#this was me reading The Unwanteds as a kid honestly

[studioeisa]

you deserve each other ⛱️ seokmin x reader.

all is fair in love, war, and... trying to get fired? the waterpark is the last place you and seokmin want to be. in a ditch attempt to escape your job, the two of you opt to break carat bay’s unspoken, cardinal rule: don't date your co-worker.

⛱️ pairing. co-workers seokmin x reader. ⛱️ word count. 12.4k. ⛱️ genres. alternate universe: non-idol, alternate universe: waterpark co-workers. romance, friendship, humor, hint of angst. ⛱️ includes. mentions of food, alcohol; profanity. fake dating and all its shenanigans, sweetheart seokmin, lots of making out (do with that what you will), soonyoung is a plot device, other idols get randomly name dropped as employees. ⛱️ notes. this is part of @camandemstudios’ carat bay collaboration. ever so grateful to be trusted with seok! ‹𝟹 thank you to my ride or die, @chugging-antiseptic-dye, for beta reading. check out the other fics in the collaboration here. 🎵 seokmin’s top tracks this month. sugar, brockhampton. sunny days, wave to earth. get you, daniel caesar ft. kali uchis. heart to heart, mac de marco. m2m, cody jon.

The framed plaque is heavier than you expect.

A small, polished thing. Mahogany edges, gold trim. Your name etched onto a brushed metal plate, capitalized and misspelled. The receptionist claps politely. Someone offers you a slice of cake. Your manager—Changbin—says your name like it’s a blessing, like you’re his biggest win this quarter.

“... a beacon of initiative,” he’s saying, hand on your back, smile radiant and full of teeth. “Always on time, never a complaint, always going above and beyond—”

You stop listening around the word beacon. 

Where joy should be, a horrible kind of dread is crawling up your throat like soda foam. You don’t want this. You never wanted this.

For the last six months, you’ve been orchestrating your own quiet downfall. 

Small acts of rebellion: late reports, mismatched fonts in client decks, turning in spreadsheets without formulas. Once, you deliberately CC’d the wrong contact on an invoice email. Twice. Three times.

Nothing. Not a single reprimand. You’ve only been praised for your ‘out-of-the-box thinking.’

Now here you are. Employee of the Month at Carat Bay—home of hollow branding jargon, ergonomic nightmares, and a break room fridge that smells like egg salad and regret. You’re holding a plaque you prayed someone else would win.

The universe is cruel. Your parents are crueler.

See, Carat Bay is just the latest on your resume’s Greatest Hits of Unwanted Professions. Before this was the summer you spent handing out frozen yogurt samples in a visor that said Lick Me. Before that: barista at a vegan café that also sold crystals. Before that: dog-walking, tutoring, retail at a candle shop that played Meghan Trainor on loop.

Your parents forced each one of them with the same airtight argument: You need discipline. You need direction.

You said you wanted to freelance. Write, maybe. Design book covers. Do something weird and personal and fulfilling. They laughed. Your father nearly choked on his coffee.

But a deal was struck with the Carat Bay gig. If you got laid off, they’d stop pushing. Let you go rogue. No more curated job listings emailed at 5 a.m. No more passive-aggressive forwarded TED Talks. No more, ‘When I was your age, I had a mortgage and two kids.’

If—if—you got laid off. Quitting was not in the cards. It was either that or you stay for at least three years, which you would honestly rather die than do. 

Now, you find that you have this. A plaque. A photo op. Changbin squealing, “This one’s going in the newsletter!”

God, you think, gripping the plaque like it might shatter. You are being rewarded for mediocrity. You are being celebrated for incompetence.

You smile for the camera anyway.

It’s the kind of smile that could get you promoted.

Back at the merchandise stand, your co-worker greets you with a grin and a pair of scissors he’s using to snip zip ties off a crate of branded tote bags.

“Look at you, hotshot,” Seokmin says, nudging you with his elbow. “Changbin’s golden child. I knew you had it in you.”

Your brows furrow. “You’re not mad?”

He scoffs, that beaming smile of his slotting back into place without a moment’s hesitation. “Why would I be mad? This means I don’t have to be Employee of the Month. That plaque is cursed,” he teases good-naturedly. 

You laugh. Genuinely, if only for a second. Seokmin is the kind of person who makes you believe in the good of humanity. 

He once gave his lunch to a crying intern. He always remembers your birthday. He talks to every lost tourist like it’s his job, which technically, it is not. And—in your honest, unbiased opinion—he’s easy on the eyes, too. It takes a lot to make the dreadful polo and even more dreadful khakis work, but Seokmin somehow manages. 

“Seriously,” he continues, turning back to the tote bags, “I’m happy for you. You’ve been working hard. And let’s be honest, you’re the only one who knows how to fix the card reader. Changbin was probably just buying insurance.”

There’s a lightness to his voice. No trace of envy. Just easy, unaffected kindness.

You swallow down the guilt forming like a pit in your stomach. You’ve been quietly planning your own escape route while he’s been showing up every day like a real adult, juggling overtime and night classes. You’re trying to crash and burn and Seokmin—sweet, undeserving Seokmin—might get singed in the crossfire.

You clear your throat. “Thanks, Seokmin. That means a lot.”

He just shrugs. “Don’t let it go to your head, okay? You still owe me lunch for covering your shift last week.”

Seokmin walks away to restock mugs, and you stare after him, plaque still under your arm, feeling like the world’s worst con artist. You don’t want Employee of the Month. You don’t deserve it. 

You know someone who does. 

Lee Seokmin, who brings extra socks to work in case someone forgets theirs. He knows the perfect ratio of syrup to ice in the rainbow slushies. He has an uncanny ability to get toddlers to stop crying with a single balloon animal. 

You’ve seen it all. He’s sunshine in human form, if sunshine occasionally tripped over its own feet and knocked over the popcorn machine.

That’s the thing, though. Seokmin—bumbling, bright-eyed Lee Seokmin—isn’t just your co-worker. He’s the son of the owners. 

The heir of this kitschy little theme park kingdom. The golden boy who is destined to inherit its cotton candy throne and take up the sticky, sunscreen-slicked mantle of summer fun for generations to come.

Carat Bay is practically tattooed on his DNA. The gift shop trinkets, the underwater mascot shows, the overenthusiastic lifeguards. This whole place was designed by his family and built on a business model of manufactured joy, and he was the prince working the merchandise stand to get some good ol’ starting-from-the-bottom experience. 

So when, days later, he startles and blurts, “I swear it’s not what it looks like!”—while clutching an open box cutter and a half-disemboweled box of limited edition light sticks—your first reaction isn’t anger. 

It’s confusion.

You ask, flatly, “What the fuck are you doing?”

He winces. He always winces when you swear. Rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes dart around like he’s searching for an escape hatch. “Okay, I know this looks bad. Like, really bad,” he starts. “But I swear I wasn’t going to, like, ruin them. Just… make them look better?”

Your mouth opens. Closes. And opens again. “But why?” you manage. It’s a good thing the waterpark has already shut down for the day. You’re not sure what you’d do if you had to deal with this with a whole shift ahead of you.

Seokmin sighs. It’s the kind of sigh that carries a decade of summer-themed retail trauma.

You glance over his shoulder to the shimmering banner flapping in the breeze: WELCOME TO CARAT BAY—THE #1 MERCH DESTINATION ON THE COASTLINE! A glittering monstrosity. Just like everything else here.

“I thought you liked it here,” you add, genuinely bewildered. “You do the Carat cheer. You wore the mascot suit that one time. Willingly.”

He shrugs, sheepish. “Well, yeah. But I also want out.”

“You’re the owner’s kid. All this is going to be yours someday.” You gesture vaguely at the cartoon dolphins, the sparkle-laminated shelves, the sea of bubblegum-pink merchandise. 

Seokmin shouldn’t be cutting up product. He should be on some managerial fast-track, drawing up expansion plans in a conference room somewhere. Not ruining stock and looking like he’s going to hurl from the guilt of it.

It happens fast enough for you to almost miss it, but Seokmin’s expression crumbles into  a grimace. Unnatural on a face that usually had a perpetual grin, a catalogue of every positive emotion known to man. “Yeah,” he exhales. “Exactly.” 

It clicks, then. All of it.

The too-frequent mishandling of inventory. The time he tripped and unplugged the entire register system. The day he mistakenly shipped an entire box of glow-in-the-dark keychains to the wrong coast.

You’d chalked it up to Seokmin being Seokmin. Lovable. Mildly chaotic. But now—

“You’ve been trying to get fired,” you say, the truth hitting you like a tsunami on the Wave River.

“Just like you,” Seokmin confirms. The knowledge sends a prickle of panic down your spine, but it fades when he goes on to joke, “Only I suck at it even more than you do.”

You snort. You can’t help it. “Wow. So we’re really the dumbest people here.”

He laughs sheepishly, but it’s the most honest thing you’ve heard in weeks. And when your eyes meet, there’s this quiet understanding that passes between you—like a pact sealed in shared misery and mutual sabotage.

You exhale. “Fine. I won’t rat you out. But you’re going to tell me what it is you actually want to do. Eventually.”

Seokmin grins. It’s that sun-bright, unfiltered expression he wears when he’s about to say something incredibly sincere or incredibly stupid.

“Deal.”

You reach for the disemboweled box. “Let’s make it look like an accident.”

Now you’ve both got a secret. And a goal.

The only thing more dangerous than two people who hate their jobs? Two people who’ve decided to stop pretending otherwise.

--

Except nothing you try works.

You set the air conditioning so low people start confusing your booth for a meat locker. Seokmin deliberately stocks the wrong merchandise on the featured shelves. You both take extended lunch breaks and once, very deliberately, you curse out a mom with three kids after she calls the staff lazy. Seokmin nearly fainted afterward from the adrenaline.

But none of it lands. Your manager pats you both on the back. Customers rave about your booth on Yelp. Kids write thank-you notes in marker.

Next thing you know, a laminated sign appears at the break room. Your name and Seokmin’s, right next to the dreaded Employees of the Month title. 

The photo is horrible. Your smile is tight with disbelief. Seokmin’s peace sign is half a second from cramping.

You two convene in the supply closet. Your emergency meeting room of choice.

“This is bad,” you say, pacing. “This is so, so bad.”

“We could, uh… just keep trying?” Seokmin offers, nibbling the edge of a pen.

“We’ve been trying. We ended up with a plague.” You groan. “We need something bigger. Something bold.”

Your mind whirs. You sift through memory like old receipts in a drawer. Nobody gave a fuck enough about merchandise to cry about its sabotage. Snark was to be somewhat expected from the two of you, and you didn’t really want anything too extreme on your track record. 

How had the past couple of people left Carat Bay? Your fingers tap, tap, tap on the closed closet door. There had been Heeseung, and Soobin—

Bingo.

The recent firings. Not many, but enough to see the pattern.

Heeseung, shortly after he was confirmed to be living with the girl who worked the bodyslide. Soobin, who packed his stuff up when he was found making out with the after-hours lifeguard. 

The ‘rule’ wasn’t written in stone. Not in the employee manual, not mentioned during briefings. But it still existed in a yellowing Post-It taped up on the janky breakroom refrigerator.

DON’T FUCK EACH OTHER.

“Of course,” you whisper. “Of course.”

“What?” Seokmin says, wary.

You turn to him slowly. The smile that breaks on your face only seems to unnerve the boy even more, especially when you go on to declare,  “We fake date.”

A beat. Seokmin blinks at you like you just offered to throw hands with God himself. “Fake date?” he repeats. 

You nod sagely. “It’s bulletproof. Everyone who’s gotten canned the past three months? They were caught hooking up with coworkers. There’s a Post-It in the lounge, remember? ‘DON’T FUCK EACH OTHER.’”

Seokmin opens his mouth, closes it. Then again. It’s like watching a fish try to breathe above water. Finally, he croaks, “No.”

“No?”

“No,” he repeats, slightly firmer now, arms crossing over his chest like that would protect him from you. Which, to be fair, it might have if you weren’t already smirking.

“Wow,” you say, feigning hurt. “That repulsive, huh?”

Seokmin chokes. “Don’t put words into my mouth!”

You raise an eyebrow. “Then what am I supposed to take from that, huh? You look like I asked you to run off to Vegas.”

He rubs the back of his neck, visibly flustered. His ears are already pink. “It’s just… complicated.”

“Why? What, you got a secret girlfriend stashed in the plushie bin?”

He groans. “No. That’s not—I just… haven’t.”

“Haven’t what?”

“Dated.”

“You’ve never had bitches?”

“I don’t—women are not bitches,” Seokmin splutters. 

He looks like he might spontaneously combust. You’re half-tempted to poke his cheek, see if steam comes out of his ears. Cute, you muse to yourself, but cute in the same way that a kitten might be if its head was stuck in a tissue box. Not cute in a I-want-this-man way. At least, you don’t think so. 

You lean your elbow on the counter and study him, thoughtful. “I could ask someone else. Soonyoung probably wouldn’t even hesitate,” you note. “But I wanted it to be mutually beneficial.”

Seokmin chews the inside of his cheek. “Mutually beneficial?”

“Yeah. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, handsome,” you say, deliberately sweet, watching his face redden by the second.

He presses his hands to his cheeks like that’ll stop the heat. “Can I… think about it?”

“Sure. Just don’t think too hard. Might take it personally.” 

He groans again, but you catch the shy little grin he tries to hide as he ducks his head. Victory tastes a lot like Seokmin’s embarrassment—soft and just a little sweet.

Four days and three failed sabotage attempts later, Seokmin finally gets back to you.

You’re in the middle of stacking sun-bleached baseball caps that say CARAT BAY: GOOD VIBES ONLY when he approaches, rubbing the back of his neck like he might apologize for existing.

“So,” he starts, glancing around like he thinks you might have an audience. The only person within 10 feet of you is a kid licking ice cream and glaring at a pigeon. “About the thing. The, uh. Proposal.”

You know where he’s getting at. You just want to hear him say it. “You’ll have to be more specific,” you say breezily. “I proposed several things.”

He goes pink in the ears. Adorable.

“The fake dating thing,” he clarifies, and then fumbles over his next words. “Not that I think dating you would be—I mean, obviously, you’re very—I’m not, like, repulsed or anything—”

“Seokmin.”

“Right. Sorry. Yes. Let’s do it.”

You blink. Then blink again. You had expected him to try and let you down gently, to instead try and rope you into vandalizing the mat racer. Instead, he’s shifting from side to side, laying his heart down on your feet. 

“If you still want to,” Seokmin adds when you’re silent for a beat too long. By some miracle, you resist the urge to coo. 

“Handsome,” you say slowly, grinning as he sputters. “Of course I still want to. What changed your mind?”

He looks down at his shoes, his voice soft. “You said it could be mutually beneficial. And I figured… I want out. You want out. Maybe this is the way.”

Something flickers in your chest. Not pity, exactly. Something warmer.

“Alright,” you say, and you reach over to the counter to hold out your hand to him. 

You lay out the ground rules. You’d spent an embarrassing amount of time the past few days doing research of your own—watching contemporary classics like Anyone But You and To All The Boys I Loved Before before scouring the fake dating tag on AO3. 

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” you remind him. “Touch is probably the best way to go about this, but we only have to do that when somebody’s watching. Convincing flirting is the key. The goal is to get caught.” 

You don’t add the cliche of all cliches. No falling in love. Not because you’re hoping for it, no, but because it feels like a given. You like to think you’re smarter than Sydney Sweeney’s Bea and Landa Condor’s Lara Jean. 

Seokmin listens with rapt attention before bobbing his head up and down in a solemn nod. With eyebrows slightly scrunched from concentration, he takes your hand. 

The two of you shake on it. 

--

You and Seokmin agreed to start small. Ease into it. Not make it too obvious. Open flirtation in the break rooms, stolen glances in line for churros, maybe a suggestive comment or two over headset. Nothing too dramatic.

So far, none of it has landed.

You’d told Seokmin to just follow your lead. He was good at that. Always had been. When you reached across the table to oh-so-casually pluck a cherry off his soda float and pop it into your mouth, you expected at least one co-worker to clock it. Instead, Soonyoung kept chattering about the new ice sculpture exhibit, completely unbothered. Joshua just nodded, as if you had simply demonstrated the polite camaraderie of sharing a beverage.

You even tried batting your lashes while Seokmin offered you the last dumpling. He didn’t need to play it up much—just smiled wide, ears going red. Still, all you got from the others was a distracted thanks-for-leaving-some-for-us, not even a wink or a whisper.

You were going to have to double your efforts.

“This is a disaster,” you mutter later that night as you help Seokmin restock souvenir mugs.

He straightens a bit too fast, knocking over a stack of keychains. “I thought it was subtle,” he sniffles, going to pick up the plastic surfboards. 

“Exactly the problem,” you shoot back. “We’re so subtle, it’s like watching two Barbie dolls try to make out without bending at the waist.”

Seokmin’s laugh is loud and unguarded, drawing a look from a passing intern. He ducks his head and waits for her to pass. “Okay. We go bigger. I can do that,” he says, probably trying to convince himself as much as you. “Maybe I could, I dunno, carry you bridal style through the sand sculpture path?”

“Let’s not go zero to K-drama,” you say dryly. “We build up to that. We start with touches. Long looks. Close proximity.”

“You say that like we’re not already touching every five minutes by accident.”

You hand him a mug and let your fingers brush his, lingering. It’s an act, sure, but you’re sure he feels it too. The jolt of electricity. The thrum beneath your skin. Seokmin’s breath hitches, his eyes flitting to where the tips of your fingers had just pressed. 

“That,” you point out. “But on purpose.”

He nods, dazed. “Right. Totally. On purpose.”

If anybody asked, you were building a believable relationship arc.

A couple of days later, you find Seokmin hunched over the merchandise booth counter, the cheap company laptop tilted slightly toward him. He’s got that familiar deep crease between his brows, the one he gets whenever he’s hyper-focused. Usually while trying to fix a jammed ticket printer or master a new drink recipe from the cafe next door.

You lean closer, about to tease him for working too hard, when the wikiHow tab on the screen catches your eye: How to be a good boyfriend: A guide for beginners.

You bite back a smile, heart squeezing painfully at the earnestness of it. Of course he’d look it up. Sweet, ridiculous Seokmin.

“Whatcha doing, handsome?” you ask, voice lilting and teasing.

Seokmin jolts upright so fast he nearly knocks the laptop onto the floor. “I—Nothing! Research! Important work research!”

You snicker, plucking the laptop gently from his grasp and setting it safely aside. “Research, huh? Planning to date the slushie machine or something?”

He groans, covering his face with both hands. “Don’t make fun of me,” he mumbles, words muffled by his palm. “I'm—I'm trying to be good at this.”

Your chest aches again. Not in an oh-I’m-screwed way, but in the reminder that, once again, Lee Seokmin is too good for this world. Too pure to be roped into your low-budget, romantic-comedy life. 

“Hey,” you say delicately, nudging his arm until he peeks at you between his fingers. “You can just ask me, you know.”

“Ask you?”

You grin. “Yeah. You’re fake-dating me, remember? Free resource right here.”

He drops his hands, staring at you for a moment. It lasts long enough to make you feel seen, which is never good. “You’d really help me?”

“Of course. I’m an excellent fake girlfriend.” You lean in, conspiratorial. “Tip one: You’re already doing great just by caring this much.”

Seokmin's mouth parts slightly, like he wants to protest but can't quite find the words.

“Tip two,” you continue, tapping your chin thoughtfully. “If you ever don’t know what to do, just be honest. It's kind of…” —you soften— “my favorite thing about you.”

He blinks at you, visibly flustered, and you resist the urge to pinch his cheeks.

“Got any other questions, babe?” you tease, but Seokmin only shakes his head and mumbles something about knowing what to do. 

You’re not all too sure about that. Especially as he starts acting pretty weird in the coming days. 

At first, you think it’s just regular old Seokmin nerves. He fumbles during his cash register shifts, stutters when customers ask for directions, and practically leaps out of his skin when you tap his shoulder to pass him a bottle of water.

But then you notice him sneaking glances at you every few minutes. Shifty, fleeting glances. Like he’s hiding something. You catch him half the time, and he immediately goes red, waving you off with a too-high laugh. “Nothing!” he chirps. “Just—! Nothing!”

Suspicious.

During your lunch break, you find him pacing behind the Carat Bay merchandise booth, clutching his phone like it’s a lifeline. When he spots you, he stuffs it into his back pocket and beams so brightly it’s blinding.

“You good, handsome?” you ask, raising a brow.

“Yup!” His voice cracks on the word.

You narrow your eyes but let it go. For now.

It’s when you’re restocking plushies that you notice it: Seokmin, in the distance, accepting—and then panicking over—a large, extravagant bouquet of flowers.

He tries to hold it normally. He really does.

But first, he almost drops it. Then, he sneezes. Loudly. Violently. Three times in a row.

“Are you okay?” You rush over just as he doubles over with another round of sneezes, the bouquet wobbling precariously in his arms.

“I’m—” he gasps between fits, “—fine!” Sneeze. “Fine!” Sneeze.

You take the flowers from him. It’s a stunning collection of pink and white blooms. “Were you… getting me flowers?” you ask dazedly. 

Seokmin nods, eyes watery, nose turning a tragic shade of red.

Your heart lurches. “Seokmin. Are you allergic to flowers?”

“N-No?” He says unconvincingly before another sneeze rattles through him.

You bite down a laugh, the affection nearly overwhelming.

“Oh my God,” you murmur, shoving the bouquet into Joshua’s bewildered arms as he passes by. “You’re literally dying to be my boyfriend.”

Seokmin sniffles pitifully. “Worth it.”

You shake your head, pulling him by the wrist toward the staff lounge. “C’mon, Romeo. Let's find you some allergy meds before you actually keel over.”

Behind you, Joshua calls out “Are these for me?” while holding up the bouquet.

Seokmin sneezes again in response.

--

“We should actually get to know each other,” you say around a mouthful of rice.

Lunch at Carat Bay is a lawless stretch of twenty-five minutes during which the staff gathers in a sun-warped outdoor seating area, and hierarchy momentarily dissolves into lukewarm leftovers and communal fries. You and Seokmin decide this is the perfect place for the two of you to set your scene. 

You sit on the same picnic bench, unnecessarily close to two people who claim to be coworkers. Which is the point, really.

“I thought we were doing okay,” he answers middlingly. 

“You Googled how to be a boyfriend, Seokmin.”

His ears redden. You fight a smile.

“Let’s do this,” you urge, setting your chopsticks down. “Secrets. Weird facts. Stuff you tell someone if you’re… you know. Really dating.”

Seokmin shifts, folding himself smaller as he thinks. “You first,” he says, almost bashfully.

“Fine,” you huff dramatically. “I can’t snap my fingers.”

Seokmin blinks then bursts into laughter, his head tilting back with the force of it. “That’s your big secret?”

“You’d be surprised how often it comes up in life!”

He wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin, still grinning. “Okay, okay. My turn. Uh. I still sleep with a nightlight.”

Your heart squeezes. “That’s cute,” you say, smiling softly.

“It’s dizzying otherwise.” 

“It’s fine,” you say, nudging him. “Better than getting eaten by whatever monster’s under your bed.”

He groans before looking at you with an open, helpless fondness that makes you feel raw. If you were a little smarter, you’d call it off then and there for both of your sake. 

Instead, you go back and forth like that, trading tiny confessions. You tell him about your irrational fear of mannequins. He admits he once tried to drink orange juice after brushing his teeth on a dare and cried. Every admission makes him squirm, makes you giggle, softens the space between you and pulls it tighter.

Seokmin is sweetness, clumsy and earnest and golden. And as he talks, stammering through another story about how he accidentally joined a ballet class in high school thinking it was an improv workshop, you realize: you aren’t acting when you find him impossibly endearing.

You lean your head against his shoulder with a dramatic sigh. “We’re gonna crush this fake dating thing.”

“Yeah?” Seokmin says, wide-eyed but smiling.

“Yeah,” you say, and it’s with a certainty that’s wholly misplaced.

Soon enough, the conversation spins into romantic experiences. When Seokmin asks you about your worst dating experience, you lean in conspiratorially. “There was this one guy who wore socks during sex. Like—knee-high, novelty print socks,” you divulge. “Multiple times.”

Seokmin’s mouth falls open. “No. No. No.”

“Yes.”

“Was that—was it a kink thing or—?”

“Unclear,” you say. “He called it his 'performance gear.”

Seokmin makes a scandalized noise and drops his sandwich in horror. “That is the worst thing I’ve ever heard. I hate the fact you experienced that.”

You’re laughing now. The kind of light, surprised laugh that bubbles up without warning. “I can go worse.”

“Don’t you dare. I’m already mortified.”

“Come on, Mr. No Dating Experience,” you tease. “You’re the one who wanted to know. Unless you’re just jealous.”

He goes red instantly. It shoots up his ears, stains his neck. “I—well, maybe I should be! I don’t have any dramatic sock stories to tell,” he says defensively. “I had one crush in the eighth grade who gave me half of a Twix bar.” 

“That’s romantic.” 

“She transferred schools the next day.”

You burst out laughing, while Seokmin stares at you helplessly. “It’s not not character building,” he whines, shaking your shoulders as you giggle over his misfortune. 

Across the lawn, Joshua nearly drops his water bottle doing a double take at the sight of you two. Joshua blinks a few times, looks away, and proceeds to accidentally pour water down his own shirt.

You and Seokmin exchange a glance.

“Half-win?” he whispers.

You grin. “Half-win.”

He reaches for another fry. You nudge his knee with yours. Lunch hour ticks on like a warm, strange summer dream.

--

You’re elbow-deep in foam fingers and keychains when Seokmin saunters over, oozing effort.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he says, leaning on the edge of the merch booth like he’s James fucking Dean. “Need a hand, or were you just waiting for me?”

It’s so out of character that you freeze for a second, your fist halfway inside a box labeled CLEARANCE MUGS. Then, you clock Soonyoung loitering a few steps away, nursing a popsicle and watching the two of you with all the interest of someone half-invested in a reality show.

You turn back to Seokmin. He winks. Actually winks. It’s not subtle. You can feel the twitch of his eyelashes from here.

Soonyoung squints. “You guys good?”

“Just peachy,” you chirp, playing along. You sling an arm around Seokmin’s shoulder and lean in a little, giving the performance a few more sparks. “My knight in branded polo just saved me from mug-related peril.”

“Cool,” Soonyoung says, totally unfazed. “Let me know if you find the sunscreen shipment. Shua burned his face again.”

You hold your grin until he’s gone, then collapse against Seokmin’s side with a snort. “Jesus. That was rough.”

Seokmin groans. “I thought the wink would sell it.”

“The wink was, frankly, terrifying.”

He flushes, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m trying, okay?”

“You’ve got heart, baby,” you say, patting his chest. “Execution just needs a little work.”

He mutters something about humiliation and stock rooms.

“You sure you’ve never dated before?” you ask, teasing.

He sighs, still pink. “Yeah. Theater kid. Improv. Not exactly irresistible, apparently.”

You blink at him, then let your gaze sweep from the messy fringe of his hair to the freckle on his jaw, lingering a second longer than necessary. Sure, Seokmin is a bit—all over the place. But he’s boyishly attractive, and if he wasn’t doomed to wear rose quartz and serenity as a 9-5, you think he might actually be a real catch. 

You decide to let him know. 

“Seokmin,” you say slowly. “You are irresistible as fuck, actually..”

He gapes at you. You pretend not to notice how his ears go red like warning lights.

You busy yourself with mugs again, all while your heart plays hopscotch in your chest.

After the disaster masterclass with Soonyoung, you decide to up your act. With Seokmin's consent, of course. 

It’s silly, really. His hand settles in the back pocket of your jeans as if it belongs there, palm flat against the curve of your ass like this is the most natural thing in the world. It’s not. It isn’t. Seokmin is practically vibrating with embarrassment, eyes darting like he’s waiting for a lightning bolt to strike him down. He’s sweating through his uniform polo, and you can feel the tremor in his fingers as he tries—bless him—to stay composed.

“You okay there, champ?” you murmur out the side of your mouth, smile still perfectly plastered. You’ve faked worse. But there’s something especially comical about watching Seokmin try to play suave when he looks like he might pass out from holding your gaze too long.

“Totally fine. Just, uh, practicing proximity,” he says, a little too loud, a little too stiff.

“Proximity,” you echo, biting down a laugh. “Sure. That’s what the kids are calling it now.”

He opens his mouth to reply but clams up instantly when Joshua walks by and double-takes so hard it’s like his neck cricks. Joshua’s eyes linger for a second too long, eyebrows halfway up his forehead, and then he walks faster, like maybe if he moves quickly enough, the image of Seokmin copping a feel in broad daylight will erase itself from his memory.

“Was that—did that count as a win?” Seokmin mumbles.

You grin victoriously. “Definitely a win.” 

Seokmin exhales, relieved. “You’re really good at this,” he breathes. 

“Oh, honey,” you say, adjusting your shirt and looping your arm around his waist like it’s nothing. “I haven’t even started.”

--

Seokmin shoots you a wide-eyed look over Soonyoung's shoulder. You know the one. The look that says, Please get me out of here before I die.

