth, sawing through the cord. The smell of burnt plastic filled the air, but luckily not for long, as she seared through it.

Schneep sighed, clearly relieved. He stood up, lifting his leg perpendicular into the air, enjoying the lack of a tether. Then he lowered it and looked at Aoife and Jack. “Do you know where the others are? I-I know that Jamie is somewhere nearby.”

“Yeah, I know where he is,” Jack said.

“Can you walk?” Stacy asked worriedly.

“I can walk.” Schneep nodded. “That will not be a problem for me, they have kept me very active. I am more worried about the others.” He took a deep, shaky breath. “Please, let us hurry.”

“We will,” Jack promised. “Come on.”

The group quickly left the cell behind. Stacy stayed by Schneep, invisibly holding onto his arm in case he needed support. But he didn’t, easily keeping up with the others as Jack led them down the hallway and around the corner towards the second cell door. Sam immediately popped out of the pouch on the belt (Schneep gasped and said “Sam!” when he saw them) and bopped against the door. It unlocked and Jack slid it open, rushing into the cell again.

This cell was identical to the one they found Schneep in, right down to the occupant lying curled up on the bed. JJ’s face was buried in the pillow, but it was clearly him... though the group could already tell that he was thinner than he was before. “Jameson!” Jack said, hurrying in. Aoife followed him, but Schneep stayed outside. The invisible pair probably did, too, since there were no additional footsteps.

Unlike Schneep, JJ did not look up at the sound of his name. Jack hurried over to his side and, after a moment of hesitation, reached out to shake his shoulder. JJ still did not respond. Worried, Jack shook him a bit harder. “Jameson! JJ! W-wake up!”

JJ suddenly started, raising his head with an alarmed expression. He looked at Jack’s face, not understanding at first... but then looking very confused.

“Hey.” Jack smiled gently. “Don’t worry. We’re here to get you out of here.”

Aoife hurried over and cast the same laser spell to break through the manacle cord—because there was indeed another one of those around JJ’s ankle. Once she was done, she pushed her helmet visor back and smiled at JJ. “Everything’s going to be okay. We just have to hurry.”

...Aoife? JJ asked, slowly signing A-eye to say her name.

“Yep, that’s me. I”m here for you, JJ.” She stood up and offered her hand. “Here, let me help you up.”

JJ took the hand, letting her pull him up. He stumbled, but otherwise could stand. He glanced towards the doorway and noticed Schneep standing there. Henrik? Are you alright? His hands shook slightly as he signed.

“I am fine,” Schneep whispered. “Are you alright?”

Jameson gave him a weak smile. I could be better.

“Stacy and Rama are also here, invisible,” Jack said. “We’re going to head to the elevator and take it up to the other cell block where Anti, Jackie, and Marvin are. If anyone asks what we’re doing, we’re going to say that we’re taking you somewhere important.”

Schneep laughed. “We should probably hide the broken manacles, then.”

“Oh shit right,” Rama cursed, causing Schneep and JJ to jump as their voice came from nowhere.

“Can you walk?” Jack asked, continuing despite the two interruptions.

JJ looked down at his legs and nodded slowly. What about the cuffs? They always use this special pair of cuffs when they take me anywhere.

Jack inhaled sharply. “Uh... well, we can explain that away, I’m sure.”

They’re used to muffle my magic, I don’t think you can explain away something so important.

“Then we’ll see if we can hide you from view,” Aoife said. “Come on. JJ, describe these special cuffs to me as we walk to the elevator. I’ll probably be able to make an illusion of them. A passable one at least.”

They hurried back to the elevator, going as fast as they could. JJ was struggling with running, and couldn’t quite sign as he went quickly. Jack and Aoifelowered their visors again as they went down the hallway, and Aoife tried to conjure up an illusion based on JJ’s descriptions. “How are you doing, Sam?” Jack asked quietly.

Sam explained that they’ve been knocking down any cameras they came close to. It was probably suspicious. They should pick up the pace.