For the past fifteen minutes, Soonyoung has been monologuing about his fantasy, co-ed K-pop group, who he thinks would thrive the most in JYP Entertainment. You catch Seokmin’s eye and give him a sympathetic smile. When there’s a lull in the conversation, you seize your moment.

“We should get going,” you say, brushing your hand against Seokmin’s arm. It makes you feel like a scene partner in a bad rom-com. “Busy day.”

Soonyoung nods, waving a little too enthusiastically. “Yeah, yeah! Go do your merch-y things!”

And that’s your cue.

You lean in like it’s second nature and press a kiss to Seokmin’s cheek—except he turns to look at you just as you're going in, and your lips graze far too close to the corner of his mouth.

Seokmin freezes, eyes wide, cheeks pink. You pull back with a proud little smirk, only to hear Soonyoung’s delighted voice go, “Aww, cute!”

Soonyoung then leans in and, before you can stop him, plants a swift kiss to your cheek.

You blink.

Seokmin blinks.

Soonyoung pulls away, shit-eating grin firmly in place. “Guess that’s how we’re saying goodbye now, huh? Love that for us.”

And then he’s gone, humming something off-key.

You and Seokmin are left standing in stunned silence, lips parted, eyes still tracking the space Soonyoung just vacated.

“What just happened?” Seokmin asks dazedly.

“We’re either really bad at this,” you say, “or Soonyoung’s just really, really good at being Soonyoung.”

Seokmin lets out a strangled laugh. “You think Shua’s gonna want a kiss next time too?”

“God, let’s hope not. I only have so much emotional bandwidth.”

The next month’s announcement comes with a twist neither of you anticipated. 

Wonwoo—quiet, brooding, catlike in demeanor—is the new Employee of the Month. The rest of the team cheers for him with tepid enthusiasm, and he accepts it with a shrug, already halfway back to the cabanas before the applause dies down.

But for you and Seokmin? It’s hope. A rare, glimmering thing.

Seokmin finds you an hour later, halfway through inventory behind the booths. He sidles in beside you like he’s doing something criminal, which—considering the last few weeks of manufactured PDA and workplace sabotage—isn't far from the truth.

“Heard the news?” he says.

“Wonwoo finally getting recognition for his uncanny ability to look hot and disinterested at the same time? Yeah. Big day for the guy.”

“No, I mean—” He lowers his voice, eyes flicking to the open slats of the booth. “Do you think this means it’s working? That they’re onto us?”

You close the inventory sheet and lean against the shelf. “I mean, maybe. But let’s not get cocky. We still work here. We’re not off the hook until we’re fully jobless and making life choices our parents would cry about.”

Seokmin grimaces. “Right. That.”

You bump your shoulder into his. “We gotta up the ante.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What, like another back pocket maneuver?”

“No. We bring out the big guns.”

He looks skeptical. “What’s bigger than the back pocket?”

“A kiss.”

Seokmin chokes on absolutely nothing. “A kiss?”

“In public. Obviously. Catch us in 4K. Let the rumors fly, let HR cry.”

He stares at you like you’ve suggested robbing a bank. Which, to be fair, with this level of emotional fraud it isn’t too far off. “You’re serious.”

“As a tax audit.”

He groans and drops his forehead onto your shoulder. “I am not mentally equipped for this.”

“You’re doing great, handsome.”

“Don’t call me handsome when you’re about to ruin my life.”

You grin, threading your fingers together in a fake prayer. “It’s only fake ruining. Come on, do it for the cause.”

He sighs deeply, like a martyr. “Alright. But if this backfires, you’re buying me dinner.”

“Deal. And dessert, too. You’ll need something sweet to cry into when we’re finally free.”

The plans get made. You’re both actively trying to get fired, sure, but Seokmin still wants to get some of his stuff done. And so the two of you stay even as the clock ticks past eleven, Carat Bay, a ghost town save for you and Seokmin. 

Plastic bins of unsold shirts and foam fingers lay scattered around you while you’re both sluggishly folding and stacking them back into place. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting a sterile hum over the quiet.

Seokmin yawns into his shoulder and tosses a crumpled hoodie into a bin without aiming. It lands with a sad little flop, nowhere close to folded. You nudge him with your hip.

“You're getting sloppy,” you snicker.

“‘M tired,” he mumbles.

“Whose idea was it to volunteer for overtime, huh?”

He gives a small, sheepish smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes tonight. You watch him for a beat longer than you should, picking up on how the weight of something heavier seems to settle over him.

“Hey,” you say, softer now. “You okay?”

Seokmin fiddles with the hem of the hoodie, his fingers restless. For a moment you think he won’t answer. But then he breathes out a laugh, quiet and self-deprecating.

“I guess I owe you the truth,” he says, “about why I wanted to get fired so badly.”

You put the last foam finger down and turn to him, giving him your full attention. He looks everywhere but you before admitting, “I… I wanna open an animal shelter. Mostly for dogs, but… you know. Cats too. Whatever needs a home.”

You blink, processing. “Seokmin, that’s—that’s noble as fuck.”

He gives a short laugh. “Yeah, well. Not really. I’ve been saving up, but my parents aren’t really big on  charity and shit. They still want me to take over this place."

Your heart twists painfully at his honesty, at the way he says it like he's bracing for you to think less of him. “Seokmin,” you insist, stepping closer, “I can’t believe you’d ever be embarrassed of this. You want to get fired because you want to help dogs?”

He lets out another laugh, finally looking at you. “When you put it like that, it sounds stupid.”

“It sounds like you have the biggest heart in the world,” you correct him.

He flushes at the praise, ducking his head. You feel something tender pull tight in your chest.

“You’re gonna do it,” you say, firm. “You’re gonna open that shelter. And it’s gonna be amazing."

Seokmin gives you a look so soft you have to glance away, pretending to busy yourself with a pile of lanyards. But even as you fumble with the cheap keychains, you feel the warmth of his smile on your skin—quiet and certain, as if for the first time, he believes it too.

--

The cubicle smells like a mix of chlorine, sunscreen, and the ghost of body spray someone probably forgot to bring home last week. 

You and Seokmin are pressed shoulder-to-shoulder in the tight space, backs to the damp plastic wall, waiting. You can hear the sound of people outside. Laughter, feet slapping against tiles, the zip of a towel being whipped like a weapon. No one ever checks the shower cubicles during lunch. They’re too humid, too gross. That’s what makes it perfect.

“Okay,” you say, shifting your weight, peering at Seokmin. He’s biting the inside of his cheek, eyes fixed on some grout on the tiles. “We don’t have to, like, make out or anything. Just something quick. Catchy. Like a Sabrina Carpenter music video.”

Seokmin nods slowly. Then shakes his head. Then nods again. “Right. Okay. But, uh… just so you know… I’ve never done this before.”

“Kissed someone?”

“Yeah,” he says. He sounds like he’s confessing to murder. “Like—not even a stage kiss. I always got cast as the comedic relief or the tree.”

You pause. That makes your heart hurt a little. This was supposed to be a dumb performance. Another scheme. But now, your stomach knots with guilt. 

“Do you want to back out?” you ask, already leaning away. “I don’t want to take your first kiss in, like, a sticky-ass stall with pool water dripping on us. That’s a memory you’ll carry forever.”

But before you can make a clean retreat, Seokmin grabs your wrist.

“I want to,” he says, and for once, he doesn’t sound unsure. “With you. It’s doesn’t sound  bad.”

You freeze for a beat. His grip is warm. His cheeks are flushed pink, and he’s still damp from the park’s mist sprayers. For some reason, your heart picks that moment to hammer in your chest.

“Okay,” you breathe.

You lean in. You expect it to be awkward, but it’s… not. 

It’s a little shy at first—his lips tentative, almost featherlight—but it deepens just slightly, like he’s trusting you to lead. His hand flutters awkwardly at your waist, not quite sure where to go, before settling on your hip.

When you pull back, you’re both a little dazed. 

“Christ,” you murmur.

Seokmin grins, soft and stunned. “That wasn’t terrible.”

You smile, and for a second, you forget why you’re even here. Right—

You're still holding onto his wrist, gently, when you say, “We could practice. If you want. Just to make it convincing.”

Seokmin clears his throat. “Practice?” 

“Yeah,” you say, with a noncommittal shrug. All cool girl, chill girl, this-isn’t-a-big-deal girl. “Just enough so we’re not all teeth and awkward angles when it counts. We want it to look natural.”

He nods, visibly thinking through the logistics. Then, a little breathlessly, he says, “Okay. Yeah. Practice. That makes sense.”

You step closer. The shower stall is cramped, so it’s not hard. Your shoes bump into his, your body brushing his chest. You place one of his hands on your waist. His fingers are hesitant, like he’s afraid you might change your mind and bolt.

“Touch me like you want to,” you urge him gently. “Like you're allowed to.”

His palm flattens more deliberately now. You feel the shift in him, the effort. His other hand lifts but hovers, unsure.

“Here,” you guide it, fingers curling gently around his wrist to place it at the side of your face. “You can hold me here. It helps.”

His thumb grazes your cheek, trembling slightly. His breath comes shallow.

“Now, slower this time,” you say. “Tilt your head a little more.”

He does, obedient. Eager. His eyes flick to your mouth, and then he leans in.

The second kiss is better. Less rush, more curiosity. You taste mint gum and something sweet—maybe from the café earlier. His lips are soft, tentative, and open slightly when yours press in a little firmer.

Your fingers rest lightly on his collarbone. His hand on your waist grips tighter, just a little. He kisses you again, like he’s learning. Like he wants to keep learning.

When you pull away, just slightly, he’s dazed and pink in the cheeks.

“Okay,” he says, voice low and stunned. “That was... useful.”

You try not to laugh. “We’ll need more practice. Just to sell it.”

“Right,” he agrees, too fast. “Totally. For realism.”

You’re both kidding each other at this point, but to hell with it. 

Things escalate not long after. He’s touchier. Bolder. Somewhere along the way, Seokmin has stopped flinching when he touches you in public and started leaning into the performance like it’s second nature. And worse still: he’s getting good at it.

A brush of his fingers along the dip of your waist as you reach for the locker door. A comment in front of Soonyoung about how you look good in the staff polo, followed by a wink that is actually genuinely disarming. One time, he even smooths your hair back before a team meeting, murmuring something about presentation.

You catch Mingyu watching the two of you, eyes narrowed. Minghao frowns when Seokmin lets you steal a bite of his lunch using the same fork. The whispers are starting, and not even Seokmin’s endearing clumsiness can cover for the shift in atmosphere.

But the real danger doesn’t come from the outside.

It comes from the break room.

You’re sitting on the counter while Seokmin stands between your legs, lips a breath away. It’s meant to be another rehearsal. A quick one. A casual, convincing peck for the hallway.

Instead, Seokmin’s hand brushes your thigh. Not by accident.

Your breath hitches. He pauses. You don’t move.

His palm presses firmer, sliding just barely, just enough.

Then, without much warning, he leans in and kisses you again. Slower. A little hungrier. It catches you off guard—not because it’s clumsy, but because it’s not. It’s careful. Considered. There’s intention behind it, like he’s trying to see what else he can get away with.

You make a sound. It’s not loud, but it’s unmistakable. A quiet, surprised thing at the back of your throat.

Seokmin jerks back immediately. You stare at each other, both stunned into silence.

“What was that?” you ask, heart pounding.

His voice is soft, eyes wide. “I—I don’t know. I thought we were practicing.”

“We are,” you say, but it comes out shaky.

You both stare at each other for another beat.

It’s getting dangerous. Very, very dangerous. You force yourself to act, to play the role. You shift, leaning back slightly to break the tension, giving him a small, teasing smile. “Now I’m curious, Seokmin. Can you make the same sound?”

The question only flusters him even more. “What?” 

“You know. The sound I made. You looked like you liked it.”

“I—” he sputters, adorably scandalized. “That wasn’t—I mean, it was nice, but I wasn’t—”

You lean closer again, voice dropping just slightly. “Let me try something.”

He nods. Wordless. Willing.

Your hands come up to rest on his chest, warm over the fabric of his shirt. You feel the faint thud of his heart beneath your palms. He’s wound tight, you can tell, nervous in the way he always is when you close the distance. You tilt your head, angle your lips near his ear.

“Relax,” you whisper, soft, lilting.

Then you kiss him.

It starts gentle, barely-there pressure. Your hands slide up his shoulders, then down, resting at his hips as you slot your mouth against his more deliberately. You deepen it slowly, coaxing, guiding.

When your fingers skim up the nape of his neck, he makes a sound—a small, breathy one that ghosts from the back of his throat. It makes your stomach flip, makes you smile into the kiss. You do it again. Just to hear it.

“That,” you murmur, lips brushing his, “was hot.”

He groans in embarrassment, pulling back to bury his face in your shoulder.

“You can't just say stuff like that,” he mumbles, muffled.

“Why not? You sounded good. Really good.”

You laugh, light and airy, and he groans again. When he peeks up at you again, he’s still flushed. But he’s smiling.

“Okay,” he whispers, all conspiratorial, almost as if it were a dare, “your turn again.”

You’re in trouble.

--

The plan is simple, in theory: get caught in a compromising position by the most enthusiastic gossip in Carat Bay. 

The break room behind the bumper cars is off-limits after closing. Soonyoung has a habit of staying late to tally the day’s dance competition scores. It’s foolproof. Everything’s lined up.

Except Seokmin is looking at you like he’s just been asked to disarm a bomb with his teeth.

“I didn’t think you’d actually…” he trails off, eyes darting downwards, where your polo shirt now lies folded over the employee bench. His cheeks are redder than you’ve ever seen them, which is saying something. You’re still wearing your undershirt—barely indecent by any standard—but Seokmin’s expression says otherwise.

“Strip?” you finish for him, amused. “It’s the uniform. People get fired for less than partial nudity, you know.”

He swallows. Hard. “Right. Yeah. Totally.”

You laugh, stepping closer. “Seokmin, we’re trying to sell the illusion. If we’re going to pull this off, I need you to look less like you’re about to pass out.”

“I’m not gonna pass out,” he lies, his voice two pitches higher than usual.

You reach up, fingers grazing the side of his face, and it’s like flipping a switch. He exhales, trembling a little. Your thumb brushes the corner of his mouth.

“We’ve done this before,” you remind him gently. “We’ve kissed before. This is just like practice, remember?”

He nods again, more believably this time. “Yeah. Just like practice.”

“Exactly.” 

You press your lips to his, soft and warm. 

Enough to ease him in, to coax some steadiness into his hands where they hover near your waist. You kiss him again, this time slower, more deliberate.

And maybe—just maybe—you’re reassuring yourself as much as you are him. Because your skin tingles where his fingers tentatively land on your hips, and your breath hitches when his mouth parts just slightly, enough to let your tongue graze his.

He pulls back first, eyes wide and unfocused. “That was…”

“Convincing?” you offer, trying to keep your voice steady.

He nods mutely, blinking at you like he’s never seen you before.

“Good,” you murmur, straightening his shirt collar. “Let’s make this a performance Soonyoung won’t ever shut up about.”

The break room is just warm enough to be stifling, wrapped in the hush of neon hum and the smell of popcorn grease and old rubber. You’re straddling Seokmin’s lap on the worn-out couch you’ve both dubbed the ‘emergency plushie zone.’ 

Seokmin’s tie is hanging off a peg behind you, abandoned somewhere between your fifth and sixth practice kisses. How much fucking practice one needs to get this ‘right,’ you’re not sure, but neither of you are complaining. 

This kiss starts like the rest, lips brushing with practiced familiarity, but something shifts when Seokmin’s hands curl around your waist with more certainty than before.

"You’re really getting good at this," you murmur against his mouth.

He huffs a shy laugh, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your undershirt where your skin runs hot. “You told me to practice.”

“I didn’t tell you to practice this well,” you say, and then you kiss him again, hungrier now, breath catching when his hand trails up your spine.

It’s just an act, you remind yourself. Just something to get Soonyoung to walk in and freak out, let the gossip train do the rest.

Except Seokmin moans when you nip at his lower lip. A small sound, barely there—but it melts into you. You want to hear it again. So you shift your weight, rolling your hips once. His breath stutters. Yours does too.

You press your mouth to the underside of his jaw, voice low. “You’re really committing to the bit.”

“I think,” Seokmin says, voice wrecked with something like disbelief, “I’m losing track of what’s a bit.”

You smile against his neck. “We’ve been at it for twenty minutes. Where the hell is Soonyoung?”

“Was—Was Soonyoung even at work today?” 

You freeze. You pull back and stare at Seokmin. 

Kwon Soonyoung had taken a ‘sick’ leave today. To line up at midnight for a video game. He bragged about it in the group chat that all the newbies shared. 

You glance down at your exposed chest, then at the way your thighs are locked around Seokmin’s hips. “Are we fucking stupid?” you wonder out loud. 

Seokmin blinks at you, lips swollen and pink, eyes blown wide. He leans his head back against the couch with a groan. “I don’t think I can do that again without losing my soul,” he rasps. 

“You’ll get it back in pieces,” you sigh, patting Seokmin’s chest in a gesture that’s meant to be reassuring. “Starting with your tie.”

--

You’re heading back from the boardwalk, salt still on your skin and the cheap cola you pilfered from the vendor stand fizzing in your hand, when you hear voices. The kind that make you stop short and lean just a little closer to the maintenance shed wall, pretending like you’re very interested in the bulletin board you’ve seen a hundred times.

It’s Joshua. Low and calm, like always, but there’s a seriousness in his voice you’re not used to.

“Seokmin. I just want to know what this is.”

You freeze. You don’t mean to. You know it’s bad form to eavesdrop, especially when you’re the this in question, but something roots you to the spot.

“I’m not trying to start anything,” Joshua continues, “but if this is just a game, if the two of you are pretending? You guys should quit it. Seriously. You’re both going to get into a shitton of trouble.”

A beat. Then Seokmin’s voice rings out, convincingly offended.

“It’s not pretend. I like her.”

Your breath catches.

“I like how she always wipes her hands on her shorts even when she has a towel. I like how she rolls her eyes like the world’s exhausting but she still shows up every day. I like that she lets me be nervous, but doesn’t treat me like I’m fragile. I like her laugh. A lot.”

Joshua doesn’t say anything, so Seokmin keeps going.

“I’m—I may not be able to call her my girlfriend. Not yet,” he says hastily. “But that doesn’t change the way I feel. I lo—like being around her. I like her, Shua.” 

You press your lips together, suddenly unsure what to do with your hands, your breath, your entire chest. You feel like a live wire. Humming, sparking at the edges with something dangerous and sweet.

None of that was part of the act.

And, fine. You wish it were real. Just a little bit. Just enough to close the distance between his feelings and yours.

You slip away from the corner of the shed before either boy notices you there. The cola in your hand has gone flat. Kind of like your plan.

The conversation makes a home underneath your skin, hangs like a cloud over your head. It exists even as you’re perched on the countertop in the employee break room, the sickly hum of the vending machine buzzing under the clatter of Seokmin's footsteps. He slots himself between your knees with the same ease he’s learned over the past few weeks, hands bracing on either side of your thighs. It would be routine now, if not for the fact that your heart is somewhere around your ankles.

His eyes search yours. “Are you okay?” he asks delicately, looking at you with that concerned glance he’s been throwing your way all afternoon. 

The thing about Seokmin is that he's gotten good at reading you lately, which would be great if you weren’t actively trying to keep your thoughts from turning into a romantic nosedive. You sigh. Might as well throw it all out. “I overheard you and Joshua,” you push out through your teeth. 

Seokmin freezes like you’ve just dropped on him  a bucket of ice water. “What?”

You offer a crooked smile, something flimsy and fragile. “You were good. Like, really convincing. Should’ve guessed you were a theater kid.”

He looks like he’s been punched. The breath leaves him slowly. “You thought I was lying.”

You don’t answer. You don’t have to. The way your gaze skitters off to the corner of the room is answer enough.

His voice goes soft when he says his name, and you presume it’s him readying you. He’s about to let you down gently, you think. “I—” he starts, and you refuse to hear it. Not without one final act of stupidity. 

You move before you can think. Your hand cups the back of his neck and you yank him forward, pressing your lips to his like it'll keep everything messy and tender at bay. It’s not careful. It’s not supposed to be. It’s a distraction, a fire alarm, an emotional eject button.

Seokmin doesn’t kiss you back, not immediately; his brain is still caught on whatever he was about to say. The kiss only lasts a few seconds, but it’s long enough for the door to swing open behind you.

“GUYS—”

You both tear apart like you’ve been electrocuted. Soonyoung stands at the doorway holding a neon slushie. The look on his face is the type of thing that would have him going viral on TikTok.

You and Seokmin exchange a look, wide-eyed and flushed.

It’s the worst time to get caught, and of course, that’s when it finally happens.

--

The fallout begins quietly.

Which is the worst part, really.

No fireworks, no messy confrontation, just an unrelenting silence that creeps in where easy laughter used to be. Every brush of Seokmin’s hand now feels weighted, every shared glance taut with the possibility of a conversation you’re not ready to have.

Worse, people are buying it. Hook, line, and sinker. After Soonyoung caught the two of you mid-liplock, the rumor mill went into overdrive, and suddenly, no one bats an eye when Seokmin shares his food with you, or when your knees knock beneath the merchandise booth. Everyone thinks you’re together. That you’re real.

It makes it harder than ever to fake it.

Seokmin still tries. He flashes you that warm grin and slings his arm around your shoulder like nothing’s changed, but it has. You can feel it in the way he hesitates before touching you, or how his laughter doesn’t quite reach his eyes when you tease him. He wants to talk about it. You know he does.

And he tries.

It happens after another long shift, the two of you walking side by side through the near-empty parking lot. The sky is bruised and pink at the edges, cotton-candy dusk descending on Carat Bay like an afterthought. He catches your wrist, gently but firmly.

“Can we just—talk?” he says, voice low, eyes impossibly sincere.

It’s the exact thing you’ve been avoiding. You look at his hand around your wrist and your heart hammers in your chest. You want to hear him out. You want to ask him which parts were real, and which ones were for show. You want to tell him it’s been pretty damn hard for you to tell the difference, even if you’re the one who laid out the blueprint months ago. 

But you’re a coward. And this isn’t part of the plan.

So you do what you’re best at.

You run.

You tug your hand free and turn on your heel. You don’t get far. Just past the bumpers, right by the yellow staff lines painted across the lot, you hear it—the telltale squeak of worn soles and a long-suffering sigh.

Changbin. 

He’s standing there, arms crossed, expression unreadable. His eyes flick from you to Seokmin, whose hand is still hovering like it’s caught mid-air.

“Inside. Both of you,” Changbin says coolly. “HR wants a word.”

Great.

You’ve been trying to get fired for months. And now, at long last, it feels like your wish is about to come true.

Except the look Seokmin shoots you isn’t relief.

It’s heartbreak.

The HR room is ice cold. Not temperature-wise—someone must've left the thermostat on the exact edge of comfort. It’s cold in that awful, bureaucratic kind of way. Like nothing good has ever happened in here. Like no one’s ever left this place with dignity fully intact.

Changmin, the HR Manager, offers you both paper cups of water. His smile is so bland it’s offensive. “Let’s make this quick,” he says, as if he has something better to do than scold employees for handsy interactions in the Carat Bay parking lot. “There’ve been some... concerns.”

Your arms are crossed. Seokmin’s foot keeps tapping under the table, a nervous rhythm he’s trying to stifle.

“Rumors have been circulating,” Changmin continues, folding his hands neatly. “Several employees have reported seeing you two getting cozy on company time.”

You open your mouth, but Seokmin beats you to it. “We weren’t—I mean, it was nothing compromising,” he argues feebly. 

“The CCTV disagrees.”

Holy shit. You almost forgot about that. There are eyes and ears all over the place; you and Seokmin didn’t even have to wait around for Soonyoung. The two of you could have just made out in the merch booth and been done with it.

“You’re both aware of the rule,” Changmin goes on. “No romantic fraternization during work hours. No workplace relationships without disclosure. And certainly not in full view of customers or staff.”

“Yes,” you mutter.

Changmin sighs, as if he genuinely hates what’s about to happen. “After internal discussion, we’ve decided to terminate the employment of one party.”

It sinks in a beat too late, what’s wrong about the statement. 

One party. Only one of you is going to get sacked, and it’s pretty clear who it’s going to be. 

Seokmin’s head snaps toward you. “What? No, that—that doesn’t make sense,” he sputters. “We both broke the rule.”

Changmin's smile flickers. “Mr. Lee, you know very well your position in this company.”

Ah. There it is.

The heir card.

You could laugh, but it’d come out strangled.

“This doesn’t have to be a big thing,” Changmin says smoothly. “We’ll phrase it as a mutual separation. No disciplinary record. A clean reference, if needed.”

You stare at the condensation sliding down your paper cup. This was what you wanted, wasn’t it? To get fired. To be released from this pastel-colored theme park hellscape and finally live your own damn life.

And yet.

Beside you, Seokmin's voice breaks. “It wasn’t just her. If anyone should take responsibility—”

“This is final,” Changmin says, in the politest voice imaginable.

You got what you had planned for. Why does it feel like shit?

You find Seokmin in the parking lot after the meeting, his hands jammed in his pockets, shoulders drawn up like they’re trying to shield him from the world. The Carat Bay sign flickers behind him, casting a tacky blue halo over his profile. You take slow steps toward him, gravel crunching under your shoes.

“Hey,” you say tentatively. “I—I didn’t think it would go like that. I thought we’d both get fired. That was the point.”

Seokmin doesn’t look at you. His jaw works, like he’s trying to swallow something sharp. “I’m sorry you didn’t get what you wanted,” he says flatly.

“That’s not—” You stop yourself, bite your tongue. “You know that’s not what I meant. I didn’t want you to get hurt by this. I didn’t think they’d—only fire me.”

He lets out a bitter laugh, the kind that tastes of ash. “Of course they didn’t. Why would they? I’m Lee Seokmin, Prince of Carat Bay. Fucking heir to the tacky throne.”

You step closer. “Seokmin—”

“No, seriously. This is the first time I ever tried to do something for myself, and I managed to ruin it by—” He breaks off, exhales hard through his nose. “By catching feelings for someone who only wanted a clean way out.”

You flinch. “That's not fair.”

“Isn't it?” he snaps. “You heard what I told Shua, right? You were eavesdropping. So you know. You know I wasn't acting. You kissed me anyway, like it didn’t matter. Like it was just another scene.”

You shake your head. “I kissed you because I didn’t know what to say,” you say, voice cracking. “Because I was scared. Not because I didn’t care.”

Seokmin finally looks at you, and it guts you. His eyes are red-rimmed, vulnerable in a way he’s never let you see. When he speaks, it’s as good as a confession, “I thought maybe, just maybe, if I kept being useful, if I kept showing up, you’d start to want me for real,” he manages. “But I guess I really was just an acting partner, huh?” 

He pulls back when you reach for him. “Don’t,” he says, looking less like the boy you’ve come to love and more like the ghost of him. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.” 

And then he’s walking away, shoulders still hunched, hands still buried in his pockets, as if letting them out might betray too much. You stay rooted to the spot, the neon lights buzzing overhead, your name already half-forgotten by the place—and the coworker—you were trying so hard to leave behind. 

--

You have at least two more weeks before your exile from Carat Bay is final, and you tell yourself you’re okay.

You tell yourself that when Seokmin, who you’ve worked elbow-to-elbow with all summer, starts pretending you’re not breathing the same air as him. You tell yourself that when he disappears to ‘stock’ the back room every time you so much as look at him.

You tell yourself that when he hands you inventory lists like he’s passing secret messages in a Cold War spy thriller. Gaze averted, fingers barely brushing yours.

You’re fine.

It’s fine.

You’re very normal about the fact that the boy who once had a casual palm curved to the slope of your ass now can’t stand to be within two feet of you. The boy who used to trip over himself to steal kisses, to coax soft sounds out of your throat in the shadowed corners of Carat Bay, now can’t even meet your eyes.

The merchandise booth is tiny, the kind of claustrophobic that’s usually endearing in the early stages of a slow-burn romance. Now it feels like a battlefield. 

Every interaction is a landmine. You joke with Soonyoung and Joshua louder than necessary just to fill the silence Seokmin leaves behind. You laugh a little too hard when Mingyu teases you about winning the Fastest Employee-to-HR Pipeline award. You act normal. You’re good at acting normal.

Seokmin, for all his theater-kid roots, isn’t.

His silences are loud. His stiffness is louder.

You catch him watching you sometimes, when he thinks you’re not looking. There’s a hollow, guilty kind of sadness in it, like he’s punishing himself. Like he’s mourning something neither of you can name.

You don’t know how to fix it. You’re not sure you should. Wasn't this what you wanted?

You got out. You got what you needed. It’s not your fault if somewhere along the way, Seokmin handed you something far messier, far more dangerous, and you didn’t know how to hold it.

You clock in. You clock out. You memorize the days until your last shift like you’re counting down to parole.

You don’t think about how empty the booth feels now.

You don’t think about the way Seokmin used to smile at you like you put the sun in the sky.

You don’t think at all.

You can’t afford to.

And, really, you don’t mean to cry. You’d told yourself you’d get through your shift, maybe duck into the bathroom if it got bad enough. You could’ve handled this like an adult. Quietly. Dignified.

Instead, here you are in the back break room, facedown against the sticky laminate table. Your shoulders are shaking, and you’re sniffling embarrassingly loud as you try to muffle the sound.

“Whoa, hey,” comes Soonyoung’s voice, full of immediate alarm. “Hey, what—oh my God, are you crying?”

You don’t look up. You can’t. You just groan low into your arms, trying to make the world swallow you whole. Of all the people who could find you. 

There’s the rustling sound of Soonyoung pulling out the chair next to you, scooting in close. A warm, awkward hand pats the middle of your back.

“Hey,” he says again, softer now. “Hey, it’s okay. Breakups suck. Like, really bad. Especially when it’s someone you see every day at work. That’s brutal.”

You let out a wet, miserable noise.

“Everyone’s been talking,” Soonyoung continues, unaware of the dagger twisting deeper into your gut. “Like, we all kinda figured something was wrong since Seokmin’s been… I dunno, all weird. He barely even smiles anymore. He’s acting like you killed his cat.”

You lift your head just enough to squint at Soonyoung through bleary eyes. “It wasn’t even real,” you whisper.

“Huh?”

You sniff and rub your sleeve across your nose, cringing at yourself. “It was all fake. Me and Seokmin. We were faking it.”

Soonyoung blinks at you. “Like… the relationship?”

You nod miserably.

“Why?”

Through your tears, you tell Soonyoung everything. The plan, the faking it, the makeout sessions. The way it ended on a Wednesday, of all days, which is terrible—because you both had to clock in the next morning like you hadn’t just broken each other’s hearts. 

Soonyoung leans back in his chair, processing this with the same serious expression he reserves for really important things, like choosing what to order for lunch.

“Okay,” he says after a beat. “That’s kinda… diabolical. But also, like, you and Seokmin… you’re just idiots in love.”

You let out a half-sob, half-laugh, wiping your eyes with the heel of your palm.

“I mean it,” Soonyoung says, smiling now, in that rare, earnest way of his. “You’re both idiots. And it’s kinda beautiful, if you think about it.”

You don’t know if ‘beautiful’ is the right word for the mess you’ve made.

But maybe—maybe it could be.

--

You always figure there’s a big act of romance in every rom-com. A grand, sweeping gesture by the male lead. Unfortunately, your male lead is out of commission; you decide to take things into your own hands. 

It’s your last day of work, and you have nothing left to lose.

Lunch time is your choice of poison. You wait for the clock to hit exactly 12:30, and then you hit Send after making sure everybody who matters is in the breakroom. 

Someone gasps. Someone else drops their coffee. Employees and managers alike pull out their phones to see what’s so stunning. 

The screenshots are in the group chat. Seokmin’s texts to you over the past few months, confessions of all the petty little sabotage attempts he’s made at the merchandise booth: mislabeling shirts, sneaking wrong sizes into bags, purposefully miscounting plushies. 

People are side-eyeing you, whispering among themselves—

“Damn, she’s really airing him out.”

“Was the breakup that bad?” 

“Evil ass ex.” 

You ignore them all.

You’re focused on Seokmin, who is seated between Joshua and Soonyoung. When he glances at his lockscreen, he does a double take. Blinks. Shoots up, his expression slack with horror. He looks like he’s about to make a run for it. 

You cross the room in a couple of quick strides. Before Seokmin can say a word, you grab him by the collar of his stupid Carat Bay polo and kiss him. Long. Hard. Unapologetic. 

Your mouth moves against his like you’re staking a claim. Like you’re not done with him yet. 

The breakroom explodes in noise—shrieks, whistles, laughter—but you barely hear it. Your brain is doing that thing again, the one where your entire world narrows into nothing whenever you’re up against Seokmin like this. 

You’ve known since the first time you kissed him that he would ruin you. You were right. 

You break the kiss to breathe, to murmur against his lips, “You’re definitely going to get fired now.” 

You don’t need to look to know a few mothers outside the breakroom are going to be scandalized. That the CCTV in the corner is blinking red, and Seokmin’s face is angled so you absolutely cannot manipulate or miss who had just participated in public indecency. 

For the first time in days, Seokmin smiles.

Not the fake half-smile he’s been giving you lately. Not the sad, wilted one. A real one. Wide and bright and devastatingly beautiful. He cups your face, leans in, and kisses you again—softer this time, like a promise. 

Screw the script. You're writing your own ending.

--

EPILOGUE. 

The drive is long, but not unbearable. 

Soonyoung and Joshua have packed the car with snacks, and between the three of you, there’s enough chaos to keep the ride from feeling too heavy. It's only when the road smooths out into rolling countryside and the first glimpse of the shelter comes into view—an unassuming building with bright, inviting banners—that your heart tightens in your chest.

“There it is,” Soonyoung says, leaning forward against his seatbelt, eyes wide.

“Cute,” Joshua adds, pulling his sunglasses down to get a better look. “Looks like it belongs to someone who loves, like, every living thing.”

You laugh, amused. “Sounds about right.”

The car barely parks before you're throwing the door open, feet hitting the gravel with an eager crunch. Seokmin is already at the entrance, waving both arms above his head like he's trying to guide a plane in for landing. You sprint the last few steps and collide into him, arms wrapping around his middle.

He lets out a winded, delighted noise, hugging you so tight your feet lift off the ground for a second. “You’re here!”

“Of course I’m here,” you murmur against his neck. “I’d be a terrible girlfriend otherwise.” 

Behind you, Soonyoung and Joshua groan loudly.

“God, it’s worse than I thought,” Soonyoung sighs. “You’d think the honeymoon phase would be over by now.” 

“It’s watching a rom-com on 2x speed,” Joshua agrees.

Seokmin only grins against your hair, clearly unfazed. He sets you back down but keeps an arm looped lazily around your shoulders as he ushers everyone inside.

The shelter is still new—there’s the faint smell of fresh paint, and not every kennel is full yet—but the energy is unmistakably Seokmin: warm, bright, buzzing with earnest hope. He introduces you to every animal like he’s presenting you with priceless treasures. You fall in love with each one.

You had properly fallen in love with Seokmin shortly after you were both freed from the clutches of Carat Bay. The two of you talked it out. He asked you on a proper date. The rest became history, and the story of your origins—now about half a year in the rearview—proves to be a fun tale to swap during drinking sessions. 

This time, you both got what you wanted, and so much more. 

At one point, Seokmin presses a kiss to your temple. You instinctively lift onto your toes to kiss his jaw in return. You both giggle like teenagers, noses brushing, completely lost in each other.

From behind you, Joshua pretends to gag. “Do we need to leave you two alone with the puppies?” he says judgmentally, arms tightening around the Rottweiler puppy he’d been eyeing for weeks. 

Soonyoung joins in on the teasing. “Disgustingly cute,” he announces dryly, already halfway out the door so he can escape you and Seokmin. And then, he throws in as an afterthought: “You two deserve each other.” 

You glance up at Seokmin. He beams down at you like you’re the only thing he can see.

It pains you to admit—but for once, Kwon Soonyoung might be right about something. 

[winchesterwild78]

Unspoken Words pt 8

Master List

Characters: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Reader’s daughter, other characters

Warnings: Angst, Accusation of Cheating, Childbirth, SMUT!, fluff

A/N: Another collab story with @cheekygirl2309. This one is about a single mother with a nonverbal autistic daughter who loves Supernatural. The reader is going to a Supernatural Convention with her daughter and things unfold from there. The daughter character is near and dear to my heart. I have someone very close to me who is nonverbal, but he’s such an amazing kid. 

*Last chapter. Features a time jump or two. * This chapter got a bit long, sorry not sorry.

This is a work of fiction and does not depict real life. Jensen is single in this story. 

All work is my own and @cheekygirl2309, don’t take it or use it as your own. Reblogs and likes are appreciated. 

Minors DNI 18+

*8th Month of Pregnancy*

Standing at the mirror I placed my hand on my belly. I couldn’t believe I was just over 8 months pregnant. 

Lily was getting more excited about the babies. She was talking more and was helping me with the nursery. 

Jensen had been working and gone filming a lot. He’d missed a few appointments but I understood. At the last ultrasound appointment they were going to tell me the genders but I asked them to wait. 

My heart ached for Jensen to come home. I knew his job was important and I was so proud of him. I just missed him. 

It was late at night and Lily was in bed. I had changed and glanced at myself in the mirror again. 

I could feel the little kicks and flutters in my stomach, it made me smile. A pang of sadness filled my heart. 

Chalking it up to the hormones I tried to push the thoughts away. I know Jensen loves me, Lily and our children, but I couldn’t help but feel alone and unwanted. 

When Jensen would get home he’d be exhausted and focused on other things. He hadn’t touched me in about a month. My heart ached for his touch. I didn’t say anything to him because I didn’t want to add more stress to him. 

Sarah encouraged me to talk to him, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. 

I took out my phone and sent him a text. 

Me: Hey baby. Just wanted to tell you I miss you and can’t wait until you’re home. You’re still coming home in a few days, right? 

I watched the bubbles appear and disappear several times before it stopped. No reply came in. My message was shown read. 

Maybe he’s on set and glanced at his phone. He’ll message me when he can. 

I sat on the couch and turned on the television for some background noise and honestly to try to pull me out of my head. 

I dozed off around 1am and didn’t hear my phone go off. I slept for a few hours, waking up around 5:30am I glanced at my phone and saw a message notification from Jensen. 

A smile crept across my face, but quickly faded when I read the text. 

Jensen: Thank you for tonight. I needed to blow off some steam. You looked beautiful. 

I swallowed hard and my heart pounded in my chest. I felt sick. Who was this message meant for?! Who did he go out with? 

I opened Instagram and saw a ton of new pictures Jensen was tagged in. He was out at some bar with the cast of his latest project and there was a female co-worker hanging on him. He had a huge smile on his face. She was gorgeous. Young, skinny, and very beautiful. The total opposite of me. The kind of woman Jensen previously had on his arm. 

My heart broke. What was I going to do? How can I raise three children on my own? I’ve been a fucking fool to think he would stay with me. I sobbed. 

Not knowing what to do I followed the pictures back to the original post and it was from her account. 

The original post talked about how lucky she felt to be welcomed to this crew and how much she admired Jensen and his kindness on and off the set. The next part made me want to vomit “Thanks Jens for an incredible night. You definitely know how to make a girl feel special. 🫶🏻❤️” 

I took a screenshot and sent it to Sarah. She said she’d be right over. 

I sobbed harder. My heart felt like it was breaking in my chest. 

Sarah showed up about 15 minutes later and wrapped me in her arms. “Shh, sweetie. I’m sure there’s an explanation for this. Jensen loves you so much. He’s loyal to you.” 

Sarah held me as I cried. “Y/N, think about the babies. You’ve got to calm down. This isn’t good for them.” 

“No, what’s not good for them is their father cheating on their mother with a fucking child!” Sarah had sent Steve a text and told him what happened before she came over. He said he’d call Jensen and get to the bottom of it. 

Sarah’s phone went off and it was a text from Steve. 

Steve: No answer yet. I’ll keep trying. How’s she doing?

Sarah: She’s devastated. I’m really worried about her and the babies. God I hope he didn’t cheat on her. 

Steve: I’ve known Jensen for decades, he’s really not that kind of guy. I promise. 

Sarah: I hope he’s not. 

“Y/N, come on sweetie take a deep breath.” 

I took a breath in and let it out. Then I felt a sharp pain shoot through me. Sarah made me lay down and brought me some water. “You have to relax honey. This isn’t good for the babies.” 

I nodded and tried to relax. My phone went off with a message notification. Sarah wouldn’t let me check it. 

Jensen: Hey baby. Yeah. I’ll be home in a few days as long as filming runs smoothly. I love you and miss you too. 

Sarah read the message and was pissed. He completely ignored the message he sent in the middle of the night. So Sarah sent a reply back. 

Me: Jensen, this is Sarah. You might want to make sure you know who you’re texting before you send it. Y/N saw the text you meant to send some other woman and I’m here picking up the pieces. I swear to god if you’re cheating on her I’m going to cut off your balls! “You had a great time and you needed to blow off some steam and she was beautiful?!” Who the fuck sends another woman a message like that?

Jensen read the message from Sarah and scrolled up. He ran his fingers through his hair “Fuck! I’m so fucking stupid!” 

I was laying on the couch and had Sarah help me up so I could use the bathroom. I sat down and then I saw blood. My heart started racing. When I stood up my water broke. 

“Sarah, come quick!” Sarah ran to my side, seeing the blood and where my water broke she took my hand. “Okay, this is fine. Let me call Steve and see if he can come over for Lily so I can take you to the hospital. 

“Sarah, I need Jensen. He should be here. Please call him.” 

She nodded, helped me change and called Jensen. 

Jensen saw my name pop up on his phone. He took a steady breath and answered it. “Hey baby. I know we need to talk.” 

“Jensen, this is Sarah. You need to get home. Y/N’s in labor. You caused her to go into labor. Please leave your girlfriend there and get to the hospital.” Sarah’s voice dripped with anger and venom. 

“Sarah, I don’t have, you know what, forget it. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Please tell her I’m on my way and I love her.” 

“Sure you do.” Then Sarah hung up. 

I looked at Sarah, “He said he’s on his way and he loves you.” She scoffed. 

“Sarah, please.” She sighed, “I’m sorry. It just pisses me off. You’re carrying his children and you’ve given up everything to be with him and this is how he repays you?” 

“Sarah, please stop. He has a right to explain.” Another pain shot through my body. Steve had arrived and Sarah and I were on our way to the hospital. 

I sent Jensen a text. 

Me: Jens I’m so scared. Please get home safe and quickly. 

Jensen: I’m boarding a flight now. I’m so sorry baby. I swear I didn’t cheat on you. I love you and our family. 

Me: I hope not. I love you too. I don’t want to have these babies without you. 

Jensen: I’m trying to get there as fast as I can. 

Me: I know. We do have a lot to talk about, but first we need to focus on these babies. 

I put my phone down as a contraction hit. Sarah pulled up to the Emergency Department and ran inside. She came back out with a nurse and wheelchair. 

Helping me out of the car they wheeled me in. 

I was immediately taken to labor and delivery and hooked up to the monitor. 

My contractions were close, but not unbearable. I kept looking at the door hoping Jensen would walk in at any moment. 

Sarah stood by my bed and held my hand during the contractions. 

The doctor came in and checked me and said the babies seemed okay for now but we would keep monitoring them for any signs of distress. If there was any distress I’d have to have a c-section. I nodded in understanding. 

A few hours later the contractions were closer and I was getting more worried Jensen wouldn’t make it. 

The doctor came in and checked me, “Okay, it looks like you’re ready to have these babies. Are you ready?” 

Tears started to fall, “No, it’s too early and Jensen isn’t here. Sarah, he should be here.” 

She held my hand, “I know sweetie. He’s on his way. I’m right here.” 

The doctor assured me once the babies were born they would be assessed quickly for any complications. 

It was time to push and the doctor and nurses got me ready. Jensen still wasn’t there and my heart broke more. 

“Sarah, does he really love me?” She wiped the tears away, “Oh Y/N I’m sure he does. He will be here soon.” 

As if on cue Jensen walked in the door. Bag in hand and sunglasses and hat on top of his head. 

He dropped his stuff and ran to my side, “Hey baby. I’m here.” He took my hand and kissed the top of my head. He looked at Sarah and then at the doctor. “How’s she doing? How’s the babies?” 

The doctor explained to Jensen it was early, but the babies would be assessed and taken to the NICU if necessary. 

Jensen nodded and kissed my head again. “I’m so sorry baby. We’ve got this. Come on baby, let’s meet our babies.” 

I nodded and took his hand in mine. 

About thirty minutes later the first baby was delivered. A healthy baby boy. The nurse took him to be assessed while I rested between deliveries. 

Jensen wiped my forehead and fed me ice chips. He took a picture of the baby for me. “Jens, he’s beautiful. Thank you.” He kissed my lips, “God I love you so much, sweetheart. What do you say we deliver our next baby?” 

The second baby moved into position and I was ready to deliver. I was exhausted but ready to meet my other baby. A few minutes of pushing, a tiny cry filled the room. I looked over and saw little legs and feet kicking wildly. I chuckled. Jensen walked over and took a picture. 

“Is the baby okay?” I asked Jensen. He smiled, “She’s perfect. Real fighter like her mama.” 

Tears filled my eyes, “We have a boy and a girl?” He kissed me, “Yeah we do baby. They are perfect.” 

Sarah gave me a hug and kissed my head, “You did great sweetie. I’m gonna call Steve and let him know.” I nodded and thanked her. 

As she walked out of the room Jensen followed her. 

“Hey, Sarah. Wait up please.” Sarah turned and looked at Jensen. He could tell she was pissed. 

“What Jensen?” “I just wanted to tell you thank you for taking care of her and making sure our babies were safe.” 

She stepped closer to him and poked his chest, “You don’t have to thank me. She’s like a sister to me. She wouldn’t have gone into labor if it wasn’t for your cheating ass.” 

“Sarah, I’m not cheating on her. I never have and never would. I love her. It’s not an excuse but I got drunk. I went out with the cast and we got drunk. The text was meant for someone else, but it’s not what you think. She was arguing with her boyfriend and some woman at the bar told her she looked like a cheap hooker, then kissed her boyfriend. She was devastated. I’ve known her for years, she’s like a sister to me. I can call her right now to clear all this up. Look, I know I fucked up and if there is anything wrong with my children I know it’s my fault, but I need you to believe me. I love Y/N and I have since the moment I met her.” 

Sarah stood shocked. She saw the pain in Jensen’s eyes and she couldn’t stop feeling he was telling her the truth. 

Sarah took a deep breath and touched his arm, “Jensen, go to her side. Tell her everything you told me. She loves you and I know you love her. You might have to call that friend, but if you truly mean it and love Y/N then you fight for her.” 

He nodded and they hugged. Sarah walked away to call Steve and Jensen returned to my side. 

I was being transferred to a private room. Jensen came in the room with his bag and set it in a chair. I was laying in the bed and looked over at him. 

He smiled softly “Hey baby. How are you feeling?” “I’m okay. Sore, but okay. I’m glad you made it. Have you heard anything about the babies?” 

He shook his head no, “No, but I can go find out if you want me to.” 

I reached out my hand, “No, I think we should talk first.” He looked down solemnly, “Yeah. I think so too.” 

Silence filled the room. Neither of us knew what to say or how to start the conversation. The weight of it all hung heavy in the air. 

Jensen sat beside me and took a deep breath, “Baby I swear I have never nor would I ever cheat on you. The text was meant for my friend, Leah, but it’s not what you think. We all went out last night to celebrate wrap. Leah was there with her boyfriend and they started fighting. Some woman at the bar said she looked like a hooker and then kissed Leah’s boyfriend. She was devastated. I’ve known her for years, she’s like a sister to me. I just wanted to let her know she looked beautiful. I swear I didn’t mean it any other way. I love you and I’d never do anything to jeopardize what we have. I know I screwed up and you going into labor early is my fault. If there is anything wrong with our children that’s on me.” 

Tears filled his eyes. I didn’t know what to say. 

I lifted my hand to his face and gently touched him. “Jens, it’s not your fault our babies came early. I should have trusted you and not gotten as upset as I did. I just let my brain run wild. I thought you didn’t want me anymore. You hadn’t touched me in a month and I was afraid you weren’t attracted to me anymore. I’m sorry Jensen. I should have talked to you about what was bothering me.” 

“What?! How could I not be attracted to you? Look at you. You’re beautiful and sexy as hell. Your beautiful body made and carried all three of our babies. I could never thank you enough for that. I was afraid I’d hurt you having sex with you. The last time we had sex you were in pain for a few days. I didn’t want to hurt you again. I’m so sorry baby. I should have been honest with you.” 

He leaned down, cupped my face and his lips ghosted mine. He stopped and didn’t move. 

“Is this okay?” I nodded and he crashed his lips to mine. The kiss was full of need and regret. When he pulled away we looked into each other’s eyes, “I love you, Y/N, so much.” “I love you too, Jensen.” 

About an hour later the doctor came in and gave us an update on the twins. They both passed their tests, but would be required to stay in the NICU for at least a week to get their lungs strong enough. She said we could go see them when I felt up to it. 

I looked over at Jensen and he smirked, “She’s ready now, doc.” The doctor chuckled, “Okay, we’ll be careful and call the nurse before you get up.” We nodded and called the nurse. 

She helped me up and we went to see the babies. We saw our son first. The nurse had me sit in the rocking chair and she put him on my chest. He was smaller than Lily was, but he looked good. He cooed and looked up at me. 

I gasped softly, he had the most beautiful green eyes I’d seen since looking into Jensen’s. 

The nurse smiled, “So do you two have a name picked out yet?” I looked at her and then Jensen, “Yeah his name is Michael Alan and her name is Josephine Marie.” 

The nurse smiled, “Beautiful.” She looked at Jensen and said, “While mom is holding him do you want to hold your little girl?” Jensen smiled and nodded. 

He sat in the rocking chair near her crib and the nurse handed the baby to Jensen. 

He looked down at his little girl and smiled. She looked just like Lily, but she had his green eyes. He looked over at me and smiled. “She’s beautiful. She looks like her big sister.” 

I reached my hand out and held his, “We made some beautiful babies. Didn’t we?” “Yeah we did. Thank you baby. Thank you for our beautiful little family.” 

We held the twins for a while and switched. I looked over at Jensen holding our son and I saw the pride on his face. My little girl fell asleep in my arms. I watched her sleep and she reminded me so much of Lily it made my heart full. 

We put the babies down to sleep and Jensen helped me back to the room. Sarah and Steve were bringing Lily to see me and the babies. 

Lily came in and climbed on the bed. She looked at my stomach and put her hand on it, “Babies?” “Mommy had the babies. You have a baby brother and sister.” She looked at me and then Jensen. “See babies” she said looked at Jensen. 

“Well they are in a special room because they were born early, but you can see them through the window.” Jensen said and she nodded. 

“Hey, I’ll take her. You rest” Jensen said as he leaned down and kissed my head. 

He scooped her up and started to carry her out. Steve went with them. 

When they left Sarah looked at me. “What?” I asked. “Did you two work it out?” I nodded, “Yeah. He told me what happened.” “Do you believe him?” I shook my head yes. 

“Okay, I just want to make sure you’re okay. You deserve to be loved.” 

I touched her arm, “I know, and I am. He loves me and I trust him. We even talked about why we hadn’t had sex.” 

“And? What was the reason?” 

“The last time we had sex I hurt for a few days after. He was worried he’d hurt me again so he didn’t pursue it with me.”

“Was that true? Did you get hurt?”

“Yeah. I was in some pain afterwards. It wasn’t his fault, but yeah. I understand his hesitation.” 

She hugged me, “Okay. Well I still meant what I said to him if he hurts you.” We both laughed, “I know. You’re mean that way.” 

*Time Jump 3 Months* 

“Jensen, can you grab Michael and dry him off and bring me Josie?” 

Jensen came into the bathroom and we switched off the twins for bath time. 

They were now 3 months old and growing. Jensen and I were a great team with them and Lily. 

Jensen still made time to play with Lily and she even helped feed the babies. She would help get diapers and wipes, but never changed a diaper. 

When we first brought the twins home, Lily had a hard time adjusting. She clung to Jensen for about a month. Anytime he left the house she went with him. I was worried she felt pushed to the side, but Jensen was great at helping her feel loved and cared for. 

After bath time we fed the twins and put them down for bed. Lily had her bath and we read to her and put her to bed. 

Jensen and I had some quiet time for the first time in a while. We usually had one kid awake or we were both so exhausted we fell asleep. Sometimes in our clothes. 

Tonight, however, we were both wide awake. 

He sat beside me on the couch and leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Hey beautiful, why don’t you go take a shower or bath and relax. If one of the kids wakes up I’ll take care of them. You can relax.” 

I looked over at him. I wanted him, I needed him. It had been months. Between the pregnancy and birth we hadn’t had sex and I really wanted to feel him again. 

I straddled his hips and leaned down kissing his lips. His hands grabbed my hips and pulled me close. “Jens, take me to our room.” 

He leaned back and looked in my eyes, “Are you sure?” 

I kissed him. Pouring all my love, need and desire into it. “Yes”. 

He lifted me up and carried me to our room. I tried to protest, “Jensen, put me down. I weigh too much.” 

“No you don’t, you’re perfect.” 

He carried me to our room, closed the door with his foot and laid me on the bed. 

He leaned down, his strong arms on either side of me. He smiled and kissed my lips softly. 

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” I smiled, “Yeah, I’ve been told that a few times.” 

Jensen chuckled and kissed me again. His hand slid down my body and to the hem of my shirt. 

I bit my lower lip and my breath hitched. I could feel my desire course through my body. Jensen’s hand slipped under my shirt and to my breasts. He gently cupped them and I arched my back, moaning his name. 

He pulled my shirt over my head. Jensen began licking and sucking each nipple. My fingers in his hair, pulling him closer to me. 

He smirked against my skin as his hot breath caused goosebumps to erupt all over me. 

Jensen slid his hands down to my waistband and past my panties. He felt how soaked I was and without warning slid his fingers past my folds and into my waiting pussy. 

I gasped loudly as he hooked his fingers up. His thumb rubbing my sensitive clit. “Oh God, right there, Jensen. Fuck!” 

He stopped and I whined. “Jens, why did you stop?” He leaned up and pulled my pants and panties down in one pull, “Had to get better access.” He chuckled. 

Jensen continued and pushed me closer to my release. I felt heat and arousal fill my body. It had been so long since we touched each other I wanted it to last. My body was responding to Jensen. 

The familiar coil tightened in my stomach. “Jens, I’m close.” He leaned forward, lips ghosting my ear, “I know baby. Let go for me. Cum on my fingers. Let me feel you.” 

The coil snapped and I was cumming hard. My back arched off the bed and I soaked Jensen’s hand. My legs trembled as my body convulsed through my orgasm. 

By the time I was done I was panting and could feel my arousal running down my ass. Jensen stood up and I saw his rock hard cock through his sweatpants. 

I licked my lips and pulled my bottom lip in between my teeth. My breath hitched as he removed his clothes. He smirked, “See something you like, sweetheart?” 

I nodded and smiled, “Yes, I do.” Jensen climbed back on the bed and used his legs to push my legs apart. 

I laid looking up at him and saw the love in his eyes. My heart fluttered in my chest. 

Jensen pumped his length a  few times and looked down at me. I nodded and Jensen’s pink head slid past my lips and slowly sunk inside me. 

I gasped and he moaned as he pushed in. Jensen stilled himself as he bottomed out. 

“Fuck! I forgot how tight you were. Damn baby, even after three babies you fit perfectly around me.” He kissed my lips as he started to move his hips. 

Jensen moved his hips slowly, pulling his length in and out of me slowly. His hands and lips trailing over my body. Our moans and pants filled the air. 

I placed my hands on his biceps as his hips snapped into mine. 

“Baby, I want you on top. I want to see your beautiful body.” 

Jensen pulled out and laid on his back, I climbed on top of him and used one hand to steady myself while I used the other to guide him in me. 

I sank down on his hard cock with a whimper and pulled a deep moan from his lips. 

His hands gripped my hips as I rocked back and forth. Jensen snapped his hips up and pushed his cock deeper inside me. I grabbed the headboard and I continued rocking my hips faster. 

“Mmm, yes baby. Just like that. God, you feel so good. Fucking me so good.” I moved faster as I felt my second release building. 

Jensen’s hips moved faster moving up as I moved down. Our bodies were working together, chasing our release. 

Jensen grabbed my body and flipped me on my back, his hips slamming into me faster. My legs resting on his shoulders as my hands found his chest. I was close again. My fingers slipped between us and I started rubbing my clit, chasing my second release. 

My release hit hard and I moaned his name like a prayer. My walls clenched around his length and pulled his orgasm out too. He came with a grunt and his release coated my walls. Filling me with his seed. 

He leaned down and kissed my lips as he softened inside me. “I love you, Jensen.” “I love you too, Y/N. This was perfect.” I smiled and nodded. 

Jensen pulled out and kissed my lips. He got up, went to the bathroom, grabbed a washcloth and came back to the bed to clean us both up. 

Tossing the washcloth to the side he crawled back in bed with me. Offering me his arm, I curled up to his side and laid my head on his chest. 

My fingers drawing circles on his chest. “Jensen, thank you for tonight. It’s been too long and it was amazing.” He tilted my head up and placed a soft kiss on my lips, “Yeah it was. Thank you for tonight. I didn’t hurt you did I?” “No, baby. You were perfect.” 

The two of us drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms. Finally reconnecting and falling more in love. 

*Time Jump 3 months* 

The twins were 6 months old and my birthday was in a few days. Sarah had planned a spa day for us and I was excited. Jensen was staying with the kids, and Steve was coming over too. 

Jensen and Steve were cooking dinner and my instruction from Jensen was to relax. 

Sarah came and got me and we headed to the spa. We got facials, full body wraps, manicures and pedicures. By the time we got back to the house it was close to dinner time. 

Walking in the house it smelled amazing. Jensen was standing at the stove when I walked into the kitchen. 

“Hey sweetheart, how was the spa?” I walked up to him and kissed him, “It was amazing, thank you. This smells amazing by the way.” “It’ll be ready soon. You go sit and relax. The twins are napping and Lily is playing with Steve. 