“On it.” Jack called the elevator. It was on this floor so the door opened right away, and the group hurried inside, with Schneep and JJ sandwiched between Jack and Aoife, while Stacy and Rama waited invisibly behind them. Aoife pressed the button for the cell block floor up above, and the elevator started to move...

But it stopped at the ground floor. A cluster of black-uniformed guards waited for the doors to open, and then piled inside. The group pressed back against the back wall of the elevator. Jack was immediately sweating bullets. Oh this was bad luck. This was very bad luck. Why were there so many guards getting in the elevator now?

As they approached their destination, all the guards slowly looked towards the group. One of them raised the visor on their helmet and asked a question like they already knew the answer.

“Where are you taking these subjects?”

———————

Anti.

At the sound of the familiar voice, Anti immediately shot up from where he was lying in bed, sitting up and looking around. “Whisper,” he said quietly. “So... it’s time, then?”

It’s time, Whisper’s voice confirmed, coming out clearer than it ever had before.

“What do I need to do?”

Get the door open. Find the others. And then Whisper’s voice faded away.

Anti nodded and hurried over to his blank spot under the camera. He didn’t have a specific plan in mind. But he could improvise this! Okay, what weapons did he have? Not many. He didn’t even have shoes, only socks. Actually, he couldn’t remember the last time he wore shoes? He showed up in IRIS the first time without them, as he’d wandered into the facility in the middle of the night. But... he did have his jacket...

Quickly, Anti took it off, rolling it up into a narrow rope-like thing. Then, thinking hard, he kicked the chair and made it clatter loudly, and screamed as hard as he could. With him standing in a blind spot, his hope was that they would think he got terribly injured and send some guards in to help him, like they did when he cut his fingers. Then, he could ambush them. Hopefully while still in this extended blind spot. Now he just had to wait.

———————

Marvin was lying in bed, trying to get some rest, when he heard the scream. Was that Anti?! He immediately sat straight up, on high alert. What was IRIS doing to him?!

Hey.

“Gah!” Marvin jumped in surprise and looked around. “What? H-hello?” As his eyes darted wildly across the room, they eventually settled on the door. There was... a figure standing there. He couldn’t make out any of their features. Absolutely none. The figure wavered slightly, as if made of glowing mist. “Who... who are you?”

It’ll take too long to explain. The figure bent down, reaching to the ground... then stood up again. Hand them back to me next time you see me. And then... then they were gone.

Marvin blinked, confused. He tried to stand up, but his muscles couldn’t quite support him, so he decided to save energy and crawl across the ground instead of walk. There was something on the ground where the figure had bent over. He crawled closer—and then gasped as he realized what it was and hurried over, scooping it up.

“My cards...” Marvin whispered.

How? How had the figure managed to get his cards? And how had they gotten into his cell to hand them over? Were they even the real cards? Was this a trick from IRIS? No, tricks like this wasn’t their style. But maybe... maybe it was Distorter? But why would Distorter hand over Marvin’s cards? He didn’t really like them, and he definitely didn’t want Marvin to have them.

But he did have them. Now—how could he use them to get out of here?

Marvin spread the cards out on the ground, starting to sort them out before realizing that the deck was stacked in the order he always preferred them to be stacked in. That... was a bit strange. But no time to think about it. He looked at the cards, mind scrambling as he tried to figure out some pattern that would help.

And then... his eyes landed on two cards in particular, two cards at the end of the line, at the bottom of the deck. The jokers. The ones with their spiral-shaped-X’ed-out runes on the back.

There was something special about these cards. He knew it. He could feel something at the edge of his memory, trying to scream a meaning at him. Once upon a time, he’d known what these runes could do. He must have. But it had all been buried by Distorter, along with any other knowledge about his cards. Come on, think! Think!