I nodded and walked into the living room where I found Sarah and Steve whispering. “What are you two talking about?” “Uh, nothing.” Sarah giggled. “Okay, whatever. Well just don’t have sex where the kids can see it.” Sarah turned red. 

A few minutes later Jensen was telling us dinner was ready. We all sat down at the table and ate. Jensen brought out a small birthday cake, candles and all. 

They sang Happy Birthday and Jensen told me to make a wish. I smiled, “But I have everything I could ever want right here.” I kissed him and then blew out the candles. 

We enjoyed some cake and ice cream. Later after Sarah and Steve left and the kids were in bed, Jensen and I went to sit on the back porch. 

We sat on the swing under a blanket and listened to the crickets and looked up at the stars. 

“So, are you sure there’s nothing you would wish for?” Jensen asked with a smile. “Jensen, I have you, our three babies and this beautiful life. I have everything I could ever need.” 

He smiled and nodded. “I have everything I could ever need too, well almost everything.” I looked at him confused, “What else could you need?” 

Jensen stood and dropped to his knee, “I’ve loved you since the minute I saw you at that convention. You and Lily came into my life when I least expected it. You’ve given me so much, a home filled with love, three beautiful children, and a companion for life. It would be my absolute honor if you would agree to become my wife. I love you, Y/N, and I can’t think of anything else I want more than that. Will you marry me?”

I gasped softly as he opened the ring box. I threw my arms around him and kissed him, “Yes! Yes I’ll marry you!” He kissed me and slipped the ring on my finger, “Perfect fit.” I looked at it and nodded. 

About a month after the engagement Lily started to retreat into herself again. I began to get worried about her. I wasn’t sure if it was because the twins were getting older and required more attention or if it was the engagement. 

I talked to Jensen to see if he could help with her, he went to her room to talk to her. When he came back I saw tears in his eyes. 

“Jens, is she okay?” He shook his head no. “She thinks she’s not family because she doesn’t have the same last name.” 

I sighed, “Oh no. Why didn’t I see it? I’m going to be an Ackles, and the babies are. She’ll be the only one who isn’t.” 

Jensen took my hand in his, “Hey, this isn’t on you. It’s natural for kids to feel this way. I did find this in her room, that’s how I knew what was bothering her.” 

He handed me a picture she had drawn, it was all of us and she wrote “Ackles” on the top. “Jens, is she asking what I think she is?” “I think so. So what do you say? How would you feel if I adopted her, made it official?”

“You’d adopt her?” “Of course I would. I love her like my own. I’d love nothing more than to adopt her. She’s already my daughter, let’s make it official.” 

I smiled and nodded, “Let’s go tell her.” 

We walked into Lily’s room. She was playing on the floor and Jensen picked her up and sat her between us on the bed. 

“Lily honey, we wanted to talk to you.” She looked at me and then back at Jensen. “We were talking and wanted to ask you how you would feel if daddy adopted you. You would be an Ackles for real. What do you think?”

She looked up at Jensen and then back at me and squealed. 

She leaped in Jensen’s lap and threw her arms around his neck, “Daddy, my daddy.” He chuckled, “Yes, Lily girl. I’m your daddy forever.” He looked over at me, “I think that’s a yes.” I nodded, “I think so too.” 

Lily climbed out of Jensen’s lap and ran to her closet. She pulled out her suitcase and Jensen and I looked at each other confused. Lily opened it and dumped the bag out. We saw some clothes, her stuffies and pictures of her with the twins and the family picture we had taken. 

“Lily honey, what’s all this?” Jensen bent down to help her pick up the stuff. “Lily, no go now.” I was confused then it hit me, She wanted to leave. I sat on the floor beside her and pulled her in my lap, “Lily baby, you will always be our baby girl. It doesn’t matter what your last name is or how many babies I have. You will always be my first baby and we will always love you so much.”

She put her arms around my neck and held me tight. “Love you mama.” “I love you too, Lily girl. So much.” Jensen pulled both of us in his arms, “And I love my girls so much.” 

Sitting on the floor with Jensen and Lily I reflected on the past few months of my life. From taking a chance and going to a convention with Lily, meeting the love of my life and having his children, to being engaged to him and he accepting my sweet girl, I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be, and I couldn’t ask for more.

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[da-rulah]

The Mayor's Daughter - Mary Goore x f!Reader [Part 4]

Summary: Mary can't think straight; at least, not about anything but you. He's angry, and he's hurt - rightly so - but he can't help the feeling that he's missing something. His spider senses are tingling, and his saviour complex is nagging in his head...

Meanwhile, you're dragged to a formal dinner at the Town Hall with your father's sleazy political associates. What could possibly go wrong?

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word Count: 13.6k

Warnings: Angst, childhood memories/trauma, alcoholism, addiction, minor drug use, creepy men being creepy, unwanted physical touch/harassment, abandonment, panic attacks

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

A/N: Once again, a huge thank you to @her-satanic-wiles & @angellayercake for workshopping and beta reading this fic with me! I live for their reactions every time I sent them an idea or a draft... 🤭 This chapter got away from me, as so many do, and ending up pretty damn long... Enjoy!

He had to be quick. Any longer, and he might be chased out. But he couldn’t help himself... he wanted to look, to touch...  

“HEY!” A gruff male voice shouted from somewhere behind him. Mary startled, stumbling back and shoving his hands in his pockets. “These are for people who know what they’re doing, not little hooligans!”  

The store clerk came rushing over, coming in between Mary and the beautiful Gibson Les Paul on display, hung up on the wall amongst the others. The body shone in a stunning hue of deep red wood, orange bursting from the fret board. He’d always dreamt of owning a guitar like this – or any at all. He just wanted to pick one up, to learn, to play.  

“S-sorry mister... I didn’t mean to-” 

“Go on, out with you! Comin’ in here every damn day, gettin’ in the way of my customers. Go on, get!” The old man shooed a 10-year-old Mary out of the store, shutting the door in his face and folding his arms behind the glass, watching until Mary finally sagged his little shoulders and sighed to himself, trudging down the sidewalk with his head hung low.  

Other people were allowed in to look at the guitars, to touch them, test them; why wasn’t he? Sure, he knew he was a kid but he wasn’t a bad kid... He knew he could never afford a guitar like that Les Paul, but oh how he dreamed of owning his own guitar. Just a little acoustic thing to practise on. He'd put in the work, he’d swear it. He just wanted to learn.  

Still, Mary headed home with his hands in his pockets and his head hung low, avoiding the eyes of the adults around town who looked down on him with looks of either disgust or pity; he was never sure which was worse.  

“Mom?” he called out as he walked into the small and run-down little apartment block on the edge of town. They’d had to move in here almost a six months ago after his father left, unable to afford much else on his mother’s salary; her job at the local diner didn’t pay well. 

Music from the radio filtered through the hall, along with the smell of yesterday’s spaghetti being reheated on the stove. “In here, baby,” a weak shout came from the kitchen. She sounded weaker with each week that passed, barely eating and drinking far too much to be considered healthy at all. Mary had spotted that, not totally understanding the ramifications of it at his tender age but he was wiser beyond most 10-year-old’s years. That’s the thing about a shitty childhood; you grow up quick. 

Still, he was grateful his father was out of the picture now. Honestly? The lesser of two evils. It was better him gone than be here still, hurting everybody around him. 

Mary headed into the kitchen, sitting down at the small table for the two of them and waiting patiently as his mum stirred the pot over the stove, her back to him. He watched as her left hand lifted a glass from beside the stove; a wine glass, half-filled with the cheapest red on the market. 

“Good day?” she asked, looking briefly over her shoulder. Mary just shrugged; he hadn’t paid much attention in school, and he didn’t want to tell her about being chased out of the music store. Although he wasn’t sure what he’d done to get kicked out, he still lived under the assumption it was somehow his fault.  

His mother hummed along to the radio as she heated their food, taking gulps of the wine to her left and refilling it before plating up two small bowls of food – hers noticeably smaller – and sitting opposite Mary as she placed them down. 

“Thank you,” he smiled at her shyly, never forgetting his manners as he tucked into his meal. His mother smiled fondly at her boy, twirling her fork in the pasta noodles as she sipped her wine. The radio played to fill the silence, songs from another decade that had his mother reminiscing over happier years. 

As he chewed, he thought back to that guitar, how he’d do anything to have one like that. But he’d settle for a smaller, cheaper, second-hand one. He’d be delighted with one. He just wanted to learn how to play, and then maybe one day, his mom could hum along to his songs on her radio.  

“Ma, I think I know what I want for my birthday...” 

“Oh? Well good! I was wondering when you’d give me some ideas,” she smiled. Mary hesitated, chewing his lip. Was he asking for too much? Perhaps, but he had to try at least. “Come on, baby, what is it?”  

“Well... can I get a guitar? Not like, an expensive one or anything... Just second-hand or something. I wanna learn to play, Ma. I think I’d get real good at it!” he rambled, his excitement barely contained as he thought about how people might change how they saw him if he could prove he was good at something, that he could work hard and prove himself.  

His mother’s smile faltered, fading as she dropped her fork against her bowl and grabbed her wine glass, finishing the rest of it off and pouring herself another hefty glass.  

“Baby, guitars aren’t cheap, even the second-hand ones...” she began, her voice quiet and full of regret. 

“No, I know, but I thought, maybe if I could get a job somewhere, I could mow lawns or something, maybe help Mr Rogers at the carpenters or get a paper route, then maybe I could-” 

“Baby you’re ten years old, you should just be a kid as long as you can,” she smiled sadly, her eyes betraying her as they glassed over with tears. It broke her heart to see her little boy so desperate to be a man, to help her, to help pay for his own damn birthday present.  

“I... I can still be a kid, I just thought I could help?” he questioned. 

“I just don’t think I can afford it baby...” Mary’s shoulders slumped, his own fork dropping into his bowl as he sat back against the chair in defeat.  

“Could you stop buying wine for a little, Ma? I just really want a guitar... And then you can get more again. Just for a bit, I promise!”  

If her heart wasn’t already breaking for her little boy, it did then. The guilt rose like bile in her throat, her eyes staring at the bottle on the table, her glass emptied again and the taste lingering on her tongue. She’d had her own selfishness reflected back at her, a mirror held up to the truth; the truth being that her lips were stained with the red of her addiction, paired with her sunken eyes, bearing the weight of her sorrow. 

She should try, she thought to herself. For him, for her little Mary. He never asked her for anything, and the one thing he wants in the world for his birthday was a crummy little second-hand guitar? She should be able to give him that; as a mother, she wanted to give him the world. He certainly deserved it after all he’d been through.  

“I-I’ll... I’ll try, Mary. I’ll really try,” her voice cracked, swallowing the guilt down and forcing the tears to recede. Mary nodded to himself, looking down into his bowl and back to hers that even untouched, still had less in than his half-eaten leftovers.  

He stood up, the bowl in his hands and placed it down in front of her. She needed to eat more, he thought.  

“Oh, baby no, it’s okay. You should ea-” 

“I’m not that hungry, Ma. Please take it.” 

She stopped protesting, nodding as she held a shaking hand out to hold his cheek, stroking her thumb over the pudge he was yet to grow out of with a gentle smile.  

“Thank you, angel,” she told him, pressing a wine-stained kiss to his forehead. “I promise, I’ll try harder.” 

Deft fingers plucked at the strings of a battered old acoustic guitar. The wood was splintering where the neck met the body, the varnish worn down in places that hands would dance over as it had been played to within an inch of its life. Stickers littered the body, hiding nicks and damages from over the years but they too were beginning to wear down to white patches of nothing.  

Still, she sang like a dream the way she always had. Mary’s skilled hands worked her strings mindlessly, drifting from riffs he’d learned of his favourite bands over the years to riffs of his own he’d written – the most recent sounding much more melancholy than he’d anticipated.  

Sitting in his dimly lit studio apartment, he reclined against the wall at the head of his bed with his first guitar in his lap. His intention had been to drift off into his own world, to write some riffs for songs he could present to the guys and form into tracks for upcoming shows, but he’d been unable to focus, his fingers working on muscle memory alone as his head drifted to the same thing he’d thought of for the last few days.  

He’d had time to calm down, for the fog of anger to dissipate and now he’d entered the reflection stage. The anger morphed into hurt, reminded once again that no matter if you wanted him or not, you still were ashamed to be seen with him. He didn’t fit your image, his mere existence in your life was inconvenient and a black stain on your pristine white image.  

He wondered if cleaning himself up was an option for a brief moment. What if he didn’t paint his face? What if he wore a shirt instead of his cut off band tees? What if he styled his hair different? All the ‘what if’s swam around his head, but they’d be lies. Mary was many things, but never a phony. He refused to bow down to public opinion and become one of the masses if it meant sacrificing everything that was genuinely him.  

He decided he’d rather be hated for who he was, than adored for something he wasn’t. Which is exactly the life you were living. 

You’d chosen a world where people loved you, fell at your feet to be known by you and yet somewhere along the way, you’d sacrificed whoever you truly were, covered it up with bows and frills and shiny trinkets. He almost felt sorry for you.  

Still, he couldn’t swallow the nagging feeling that he’d done something wrong, that he was letting you slip through his fingers. He wasn’t dumb; Mary knew there was more to you than this image. He’d seen glimpses of it, this vulnerable yet feisty woman clawing at you from inside. Frankly, you drove him crazy. He'd never wanted anything for himself so badly in his life, except maybe the guitar in his hands. He couldn’t lay his eyes on you without wanting you; perhaps up until recently, he thought that was simply physical attraction, a need to take you and have you both coming undone together.  

But the way you plagued his mind, how he thought of you during the smallest moments of peace to himself... he was beginning to understand he’d formed a kind of connection with you he couldn’t begin to explain. But he was starting to recognise a feeling within himself that stung like rubbing alcohol on a wound, a feeling that shot him right back to his childhood, to a place so painful he’d shoved it down and ignored it for years.  

Before he could go down that route, his shook his head to rid the memories and lay his guitar gently beside him, reaching for his smokes on his nightstand. Lighting one up with his zippo lighter, he rested himself back against the wall, swiping a hand down his face in exasperation. He’d spent too long on this, too many moments infiltrated by thoughts of you.  

If Mary was being honest with himself, he only had to ask himself one simple question; were you worth compromising everything he knew about himself? Were you worth him changing himself, becoming something he wasn’t so he could be ‘acceptable’ in your world? 

No.  

Because that was a world that would only ever see him as a delinquent. They had when he was a child, a teenager and now into adulthood. The second they’d known who his father was, who his mother was, they’d judged him. That would never change, so why should he? 

The town hall ballroom was the last fucking place you wanted to be at any given moment, let alone when it was filled with governors, police chiefs, politicians and seedy businessmen. If you’d had your way, you’d have stayed tucked up in bed, like you’d spent most of your spare time in the last week or so since the Bicentennial fair. Facing reality was something you’d tried to avoid, but that wasn’t going to be possible for Daddy’s big dinner party for all the town’s biggest officials. 

No, you were to be paraded like a shiny trophy daughter tonight, mingling with the rich and seedy underbelly of your father’s political career. These people made your stomach turn and your skin crawl. You observed them from the corner of the room, a glass of prosecco in a hand covered by white satin gloves to the elbow, in a fancy, floor-length, glittered evening dress of the same pale peach colouring as the bubbly. Your mother had picked the outfit, “elegance with a touch of sparkle” she had said. 

Watching them mingle and chatter away, you could barely help the expression on your face turning to one of vague disgust. Your father made his way around the room, shaking hands and rubbing shoulders with the elite while your mother followed in tow, laughing at all the jokes she must have heard a thousand times over the years and nattering with the wives in the room about the latest gossip.  

Shallow; all of this was so fucking shallow. But the worst part? This was your future. Your mother... her life was the future your father had paved for you, expected you to walk. You couldn’t think of anything worse.  

“Pumpkin! Come and say hello to Mr. Nelson,” you father flagged you down from your inner monologue of disapproval, notably stood with an old man you recognised as the town’s previous Mayor. Mr. Nelson had handed the title over to your dad when you were little, staying a consistent advisor in the governing of the town’s affairs ever since his retirement six years ago.  

You’d never liked him. There was something untoward about him, sleazy and manipulative; but that’s politicians for you.  

You knocked back the rest of your prosecco glass for a bit of liquid encouragement and walked towards them with your prettiest fake smile on.  

“Good evening, Mr. Nelson,” you said, taking his outstretched hand to shake. 

“Good evening, my dear!” He didn’t let go of your hand like you’d expected, instead tightening his grip and pulling you to lean forwards so he could press a whiskered kiss to your cheek – or what was actually closer to the corner of your lips. When he leaned back, he winked at you, still keeping hold of your hand to lift it, unashamedly scanning his eyes over your body in your dress and twirling you like a doll on a music box. “My, my... how you’ve grown, hm?” 

Your eyes locked onto your father, who was smiling at you fondly as if there wasn’t a problem. You, however, were exceedingly uncomfortable. You looked back to Mr. Nelson, smiling and acting the part. Honestly, you’d always wondered if acting would be a good career for you; you did it often enough.  

“Quite the beautiful young lady these days,” Mr. Nelson commented, letting go of your hand and coming to stand beside you, a hand resting on the small of your back as he turned to speak to your father.  

“She gets all that from her mother, of course,” he smiled proudly, squeezing the shoulders of your mother beside him, who swatted him with her own gloved hand.  

“Oh, stop it, you charmer,” she laughed. You recoiled from the interaction, uncomfortable that there was still a hand on you at all, let alone on the small of your back. 

“Your father was telling us about your college days; quite impressive, my dear!” Mr. Nelson said, his hand patting just above the curve of your behind.  

“Y-yeah... I mean, thank you, sir,” you smiled graciously. How could you get out of this?  

“Now, if only we could find her a nice man to settle down with,” your father joked, your mother smiling along with him as Mr. Nelson chuckled.  

“I’m sure that won’t be difficult, hm? Plenty of fine men about town. Any catch your eye?” he asked, looking down at you with a raised white eyebrow.  

Instantly, your mind flew to Mary. Certainly, he was not the kind of ‘fine man’ Mr. Nelson or your father would envision for you; in fact, you’re sure they would recoil in horror, but you couldn’t help but think of him. Any opportunity for your brain to remind you of how painfully you’d fucked that up, it would take.  

You took too long to answer, head full of Mary as it so often was.  

“Pumpkin, Mr. Nelson asked you a question,” he insisted with an expectant nod of his head.  

“Oh, not to worry. She clearly has somebody in mind, if the mere mention of a man has her daydreaming about him, hm?” he chortled, his hand now slipping lower to pat at the curve of your backside. Instinctively you jumped forward half a step to get away from the unwanted contact, head whipping to your father in the hope he’d seen that, that he’d step in and defend you. But of course, he didn’t.  

“Pumpkin? What’s gotten into you, hm?” His glare was disapproving, his eyebrow quirking as he waited for your answer, but an awkward silence fell on the four of you instead.  

“I, um... I’m so sorry, I think I lost my balance. These, uh, damn heels, that’s all,” you laughed nervously, averting the eyes of everyone around you.  

“Perhaps a little too much bubbly,” Mr. Nelson accused, tipping his head towards your empty flute in your hand.  

“Y-yes, maybe... Perhaps I need some air. Would you excuse me?”  

You were turning and leaving before your father could stop you, shoving the glass in your hand onto the tray of a waiter on your way to the door, ignoring the calls of “pumpkin!” behind you, sounding aggravated and embarrassed. Heads turned to watch you leave but you couldn’t look at them, overwhelmed and uncomfortable. You just had to get out.  

You headed directly for your father’s office, a small and private space to collect yourself before inevitably having to go back to the ballroom sooner rather than later, lest your father come looking for you.  

Finally alone and in a quiet spot, you slumped into your father’s chair behind his desk, spinning absentmindedly from side to side guided by your stiletto on the ground. You focussed on breathing, helping to subside the panic that had risen in you. Bad enough you’d been forced to come to this thing, let alone subjected to the wandering hands of a man who’d known you since you were barely out of diapers. This evening was the nightmare you’d expected it to be.  

Looking around your father’s office, it hadn’t changed much. The American flag stuck in his pen cup, the portrait of President George Washington on the wall, the photo frame on his desk that housed a very official looking family portrait taken when you were still in middle school. 

This was your life. This façade of pomp and circumstance, governed by sleazy men and dodgy business deals... this was all you could see for yourself. No wonder you were clinging onto Mary by your perfectly manicured fingernails, allowing him back in so easily whenever there was room in your mind. He was the antithesis of that horrendous life already mapped out for you. He was the embodiment of freedom to you, someone that lived their life governed by them and them alone.  

He liked dark things, heavy music, grungy clothes. He didn’t restrict himself, lived freely, chasing the dreams he so obviously strived for. He didn’t care what people thought of him, he lived his truth.  

You wished you could live like that. 

Lost to your musings and memories of brief encounters with Mary, you startled at the sound of the door to your father’s office slamming shut, with him stood before it. He’d come alone, his arms folded over his chest in his crisp tuxedo, and a hardened look of fury in his features.  

Your stomach dropped and you sat upright immediately; this wasn’t going to be pretty. 

“What the hell was that?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper and yet spat through clenched teeth. 

“Daddy, I just... Mr. Nelson, he-” 

“Don’t you ‘daddy’ me. Do you realise how embarrassing that was for your mother and I?” he scolded. You swallowed your words, thrown right back to being told off as a child. “Mr. Nelson thinks you were drunk. Are you?” 

“No, daddy, I swear!” you protested, having only drank two glasses... on an empty stomach and faster than a shot of your favourite flavour schnapps.  

“Then explain why you were so damn rude to him, hm?” he raised his voice, stepping towards you and leaning down on his own desk by his palms.  

“He put his hands on me! He’s a creep, dad!” you matched his volume, defending yourself. Your dad just scoffed at you, shaking his head in disbelief.  

“He’s a respected member of this community. One bad word from him, and this could all be over for us. My career, our way of life, everything! Do you understand that?” he shouted. How silly of you to think your own father might take your side when one of his creep associates lay a finger on you.  

“It was a knee-jerk reaction, he touched my ass dad, like some fucking pervert!” you yelled back, standing from his chair and finding the guts to finally answer back, to fight for what was right instead of pander to him. Mary would be proud. 

“You watch your mouth, young lady. I am your father-” 

“YES! YOU ARE! And as my father, I thought you might stand up for me, oh, I don’t know, maybe be disgusted when some old man lays a hand on your daughter’s ass!”  

Your father lifted an accusatory finger at you, wagging it in your face as if scolding a bad dog. “He was talking to you about your future. A future that he can take away with a snap of his fingers.” He demonstrated with the hand he waved wildly in front of you. “You’re lucky your mother has such a way with words...” 

“You mean she’s a good liar,” you laughed humourlessly. “Suppose you have to be in this kind of life...” His face paled, his eyes darkening and appearing to sink further into his skull as he stood up straight, his brow furrowing. 

“I have worked for over two decades to build us ‘this life’,” his voice deepened, darkening considerably as he loomed over you. “Look around you. Do you think this just happens? I have done nothing but provide for you, you ungrateful little girl.” 

“This is the problem... I’m not a little girl anymore, and you still treat me like I can’t think for myself. I’ve got my own mind, things that I want to do. Do you give a shit about that at all?” The anger inside you you’d caged up for too long was surfacing, the heat on that simmering pot turning up with every word out of your father’s mouth. Already you were too far gone to reel it back in. Whether he liked it or not, he was going to hear this. 

“I give a shit about this family!” he screamed. “I will not allow you to tear it all down in some childish tantrum!” 

“Tear what down?!” you protested, “I just want to be able to do something for myself for a change, to start my life! It’s got nothing to do with your prestige as Mayor, I just want to be able to finally crawl out from under your shadow!" 

Your father ignored you completely, still only seeing the pigtailed little girl from the portrait on his desk standing in front of him. He had no idea she’d grown up before his very eyes. He’d blinked and missed it, too damn focussed on his own career and image to notice.  

“You selfish little brat. You don’t get it, do you?” he sneered, “This is MY TOWN! MY LEGACY! You will live by MY RULES!” 

And truthfully, that was all it was ever going to boil down to. His fucking legacy.  

You sagged your shoulders in defeat, tears begging to fall out of anger. Everything you thought your dad still believed, he’d proven to you in just a few minutes; you were still a child to him, and his legacy was more important than your own happiness. Nothing you could say would win this fight. Nothing would make him see how badly he was hurting you.  

You took a deep breath, composing yourself to speak a little calmer, more collected. With emotions heightened, it was easy to yell and scream back at him, to get carried away but you were determined to show him this was not some ‘tantrum’. You meant this.  

“What if I don’t want to do that anymore?” you asked, staring him straight in the eye. The air seemed to thicken around you as you waited for it to soak in, for him to hear you, process, and respond. The silence was suffocating.  

“I’m sorry?” he asked, turning his head to present his ear as if he hadn’t heard you, but he most certainly had. He just wanted you to repeat yourself, testing you, warning you; did you have the balls to say it again? 

“What if... I don’t want to live by your rules anymore?” You spoke calmly, methodically. You will listen, you thought to yourself. 

Your father straightened up again, his head twitching as he tidied up his cuff links, straightened his bow tie and slicked back his hair before he gave you the time of day. This was just a part of his intimidation, his macho technique, reminding you he was a distinguished man, one with power. When he finally looked you in the eye again, his face was set in stone.  

“Then you can get the hell out of my office.” 

Like a punch to the gut, it knocked the wind right out of you. He wanted you to leave.  

“F-fine...” you stuttered, walking around the desk as if to head for the door, pulling your cell phone out of your clutch, “I’ll get one of your lap dogs to take me home, and we’ll talk about this in the morning,” you told him, trying to keep a modicum of dignity, prove to him you were an adult and taking the moral high ground. But your father laughed... 

“I don’t think you heard me. Perhaps you didn’t understand...” he turned around to face you, now stood by the door to his office. “This is my town, Pumpkin. This whole town is my office.” 

The weight of what he was saying fell like a barrel of hot tar over you, the scorching, searing pain radiating through you. You stared in disbelief, waiting for him to laugh, to tell you he was kidding, just pushing your buttons to see your reaction but nothing... He just stared at you, as you stared at him, like a deer in headlights. 

“Y-you’re not serious...?” you dared to whisper, shaking your head in denial. 

“Deadly. Get out,” he growled, “or do I have to call security?” 

Those angry tears turned into streams now falling down your cheeks silently while you were unable to blink, processing his command until your body moved of its own accord, reaching for the doorknob and opening it behind you.  

“I’m sure your precious town will love to hear about this,” you threatened, wiping the tears away with the back of your hand. He just smirked and folded his arms over his chest again.  

“Careful, Pumpkin. Daddy’s got one hell of a legal team; and they’re all eating out of his palm in that ballroom tonight.” 

He had you beat. Checkmate. Every credible lawyer – and the seedy ones – were on his damn payroll. You couldn’t win this no matter what you did. You just had to walk away...  

And so, you did. Quietly, you slipped out from the opulent town hall and found yourself stood on a street corner a couple of blocks away, out of the sight of not only your father and his invitees behind the huge windows of the ballroom, but out of sight of his cronies, already given the instruction to make sure you left quietly, and didn’t attempt to come back in. 

You were alone, as you had become so accustomed to being. 

Every riff felt wrong. For over a week now, Mary tried to write something new, something fresh that he’d never heard before, that excited him and inspired him but... nothing. He was beginning to think he’d lost his touch. He knew he couldn’t force inspiration to come, but this was a longer, drier spell than even he was used to... 

He reached for his pack of smokes on the nightstand where they usually sat, only to discover he was fresh out – that last cigarette had truly been his last.  

“Shit,” he cursed to himself, crushing the empty box in his palm and throwing it in the general direction of the trash can, hitting the rim and bouncing off to the floor beside two or three other crumpled cigarette boxes from the last few days.  

Whew, he thought to himself, smokin’ more now, too. Awesome. Still, ignoring the mess he’d neglected to tidy, he stood up from his bed with a stretch, abandoning his tattered acoustic on his bed. His leather jacket that he’d slung over the back of his couch still held his keys, wallet and cell phone from his last outing to the gas station, and so he slithered his arms into the sleeves and headed for the door.  

He knew he didn’t need to take the van to travel the four blocks to the gas station on the edge of town just for cigarettes, but there was something about a late-night drive that calmed Mary. It always felt like one of those rare moments where he got to be himself; a decent band on the stereo and some open road to clear his head.  

He also knew he didn’t need to go all the way to the gas station for smokes; the convenience store on the corner would do just fine. Except, Forrest usually worked the late-night shifts at the gas station, and he’d get to take advantage of his staff discount. 

“Hey man!” Mary called out as he walked into the store, the bell dinging above his head. Forrest looked up from the magazine he was reading, slumped over the counter. 

“Well, look what the dogs dragged in...” Forrest smirked, “where’d you fuck off to the other night?” 

Ah. He’d never explained where he’d disappeared to the night of the fair, nor had he seen any of his friends since. He hadn’t realised he’d shut himself off for that long, but seemingly, he had. 

“Oh, uh...” he stammered, thinking up an excuse.  

“Some chick got your attention, huh?” he stood upright and folded his arms, leaning against the edge of the counter. “I don’t know how you do it, man. You got ‘em lining up out the door. You shoot strawberry milkshake outta that dick, or what?” Mary relaxed instantly, his alibi already created for him.  

“Why, you wanna taste?” he mocked, shooting a flying kiss at him as he stepped up to the counter in an overly camp, seductive walk to make the other laugh. 

“I’ll stick to the slurpie machine, thanks,” he joked, pretending to gag at the thought of Mary’s strawberry milkshake. “You need somethin’, or you just here to entertain me?” 

“Outta smokes,” Mary shrugged. “I’ll grab the usual.” 

Forrest nodded, turning his back to fish through the cigarettes that lined the wall behind the counter, coming to the brand Mary would usually purchase. Mary looked to his left, seeing a special offer on party size bags of Takis and an array of candy bars. He chucked a bag up on the counter with some candy and fished inside his jacket for his wallet as Forrest rung him up.  

“Big plans tonight, huh?” 

“Oh yeah, big night in with my favourite girl, Mary Jane,” Mary waggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Explains the snacks, you always did get munchies worse than any of us...” he laughed, punching his employee code into the register to add his discount; something he did without thinking these days. Mary was always grateful. “$15.75” 

“Thanks, man,” Mary handed over a twenty, shoving the change back in his wallet just as his phone started to buzz in his other pocket. He whipped it from his jacket, checking the caller ID when his chest tightened.  

You. 

Mary sneered at the phone in his hand, shoving it back into his pocket with a scowl on his face. If Forrest noticed, he didn’t question it, probably assuming it were a telemarketing scam.  

“We should get a practise in before Saturday,” Forrest suggested, “I think Davey’s free on Tuesday? And I'm off too.” Mary hadn’t forgotten; they had a show to play in the city, some new goth club were having a metal night, and word of Mary’s band was starting to spread beyond the scene they’d been playing for the last two years. 

“Uh yeah.” His phone stopped buzzing in his pocket. He ignored the feeling of disappointment in him, that gnawing voice in the back of his head that told him he should have answered it. “Yeah, I think I’m free. You wanna see if Jed’s about?”  

Forrest made a noise that sounded vaguely like an affirmative as Mary picked up the bag with his purchases inside.  

“Alright, uh...” Mary’s phone began vibrating in his pocket again, barely any respite since the last call. He ignored it, trying to claw himself back to reality instead of letting his mind drift to whatever you could possibly be calling him for. He was sure it was only one thing, anyway. “Let me know, man!” 

“Yeah, see ya!” Forrest grinned, shutting the register with a ping and picking up his discarded magazine as Mary turned and left, the bell dinging above the door again. He stood outside for a moment, fishing his phone out of his pocket and seeing that it was indeed your name that flashed on his screen.  

Once again, he ignored it, shoving it this time into the back pocket of his jeans and skulking back over to his van, parked in a bay near the door. It stopped just as he wrenched the door open with a rusty creak, throwing his bag into the passenger seat. He climbed in behind it, slamming the door shut and settling into the seat as he shoved the keys into the ignition. As he turned them and the engine roared to life with his stereo, he took a deep breath, leaning back against the head rest and desperately willing the thoughts of you to leave him be. 

He’d wasted too much time on you already, and he meant what he’d said last time. He was tired of being everybody’s dirty little secret, and he wasn’t about to answer your fucking booty call. Not again.  

Reaching into the plastic bag beside him, he pulled out his carton of cigarettes and ravaged the packaging until he could pry one from the box and shove it between his lips, pushing the lighter button in on his dashboard and waiting patiently for it to heat. Closing his eyes, he waited for the telltale click, reclining into his seat, when his phone began to buzz in his back pocket once again.  

Mary’s eyes shot open, anger coursing through his veins. Were you that desperate to get laid? It wasn’t fair. He thought he’d made it clear where he stood, that he wasn’t interested in being picked up and dropped whenever someone felt like it anymore. He had to start thinking less with his dick and more with his head – and his heart. 

But you were not getting the message – ignoring your calls wasn’t working. Maye he just needed to say it in black and fucking white.  

Muttering curses to himself, he fished his phone from his back pocket where he sat, seeing that the caller ID did indeed read “Doll” again. He turned the volume of his stereo way down, took a deep breath, and answered the call.  

“Look, I’m really not interested in being your booty call, Barbie,” he spat down the microphone, “so you might wanna just give it up now before you embarrass yourself.” 

He was met with silence. He almost wanted to laugh, picturing the look of sheer shock on your face as you sat surrounded by your pink frills and stuffed animals in that ivory tower of yours. But instead, he waited. Would you dare speak? Argue with him? He’d managed to rile himself up enough by this point that maybe a fight was exactly what he needed to expel the rage.  

The silence continued for a beat too long, and confusion set in. His brow furrowed, checking his phone screen to see if you’d hung up but no, you were still connected. He lifted the phone to his ear again, waiting... and then he heard it. 

A sob.  

A sob so small and timid, he thought maybe he wasn’t supposed to have heard it. But instantly, his face paled, and his chest hollowed. Every muscle in his shoulders that had tensed in his anger when he picked up the phone instantly turned to jelly. He’d expected resistance, maybe a “fuck you, Goore” or something to that effect. He’d expected an argument, rage, denial or defence.  

He waited again, clicking the side button on his phone to turn the volume up in case he’d missed it. Now, he heard the sniffles too, along with the shuddering breath from an inhale that sounded uncontrollable. And then another small, suppressed sob. 

He panicked, sitting bolt upright in his seat and pulling the cigarette from his lips as he looked around his surroundings as if there was something, someone who could help. Of course, there was nothing.  

He didn’t expect you to react that way... Perhaps he’d been too harsh, maybe yelling at you wasn’t the right way to go about this, to cut his ties with you before they were truly bonded, but he hadn’t even thought it through. Mary just thought severing it with a quick, clean blow would do the trick... 

“I-I... d-didn't... know who... to call,” you wept down the phone, breathing irregular as if you were suffering a panic attack. “I’m s-s... sorry.” 

Instantly, Mary knew he’d fucked up. You weren’t calling him for a hook up, this was something different. Something had happened. You had already been in this state. And you’d turned to him for help. Mary swallowed a gulp of nothing, now realising his mouth and throat had gone dry whilst his jaw had hung open in bewilderment and panic. 

“What’s going on?” he asked, frenzied. He waited for a response, only hearing more sobs; ones that you clearly were unable to hold back as you tried to speak, to tell him what had happened. Whatever it was, it was bad enough that you couldn’t say it without losing the small semblance of composure you had. You were in no fit state to talk about this on the phone. 

The hand holding the phone dropped to his lap for a moment as he muttered a “shit” to himself, slamming his head back against the headrest. He was really going to do this, wasn’t he? He was going to run right to you, to go and fucking save you with some twisted sense of duty towards you. But then, yes, of course he was; Mary’s saviour complex had kicked in the second he heard that first tiny, frail sob. 

He held the phone to his ear again. 

“Look just... fuck, just breathe alright? Slowly, if you can. I’m coming, just make sure your window’s unlocked,” he instructed you, pressing his foot down on the clutch and shoving the gear stick into reverse.  

“’m not... home...” you sobbed. Mary paused, confused.  

“Well... where are you?” he asked, now more concerned as to what the hell had happened. If someone had laid a fucking finger on you...  

“R-Raynor... street...”  

Dead centre of town; anything could have happened, anybody could have been around.  

“Alone?” he asked, incredibly uncomfortable with the idea of you being alone at this hour in the middle of town.  

“M-mhm...” Mary cursed to himself again, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder while he used both hands to spin the wheel of his van, quickly looking in his mirrors to reverse out of his parking spot before he could speed off into the night to come and find you. 

“I’m coming, alright? Stay there. Keep your phone close, stay on the line. You keep off the street ‘til you hear me coming, you understand?” His instructions were clear, almost military-like. He needed you to hear him plainly.  

“Oh...kay,” you sobbed, trying to quieten your sobs and regain control.  

“Keep breathing, I’m on my way.” 

Mary picked the phone from between his ear and shoulder and hit the loud-speaker button, throwing it onto his dash so he could drive easier through the streets as he headed into town. Thankfully the roads had been somewhat empty, most traffic lights turning green on the approach and no one to get in his way or flag him down for speeding at this hour. He just needed to get to you, as fast as possible. 

Turning onto Raynor street, he slowed right down and got a good look; you were nowhere to be seen. He prayed to a god he didn’t believe in that you’d just followed his advice, hiding down an alleyway off the main street to keep out of sight of any passersby with bad intentions. He turned his stereo back up, a clear indication that it was him who was driving slowly down the street, watching and waiting for you to pop your head out of somewhere. 

“C’mon, doll... where are you?” he muttered anxiously to himself, looking down every nook and cranny between buildings.  

The music you heard edging closer down the street echoed what you could hear from your phone speaker, telling you that the vehicle approaching was him. A wave of relief washed over you, and you stepped out from between a hair salon and an apartment block near the end of the street. Mary's headlights caught on your dress, the sparkle catching his eye immediately and he sped up until he could break suddenly right next to you, jumping out of his van and running around it to get to you as quickly as he could. 

His hands gripped onto your biceps and he held you out at arm's reach to get a good look at you; carefully placed make up had streaked from your tears, black rings forming around your eyes where your mascara had run. Your eyes themselves were bloodshot; how long had you been out here like this before you’d called him? You shivered in his hands, the cold of the night getting to you in this dress that left your arms and shoulders exposed, doing nothing to warm you at this late hour. He didn’t even think, shucking himself out of his jacket and wrapping it around your shoulders where his body heat had already warmed it.  

“Are you hurt?” he asked, cupping your face in his hands and swiping the tear tracks away with his thumbs. You shook your head no, another sob rising in your throat now that he was here. You weren’t sure what you had been expecting, his initial reaction to your phone call clearly indicating he was still very much mad at you; not that you could blame him. But it didn’t escape your notice that he had come anyway, and the expression on his face was almost one of terror before his eyes had fallen on you, and softened considerably. 

Something in him cared.  

“Alright, come on... get in,” he settled a hand between your shoulder blades, guiding you gently and quickly to the passenger side of his van where he opened the door for you, helping you up. You settled into the seat, curling in on yourself and hugging Mary’s jacket closer to you for the warmth the night had stripped from you as he climbed in the driver’s side. He turned the stereo right down, the music now only to fill a silence rather than to alert you to his arrival.  

“Is there... somewhere you want me to take you?” he asked, an awkwardness coming over him. He had no idea how to react in this situation, no clue what had happened or why you’d called him of all people when you had an entire security team on your side. 

You seemed to think about it for a moment, a fresh wave of tears trickling from your eyes and dripping to your lap when you looked down in an attempt to hide your face.  

“I... don’t have anywhere...” you sobbed, your fists tightening around the edges of Mary’s jacket to have something to ground you while your shoulders shook.  

Mary watched on helplessly, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to reach over, to pull you into him and hold you so you could let out the much more violent sobs you were so obviously holding back. He was so used to the feistier side of you; your smart mouth, your confidence... It’s what drew him in, what attracted him to you like a moth to a flame. This wasn’t you. 

It stirred up a need in him to help, to sacrifice his own discomfort in favour of your comfort. Instantly, he put you first, forgetting any resignations he had about ever seeing you again. That anger he harboured at how out-of-touch he thought you were? It dissipated the second he’d heard the first sob. He’d been triggered like a sleeper cell, instantly needing to patch up whatever wound you’d suffered. 

“You don’t wanna go home?” he asked, figuring he already knew the answer. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. When you shook your head violently, he got the confirmation he needed. “Alright, well...” He was going to regret this, wasn’t he? But he’d said it before he could stop himself. “You could stop at my place for a bit.” Yep, he regretted it. “If it’s not too weird, or anything... I mean, I live alone, if you’re worried about my friends being ther-” 

“Okay...” you sniffled.  

Mary stopped rambling, instead reaching for the cigarette he’d never lit and thrown on his dash with his phone. Once again, he pushed the cigarette lighter in to heat up, adjusting the heating in the van to a warmer temperature too to warm you up. 

“Alright um, sure...” He held the cigarette between his lips, shoving the van into gear and continuing down the street. “There’s a carton of cigs in the bag by your feet, if you want one,” he offered – more to fill the silence between you than anything. The quiet stereo could only do so much. 

You sniffled and reached down to the bag, fishing through the plastic until you found the carton he’d mentioned and pulling one out for yourself hoping it might help to calm you. With a pop, the lighter signalled it was ready, and Mary held it out to you first as he focussed on the road. You lit it carefully with a small ‘thank you’ and settled back into your seat. The first drag helped settle your nerves, the heating in the van calming the shakes you’d had too, although you weren’t sure if that had been the panic or the cold of the night. 

A few streets into the journey back to his place, you couldn’t take the quiet any longer. The awkward air between you felt so stale, icy in comparison to the warmth the van generated. As much as you wanted to relax in his presence – as he up until now had always been able to make you do – you just couldn’t. Not with the elephant in the back of the van, so to speak... 

“I’m sorry... for calling,” you mumbled, still too full of shame to be able to look at him directly, only stealing a glance from the corner of your eye. Mary took a long drag of his cigarette, flicking the ash out of the crack he’d opened in his window. He looked between you and the road, as if thinking through his response a few times.  

“You don’t have to apologise for that. I’m not one to leave a lady out in the cold...” he shrugged. He certainly wasn’t; literally or metaphorically.  

“Thank you for coming, Mary. I didn’t know where to go...” Every time you thought back to the fight with your father, fresh and hot tears would well up in your eyes. It didn’t escape Mary’s notice, and he wanted nothing more than to reach over and squeeze your hand with reassurance. Instead, he settled on trying to lighten the mood a little. Comedy always had been his defence mechanism, after all... 

“Dressed like that? I’d have said... Cinderella’s ball?” 

You scoffed, the first genuine smile he’d seen from you as you shook your head. “Shut up,” you told him.  

“You couldn’t call on the creatures of the forest to come help?” he continued, smirking when he saw your shoulders shaking in silent laughter, elbow propped up on the edge of your window. “Tinkerbell not got any pixie dust left for ya?” 

You reached over and playfully slapped his chest, earning you an ‘ouch’ and an act of feigned pain as he recoiled. But you giggled to yourself, the absurdity of it all finally hitting you. Here you were sat in your sparkly peach gown with your satin elbow gloves, high heels and fancy hairdo, cradled by Mary’s leather jacket in a beat-up van that was old enough to still have a damn cigarette lighter in the dash. Perhaps you were Cinderella... Did that make Mary your Prince Charming, or your fairy God mother? 

Now he’d heard you giggle – something he always loved hearing out of you – Mary could relax a little. There was still an awkwardness between you both, neither one of you could deny that, but the first layer of ice had been broken. For now, that would be enough. If you wanted to talk to him about what had happened when you got to his, then fine. If not, he figured that was okay too. At least he’d know you were safe and had someone by your side who cared about you; and yes, Mary could admit to himself now that he did care about you... 

Just, maybe not to you – not yet. But it wasn’t something he could exactly deny either, when he’d dropped his ‘big plans’ of getting high and demolishing a bag of snacks alone with his guitar the second he’d heard your despair. And all of that in spite of his lingering anger towards you. How quickly he’d flipped that, from wanting nothing to do with you to racing to your rescue. 

Mary’s apartment was small, as you’d expected. As you followed him inside, you looked around. The kitchen sat directly to your left cut off by a half wall to corner it in, a couch that looked like it had seen better days backed up against that half wall and pointed at an old television. Mary’s bed was unmade and pushed up against the far-right corner, facing the bathroom that took up as much space as his kitchen did but was the only room closed off. In the way of bedroom furniture, all he had was a small nightstand and a chest of drawers that had been knocked about some...  

It seemed cosy, lived in. It wasn’t particularly tidy; a blanket strewn over the tatty couch, vinyls laying on top of his little coffee table and around his record player in the corner of his living space, guitars laying up against the wall here and there, an acoustic on his bed, pots and pans stacked up on the draining board in his kitchen – clean, but not yet put away.  

Had Mary known he was having royalty stop by, he might have tidied up a little, but this was how it looked most of the time. He didn’t spend much time at home, especially now that his band were starting to take off a little. But truthfully, he avoided being alone at all costs. He got too much thinking done alone, hence why he had his distraction methods of weed and song-writing.  

Mary scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and went to flick on a lamp by the couch. He quickly whipped around the space, picking up the strewn vinyls, straightening up the blankets. “Sorry about the mess,” he set as he jetted past you towards his bed to pick up his guitar and straighten out the blankets and pillows. You stood awkwardly in the entryway, his jacket still hanging off your shoulders as you picked at your gloves.  

“No, it’s fine, it’s not that bad,” you told him, noting the few personal belongings Mary had too; most notably the little picture frame on a windowsill by the couch. A strikingly beautiful woman, and a goofy little boy snuggled tightly in her lap. Both were grinning into the camera, the boy’s front teeth missing. You guessed that was Mary, and the woman, his mother.  

“Can I get you anything? I don’t know, a drink maybe? Or, uh...” He stood awkwardly, nervously wringing his hands and fiddling with his rings. It was so out of character for him, usually cocky and confident in everything he said or did. In a way, it was quite endearing...  

“Maybe some water, if you don’t mind...” You winced at your own request, feeling like you’d already asked for too much tonight.  

“Yeah... yeah, sure!” He jumped into action, rushing into the kitchen to fetch a clean glass from the cabinet. “Make yourself at home,” he told you, nodding towards the couch he’d just tidied. You walked towards it, draping his jacket over the arm and sitting on the edge of it, playing with your gloves until he came and sat opposite you, handing you a cold glass of water. 

You took it with a thank you, downing a third of the glass once the water hit your tongue – you hadn’t realised just how thirsty the tears and panic had made you.  

“So, um... you wanna tell me why you’re dressed like that?” Mary nodded at your dress, getting himself comfortable and ready to listen. You looked down at yourself, feeling utterly ridiculous now. This was your world... glitter, glam, sparkles; and you despised it.  

“Fancy dinner at the town hall – pompous twats and vile politicians. Mom picked this out,” you scoffed. 

“Huh,” he mused, “I mean, if it helps, you do look pretty...” he shrugged. A warmth rose to your cheeks at his compliment. “The mascara smudges are a nice touch, I think.” You laughed at that, wiping your fingertips along the underneath of your eyes and seeing the black collecting on the white satin. “So... what happened?” 

He asked you so gently, and instantly you felt safe. His gaze wasn’t judgemental, just soft. In fact, it had taken you this long to mentally note that Mary wasn’t made up with his usual faded skull paint and fake blood. His face was clean, you could see every detail. You could see every emotive line, every twitch of his expressions and a vulnerability in him that the face paint usually masked. He had a kinder face than people gave him credit for. Suddenly, you got it. He was putting on a mask every day, just like you.  

And so, you told him. You told him how you’d felt in that ballroom, looking around and seeing the real scumbags of this town. You told him about Mr. Nelson; what he’d said, what he’d done. Mary’s face hardened at that, an anger and protectiveness washing over him that had his fists balling up tightly. You told him how you’d excused yourself, and how your father had followed you to his office. Throughout, he stayed quiet, letting you speak and listening to everything you said. He’d react every so often, fetched you some tissues when the tears had started again. You told him everything, including how your father had screamed at you to follow his rules to not damage his “legacy”.  

“And I told him I didn’t want to do that anymore... I wanted to do my own thing and live for me.”  

Mary’s eyebrows raised in surprise, and he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.  

“Shit... What did he say?” he asked, obviously knowing it hadn’t ended well.  

“Told me to get out of his office,” the tears came again, your voice raising in pitch as you tried to hold back the sobs, “that this whole town was his office. Threatened me with lawyers if I tried anything. So... I just left.” 

“He kicked you out into the street, alone, dressed like that, in the middle of the fucking night?” Mary’s anger was clear, spitting venom between clenched teeth. He couldn’t understand the nerve of your father, how he could be so damn stupid putting you in danger like that. “Fucking arrogant asshole...” 

It was clearer to him more now than ever that he’d been so wrong about you...  

He shuffled closer to you on the couch, cautiously wrapping an arm around your shoulders to comfort you in some way. Truthfully, he wanted to completely envelope you, to hold you and rock you and let you cry and sob and scream if you needed it. But it wasn’t until you lay your head on his shoulder that he felt okay to do so, finally pulling you into him to wrap his arms around you and let you cry into his chest.  

He felt so warm beneath you, his heart rate a little elevated but the thumping kept you grounded as you held onto his shirt, curling into a sparkly little ball in his side. Mary cradled your head to him, stroking your hair and whispering to you about letting go, that you were safe here. 

If he was being honest with himself, he knew how shitty he’d been to you. He’d become far too defensive too quickly, unable to see past his own injustices in his world to understand that your world came with them too. There had been signs of your confinement, of the tight leash you were kept on, but he’d wilfully ignored them, striking them off as privilege. Your bedroom alone should have been a giant red flag; how was a grown woman still sleeping in a child’s bedroom?  

“I’m sorry, doll...” he told you, muttering into your hair as his lips gently pressed to the top of your head.  

“Not on you, Mare. This has been coming for a while...” you sniffled, wiping your tears with your gloves as you snuggled into him a little further, utterly comfortable in his hold. 

“No, I mean...” Mary sighed to himself, “I’ve been an asshole. I got too defensive, thought you were just being a brat or something, y’know? I judged you and I shouldn’t have.” 

Slowly, you sat upright, turning to look at him as his arms fell to his sides.  

“You don’t have to apologise, I get it... I wasn’t exactly good to you either,” you admitted, looking down at his shirt now stained with tears to avoid his eyes. “You were right, I was treating you like I was ashamed of you.” 

Mary sat up straight, clasping his hands together as he nodded in understanding. “We’ve all got our shit, doll.” His eyes drifted to the picture on his windowsill, and you couldn’t help but follow his gaze. You saw how he clenched his jaw, fiddling with the rings on his fingers as sadness crept into his eyes. 

“Who was she?” The question slipped out before you got the chance to stop yourself. From the way Mary tensed up beside you, you could tell it was a sore spot.  

“That’s my mom,” he looked back to you, a sad smile on his face.  

“Is she...?” 

“Dead? No...” he laughed awkwardly. “But she is in a care facility. That’s just the only photo of us I’ve got.”  

You nodded in understanding, not wanting to push the matter. But Mary felt like sharing... You’d been vulnerable with him, shared your shit. Maybe he should share his too, or at least some of it. Maybe you were the only person he could be honest with. You were certainly the only person he’d wanted to get to know him in a long time.  

“She was a drinker. It got worse when my dad left, but he was a waste of fucking space anyway. We, uh, didn’t have a lot...” his eyes flickered to the battered old guitar that now leaned against the wall by his bed, “but eventually her liver kind of gave up, so she’s on dialysis for the rest of her life. She needs constant care, but she’s still with us.” 

“I’m so sorry... no wonder you thought I was just being a brat,” you laughed awkwardly, feeling a little pathetic now. 

“Like I said, we all got our shit. It's not a contest, I just... realised I wanted you to know something real about me.” 

Silence descended over you along with the weight of what he’d just admitted. Mary wanted you to know him. He wasn’t running or hiding himself from you. He’d shared something so personal to him, and you felt that it was something not a lot of people might know about him, if any. Something about you made him feel just as safe as a part of him did for you.  

You looked at him; really looked at him. There was a sadness in his eyes, something you could notice now that you were sat merely inches apart from him with his mask firmly ripped away and laying in pieces on the floor. Whatever wall he usually put up, he’d let down just for you. You felt close to him, unbelievably so. You felt an urge to protect him, defend him. You felt a pull towards him, undistinguished in its meaning but so strong you couldn’t ignore it anymore.  

And as Mary stared back at you, his wounds exposed, he too felt that same pull. Who was he kidding? He’d felt it for a while. How else would he explain being unable to go barely minutes without thinking of you over the last few weeks?  

His eyes flicked down to your lips, heart racing and mind spinning out of control. He’d never felt so exposed. He wanted to kiss you, to show you what he felt in that moment, but it scared him. He already had shared so much, feeling just as vulnerable as he had as a child.  

In your corner, the silence got heavier with every second that passed. If he was going to kiss you, you would let him. You couldn't think of a better way to show him just how much you cared, how close you felt to him; that you truly wanted him.  

Just as you thought he might lean in, he snapped out of his trance, sucking in a breath between his teeth.  

“Well, hey... you can stop here tonight. I can find you something to wear, I’m pretty sure I got something in the back,” he joked, wiggling his eyebrows, “I can take you from riches to rags!”  

He slapped his thighs and stood up from the couch, marching over to the dresser by his bed and rifling through his drawers. You stayed put, thrown off by his sudden escape. From such an emotional, tender moment to him throwing that wall back up, closing up shop... You almost got whiplash from the speed at which he put the brakes on. Disappointment lay heavy in your chest.  

He came back over with a folded t-shirt and some plaid pyjama pants you could tie up to keep them on. “There’s clean cloths in the bathroom under the sink if you wanna wash up, towels if you wanna shower,” he handed you the clothes where you sat. “I’ll take the couch, you got the bed and we’ll figure out a plan in the morning.”  

“O-okay...” you stammered, standing up with the folded clothes. Frankly, you felt a little dazed from his shift in demeanour, but you could hardly blame him either. Sharing that had to have been harder than you first thought. 

You walked past him into the bathroom, locking the door and pulling on the string light to awaken the fluorescent bulb above you. Now catching a glimpse of yourself in his mirrored medicine cabinet, you saw the state of yourself. Make up smeared all over your face, streaks of black running from your eyes to halfway down your neck. They looked bloodshot and tired, staring lifelessly back at you. Your hair had fallen out of place from its fancy updo, and you looked as if you’d been dragged through a cornfield by your ankles. 

Deciding against a shower, you settled for wiping the make-up from your face and taking your hair down, attempting to detangle it with the comb you found in the medicine cabinet. You’d found a bottle of cologne in there too, which when you sniffed, smelled exactly like Mary had smelled the night he’d climbed through your bedroom window. You smiled fondly at the memory, noting how the bottle was largely untouched, still having the price tag on it which only confirmed that he’d bought it and worn it just for you. 

By the time you were done and changed into the clothes Mary had found you, Mary had made himself a makeshift bed from the blanket he’d previously folded on the couch and one of the pillows from his bed. He was already laying under it, having changed into some old shorts and removed his shirt.  

“You can put your dress on the dresser, and I can run out and grab you something to wear tomorrow so you’ve got something other than this to wear,” he called from the couch, sitting up so he could speak directly to you.  

“Thank you. I’ll get out of your hair tomorrow, I’m sure my dad just needs to calm down...” you told him. Mary couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed, but also, protective. He wasn’t about to send you home to that, and he didn’t want you to feel like a burden on him either.  

“Sure, if that’s what you wanna do...” he muttered, his lips straightening into a line as he nodded. “Well... get some rest.” 

“Yeah, I will... thank you, Mary,” you told him. 

“Don’t sweat it,” he smiled, laying down on the couch and pulling the blanket over his bare shoulders. Without another word, you placed your clothes on the dresser and crawled into his bed, notably cold without him in it. Mary flicked off the lamp by the couch, plunging the apartment into mostly darkness save for the moonlight and the nearest streetlamp shining through his window. 

The same window where the picture of him and his mother sat.  

He could see it where he lay. In fact, he couldn’t look away. That smile on both of their faces reminded him of a time that was so rare. He could still hear her laughter mixing with his giggles as she’d hugged and tickled him, his grandmother who was long since gone snapping the picture on a whim.  

That little boy didn’t have many memories like that to come. He’d grown up far too soon, knowing how desperately his mother needed the help. His childhood was the two of them stuck out at sea, a hole in their boat – and Mary was the only one fishing the water out with a bucket. Eventually, it was bound to go under, so he worked harder, did everything he could to keep them afloat and yet... it wasn’t enough.  

The world had got him all wrong. When they thought he was bunking off school, he was working for a dollar an hour. When he’d been caught shoplifting, it was for a gift for his mother’s birthday. When he’d dropped out of school, it was to work every hour God sent to keep them from going hungry. When he finally did go off the rails in his late teens, it was after his mother’s liver failed. This poor, grown-up little boy had no one to look after anymore, and he’d spiralled. He was his only responsibility, but he’d never learned to care for himself – just the people around him. He always had to save them.  

Mary wiped the stray tear from his cheek, rolling over to face the back of the couch and will himself to sleep. He couldn’t tell if it was an hour or mere minutes that passed as he lay there, huddled under his old blanket on a couch that poked at his ribs under the cushions.  

“Mary...?” you whispered into the night, testing and hoping that he’d still been awake enough to hear. When he looked up, he saw you sat up in his bed, surrounded by emptiness, hugging your knees to your chest. In the dim streetlight, tear tracks sparkled on your face just like your dress.  

Before he knew what he was doing, his feet had carried him across the room. Tentatively, he sat at the edge of his bed, close enough that he could reach out and tuck your fallen hair behind your ear. Neither of you spoke; there was no need. It was obvious you needed the proximity, both vulnerable and in need of comfort.  