He looked at the other cards, scanning their runes. All of the runes meant something. They were supposed to look like an item. Like an animal, or a bowl, or a window with bars. What could the X’ed out spiral represent? They were just designs! Come on, think! Where else had he seen something like this? Where else—

Something flashed in Marvin’s vision. Curving strands of orange, yellow, and blue light. Twisting into each other. That image he’d seen in the black crystal ball. And when he’d seen it in the crystal... he’d somehow known that he’d seen it somewhere else before that.

Could... that be what the runes were supposed to be? If he’d forgotten about that—that tunnel, in the same way he’d forgotten about what his cards could do, could they be related? But then... what did the X mean? Why was there an X over the rune?

Unless... they weren’t supposed to be there?

Marvin reached out and picked up one of the joker cards, squinting at the rune. He was holding it right up to his face, practically pushing it against his eye... and that’s when he could see the difference. The way the X part of the rune was less shiny, more yellow than golden like the runes were supposed to be. He quickly pulled the card back and scraped at the X with his nail. After a couple tries... he saw it start to peel.

Emotion jolted through Marvin’s heart, an almost physical force that made him let go of the card, watching it flutter towards the ground. The cards... they were sabotaged. Expertly sabotaged, but sabotaged nonetheless. And he hadn’t even noticed, with his memory of these runes and their meaning locked away. Distorter must have done it. But—why? Why?!

Marvin shook his head. He could dwell on this when he wasn’t imprisoned by an evil group of science people. He had to escape! And help his friends escape, too! He set the joker cards aside and started messing around with the rest. “Open door, open door, open door...” he muttered. There had to be a simple way to do that. Only one or two cards. With what he knew about the runes, maybe he could use these ones?

He lined three cards up in a line, noticing the way the lines on the backs could fit together. The nine of hearts and nine of diamonds on either side of his ace of spades. The two nines had the same rune on the back, a curve around a dot, while the ace had a triangular rune. He adjusted the lineup, until—clunk. He heard the door to his cell unlock.

“Yes!” Marvin whispered. He scooped up the rest of the cards, packing them together into a deck, but kept those three separate. Hurriedly, he got to his feet and pulled open the door, hurrying out into the hallway.

IRIS would notice him moving soon, if they hadn’t already. Marvin needed to get Anti and Jackie! He started to hurry towards the direction he heard Anti scream from—but then saw a flash of black uniforms coming from that other end of the hall. Quickly, Marvin turned around and ran in the other direction, pushing his weak legs to the limit. There was that same set of double doors that he’d run through on his first escape attempt. He clumsily lined up the three cards, pressing them against the doors, and when he heard them click, he hurried through.

Welp. Now he was here. Marvin’s eyes darted around, trying to come up with something, anything, he could do... and his eyes landed on the door that his cards had been kept in. How had that stranger gotten his cards from there?

There were footsteps coming closer. Impulsively, Marvin hurried over to that door, unlocking it with the cards, and headed inside. He’d hide inside the empty room for a while—

The room wasn’t empty.

Marvin blinked, staring, confused. Just as the last time he was here, those two cards, the joker cards, were hovering in a circle above a circular platform, strands of light following them, reaching out to each other. His eyes drifted to the side, where he saw a table... a table that hadn’t been here last time, a table with his cards on its surface.

He looked down at his hands. Yep. His cards were still in his grip. But... then... how were there two of them? Slowly, he walked over to the table, leaning onto it, and carefully moved the cards around. Both decks looked the same. Not just that. He knew, in his bones, that they were the same—though the deck on the table was missing the jokers.

“What the fuck?” Marvin whispered. Two decks of cards, existing in the same place at the same time? How?

The same... time...

Oh god he was going to be late for the audition. But in his defense, he hadn’t expected his ride to abandon him! He didn’t know where the auto had gone if it hadn’t picked him up, but his only option was to try walking. Even so, after fifteen minutes, he was breathless, tired. There had to be a way to save time. Hm... Well, he hadn’t wanted to mess around with those specific runes without reason. But if he missed this audition, he missed out on the only chance he had for work for this year. So, he lowered himself to the sidewalk, thanking the world that nobody was around to see him do this. He took out his cards, separating out the jokers. Now, what combination would get him some time? It would need to be a big spell, involving lots of cards. His eyes scanned them, easily picking out possible ways to link them up. Until, hesitantly, he reached out to move them all into place—

What in the hell? What happened? It was night time now. He looked up... confused. Had these buildings always been so... unkempt? Wait a second, those street lamps were different. Their lights were brighter, less yellow and more white. And what are those wires in the sky? And that rushing sound in the distance?