Mary’s eyes flicked between yours and your lips again, hesitating as his mind raced with conflicting arguments for and against giving in. He still wasn’t sure you truly wanted him. Maybe all you wanted in him was a friend, the sex having been a distraction or way to rebel. All Mary knew for sure was that you’d trusted him enough to be the one you called when you were in trouble. He didn’t want to break that trust now...  

But it was like you could see the cogs turning in his brain, the inner argument going on inside him. The battle wouldn’t be won by him alone; you were going to have to prove to him that you wanted him, that he wasn’t just your dirty little secret or some booty call. 

Slowly, you shuffled yourself closer to him, unwrapping your arms from around yourself and instead, pushing his floppy hair from in front of his face, getting a good look at him. That gorgeous face of his sat bathed in the dim light, caught between distant sadness and childlike wonder. With one last flicker down to your lips and back up to your eyes, he caught you smiling softly at him, your fingertips dancing across his jawline.  

And then finally, you leaned into him and pressed your lips gently to his. His eyes fluttered shut just as yours did, and he relaxed under your touch as if his limbs had melted. Mary, now feeling marginally more confident in where he stood, tilted his head to better sculpt his lips against yours. He was so gentle with you, his hands lifting to hold yours against his cheeks by the wrists. As the seconds passed, your lips moved together in tandem, both of you leaning into each other until he was able to wrap a hand around your waist and hold you against him, cradling each other in such a tender moment.  

This was undeniably different to any other kiss you’d shared. There was no move to advance, no desperation, no frantic arousal or rushed passion. This time, you simply held each other, seeking comfort in the affection you had for each other.  

As you parted, you rested your forehead against his, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as he held you still so close to him, not yet willing to let go.  

“Stay with me tonight...?” you requested, hoping he’d have no problem with the idea. Mary just nodded dumbly, overcome with a warm desire to never let you sleep alone again. You reached around you, pulling the blankets off of your lap to welcome him into them. He climbed in beside you, resting his head on the pillows as you, without a second thought, curled into his chest and let his arms envelope you. Neither one of you wanted to be alone tonight after sharing pieces of your soul with one another.  

Exhausted from the outpouring of emotion, you were soon lulled into a deep sleep by his rhythmic heartbeat and natural warmth. Mary, although exhausted himself, was still barely awake when he felt your body go limp against him. He smiled to himself, satisfied in the knowledge that he’d given up a part of himself he was sure he’d never trust anybody with.  

And yet, the wound was still open; spinning with memories, his mind lingered on one in particular, triggered when his tired eyes had fallen on that battered and beat up old guitar against the wall. That thing served as a reminder that Mary had only ever had Mary looking out for him, and that given a choice between himself and somebody else, he would always save anybody but himself... 

Mary waited patiently on the couch, his attention span null and void as the after-school cartoons blared on the TV set in front of him. He sat on the edge of his seat, quite literally, his feet kicking back and forth as he watched the clock. 

With the big hand on the 2, and the little hand on the 6, she’d be home any minute now. So, Mary waited as patiently as he could. 

Except, it wasn’t until the big hand had done a full circle, and the little hand was on the 7, that he heard the keys fumbling in the lock of the front door, followed by a telltale creak, and the slam of it behind footsteps.  

Mary jumped up, already on edge and over-excited. He ran into the hallway, to find his mother leaning against the wall with her eyes shut, head back against the plaster. She looked sick, her skin paled more than usual and her lips tainted with a familiar red stain.  

“Ma?” he asked, placing his little hand on her arm. Her eyes shot open, and she looked down at Mary next to her.  

“There’s my boy!” she slurred, leaning down to smother a sloppy kiss to his cheek. He wiped his cheek in childlike disgust, giggling to himself. “Happy birthday, baby!”  

She stood as upright as she could manage, bringing her purse with her while she stumbled into the living room, into the armchair Mary’s dad used to occupy that faced the TV set. Mary followed, bouncing on his feet with excitement. He’d waited all day for his mom to come home, hadn’t been able to focus in school for even a second. He stood and waited in front of her as she settled into the chair, dropping her purse in her lap.  

“Would you like your present baby?” she asked, smiling through hooded eyes that could barely focus. Mary nodded frantically, his heart pounding in his chest.  

It had been weeks since he’d spoken to his mother about the guitar he so desperately wanted. He’d spent most of his weekends at Mr. Rogers’ workshop, sweeping up wood shavings and running errands for a little bit of pocket money to help his mother save for this exact moment. He couldn’t wait any longer... 

His mother giggled, reaching into her purse and pulling out a small, square-shaped gift wrapped in balloon wrapping paper.  

For a moment, Mary was confused... But this had to be just a decoy. He remembered seeing these CDs in the music store; ‘Guitar Basics for Beginners’, audio instructive lessons that would be far cheaper than real in-person lessons.  

He tore into the paper, throwing the trash to the side and flipped the CD around to look at the front. It was an album; State of Euphoria by Anthrax. Mary’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion, surprised to find it wasn’t what he’d thought.  

“That’s the band you like, right? Or... One of them,” his mother hiccupped, leaning on her elbows with a grin. 

“Y-yeah... thanks, ma.” His tone was unmistakably disappointed.  

“What’s wrong?” she asked, swiping her thumb across his cheek and pinching it lightly. Mary chewed the inside of his cheek, wondering if he should say anything. He wasn’t one to be ungrateful, this was still a pretty great gift. Anthrax were one of the bands he had found he really loved recently. 

“No it’s great, ma, really. Thank you... It’s just,” he paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully, “could I get my guitar now? I read this book that teaches you about the frets and the notes of the strings, and stuff!” His words were rushed in that way over-excited children speed up the longer their sentence becomes. 

If his mother’s skin could pale any more, it did then.  

“Well, I... I couldn’t get the guitar, baby,” she told him, trying to let him down gently.  

“But... I helped Mr. Rogers? I thought we had enough?” he asked, his cheeks heating as if he were about to cry, but he didn’t want to make his mother feel bad by letting them spill.  

“I-I’m sorry, Mary... I needed to use that money...” she shrank back within herself, shame and guilt weighing on her shoulders.  

“For what?” he asked, genuinely confused, his tears building in his eyes. He was devastated... He worked so hard to get the guitar, to prove his mind was made up and he wouldn’t give up on learning it. But his mother just stared at him, her lip trembling as she saw her little boy so heartbroken. 

She knew exactly what she had spent it on; the very thing she promised she’d try and give up. 

“I... I’m s-sorry, b-baby,” she sobbed, tears spilling down her pale cheeks and her chest tightening around her breaths. She broke down, sobbing into her hands and hiding her face from the son she’d just disappointed so tragically. 

Mary wanted to be angry. It wasn’t fair... It was him who worked for that money, him who had tried so hard to help her. She was supposed to be the one adult he could count on, they were a team, weren’t they? He never asked for anything, ever. But just once, he wanted this. But she’d put her wine and God only knows what other alcohol before him again.  

He wanted to be angry. He tried to be. But his mother was hurting, she was crying, sobbing in front of him. She needed help. She was broken. She hadn’t meant to do this... right?  

Of course not. Her alcoholism had just gotten out of control, and unfortunately, addiction is a lonely and selfish ailment. Sober, her mind wouldn’t even think of doing something so selfish. But these days, she was rarely sober.  

Mary looked at his mother, crumpled up and sickly looking, weeping into her palms, and he just wanted to save her. He always wanted to save her.  

“Ma, it’s okay...” he told her, trying too hard for an 11-year-old not to cry. “Ma, don’t cry... I can keep working for one, it’s okay. I like the CD, I really do.” he squished himself between her and the arm of the chair, wrapping his arms around her and cuddling into her. She was inconsolable, sobbing so loudly she drowned out the cartoons on the TV set. She’d lost control of herself, and Mary was the only one around to pick up the pieces.  

“Shh, ma, it’s okay. It’ll be okay!” he told her, squeezing her as tightly as he could. “I’m here, don’t cry.” 

She’d screwed up big time, and whether Mary had chosen to forgive her or not, she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself for this. If she wasn’t already buried up to the neck in a pit of self-loathing, this was the last shovel full of cement to trap her in. 

But Mary had already decided that he’d do what he could to dig her out. She was his mother, she did everything for him that she could... why wouldn’t he help her too? 

A guitar could wait a little while longer. For now, his mother needed him – and he’d work as hard as he needed to save her.  

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

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[domm1etae]

sent to tempt me - chapter eight

chapter eight: unwanted attention

chapter summary: Yunho's library meeting with Mingi turns humiliating when flirty girls target him, triggering confusion over his feelings. Later, Yunho's mother calls, adding pressure

pairing: yunho x mingi

genre: smut (not yet but there will be eventually), angst, fluff, romance, m/m, non!idol!ateez, sub!yunho, dom!mingi, drama, coming of age, collage, religion

rating: 18+ (for the whole series bc there will be smut eventually) | mdni

word count: 2.7k

warnings under

collage, roommates, sub!yunho, dom!mingi, bad boy mingi and religious church good boy yunho same-sex attraction, m/m, teasing, dark themes, homophobia, self discovery, pet names, strangers to lovers, religion and religious topics, aaaand more will be added soon hehehe

previous chapter | next chapter | AO3 | this fics masterlist

author's note: next chapter will be out soon bbys i am already working on it!!

The clock read 2:57 PM, and Yunho was on the verge of a minor breakdown. His heart pounded like it was staging a rebellion, and the closer he got to the library, the worse it got. He adjusted his grip on the strap of his bag for the tenth time, sweat forming on his palms despite the crisp fall air.

It’s just a meeting, he told himself for the hundredth time. A project meeting. People have these all the time.

But then again, most people didn’t have to meet their ridiculously confident, infuriatingly sarcastic, and stupidly attractive roommate for these meetings. Most people didn’t have to face someone who could make them feel small with just a look—or worse, a smirk.

He caught sight of the library doors and paused. What if Mingi was already inside, waiting? Did he look too eager? Too nervous? Yunho exhaled, trying to shake the nerves off. He couldn’t just stand here forever.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside, the smell of books and faint coffee hitting him immediately. And there he was.

Mingi.

Leaning back in one of the chairs like he had all the time in the world, legs stretched out under the table, and a pen twirling between his fingers. Yunho’s chest tightened at the sight. His roommate looked like he belonged on the cover of some magazine—not sitting in a library for a school project.

Mingi didn’t even notice him walk in at first, too busy staring at the ceiling as if it held all the answers to life. Yunho hesitated, suddenly hyperaware of how stiffly he was walking. Finally, he shuffled over to the table and cleared his throat.

“H-Hey,” he mumbled, sliding into the seat across from Mingi.

Mingi’s eyes flicked over to him, a lazy smirk pulling at his lips. “Hey, roommate. You’re on time for once. Miracles do happen.”

Yunho felt his ears heat up immediately. “I... I’m usually on time,” he protested, even though it sounded weak, even to his own ears.

Mingi snorted, clearly unconvinced. “Sure you are.” He leaned forward, sliding a notebook across the table. “Anyway, let’s get this over with. Decadence isn’t gonna analyze itself.”

Yunho nodded, fumbling with his bag to pull out his notes. His hands shook slightly as he flipped to the right page, the edges of the paper crinkling in his grip.

“Decadence,” Mingi said, leaning back again. “Oscar Wilde and his whole ‘live fast, die pretty’ thing. Sounds like a blast.”

Yunho blinked, unsure how to respond. “I think it’s more about moral decay and the pursuit of pleasure,” he said softly, hoping he didn’t sound stupid.

Mingi tilted his head, considering. “Moral decay, huh? Guess that makes sense. But honestly, Wilde seems like the kind of guy who’d throw the best parties.”

Yunho’s brow furrowed. “I—I don’t think that’s what he meant.”

Mingi grinned. “Relax, I’m kidding.”

They went back and forth like that for a few minutes, with Mingi throwing out sarcastic comments while Yunho tried to keep the conversation on track. It wasn’t easy. Every time Yunho thought they were making progress, Mingi would derail the discussion with another offhand remark.

And then, just as Yunho was starting to feel a little more comfortable, two girls appeared.

“Mingi!” one of them called out, her voice annoyingly high-pitched. She was petite with bleached blonde hair tied into pigtails. Her friend, a taller brunette, followed close behind.

Yunho immediately stiffened, his shoulders hunching instinctively.

The blonde leaned on Mingi’s shoulder like she had every right to be there. “We were just talking about you,” she said with a smile that was anything but innocent.

“Good things, I hope,” Mingi replied smoothly, his tone dipping into something low and teasing.

Yunho stared down at his notes, pretending to read them. He could feel his cheeks heating up again. Why did these things always happen around him?

The brunette giggled, brushing her fingers against Mingi’s arm. “Always. So... who’s your friend?”

Before Mingi could answer, the blonde zeroed in on Yunho like a hawk spotting prey. “Oh my gosh, I’ve never seen you before! Are you from another school or something? Mingi you are keeping the prettiest friends only to yourself.”

Yunho opened his mouth, but no words came out. “I—uh—no, I—”

“He’s my roommate,” Mingi interrupted, his tone casual. “He studies here. Real quiet type.”

“Your roommate?” the blonde echoed, her eyes lighting up with interest. “No way! What’s your name?”

Yunho glanced at her, then at Mingi, who was watching the exchange with a look of pure amusement. “Y-Yunho,” he stammered.

“Yunho,” she repeated, rolling the name around like she was testing it out. “So... are you single?”

Yunho froze. His ears felt like they were on fire. “I—uh—”

“Oh, come on,” Mingi cut in, laughing. “You really gotta ask him that? Just look at him. You can tell a woman’s never touched him. Look how red he is.”

Yunho’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and anger. “That’s not—”

“Or what?” Mingi interrupted, his grin widening. “Am I wrong, roomie?”

The blonde rolled her eyes. “Mingi, don’t be such a jerk. Don’t judge a book by its cover. The shy ones are always the biggest freaks in bed.”

Yunho’s brain practically shut down. His cheeks burned, and he couldn’t bring himself to look at anyone.

“Trust me,” Mingi said, shaking his head. “I’ve been with enough people to know. Yunho’s as innocent as they come.”

The brunette pouted, leaning closer to Yunho. “Oh, come on, Mingi. Don’t be rude. I bet Yunho could give it to me good aaaaall night long.” She leaned so close that Yunho could feel her breath on his face.

That was it. Yunho shot up from his seat, grabbing his bag. “Excuse me,” he muttered, his voice barely audible, before practically running out of the library.

“Wow,” the blonde said, throwing her hands in the air. “I try to be nice to the nerd type for once, and he does this. God, what’s his deal?”

Mingi laughed, leaning back in his chair. “You scared him off. Better luck next time.”

-----

The walk back to the dorm felt endless, even though Yunho’s legs were moving faster than usual. His cheeks still burned, not from the kind of heat people whispered about when they talked about crushes or flirty encounters, but from pure, unrelenting embarrassment.

The second he got inside, he closed the door a little harder than necessary, his bag hitting the floor with a dull thud. He stood there for a moment, breathing heavily and staring at nothing in particular.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

He wasn’t mad at the girl, really. She didn’t know any better—how could she? But the way she leaned in so close, the way her fingers brushed against his arm, the way she said that… thing about him? Yunho’s face heated up again just thinking about it. Not because it had excited him—no, not even close—but because it hadn’t.

His reaction hadn’t been normal. He knew it wasn’t normal.

Any other guy would’ve felt something. That’s just how it was supposed to work, wasn’t it? A pretty girl shows interest, flirts a little, touches your arm, and you feel your stomach flip or your heart race or... something. But not Yunho. All he’d felt was awkward. Uncomfortable. And a little desperate to leave.

And that was wrong, wasn’t it?

Yunho sank onto his bed, dropping his head into his hands. His brain wouldn’t stop racing, wouldn’t stop poking at the memory like a sore tooth.

Why didn’t he feel anything? Why didn’t her touch make his heart skip the way it was supposed to? Sure, she wasn’t the kind of girl he’d normally talk to, but that didn’t matter. She was attractive—objectively attractive. Yunho should’ve felt something. But he hadn’t.

The worst part was, Yunho knew he wasn’t supposed to think about things like this in the first place. His whole life, he’d been told that thoughts like these were dangerous. Sinful, even. Thinking about a girl in that way? It was forbidden.

But wasn’t it also forbidden to feel nothing at all?

Yunho groaned, flopping back onto his bed and staring up at the ceiling. His hands clutched the fabric of his sweater, the soft material bunching under his fingers.

Why don’t I feel anything? he thought. Why don’t I think about girls the way I’m supposed to?

He pressed his palms over his face, trying to block out the thought, but it refused to go away. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, there was something even worse gnawing at the back of his mind. Something he didn’t want to acknowledge, but couldn’t ignore.

The way he felt about Mingi.

Yunho swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.

It wasn’t like he wanted to think about Mingi. He didn’t choose to. It just... happened. And that made it even worse.

Mingi, with his sarcastic smirks and his lazy drawl, the way he acted like he was above everything, like nothing mattered to him. Mingi, with his sharp eyes and sharp tongue, always knowing exactly what to say to leave Yunho flustered and off-balance. Mingi, who leaned too close, stood too tall, spoke too softly sometimes, like he was trying to make Yunho’s heart stutter.

It was wrong.

Yunho’s chest ached, his breath coming quicker as the thoughts swirled faster and faster. Thinking about a girl like that was bad enough, but thinking about a boy? A boy who was his roommate?

It was the worst kind of wrong.

Yunho squeezed his eyes shut, as if that would make the thoughts disappear. But it didn’t work. It never worked. Because no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many times he told himself to stop, the thoughts always came back.

He hated it.

Hated the way his heart skipped when Mingi looked at him too long. Hated the way his stomach twisted when Mingi teased him. Hated the way his mind wandered, late at night when he should’ve been praying, to things he couldn’t even say out loud.

And yet...

Yunho’s hands curled into fists, the fabric of his sweater stretching under the pressure.

And yet, he couldn’t make it stop.

He felt like he was stuck in some kind of endless loop, spinning between guilt and confusion and frustration, with no way out. He didn’t understand why Mingi acted the way he did, why he always had to push Yunho’s buttons and make everything so complicated.

But maybe Yunho didn’t understand himself even more.

Yunho hadn’t moved from his spot on the bed. His arm was slung over his eyes, blocking out the pale glow of the dorm room ceiling light. His head was still buzzing, a jumble of thoughts fighting for space, each one more unwelcome than the last.

And then, his phone rang.

He sighed heavily, dragging his arm away to glance at the screen. The name “Mom” blinked at him, bright and insistent. Ignoring it wasn’t an option—not when ignoring her could lead to endless texts or another, more persistent call.

With a reluctant groan, he swiped to answer. “Hi, Mom.”

“Yunho,” she said, her tone even and purposeful. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” he replied automatically.

“You don’t sound fine. Are you eating properly? Studying hard?”

“Yes, Mom,” Yunho mumbled.

“And have you been to church?”

The question made his stomach twist. “Uh, yeah,” he lied. “I’ve been.”

“Good.” Her voice carried a faint edge, as though she didn’t quite believe him. “You know how important it is to stay close to your faith, especially in a place like college. There’s too much temptation out there. You need to be careful.”

“I know,” Yunho said quietly, his grip tightening on the phone.

“You’re staying away from trouble, right?” she continued, her tone growing stern. “There’s no drinking, no wild parties?”

“No, Mom,” Yunho said quickly, the thought almost laughable.

“Good,” she said again, but there was a pause, heavy and expectant, like she wasn’t quite finished. “You’re not... letting yourself get distracted, are you? By... other things? You know what I mean right. Some pretty ladies?”

Yunho’s stomach dropped. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady. “I’m not distracted.”

“Alright,” she said, her tone sharp and clipped. “I trust you, Yunho, but you know what’s expected of you. You’ve been raised with values—don’t let anything or anyone take you away from that. Understand?”

“I understand,” Yunho murmured, his voice tight.

“Good,” she said once more. “I’ll let you go now. But remember, you have a responsibility—to yourself, to your family, and to God. Don’t forget that. If you ever introduce us to a girl someday, I’ll be glad, but make sure she’s Christian—and focus on your studies first.”

“I won’t,” Yunho said quietly, his voice flat.

She hung up first, leaving Yunho sitting in the oppressive silence of the room. He stared at his phone for a long moment before tossing it onto his desk.

Why couldn’t she just let it go? Why did every conversation feel like a checklist of things he could mess up?

The guilt was already creeping in, but Yunho shoved it aside. He couldn’t deal with that right now.

Instead, he kicked off his shoes, pulled the blanket over his head, and closed his eyes. Sleep would make it better. It always did.

----

The grogginess of waking up too late weighed heavily on Yunho as he blinked at his alarm clock, the glowing numbers reading 1:00 AM. He groaned, rubbing his face. That nap had turned into an unplanned deep sleep, leaving him disoriented and even more irritated with how the day had gone.

"Ugh, great. Just what I needed," he muttered, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed. His mouth was dry, his thoughts still muddled with remnants of frustration over the library incident. He grabbed his phone to check for notifications but found none, not that he was expecting any.

Yunho shuffled to the kitchen, his socks scuffing the floor as he made his way to the cupboard to grab a glass. He yawned as he filled it with water, the sound of the faucet cutting through the stillness of the dorm. The silence was comforting, though a little eerie this late at night.

As he leaned back against the counter and sipped his water, he heard the faintest sound—like the shuffle of footsteps outside their door. Yunho froze, the glass paused midway to his lips.

At first, he thought he was imagining it, but then came another sound. A thump. A muffled groan. His heart rate spiked.

What the hell?

It was late—too late for someone to be coming by. Mingi should have been home by now, considering how he’d gone off with his admirers earlier. Was someone trying to break in? The thought sent a cold wave of panic through Yunho, and he set the glass down with trembling hands.

Every noise seemed magnified: the quiet creak of the hallway floorboards, the faint shuffle of shoes, the sound of a hand brushing the doorknob. Yunho’s mind raced, conjuring every horror story he’d ever heard. He clutched the edge of the counter, his eyes darting to their apartment door.

Then it started to open.

His breath caught. He took a step back, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. Should he grab something—a knife, a chair? He wasn’t prepared to face an intruder!

The door swung inward slowly, and Yunho braced himself for the worst. But instead of some dark, faceless threat, it was Mingi.

Or rather, a version of Mingi Yunho had never seen before.

The taller boy stumbled inside, his shoulders hunched, his normally styled hair a wild, disheveled mess. Blood trickled steadily from a cut just above his brow, a thin line streaking down his temple to smear faintly along his cheekbone. His lips were split, dried blood crusted at the edges. The collar of his shirt bore faint smears of red, and a nasty bruise was spreading under his left eye, swollen and darkening with every passing second.

[xxnghtclls]

A little spontaneous analysis on Sukuna and his view on love and rejection that I blurted out while reading about Heian Era marriage this morning 🤓

That Sukuna panel came to mind with him saying, he’s “a cursed, unwanted little wretch”. (I was told “hated” was another way to translate it, but it’s the same in the end).

Disclaimer: These are just my thoughts using this specific translation. However Sukuna is a complex character and nothing is black and white and I’m probably heavily cherry picking here or reading way too much into this more than I should or would be necessary. 😆 WELL

Somehow it struck to me that one of the FEW things we know about Sukuna, is that he never married or bore any children. This is even more interesting, considering the fact that in the JJK verse, we do have a few absent wifes/lovers to name, that we know little to nothing about. Be it Megumi‘s mother, Kaori or a nonexistent wife of Sukuna. People often claim that Sukuna is a virgin, cause he didn’t marry or had kids. This is a whole other discussion, but this claim kept lingering in my head and made me think about marriage in the first place. Marriage and children often being a wholesome concept of love in our modern understanding, I first thought the marriage thing to be in connection to his claim to love being useless, that he not even once had interest in love. I think there‘s more to that.

(although I do think that someone who claims that love is worthless kinda sounds heartbroken, but yeah anyway)

But then I thought „wait we’re speaking ancient times, did love play any role in marriage anyway?“

We still don‘t know the social status in which Sukuna was born in, but in regards to heian era, marriage was first and foremost a thing to secure and show social status. Marriages out of love weren‘t common, even seen as unrealistic.

Marriages were mostly arranged, often when they were still teenagers even. And this is what caught my attention. Sukuna says he was born a cursed unwanted little wretch and I first assumed this claim purely focuses on his parents and his early childhood.

But given the social norms in heian era, what if it also meant that he was literally unable to marry later on, that he wasn’t just unwanted by his by his parents, but by a possible spouse as well? Him saying he was “cursed and unwanted” indicates that it was a state he was put in, not a state he sought out to be. You could even argue, that him saying he was “unwanted” or “hated” even required him not wanting to be treated that way. Which child would want that? Which makes it even more interesting that he says, that he never thought about needing someone else to fulfill him. In connection to what I said before, it could almost sound hateful. As well as this moment here, which always occurred to me as if he said it from own experience.

Because when you grow up in a surrounding that hates & repels you, it makes sense that you grow indifferent to society, but it doesn’t necessarily mean it was always that way. Him being unwanted makes so much sense in connection with him saying, that he focuses solely on himself and that he has complete disregard to others. Which makes sense, when it’s a result of not having anybody who wants or loves you. It leaves you with yourself and yourself only.

I know a lot of you really wanna fight the thought of Sukuna having a hard childhood but who cares honestly? I don‘t think it would make him less of a strong character. Every human is the result of their surroundings and as stated, Sukuna is human too. Based on that, you could even argue that the only kind of love he knows and sees as the real love, was an aggressive one. This would explain why he sees the slaughter of those who fought Kashimo as love.

Ok back to marriage! When I read about marriage, there was another thing that caught my attention and that was poetry! We know Sukuna is a little nerd, who is eager to learn and it’s indicated that he even enjoyed poetry. (His immediate reaction to Yorozu‘s Haiku being that it lacks the seasonal word.) Back then, when someone was about to apply for marriage, what did they do? Yeah right, they wrote letters to someone.

As I stated above, you could assume that there was a time, where Sukuna was not utterly hateful and indifferent to social contacts (I know that’s a reach, but that’s up for interpretation as long as we don’t know his backstory.)

If we assume, that Sukuna was born looking the way he looks, then it wouldn’t surprise me if there was a lot of rejection involved in the way the proposal was practised as described above. I don‘t wanna paint Sukuna as the poor rejected here, but idk maybe he was.

We all eagerly await Sukuna‘s backstory and I‘m so excited to learn about him. This suddenly turned into an analysis of Sukuna and his view on love and whatnot, but please remember, I’m not saying that any of this might have actually happened.

It’s just some connections my brain made while reading about marriage and thinking about some of the stuff that Sukuna said. I just had to write it down.

Here‘s the source: click

[circeyoru]

This is my first time requesting by the way, hopefully it isn't too much >m>

I really really love your Alastor x readers by the way! Not just Unwanted Soul. They give me so much life asdfghjkl

I've been craving for some hurt/comfort. So what if soul owner reader was having a bad episode of self-hating intrusive thoughts that drove them towards self harm?

Maybe this was before Alastor gave them his soul, so reader still thinks that he'll leave them sooner or later.

Maybe Alastor was out during the time that reader may have needed his presence the most? Thoughts of self-hatred became too much, too hurtful... too real. 'They were too weak. Too pathetic. A waste of space. This is why people avoided them. Ridiculed them. Rightfully so. How could anyone waste their precious time on someone as unlovable as them?'

How would Alastor react coming home to the aftermath of reader's self harm?

Also, since he's obsessed with the reader, I can honestly see him patiently being by their side in every step of the way as they recover from their episode, no matter if they'd relapse. Alastor would prove those intrusive thoughts wrong just by being there and being ecstatic to be in reader's presence even if they could offer him nothing at that time.

Hello~ Thank you for supporting my writings! Your first-time request got me thinking and I added it to the main story instead of as trivia~

Unwanted Soul _ Part 6 = Requested

[Yandere!Alastor x Owner of his Soul!Reader]

But let's also add a bit of extra to this, yeah?

At this point, you'd have read the newest part, if not, why you still here? Kidding, you'll just be spoiling yourself. Not my problem, it's your reading experience.

So! Raeder/you are a pessimistic person, no doubt you guys got this after I revealed how you died.

Now to spoil a bit (if it's not obvious to you), you were in that state because you thought Alastor really left you without saying anything. During your days alive, you also have that urge to self-harm, but it was never fatal, nor will you draw blood because it was a pain to deal with afterwards. Now that you are a demon and there is the basic regenerative ability, you do harm with the intent to draw blood.

The self-harm part is answered in the actual story, but the add-on is your depressive mood.

It's obvious to Alastor because when you are in that state, you don't do anything but lie in bed, maybe listen to some music. Alastor learn best that you'd prefer not to talk or move much, and you'll stay in bed hugging something.

So what Alastor does is that he stays by your side no matter what until you request something that makes him leave, even then he wouldn't leave for longer than half an hour. Because he usually takes his time with making your meals, it takes way too long. He'll eat cup noodles with you. You have to help him though, since you're the expert and it's a way for him to cheer you up. He's fine with just lying next to you and doing basically nothing. As long as you're there with him.

Something you don't mind and want Alastor to do to talk without wanting your input. He'll do it too, it boosts hid ego and pride to know what he's best at can comfort you as well. He's a Radio Host and for you, you'll enjoy a private broadcast from him.

"Welcome, My Dearest! To my broadcast! Let's talk about an insufferable fellow called Vox."

"Hehe..."

Your little laugh is what he needs to get by, you little smile is what he wants to see on your face.

[humanpunchingbag1]

Forgiven but hard to Forget

I know she apologized. And I know she meant it. But I always feel the sting on my shoulder every time I see her. I know she loves me. I know this as a fact. She's so kind to me. But.....I'm not her real daughter.

That's the reality. No matter how much I wish for that fact to be erased. It's there. It is apparent when all of us spend time together. I have no traits from her. I look like my mommy Ayuda, but I have traits of my father. Being a hyena is one of the obvious traits.

She claims me as her daughter. She treats me as if I'm hers. There's no favoritism for the most part. But there was that day. She hurt me. Only me. She's never laid her hands on Evelyn, so the fact hits me. She's not my mom. She loves me, but her anger over rides that. It reminds her I'm not. SHE KNOWS I'm not hers.

And I can't deny that fact. I can't blame her for it. She has been gracious enough to treat me like I'm hers. But I'm just an obligation, an unwanted child in a family that would otherwise be happier without me.

I know Mommy Ayuda would miss me. That can't be argued. She would be heartbroken without me. I'm her child. She loves me as such. With everything she is. Hoppy though, I sometimes forget until she reminds me in some small way I'm not hers.

That day she hurt me she apologized, but was it because she wanted to or because she would lose my mother. They were both in the room when Mommy Hoppy apologized. She didn't take it upon herself to do so. Am I reading too much into this? Could she really love me like her own?

No! I know its false. Because she would never hurt Evelyn. Never.

Why was mommy Ayuda the only one who didn't hurt me? I ask myself this all the time. And I always have the same answer. She loves me. Like only a mother truly could. Like Hoppy loved Evelyn. Mommy Ayuda treated us equal because we were equal. We're both her kids. So her heart and mind aren't conflicted with the falsehoods mommy Hoppys was.

Mommy Hoppy's mind always reminded her I wasn't hers. And I honestly think her heart felt the same. One of them was just trying to hide that fact. I could never understand which though.

Also whenever Evelyn hurt me she just talked with her. That's it. It was like it didn't bother her. Mommy Ayuda found ways to separate us. So I could be more safe. Mommy Hoppy really only considered Evelyn's feeling. Hers trumped mine. I see that.

I try my best to hide what I know. She wasn't wrong in how she felt. The facts are the facts. And the fact I wasn't hers was glaring. I understood that.

This is why I hated looking in the mirror. Because I'm shown all the ways I don't belong. I'm an outsider to Mommy Hoppy and Evelyn. I don't belong. I'm a hyena. I'm not a rabbit. Or a marrinette. I don't belong and when I see myself I hate what I see. I draw myself as a rabbit. And one day I may just change my looks. Be a rabbit but....that won't change the truth. Just throw a blanket over the issue.

Even my other daddy, the one who said he loved me, left. He said he would love me like Hoppy does. Then I guess he got tired of seeing me. I wasn't his either. And one day.....Hoppy will get tired of me. And leave Mommy Ayuda.

I hate my reflection! I hate not being Hoppys! Not being a rabbit! Not being more of her. No! Any of her. There's no part of me that was her! I can't be more of what I don't possess. What's more, I hate myself. I don't belong, and I know it. That's who I am. The black sheep. The unwanted one. The only one who truly loves me in this family is Mommy Ayuda. I feel connected to her. I feel what she does. And I feel the warmth of her love. That is real.

But is it enough? I look at myself in the mirror. I touch the reflection of me as my tears start to flow down my cheeks. Was I enough? Did I deserve Ayudas love? She was so pure. She had been through so much. Alot she didn't tell me but my grandmother made the point. Mommy Ayuda had dealt with that for years. Why would I be enough? How could I be enough?

I was rude to her. I didn't mean to. Pomni has to tell me to stop. But I can't help it sometimes I don't think. Is it because I'm more comfortable with her. She's the only one I would ever do that to. And she's the only one who didn't deserve it.

Why then would she want me? Why does she love me? Why should I love myself? My real father left before I was born. Daddy Wyldes left shortly after. Mommy Hoppy hurt me. Evelyn hurts me. But Mommy Ayuda? She has never given me anything but love despite everything. She's been consistent in her love. It has never wavered. And yet, I hurt her with my words. I've made her cry. She always forgives me. Everytime. And it's not just words. I can feel it in her emotions. She doesn't hold a grudge. Not for Me or Evelyn or anyone.

I don't deserve her. No one deserves her. Her ability to forgive. Her patience. Her compassion. She forgiven Jax for cutting her, Mommy Hoppy, for abandoning her with Evelyn long before they were married, Dollface for what she did, and even Pomni for making her feel like she wasn't enough.

She had me alone. I remember my birth. I remember her laying there in a pool of her own blood as daddy Wyldes took me to the room. He left her alone. Dying. I remember Mommy Hoppy dropping Evelyn off one day and not coming back. And mommy Ayuda just took over. She wasn't even mad.

Everyone hurt her. Even Pomni has! How can Pomni tell me not to hurt my mommy when she did, too? I heard my Mommy crying over her. I heard the sobs through the walls as mommy hoppy told her that Pomni had other things going on. But my mommy was always there for her! Mommy put Pomni before herself a lot of times!

But who am I to be mad. I'm not different. Mommy deserved better than us all. Than me Hoppy, Evelyn, Pomni, my dads! Everyone! I sit down as my thoughts whirl in my head, and every thought leads to the same conclusion.

I'm not good enough for either Mommy, but especially not Mommy Hoppy. This is the conclusion. I'm not enough. Mommy Hoppy will always see me how I am. Not hers. The adopted child she had to take on because she married a single mother. And Mommy Ayuda would love me, but i didn't deserve it. I wasn't enough.

And I will never be.

( @justsomeonewow @ask-pomni-things @ask-jax-things )

[themsource]

Where did your idea of having Ford and Stan have different birthdays come from? 👀

Thank you for the question! :D

I actually wanted something that can be seen as a bonding activity to serve as more of a start to their division, a bit of foreshadowing if you would, kinda like fate playing it's part since the day they were born.

And I wanted it to be a bit of a catalyst for Ford on a subconscious level that gives him more of an opportunity to get that 'suffocated' feeling like he has in canon by getting a taste of something that's just his own (and suffering for it by seeing how upset that makes Stan through the years to the point of there being a bit of bitterness there as he does his best to sacrifice in a way to keep his very much loved twin happy).

Birthdays to me have always been a very personal affair. It's supposed to celebrate your life and the joy you bring to others by existing. In this case with the twins, sharing one would be more of celebrating them both existing rather than just one.

So imagine Stan who hated having the separate birthdays (an independent thing in a very much codependent relationship 'without ford I was just half of a dynamic duo') and had gotten used to Ford indulging him (reassuring him that someone fully understood and valued him being around just as much as themselves), slowly getting cut out from that, getting it rubbed in his face that he was younger by only a few minutes the older they got and the separate birthdays emphasizing that (being taught to believe that makes him somehow less important, an 'extra' - damn that cardboard sign. Tough love was an extreme back then, and making your kid stand outside for two days holding a sign saying 'extra stan 2$' is certainly not the best way to go about motivating your son to do better in school Filbrick!). It adds to his own resentment and the feeling of both being unwanted and unloved, helping propel him into running away when he does.

It's just... this whole tangled ball of emotions.

Because you have Filbrick and Caryn too who didn't help, and usually tried to provide best they could given what I imagine was a financially tight upbringing. I mean they had the twins share a holiday sweater to keep warm for crying out loud. I think... they were as good of parents as they could be given the times they were in and the mindset of society at large had both with money and standards. Throwing Stan out in canon while in anger, was awful, I won't forgive that, but it did happen a lot back then especially at 17-18 when kids were both 'considered' or officially adults, and could go off on their own. You can still see that kinda thought process even nowadays in older folks to prevent 'mooching' or 'being a bum'.

Anyways that's why when it came to birthdays I saw that Filbrick and Caryn really wanted to help promote future independence between the twins when witnessing how close they were (because Filbrick honestly wasn't going to foster a relationship where Stan and Ford needed to rely on each other to survive - not in a dog eat dog world. If you read lost legends he goes off about Ford 'sticking his neck out' for Stan and punishes both of them for Stanley's actions).

Unfortunately, with that saying of 'The path to hell is paved in good intentions', Filbrick and Caryn messed up. They tried their best to give them both the best birthdays, but with tight money they didn't plan too well and so didn't give equal treatment (they couldn't afford two cakes, buying a cupcake after was already a luxurious stretch - 5$ for a cake was sacrificing a weeks worth of groceries already), and ended up playing it a bit too casual and brisk with Stan's celebration over how embarrassed and guilty they felt.

That's not to say there still wasn't a bit of selfishness there as Filbrick did see Ford as the one that could potentially help them out the most financially in the future given his smarts (being a man 'tough as a cinderblock' and focused on the ability to provide it's obvious why Filbrick had an obsession with money), so Ford was given the cake and clear favoritism.

But again, both parents still tried, and ended up failing too. Humans are complicated when it comes to emotions and thoughts like that and mistakes do happen with first time parents sadly.

So that's why I made the birthdays separate! Where I got the idea from. It allowed for room with character divergence and altered growth in my AU from canon. As well as things that could be explored further with the characters.

Plus angst, glorious, glorious angst 😭

[lemon-natalia]

Nona the Ninth Reaction - Chapter 31

quick note first of all, would anyone be interested in me also doing a liveblog for 'The Unwanted Guest' as well as these remaining chapters?

and after three books we’re back on the Ninth where this all started. Kiriona’s putting on a bit of a show with the ‘Home sweet home’ thing, but it really can’t be pleasant returning to somewhere she spent an absolutely horrible childhood trying to escape, and without Harrow no less

this might genuinely be the first time there has ever been a dog on the Ninth, i don’t really see the cult of goth priests being big on pets

‘then again, i’m not sure of John period’ yeah me neither, quite frankly even after a book which spends half its page time detailing his backstory i’m still unsure about what exactly his plans and powers are

‘a string of fairy lights wouldn’t have gone amiss’ honestly given Harrow’s general penchant for interior bone design, i think she could be persuaded if the fairy lights were made out of actual bone somehow

ohh holy shit there was a good moment while reading that description of Gideon surrounded by corpses with blood on her sword that i fully thought that she’d come back to the Ninth on some weird revenge mission and just straight up murdered Crux

‘My lady, you have come home to us … at last’ why is this making me feel things for Crux of all people. like he has no idea about Nona, or that Harrow’s lost in the River, or anything she’s been through at all. all he knows is that she left for the First, became a Lyctor, and never communicated or came home again

oh great we’re returning to possibly the creepiest part of GtN with the weird ‘devil’ things. between the duel of the Third and Sixth and possession of Colum Asht, the second half of that book is suddenly becoming very relevant again. while Nona’s been living in a combination slice-of-life/war drama, Kiriona’s life seems to have taken a sharp turn into zombie apocalypse novel. fun!

i’m very intrigued about the little pieces of John and Gideon’s relationship that we get here, notably i think (if i remember correctly) that this is the first time she’s mentioned him as ‘Dad’, seemingly completely sincerely, unlike calling him ‘Pops’ at the end of HtN. and apparently he falsely reassured her that the devils were confined to Antioch, but Kiriona seems to have fully believed him and sounds genuinely upset that he apparently lied about it

wow Crux literally cannot stop hating on Gideon even when he’s actively fucking dying. on one level i can admire the commitment but dude, this level of beef with a literal teenager is ridiculous

‘there was a figure there - dark robes with a pale face’ okay i really can’t figure out what is with the weird stalker figure here. is it Nona having a hallucination of Harrow? just a strange description of one of the nuns?

Pyrrha apparently painted a mint green nursery here a long time ago, i assume for Anastasia’s kid, which would explain the weird remark about helping deliver a baby back in chapter 10. also this implies a version of the Ninth which was at one point not quite so dedicated to the doom-and-gloom-bones-and-death aesthetic, which feels inconceivable to me

well hello Aiglamene long time no see, this is a slightly more welcome return than Crux at least. ngl i really wasn’t expecting to see all these characters from the beginning of GtN again, but it’s interesting to catch up and see how little has really changed there despite all the events of the series

ohhh my god. this is not how i expected a reunion between Aiglamene and Gideon to go. Aiglamene seems so genuinely shaken by the fact that she’s dead, and the fact that she’s apparently very angry at Harrow on Gideon’s behalf, like !! she definitely seems to care about Gideon a lot more than she ever actually let on to her

‘Nona was deeply horrified to see actual walk-around skeletons’ i think Harrow would be mortally offended that anyone in her body could find skeletons horrifying

actually yknow what i take back what i said in GtN about Palamedes, Paul should absolutely not be a therapist with this bedside manner

‘You can’t take loved away’ uh, excuse me for a minute i need to sit in a corner and cry my heart out for a moment. this moment really feels like a summary of a lot of themes in the whole series

ok the final nail in the coffin for my emotional wellbeing at the end of this chapter is that Pyrrha did actually get a birthday present, one that she’ll never be able to give her. here i am completely distraught over cheap moustache rides what have you done to me Tamsyn Muir

istg at least some part of Nona needs to live on. like c’mon Gideon died at the end of the first book and she’s still kicking, Nona can do it too. once again it is nearly the end of a Locked Tomb book and i am in severe denial about probably permanent character death

[the-stove-is-divorced]

i cried reading your fic where bruce died and then brought back to life by his kids.

being a parent is so fucking scary man what te hell 😭 i know bruce will endure and forgive and move on but thats just because his self worth is in the trenches and he thinks he deserves to be treated like shit but MAN if it was me?? if it was me???? i would kms again ON GAWDDD 😭😭😭

This comment made me howl, holy shit. ∑d(°∀°d)

No, it is terrifying, admittedly, that even your death isn't your own, which is even horrifying considering he died to protect another life. I feel like it's one of the things Bruce would have wanted, and yet, still gives up. BUT YEAH IF IT WERE ME? BRUH, I'D GO CRAZY. AIN'T NOBODY TALKING TO ME, I HATE Y'ALL. (￢_￢;) Retirement for the rest of my fucking life and if I die again I will make my corpse slap you before you pull that shit again. Send my body into the sun before you try dipping me in some goddamn ooze. Grieve like a normal person, damn.

The concept of like an unwanted resurrection is so interestingggg, hehe. Thank you sharing omg (//▽//) 'cause you're so real for this, honestly.

I've been, like, sitting on the next chapter because writing group dynamics + batfam is fucking huge, ughhhh, so here's a snippet I like for you! Currently too obsessed with Invincible to continue rn, but if you want more snippets just shoot for my inbox lol.

Was his heart still rotting? Or, did it lay there, beating? 

A thinly hand brushed through his hair, softly. Another settled upon his wrist, where his pulse lay, a quiet thump, thump, thump. Bruce imagined it slowing down, drifting away, grinding to a halt. He imagined the interlinking veins underneath his curdling like fruit skins left in the sun, blood turned flaky, brown, dry. Still, his heart pounded. Still, he breathed. Nothing lost to rot. 

He truly was alive. He was alive, wasn’t he? 

(Why—)

His eyebrows furrowed, a neuron fired off and dying just as quickly, lost.

You are alive. 

“My boy,” Alfred whispered, voice cracked, dragging Bruce’s dazed eyes back to his own. “Oh, my darling boy. I was going to bury you. Bury you.”

“M’sorry.” 

A thumb traced his eyebrows, down from his hair, as the other hand gripped his own, tightly. 

“Don’t you apologize. Don’t. I do not—I need not to hear such things from you. You have—you have done so much for this world”, then a bit quieter, voice shaky, “Too much, one might say,” and laughed, an awful wet thing. “Far too much.” 

He held Bruce’s hands, firmly now, both hands. In the dim light, Bruce could see him slightly rocking, eyes wet, a bitter smile upon his face. 

“…You ought to rest now, properly, love. You’ve—I,”, and he made a strangled noise, like a cleared throat. “I’ve gotten the chance to see you again. That’s far more than I could ever ask for. A blessing. Oh, what a blessing. But if you could pardon this selfish man, love, I just beg of you to rest. I will be here. Always, always, always.” 

He uttered it feverishly, like a mantra with a spell behind it, some ghastly forces moved by his very lips, a passionate vigor. Squeezing Bruce’s hand once more.

“I—I will not fail you, love.” And there was a gentle kiss planted upon his forehead. “I do not—I struggle to—there are challenges in affectionate expressions between us. And never have I regretted what I robbed of you than when you were lost to me. You are precious, love, you must know this. Cherished. Treasured. A son of mine, truly, one I am proud to raise and behold. A father of many, and oh, I do not know how you do it, they are—they are a bunch of fools at times, but I cannot, oh Bruce, I cannot blame them for bringing you back to me. I wish I could.” 

And there was a gentle kiss planted upon his forehead, a careful, hesitant thing. “Rest, love, please. I will be there when you rise, and every morning after.”

He felt—Bruce felt suddenly far too young, a memory slamming into his brain, his mother’s cloying perfume sunken into his very nostrils, a necklace, cool and icy, tapping his nose as she bent over and kissed him right on the forehead. He felt his eyes burn, a motion stirred forth before he could process it, really, with a body not yet rotting, and a mind nearly too sluggish to think. His father’s cologne, the stench of whisky, an itchy bit of scattered beard against his cheek. The smell of a hospital, pristine, clean, the galas, smoke and alcohol and perfumes and Alfred, like fresh bread and teas, garlic and oils and soups. There was something terrible chopped in his throat, not decayed, foul, and festering, but horrible all the same, an agony made familiar. 

“M’sorry,” Bruce pushed with heavy teeth, a weighted mouth, nerves sparking, searing in pulses, with every moment. His eyes burn. They blur. A tear slides down his cheek. 

Nothing else could crawl out of his mouth. He wadded through the slog of existence, thick and sluggish, trying to peel back his brain and offer something to explain, to feel reality firmly in his grasp, to grab hold of what to do, what to be, but it was useless. He felt stubbornly shoving a circle into a square hole, childish, ill fitting, with nothing else to try for. He barely felt alive. Everything ached, sporadic nerves firing back to life, clearing pathways once bound to rot.

He grabbed Alfred’s hand back and squeezed. 

Alfred breathed in, a shaky, long thing, and held onto Bruce’s hands as if they could turn to ash, blown by the wind, at any moment, squeezing back.

“I—I’m sorry,” Bruce spoke again. 

“Of course you are,” Alfred murmured, low, and smiled something sharper, tinged with something Bruce couldn’t process.

[lightlycareless]

Valentine's day '24 special — pt. 2

sequel to this.

Heya everyone!!! Sorry for the delay, you will not believe what happened to me 💀 I was intending to upload this much earlier, but by some strange reason my neighborhood just didn't have electricity anymore—for hours. BUT It's finally back, and with it, the second part of my valentine's day special :>

I won't say much, except that the whole plot turned to be quite different than what I envisioned; will I say I didn't like it? No, I feel like it was according to the character's personality and such, very... teenage awkwardness 😂🤭

Anyways, I won't say much anymore, outside of the warnings: highschool au. no major ones. angst. a jealous/possessive naoya.

Without further a do, happy reading, and happy valentine's day!

taglist: @sureconfused

You weren’t the only one excited for this day, by far, albeit for other… reasons.

Made into a well-kept secret, Naoya, heir of the Zen’in, was impatiently waiting for the day he’d effectively label himself as the best catch there ever was—

And win your affection.

Although he’ll have to admit that achieving this feat wasn’t all too easy as he once expected, less with the unwanted advancements valentine’s day brought upon.

Was it a matter of not getting chocolates? Even with his reputation, he still managed to bag a few. Naoya was handsome and rich after all, things that didn’t necessarily need to intertwine with a good personality in order for someone to like him. One has to be blind for that!

The problem here was that none of the gifts he got that day belonged to you, and that put him in a very, very bad mood.

More so when learning that Geto was the one stealing his rightful spot.

“How come he got chocolates from her, and not me?!” Naoya would cry to his best friend, Ranta, as soon as classes were over. The poor kid, although miles away and safeguarded by the other side of the line, still recoiled in surprise by his tone. “What, suddenly I’m not good enough for Y/N?!”

“I wouldn’t say that necessarily, Naoya.” Ranta attempts to comfort him, whatever he can through his friend’s frantic state anyways. “From what you told me, Geto is really popular, right?”

“I’m popular too.” Naoya quickly responds.

«But not for the right reasons» Ranta holds his tongue from saying, instead, he sighs.

“Just take it as what it was—a popular guy getting chocolates; that’s all. He must’ve gotten a thousand, he probably didn’t even notice.”

Damned if he does, damned if he doesn’t. Naoya is quickly irritated by the notion of your efforts being disregarded.

“I would’ve noticed!”

“Then do it.” Ranta says, Naoya frowns, confused. “White day is next month; it’ll be the perfect moment to let her know of your feelings!”

“What?—no. She has to come to me.” He corrected, Ranta does his best to not groan out of exasperation.

“Naoya, have you even spoken to her, outside of jujutsu stuff?”

Nope. Not at all. And yet, Naoya already envisioned you’d be the one he’d marry.

“Then start by something simple.” Ranta continues. “A letter telling her your feelings and how you’d like to know her better can go a long way.”

“But I don’t—men aren’t supposed to do that.”

“Well, what you won’t, maybe Geto will.”

“…I dare you to say that in front of my face.”

Ranta knows he’ll live to regret it later, but honestly, it was the only way he could get Naoya to actually do something about this growing infatuation he’d long determined to be more than a mere attraction.

He’s never seen his friend so… whipped for anyone before, ever, to the point of spending most, if not all, of their conversations talking about her.

There was even a moment where Ranta felt like he was unwittingly third wheeling, and they weren’t even dating yet!

But putting that aside, this could be a positive influence on Naoya’s life too. Perhaps you could soften his edges or make him a better person! —The way his mood improves whenever you’re in his mind is something he could get used to.

Except this time, of course, but that’s within reason (even for Ranta, Naoya’s jealousy still adds up.)

So, after the right motivation (or more like threat), Naoya begins to write down the perfect letter to demonstrate his feelings and intentions with you.

Or tries to.

Naoya has never considered himself particularly the best when it came to showing vulnerability, even though he’s taken countless classical literature courses many would’ve assumed amounted to something—

But like a true man in love, the things he once impossible were nothing but small hindrances along the way.

And soon, here he is, letter in hand as he heads over to the small booth Mei Mei set up for her stupid Cupid Mail thing she set up or whatever she called it—coincidentally, the perfect way to deliver his missive.

Because obviously, beneath his exuberant overconfidence, Naoya is actually very, very shy when it comes to approaching you.

“Off to confess your feelings for darling Y/N?” Mei Mei asks with a sly smirk that passes undetected to him, ass well as her words, once arriving.

“Yes, I ought to before anyone—wait, where did you even get that—”

“I have my ways.” She interrupts. But to anyone with eyes, it was nothing less than obvious. “Anyways, you know my price when it comes to keeping secrets.”

It’s not the first time he’s used her services, and it seems it wouldn’t be the last either.

“Whatever—just—send this letter for me. To Y/N.”

“Hmm… it’ll be ¥1500 please.”

“To send a letter?!” he cries. “What are you going to do, have it signed by the emperor??”

“No, but for people that already have lots of letters piled up, I tend to charge an extra fee—and an additional one if you want it to be first in line.”

“…what?” Naoya breathes.

“What? Thought you were the only one that liked her?” she snickers.

“What do you mean she has piled up letters?” Naoya asks, and having to repeat her words made his heart sink further into his stomach. “From who?!”

“That’s confidential, Zen’in-san.” Mei Mei discloses. “I can’t risk the identity of my clients—”

“How much do you want?” He counters; not buying her sudden righteousness, not even for a second.

“¥100,000”

“Fine, just—”

“Per letter.”

Naoya’s eye twitches at the outrageous bank statement he’d later have to defend before his family.

But even then, he feels no regret when it comes to knowing who could be having the upper hand against him and seize it.

“Here—take whatever you want but let me see who’s sending her letters.”

Mei Mei grins once Naoya sends her a money transfer equivalent to the 15 people that had written out their feelings for you (allegedly), happily obliging when handing over the missives for his open scrutiny, alongside some silly gifts that made him wonder if he also should’ve gotten you something more than just a paper.

However, that thought doesn’t last longer than a few seconds when his eyes fall on the names of the senders. The familiarity of one catching his attention to the fullest, blood running cold upon acknowledging the depth of your relationship with him, and what this could mean for his own advances.

Nanami.

Your proclaimed best friend…

Had sent you a letter, because more likely, he liked you.

…

Naoya didn’t bother to ask Ranta for advice for he already knew what to do. Or at least what his heart was pushing him to commit.

“She’s quite the popular one, isn’t she? Must be because of her siblings—”

“How much to not send anything to her?”

“Oh.” Mei Mei’s eyes glinted with greed and surprise. Although her interest mostly dwelled on the first. “Don’t tell me the great Naoya Zen’in is feeling threatened.”

Or more like afflicted.

“Just tell me how much. And so no one else can send her anything either.”

She smiles—Mei Mei couldn’t believe it was that easy to hit jackpot, but she won’t complain.

“A million.”

“Done.”

“Are you still sending the letter?” she still asks, shamelessly, as if she hadn’t just secured her living for the foreseeable future.

“Yes.”

Although not by itself anymore.

Understanding the sensibility in which he’d greatly miscalculated the intervention of others, Naoya rushes to make himself stand out by all means possible, as well as show just how strong his determination was to be with you.

Thus, the plushies he heard were of your liking, your favorites, or simply reminded him of you, soon began to make their way to him, settling the first foundations of the boxes he was to send you.

Alongside the sweets he’s seen you bring along for lunch, either through the nearest vending machine or gifted from your siblings and friends—didn’t matter how, just that you loved them.

To add a twist, jewelry was also included. Ones he thought would look great on you, both representing a piece of his immeasurable wealth, and his undying affection for you.

And lastly, but not least, roses. Flowers that were prided on for their beauty and significance, the perfect way to profess one’s feelings and cement them as real—he found no personal use behind them, not when he thought you much more alluring, but if necessary…

Amongst the other gifts Mei Mei managed to sneak in, like a true visionaire, for her financial gain.

Down to the smallest detail, everything was intricately planned for White Day to unfold: yes, even their tardy arrival.

The reason why Naoya chose the end of the day to deliver his countless gifts was simply because he thought he’d make a greater impression this way, give you something to think about after a long day of boring work and once back in your room.

To keep your mind completely on him, wondering who was attentive enough to bless you with all these gestures…

And of course, making you smile, cheeks flustered and face beaming in the same beautiful way that always mesmerized him—just like now.

“I… I can’t believe it.” You’d whisper to yourself while overlooking your gifts one more time; gaze lost in the ocean of sweets, flowers, and jewelry alike. There were just too many, you simply didn’t know where to start!

Or how to take them with you.

“I, uh… I think I’m going to need help to move them to my dorm” you say, eyes circling back to Mei Mei. “Do you think you can—oh.”

But she was already gone, possibly to complete more of her money-hungry schemes, such as convincing Satoru to spend more money on Suguru, or scam an innocent, unsuspecting student to confess their feelings to their crush, whom she knows has no chance with, via her postal service, or not. Mei Mei was always a mystery.

What was not a mystery, was the unwitting companionship she left you behind with, an astonished crowd slowly surrounding you the moment the first gift graced your hands, all in a similar state of disbelief, if not jealousy—

Alongside a fascinated admirer.

“Oh, how am I going to move all this—”

“Let me help you.” Keeping a close eye at a distance, Naoya sees this opportunity as his moment, and steps in.

“Naoya!” You gasp, startled by his unexpected appearance, a rare occurrence unless it involved sorcery manners, or Satoru. “I didn’t see you get here, where did you come from?”

“My class just finished, and I was heading back to the dorms.” He explains—a blatant lie, considering the teacher didn’t show up because of a date, or so many theorized. “What’s with all the gifts?”

“I know, right? Can you believe they’re all for me??” you bubbled—grabbing on the compliment bait he’d thrown. “But they don’t come with a sender.”

“Really? How weird…” Naoya plays along, wanting to hear more of your enthusiastic praises. “You don’t think it’s from a creep or something, right?”

“I don’t to think so... I don’t want to think it was.” You say, twisting your lips in concern. Naoya then quietly scolds himself for foolishly planting the seed of doubt in your mind. “Anyways, I thought it was sweet.”

As if he couldn’t fall more in love with you. Naoya smiles.

“I’m glad you did.”

For the slightest of seconds, you press your brows together, finding his words to be a bit odd, if not contradictory, to his previous statement—almost as if he were somewhat involved.

“Thanks…?”

“So…” Naoya says, walking over to one of the many baskets and picking them up. “What do you think of this?”

Even when finding his sudden interest odd, since he never struck you as the kind of person to care about these “silly” (his words) situations, you agree to indulge him only because he’s helping you.

And because this is so in-your-face, you really couldn’t blame him for being curious.

“About the gifts?” You ask.

Guess the weird part of it is that he’s insisting so much. Wasn’t your previous answer enough?

“Yeah.”