“Oh... my god,” Marvin whispered. Everything suddenly clicked into place. He knew what the runes on the jokers meant. Eyes wide, he looked down at the cards in his hand, now aware of the power in his fingers.

But there was no time. Ironically, there was no time. Marvin started laying out the cards on the table—the ones from the deck the mystery figure gave him. His memory was returning. He knew what not to do—what would send him forward. But maybe, if he changed that spell, used less cards—

There were footsteps outside the door. Marvin glanced back, eyes wide, then turned his attention back to the cards, trying not to be too frantic. Come on, he had to come up with something. He needed time, he needed time, he needed time—

And everything stopped.

Marvin quickly pulled his hands back. He could tell something changed. He’d tried to come up with something similar to that combination he’d made with Jackie, when everything around him had frozen... and he thought he did. The jokers were in the center, on either side of an upside-down seven of diamonds, the black eights above, the red eights below, and a black ten on either side. Nine cards... the most cards he’d used since getting them back.

As he stared at the combination he came up with, the jokers on the platform fluttered down, the light staying frozen in place even as they moved. Marvin hurried over and picked them up, putting them with the rest of their deck. He looked at the other deck laid out on the table, but decided to leave that there. He was pretty sure that disrupting the formation would cause this spell to end. So he left the room, moving as fast as he could. God, he wished he had his cane.

Out in the hallway, several guards in black were frozen in place, all facing the elevator. Marvin carefully walked around them, not wanting to risk anything. Alright... he didn’t know where Anti and Jackie were. So maybe... now that everything was frozen... he could just check everything?

He picked out the same three cards from before, lining them up on the nearest cell door. He wasn’t sure if this would work, with everything frozen. But apparently it did, as he heard the clunk of it unlocking. He opened up the door, but saw nothing inside.

This... would take a while.

———————

After a few minutes of tense waiting, Anti heard footsteps, going back and forth, left and right across the hallway. He inhaled sharply, standing at the edge of what he thought the blind spot was. Until, finally, the door opened up, and a single guard walked in, closing the door behind him.

And Anti immediately surged forward, wrapping his jacket around the guard’s neck. The guard cried out, jerking against Anti’s grip, reaching for his belt for some sort of weapon. No no no! Anti could feel him slipping out of his grip! He tried to hold on tighter, but the guard broke free, spinning around to look at him—

And then suddenly fell to the ground. Anti blinked. Somehow, the guard’s belt was now around their ankles. A gun-like weapon was on the ground next to them. And the door was open.

“...the fuck?” Anti whispered.

Then the guard started to get up again, and Anti quickly scooped up the weapon and ran out of the room, slamming the door closed behind him.

“Anti?”

Anti spun around and saw Jackie peeking out of an open door. Actually... all of the doors were open. “Uh... hey.” Anti waved.

“What’s going on?” Jackie asked.

“I’m pretty sure we’re being rescued,” Anti said. “Come on. We have to hurry!” He ran over to Jackie, grabbing his hand and pulling him after him as he ran—right? Yeah, right is a good direction—

No, wait, it’s not! The hallway turned a corner, ending in an open set of double doors, beyond which was a crowd of black-clad guards... some of which turned around to look at them as they ran up.

Anti and Jackie froze. Beyond that was the elevator—the way down and out of here. But it was blocked off. They had to come up with something.

———————

“Where are you taking these subjects?”

Jack froze, but after a moment, Aoife replied. “We’re taking them up to some tests.”

“What tests? Assigned by who?” a guard asked.

Silence. Jack’s mind was blank, and evidently, so was Aoife’s.

Then the elevator doors opened, and the group stared out at a hallway full of other guards. Many of them drew weapons, soon joined by the others in the elevator, all of them pointing the weapons at the group.

JJ froze, shaking slightly. Schneep quickly put himself in front of him protectively, glaring out at everyone.

“Next time you want to infiltrate a top-secret facility, don’t knock out cameras during your initial investigation,” one of the guards said.

“Shit,” Jack cursed. Sam had thought IRIS wouldn’t notice them taking down the cameras for a few moments! Was IRIS really that vigilant?

“Step out of the lift,” the guard said.

Before any of the group could really react though, there was a commotion over at the back of the group. Some of them glanced backwards. “They’re making a break for it!” “Grab them!” “Sedate them!”

The same guard spun back around to the group. “Step out of the lift!” they repeated.

Jack raised his hands. “A-alright, we’re stepping out. Schneep, JJ, behind us.”

“Jack, are you serious?!” Schneep hissed.

“We have a disabling signal at the ready, 1-019,” the guard said.

Schneep stiffened, fear flashing in his face. “F...fine, then.”

Jack, Aoife, Schneep, and JJ all shuffled out of the elevator. Schneep had his arm around JJ, hoping to keep him close, but JJ was standing up straight, trying to peer over the other guards towards that commotion. His eyes went wide and he gasped. Anti! Jackie! He signed.

“Get the fuck away from us!” Anti said, trying to run down the hallway, pushing Jackie in front of him. He spun around, firing the gun weapon as fast as he could—but his fingers were still injured, stiff and shooting with pain every time he moved them even a little. He managed to fire a couple darts but it wasn’t enough to stop the guards. “Jackie, run!”

But they were too weak, and there were too many guards. Both of them were soon grabbed and pulled back.

Meanwhile, the guards near the elevator turned their attention there, pointing their weapons into the seemingly empty interior. “All of you step out of the elevator,” one said firmly.

“What—we’re a-all out!” Jack protested.

“No, your invisible friends need to get out, too,” the guard said.

“Shit!” Rama cursed. The elevator doors started to close; they must’ve hit the close door button. But one of the guards pulled something off their belt and threw it into the elevator before the doors closed. A flare of bright light came from in between the closed doors, and Rama and Stacy cried out, sounding pained.

Another guard slammed on the call button until the doors opened again. Then more rushed in, grabbing the slumped-over invisible forms of Stacy and Rama, going right to them as if they could see them.

And then—then one of the doors on the hallway opened briefly before suddenly closing. The nearest guard looked at it suspiciously, then grabbed it and threw the door open. “Oh my god!” they shouted. “It’s another subject!”

“No it’s not!” A voice shouted—Marvin’s voice. “I’m not—” He yelped as the guard grabbed him, dragging him out into view.

“All of you are coming with us,” one of the guards said, pointing the weapon at him.

“No!” Anti shouted, voice cracking. “Fuck you!” He struggled, stomping on the guards’ feet, but he didn’t make any headway. “This is our chance!”

“Aoife, do you have magic?” Jack whispered. “Spells we can use?”

“I’m not too good at combat, but I’ll try,” Aoife whispered back. She raised a hand, glowing with yellow magic—but one of the guards shot at her, wires firing out of their gun-like weapon. Blue lightning traveled down the wires as they latched onto her, and she cried out—then fell to the ground.

The guards started closing in on the group. “No! Stay back!” Schneep shouted, standing in front of everyone.

“Hey—what are you doin’?!” Marvin gasped as one of the guards started to pat him down—and then seemed to find something. “No! My cards!”

Everyone was shouting, and the guards were closing in, grabbing everyone. Schneep cried out as JJ was pulled from his grasp. Anti was cursing wildly, struggling, but the guards were stronger. Jack put a hand over his pouch, trying to keep Sam hidden.