“Well, I told you; it was sweet.” You repeat, leading him towards your dorm. “And even though the mystery surrounding the sender adds a layer of romanticism to these gifts, I really want to know who did it.”

“For what?” Naoya pushes forward—all because in his mind, he thinks you’ve now unknowingly fallen for him too, and wants to confirm it.

“Oh, uh—I’m just curious! I mean, I’m human, you know?” you explain with a chuckle. “Don’t you feel the same way when this happens?”

Then, something in your mind clicked.

“No—Naoya, don’t tell me you didn’t get anything?!” you gasp.

«From the one I want, no.» he wishes to say, but it felt redundant to do so.

“I didn’t ask that.” Naoya responds instead, words that sting you, although not so much anymore, since you’ve long accepted that he can be quite… crude when he doesn’t want to talk about something.

“…Sorry.” You murmur, moving forward. Something so nice shouldn’t be ruined by his inability to socialize like a normal human being. “But… yeah, I guess I’m just curious. I mean, I’ve never gotten so many things like this before, it almost feels like I’m undeserving!”

“You’re not.”

You frown once again—why is he acting so weird, today, of all days?

“Well, at least I won’t have to buy sweets for a long time now.” You say with a smile, already savoring the delicacies before you. “Although the mochi are not making it past today! How did they even know taro was my favorite?”

And there was still one last thing for you to see—his letter.

Naoya was planning on giving it to you once arriving at your dorm, but your excitement, alongside your beautiful beaming smile, and your glistening eyes, pushed him to act now.

“Y/N.” Naoya says, a stern tone that makes you stop and turn around.

“Hm?”

“…What would you do if I… told you I knew who sent all these gifts?”

“You do?” you breathe. His heart clenches with longing.

“Hypothetically.” Naoya says. Even if he’s absolutely confident he wants to do this, there’s still a part of him, although very small, that fills him with hesitance. He can’t be judged for wanting to be cautious, right?

“Oh, well, if that’s the case… I’d like to thank him first.” You respond. “Although a bit exaggerated, it was still the nicest gesture I’ve gotten in a while. And it definitely made my day! I was just about to head to my room to whine about not getting anything, haha! Anyways… what I mean to say is, I’d like to thank them and… maybe even get to know them bett—”

“Me.” Naoya says without further precedent, you blink.

“What?”

“Me. It was me. I sent the gifts.” He reiterated, through the sudden knot forming in his throat and the rising heat of his cheeks.  “I’m the one you want to thank. The one that sent everything: from the box in your hands, to the rest of the things in your dorm.”

Naoya was wholeheartedly expecting you to glee and cheer now that the revelation was, open the door for the relationship he envisioned would begin from this day forward…

And not your following reaction.

“That’s—that’s a good one, Naoya!” You laugh nervously. “You almost got me there!”

If he didn’t know any better, it would seem you were attempting to hide disappointment. And your once dreamy laughter became his absolute nightmare.

“I’m not joking.” Naoya justifies, growing defensive of what little dignity he had left.

“Oh…” murmur, chuckle slowly subsiding while opening way to your true emotions, filling you with tension at the one outcome he never considered palpable.

“Were you expecting someone else?” He dares to ask, with an accusatory tone that lets you know you’ve stung a nerve.

And as much as honesty seemed to be the most intimidating path to take, it was still the right one.

“I—I mean… yeah.” You anxiously admit, his frown deepens.

“So, what? Even with my gifts, I’m still not good enough for you?”

“What? No! That’s not it, Naoya!” Your voice trembles—regretful for the misinterpretation of your words; but truth to be told, there was no amount of assertiveness that could’ve mended Naoya’s slowly breaking heart.

“Then what is it?” influenced by a thousand reasons, he goes with the most hurtful one. “It’s someone else, isn’t it? Was it Nanami?”

“What does he have to do with anything?” you cautioned.

“Nothing.” He rushes to cover, thankfully for him, you seem to drop the subject all together. “Why does it seem so shocking I got you these things? Weren’t you say how much liked them a few minutes ago? Or how much you wanted to thank the person behind them?”

“I didn’t—I mean… I’m still grateful for the gifts, but… I have to be honest.” You thread carefully, heart on your throat. “I don’t… know you. And you don’t know me, either.”

“What do you mean you don’t know me? We’ve worked together before, hadn’t we?”

“Naoya… We barely talk to each other outside of class, and—and… forgive me if I don’t believe your interest in me, but what am I supposed to think after the way you act whenever I’m around?”

“What way??”

While the rest of the world seemed to be nothing but acknowledging of Naoya’s infatuation with you, if not irritated by your obliviousness—

All this time, you were seeing the other side of the coin.

Starting from the silent way he’d stare at you, a piercing gaze that made you feel miniscule, scrutinized, urging you to leave his sight as soon as possible.

Followed by the irritation in his face whenever you’d interact with someone else, as if wondering where you’d get the audacity to interact with his fellow classmates, or anyone at all.

Adding the way he’d swiftly avoid you when accidentally bumping into you—uttering a quick watch out before leaving you to your own devices, careless to bother checking if you were hurt, or not.

And now, the defensiveness in which he took your skepticism.

Was it surprising that you didn’t believe his intentions? From your point of view, it was only obvious.

But to him, it was the highest of distresses.

Guess explaining his behavior towards you up to that point would amount to nothing.

Why would he bother wasting his breath affirming to you that the only reason why he did all those things was because he was afraid of approaching you? Ignorant on how to make you like him? Or because he was jealous of others?

…when he’s already ruined everything, anyways?

“I thank you for all the beautiful things you got me, Naoya, but… I think they’re better off with someone you do like.” You say, looking down at the box, before moving it closer to him. “Besides, we both know I’m not your type.”

“Not my type? What’s that supposed to mean?”

From the rumors surrounding him, to his behavior, it was the only conclusion you could get at.

But more precisely, the continuously proved reputation he’s got of dating girls only to dump them a few days later.

While he might be exceptional when it comes to giving gifts, you were looking for something a bit more… long term, permanent, in the emotional department.

And to you, Naoya was just not that kind of person.

The silence between the two gave you enough time to define your next step.

“I can give you the things back if you want—”

“No, keep them, I got them with you in mind anyways, what good will it do to give them to someone else?” He frowns, his heart effectively shattered at this point. “Or throw them away, I don’t care.”

That would be the last time you’d see Naoya that week, who’d still helped you move all of the gifts towards your dorm and placing them just outside the door before retreating to what you supposed to be the city—no doubt in your mind that he already had other plans for the day, just staying around to see if he could try his luck with you, before going to plan B.

After all, a man like him surely couldn’t settle for just one person, a date being nothing but a box to check in his routine.

And you were surprisingly accurate—

If you were referring to the Naoya who hadn’t met you yet.

Because since you arrived in his life, you’re all he thinks of. All he could bother to care for, day and night, he only longed to be with you.

But after today, he’s not sure if this is even something he wishes to continue doing. If there’s even hope for someone like him, who’s ruined all his chances—a purpose to fight for.

A friendship with you is the last thing he could expect to happen now, especially after the gruesome conclusion you granted him. Perhaps there was never even a reason to start off from, only his delusions longing for something better.

Yet, unbeknownst to him, this was only the beginning.

Ok so I do feel a bit guilty for going down the angsty path BUT hear me out, it makes sense!!! naoya is the kind of person to make up this whole life with you and he hasn't even spoken with you lol.

outside of that, the beauty of oneshots is that I can literally write 10000 versions of this same scenario 😏 I already have another one in mind, but I'll postpone it to after the other requests I have on my ask.

Either way, I still hope you enjoyed this piece :> Happy valentines day!!

Take care, and hope to see you around ❤️

[wlwanakin]

Was reading through some of your SW takes and your Qui Gon take >>> Like yes someone made Obi-Wan like That and if QG was truly the most perfectest, most feeling Jedi ever I don’t think that would be the case. And yes I like the idea of being a C grade mentor like my mentor before me. How do you feel about the idea that due to Anakin’s trauma and the circumstances, his relationship with Ahsoka should have been more fraught and dysfunctional than portrayed (though in a way different way than his relationship with OWK was dysfunctional and fraught)

very glad you asked this bc it’s something i think about quite a bit! and i kind of flip flop on it, because on the one hand i don’t put much weight on any of dave filoni’s characterization choices regarding anakin bc he fundamentally does not understand him, and anakin being an overall good mentor to ahsoka with most of the tension being external feels like the easy way out in a way (something that filoni does a lot when it comes to ahsoka lol). but on the other hand it’s one of the only things about tcw anakin that doesn’t fundamentally grate me bc it feels very plausible and like the only character choice that doesn’t seem like it was made entirely to make anakin seem more obviously evil and aggressively masculine. in general i do think anakin would be a good father under different circumstances and i think ahsoka is a good way to show that, and it’d kind of undermine the tragedy of revenge of the sith to be like “oh here’s a kid anakin raised and he was TERRIBLE AT IT” cuz then you’d kinda just be like good riddance about him and padmé not being able to raise the twins. so on that level i do think him having a positive relationship with ahsoka not only works but is the best narrative choice if you want that relationship to mesh with the films (and i think that’s extra important for a character whose existence is as narratively awkward as ahsoka’s is). and he definitely isn’t perfect! his fuck-ups aren’t usually super interesting but he does have moments where you’re like “oh this dude is like college aged and also insane.”

i do think there’s a lot of room for tension in their relationship that is not taken advantage of though, for instance anything relating to ahsoka being like. actively unwanted. and to be clear it also makes sense to me that anakin did not resent her over that because anakin himself was in a similar position with obi-wan and he and ahsoka just click better than he and obi-wan did in terms of personality, but i just think that should loom over them just a teensy weensy bit more. and i think that, especially because obi-wan is There half the time and generally likes ahsoka, the potential for weirdness between those three is very untapped. which is honestly more an issue with how obi-wan and anakin are written. but still there is very much tension and conflict to be mined there between all parties and i simply don’t understand why it wasn’t. me personally i would’ve made it a Thing that anakin is a little teeny weeny bit jealous of how well ahsoka and obi-wan get on. but that’s just me!

i think the big thing for me is that i would have preferred if they parted ways on bad terms, or at least gotten less closure. like i think the s5 finale wraps up their relationship perfectly and s7 just ruins it! and i don’t think they should’ve had a falling out that was really truly all anakin’s fault or whatever but i really truly hate how nice they leave things in s7. they’re too happy to see each other. they’re too certain of where they stand. it makes ahsoka’s post-pt arcs way less interesting imo. it could’ve ended a bit messier.

but yeah honestly most of what i find lacking in their dynamic tension-wise is stuff that would pop up organically if you tried to recreate the same dynamic but with an anakin that actually resembles movie anakin. and maybe were not restricted to being stuck in a show for children. nothing about the fundamental relationship is terribly off to me and in terms of my beef with how ahsoka is written her and anakin’s relationship is the thing i take the least issue with (in tcw, i don’t watch the live action shows). i mostly just think it rules that anakin was an anomalously good teen mom in the front lines of war.

[4linos]

My idea for Jisung's story would be that in a desperate attempt to forget his ex, he ends up sleeping with someone else, and because of that, the thing Jisung least wanted was born: a baby. D:

Jisung and his ex broke up because he didn't want children, and now he has to deal with the reason why he broke up with her.

I feel like it would be interesting to see him as a single dad (because the girl didn't want to take care of it and simply left when the baby was born).

Summary: Jisung had an unwanted baby, but since he's not that bad, he decides to take care of it despite everything. I feel like it would be sweet if he got a tattoo of that baby's name, and later on, he gets a tattoo of his other baby's name.

I don't know if it's clear, you can ignore it if you want, but honestly, this occurred to me since I read the first part (please make it a happy ending).

Post-data: I forgot to put the anonymous user in the previous one, sorry, I like to be anonymous

this is actually really interesting. 🤔 i like it.

y/n finding out about him raising another baby wouldn’t end well, i don’t think 😀.

since the babies would be around the same age i think it would be even more interesting if their kids were in the same class together..

[nishithedevil]

And with that, we have to the end of this fic. Thank you to everyone who read all parts, i'm glad you enjoyed reading it as much as i did writing it. Don't you worry tho, this isn't the end of my fics XD

Capital Prince and District Princess

Lucy Gray x capital gn reader

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

As we sat there waiting for the train to arrive, Lucy Gray tapped my shoulder. I turned my head towards her, humming in question. “Thank you, truly. I don’t think I could’ve done any of this without you.” She said softly.

My demeanor eased, and I placed my hand on the bench behind her. "It was my pleasure, but let's not celebrate too soon. I want to ensure you safely return to the Covey in one piece; there's always a chance for unexpected events." I cringe internally, hoping everything goes smoothly, but I keep my concern hidden to avoid adding to her anxiety.

She nods in agreement, and as our train arrives, we seamlessly join the crowd, boarding without attracting any notice. The journey to the districts remains hushed; Lucy Gray wisely opts for silence to avoid unwanted attention. Tuning in to the radio, we stay informed, and thankfully, no one has grown suspicious of her absence, assuming she's still concealed in the vents. The atmosphere between us is mostly comfortable, except for the somber moments when we tune in to the Games' death announcements.

After about three hours, the districts finally emerged on the horizon. Lucy Gray had peacefully drifted into sleep during the train ride, a sight that melted my heart, signaling her genuine trust in me.

Approaching our destination, I leaned in and whispered tenderly in Lucy Gray's ear, softly shaking her awake. "Hey, we're almost here," my voice carried a hint of warmth, and my fingers, moved by an unspoken affection, delicately brushed a stray strand of hair from her face.

In that intimate moment, she seemed to sense my hand on her face, and as she looked up at me, her eyes meeting mine, the realization of my tender gesture washed over me. A sudden flush of embarrassment tinged my cheeks, and I stammered, caught off guard and flustered by my own actions. Groggily, she then rubbed her eyes, careful not to smudge her makeup, and sat up, allowing me to assist her in gathering our belongings before the train's impending stop.

Once it did, we swiftly exited, aiming to attract minimal attention. Out of sight from most onlookers, Lucy Gray immediately took hold of my hand, pulling me along. “C’mon, if the Covey is still here, I know where they’re staying,” she said, glancing back at me as I willingly allowed her to lead the way.

After a while of swerving between the district people, I look around and realize how truly horrible their living conditions are here. It was honestly heartbreaking. “Hey Luce,” I fall short on her steps and tug her towards me. She stops in her tracks confused and looks at me, “I just want to warn you that we can’t stay here for long. We can’t stay long enough for people to realize who you are and what you’ve done.” I warn her.

She looks down at our intertwined hands and then back at me, after a while she begins, “I know. I just have to see my family. I have to tell them I’m okay and see how they’re doin’.” She spoke, her voice soft.

I squeeze her hand in understanding, nodding behind her to signal she should keep walking. Following her lead, we reach a bar, and behind it stands a small, run-down house. Stopping in front of the door, Lucy Gray doesn't bother knocking. She releases my hand, confidently opens the door, and strides inside.

I take a few steps to get closer to her and as we step inside I look around. Inside there are a few kids, all different ages, but no one older than 18. They look at us confused but with caution and stand up abruptly. That was understandable, considering Lucy Gray didn’t look like herself and I was a total stranger to them.

“It’s me guys, Lucy Gray. It’s me, I’m back.” Lucy Gray pleaded with her hands up in the air. I straighten myself behind her.

“N-no! You can’t be. Lucy Gray is fighting in the Hunger Games right now!” One of them yells.

“Maude Ivory, It’s me I swear. Ask me something only Lucy Gray would know.” The little kid, whose name I now know is Maude Ivory, walks closer to her and asks her, “What happened that one time I ate a peanut butter sandwich for the first time?” I cock my head to the side, confused, curiously awaiting the answer.

Lucy Gray put her hands down and straightened herself up, “That’s a trick question, you didn’t eat one since you threw it at me and when I threw it back it fell to the ground since you couldn’t catch it with your mouth like you wanted to.” I chuckle at that response.

“It really is you Lucy Gray!!” Another kid yells and they all come running to hug her. “Why do you look so different?” One asks, and to that I decide to answer. “Well, I helped her escape from the Games, so she had to have a makeover so as to not get caught.”

They all look at me, confusion on their faces again. “Uh hi, I’m Y/N Y/L/N. I was Lucy Gray’s mentor and I helped her escape. As they release Lucy Gray, her family members rush to me, clinging with gratitude and repeating thank you. I laugh at their antics, patting each of them on the back. When I glance up at Lucy Gray, she wears a sweet, loving expression.

I let her stay all day in the house, deciding that having her spend these probably last moments with her family was exactly what she needed right now, and then disappearing in the early morning was the right idea.

—------------------------------------------------------

In the early morning, the Covey wishes us a safe journey. After packing our food, we set off on our way. The hike proves to be exhausting as we walk for days, striving to distance ourselves as much as possible from civilization.

All the way there we talked. I realized just how wonderful and amazing Lucy Gray Baird truly was. I was glad I could help such a beautiful soul escape from the monstrous life in the districts. We talked about anything and everything but also nothing at all. Just being in her presence was enough.

We sat down along the river under a big tree to take a break, we could see a hut in the distance, which would probably be around a 2 hour long walk from here, but we wanted to rest for our final hike. Propped against the tree, Lucy Gray lies in my lap. Suddenly, she says, "I'm grateful for this, for you." I gaze down, tilting my head in curiosity. Her smile follows as she turns toward me, plucking a small white flower beside me. Turning back to lay on her back, she twirls the flower in her hands. "All I'm trying to say is, you saved me, Y/N. You saved me from the cruel fate of our world. And now—" I gently take the flower and tuck it behind her ear, interjecting, "Now we're free. We have all the freedom and time in the world, Lucy Gray. We can do whatever our hearts desire."

In that moment, she gazes up at me, slightly stunned by my action. Her eyes linger on my lips, and a profound silence envelops us, allowing the sounds of the wind to echo around. Propping up on her elbows Lucy Gray captures my lips with hers, closing the gap between us. I hum at how soft her lips are and I could just get stuck in a loop of her kissing me. I never wanted this moment to end. We stopped for air but during that time she sat on my lap and put her hands on my cheeks, bringing me closer and kissing me, this time harsher. I put my hands on her waist moaning at her eagerness. Regrettably, the sweet moment had to end when the lack of air became an issue, and we parted, both catching our breath. Lucy Gray rests her forehead against mine as we huff, and when I look up at her, she's already gazing at me. I blush, captivated by her honey eyes. Placing my hand on her cheek, I confess, "You know, I could never get sick of looking at you." She chuckles, lightly hitting my shoulder, "Oh shut it, you sap." I smirk, realizing I've managed to fluster her.

“Oh, is the overconfident songbird flustered by my words?” I tease her as she turns redder and groans, hiding her head in my shoulder as I laugh.

I was already used to life with her, I would never trade anything for this life with the most gorgeous soul I have ever met. Waking up and going back to sleep with Lucy Gray next to me is all I need to have a fulfilled life. Anything else thrown our way we will get passed it together, no matter what it is.

Lucy Gray leans back sitting on my thighs as I lean forward to capture her lips again, a smile on my face as I safely, in my arms hold the most precious thing in my entire life.

[eureka-its-zico]

I don’t even know how I comprehend that, this episode had me spun out!!! I was shattered by the end, honestly, as a ED healthcare professional it just brought a lot of unwanted thoughts up. But, weirdly enough all I could think of was that Robby needs the biggest hug (preferably by Dr Fullerton).

A question, if you are in the right headspace, but in terms of dealing with the bad stuff, Robby had Fullerton before and I wonder during their relationship, how they would keep the demons at bay? Was Fullerton better at keeping a lid on things?

Also, on a lighter note, for Dr Robby more junior years, back when Fullerton was an intern, what era of ER we taking about? Because usually when I think Young resident Dr Robby I’m thinking Season 5 John Carter with the bread, but what do you think?

BTW, I hope you are well and sending love and hugs your way 💖💖💖

Oh my gosh Nonnie!! SAME!!! I was prepared for most of it, but the last 3-5 minutes??!?!? The way that Jake started going through the stages of grief and was attacking Robby, when Robby did his best, when that kid knew deep down Robby tried his absolute BEST to save her - fucking gut wrenching. I hated every last second of it and I'm now in need of my own hug lol.

Honestly, the part that hit home for me was when Kiara and the nurse went and spoke with the wife of the deceased patient. When I worked in the ED, our emergency department where I live is not a trauma center, so when we got calls from rigs that they were stopping at the hospital, it was for life-saving measures and 90% of the time the GSW's were fatal. It's been three years, but the sounds of spouses wailing in the private rooms is something I'll never forget. So, this scene brought that all back.

For your question, I think Fullerton was better at keeping it under wraps and finding ways to not think about what may or may not have happened that day. Attempting and failing, at knitting because a nurse told Fullerton about it, and loved the idea of knitting Robby an ugly sweater for Christmas, gardening, etc., I feel like if someone told Fullerton, "Hey, this will help relieve stress," she'd attempt it and Robby would make fun of her for it because he'd just come home like, "What are we trying this week?"

I also think of the very short-lived bearded John Carter of season 5! And I imagine the shock Fullerton felt when Robby just showed up one day and the beard was gone, like who is this strange man? lol (The beard stuck to a glued patient did not happen here lol).

I am doing okay! Life is hard, but while the horrors persist, so do I. Thank you for sending this ask! It was a pleasure to read and write back to you! I hope you are doing good, and the days are treating you with kindness <3 sending you lots of hugs and much love.

[letskittythis]

A small tidbit story from my main save

Before you proceed, be aware this little tidbit story has mention of drug addiction and use, violence and sexual violence. There's also quite the fair bit of cussing and strong language. If you do not feel comfortable with such, please do not read. If you decide to read, please do so at your own discretion, and remember, this is simply a work of fiction.

Thank you for your understanding.

What Did You See In Me?

It was a rare quiet night at the Watters-Munch house. Even rarer for it to be a balmy, not overly hot, night in Tomarang. With the two youngest kids already passed out in bed and the oldest out at a late night long party with friends, Wolf and Blair had a VERY rare chance to just relax and enjoy each other's company. A blessing, as handling a rambunctious preteen, an hyper toddler and a mute teen with a knack to sneak out undetected is not as easy as some parents want to paint it out to be.

Wolfgang took the chance to drag Blair to their back porch and snuggle on the sofa they had bought together when he first moved in with Blair into Blair's old rental apartment.

But somehow, Wolf found his mind miles away, an old nemesis of a feeling gnawing at him. He couldn't, to this day, understand why Blair fell in love with him. He himself knew he wasn't easy to get along with at all. Mean and moody to a fault. Hot-tempered and quicker to use his fists than his words. Hardly ever in a good mood, not to talk about his… Illicit side job. Granted, it was what paid for this home they both worked so hard on renovating, but still… Just what…?

"Wolf?"

It makes no sense, Blair could have had anyone they wanted. Anyone at all.

"Wolf."

Why me? They're aware I'm THAT gang's boss, right? Then why didn't they…

"Wolf!" "Uh? Oh, sorry, babe. Was…" "Lost in your own mind? Could tell. What's up, Wolf? You're not usually this quiet with me." "Uhh… Well… It's…" "Out with it, love. What's eating you up?" "Ahhh, you see…. Shite, how do I say this…" "Wolf…" "…Okay, okay… Blair, tell me honestly… What do you see in me? What DID you see in me, back then? I was a mess, babe, still am. Always getting into fights, consuming all sorts of substances I shouldn't, drinking heavily… Yet… There you were, always by my side, always having my back. Still here, even if I'm still a fucking disappointment of massive magnitude."

Blair blinked as they heard Wolf's words. What did they see in Wolf…? How could he not see it himself? Oh, gods…

"Wolf, my dearest, Wolf. You really need me to say it out loud, love?"

Wolfgang looked down and nodded, knowing how useless it was to try and hide his uneasiness from Blair's sharp intuition. He felt the small hand of his beloved caress his face lovingly, which he took and kissed tenderly.

"What did I see in you, uh…? Well… I saw a boy whom…"

"…looked up at an exhausted stranger who'd asked him for the directions to the principal's office and, rather than just say those, got up from his spot, left his group hanging and accompanied said stranger to the principal's office, even if it meant risking the detention he actually got for smoking weed in the schoolgrounds."

"…didn't hesitate to defend a lonely, friendless new student from the unwanted, lechery words and touches of an older student."

"… got suspended for jumping into a fistfight with that same older student after he broke a girl's heart publicly and slandered her by claiming she was a slut."

"… whom struggled with his homework, and yet made sure to never let his baby brother have any doubts and difficulties with his own."

"…did his best to help his mom out, even when she was less than thankful for his immense efforts."

"… found out the stranger he helped was struggling to make ends meet, juggling studies, work and a four months old child, and stepped up to the challenge by helping out as much as possible, practically living in said person's apartment, cooking, cleaning, looking after the baby… As if the baby was his own."

"…fell in love with the struggling parent, then had one hell of a time convincing that person to give him a chance… Never giving up until that person gave in."

"…used nearly all of his painfully saved up money to buy a terrain and a house, so his now little family could leave that awfully tight apartment and live more comfortably. And he renewed most of the house himself, to booth."

"…didn't hesitate to jump on his beloved's defence when their ex decided to show up out of the blue and start shit for no good reason. Whom stood in front of a judge and unashamedly admitted he'd to it again and again, as many times as needed, until that shitty ex learned to stay the fuck away from HIS family."

"…opened his heart and arms to a child whom he had no blood ties with, so much he went ahead and adopted both that child and it's half-sibling, not caring for what others would whisper."

"…worked his ass off to try and finish highschool, all while working hellish shifts of up to 16 hours, and still somehow making time to take care of the now five year old, help the eight year old with their homework, play with both of them and leave their lunchboxes ready for the next school day, so they wouldn't have to eat the awful cafeteria food."

"…gave up getting his highschool diploma to be there for his adopted child when the child got bullied so badly at school, the only peaceful solution they could come up with was to allow the child to study from home, and one doesn't leave a child home alone all day."

"What I saw, Wolf… Was the man you'd become. Troubled, yes, but true to his heart, fiercely loyal to his loved ones, deeply dedicated to his family. And I fell in love with that man I could tell you'd come to be, even back then. I fell in love with you, all of you. There's no one else I'd rather be with, be loved by. If there really is anything such as Soul Mate, Wolf, that's what I KNOW you are… My Soul Mate."

Wolfgang could only stare at Blair, stunned and speechless. Had he really done all those things…? Yes. Yes he had. Every single one of them. And he'd do it all over again, as many times as they came, if it meant he had his little family with him. He felt tears threatening to fall.

"Shite, babe… You ARE serious, uh…"

Blair smiled sadly and caressed his face again.

"Dead serious. Don't you ever doubt yourself, Wolf. Nor do you ever doubt how much you mean to me. Shit, Wolf, I was sixteen, had just had my second child and been abandoned in that apartment by his dad, had to pay rent and a shitload of baby stuff, plus the hospital bills, tuition fees, school supplies… I have only YOU to thank for being able to finish school and not losing Alec to the system. I'm still terrified to even imagine what would have become of him if he had been taken away by the social assistants… I was about to go into a full panic when madam Grove suddenly showed up with Adi and told me my grandpa had been hospitalised and she believed it was better to leave my child with me than with complete strangers… Even IF, technically, I WAS a complete stranger to my seven years old child… If you hadn't been there for me, I have no idea what would've become of me and my children, Wolf. Adi and Alec would probably be in some orphanage or foster family, and me… I'd probably be another beggar sleeping under the bridge and not knowing how to turn my situation around. But I had you, love. You were my rock, thorough all those storms. From the moment I first saw you, I just KNEW there was way more there than just a moody, troubled 17 years old. Wolf… "

Wolfgang swallowed down the hard lump in his throat.

"…why ever would you doubt yourself like this, Wolf? I say boy, but seriously… At 18 you were more of a man than many others will ever be in the entirety of their lives. Just how many 18 years old do you know whom would do all that for somebody else, no questions asked, nothing to be gained in exchange? I know of none, Wolf. None, but YOU. That's how you got my heart, and hell, I pity the poor fool whom unknowingly says I 'Could do much better than that damn gangster'; after all, that same 'damn gangster' saw that I got through those hellish times… Made me the happiest person in the whole damn universe…. Wolf…"

No more words were need. Blair hugged their beloved giant of a man tightly, letting him hide his tears on their chest, while letting out tears of their own. So THIS was it. Doubting his self-worth. Regretting some not so smart decisions. Their voice cracked with the tears when they next spoke.

"We all regret a good number of decisions, actions and words… Even me. My biggest regrets are also the ones which led me to meet you, love. I regret not having been more wary of that helper at the ranch. I regret not having told my manager of that idiot's lecherous advances and liberties. I regret breaking my grandpa's heart and not being there with him when he breathed his last. But, Wolf… Had I been wary and more careful, Adi wouldn't be here. Had I reported that sad excuse of a man, Alec probably wouldn't be here either, nor would I have transferred schools and met you. I regret many things, but even my regrets brought me closer to you, love. I'd go through it all over again, even the worst of it, if it meant I could get to be with you in the end. Shit… Wolf…"

Both were now crying, holding onto each other for dear life. Crying tears of joy, tears of relief. And both were sure as one can be now. This was what they wanted, both of them. A life together, to the end.