Jameson shuddered, crouching close to the ground. A guard grabbed him, roughly pulling him to his feet. It was too much! Were their friends really going to come all this way, go to all this effort to find and rescue them, only to fail? Was he going to have a brief glimpse of freedom only to be shoved back into that empty white room?! Tears pricked at his eyes, dripping down his face as he squeezed his eyelids shut.

There had to be some way out of this. There had to be! This was going to be their only chance, he just knew it! When else would everyone be out of their cells, free to roam the hallways, untethered—untethered. They didn’t put those muffler cuffs on him. He could feel his magic.

But there were so many guards. What could he do? It had to be big! It had to be enough. He had to be enough!

Marvin screamed. JJ’s eyes snapped open, his head whipping over to look at him. Marvin had been holding tight to the cards in his hand, but now he was clutching his wrist, looking down at it in disbelief. It was bent strangely.

The fear in Jameson’s heart froze. An intense cold that spread outwards. Not numbness. But rage. Rage that burned like frostbite.

The temperature in the room suddenly, dramatically dropped. Jameson’s eyes glowed blue, covered in a frost-like film.

And then blue magic burst outwards from him.

The guards didn’t have any time to react. They were quickly covered in blue magic, frozen in place by solid ice as flakes of snow drifted through the air. His friends looked around in shock, unharmed. “JJ?” Jackie asked, pushing past the guards towards him.

Blue light and magic continued to circle Jameson as he stood up straight, shards of crystalline magic behind him, like wings framing his body. His eyes darted around, and, moving faster than anyone would’ve thought, practically skating on the blue magic that covered the ground. He grabbed Jackie and Anti, pulled them back to where Marvin was, then grabbed all three of them with magic and took them over to where Jack was. Jameson looked towards the frozen guards whose arms were out, like they were holding something. He flicked blue magic towards them, lessening some of the ice, and Stacy and Rama appeared in view, the invisibility spell suddenly dispelled.

“Jems, what’s goin’ on?” Marvin gasped.

Jameson looked towards him, eyes pure icy blue. He gestured for him to get closer.

“Um... okay?” Marvin walked over. Jameson gently took his hand, looking at the bruise already forming on his strangely-bent wrist. He waved a hand over the injury. Blue light washed over it, and Marvin’s eyes widened as he felt the cooling sensation wipe away all the pain. “O-oh. Did you... heal it?”

Jameson didn’t answer. He gathered his magic into his hands, pouring white-blue light into a whirling ball of flakes. Then he threw it up into the air. The magic burst, a miniature snowstorm engulfing the group, whiting out their vision. When it cleared... they were outside. Standing on the empty field of the compound.

And there were a ton of guards around them.

The guards yelled, pointing weapons, firing immediately, but a crystalline dome appeared around the group, completely protecting them.

“We have to get to the van!” Jack shouted. Stacy and Rama were starting to stir, but Aoife was still out cold, so he scooped her into his arms. “Its that way!” He jerked his head in the right direction.

Jameson looked the way he indicated. There were guards blocking it, and there was the wall around the compound as well.

“The nearest entrance is that way.” Jack gestured to a slightly different direction. “Can everyone walk? We need—”

Jameson pointed in the first direction. A beam of bright blue light shot out from his pointer finger, a straight line towards the wall of the compound. And then that small beam suddenly burst in size, as tall and wide as a person. The guards cried out as they were thrown to the size by the force of it. And the magic blast kept getting bigger, parts of it flaking off, a car-sized beam of snow and ice and light. Then the middle hollowed out, becoming something more like a tunnel.

“...everyone go that way, instead, then!” Jack shouted.

Jackie was crouching by Stacy and Rama, shaking them awake. As soon as they could stand, he pulled them upright. “H-hey, hi, g-good to see you, Stacy. Ramram.”

“Jackie?” Rama said, not really believing what they were seeing. They started to hug him.

“Uh—no time for a touching reunion!” Anti shouted.

“Yes, look!” Schneep pointed at the guards. They were firing all sorts of different weapons at the shield and the tunnel. “They are going to break through eventually!”

“Are they, t’ough?” Marvin muttered, glancing at Jameson.

“No time to risk it!” Anti snapped. “Run!”

Jameson immediately listened, darting forward so fast that he left a gust of wind behind him. The others followed, running at a much slower place down the tunnel he’d made.

...A tunnel which had drilled through the wall around the compound. The others gaped at the hole as they ran through it, but Jameson didn’t stop. He ran straight for the van idling nearby.

“Everyone in!” Jack shouted.

Anti took charge, pulling open all the doors so everyone else could climb in. Jackie claimed the driver’s seat, since Rama was still very disoriented. He looked at the wheel and controls with wide eyes—but he had to drive! He’s pretty sure he was the only one in a fit state to! “JJ! Get in!” He yelled.

Jameson was still staring at the wall of the compound. He gestured vaguely, indicating everyone else should get in first.

“No, you get in now!” Marvin shouted. “Aoife is unconscious, she needs—”

Marvin wasn’t able to finish, as Jameson quickly reached out to Aoife, still in Jack’s arms, and pressed his hands to her forehead. There was a flash of blue light, and Aoife was awake, gasping. “...that’ll work, I guess?” Jack said, and helped her into the last seat in the middle row before getting into the passenger seat himself. “JJ! In!”

Only then did JJ get in—though he didn’t climb in, but instead teleported onto the cupholder tray in between the driver’s and passenger’s seat. Anti reached over Aoife to pull the van door shut. “Go!”

Jackie slammed his foot on the gas. The van’s wheels spun wildly before peeling out. “I-I don’t know where to go from here!”

“Just follow that dirt road!” Jack said, pointing. “It goes straight to the highway!”

The van bumped along the road, sending the passengers inside jumping and wriggling around—except for Jameson, who remained stock still the whole time.

Nobody said a word. The tension in the air was too thick, it would have smothered any voices.

They just kept driving.

Driving quickly.

Speeding along the road.

Until they reached the highway.

Until Jackie pulled on, speeding past other cars, not daring to slow down.

Then... then the glow faded from Jameson’s eyes, the icy wings disappearing. He immediately fell backwards. Anti, sitting in the middle seat of the middle row, yelped and leaned forward to catch him. “Fuck.” He pulled JJ back into the middle row, sitting him down on the floor. “He’s... really hot, all of a sudden? Like he has a fever.”

“Jems...” Marvin whispered. “What... what was t’at?”

Schneep leaned forward from the back seat. “How did you all get out of your rooms? What happened back there?”

Stacy groaned, rubbing her head. “No idea. I didn’t know Jameson could... glow?”

“None of us did, either,” Anti muttered.

Jack glanced into the rear view mirror. “It doesn’t look like we’re being followed... but we shouldn’t go directly back to our houses, just in case. Uh... while we’re on the way to wherever we’re going, why don’t we all... talk about how that... how that went down? So that we’re all on the same page?”

“You all start, t’en,” Marvin muttered. “And remember... wherever we’re goin’, Jems needs to lie down once we get t’ere. He might even need medical help.”

“I’ll do all I can, but... clearly hospitals aren’t as safe as we think,” Jackie said.

“Jackieboy... are you alright?” Rama asked gently from the back seat.

Jackie laughed. “As alright as I can be, I think. Stressed as fuck.”

“How did you guys get captured?” Jack asked.

“How did you avoid capture?” Anti rebutted.

Sam flew out of Jack’s pouch at that, landing on the dashboard. “Yeah, it was Sam,” Jack said. “I think they knew we’d need to be out so we could rescue you.” He sighed. “I guess it worked out, in the end. But, uh... yeah. Let’s all... catch up.”

As the van sped down the highway, the group exchanged stories, sticking to the rescue. But even as they talked, some subjects remained avoided. The group on the outside didn’t ask about what IRIS had done to the others. And the others didn’t offer up an explanation for anything.

And eventually, the van fell silent, as the group drove onward to an unknown destination.

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